#Been meaning to share this one for a while now

[dollgxtz]

AN: Just some random cute thoughts I have about girldad!Sylus teaching his daughter new languages....

Word Count: 902

I feel like no one talks about how Sylus being a polyglot (someone who knows multiple languages) would definitely bleed into his family dynamic. No doubt he'd want his daughter to be just as efficient in other languages as he is.

He starts early. When she’s still a baby, barely lifting her head, he greets her in different languages as he lifts her from the crib. His voice is low and tender, laced with sleepiness. It becomes a small ritual, one he never misses no matter how late he’s been up the night before.

“早安，小宝贝。” (“Good morning, little one.”) “Guten Morgen, kleine.” (“Morning, little one.”) “Bonjour, mon trésor.” (“Hello, sweetheart.”)

Sometimes he speaks softly as he dresses her, reciting simple rhymes or counting aloud in whatever language suits the morning. Other times he hums songs passed down through dialects he’s rarely had the chance to share. He knows she doesn’t understand the words yet, not fully—but that’s never the point. He wants the cadence to settle into her bones, the rhythm to anchor itself in her memory. He wants her to hear the world differently, to recognize meaning in sounds beyond her native tongue.

He almost thinks it doesn’t stick, not really. But then, one quiet morning, just a few weeks shy of her turning fourteen months old, she crawls into his lap while he’s sitting on the couch, tugging at his shirt for attention.

She looks up at him with sleepy eyes, presses a hand to his chest, and says, clear as anything: "Ciao papà!" ("Hi daddy!")

For a moment, Sylus doesn’t move. He just stares at her, stunned into silence, as if she’s managed to strike him speechless in the one language he hadn’t expected to hear back so soon. And then, he laughs—soft and full—and pulls her close, muttering “bene, bene...("good, good")” against her hair.

And this continues as she grows. He’ll speak to her in English often enough, during storytime, or when she falls and needs reassurance, but just as easily, he’ll switch gears mid-conversation. One moment he’s tying her shoelaces, the next he’s asking in fluent Italian, "Cosa vuoi mangiare, piccola?" (What do you want to eat, little one?)

She furrows her brow, thinking hard, stumbling over her words, sometimes answering in a mix of three different languages at once. Other days she’ll stare at him blankly before shrugging and replying in English, frustrated. There are moments you worry. You read the articles. You ask the pediatrician. The prevalent speech delay when she turns two and doesn't seem to want to talk at all some days, common in multilingual children, sits like a stone in your chest. But Sylus never looks concerned.

"Let her sort it out," he says calmly, watching her chew her breakfast while muttering the days of the week in French under her breath. "As long as she understands, that's all that matters."

And eventually, he’s right. The words come easier. By the time she’s two and a half, she answers his questions in full sentences.

“Quiero uvas, papa.” (“I want grapes, daddy.”) “S’il te plaît, donne-moi le livre.” (“Please, give me the book.”) “Ich habe fertig!” (“I've finished!”)

Sylus beams every time, pride tucked into his smirk, like he knew all along that she’d get there. She's his smart little girl after all, he never doubted her abilities for a second.

You once overhear her talking to Mephisto, alternating between Mandarin and Russian with no hesitation. When you ask her what she’s saying, she blinks at you and says simply, “He seems to understand when I say it like that.”

Sylus just chuckles and says, “Silly girl.”

She even starts using her newfound abilities to keep little secrets between her and Sylus. It becomes a game, one they both relish, a subtle rebellion wrapped in giggles and clever looks. It’s not uncommon now—you’ll all be walking through the park, the sun warm on your shoulders, the gravel crunching underfoot, birdsong dancing above you—and she’ll suddenly burst out with something rapid and gleeful in Portuguese, her eyes locked on Sylus.

"Olha, pai! Ali está ele! Aquele pássaro parece o Mefisto!"

("Look, Dad! There he is! That bird looks like Mephisto!")

Her words are fast, her voice a high-pitched burst of glee. You pause mid-step, eyebrows raised, trying to decode the sentence. But before you can ask, Sylus responds just as fluently, and just as fast. He doesn’t hesitate, like he’s been waiting for it. The two of them dissolve into laughter, the kind that makes your chest ache in the best way—full and unguarded.

You stand there with your hands on your hips, narrowing your eyes in playful suspicion. "What did she say?"

Sylus shrugs with a smirk that says he’ll never give it up. "Nothing important."

Your daughter clings to his leg, clearly trying to stifle another giggle, and you shake your head with a mock sigh, even as you smile. You catch snippets sometimes, hear the familiar cadence of their secret code whispered between bites of lunch or exchanged from across a room. Sometimes it’s teasing, sometimes it’s curiosity, and sometimes it’s just them reaffirming what they both already know—that they have their own little world between them.

Some fathers teach their kids how to ride a bike. Sylus teaches his kid how to command a room in three dialects! ꒰ᐢ. ̫ .ᐢ꒱

[dixonsbugaboo]

𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦.

ꜱᴀᴊᴀ ʙᴏʏꜱ🎵

𝘊𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘵𝘦𝘳 3 - 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘥𝘢𝘺

Fem!Reader x Saja Boys

Summary: Reincarnated in the body of a demon from the last film you saw before you died, you have decided to change the script of the story in your favour. But you didn't count on your presence in the story changing everything.

Warnings: slow burn, swearing, Abby being Abby (aka really silly), Jinu being kinda self-depressed and also a trespasser, ooc (probably), cringe (surely), no proofread (oopsie)

Word count: 2400+

A/N: so! we are so back! I had soooo much fun writing this one. It's kind of a roller coaster of jokes and feelings, but I hope you like it! Also, I want to let you know that I also started to publish this in Wattpad, but I want to update here first (hehe). Last, I really want to thank you all for your support, your kind words, likes, reblogs and comments. It means a lot!

Ch. 2

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

What a horrible day.

Someone (probably Abby) had eaten the last yoghurt in the fridge that you were saving for yourself, someone else (Romance, no doubt) had finished your shampoo, your pillow had magically disappeared (and now Mystery had two) and for some reason Baby smelled like your favourite candies.

Living with men was worse than you had imagined.

You had no privacy, no personal space, and no time to even think.

Since it was their first time back in the human world after centuries (in most cases), they didn't really know how some things worked, but at the expense of your mental health, they were modernising at breakneck speed.

Now they had the latest smartphones.

Romance had discovered TikTok, Mystery was now addicted to cat videos, and if you heard Abby say ‘tralalero tralalá’ one more time, you'd gouge his eyes out with spoons. The only one who seemed to be behaving more or less normally was Jinu, who was convinced that mobile phones were something akin to witchcraft and only used his phone for real emergencies (like when he ran out of toilet paper and had to ask for some in the group chat where everyone was).

Thanks to Gwi-ma, you had moved into a fairly large flat in the human world, where the boys shared rooms… except for Jinu and you, who had your own (separately). It had a fairly spacious living room with a large television that you had used to give them master classes on current K-pop, a fully equipped kitchen that you would probably never use, and two bathrooms, which you had learned in a single day were not enough when living with five demons.

At least they were more or less clean. They left the toilet seat down (sometimes), didn't make much noise (when they were asleep) and if they ate something, they left everything clean afterwards (even though what they had eaten was actually yours).

Baby was the most responsible and the only one you didn't want to smack on the head with a chair every ten minutes. He tried to act disinterested, but you had caught him several times enthralled by everyday things: he got up early just to watch the sun rise, he loved staring out the window just to see people coming and going on the street, and he had discovered how wonderful the smell of freshly baked bread was.

But you had to admit that, overall, having them around in such a routine and mundane environment was kind of fun. At least you knew you weren't alone… like you had felt before you died.

No pillow, no shampoo, no candies, and no yoghurt, but you weren't alone.

Someone knocked softly on your door.

"Come in."

"Sorry to bother you…" It was Baby, with his hands hidden behind his back. "But I wanted to thank you for joining us in the human world, and for the plan and everything… And for teaching us how to use the microwave, and…"

"Baby," you interrupted with a smile. You thought it was adorable when he rambled on just because he wasn't quite sure how to put what he wanted to say into words. "Did you want something?"

"I've written something," he said then. It caught you a little off guard. It had been a while since he'd written anything, or at least since he'd told you… You figured with all the debut stuff, rehearsals and everything, he wouldn't have had time. "And I'd like your opinion."

He had his notebook hidden behind his back. He took a couple of steps towards you, as if hesitating, until he finally decided to stretch out his arm and hand it to you. Your fingers brushed against each other when you took it, and something you couldn't quite identify crossed his gaze in that brief moment.

Surely it was just your imagination.

Too much caffeine.

You opened the notebook and turned the pages to the end, to the last thing he had written. As you turned the pages, you were surprised to see that there were many pages full of scribbles and smudges.

"I've been having trouble finding inspiration," he admitted, looking down.

"That's okay," you said with a smile, trying to make him feel better. "Do you want to stay here with me while I read it?"

He nodded with a small smile and finished entering your room. As you sat down in the chair next to the desk, he flopped down on the bed. He just sat there, and as you began to read and sink into the magic of his words, he decided to look around your room.

You had hung one of the Soda Pop posters you had just printed on the wall above your desk, and you had placed a lion stuffed animal on your bed that Byeol didn't know where you had gotten. Your desk was covered with papers, and the bin was full of candy wrappers, your addiction when you lacked inspiration. There were traces of you here and there: a pair of jeans crumpled up on the floor, a pair of trainers in the corner, a calendar full of scribbles hanging behind the door… The most notable thing there was a note, marking two days later, underlined with brightly coloured markers that read ‘DEBUT’, surrounded by little stars.

Then he focused all his attention on you.

You were slightly hunched over (even though he had told you hundreds of times not to) over his notebook, lost in the story, unable to notice the soft smile on his face as he gazed at you without you realising.

He thought it was adorable how you imitated the expressions of the characters in the story, as if that helped you embody it better, and how your eyes sparkled when you read something you liked. Heck, he even liked it when you frowned because you found a mistake. At first, when you met, he thought you were an interesting person, a clear contradiction to everything Jinu had told him about you.

You were talkative, but you also knew how to listen, and you weren't afraid to give your opinion. When you read his writings in hell, you used to drum your claws on your legs, lost in the reading.

How would it feel to hold your hand and intertwine his fingers with yours?

He didn't want to do it romantically, of course not… just as friends. That's right, intertwining your fingers like friends. And caressing your face, running a finger across your lips (for scientific reasons: he just wanted to know if they were as soft as they looked).

"Wow…" you started to say as soon as you finished reading. Your eyes were slightly glinting with tears. You were… excited. "It's… beautiful, Byeol. It's the most beautiful thing I've read in years." You closed the notebook slowly, carefully. You got up from the chair and sat down on the bed next to him, and gave him back the notebook.

"Thank you… Actually, it's kind of strange. It's been a long time since I've been able to find something new that motivates me to write. But everything here is so different compared to down there… It's colourful and alive, you know?"

That's it!

That was exactly what you wanted them to learn about the human world. How beautiful it was. Now you just had to allow him to gradually redeem himself and realise that all was not lost, that he was not alone, that he could have a second chance, and most importantly, that he could regain his soul.

You felt his hand on your leg, trying to get your attention. You turned your face towards him, and found him staring absorbedly into your eyes. You were closer than you should have been, but for some reason, it didn't bother either of you. You trusted him. And he felt drawn to you.

What he had told you was a lie, though. It was true that he had gone through a creative block, but it wasn't exactly travelling to the human world that brought back his inspiration: it was you. You teaching them how to live there, being patient when they did something wrong even though you had explained it many times, you getting angry when they took your things without permission, or when they tried to snoop on what you were reading on your mobile phone.

He tried to deny it, but it was getting harder and harder. Being around you felt soothing; in fact, it felt too good to be true. He didn't want to get too close, because he knew that if he let his guard down, something bad would happen. It had been that way for as long as he could remember.

Besides, what he felt was surely just curiosity, right? It had been a long time since someone so interesting had come into his life. Someone who made him see the reality he was living with new eyes.

Because of you, he was going to call himself "Baby," for goodness' sake.

But at the same time, he was aware that whatever he felt, you were too much. Too good, too cheerful, too… too bright for the shell he had become in the underworld. Haunted by the shame of his past decisions, the decisions that had led him to become just another servant of Gwi-ma.

He had literally sold his soul to the devil.

He was unable to see that, technically, so had you.

Why had you sold your soul to Gwi-ma? How bad had your life been to reach that point?

Someone knocked on the door, and you both jumped. You stood up instinctively, moving away from him.

"Come in," you said after clearing your throat.

Why did Byeol's eyes have to be so beautiful? Shit.

Why did he have to look at you like that after writing something like that?

Why was your heart beating so erratically?

"It's me," said Jinu, opening the door just enough to stick his head in. "I need help. Abby has discovered that Alexa can fart, and he's drinking all the soda in the flat so he can do the backing vocals burping."

"Oh, shit…" Baby slapped his forehead with his hand. "I knew getting that junk was a mistake."

You had already run out to the living room, pushing Jinu aside so you could get to Abby, who was gulping down soda like a pelican while Romance cheered him on, "Chug, chug, chug!"

Indeed, it was turning out to be a horrible day.

The quickest solution was to disconnect the artificial intelligence (forever) and put a lock on the fridge. And explaining to Abby what kidney stones were.

Baby had been on your tail, your moment of intimacy buried in his mind. There were two days left before their first public appearance, and he couldn't be distracted. None of them could.

Being in the human world was fun, yes, and learning everything they were learning (how useful Google was, for example) was incredible. But he had to focus on the fact that all of this, the adventures, living with the boys (and with you), was temporary. He couldn't stray from his goal: defeating the hunters. Giving Gwi-ma a real feast.

So why couldn't he forget the way you looked into his eyes, or the way you said his name?

But while you were solving the soda problem and Byeol was lost in his thoughts, Jinu had entered your room. Without permission.

Oh, how hard you would hit him in the face if you found out…

But you weren't there. You were busy helping Abby with his stomach ache from drinking two litres of soda in one go without stopping to breathe.

Jinu felt miserable. Partly because of everything he had done and regretted (which Gwi-ma reminded him of all the time to keep him in check), and partly because he felt he was still making bad decisions. He was still selfish. He was still… a monster.

Why had he wanted to yell at you when he saw Byeol sitting on your bed?

Why wasn't he the one sitting on your bed?

He let out a sigh.

He didn't understand why you attracted him so much. He didn't understand what you did to exasperate him all the time, but at the same time keep him close to you. Why did you have to be everything he wasn't?

He walked over to your desk, which was covered in papers and completely messy. There were recipes, song lyrics, and even a poem.

Then he realised you had left your notebook there when you left in such a hurry, buried in your mess.

You never, ever forgot that notebook. It was like your second heart or your third lung. You kept it like gold dust and never let any of them look at it.

Unconsciously, Jinu traced the cover, and before he knew it, he had it open in his hands, slowly turning the pages.

And heavens!

Of all the things he could have imagined you hiding in that notebook, he never imagined what he found.

There were not only song lyrics, ideas and concepts for the band, and even notes on how to lead them to the top.

There were also drawings. Portraits.

Jinu didn't know you were such a good artist. But then, he couldn't have known, since you never talked to him about anything personal or unrelated to the plan or the boys.

And most of those portraits were of them. Of the five boys who lived with you.

Jinu was surprised to see them, yes. But above all, he was surprised to find portraits of himself.

Did that mean you didn't hate him?

There were a few...

In one portrait, he was sitting on the couch reading the newspaper, lost in thought.

When had you painted that? You had only just moved in…

And in another, this one just of his face, he appeared in his demon form, with his patterns across his face… but with a sweet look, smiling and showing his fangs.

He ran his fingers carefully over the image.

Then, he heard a noise in the hallway.

He had to leave, and fast.

He tried to leave the notebook as he had found it, and with his heart pounding against his ribs, he remembered that he was actually a demon and could teleport. And that's what he did.

To avoid you.

Because now, if he found himself face to face with you, he didn't know what he would do. Or what he couldn't help doing.

But he did know that if you caught him rummaging through your room, you would smash his face in.

︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿︿

Ch. 4

A/N: so! what a ride, huh? Some Baby time here! And kind of Jinu time too, if you squint your eyes a little... I know some of you want Jinu out of the game BUT I really want to get him the opportunity! Keep in mind that the idea of this story is that a new character can change drastically the plot... and the relationships of it! This means that also the plot may change... hehehehe

Btw next chapter is nearly finished and... I'm sorry to say that it's kind of a filler! But a fanservice one! Can't wait to post it hehe.

Again, thank you for reading. All of your words of support and love mean a lot to me and help me to write a lot (it's puuuure motivation!). Your likes, reblogs and comments help me a lot to write faster (kind of... ) ღゝ◡╹ )ノ♡

Taglist: @just-set-things-on-fire @nightmarewasteland @ph1lo-s0ph1a @gremlinartstudio @strayharmony943 @smoophie @valeriele3 @confusedparticle @queenskippy @enerofairy @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @nonetheartist @queeniecrystal @zariahthewitch @smoophie @lovely-maryj @nerdsconquerall @feelya @doggyteam2028 @snowy-violet @iivantablackii @satansdaughter123 @bexeris @redkitsu03 @simplyscrewed @pipperika @soukoku63 @prettylittlelavvy @kyxmlii @cloud-9ine @edgycatx @wishiwaswritingrn @ikykwkleeknowwww @starmee-lodurrson @otakusef @rubyninja1 @gblubrry

[natsheadrest]

🥥 mixed feelings with white dresses

analysis. your mother breaks the news to you that you’re being wedded off to some heir to a jewelry company. you have no knowledge on who she is in person, only that she’s rich and rather cold to anyone who approaches her. but when she walks you down the aisle after the vows, you find out she’s more of a sweetheart than you thought.

pairing. natasha romanoff x fem!reader wordcount. 4k

no other way masterlist

warnings. angst, arranged marriage!au, mentions of family abandonment (Father abandonment), many mentions of missing said father, slightly mean steve (makes fun of readers issues and reason why she's marrying Nat), some fluff at the end.

taglist. @natashasmuse @dvrkhcld @im-lesbianics authors note. the wedding section of this might be very poorly done, especially considering I have only been to around 3 weddings in my life and two of them was when I was a little kid. 😓 -- I did do plenty of research though so..

Your phone was settled on the counter after you recently checked your moms location, you sparsely sat on it due to lack of data and internet. Not wanting to waste it in case you needed it. for emergencies as you settled to make yourself coffee. You never liked the bitter taste of just, black coffee but you and mama couldn’t waste a single penny just for creamer. You were never one to waste any of your hard earned money, you’d rather spend it on your brother or mother whenever you are able to.

The house you lived in was small, having to share a room with your twelve year old brother while your mother sleeps on her own. Freezing in the winter and so fucking hot in the summer. The AC and heater don’t work and your family just can’t get enough money to fix it. Rather paying the bills to have a roof to live under was enough. Your nose scrunched as you hesitantly nursed at the coffee, the bitterness taking over your tastebuds. The coffee shop that mama and you love to go to had offered you a position this morning after an incident with a trainee and you were offered to be trained starting as of tomorrow.

The front door wiggled, keys jingled as it was pushed open. The hinges were rusty and old, creaking in complaint at being opened like it usually does. The familiar slim figure of your mother showed up in the doorway, coffee in hand as she settled down, eyes soft as she turned to you, “Hey sweetheart, you sleep okay?”

You smiled, walking over to give her a hug like you would always do whenever she came home. The childish grin found your face as you hugged the woman, nose pressing into her shoulder as you breathed in her scent. Motherly. That’s all you remember, the woman who raised you since you were crawling, the woman who had stuck around with you forever.

“I slept okay mama, but I’d like to tell you something,” You hummed excitedly, it was good news. Really, the excitement and enjoyment of the news for your mother that you so eagerly wanted to share died down on your tongue as she gently pushed you down onto the chair, she gave a shaky smile. The familiar smile that you saw when you caught her wine-drunk on a Tuesday after you came home from school as she promised to not drink anymore, “let me tell you something first, okay?”

You nodded, feet kicking off the worn-down stool you had perched yourself in. What would she possibly have to tell you that made herself look covered in guilt, what was wrong? You were genuinely worried, suspicion and a bit of fear sunk into your gut. Waiting to rip you apart.

“I met someone today, very nice, she was very sweet,” Mama continued on, her hand settled atop of yours. Gently squeezing your hand, four times. The usual, ‘I love you, sorry’ that was known within your family, “And she offered me something, well proposed something now that you’re finally an adult,”

“Mama, what’s going on?” You cut her off, her hand found your cheek, gently reassuring you that everything was okay. You relaxed in her touch, settling yourself ever so slightly.

“She’s the current CEO of that company, the jewelry company, I think it’s something along the lines of The Red Room?” She seemed unsure, lost a little bit, but before you could cut her off her finger found your lips and shut you up so she could continue on, “Her eldest daughter is your age, the heir to the company and she offered me to give you her daughter’s hand in marriage to help with Bennett’s future, and our future,”

Your heart sunk at that, engaged? Is that what you would call it, after everything you went through together. The drawing with chalk on the driveway just to play hopscotch, the catching lightning bugs and pill bugs. The affirmation that you two would be best-friends, she was there when you got your first period, your first breakup. And now? She was handing you away to a stranger right after you claimed that you were scared about marriage?

“So you’re throwing me away?” You let out a sniffle, body shuddering as tremors made their way through. Your throat tightened, it felt hard to swallow all these emotions, and as she reached out to reassure you, you snapped.

“You’re throwing me away just like dad threw us away? That’s not fair, why would you do that?” The small hint of anger that wrapped around the fear and sadness lashed out. Like a bullet piercing the air as you mentioned the man that left after your brother was born, the man who you believed to be your hero.

“Do not go there,” She warned, tone growing firm as she took a sip of her coffee. Her brows pinched, she sighed. Adjusting herself, before adding on, “You are not only just a daughter I raised, you’re the woman I brought up into this world. As much as I want to be there for you, it cannot continue to work like this, the universe has given us a hard life Y/N and if this is our light to help us shine like we were meant to, we will take it. But do not think this is me throwing you away, I will always love you, you’re my only daughter and I will not let the world rip you apart like it did me,”

Her words hurt, you felt guilty for lashing out. For acting like that so suddenly, you stood up. Giving her another simple yet comforting hug, before she patted your back and stepped away.

“You need to get dressed though love, an appointment was already booked for your wedding dress, your soon to be mother-in-law will be paying for everything you need,” She informed you softly, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before you were ushered into your room. You took in the silence, so many emotions raced through you as you rushed to get dressed. — Your phone was settled on the side table, you had tried on four different dresses by now. You didn’t even know what you wanted, especially with thinking a wedding wouldn’t be happening right now. The girl who was helping you with decisions had her eyes linger on you too long, as if she was jealous of whoever had your hand in marriage because you were rather gorgeous.

Yet, uncomfortable with her stares. It wasn’t like you knew who you were marrying either, you learned what she looked like. A quick google search of the company, the people who founded it and the upcoming heir. Her name was in bold letters, her age and appearance listed with a photo that made her look elegant. Her hair was curled, jawline sleek and eyes narrowed in an icy look that could kill. You couldn’t tell if you were afraid or about to go head over heels and blush over your soon-to-be wife. You read reviews, anything to gain knowledge on who this woman was. All that had come up was that your father-in-law to be is a jokester, a funny man and your mother-in-law to be was a sweetheart and very focused on the customers while Natasha? Natasha was focused on the company, not that interactive with the people but the user ‘StarkHasAHeart’ was very insistent that he had an interaction with the heir and that she was cold and unpleasant.

“Ms.L/N, what dress will you try on next?” The girl asked you, her voice soft but the hint of impatience was there. You thought quietly, back to your mother who was sitting in the front room. You used to want a specific dress, but that was when you were a kid. You thought quietly as you started to unzip the dress you were wearing. It was too big, too puffy for your liking and the zipper itched your back in an uncomfortable manner.

“How about a v-neck dress with bell sleeves?” You blurted out, the first direct ask from you yet from this appointment. The girl simply nodded and went back into the storage to find something similar to your request. When she came back and handed you it, you went into the dressing room and shut the curtain. Your movements were rough, but you precisely took off the current dress and gently put on the dress that was just grabbed for you. It was gorgeous, really. It sparkled and showed off your curves nicely, yet it matched the spark in your eyes. The softness that still remained in your face after childhood, you looked in the mirror. Admiring yourself, it reminded you of when you played dress-up with your father. Before he left. You would be in a blue ball-gown replicating Cinderella’s dress and he’d have messy ruined make-up over his face after you did it for him with plastic fairy wings on his back. You felt like crying now, the realization that your father wouldn’t be there to walk you down the aisle. He isn’t going to be the man to hand you away, your throat tightened. You and your mother had a tight bond, but with the time spent with your dada? Nothing could compete against that, he wasn’t the best at doing girly things. Hell, he didn’t even know how to put your hair in a ponytail when you were a kid but he tried his best. When your mama was at work, he’d let you stay up and sit on his lap while he sat on the couch with an xbox controller in hand while playing an old game of Call of Duty with friends. You exactly remembered the first time he let you play for him, touch the controller. When you grew old enough to play on your own, he’d play against you and every time he beat you a puff of rage went through your tiny little head as you stamped your feet before he let you win once. You honestly only played because you loved the dogs, and you would start bawling your eyes out every time one of your dogs died.

But you would remember the times where you sat atop of the stairs listening to your parents argue over the littlest things, the pure bouts of rage. The screaming at the top of their lungs and the front door slamming. It was usually your father that left the house during these arguments, you’d go hide in your room every time he left and cry into a pillow with the thought of him leaving. Although, you also remembered the time you went down the stairs early one morning, your old man was sitting at the counter with his phone in hand and a hand covering his face to hide the tears. He was hunched over and crying, that was the morning where your Pops died. You remember running into his arms to hug him, not knowing anything close to the grief he had about his father dying, but you tried your best as you snuggled into his chest for the rest of the morning.

After your brother was born, your father hardly showed up to the house after work. You would set up the xbox every night in hopes he’d come sit down with you to play and every night you sat there alone or playing a round by yourself. You were only ten, you still didn’t understand the concept of abandonment of a family member. Yet, you learned it the hard way when your mom broke it to you that your papa wasn’t coming back and he left you behind. Your mama wanted him to be seen as the bad guy in your eyes, and you never believed it. Before and after school you would sit at your window looking at the empty parking space where your fathers white Camry would sit. It took you two years to realize that the father you loved wasn’t coming back, and two more years to accept it and not think about where he is now.

You couldn’t tell if you wanted to laugh or cry, but this was the dress for you. “I’ll go for this dress Denise, thank you,”

You yelled out. Not wanting the woman to see the dress on you, or your mother. Not yet, you eased out of the dress as you settled back into the light grey sweater you wore with black leggings. You breathed out softly, adjusting yourself as you had the dress hung over your arm as you walked out of the dressing room.

Surprisingly Denise didn’t pout like you expected her to when you announced you were fine with it and didn’t bother to show. A sigh left your lips as she handled the payment that your soon to be mother-in-law did for you. Dress in a bag to prevent casualties from happening. Once you were given the signal to leave, you grasped your phone and went to the front door. Not waiting for your mother as you slid into the front seat, opening your phone to look at the picture of the woman you’ll be marrying. Your eyes bore into the green ones that didn’t seem to have a spark, pushing down the negative feelings to your gut as you looked out the window as the car began to drive. — It felt wrong. You, the dress that you wore, the fact that you were standing behind the foliage with the flowers of the pathway that would lead you down the aisle and towards the altar where the redheaded woman you had not seen at all in person. This shouldn’t be you walking down the aisle, it should be another girl with elegant features and a wealthy family. You already cried this morning into your mother’s abdomen, you couldn’t start crying now.

Your uncle stood beside you, he wasn’t tall for a man but he had the muscle. His hair was neat, his black suit fit him well. The only thing he was really missing to bring out his personality was the black glasses he wore inside or when reading. As a kid you remembered playing around with him, or taking a nap in his bed just to mess around with him sitting next to you while reading Lord of The Rings. He would turn his head to look over you, black glasses pushed down as his eyes peered at you over them and he would mock you for your bedhead. He tries his best to help you and your mom out, being a dentist isn’t a hard pay. But he lives out of state, caring for his pregnant wife and two year old toddler.

Your arm was looped into his, awaiting it to be your turn to walk on down. It wasn’t until a soft teasing voice interrupted your thoughts, “You know, you’re supposed to think about everything after the wedding,”

A soft nudge to your side had you letting out a small smile, the feeling felt weird. Why are you smiling? You’re about to be wed off to some stranger you never met, but, in the face of it all he was lightening you up a bit.

“It’s not that bad, I promise you that,” He started off, eyes turning to look over at you as his expression was soft. A hint of pride yet understanding met your fearful ones, “It may seem scary, for you especially since you don’t know her but all you gotta do is think on how life will be after that. Don’t let this catch you up on the freight train just yet, enjoy the peace now. You don’t know if she’ll end up being the nicest thing to happen to you or the meanest, and you will let me know how she treats you after a few months because I will not tolerate my eldest niece getting stuck in a marriage with a bully,”

“I’m your only niece,” You giggled out softly at his protectiveness, fingers squeezing the soft flesh of his bicep as the music shifted. Giving the indication for you both to start heading down, with a gentle movement you both started walking down the aisle. Everyone was standing, but it wasn’t a lot of people, only secluded for family and close friends. While you recognized a few familiar faces you kept your looks on the redhead standing down at the altar waiting for you. She was in a light-grey, collared, buttoned up vest with a notched lapel with a button down white blouse beneath it. Light gray trousers covered her legs and black boots, it matched the tight bun she had in her red hair as her green eyes met yours and you had to fight the blush rushing to your cheeks at her stare and appearance. Her outfit surprisingly matched yours well, you swallowed before you stopped at the end of the altar. Arm leaving your uncles before you took him into a tight hug, throat tightening before you whispered your delayed response, “You’ll be the first to know if anything goes wrong,”

You stood there for a second longer, before you let him go to his destined spot as you moved up to stand in front of Natasha. She was taking you in, did she think poorly of you? Was she angry she had to marry a low-life like you? Your hair neatly styled in a half-up half-down hairstyle, front pieces framed your face well enough as you took her in as well. She has a well-built stature, only a few inches taller than you and she was gorgeous. You started to believe that this woman could, in-fact hurt a fly but not only with her words but with her looks. It wasn’t until the officiant cleared his throat.

“Welcome friends, family, and loved ones. I am Steve, a friend of one of the partners here today that are joining together in marriage,” He announced, tone smooth and clean but all you could focus on was the woman standing in front of you.

“Yet, we are all gathered here today for the marriage of Natasha Romanoff, and Y/N L/N,” He continued on, her name sounding smooth coming off of his lips. Although you had never said it, you’d wish you had whispered it to yourself for the confidence boost before standing in front of such a powerful woman. Maybe she was the heir for a reason, breathing in as you finally settled on listening to Steve.

“Although these two lovely women had not had much of an experience together yet, we know that it is a great thing in the future for them to have. No matter the issues at home, the brave step to come into this marriage is a wonderful thing and who knows, maybe this relationship will bloom to be a lovely thing,” He added on, finishing his speech with that and it had not but only stressed you even more.You subtly flickered your eyes to your uncle, who didn’t look too pleased himself but you focused on Natasha after it was mentioned for you two to share your vows. You had stayed up most of the night planning yours, one to not be too romantic but enough to share your devotion.

It wasn’t until she said her vows first, and honestly? You might have melted, her voice was soft, sweet like honey, “On this day, I give you my heart, My promise, That I will walk with you, Hand in hand, Wherever our journey leads us, Living, learning, loving, Together, Forever,”

It was sweet, brows furrowing as you felt your stomach churn with an upcoming feeling of nervousness. You took a moment to process, were your vows good enough as hers? She executed it perfectly, it was just the right amount to give to someone that you’re marrying without even knowing them. You adjusted your stance to get more comfortable, before you finally shared your own vows, “I, Y/N, take you to be my wife. I promise to love you, support you, and cherish you through everything we will face together,”

Her eyes held yours as you said them, it wasn’t until your brother showed up to the altar with both of your wedding rings. Natasha had picked up yours, gently picking up your hand as her thumb brushed against your knuckles. Body leaning in close as you felt the warmth she was radiating, the cool metal of the ring slid onto your finger as you felt your eyes wander to the jewelry on your hand. Shakily, you lifted the only ring left in the hold of your brother before he was coaxed back to his spot. Your hand took Natasha’s, feeling the softness of her skin. The callouses in her fingers and you couldn’t help but let your fingers brush against hers before you slid the ring onto her finger. You felt like you were in a trance, not hearing Steve declare you both wife’s. You didn’t even feel her hand find your face as she leaned in, forehead brushing against yours at the close contact. It wasn’t until you felt her nose bump into yours that you snapped out of it right as her lips lightly pressed into your own. The kiss was sweet, soft, nurturing as she pulled back.

People were clapping, and it was getting overwhelming. You took everything in your might to not recoil back before a hand slithered around your back and rested on your waist. Natasha began to lead you down the aisle, and took a left instead of a right. You were confused until you saw the black car sitting in a parking lot as she opened the passenger door for you. Your bags were already packed and placed at her place to be ready to be unpacked, she buckled the seatbelt for you before she slid into her driver's seat.

“You’re visibly stressed love, I’m not going to put you through all that with the reception afterwards, we can go home and settle now,” Her voice smoothed out her plan, you felt a bit of gratitude for her consideration as the car pulled out of the parking lot and drove through the city. You leaned your chin into the palm of your hand as you looked out the window, breathing out softly into the tense silence afterwards. You couldn’t help but think back on the empty seat beside where your mother sat. You knew who that spot was for, Melina probably even handed the invite to the man you adored. He didn’t show up. He broke that promise of seeing you walk down the aisle in a pretty dress that he would love to see you in, and he didn’t even get to see you at all.

As you thought in your solitude the car pulled into a driveway into a decently sized house. It was unique, not a mansion but it was rather grand. You could tell that the redhead had money, the house was practically the queen of the subdivision. You watched her open the car door and leave, your fingers unbuckled the seatbelt before reaching to pull the handle before the door opened for you, Natasha helped you out of the car steadily. Her hand found your waist again to guide you up the steps. You had to admit she was rather polite, it was something you were beginning to adore as you looked at the front door as she started to unlock it.

Once it creaked open, no hinges complaining, no creaking. She led you inside as you noticed your bags settled at the bottom of the staircase in the house, it was huge inside. You couldn’t even believe you were standing here, it wasn’t until you snapped your head to look at Natasha when she spoke out with a soft rasp.

“Welcome home,”

[ilovebabyonboard]

Everytime, I Choose You

PAIRING: Bob Floyd x Civilian Wife!Reader

CATEGORY: Fluff, slight angst

SUMMARY: You’ve loved Bob Floyd since before either of you knew what love was. Now, with a toddler in your arms, a baby on the way, and a Navy career pulling you in opposite directions, you’re learning what it really means to build a life across time zones—and hold on to each other through it all. Soft reunions, stolen moments, found family, and the quiet kind of love that stays.

WORD COUNT: 6.5K

WARNINGS: Pregnancy, parenting struggles, long distance relationship stress, mild emotional distress. not proofreade, did a whole lot of writting without knowing where I wanted it to go with it so bare with me

You’ve known Bob Floyd for as long as you can remember.

He lived in the little gray house next door — the one with the creaky swing set and the patch of lawn his mom could never keep alive. ou met the way kids often do—tugged along behind your moms because they were the kind of women who believed in neighborly cookouts and holiday potlucks, the kind who'd swap recipes and stories over sizzling grills while you two chased each other barefoot through sprinklers and smoky air.

He was the quiet boy with glasses that kept slipping down his nose, a buzz cut that made his head look perpetually surprised, and scraped-up knees from racing his bike down the cul-de-sac like it was an Olympic event. You weren’t much louder—soft-spoken, wide-eyed, often half-hiding behind your mom’s leg or the hem of your favorite overalls—but somehow, the two of you always found each other in the noise. You’d sit cross-legged on the porch sharing popsicles or wander through sprinkler mist like tiny explorers, not saying much, but never quite apart.

You didn’t declare him your best friend. You just were. The kind of kids who ended up in all the same photos, shoulder to shoulder, blinking into the sun. And he never minded—not the quiet, not the way you always hovered nearby, not even the way you both grew up without ever really growing apart.

You were inseparable—two halves of a quiet, unspoken language. Your parents joked you were practically siblings. But even then, something about the way Bob looked at you—careful, soft, like you were something rare he didn’t want to startle—was different.

You carved your initials into the same tree at the end of sixth grade. You made a dumb joke about it being your “friendship monument,” and Bob had smiled so wide you swore the sun got caught in his glasses. It wasn’t love. Not then. But it felt like something that mattered. Like someday, it might be.

By the time high school rolled around, things started to shift.

You still walked to school together. Still shared secrets and late-night phone calls and summer movies where he let you rest your head on his shoulder without saying a word. But Bob had grown into his body, grown to be 6'0, and developed a very unfair jawline. You noticed.

Worse, he started acting weird.

There were moments — tiny, fleeting — where everything felt different.

The time you caught him staring just a little too long when you laughed. The way his hand hovered near yours for a second too long during study sessions. The time you cried after your first heartbreak, and he held you like it physically hurt him not to fix it.

He never said anything. He was never that bold. But you felt it.

And slowly, your feelings started to mirror his.

You realized you were in love with him one night in your junior year, sitting on his roof after a school dance you hadn’t gone to. He was in sweats and a hoodie, leaning back on his elbows, talking softly about how the stars were already dead by the time we see their light. And your heart just… knew.

You turned to look at him and thought, Oh. It’s always been you.

You kissed him the next week.

It was late—past ten, a school night—and you were in your room, both pretending to study but mostly just laying across your bed with textbooks open and music playing low from your speaker. He was flipping through your notes, teasing you for your doodles in the margins, and you were trying not to stare at the way his mouth curled when he smiled.

At some point, you both got quiet. Not in a heavy, serious way—just the kind of quiet that settles in when two people are entirely at ease.

You looked up from your notebook to say something, and he was already looking at you.

And it just… happened.

Not dramatic, not planned. Just a kiss that felt like exhaling. Like opening a door you hadn’t realized was always unlocked.

He looked at you like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to want this, and you leaned in like you’d always known it would end this way.

It was soft. A little clumsy. But real. And warm. And safe. He froze. Then kissed you back like he was afraid he’d wake up from it. Like he didn’t know what to do with his hands (he didn’t — they kind of just hovered like he was buffering). And when you pulled back, breathless, he whispered shyly, “I’ve been waiting for that since the third grade.”

You were his first everything after that. His first real kiss. First hand held beneath bleachers, hearts pounding against linked palms. First person he ever trusted with the quieter, more fragile parts of himself—the ones he kept hidden even from his parents. You learned him slowly, like a language, and he let you. Word by word, moment by moment. He never made it easy, but he never made you guess, either. Not when it really mattered.

So when Bob told you, senior year, that he wanted to join the Navy, he said it like a secret he didn’t want to keep. Like he was handing it to you gently, scared it might crack open everything you’d built together.

You didn’t flinch.

“You’re gonna fly, huh?” you asked, nudging his arm with your shoulder. The two of you were stretched out across the hood of his truck, parked at the edge of that old service road no one else ever bothered with. The sky was clear. Stars above like a map you didn’t know how to read.

“If they let me,” he said, barely louder than the crickets. “I just… I feel like I’d be good at it. I want to do something that matters.”

“You already do,” you said, like it was the simplest truth. And it was. “But if that’s where you’re meant to go, then go. Just…” Your voice caught. You turned your head so he wouldn’t see. “Write me, okay? A lot.”

He was quiet for a second. Then he leaned in, warm and steady, and kissed your cheek. His lips lingered like he didn’t want to pull away.

“Every chance I get,” he whispered.

And he meant it. Every letter, every email, every slow Sunday phone call—he kept that promise like it was sacred.

Boot camp was hard. So was flight school. The distance wore on you in places you didn’t know could ache—quiet places, like the space between heartbeats, or the seconds between texts that didn’t come fast enough. Some nights, the silence felt louder than any goodbye ever had.

But Bob never made you doubt him.

Even when he was thousands of miles away, when his world became early mornings and aching muscles and orders barked through static—he made time for you. He sent hand-written letters whenever he could, the envelopes soft at the edges from travel, always filled with little sketches in the margins—birds he saw on base, clouds shaped like hearts, doodles of you in your overalls with hearts around your head. He told you everything. How tired he was. How badly the food sucked. How homesick he was for your laugh, your cooking, the way your fingers combed through his hair when he couldn’t sleep.

You FaceTimed at odd hours, each call a small lifeline. Sometimes the connection cut in and out, freezing his face mid-smile or distorting your voice until you both started laughing. Sometimes you just sat in silence, watching each other exist, breathing in sync. You whispered I love yous across time zones and bad Wi-Fi, clinging to the sound of his voice like oxygen.

And every time he came home on leave, he held you like the world had stopped spinning without you in it.

There were reunions on front porches, airport gates, parking lots—messy and breathless, tears caught in your lashes before he even made it all the way into your arms. He’d bury his face in your neck, whisper something like, “God, I missed you,” and you’d feel the truth of it in your bones.

Time moved. Seasons changed. You wrote letters and made playlists and sent care packages with little notes tucked between socks and granola bars. He flew. He grew. And through it all, you remained—each other’s constant.

He proposed on your fifth anniversary, in your old backyard, standing beneath the tree where your initials were still carved into the bark—faded, but there. You didn’t know he had a ring. You didn’t even know he’d planned anything. But he reached for your hands with a look you’d known since childhood, the one that said you’re home, and dropped to one knee like he’d been waiting his whole life for this one moment.

“I can’t picture my life without you in it, Y/N,” he said, voice shaking just enough to make your heart stutter. “You’ve been my best friend, my reason, my everything. Will you marry me?”

You were crying before he finished. Laughing, too, because of course. Of course it was always going to be him.

You said yes with your whole heart—before he could even finish the question.

And he smiled like he had that day you carved your names into the tree, like the sun was caught in his glasses again. Like everything had finally come full circle.

Marriage with Bob wasn’t flashy or loud — it was steady. The kind of love that didn’t need an audience, because it had roots too deep to be shaken.

It was built on years of shared glances and slow-burn devotion. On a friendship that grew into something sacred, something safe. A thousand little rituals became your language: the way he’d tuck handwritten love notes into your coat pocket before every deployment — folded three times, always sealed with your initials and a tiny heart. The way you’d greet him on the front porch after months away with his favorite meal already warming on the stove, lights low, arms open like a home he’d never left.

It was forehead kisses before sunrise and tangled limbs long past midnight. The soft rhythm of his hand rubbing slow circles on your back when you were sick or sore or simply worn thin. The way you cradled his face in your palms when the weight of the world — of the cockpit, of the distance, of the danger — grew too heavy on his shoulders.

With Bob, love was in the quiet.

It was in the way he memorized your coffee order by heart and always made it just right — even groggy, even rushed. The way he looked at you like you were still the girl next door in grass-stained jeans, even when you were pregnant and barefoot in the kitchen, hair a mess and eyes tired.

There were no grand declarations. No over-the-top gestures.

Just a million tiny choices, every day.

And the unshakable truth that he was yours — and you were his — in every way that mattered.

When Arvin came along — your sleepy-eyed boy. Another airplane-obsessed little one, a perfect miniature of his father right down to the dark blue eyes and thoughtful silences — Bob stepped into fatherhood with the same quiet reverence he brought to everything he loved.

He was gentle from the very first breath, holding your newborn son like he might break if he exhaled too hard. He whispered lullabies into soft baby curls at 3 a.m., slow and low, even when his voice cracked from sleep. He changed diapers without complaint, one hand always resting lightly on Arvin's tiny chest, like he couldn’t quite believe he was real.

He read bedtime stories in silly voices — sometimes dramatically bad British accents, sometimes with the gravitas of a Shakespearean actor reading The Very Hungry Caterpillar. Arvin would giggle and clap and demand “again,” and Bob would oblige every time, without fail, even when his eyes were rimmed with exhaustion from a long day on base.

He taught Arvin how to fold paper planes with surgical precision, adjusting wings and creases like it was an art form. He'd cheer when they soared, groan dramatically when they crash-landed, and patiently help him try again. You once caught them both lying on the floor for an hour, surrounded by a fleet of multicolored paper aircraft, Bob explaining lift and drag in a voice just above a whisper.

And when he thought you weren’t listening — when the house was quiet, the baby limp with sleep in his arms — you’d hear him murmur into the soft crook of Arvin's neck, “I love you so much, buddy. So, so much.” As if he was pouring every ounce of feeling into those five words, like they were sacred.

And now?

Now you're sitting alone in your house in Lemoore, the glow of the tablet screen casting pale light over your tired face. Your hand rests instinctively over the small swell of your belly — life growing again, a quiet miracle you wish he could feel beneath his own palm.

And on the screen, there’s Bob.

He looks tired. So do you.

But when your eyes meet, everything else stills — like the world exhales around you.

The video calls never feel long enough though.

No matter how much you try to pretend they do.

You were overjoyed for Bob when he first told you he’d been recruited for a special mission at TOPGUN. His voice had held that rare spark — the kind of excitement that only came when he talked about flying. It was supposed to be a temporary assignment, just a few weeks of intense training and high-stakes simulations.

But those weeks stretched into months.

Then the higher-ups asked him to stay longer — first through the summer, then into the fall. Every extension came with the same promise: just a little while more. And each time, you swallowed your disappointment and smiled, because you were proud. Because this was Bob's dream — and you had always known that loving him meant loving the sky that called him away.

Eventually, those few weeks turned into more than a year. From the start of your pregnancy to now.

You try to fill the space between your words, the ones you don’t know how to say, by smiling extra bright, by asking him about the weather or how his new flight simulator is working. You talk about anything, anything to make the minutes stretch a little longer — but they never do.

Bob’s face glows softly on your tablet screen, the dim light from his room casting shadows across his features, making him look younger, more vulnerable than he does when he’s in uniform. His hair is still mussed from the helmet, the lines around his eyes deepened from exhaustion, but there’s a softness there too, something just for you.

You watch as his gaze drifts to Arvin in the background. The boy is jabbering about airplanes and apples, or maybe it’s just a string of nonsense words he’s gotten attached to, you’re not sure. Bob watches him like he’s a miracle — like the sound of his son’s voice is enough to keep him tethered to this world.

You’re only half-listening, your gaze on Bob’s face, on his smile as he watches Arvin, but your hand rests lightly over the small curve of your stomach, the weight of it both grounding and quieting you in a way you can’t explain.

And then Bob notices.

He always does.

“Is he sleeping okay now?” His voice is quiet, tentative, like the question itself is a thread he’s afraid will snap if he pulls too hard. He leans in slightly, like he can close the distance with just the weight of his eyes. His gaze flickers to the side — to Arvin, to the room, anywhere but you, and then back to you, searching.

You nod, though it feels like a lie. “Mostly. Still wakes up crying for you sometimes.”

You watch as his expression shifts, as the words hang between you, thick with the distance neither of you wants to acknowledge.

Bob swallows hard, the movement of his throat so subtle, but you catch it. You always catch it. His jaw tightens just enough that you can see it, the silent, invisible tension that coils within him. It’s like he’s holding his breath, waiting for something he can’t put into words.

“And you?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. His eyes hold yours, steady and searching, and there’s a tenderness there — a rawness that almost makes you want to look away.

You hesitate, your chest aching, the weight of his question heavy in the space between you. You know what he wants to hear. You know it. You want to say, I’m good. I’m fine. We’re managing. You want to, but the words feel hollow.

Instead, you stay quiet. And somehow, that speaks louder than anything else.

Bob leans forward, his face coming into focus on the screen as his eyes soften — a small, fleeting thing, like a crack in a dam that might let the flood rush through. You see the way his brow furrows, the flicker of frustration that crosses his face, like he wants to reach through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I hate this,” he says, his voice barely audible, as though saying it aloud would make the ache too real. “I hate not being there. Not… with you.”

Your heart aches at the softness of his words, the vulnerability in them. The quiet way he admits it, like it’s a secret he’s been carrying too long. You force a smile, but it’s thin, worn, fragile.

“I hate it too, Bobby.” Your voice trembles just enough for him to hear it, but you don’t let yourself say anything more.

The call flickers. The feed stutters once, twice, like the connection itself is reluctant to let go. And then, just like that, the screen goes black, and all you’re left with is the empty space around you. The silence stretches, suffocating in its weight.

You sit there on the edge of your bed, the cold light of the screen still lingering in your peripheral vision, the hum of the air conditioner too loud in the stillness of the room.

But there’s only the ache.

A quiet, persistent ache that pulses behind your ribs, that lingers even after the call has ended, and the miles between you stretch too far to bridge.

And you wonder, for the thousandth time, if this will always be the way of it — these small, stolen moments that never feel long enough.

A few days later — North Island, San Diego

You didn’t argue when Bob told you he was flying you out. You should’ve — you had your own command to report to, your own stack of overdue emails and unfinished reports — but the exhaustion had sunk too deep into your bones. It was the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix. So when he said, “Please, just come out here. I need you here,” in that low, quiet voice that always made something in your chest loosen, you didn’t even try to fight it.

Because the truth was, you needed him too.

Now, standing just inside the hangar, the scent of oil and sunbaked concrete mixing with the faint salt of the sea air, you shift Arvin higher on your hip. He’s dozing against your shoulder, warm and heavy and clutching your collar in one sticky little fist, the remnants of a cherry lollipop smudged near his mouth. His soft breaths tickle your neck, and you press your cheek gently to his hair, breathing him in.

Your flight jacket is unzipped halfway, the soft curve of your belly peeking beneath the edge of your shirt. The baby stirs — a slow, fluttering kick — and your hand moves instinctively to rest there. Protective. Quiet. A silent hello.

You feel exposed, somehow. Not from the eyes of others, but from the sheer openness of being here, in his world again — the place where he comes alive in ways he tries not to show you over a screen. There’s no buffer now. No distance to soften the weight of how much you’ve missed him.

And then, like the thought conjures him — you see him.

Bob steps out from between two aircraft, still half in his flight suit, sleeves tied around his waist, sweat-damp curls falling messily over his forehead. His helmet dangles from one hand, the other runs through his hair in a gesture you’ve seen a thousand times. Nervous. Hopeful. Tired.

He spots you instantly.

His whole face softens.

You don’t wave. He doesn’t smile. It’s quieter than that.

He crosses the hangar in long, purposeful strides — not rushing, but close. His gaze never leaves yours. And when he reaches you, he sets his helmet down without looking, cupping your face with one warm, calloused hand.

You let your eyes close. Just for a second.

“You came,” he murmurs, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You nod, the lump in your throat making words impossible for a moment. “Of course I did.”

Bob leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, slow and deliberate, lingering there like he’s trying to breathe you in. When he pulls back, his eyes flicker down — to your belly, to Arvin still asleep on your shoulder — and something flickers across his face.

Wonder. Gratitude. Love.

“Hi, baby,” he says softly, reaching out to run a thumb across the swell of your stomach, his touch reverent. Then his hand moves gently to Arvin's back, rubbing slow circles as he leans in. “Hey, little man. Miss me?”

Arvin's head lolls as he turns, blinking up at him. “Daddy,” he mumbles, drowsy but smiling.

Bob cradles him to his chest with practiced ease, like no time has passed at all. You watch as his fingers press gently against Arvin's back — counting, you think. Checking. Making sure he’s real.

And then he looks at you.

Really looks.

At your face, your tired eyes, your jacket stretched a little tighter over your middle than last time. His gaze lingers there, gentle and awed, and when it lifts again, there’s something raw in it.

“God, I missed you,” he says, his voice thick.

You reach up to fix his glasses from sliding down his nose, your fingers lingering. “I missed you more.”

He kisses you then — soft, sweet, a little breathless. The kind of kiss that feels like a beginning and a homecoming all at once.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, your world feels whole again.

Later That Night – Bob’s Quarters

The quarters are dimly lit, save for the warm glow of the overhead light above the small kitchen nook. The base housing isn’t big — just one long room split by a thin curtain and a kitchenette that hums faintly with the old fridge. But it’s clean. Lived-in now.

You’re curled up on Bob’s neatly made bunk, legs tucked to the side, with Arvin asleep on your chest — his little fingers curled in the collar of your shirt. Bob is across from you on the floor, back against the side of the bed, legs stretched out. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose as he finishes washing and drying a single baby bottle like it’s mission critical.

“I didn’t realize how much I missed this,” he says, voice soft enough not to wake Arvin. “You. Him. The burp cloths.”

You grin, brushing a hand through Arvin’s soft hair. “You say that now. Wait until he starts screaming at 2 a.m. because he can’t find his stuffy.”

Bob looks up at you, warm amusement in his eyes. “Then I’ll be glad I’ve still got my hearing protection from the cockpit.”

He stands and walks over, kneeling beside the bed so he’s eye-level with the two of you. He kisses Arvin’s temple, then your forehead. “Thank you for coming. I know this wasn’t easy.”

Before you can answer—

The door bursts open.

“Hey Floyd, you le— what the fuck.”

It’s Hangman. Behind him, Rooster, Coyote, Payback, Fanboy and two fresh faced recruits stand frozen in the doorway like they just walked into the wrong house. Phoenix lingers in the back with her arms crossed, clearly not surprised — but enjoying the boys reaction.

She was the only member of the dagger squad who knew of her WSO’s little family.

Everyone stares.

You stare.

Arvin stirs and lets out a soft grunt, then burrows deeper into your chest.

Bob doesn’t move. His hand stays on your knee, protective but not ashamed. “Hey, uh… guys.”

Hangman points, blinking. “What the hell is going on here?”

Rooster looks like his brain just blue-screened. “Are we in the right place?”

Phoenix smirks. “Yep.”

Bob clears his throat. “This is my wife. And that’s our son, Arvin.”

Fanboy mouths the word son and glances at Payback, who just raises his eyebrows and gives a low whistle.

One of the recruits awkwardly raises a hand like he’s in school. “Sir… you have a baby?”

Bob straightens a little. “Yes. And he’s sleeping. So... maybe keep it down?”

The room falls comically silent.

You press your lips together to keep from laughing. Bob's shoulders are tense, but he’s trying not to show it.

Then, Hangman recovers. He steps inside, looks around the room, and crosses his arms. “You mean to tell me quiet little Baby On Board has a whole-ass family he didn’t tell us about?”

Phoenix pipes up from the back. “Told you he had game.”

“I didn’t think you meant married with a baby game,” Rooster mutters, walking in more cautiously.

Fanboy edges over to the sleeping Arvin and crouches. “Man. Look at this little guy. He’s got Bob’s nose.”

Payback leans against the wall. “You been hiding this because you didn’t want us to babysit or what?”

Bob relaxes — just a little. “Didn’t think it was relevant to the mission.”

Hangman raises both hands. “Oh, no. No, no, Bob. This is the mission now. We are absolutely going to teach this kid how to dogfight.”

Rooster rolls his eyes. “He looks barely two.”

“Plenty of time to train,” Hangman says seriously.

You glance at Bob. His ears are red, but he’s smiling now — the slow, warm kind he only gives you when he’s too full of love to say anything else.

And somehow, in this tiny room filled with too many people and not enough space, it feels like home.

The fresh faced recruits are the first to bail.

The shorter one, nervous as a rabbit, nudges his partner. “Uh, Sir… we’ll, uh, just come back… later?” His eyes dart from Arvin’s chubby cheeks to Bob’s unreadable face and back again.

The taller recruit nods too fast. “Congrats, Lieutenant Floyd. Ma’am. Your baby is, uh… looks a lot like Lieutenant Floyd.”

They both retreat like they stumbled into sacred ground. The door shuts softly behind them.

Now it’s just the squad.

And they are settled in.

Rooster is sitting on the floor beside the bed with his back against the wall, chin in his hand as he stares at Arvin like the baby’s a new aircraft schematic. Fanboy has claimed a random pillow and is lying flat on the floor in front of the bunk like he’s cloud-watching. Payback’s perched on the tiny kitchen stool. Phoenix leans against the counter with a small smile, and Hangman…

Hangman is holding up one of Arvin’s tiny onesies like it’s a national treasure.

“Do you see how small this is?” he says dramatically, voice hushed like they’re in a museum. “This could fit on my forearm. I could wear it as a sock.”

You’re trying not to laugh too loud — Arvin sleeping peacefully, cheek smushed against your chest.

“Where’d you get this one?” Fanboy asks, pointing to the onesie in question. “The blue with the little jets?”

“Oh, that was from my sister,” you say. “She said if Bob’s gonna fly jets, Arvin should wear them.”

“Damn right,” says Coyote.

“How old is he?” Rooster asks.

“Fifteen months,” you reply.

Rooster smiles, amused. “And how long did Bob keep this from us?”

Bob, still standing at the foot of the bed, crosses his arms — but not in annoyance. In quiet defense. He’s close, just within reach, like his body’s trying to shield the three of you from the attention.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he says, voice low. “We’ve just been… figuring things out. He was born not long before I got deployed. Didn’t want to make it complicated.”

Fanboy whistles. “Man. You were flying with us every day, then going home to FaceTime with this little dude?”

Bob nods.

“That’s baller,” Rooster mutters.

Hangman squints at you, suddenly serious. “So wait, how long have you two been together?”

You shift Arvin slightly to cradle him better. “Since high school." You smiled sheepishly, "Married three years."

“She helped me study during training,” Bob adds, quieter now, almost shy.

Phoenix perks up. “You helped Bob Floyd study?”

“I did,” you say, grinning.

“Did you know,” Phoenix says, turning to the group, “this man cried when he saw Arvin’s ultrasound photo?”

Bob glares at her. “That was classified.” He coughs awkwardly.

The room erupts into gentle laughter. Even Arvin stirs and lets out a sleepy little sigh, like he approves.

“Alright, alright,” you say, holding up a hand. “Any more questions before we pass around a sign-up sheet for bedtime stories?”

Rooster raises a finger. “Does Arvin like planes?”

Bob answers this time, stepping closer and crouching beside the bed. “He calls them ‘brrr-brrrs.’”

You nod, smiling. “He has a toy F/A-18 that he crashes into everything. Including our dog.”

“Wait,” Fanboy says, eyes wide. “You have a dog too?”

Hangman sits down on the other side of the bed now, hands behind his head, grinning. “Okay. New rule. We all hang out here every Friday. You bring the baby. I’ll bring drinks.”

Bob finally chuckles. “And what if we say no?”

“You won’t,” Phoenix says.

Bob raises an eyebrow.

“I mean,” she adds, “you tolerate us with remarkable patience.”

He doesn’t answer — just reaches over to brush a curl off Arvin’s forehead, his eyes soft and so full of quiet pride it nearly chokes you.

You meet his gaze and smile, mouthing, thank you.

He nods, mouthing back, Always.

Outside, the base is silent. Inside, it’s warm. Loud. Full.

And for the first time in months, Bob lets himself sink into the chaos, just a little — because this is the kind of noise that means you’re home.

After an hour the daggers finally leave you two alone.

The room is finally quiet again.

The door clicked shut ten minutes ago, leaving only the soft hum of the fridge and the rhythm of Arvin’s little breaths against your chest. You can still hear Hangman’s laugh echoing faintly in the hallway, followed by a muffled, “I’m just saying, if the kid’s already saying ‘brrr-brrr,’ he’s halfway to a call sign.”

You smile to yourself.

Bob locks the door behind them, then turns off the kitchen light, leaving the room in the low amber glow of a bedside lamp. He exhales as he leans back against the counter, watching you with a soft kind of awe — like he still can’t quite believe you’re really here.

“Sorry about the ambush,” he says quietly.

You shake your head. “Don’t be. They were sweet.”

He nods, walking over slowly, careful not to wake Arvin. “I think they were more excited about his onesies than I was when I got my flight suit.”

You laugh under your breath. “That tracks.”

He crouches beside the bed again, resting a hand lightly on your leg. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” You meet his eyes, and your voice softens. “I’m just… really glad we came.”

You shift, carefully sliding Arvin off your chest and onto the middle of the bed. He fusses for a second, then settles again, thumb in his mouth. Bob moves instinctively, pulling the small blanket up over him, tucking it just right.

Then he stands and, without a word, unzips his hoodie and slips into bed beside you, careful not to jostle either of you too much. He lies on his side, one arm under his head, the other resting lightly across your hip.

You shift to face him, your noses close, the space between you quiet and full.

For a long moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. The kind of silence that doesn’t need to be filled.

Then Bob speaks — his voice a soft thread in the dark.

“How long can you stay?”

You trace a line along the collar of his shirt with one finger. “A few days. I told my boss I needed personal leave.” You glance up. “They didn’t ask questions.”

Bob’s mouth lifts slightly. “Remind me to send them a thank-you card.”

You smile, but your voice is quieter now. “We’ve missed you. A lot.”

“I know.” His fingers brush your side gently. “I’ve missed you more than I can say.”

You reach for his hand and lace your fingers through his. “I don’t want this to feel like a visit. I want it to feel like a pause, you know? Like we’re not counting down already.”

Bob’s eyes search yours — slow, full of something fragile. “Then let’s not count,” he says. “Let’s just… be here.”

You nod.

He shifts a little closer, his forehead resting lightly against yours. “I was thinking,” he says, “we could take Arvin down to the beach in the morning. Just us. Before it gets crowded.”

You smile. “He’ll eat half the sand, you know that, right?”

“I’ll pack extra wipes,” he murmurs, and you both laugh quietly.

“And maybe,” he adds, hesitating, “we could find time for just us. Even if it’s just an hour. You and me. No schedules. Just… catching up.”

You reach up and trace the edge of his jaw, your thumb brushing the stubble there. “I’d like that.”

His eyes flicker — tired, but glowing. “We’ve been so many places apart,” he says softly. “I want to start building the places we’ve been… together.”

You blink once, hard, then lean forward to press your lips gently to his.

It’s not a kiss full of heat or hunger — it’s full of knowing. Of being known. A kiss that says: I’m here. I still choose you. Every time.

When you pull back, your voice is barely a whisper.

“So what’s the plan tomorrow?”

Bob exhales slowly. “Beach in the morning. Maybe breakfast after that. Arvin’s nap around noon.” He pauses, then smiles. “And if he’s down long enough, I thought maybe I could read to you for a while. The baby books, I mean. I’ve been practicing.”

You laugh softly. “I’d love that.”

He kisses your temple, then your cheek. “And I’ll make dinner. Nothing fancy, but—”

“You’re cooking?” you tease, eyebrows raised.

“I’ve improved since the incident with the instant rice,” he says solemnly.

“Have you?”

“Well… slightly supervised cooking.”

You laugh again, and then settle closer, your head resting beneath his chin, one arm across his chest. His fingers trace gentle circles against your back.

Bob exhales, his voice the last thing you hear before sleep starts to pull you under.

“I wish I could freeze this,” he whispers. “Just… hold it all still.”

You press your lips to his collarbone. “You don’t have to. We’re here now.”

Bob's gaze drifts to your belly.

“She been kicking a lot today?” he asks looking down at you , voice soft. God, you loved when he looked at you with his dark blue eyes through his glasses.

You nod, bitting your lip. “Like she’s doing laps in there.”

A small, crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out, hesitates, then places his palm gently over the curve of your belly.

“I keep picturing her,” he says, almost like he’s afraid to say it out loud. “Not just what she’ll look like — though I think she’ll have your face — but like… the little things. Her laugh. The sound of her feet on the floor. Her asking questions I don’t know how to answer.”

You watch him quietly, your heart aching in that full, overwhelming way only he can make it ache.

“She’s gonna be loud,” you say with a smile. “Louder than Arvin, maybe.”

Bob huffs a soft laugh.

A beat passes. Then, in a quieter voice: “Still want to name her Aubrey?”

You nod. “Do you?”

He swallows. “Yeah. I, uh… I was listening to the song the night you told me. And I just… I don’t know. It stuck.”

You can hear the song in your head now — Aubrey by Bread— soft and sad and full of things left unspoken. A strange choice for a baby’s name, maybe. But also perfect. Gentle. Old-fashioned. Honest.

“I love it,” you whisper.

He glances up at you, relieved. “Good. 'Cause I already made a playlist.”

You laugh softly, resting your forehead against his. “Of course you did.”

“She’s gonna have good music taste,” he mumbles. “I’ll start her early. Bread, Simon & Garfunkel, Fleetwood Mac…”

“You’re making a dad playlist.”

His ears turn red. “Is that bad?”

“No,” you whisper. “It’s perfect.”

He brushes his thumb lightly over the swell of your stomach, then looks down at Arvin, still nestled against you. “I just want them to feel safe. Always. Like… like no matter what, I’ll be here.”

“You will be,” you say.

Bob doesn’t say anything for a long moment. Just breathes. Then finally, voice barely audible:

“I still don’t feel like I’m enough for this. For you. For them.”

You tilt your head, resting a hand on his cheek. “You’re already more than enough. Every single day.”

He closes his eyes at that. Nods.

And then, so quietly you almost miss it: “I hope she has your laugh.”

You smile, feeling the baby shift inside you, almost like she heard him. Like she’s saying I’m here, too.

Sleep comes for you slowly, like the tide—gentle, inevitable, pulling you under in waves.

Your eyes flutter, heavy-lidded, and the warmth of Bob beside you lulls you deeper into it. His fingers are still tracing quiet circles on your back, and his breathing has settled into that soft, steady rhythm you’ve always found comfort in. Arvin is tucked between you, his tiny body curled toward yours, mouth slack around his thumb, breaths even and small.

Bob shifts, just slightly, and you feel his hand slide from your back to the swell of your belly, his palm resting there with the kind of reverence that says: I know you're in there, and I love you already.

The weight of his arm wraps around you protectively. Not tight. Just there. Grounding. Like a tether you didn’t know you needed until now.

And then—his hand stretches further, carefully, reaching across you until his fingertips find Arvin’s small shoulder, barely brushing. It's the lightest touch, but it holds all the weight in the world. A father holding his whole world in the span of two palms.

You’re somewhere between awake and dreaming when you feel his breath against your temple.

“I love you,” he whispers.

You don’t respond—can’t, really—but your body shifts instinctively, curling toward him just a little more. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, then one to the top of Arvin’s head. His hand never leaves your belly.

Outside, the night is still. The fridge hums. Somewhere in the distance, a car passes, but it doesn’t reach you here.

Bob stays awake for a little while longer, just watching you sleep. He lets his gaze linger on the rise and fall of your chest, the gentle rhythm of the baby’s kicks beneath his palm, and the tiny hand of his son curled near your collarbone.

His chest tightens in that familiar way—love too big for his ribcage, like it might break him open. But it's the good kind of ache. The kind he’d carry gladly for the rest of his life.

Eventually, his eyes grow heavy. He shifts just a little closer, curls his body around yours and Arvin’s like a shield, and lets his forehead rest against your shoulder.

And finally, with his whole family safe in his arms, he exhales… …and sleeps

[littledykeblue]

──𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑;

(fwb! ellie x reader): you and ellie help end each other's dry spells.

wc: 4.3k | cw: top!ellie, bottom!reader, kinda dom!ellie, friends with benefits, sorta fluffy, oral sex (r!recieveing), fingering (r!recieving), strap-on usage, established friendship, MINORS DNI.

note: in honor of my first tumblr fic, it's gotta be my sweet angel ellie <3

"I mean...we could always fuck?" Ellie says it casually, shrugging one shoulder as she ashes the joint in her little Martian ashtray—the one shaped like a tiny green guy with his mouth wide open. It’s such a stupid ashtray, really, but she's so proud of it.

Her tone is flat, nonchalant, like she’s suggesting grabbing takeout or seeing a movie. Nothing about her delivery suggests the weight of what she’s just said.

You level your gaze at her, waiting for the twitch of a smirk, the inevitable laugh that will let you off the hook, but nothing comes. She just looks back at you, entirely unbothered. Steady. Oh. Oh, she’s dead fucking serious.

"Ellie, what the fuck are you talking about?" You sit up a little, tension tightening your shoulders.

"I'm just saying! You're pent up, I'm pent up..." She lets the words hang in the air, like they’re perfectly reasonable. Like that explains everything. As if desire is a simple math problem that can be solved by proximity and a mutual dry spell.

This whole conversation started because you told her—emphatically—that she should not call her ex for a late-night, emotionally reckless hookup. A basic rule. A golden rule. Exes are off-limits, especially the one who cheated twice and still somehow calls Ellie every few months like they’re on some time loop. But Ellie, ever the disaster romantic, whined that she hasn’t had sex in months, as if celibacy were a terminal illness and she was hours from death.

You, being the absolute fool that you are, admitted that it’s been a while for you too. Not that you elaborated. God, no. If Ellie knew exactly how long it’s been, she’d never let it go. She’d turn it into some running joke—years later, she'd still bring it up in a bar with a grin and a dig to your ribs. So you kept it vague. Unfortunately, that seems to have sparked something in her. Something impulsive and chaotic and very, very Ellie.

She’d propped herself up on her elbows like the thought had just dropped into her brain fully formed and was too juicy not to share. Looked down at you from the bed with that infuriating half-smile she gets when she knows she’s about to say something dumb and provocative.

She’d passed you the joint like it was a peace offering. “Y’know, that’s got me thinking,” she said, voice dipped in a conspiratorial lilt.

You snorted. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Fuck you,” she shot back without heat, grinning.

And now here you are, locked in this weird, stupid moment that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something you can’t quite name. You roll your eyes, desperate to push things back into normal territory, but she’s not budging. "You cannot be serious," you say, your voice somewhere between amused and alarmed. “You’re on a roll with the shitty ideas today.”

"Dude, give me one good reason why we shouldn't," she says, and there’s something dangerous about the way she says it now—bolder, almost daring. She’s testing something. Maybe testing you.

You could give her a hundred reasons, probably more. She’s your best friend. You’ve known her for years. It would ruin everything. It’s a terrible, world-ending, heart-splintering idea. But the way she’s looking at you right now—eyes steady, mouth just slightly parted like she’s already imagining what it would feel like—it makes your brain go kind of static.

“Ellie, please,” you mumble, forcing your gaze away, handing the joint back after dragging too hard, letting it burn the back of your throat like that’ll ground you. It doesn’t.

“I’m not hearing a reason,” she says, calm, insistent.

“You’re such a slut.” You try to laugh it off, to toss it away with a joke, but it comes out quieter than you meant it to, rougher around the edges. Like you’re not really joking at all.

She tilts her head just slightly, like she’s getting ready to pounce or maybe just waiting to see if you’ll crack. She doesn’t seem content to leave well enough alone.

Ellie watches you for a moment longer, her gaze sharp despite the haze from the joint. She flicks the roach into the Martian’s gaping mouth again, then gestures loosely toward the bed. “C’mere.”

It’s not said with urgency, but you know what she means. And she knows you know. That two-syllable invitation is the hinge the whole night turns on.

You don’t move at first. You just lie there on the floor, staring up at the ceiling like it might offer an answer. Every cell in your body is vibrating with something like warning. This is probably a bad idea.

But she’s still looking at you, waiting to see what you’ll do. And even though your brain is screaming no, your body—traitorous and heavy with want—starts to move before you've fully decided anything. You push yourself up off the floor, knees stiff, mouth dry, heart pounding too fast for something that isn't technically even happening yet.

You crawl up onto the bed slow and unsure. It’s quiet in the room except for the rustle of sheets and the distant hum of traffic outside her window. And then Ellie reaches for you, hands landing on your hips like they’ve always belonged there—steady, sure, warm through the thin fabric of your pants.

She guides you forward, not forceful but intent, until you’re straddling her lap, your knees bracketing her thighs, your hands hovering like you don’t know what to do with them. Which, you don’t.

“See?” she says, tilting her head, smirking just a little. “World’s not ending.”

You exhale something that might be a laugh, except it’s breathless and frayed. You want to tell her that it feels like it might be. Like something irreversible just clicked into place. Like your whole reality is shifting on its axis.

Ellie reaches up, one hand tracing the hem of your shirt absently, thumb brushing just under the fabric at your side. Her eyes are half-lidded, lips parted and soft. “Wanna make out?” she asks, voice low but clear.

You freeze. Not because you don’t want to, but because you do. So badly. And there’s something terrifying in the want, in how deep it goes. Your eyes flick down to her mouth—those pretty, pink lips, slightly chapped.

Then up, across the slope of her cheek and the soft constellation of freckles dusted there like stars arranged by some careful hand. But it’s her eyes that stop you. Shining green, rimmed red from the smoke, glassy and warm, looking at you like you're something worth waiting for.

You nod once, a small, shaky thing.

Ellie waits patiently for you to bring your lips to hers. Her mouth moves against yours with a confidence that makes your head spin, all warmth and friction and the faint taste of weed and the cherry candy she had earlier.

Her hands are still firm on your hips, pulling you down just a little harder into her lap, and you can feel her now—every solid inch of her body beneath you, the heat of her chest rising with each breath, the flex of her thighs between yours.

She moans into the kiss, soft but needy, like the sound is pulled from somewhere deep in her chest. It shoots straight through you, lights something molten in your belly. The sound of her, the sound of Ellie, makes your hands curl uselessly at your sides for a second, overwhelmed by the sheer fact of her—real and warm and under your fingertips.

You gasp into her mouth, the sharpness of it involuntary, like your body forgot how to hold onto air. She responds immediately, like that breath cracked something open, like it gave her all the permission she needed to take more.

Her tongue slips against yours, teasing and just a little greedy, and it makes your whole body tremble. You're already so far gone, drowning in the feel of her and the heat pooling low in your stomach.

Her hands slide up your sides, under your shirt, rough fingertips dragging across your skin. The touch is firm, exploratory—like she's trying to map you by feel alone. One of her hands cups the back of your neck, the other still guiding your hips, keeping you pressed down against her like she doesn’t want to leave a single inch of space between your bodies.

And then, in one smooth movement, she shifts her weight and flips you so that your back hits the mattress and she’s hovering over you, bracing herself on one elbow.

Her knee nudges between your thighs, spreading you just enough to make your breath hitch. Her eyes flick up to your face, checking in, but her hands don’t pause.

They find the hem of your shirt, and with a smooth tug, she pulls it over your head. The fabric lands somewhere on the floor, forgotten. Ellie stares at your bare chest for a long, beat-heavy moment, a little awestruck.

“Your tits are awesome,” she says, dazed and in awe like they're the first tits she's ever seen.

You blink, momentarily stunned by the absurdity of it all: Ellie Williams, hands all over you, mouth seconds away from following. And that's the shit that comes out of her mouth.

“Ellie, you’re such a loser,” you groan, throwing your head back against the pillows. “This isn’t gonna work if you keep saying stupid shit—”

Your voice cuts off in a strangled gasp as her thigh presses flush against your pussy and her mouth closes around your nipple. Heat blooms sharp and sudden in your core. You glance down and see her immediately lost in it: lips wrapped around you, one hand groping your other breast with no finesse, just greedy, desperate need.

The fabric of your shorts offers barely any barrier. The friction is heady and immediate, each grind of your hips sending sparks through your spine. You bite down on a moan, hips moving on instinct, chasing pressure and the promise of release.

Ellie doesn’t seem to care whether you’re loud or quiet; she’s too busy sucking, nipping, groaning low in her throat like it’s turning her on just as much. Maybe it is. You feel yourself clench around nothing, pulse fluttering as you grind harder against the muscle of her thigh.

Eventually, she pulls back from your chest, lips flushed and wet, face shining faintly with spit. Her pupils are huge.

“I wanna eat you out,” she says, voice wrecked and breathless. “That cool?”

You nod, lifting your hips before the words even settle in the air. Ellie’s already pawing at your waistband, hands feverish and eager. She yanks your shorts off like they’re in her way (they are) and flings them to join your shirt on the floor.

Then she slides down the bed, smooth and certain, hooking your legs over her shoulders like they're also in her way. She presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh and mutters, almost to herself, “Can’t believe you were gonna act like you didn’t want this.”

Her thumb glides over the damp patch on your panties. She groans, loud and entirely unashamed.

“You’re fucking soaked.”

She hooks her fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulls them down slower than your shorts because she’s too busy staring at what’s underneath. Her breath hits your skin before her mouth does, warm and unsteady.

“Fuck,” she whispers, like she didn’t expect you to be this wet. Like she’s never seen anything better in her life.

And then she’s on you.

No preamble. No teasing licks or featherlight touches. She dives in like she’s starving, mouth hot and open, tongue slipping between your lips, nose pressed flush against your clit. Her hands grip your thighs tight, fingers digging in like she’s anchoring herself, like she’ll drown if she lets go.

She groans as she eats you out, loud and unashamed, the sound vibrating through you. Her tongue moves in messy, desperate circles, lapping at everything, dragging slow and then fast over your clit. She buries her tongue as deep as she can get it like she’s trying to memorize you with her mouth, get drunk off how you taste.

You can’t help it. Your hips buck, thighs twitch, fingers curling in the sheets. You try to keep quiet, but a strangled moan slips past your lips anyway.

Ellie hums, pleased, and doubles down. She tongue fucks you like she’s got a point to prove, like she won’t stop until she’s wrung every last bit of pleasure out of you.

Her spit’s everywhere, dripping down her chin, smeared across your inner thighs. She doesn’t care. She keeps going, licking and sucking and moaning into you.

Your thighs start to shake. The pressure builds fast enough to feel a little embarrassing, and your voice cracks as you gasp, “Ellie. Fuuuck. If you don't slow down—”

She doesn’t. If anything, she moans louder, presses closer, and drags her tongue flat and hard over your clit until your whole body tenses. You twist the sheets in your fists, cry out, hips lifting off the bed.

Your orgasm slams into you hard and inevitable, your muscles locking up, thighs trembling around her head. You try to push her away, fingers weak as they tangle in her hair.

“Ellie, Jesus, okay, okay—” you gasp, trying to catch your breath.

But she just groans again, deep in her throat, and licks you slower now, gentler, but still relentless, like she’s chasing every last aftershock. It’s too much. Your body twitches, your legs clamp around her ears on reflex, and you whimper as you try again to shove her away.

This time she lets you, dragging her mouth off you with one last slow lick, chin soaked, lips shiny. She looks up from between your legs, hair a mess, pupils blown wide.

You’re still trying to remember how to breathe when Ellie crawls up beside you, grinning like the cat that got the cream. She reaches for her water bottle on the nightstand, unscrews the cap, and offers it to you.

“Drink,” she says. “You’re gonna need it.”

You take a few sips, pulse still thudding in your ears, and shoot her a wary look. “Ominous,” you say, taking a long drink of water. It rejuvenates you almost instantly.

Ellie shrugs, impossibly smug. “What kind of friend would I be if I didn't give you the strapping of a lifetime?”

She doesn’t even try to hide the challenge in her voice.

You raise an eyebrow, mouth curving as you sit up and set the bottle aside. “Psh. As if, Williams.”

That grin spreads, crooked and wolfish. “You asked for it.”

She stands, tugging her shirt off with one hand, exposing toned arms and abs. Her jeans hit the floor next, leaving her in just a black sports bra and matching briefs. She leaves the bra on but pauses at her dresser, rooting around with purpose.

You watch her with a raised brow until she pulls out a harness and a thick, dark purple silicone dildo—definitely above average in girth. Your eyes widen slightly despite yourself.

“You used that thing on all your hook-ups?” you ask, nose wrinkling just enough to tease.

Ellie snorts and flips you off without looking back. “No, dumbass. Bought it for myself. Broke it in solo.”

You hum, eyeing the thing again. “Okay, size queen.”

Ellie chuckles under her breath, buckling the harness with practiced ease. “Maybe. If you're good, I'll let you see just how true that is next time.”

You try not to let your face give you away, but something flickers there. A next time. You pretend not to care, to play it cool, but your throat’s a little dry again.

She notices. Of course she does.

The strap sits snug on her hips now, the silicone cock jutting forward obscenely. You’re still staring when she catches your eye.

“What?” she says, all faux-innocence.

“You’re such a slut,” you murmur, but there’s no heat behind it.

Ellie laughs, genuine and delighted. “Takes one to know one.”

You open your mouth to volley something back, but she’s already climbing onto the bed, hands sliding up your thighs again.

“C’mon,” she murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. “Turn around for me.”

Your heart stutters. You hesitate just long enough for her smile to turn predatory.

“On all fours.”

Your breath catches, arousal blooming hot and fast again as you shift forward, hands planting in the sheets.

You don’t look back, but you hear the pleased sound she makes. This is exactly how she wanted you. Her hands skate over your ass, squeezing once before settling on your hips.

“I’ll go slow,” she promises, a little too sweetly. “At first.”

You shift onto all fours, breath shallow, anticipation curling low in your stomach. You feel the mattress dip behind you as Ellie settles in, and then there's warm hands on your hips, smoothing up your back, tracing the dip of your spine.

“You're so fucking hot,” she murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “M'gonna fucking pass out.”

You barely have time to respond before her fingers are parting you again, two of them sliding between your folds, gathering the slick already pooling there. She groans under her breath.

“All this just from my mouth, huh? You liked it that much?”

Then she’s easing two fingers into you without resistance, and you have to bite your lip to swallow down the pathetic noise that threatens to spill from your lips.

“God...Els—”

“Mhm. I know, baby.” Her fingers curl just right, dragging against that perfect spot with infuriating precision. “You feel fucking incredible.”

She moves slow, deliberate, pumping her fingers in and out with growing confidence. The heel of her palm brushes your clit every now and then, just enough to make you twitch.

She adds a third finger, stretching you open with aching patience. It burns, just a little, but her other hand slides up to rub your back in slow, grounding circles.

“That’s it. Take it for me. Fuck, you’re taking it so well.”

You drop your forehead to the mattress with a whimper, hips starting to rock back against her hand. Your body sings with the pressure, the stretch, the rhythm she’s coaxing from you. And just as you start to fall into it, just as your thighs begin to tremble and your mouth opens to plead—

She pulls her fingers out.

You make a broken sound, high and desperate, hips rutting in the air for more. “Ellie, what the fuck.”

“Shhh, I got you,” she coos, leaning over to press a kiss to your shoulder. “Just wanna give you the good stuff. You ready for me?”

You nod furiously, still trembling from the sudden loss.

She shifts behind you, taking her time, and then you feel the blunt head of the strap-on nudging at your entrance. Your whole body goes still.

“Breathe,” she says, low and steady, one hand bracing your hip while the other rests warm and reassuring on your lower back. “I’ll go slow. Just let me in.”

She starts to press in, inch by careful inch. The stretch is intense, not painful, but undeniably full, and your hands fist the sheets as your body fights the instinct to clench down. But you trust her. You stay open.

“That’s it,” Ellie breathes. “You look so pretty right now. Wanted this for so long. Fuck.”

You whimper, arching back toward her instinctively. She groans, grip tightening. When she bottoms out, the strap pressed snug to your ass and her hips flush with yours, she stills. Just breathes. You both do.

“Fuck,” she says again, like it’s all she knows. “You’re unreal.”

Your body twitches. You start to move. Tiny, needy little grinds, and Ellie’s breath catches behind you. "More," you mumble, cheeks burning with the shame of just how eager you are.

“Oh, that’s how it is?” she murmurs, her tone darkening with delight. “You want it that bad?”

You don’t answer. Can’t. You just keep rocking back into her, silently begging.

Her first few thrusts are slow, deep, dragging that thick length out almost entirely before easing back in. One hand stays anchored to your hip, the other presses firm between your shoulder blades, keeping your back perfectly arched.

“There you go,” she says, rhythm building steadily. “God, I couldn't have imagined it would be this fucking good.”

You moan beneath her, hips rolling in time with her slow strokes. It’s almost too much. Not in speed, but in depth, in heat, in the weight of her body and voice behind it all. Ellie’s hand never leaves your spine, firm and grounding, guiding the curve of you with every thrust.

“I could fuck you like this for hours,” she groans. “Just keep you here, dripping and begging.”

You shiver hard, the words sending a fresh wave of arousal burning through you.

You can scarcely believe this is your friend Ellie speaking right now. Ellie who you've heard say the dumbest shit you've ever heard is saying shit like that. It's almost impossible to reconcile.

Ellie’s pace stays steady for a while, deep and deliberate. At least, until she realizes your moans are being muffled by the sheets. “Fuck,” she mutters, pulling out of you suddenly.

You whine at the loss, already aching, already empty.

“I wanna see you,” she says simply. She flips you over like it’s nothing. “And now I can hear you, too.”

"You're such a fucking perv," you say breathlessly.

You barely get a breath in before she’s between your legs again, pressing the head of the strap back against your entrance. Her eyes lock on yours, wild and possession. And you're fairly certain that's not how friends-with-benefits are supposed to look at each other.

You're certain it's not supposed to be this intense.

Ellie as she pushes back inside with one smooth, devastating stroke.

You cry out, your legs falling open instinctively, your body arching to meet her.

“Oh my God, Ellie—”

She groans as she bottoms out, already starting to move with far less restraint now. Her tempo is vicious and sharp, her hips slamming into yours with unrelenting rhythm.

“You like that?” she growls, one hand finding your hip and gripping tight. It's tight enough you’ll definitely feel it later. “Like me fucking you hard like this?”

You nod frantically, too far gone for words. Her other hand slides between your legs, fingers immediately finding your clit and circling, relentless.

“You’re so fucking wet,” she snarls, watching where her strap disappears into you with glazed-over eyes. “God, listen to yourself — listen to how loud your pussy is.”

You can’t even be embarrassed. It is loud, wet and obscene with every thrust, slick and suctioned around the toy in a way that’s absolutely filthy. Her cock drags along your walls with each brutal stroke, hitting deep, deep, perfect.

Your hands claw at the sheets, mouth open in a silent moan, hips lifting to meet every snap of hers. You lift your hands, seeking something, needing something. You find purchase on Ellie's back, your nails digging into the firm muscle underneath.

You can feel something building again, this time too fast—tight and electric, coiling low in your belly.

“Yeah,” Ellie breathes, pace only getting rougher, more ragged. She seems to be spurred further on by you clawing at her. “You’re close. I can feel it. You gonna come for me again, baby?”

You try to answer, but all that comes out is a helpless sob.

She grins, feral. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just feel.”

Her fingers press tighter to your clit, her thrusts snapping harder, faster, punishing. She’s everywhere—on you, in you, owning every inch of you. You’re not even moving anymore—she’s doing it all, fucking you into the mattress, pulling you forward onto her cock with a desperation.

The tension inside you snaps like a wire pulled too tight. Your body locks up, and with a cry you can’t hold back, you let go.

A gush of wet heat floods out of you, legs shaking violently, your whole body spasming under her. The bed under you is soaked in seconds as your back arches cleanly off the bed.

“Holy shit,” Ellie gasps, eyes wide and reverent as she slows just enough to ride you through it. “You just—fuck, baby—look at you.”

Your thighs are trembling, chest heaving, vision going soft around the edges. She doesn't stop touching you, her fingers still gentle on your clit now, coaxing every last spasm out of you.

You’re floating, dazed and undone, gasping for air while Ellie presses her forehead to yours and whispers, “that was perfect.”

You're not sure how long you lie there in the aftermath. It could’ve been five minutes or fifty. What breaks through first is the press of her lips to your cheek. Then your temple. Then the tip of your nose.

“Hey,” Ellie murmurs. Her voice is warm and low, no trace of the rough edge from earlier. “You alive in there?”

You hum weakly in response, eyelids fluttering as she holds a water bottle up to your lips. “Drink for me, baby. You need it.”

You sip, and Ellie looks entirely too smug the entire time. When you finish, she sets the bottle aside and kisses you again. Cheek, brow, shoulder. Soft everywhere.

“I cannot believe you didn't tell me you were a little sex goddess,” she says against your skin. “We could'a been doing this for a long time.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, your muscles too loose to do much else. Everything feels heavy and pleasantly sore but spent. Your thighs ache in a way that promises to linger for days to come.

At some point, Ellie's got you standing and wrangles you into one of her hoodies. It smells like her: cedar and clean laundry and something distinctly Ellie. The fabric is soft, and you feel like you could fall asleep right now.

She kisses your forehead, then coaxes you up with a hand at your back. “C’mon. Just to the bean bag.”

You let her lead you across the room before collapsing into the oversized bean bag with a soft grunt. It’s absurdly comfortable, swallowing you whole.

Ellie crouches in front of you, still half-naked and grinning, hands braced on your knees.

“You good?”

You nod, blinking slowly. “Think so.” A pause. You eye her for a beat, head tilted. “You want me to return the favor?”

Ellie’s smirk widens. She stands, stretching, and jerks a thumb toward the bed.

“Definitely. But not until I change those goddamn sheets.”

You glance back at the bed, where the evidence of what you just did is very, very apparent.

“Fair,” you murmur, trying to hide the way your face heats up.

Ellie just laughs, shaking her head as she grabs clean linens from the shelf. “Don't be shy now. That was fuckin' awesome.”

You sink deeper into the bean bag, hoodie pulled tight around you, and let yourself smile.

“Oh my god, fuck off.”

[erwinsvow]

you have a phantom neighbor. 

you’ve lived in this apartment complex for four months and you’ve met every other person on the floor already, if not the entire building.

the sweet old lady with the long last name across from you (and the phantom), who told you just call me mrs. p when you knocked on her door to introduce yourself. the married couple three doors down—they’re looking to move out soon, find somewhere bigger since they’re trying to have a baby. you had nodded and smile politely, a little uncomfortable with the openness, but hey, maybe that’s just what people here are like. 

there’s others that you haven’t seen as much, so they don’t come to mind as quickly. you have a strict routine, you always have. out the door by seven-fifteen, at school at by seven-thirty, and you come back around four usually. even then, you have a routine you stick to after work. cleaning up, getting started on dinner, an episode of love island while you eat. you try to go on a walk afterwards, especially in the summer when it’s still warm and sunny around seven or seven-thirty.

and in all that time, you have never seen your next door neighbor.

it doesn’t make sense—how can that possibly be? you know he exists. there’s a label that says 309 — j. abbot in the building directory, right above yours, 311. you’ve seen packages left at his door before. one time the mailman accidentally slipped his electric bill into your slot—and you had left it on the floor by his door, and the next day it wasn’t there anymore

so j. abbot did exist, just maybe on a different operating schedule than yours. you don’t know why you even care so much—it’s not really that important. in other cities people go years without meeting their neighbors, and sometimes they’re better off. the last thing you need is for other people on the floor to learn that you’re nosy, or something terrible like that. 

you think maybe you’re just curious. the better answer is that all the cheesy romance novels you read have passed through your skull and infiltrated like a virus, giving your self-diagnosed brain rot a whole new meaning. 

you’re not nosy, you decide, but you still ask mrs. p about him one day, when you’re helping the older woman get her groceries up the stairs. they’re servicing the elevators, and she tells you how they must have started after she’d already left that morning. to thank you for hauling in the reusable bags filled with something inordinately heavy, she invites you in for tea. 

you’ve never really been a girl who drinks tea, but you accept her invitation with a smile. she makes a pot of earl grey and you two chat about things that come up—what you’re doing this weekend (nothing, if you can help it), how your students are (wonderful, but june can’t get here soon enough), and then you sneak it in.

“do you know the man who lives next to me? in 309? mister abbot?” 

“oh! that’s doctor abbot, honey,” she says, and you feel yourself flush, as if you’re embarrassed for getting his title wrong when he isn’t even there. you’ve never even seen the man. “he’s very nice. a widower, you know, so sad.” she whispers the last part as if it’s some sort of secret she shouldn’t be sharing. 

“oh. that’s very sad. is he young?” 

nosy, nosy nosy, a voice in the back of your head sings to reminds you. 

“everyone’s young when you get to be my age,” she says with a smile, piling on more cookies to your plate while you try to resist. 

you leave about an hour and a half later, after mrs. p has gotten a chance to fill you in on everything she deemed necessary for you to know. now that it’s warm, there’s a farmer’s market in the early afternoon she thinks has the best produce—get there early before they run out, though. a couple upstairs is getting divorced, and she’s keeping the apartment—he cheated. can you believe it? well, you haven’t seen the man, but trust me, you wouldn’t believe it. him? 

and right before you were about to excuse yourself to go finish lesson plans and treat yourself to a eight dollar latte, she fills you in on 309, dr. abbot, the very nice, allegedly young, widower. 

“well he served, just like my husband did. always stops by on veteran’s day for tea. i think he works nights at the hospital.”

but then she changes the topic again, and you don’t want to keep pushing just to satiate your own stupid curiosity. by all accounts, though, he does seem really nice. maybe you’re just not old enough to know many nice men, but stopping to have tea with his elderly neighbor on veteran’s day doesn’t seem like something just any man would do. you bid mrs. p goodbye and buy your latte and finish your work.

your schedule seems a little thrown off today—courtesy of all the cookies you ate with tea. you’re not hungry at all come six pm, so you keep reading whatever romance book is rotting your brain today, and then at six-thirty, with the notable absence of clanging pots and pans and your overstimulating kitchen hood, you hear it for the first time.

the door next to you close. there’s the sound of jangling keys. and as quickly as your tip-toes can take you to your peephole, you miss him almost entirely, just seeing his back—broad and covered with a black scrub top—and the back of his head—salt and pepper. 

you wanted to see what he looked like and deduce for yourself just how young he really is, since mrs. p told you to basically not trust her judgment. you’re a little dejected but you’ll take what you can get—before today he was a complete phantom. now he’s a blend, somewhere between phantom and person, with a very nice personality and gray hair.

you suppose that’ll have to be enough for today.

[ruebossanova]

can you do 63 and 85 with bsf billie ?? please and thank you ☺️🫶🏽

you started it - billie eilish

bsf!billie x fem!reader

63 — “look at me while you cum” 85 — "you can take it like a good girl, right?"

prompt list

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

you’re lying on billie’s bed, sharing a blanket and a bowl of popcorn, the movie long forgotten.

her foot is nudging yours under the covers.

she keeps glancing at you.

you keep pretending not to notice.

she licks salt off her fingers, and you look away fast.

“you okay?” she asks, smiling.

“mhm.”

you are not okay.

she shifts closer.

“you’re weird tonight,” she says, voice softer now.

“no i’m not.”

she smirks. “you’re being shy.”

you roll your eyes, heart pounding.

“maybe you’re the one being weird.”

she hums, eyes dropping to your mouth. “maybe.”

a long beat.

too long.

you don’t look away.

neither does she.

“have you ever thought about it?” she asks suddenly.

your stomach flips.

“about what?”

“us.”

you blink.

“billie—”

“like. if we ever. you know.”

you try to play dumb. fail miserably.

“why are you asking me this?”

“because you’re looking at me like you’ve thought about it, too.”

you don’t respond.

she leans in slowly, fingers brushing your jaw.

“tell me to stop.”

you don’t.

so she kisses you.

and it’s soft. and slow.

but it doesn’t stay that way.

you end up straddling her lap, both of you flushed, breathless, fingers tangled in each other’s shirts.

her mouth finds your neck. her hands drag down your back, grip your ass like it’s hers.

“you sure about this?” she whispers.

you nod, grinding into her without meaning to.

she groans.

“fuck. you have no idea how long i’ve wanted this.”

you don’t remember who pulls whose shirt off first—but it’s fast.

you’re suddenly in just your panties, straddling her lap, bare chest against her hoodie.

her hands are everywhere—palming your ass, your thighs, dragging over your ribs and up to your breasts like she’s been waiting her whole life to touch you.

“fuck,” she whispers, mouth on your collarbone. “you’re so soft.”

you whimper when she drags her thumbs over your nipples, slow.

her head tilts back.

she grins.

“you like that?”

you nod.

she grabs your hips, grinding you down against her thigh. you gasp.

“that’s it,” she murmurs. “rub on me, baby.”

you move instinctively—grinding in little circles, soaked through your panties, breath catching.

“jesus,” she breathes, watching you move. “you’re fucking soaked.”

you moan, face burning.

her voice shifts—darker now.

“take those off.”

you hesitate.

“now,” she says.

you obey.

she flips you onto your back, lips finding your chest, your stomach, kissing lower, dragging her mouth over every inch like she’s memorizing it.

“legs up,” she says. “spread.”

you do—wide.

her hand trails between your thighs, fingers stroking once, slow.

you cry out.

“oh, you’re so ready for me,” she purrs. “think you can take it like a good girl?”

“yes,” you breathe.

she kisses you.

then slides two fingers inside.

her fingers slide in smooth—hot, slow, patient.

you gasp, body already arching.

“easy, baby,” she murmurs, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. “you’re squeezing me so tight.”

she starts to move—lazy strokes, curling slightly on the pullback, just enough to make you whine.

you grab the sheets.

“you okay?” she whispers.

you nod quickly. “so good—feels so fucking good—”

she hums, clearly pleased.

her thumb brushes your clit.

your hips jerk.

“yeah,” she says. “that’s what i thought.”

she finds a rhythm—deep, perfect, steady—and it’s like your whole body forgets how to function.

your breath breaks. your legs start to tremble.

she leans over you, voice thick.

“look at me.”

you blink up at her—eyes heavy, tears pricking the corners.

“look at me while you cum.”

your stomach clenches.

“billie—”

“you’re almost there. don’t hide from me.”

her fingers move faster, thumb pressing harder now, and you break—hips jerking, moan caught in your throat, eyes locked on hers as your orgasm hits like a wave crashing down.

you cry out, voice raw, thighs squeezing around her wrist.

she doesn’t stop until you’re twitching and pulling away.

then she kisses you.

slow.

like she’s never going to stop.

you’re barely down from your high when her fingers start again—still inside, moving slower now, deeper, gentler.

but still there.

your whole body jolts.

“billie—wait—”

she kisses your jaw.

“no,” she whispers. “you can take it.”

her thumb circles your clit again—light, taunting.

you shiver.

“you can take it like a good girl, right?”

your breath catches.

“i—I’ll try—”

she smiles against your neck.

“that’s all i need.”

her fingers start working deeper, her pace steadying. it’s too much—but not in a way that makes you want it to stop. it’s more.

it’s too good.

you’re whining now—loud, squirming under her, thighs shaking again.

“that’s it,” she murmurs, licking up the side of your throat. “you’re so fucking sensitive.”

you grip her arm, fingers digging into her sleeve.

“i’m gonna—i can’t—”

“yes, you can.”

her thumb presses harder.

“come for me again. right now.”

you do.

you don’t even try to hold it back.

it rips out of you—wet, breathless, sharp.

you cry out her name, over and over, body twitching under her hand.

she slows only when you’re sobbing into her neck, too wrecked to speak.

“shhh,” she whispers, kissing your cheek. “i got you. you’re okay.”

you nod weakly, still shaking.

she holds you.

longer than she needs to.

and when you look up at her again, you see it.

it’s not just sex.

not anymore.

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

tags; @bxllxebxtch @st0nerlesb0 @dousleepanymore @mxmsuki @billiescation @angellvk @bilswifee @ilomilobabyy

[cricket-reader]

Carving Skin Until My Bones Are Showing

Masterlist | A03 | Wattpad | Recommendations | Inbox | Taglist

Summary: You'd thought that everything was fine, until one overheard conversation shattered the illusion, your rose-tinted glasses fading to black. The words cut deeper than anything you've ever heard, and suddenly, you're re-evaluating everything: your relationship, your body, your worth. Now, the man you love with everything you have exists peacefully beside you, as if nothing's changed, while you slowly unravel in silence. You're left wondering if he's already halfway out the door, and you're just the last to know.

Warnings: disordered eating, fainting, body image issues, insecure!reader, misunderstandings, female reader (no y/n)

word count: 4,059

A/N: it's a few days late cause i kept procrastinating on making the banner, whoops | prompt fill for day 30 of @juneofdoom | "This is it isn't it" | Doubt | Crying

{Read on A03} | what i'm listening to

“I don’t know what to do anymore, Sam.”

Bucky’s voice carries across the room and into the hallway, voice laced with mild exasperation. Sam, sitting across from him with an unimpressed look on his face, takes a sip of his coffee. You smile at the sight of Sam, his presence a welcome, if not completely unexpected, surprise at the start of your morning. He must have gotten home early from the mission he was on.

“She’s just so clingy,” Bucky says. “She literally won’t leave me alone. It’s almost annoying at this point.”

You freeze in the doorway, smile slipping off your face in an instant. His words tear through your heart, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“That just means she really likes you,” Sam says, shrugging his shoulders.

Bucky huffs, rubbing a hand down his face. “You don’t understand, man. It’s bad, like really bad. I can barely get any of my shit done with her begging for my attention twenty-four seven. I just need some damn space to breathe sometimes.”

You didn’t think you were that bad. Sure, you really liked to drag him away from his work for cuddles—but that was only because you thought he needed the breaks. You know that he used to run himself dry, never letting himself rest until he practically passed out from exhaustion. You didn’t want that cycle to continue. It wasn’t like you forced him to do anything. He could always say no to you. In fact, he has said no to you a few times before—when the work was too important to shove aside for later. All those times he allowed himself to be pulled away, reluctant as he was—how many of those times had he been covertly annoyed with your insistence? How many times did he wish you would just leave him alone?

Your stomach twisted, guilt looming over you. He struggled socially, ran on a limited battery when it came to social interactions—why did you think it would be any different with you? Why did you think you were special? Of course, Bucky is sick of you. When’s the last time that Bucky had some time to himself without you bombarding him with affection and small talk?

“She’s spoiled, that’s what she is,” Bucky grunts, shaking his head. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes. Spoiled? Is that what he really thinks of you? How could he say such a thing? And to Sam, nonetheless. “She eats way too damn much. She’s been gaining so much weight recently; it’s honestly a problem. She ain’t gonna lose it any time soon either with how fucking lazy she is.”

Sam snorts. “Sounds like someone needs to go on a diet.”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky huffs before taking a sip of coffee.

A wave of mortification crashes over you, tears gathering in your eyes. Heart pounding, you take a shaky step back, determined to run back to your room before either of them catches you eavesdropping.

You race back to your shared room, tears blurring the hallway beyond recognition. Once in the safety of your room, you sink down to the floor, back pressed heavy against the door. Your breath comes in shallow, uneven gasps as you press a hand over your mouth—as if that alone could muffle the sobs wracking your body. The betrayal is sharp, sinking its claws into your chest and twisting deep inside of you. How could they say those things about you? How could Bucky say those things about you?

You weren’t that clingy, were you? You just liked being close to him, liked the warmth of his presence, the way he always made you feel safe. And sure, maybe you indulged a little too much lately, but had it really made that much of a difference? Have you clung so much that Bucky has started to resent you for it?

The words replay in your head, each repetition hitting harder, sinking deeper. He sounded so frustrated—so tired of you. Like he was already pulling away, one step from slipping through your fingers completely.

And could you even blame him?

You’ve seen the women he works alongside, the kind of people who seem like they belong in the world. Strong, confident, beautiful. Not needy. Not desperate. Not… you. Maybe he was just now realising what you had known all along—that you weren’t enough. That you never had been.

A fresh wave of tears burns your eyes, but you swallow hard, forcing them back down. You wouldn’t let this be the end.

You could fix this.

You could give him space—stop clinging, stop being so needy. You could take up less room, be less of a burden. And if you skipped a few meals, if you pushed yourself harder, maybe you could be someone he actually wanted again. Someone he’d be proud to love, instead of someone he merely put up with.

You just had to be better.

You would be better.

When you emerged from the bedroom for the second time that day, you made sure to make your arrival audible lest you walk in on them still talking about you and your shortcomings. Whilst you couldn’t stomach any breakfast, you needed your caffeine fix. Bucky greeted you with a wide, beautiful smile and a kiss on the forehead.

It almost made you sick—the way he was able to talk about you like you were the dirt underneath his shoe, only to turn around and play the role of your sweet lover. How could he act like everything was okay when he clearly held resentment against you? It almost makes you wonder how long he’d put up with you for the sake of maintaining this relationship—how long since he’d noticed your defects and realised that he deserved better. You almost feel selfish for keeping him tied to you. Now that the secret is out, there’s no point in dancing around the subject. And yet… here you are. In a kitchen you share with a man who doesn’t love you like he used to, and the man he entrusted with his troubles over you.

Just a little longer, you pleaded. You just need a chance to prove your worth. Bucky won’t have to worry about your overbearing clinginess. He won’t have to be embarrassed to be dating someone of your stature. Bucky deserves the best after everything that he’s been through; you were determined to be that for him in whatever way it took.

You startle out of your thoughts from the movement at your feet. A white ball of fluff looks up at you, meowing incessantly. You reach down to scritch between Alpine’s ears. “Hey, sweetheart,” you coo at her, abandoning your quest for coffee in lieu of holding your baby girl. At least Alpine appreciated your affliction for affection.

You don’t miss the look that passes between Bucky and Sam.

Stomach churning, you suddenly don’t feel the desire to make your coffee anymore. In fact, you don’t even want to be in this room anymore. “I’m going to go over to Nat’s,” you say, hoping that Nat isn’t too busy today.

Bucky’s brow furrows. “Weren’t we going to see that movie today?”

Shoot. You had completely forgotten about that. “We can go later, Nat wanted me to come over right away in the morning.”

“Let me make you your coffee before you go.”

“That’s okay, I’m stopping to get some for Nat and me,” you say, dismissal clear in your tone. It would have made you feel bad to act this way before—before his cruel words effectively tore your heart and spirit to shreds. You gave your baby Alpine a kiss on the top of her head, promising her that you’d be back soon before seeing her back on the ground. You grabbed your purse and sped out of the door without even saying goodbye to the two men.

You spent the majority of the day with Natasha, dread curling around your insides every time you thought about going back home, back to Bucky.

You had promised him that you’d be back to see the movie; however, so, too soon for your liking, you say goodbye to Nat and walk back to your apartment.

There’s a vase of your favourite flowers sitting on the counter when you enter. You frown at the sight, not sure why he would bother when he’s obviously upset with you.

You walk into the living space to see Alpine curled up on Bucky’s lap, his work laptop abandoned on the coffee table. Bucky greets you with a smile, setting a protesting Alpine aside to stand up and give you a welcome home kiss.

“What time were you thinking of for the movie?” He asks, arms resting around your waist.

Frustration begins to creep into your chest. If he had a problem with your clinginess, why is he initiating contact? That’s not fair. How are you supposed to leave him alone when he does stuff like this? “Doesn’t matter to me,” you shrug, not able to meet his eyes.

“There’s a showing in an hour, how does that sound? We can go get dinner afterwards.”

“Sounds great,” you replied.

The movie would have been great if you hadn’t sat there stewing in your own anxiety the entire film. Afterwards, Bucky took you to your favourite restaurant where you ordered a salad with the dressing on the side. Bucky’s brows furrowed at your unusual choice, but he didn’t say anything. The dinner was stilted and awkward, both of you running out of things to talk about sooner than usual.

For the next few weeks, you successfully distanced yourself from your boyfriend. You ignored the way your heart ached every time you saw Bucky alone on the couch, wishing you could go over and snuggle up to his warmth. You learned to ignore the hunger pangs, the way your stomach felt like it was eating itself. Your head split open with the force of the headaches pounding against your skull, vision swimming every time you stood up too quickly.

It’s fine, you told yourself. Who really needed breakfast anyway? Why eat lunch when you could have a few snacks? Bucky was right, you really did eat too much. You could survive on one meal a day, snacks thrown in when your hunger got the best of you, or your hands began to shake too much. You were getting better for him, though, so it didn’t matter. You were eating less, clinging less—just like Bucky had wanted; so why wasn’t he happy yet?

The bed felt colder than usual.

You used to sleep tangled up in Bucky’s arms, leeching off of Bucky’s furnace of a body. You used to tuck your perpetually cold feet against his legs, laughing off his grumbling about how your toes felt like icicles.

Now, you curl up at the farthest edge of the mattress, not willing to accidentally touch him when he clearly wants to be left alone.

You used to look forward to getting home from work, ready to melt into your supersoldier’s arms at the end of a long, tiring day.

Now, you’re filled with dread, wondering if this time will finally be the last.

You used to love the shared dinners at the worn table you had found at a thrift store long ago. Bucky and you would take turns choosing what meal to prepare—you had been on a mission to introduce him to the world of flavour the 21st century had to offer; he always used to say the best part of the ordeal was watching your expectant face as he tried the first bite.

Now your stomach twisted at the mere thought of eating in front of him. His words echoed through your brain with each bite you took—it was enough to make you sick.

Bucky had grown short and snappy with everyone (except you) lately; Natasha had complained ad nauseum about your grumpy boyfriend the last few times you’d hung out. You couldn’t help but think that all of those weeks of your overbearing clinginess were finally catching up to him, as if talking to Sam had opened the floodgates. He has finally realised what his problem was: you.

You really were too late to fix this. No amount of distance could fix what damage had been done. Bucky had a foot out the door for a long time now, and you had been too oblivious to notice.

It was a typical Tuesday when Bucky sent you a text that shattered any hope of repairing your relationship.

>>>Hey, after work, can you come straight home?

>>>We really need to talk.

The cursor blinked steadily even as your hand shook. Tears quickly blurred the damning texts beyond recognition—not that you’d ever forget those words; the words that signified the end of the best thing to happen to you.

After crying in the bathroom for the entirety of your lunch break, you passed through the rest of the day in a haze. Your coworkers knew something was wrong, of course, they did, but you didn’t offer up any explanation.

You felt something press against your throat as you slid the key into the lock, suffocating you with every step you took towards him. There was no point in prolonging the inevitable any further. You wouldn’t continue to drag Bucky down.

The vase of flowers was still sitting on the counter—he’d been buying you a new batch every time they started to wilt. Was he cheating on you? Was that why he was getting you flowers so much more often? The thought was something you’d have previously thought inconceivable, but now you weren’t so sure.

Breaking you from your thoughts, Bucky called out your name from the living room. You forced your gaze away from the flowers and to the living room.

Bucky was sitting on the sofa, hands clasped in between his knees and head hanging low. Your stomach swirled at the sight. This was it, wasn’t it? He was going to cut his losses—cut you from his life.

You crossed your arms, tucking your hands out of sight to hide the way they trembled. You waited for him to say something, not willing to be the person to instigate the conversation.

“Could you sit down?” Bucky asks, sounding so small as he gestures to the armchair. You walk over to the chair, despite wanting to stay as close to the exit as possible—ready to run away as soon as his words cut through you like a knife.

Bucky sighs deeply, his hands running over his face. You almost reach out for him, wanting to comfort him, wanting to kiss those lines away from his forehead. Stopping yourself, you remind yourself that it’s not your place, not anymore, and it hasn’t been for a while now.

“This isn’t working anymore, doll,” Bucky says, not even able to look at you. You saw it coming a mile away, and yet it doesn’t take away the anguish those words bring you.

You know you should say something, but words seem to escape you as soon as you open your mouth. Instead, a hot ball of grief and shame lodges in your throat. Tears spring to your eyes, despite telling yourself that you would not let him see you cry over this. It’s for the best, you try to tell yourself. You were but a stepping stone to Bucky’s recovery. You should be grateful that a man like him even offered you a second glance. Despite the way things ended, you know that you’ll look back on all the memories you made together and smile. Because, for once in your life, you knew what it was like to be loved so wholly. You knew what it was like to have a man who cared so deeply, loved so openly, and gave you enough devotion to last a lifetime.

“Yeah,” you agree with him for the sake of things. You hope he won’t look too deeply into your unshed tears, the way your voice wobbled and the way your body trembled. “I… I should go.”

“Doll-”

You cut him off before he can get another word in. “No, just… let me-”

Standing up to run away from this awful conversation, you feel the world sway around you. Black fades in at the edges of your vision as you stumble forward. You think you hear Bucky calling out your name under the sharp ringing in your ears. Clenching your eyes shut, you brace yourself for the hardwood floor.

—

“Doll?”

You groan as something prods your side. Just five more minutes, you think, burying your face into the warmth surrounding you.

“Sweetheart, please!”

Is that Bucky? Why does he sound so worried?

Blinking up at your boyfriend, you find that you’re both in the living room. Bucky’s clenching onto your body like a lifeline. “What’s wrong, Bucky?”

He stares blankly at you for a few seconds. “Doll… you just passed out.”

“Oh,” you eloquently respond.

The fog covering your brain begins to lift bit by bit. You were both sitting down… Bucky was… he was breaking up with you.

Jolting, you scramble out of Bucky’s arms, pushing him away, away, away.

“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your heated face in shame. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” He scoots closer to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” you say, despite knowing full well that ever since you started skipping meals, you’ve been prone to blacking out if you stand up too fast.

Bucky frowns at you, eyebrows furrowed. “I feel like you aren’t telling the truth right now.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bucky.”

“Like hell it doesn’t matter! You just fainted. If I hadn’t been there to catch you, you’d have cut your head open on the side of the table. Tell me what’s going on!” Never before had you heard Bucky sound so worried.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I–Why do I care?” Bucky scoffs in disbelief. “You did not just ask me that.”

“You’re finally breaking up with me, you don’t have to pretend to care about me anymore,” you shoot back, venom lacing your words as you extricate yourself from under his arm.

“Breaking… I wasn’t going to break up with you,” Bucky says as if the idea alone was unimaginable.

“Bullshit! I know that you’ve been wanting to break up with me for weeks—months even!”

“Where the hell would you get an idea like that from?”

“I heard you talking to Sam last month. You told him that I was clingy and lazy and fat.”

Bucky looks positively bewildered at your words. “I would never say any of that crap!”

“But you did.” You cross your arms, daring him to continue lying to you.

“Why the hell would I ever say that? I sure as hell don’t think any of that-”

“Oh, give it up, Barnes. Who else would you have been talking about? Who else is such a spoiled, lazy, clingy, fat-”

“Oh my god,” Bucky interrupts you. “Are you talking about that time I was complaining about Alpine?”

Your heart stops in your chest. “What?”

“I was telling Sam about how annoying it was trying to work from home. She’d always sit on my damn laptop and yowl in my face until I payed attention to her.” Bucky shakes his head—his bemusement is quick to fade, however. “You seriously thought that I was talking about you?”

Sniffling back tears, you nodded your head.

“Oh, Jesus, doll. Why didn’t you say something?” Bucky wraps his arms around you. “Hell, if I ever said something like that, I’d expect at least a slap to the face.”

“But I was too clingy, always cuddling you and giving you kisses-”

“Is that why you haven’t so much as touched me the last few weeks?”

“I thought you wanted me to stop,”

Bucky squeezes you tighter. “Never. I’d never want you to stop. Doll, I thought you were mad at me. I kept buying you flowers and making your favourite dinners to try and get you to forgive me. But you didn’t even give them a second glance, and half the time you’d already eaten or you’d just push the food around on your plate.”

You melt into his embrace, his reassurances a balm over the lingering anxiety of being too much for him. “I was just trying to make you like me again.”

“Doll,” Bucky pulls away from you, sounding completely gutted. “You should never change yourself to make someone like you more. I love how clingy you are—I missed you so damn much.”

“What about…” No, you can’t ask that—you don’t want to hear his answer. “Never mind.”

And Bucky, damn him, doesn’t let it go. “What about what?”

“It’s nothing,” you say, pulling away from him.

“Doll, please don’t shut me out,” Bucky pleads, using those sad eyes that always make you fold.

“It’s just… You never… Do you have a problem with what I look like?”

Bucky’s frown deepens. “Of course, not. Doll, you are so damn beautiful-”

“But I could be thinner. Lots of other girls are prettier and skinnier,” you interrupt him. You freeze at the way his face hardens.

“I love you just the way you are, sweetheart. You don’t have to change a god damn thing about you. You want to know who drives me crazy? You. You want to know who I want to spend the rest of my life looking at? You. When I fell in love with you, I fell in love with all of you. It’s always going to be you. I don’t want no one else, got it?”

“I…” You stumble over your words, tears burning in your waterline. “I started skipping meals again. That’s why I passed out.”

Bucky’s face turns ashen. “You… you stopped eating because of me?”

“I didn’t completely stop eating! I had snacks and dinner most days. It’s not that big-”

“So help me god if you were about to say that it’s not that big of a deal,” Bucky interrupts you, voice sharp. “You need to eat, doll. This beautiful body cannot live without food.”

“I just thought… I thought if I started skipping meals and working out more, I’d look more like Nat or Sharon or-”

“If I wanted someone that looked like them, I’d ask them out. You wanna know why I asked you out? It’s because I thought you were hot. It’s because you’re as gorgeous on the outside as you are on the inside. I don’t want you to look like Nat, I don’t want you to look like Sharon. I want you to look like you.”

Bucky says it with such conviction, you can’t help but allow the tears to fall down your face. “You really mean that?”

“Of course, babydoll. You’re it for me. Don’t want no one else.” Bucky pulls you back into his arms, nuzzling his face into the junction between your neck and shoulder. “Call off of work tomorrow.”

“What? I can’t-” You screech as he lifts you into his arms. Clinging to him like a koala as he makes his way to your bedroom, you protest every step of the way.

“Hush,” he says, laying you down on the bed. “I have been deprived of your cuddles for too damn long. We’re gonna order whatever you want, and snuggle all night long. Then tomorrow, I’m going to make you a giant breakfast and we can go on a picnic for lunch.”

“I don’t ever want my best girl doubting my love for her again, got it?” Bucky asks, leaning over you.

You huff at his antics, rolling your eyes. He pinches your side, only the hint of a grin belying his angered expression. “Got it?” Bucky asks again.

“Yes! Okay, I got it!”

“I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know just how loved you are,” he says as a promise before leaning in and kissing your lips.

That night, as you snuggle into his warmth, you endeavour to never let a misunderstanding like this tear you apart again.

Taglist: @hallecarey1 @harleycao @filmsbyblair

[arbitrarykiwi]

Hyiaa, I just say I'm absolutely OBSESSEDDDD with your Thanos and Nam-gyu fics, seriously you're amazing and I CAN'T stop smiling at the screen whenever I read them like??? You're way of writing if fucking immaculate wtf?? Girl you better keep up with the good work🫶🏽

But now I'm wondering how the boys react during reader's menstrual cycle... OR EVEN BETTER... HEAR ME OUT

When she's OVULATING

BAM I said it

I AM SO FUCKING SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG!!!??? totally didn’t get started then get lost in my drafts….and I also didn’t totally revamp it once I found it again. This is literally such a good ask. Also thank you for the kind words??? I LOVE KNOWIN I MAKE YEW SMILE WHEN YOU READ MY THINKS ON THANGYUUU <333

I went with a headcannon style for writing this one (I hope you don’t mind)

Warnings: 18+ , nsfw / sfw themes

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

Okay so…admittedly at first they were both so ass with anything to do with periods or ovulation or anything to do with period products- completely oblivious

They both know what a period is, they just don’t particularly realize how much of an effect it has on someone who experiences a period until you’ve come along

Thanos 100% though a ‘heavy flow’ was a new way of saying a rapper had good bars in their raps

When you first told them you had cramps they straight up asked if if you overdid it with a workout or something

When you had to ask them to get you pads or tampons for the first time…fucking hell it was a challenge

They just need to be trained </3

The group chat you had with the three of them was blowing up nonstop. As much as you loved them, this only made your headache worse.

‘Why is there so fucking many’

‘I’ve lost Nam-Gyu. Do I call 911?!’

‘No don’t call 911, you’re in a small store you’ll find him’

‘I told you the brand I needed.’

‘Okay yeah, you told me the brand but you didn’t tell me that brand would have so many fucking products. Like I mean come on…there’s like 70 different options here.’

‘Found Nam-Gyu! :D What does “with wings” mean?’

‘I want the ones with the wings. Just get any brand at this point idc.’

‘Wings for my angel’

‘Wait are you mad now?! :( I swear I’m trying here can’t say the same for shit-for-brains’

‘You’re too pussy to say it out loud that’s why you text it :P’

‘Not mad ‘Gyu…just tired and hurting. Get ones with wings and the overnight kind.’

‘What size pussy you wear?’

Once they got back from that trip you explained to them why there was so many options and how you had a specific favorite brand and even more specific product from that brand

They then took pictures of all four sides of the pad or tampon box to save or for the next time they tried to find your items

After seeing how it affected you, the way you’re more lethargic and in pain, they begin to take your menstrual cycle more seriously than you do.

Nam-Gyu then has your cycle in his calendar and shares it with Thanos as well as you

The second that calendar reminder goes off, you’re getting texts from both of them to confirm if it came on that day

They also can’t seem to grasp that although your period sucks and it’s worse on some days and not others- it’s something you’ve been dealing with for a long while and you know how to cope with everything- you’re not dying.

You falter in your steps when a sharp pain hits? They’re asking if they need to take you to the hospital. You get up to change your pad or tampon a little sooner than normal? They’re both convinced you’re bleeding out

After learning about what you need and what your period is like, they’re both attentive in their own ways.

“Here you go, girlie.” Nam-Gyu says tapping your shoulder and passing a hot bowl of homemade Ramen over your shoulder from behind the couch.

Your eyes widen and you turn around, smiling at him with a wide but tired smile. This has been a particularly tough day, horrible cramps, heavy flow, headaches, the whole lot. “Ohhhh!! You’re the fucking best.” You say, taking the warm bowl from his hands.

“Mhm, I know~” he says, leaning over the back of the couch and bending down to kiss the crown of your head, he’s ruffling your hair before grabbing a bottle of water out of his apron pocket and placing it against your legs on the couch, “You better fuckin’ drink this, you can’t only drink soda- you’ll get dehydrated.”

Your attention is turned away from Nam-Gyu when the front door opens. “I’m back!!” Thanos calls out, wide grin becoming impossibly wider when he sees you sitting on the couch. “Ahhh!! My baby! Perfect, I come bearing gifts.”

Thanos walks towards you, dropping a couple plastic bags down on the couch and sifting through them, beginning to hand you things one by one. “Okay so I got you more of those pain meds you like…” he’s placing the bottle in your lap.

“Got you some chocolates…they unfortunately didn’t have your favorite so I got literally every other one they had in store so we can now decide on a second one to have as a backup for next time…” he’s lifting one of the plastic bags, now identified as being solely chocolate.

“And got you more pads like you requested, the exact ones you requested.” He always says that now after the first pad incident.

You smile wide and lean to reach him, “Thank you!!” You say holding your bowl of ramen steady, “gimme kiss, handsome!” Thanos leans in happily, connecting his lips with yours in a slow kiss.

“Take your meds.” Nam-Gyu calls from the kitchen. Thanos is pulling away, realizing the Ramen in your hand then quickly making his way into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around Nam-Gyu from behind and hooking his chin over the household cook’s shoulder.

“Ramen for dinner?”

“Mhm…she requested it.”

“I’ll take them in a bit!” You’re calling out over your shoulder to Nam-Gyu, too engrossed in the level of the video game you’re playing to pause to take the pain medication

“I will come over there and shove them down your throat, princess- don’t test me.”

“Ooooo, so hot when you scold her ‘Gyu.” Thanos coos, squeezing Nam-Gyu tighter.

Now when you’re ovulating?

Those two freaks just know

It’s something about how you hold yourself, how you walk, the little purr that takes over you voice- they just can tell

Almost like dogs, they can smell when you’re ovulating. It’s not that they can smell your arousal- they always say it’s your skin. It’s something uniquely you that almost makes their ears ring.

Pheromones. What they’re smelling is pheromones.

Being in a relationship with the both of them, being near each other almost all hours of almost every day, being intimate- they’re so in tune with you that they can pick up on the slight hints your body gives them.

Also…with living with the both of them…With those two fine ass men around ready to do whatever you ask?- you don’t have to do much to get whatever you need

Wanna watch them fuck each other just while you use your favorite little vibrator on yourself? Done!

Want to just spend hours sucking them both off because there’s just something about the weight of their cocks in your mouth that makes your mind go numb? Lol! Easy money!

It’s when you’re ovulating that they realized they might actually not be able to keep up with you in terms of sex- you’re making them fuck you over and over until both of them are twitching and damn near crying from overstimulation while you’re crying for another round

They end up developing a fucking system where they’re practically tagging each other in and out of the ‘ring’ like some wwe fighters or something (the ring being your pussy)

Also- they’re both so whipped they give you whatever you want when you want it

It’s 3am… and here you were, waking up randomly with a huge throbbing in your lower stomach and damp panties. You do try to get back to sleep, but you mind is flashing with images of the little session that put you to sleep to begin with.

Stuffed so full of both their cocks, begging them to cum inside you over and over until you were fucked stupid- yeah…you weren’t getting back to sleep anytime soon.

You wiggle a bit, loosening yourself out of the mess of limbs that was currently the cuddle pile. Nam-Gyu was to your right, facing you with his arms lightly draped over your stomach. Thanos was to your left, curled into you with one hand arched over your head on the pillows and tangled in Nam-Gyu’s hair.

You’re huffing, tossing and turning trying to ease yourself of the heat that is taking over your entire body. You need them.

Whining, you’re turning your head to press your forehead against Thanos’ and rub your nose against his, your hand tracing up his bare torso- he doesn’t wake up. He rouses, his face twitching into a blissed out smile and his cock begins to grow in his boxers- but he’s not away.

“C’monn.” You whine louder, but still nothing. You’re about to turn over and begin to try and wake Nam-Gyu but you can already feel his side of the bed shift.

Nam-Gyu’s arm removes itself from holding you as he flops down on his back, his eyes still closed- you almost think he’s asleep. You then see his hand fish out his hardening cock.

“C’mon, take what you need, girlie.” His voice is soft, laced with sleep, and creaky- it only makes you wetter. His hand is lazily pumping his cock, getting himself hard as you straddle his thighs.

You’re huffing and whining, removing his hand from his cock and replacing it with yours. The second you drag his fat cock head through your folds you’re nearly falling over on top of him. You’re still so fucking sensitive but you need it.

Sinking down onto him, you’re spearing your cunt open on his thick length, a wanton cry ripping from your throat.

Apparently all you needed to do was moan out all nice and pretty to wake up Thanos because now he’s up and beginning to make his way behind you.

“How rude…” he scoffs, his voice deep and rough. Thanos’ tattooed hands push your down forward on Nam-Gyu, hand staying on your lower back to push you into that deep arch he love sooo much, “Didn’t wanna invite me?”

Thanos is prodding his already hard cock at your stuffed pussy, “I-I tried! You didn’t wake up!” You whine, beginning to feel the wide stretch of having both their cocks deep inside you. You’re pressing your hips back eagerly, seeking more.

“Hmm didn’t try hard enough…must not want it that bad…” He’s drawing his hips back and pulling out, his cock dragging deliciously against Nam-Gyu’s who is now wide awake.

“No I do! I tried- I swear- you sleep so fucking hard. I wan’ both of you!” You’re pleading, trying to press your hips back but it’s not working with how they hold you.

“Don’t be so mean to her…” Nam-Gyu coos like he’s not the one holding your hips in place, “…she’s a needy thing and you’re just mad I woke up first.”

“Well now neither of you are going back to sleep anytime soon.” Thanos says, plunging his cock deep inside you, ripping a high pitched moan from both you and Nam-Gyu

All in all, the two boyfriends are better than one applies here because they both know exactly how to take care of you during those times!!

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆

Taglist: @namsgyu @nuttybeans @namgyucat @g1rlonthe3internet @reilapse @yuuumeee @thanosspills

((Lmk if you wanna be added to my main tag list <3))

[sylviaplatypus]

from what i can tell the reviews about this are mixed but tbh i was personally a huge fan of joe and nicky’s characterizations in this film. spoilery highlights after the cut

nicky basically “back in my day”ing nile for her question about whether the guard ever gets time off like the grandpa he is

the glimpses of how truly unhinged a millennia of being immortal has made them: laughing about booker getting his head blown off by a cannon, their shared amusement at joe’s funny guy bit with his severed thumb, the gleeful competitiveness over who drives which car, nicky teasing joe for not hot wiring his car as fast, playfully racing one another with their stolen vehicles. all while in the middle of a goddamn heist where bullets are flying everywhere lmaooo that’s deranged behavior and i love them for it.

speaking of the cars!! how even their driving is perfectly in sync!!!!!

i’ve seen a few posts saying that it was obvious nicky knew something was up with joe after he deflected nicky’s question about the mysterious text, and i totally agree, but i think he knew way sooner. that look he gives joe after nile asks if they think booker is doing okay is very Telling (citation: i’ve been with my spouse for a decade and can tell right away when something’s off with them, imagine that compounded by a literal thousand years!! i wouldn’t be surprised if nicky’s been suspicious of something since the moment joe made contact with booker)

the fact that joe crashed their goddamn car because he was looking at nicky instead of the road. relatable. 

the old married couple energy being so strong it almost blew me off my couch!!! bickering about snoring and sleep talking before going to bed at the same time, i’m weak

nicky’s loaded “huh, okay” to joe’s announcement that he needs some time alone. kudos to luca marinelli for being able to imbue a couple of filler words with such meaning. that meaning ofc being that nicky knows his man too well to believe he’s telling the truth about wanting to be alone. 

nicky’s little whispered “te amo” when he and joe part ways, sobbb

“we’re following him” / “what?” genuinely made me laugh out loud 

fully believe nicky would have been fine with joe going his separate way for a bit if he truly did need a little time and space. but i love that he follows him (and forces nile into a Situation in the process lol) because at this point he’s probably known for months that something’s been off with joe, and now he’s lying??? about needing something nicky would be willing to give him if joe were only telling the truth?? ofc that’s the tipping point for nicky.

not really a character development choice, but i am genuinely curious about why joe is bringing booker lemons. is there reason to be concerned about booker’s citrus intake?

the conflict is delicious to me!! love to see my favorite fictional ships argue because those moments reveal a lot about who people are, individually and as a unit. and joe and nicky fight like the old marrieds they are, like two people who are unflappable in the certainty that their foundation is too solid to crack under the pressure of a prolonged disagreement like this. it reminds me a lot of one of my favorite quotes from the haunting of hill house: “you fight with love. you're on the same team even in the middle of a fight. during the fight, you're forgiven. there's no fear. there's no danger. you're safe. it's a beautiful way to be.”

speaking of the Argument, my personal old married take is that it wasn’t joe being in contact with booker that upset nicky as much as it was the extended lie of omission joe told by not letting nicky in on this fact sooner. nicky has spent six months believing they were on the same page, that they’d both agreed to the terms of this painful exile - painful not only for booker, but for them as well because it meant losing a brother. nicky sat in that pain alone for months without realizing it, all because, as nicky pointed out, joe assumed he knew how nicky would react instead of talking with him. they’re supposed to be a team, and joe left him in the dark on this one! so it feels like it's not so much about his anger that joe is talking to booker again and more about joe shutting nicky out of his very understandable struggle with their decision to cut ties with him. 

yusuf went to see him! yusuf!!! (cue hilary duff’s this is what dreams are made of)

truly unwell over the cliffs of moher backstory and how beautifully it sums up their characters, their relationship, and the nature of this conflict arc. the game was playful and competitive like they've been shown to be, but when it came down to following through, nicky was too stubborn, steadfast, and consistent to give up first - just like he couldn’t move past what booker did as easily as joe, just like he waited until joe came to him to put a punctuation mark on the argument and finally tell nicky what’s really been bothering him. 

“talk to me,” nicky says and nothing else - and when joe does, he meets him with understanding but also objective facts. it’s a beautiful counterpoint to joe’s romantic monologue in the first film. no flowery prose, because nicky isn’t a poet like joe, but still just as moving in its simple truths (things end, and so will we eventually. but this thing that i feel for you because i know your heart isn’t an arbitrary happenstance. it’s a deliberate choice made countless times over countless years. and everything that’s a product of that love will ripple outward through eternity). 

 every battle couple moment. every single one of them.

joe kicking the guard onto nicky’s sword was definitely a precursor to the make up sex they need to have and i’m so glad that, if nothing else, we can all agree on this.

[bonesmithsstuff]

Chef Luca - Attention

Warnings: alcohol use, language, tension, mature themes.

Mastelist |

── .✦

" Pressure pushing down on me, pressing down on you, no man ask for. "

Luca had been in Chicago for a few months now.

He had walked into the kitchen of The Bear with the air of someone used to navigating the chaos of restaurants —his movements precise, his eyes sharp, the kind of gaze that took everything in, like someone who still carried the passion of his very first day.

His voice was calm, just like his presence. His English had a slightly rough edge to it, probably due to the years spent traveling around the world.

He had been welcomed like family —Markus had pulled him into a hug, the others had cracked jokes and shared the kind of laughter they reserved only for those they considered one of their own. Carmy, especially, had seemed genuinely happy to have him there. A familiar face. A friend.

Y/n hadn’t even introduced herself at first, but he had noticed her right away. She was tucked into a corner of the dining room, studying a wine glass with the same intensity he reserved for every dessert that left the kitchen. But between prep and service, he hadn’t managed to speak to her until the end of the night.
The kitchen was empty by then, but Luca liked the peace and solitude that came with closing time. Y/n had burst in the kitchen like a small tornado, muttering something about a missing bottle of wine.

"Stolen! Someone stole it!"

He had stared at her with a smirk tugging at his lips, amused, while drying one of the countless teaspoons used that night.

A few weeks had passed, and not much had changed.

That morning, at 5:30 AM, Y/n walked into the kitchen with her usual frown: arms stiff at her sides, fists clenched, lips pressed into a thin line, eyebrows arched. She looked angry, tense. The chef knew right away—something had happened.

«I swear, if I find out it was Richie or one of the Fak guys who stole my bottle of red again, I’m kicking their ass. I’m throwing them out.»

After popping in and out of the walk-in fridge a few times, she slid onto the counter in front of the dark-haired chef, crossing her ankles and watching as Luca began his morning prep.

It had become a sort of ritual —she’d watch him, he’d cook, and they'd lose themselves in conversation, talking about everything and nothing. Nothing in particular had happened between them, yet, but it was enough to feel like they were tied to each other by something unnamed.

Luca never stopped looking at her, stealing glances while pretending to focus on the food. He couldn’t explain it, but ever since they met, something about her had him anchored in place. He kept thinking about her. Constantly. Wanting her to taste every one of his desserts. Getting lost in her compliments, in the way her lips always cleaned the spoon with a smile.

Y/n waited every day to see him emerge from the kitchen, breath held. She waited for him to find her, to taste the wines she picked out, to get lost in a glass of alcohol and one of their conversations. She searched for him in every corner of the kitchen, in every laugh shared with Syd or Tina, she searched for his gaze —because somehow, she wanted to share that joy with him too.

That morning, the air was warm as Y/n swung her legs off of the counter, hands resting on the edge, while she watched Luca’s fingers confidently dust a dessert with something blue —spirulina, maybe? She couldn’t quite recall what he’d said. Too lost in those hands.

Her cheeks were flushed —a typical trait of hers, but in that moment, it gave her a strange kind of glow.

«You get what I mean? Who starts a sentence like that? "I know you know how to do your job, but don’t you think this would pair better with that?". And I mean, not to be rude, but I told him to go fuck himself. Obviously, if you start a sentence like that, you don’t actually believe I know what I’m doing. Christ.»

Luca raised an eyebrow. Of all things, that morning he hadn’t expected her to be ranting about her last date. And judging by her tone, it hadn’t gone well.

Still, he couldn’t help but feel a flicker of satisfaction. «This guy really got under your skin, huh honey?» He glanced up just in time to see her shrug and huff in annoyance.

«He pissed me off. His social bio should just say ‘misogynistic narcissist’ to warn off all the poor women who try to date him.

We all know this industry is brutal —especially for women— but every time I say I’m a sommelier, people look at me like I said I talk to aliens.»

She sighed, running a hand along her neck. It was clear she hadn’t slept, yet she’d still shown up early that morning. Still shown up for their usual morning ritual. For him.

And as she spoke, she didn’t even notice him moving. Luca stepped closer, holding a small semifreddo and a spoon.

«Yeah, yeah, get quiet now, and close your eyes.»

She looked at him, her rant fading. Her eyes locked on his —and suddenly, he was too close. She started to glance away, but he gently lifted her chin with two fingers.

«Close your eyes. And no peeking.» His tone left no room for argument, and T/n obeyed. «Open your mouth.» She obeyed again, and Luca was thankful she couldn’t see his face. «Good girl.»

He brought the spoon to her lips, full.

Y/n closed her lips around it, and the flavors —bitter, sweet, cold, floral— exploded in her mouth in a slow crescendo. She moaned. A low, involuntary sound that shot straight down Luca’s spine like a jolt. He licked his lips for her, trembling.

«What do you taste?» He asked, voice lower, rougher.

Y/n held the spoon between her lips a second too long, as if trying to catch every note. Then she let it go slowly.

«Holy shit.» She whispered, wonder in her voice. Her mouth slightly open, eyes locked on the chef in front of her. «What the fuck did you put in that? God, it’s incredible, Luca.»

He gave a faint smile, his face only inches from hers.

«Lavender. Candied lemon. And a touch of... I don’t know, let’s call it melancholy?» He let out a quiet laugh, but didn’t move away.

Y/n stared at him as he licked his lips, and Luca used every ounce of self-control not to drop his gaze, not to kiss her breathless and taste his creation in her mouth.

«A hint of rosemary, maybe, chef?»

«A perfect sommelier’s palate, honey.» The chef set the plate with the dessert on the counter next to her and looked back at her.

That fucking nickname was getting under her skin more and more every time. «I—I have a wine… that would pair perfectly with this.»

«Oh yeah?» Luca stepped forward, moving between her legs —she hadn’t even noticed she’d opened them for him.

She had placed a hand on his arm, instinctively, as if checking he was real. «Chenin blanc. Loire Valley. 2020. Sharp, but elegant. That hint of wet hay and stone that—»

Y/n looked up at him, aware that she was choosing each word like a scalpel, as if by describing the wine, she was really describing him. Because that dessert tasted like him. Every bite a temptation for the next.

«It would amplify the lemon… and the lavender.»

The chef watched her lips move as she spoke, absentmindedly resting a hand on her waist. Their mouths were impossibly close —close enough for their breaths to mingle.

«You know exactly what you’re doing.» Luca murmured, his head tilting just enough for their cheeks to touch. He kissed her there, slowly, savoring the closeness. «And no one gets to make you feel like you don’t belong here.» He pulled back slightly, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth —Y/n trembled, placing a hand at the nape of his neck. «I could listen to you talk for hours about how pairing only white wine with fish is bullshit.»

The girl slid her fingers through his hair, holding on to him and to his words. He squeezed her thigh, kissing her again at the corner of her lips, slower this time —too slow.

And suddenly, Luca pulled away from her—the front door of the restaurant had opened, and Carmy’s voice rang out in greeting.

As the blond walked into the kitchen, the two exchanged a fleeting glance —both flushed, both embarrassed, but with the faintest trace of a smile on their lips.

Southside, Chicago. 22:03 — A few days later.

That night, they were in one of those South Side bars that always smelled of whiskey and cigarettes, filled with the kind of old songs that only ever came out of a jukebox. Not exactly the trendiest place in town, but the atmosphere was warm, familiar.

Tina had booked a long table for the occasion, inviting the entire Bear family. And, incredibly, in some strange way, even Carmy seemed genuinely happy to be there.

After all, they were all celebrating something: a positive review of the restaurant. Nothing too major, but enough to redeem them from what had happened a few months before.

Luca was already there. As usual, he had arrived right on time —neither a minute early nor a minute late.

He sat at the head of the table, his chair slightly angled toward Markus on his right. He held a drink in his hands, occasionally laughing at the jokes flying across the table from his friends. His right leg bounced restlessly, up and down, betraying his nerves.

For the occasion, he’d even cleaned up a little —wearing a black shirt, unbuttoned to the second button. His hair was still messy, but his face looked relaxed, completely different from the focused expression he wore at The Bear. He seemed calm, but not completely. There was still a kind of tension clinging to him, one that didn’t ease up even after the two drinks he’d downed since he arrived. He knew exactly where that tension came from.

One person was missing from the table, and he was starting to worry she wasn’t going to show. After what had happened between them a few days earlier, and how they’d been interrupted, they hadn’t had the chance to talk about it. He hadn’t had the chance to fix things. To kiss her —finally.

Then she walked in.

And to him, it felt like someone had sucked all the oxygen out of the room.

Y/n was late, wearing a wine-colored dress —soft along her curves, fitted in all the right places. The fabric was shiny, delicate, flowing. Bare shoulders, lips painted with lipstick and a faint smile; a mix of confidence and embarrassment.

The moment he saw her in that dress, the glass in his hand trembled —barely, but enough.

“Holy shit.” He thought, in the voice of a man who knows he’s completely screwed.

He had never seen her like that —outside the kitchen. He’d never seen her that way before. And the way she walked, with the confidence of someone who knew she was being watched, or worse, didn’t care, made him want to get up and drag her outside. Shove his tongue into her mouth and steal away her breath.

Y/n greeted the table with a wave, exchanged a few jokes with Sydney, and shared hugs with those who stood up to welcome her.

When she finally turned toward him, it only took a second. Luca’s eyes locked on hers —but she didn’t move. Not toward him, at least.

He sighed and rolled his eyes, earning a glance from Sydney beside him. He shrugged, tapping his fingers nervously on the table —throwing a glance toward the girl now busy talking to someone.

«You good, chef?» Syd had finally decided she couldn’t ignore his mood anymore —he was clearly rattled by something.

«Perfect.»

She followed his gaze as he replied, and after a beat, all the context she needed clicked into place. A small smirk tugged at her lips.

«Cole.» She said. Luca raised an eyebrow. «The guy talking to her. An old colleague of Carmy’s from New York.»

«I know.» He managed to tear his eyes away from the wine-colored dress, running a hand through his dark hair.

Y/n had ordered a cocktail at the nearby bar. The ice clinked in her glass, the straw already faintly smudged with lipstick. And she was laughing at something Cole had said.

Luca looked at him more closely. He watched as Cole touched her elbow, leaned in to whisper something in her ear like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Suddenly, the music in the bar was too loud. Too much. The hum of voices blended with the clinking of glasses.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to distract himself. He even toasted with Tina and Markus, laughed at one of Richie’s tired jokes. But every time his eyes returned to her, something twisted. He was nervous. Uncomfortable. His jaw clenched, his leg bouncing nonstop under the table. Like some kind of discomfort had taken root in his chest.

She laughed again. Luca clenched his jaw harder, because every once in a while —far too rarely— she tossed a glance his way. Quick, fleeting. Never long enough to linger.

Then, suddenly, he stood up earning a quiet "finally" mumbled from Syd.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up, his expression hard, his glass empty. Calmly, he walked toward the bar, where the two of them were standing. He didn’t say a word as he approached. Y/n saw him coming and smiled, smug.

«Luca.»

«I think Carmy’s looking for you, Chef.» He said, eyes fixed on the man, who looked momentarily confused before excusing himself.

As Y/n leaned back against the bar, her expression turned innocent —only then did Luca realize what she was doing.

«You’re doing this on purpose.» His eyebrow arched as he set his glass on the bar. His tone was accusatory. Tight.

The woman shrugged, breaking eye contact. Sure, she knew this wasn’t the best way to get his attention —but it had worked, hadn’t it? «We haven’t talked.»

«You work there too. You know how it is, sometimes it’s just a loop. You get up, prep, service, go home way too late and repeat.» Luca watched the ice clink in his newly filled glass -his third, maybe fourth gin tonic. «Fuck, we said we’d talk about it once the restaurant… once the review came out, this week.» He took a deep breath. They really hadn’t talked about what had happened between them—never found the right moment. So, knowing how rough the upcoming week would be, they had both postponed the talk.

Luca had wanted to ask her out. Plan a real date, far from everything, no distractions, no interruptions—and tell her everything he felt when she was near. But, as usual, Y/n was the most impatient woman in the world. And she hadn’t even waited for the celebration to end before declaring the deadline expired.

«You really needed us to talk about it to know this would bother me? Being ignored for—fuck, I don’t even know why you did it. I’ve been waiting to see you all fucking night.»

Her heart ached. She could’ve lied. Pretended she hadn’t noticed all the times she caught him watching her while some overly flirty customer made her laugh out on the floor. Pretended none of what they had shared just a few days earlier had meant anything—or that nothing was about to happen. She could’ve lied, told him that yes —that she needed a conversation to understand there was something between them. But he didn’t deserve that.

«No.» She looked up, locking eyes with the chef’s bright ones. «I didn’t need it—I just wanted your attention.»

His gaze softened. Inevitably. Lightened, as it settled on her. «Fuck, don’t you always have it?»

Y/n didn’t answer right away. She looked down, her fingers playing with the rim of her glass. Then she spoke -her voice carrying that small crack that always came when something mattered more than she wanted to admit.

She felt cornered —aware she’d messed up and with no clue how to fix it. «I don’t know.»

Luca held his breath. He was right there —at the exact line where he could either let it go or let it all explode. He chose.

He walked out without another word, crashing into the cold Chicago night. He raked a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back.

He needed to calm down, or he was going to do something stupid —the kind of thing you never know where it’ll lead.

The click of the door startled him.

Y/n had stopped a few steps behind, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, lips clamped shut like she was holding back a landslide.

Luca broke first.

«"I don’t know." Jesus, don’t you get it? Ever since I set foot in Chicago, this —whatever this is— has been happening. I’ve gotten to know you better in a few months than most people I’ve worked with for years.

And you really think I show up half an hour early to the kitchen every morning just for discipline? I do it because I know you’ll be there. Because I know how much you love getting lost in wine tastings before the chaos hits.

Because when you’re done with your stuff, and you come to watch me, to talk to me, to taste what I’ve made… You remind me why I love cooking.»

She said nothing. Mouth slightly open, heart pounding in her chest as she absorbed his words.

«Still think I’m not saying anything now?» His voice was low, rough. «Do I still seem distant to you? Do you really think you don’t have my full, total, undivided attention, honey?»

It only took a second. Two strides. Three meters.

And they were a breath apart.

«Luca.»

His name slipped out like a sigh. Her eyes were locked on his, her lips barely trembling.

She wanted to scream that it was the same for her —that she couldn’t think of anything else, that she adored those stolen moments they shared, the ones that belonged only to them. But he didn’t give her time.

He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her.

There was no space for hesitation, no kindness —it was an hungry kiss, messy, made of frustration and need, of everything they hadn’t said and everything they’d been holding in.

Her hands were on him instantly, clutching at his shirt as he pulled her back against the wall, pressing his body to hers. Their mouths chased each other in a battle for control.

Luca gripped her waist through the fabric of that dress, fingers bunching the material as he tasted her, feeling all the tension of the past weeks erupt between them.

Y/n slid her hands into his dark hair, gripping a few strands in the heat of the moment.

One of the chef’s hands was pressed against the stone wall, the other holding tightly onto her waist.
They clung to each other with all the strength and passion they had inside them.

Her lips tasted like alcohol—gin tonic, ice. Cold and burning at the same time. Perfect and soft against Luca’s mouth, which had no intention of letting go. All he could feel was her. All he wanted was her. There was nothing else. No one else.

When they finally pulled apart, breathing hard, panting —Luca rested his forehead against hers.

«Well, not exactly how I pictured the night going.» She whispered, her voice unsteady as Luca cupped her face in his hands, gently stroking her cheeks.

«No?» He leaned back just enough to look at her. «I’ve been thinking about this for weeks.»

«And now what happens?» She asked, breath catching.

He raised an eyebrow, already knowing the answer —he’d played out this conversation in his head more times than he could count.

«Now I take you to dinner. A real one. A proper restaurant. Away from —everything. Everyone.»

Richie’s voice rang out from inside the bar, cutting straight through the moment: «Where the fuck did those two fuckers go, huh?!»

Exactly.

── .✦

As always.. let me know what u think!!!

[binmeister]

Office Worker AU - Headcanons

Saja Boys x Office Worker! Reader | Human, modern AU

Character notes and headcanons, things that happened, just yapping in general about this AU and what’s in it - entirely self indulgent and maybe even cringe but I live for the dumb cheesy and cringe stuff

Relatively open ended / casually poly - marked all NSFW / suggestive hcs with a warning at the front of the HC so you're welcome to skip over those

CW: contains suggestive and NSFW HCs and mentions of mature themes (R18+), MDNI, Fem! Reader, not proofread

General

Abby is the dad of the group with Jinu, Romance or you being the mum of the group, Baby is the baby and Mystery flips between being the goofy aloof uncle or an edgy teenager

Most of your friendship is based on similar humour and being able to talk about anything and nearly everything with each other - very open book policy in most cases, like to an unfortunate degree because it means the homiesexual humour or dumb humour comes out a lot (you partake in it as well)

There’s been a lot of instances where you or Abby would instigate an argument with Jinu and Mystery about whatever hyperfixation the guys had and you’d just sit back next to Abby and watch the two of them fight like their pride was on the line while smiling the entire time

Jinu and Mystery bag on you the most, they’ve known you the longest so it’s basically just the privilege they have which is a shared sentiment because you bag on them just as much

You all dote on each other in small ways, you and Romance fix up their appearances, Jinu and Abs eat your left over food for you, Baby does your guys’ work for you sometimes, Abs or Mystery carry your stuff for you pretty frequently and you all buy each other drinks / snacks 

They’re all great at karaoke and flex about it frequently - forced office bonding moment meant that the other people in your respective departments were also aware of this now

It’s spotted that the guys have painted nails in some shots, during HS and uni you used to paint their nails - Romance still paints his nails now and Baby lets you paint his nails whenever you want

Saja LLC - Gwi-Ma is big big CEO man and is surprisingly chill, none of you ever interact with him but he doesn’t ever really appear in the office (thankfully)

NSFW / suggestive - When you’re drunk you get very physically affectionate, normally just very cuddly and giggly but sometimes you get sloppy drunk and you’re coming onto them since you’re comfortable with them and it leads to a lot of things happening (make outs, potentially a little more here and there etc)

NSFW / suggestive - As adults you often all go to Mystery’s place to drink and he ends up having to take care of you all, you never break your overly affectionate habit from uni so occasionally they let you drink a little too much and you’re touchy feely with everyone (ranges from hugs to kisses on their cheek / forehead to a little more)

Jinu

Legal degree - minor in chem / physics (he seems like he’d be into science idk why)

He’d transferred to your high school and into your class in the second half of your first year, even though he was pretty and relatively popular with the girls because of it - he’s a total loser (endearing)

Like I feel like he’s a nerd archetype or into ‘nerdy’ hobbies so when girls would find out they’d either be grossed out because he wasn’t some pretty athletic tye, or they’d try harder to talk to him and he gets uncomfortable so one day you snap because you’re tired of girls flocking to your classroom to talk to him and you yell at them to piss off - something that everyone collectively remembers well because they’ve never really heard you lash out like that so the girls leave and go back to watching him from a distance and you end up picking Jinu up as a friend

Noticing the day after you’ve scared the girls off that he’s reading a manga series that Mystery likes, so you strike up a convo with him and he’s really excited to talk to you about his interest and you haven’t read it yourself but you know most of what goes on cause Mystery wouldn’t stop talking about it

His dad is out of the picture - mum alive and his younger sister is also alive and well in this, you’d all become close with them because you’d often spend time at their place and his younger sister adores you (she’s well aware of his feelings for you and really hopes that you’ll be her big sister regardless if you get with him or not)

Your first kiss is with Jinu when you’re both 17, Mystery had made fun of you two for not having kissed anyone yet and when you’re hanging out his house bc Mystery had extra after-school classes to attend you guys do it - it’s awkward the first time and you definitely accidentally bumped your heads against each other so he says ‘let’s try again’ and the second time is softer, his hand lifting your chin up as his head is tilted a little so your noses aren’t pressed awkwardly together

He’s pretty and popular with women but I believe ! that this man ! has never had a girlfriend before. before he met you, he wasn’t interested in girls that much - he had his mum and his sister why does he need anymore women in his life,, they’re scary enough,, then he meets you in HS and he’s like okay never have to pick up a new girl and then he steadily falls in love with you during HS and it lasts through to uni and it just keeps going

Realises he’s in love with you during your last year in HS, you were in the same class again and while you’re stuck on cleaning duty for your class one afternoon, he’s just watching you and the afternoon glow on you makes him realise that he really loves you and that scares him at first but he just lets it happen - knows that mystery confessed so he holds off when you’d told him that you didn’t know how you felt about love, has probably drunkenly confessed to you but you’d both forgotten

Pierced his ears in HS on a whim and his mum chewed him out for it but when he showed up to school and you did a double take and told him he looks good with pierced ears? best decision of his life actually

During uni for your first and second years, you’d often hang out together just the two of you or with Abs because mystery would keep flaking, so when he wasn’t getting dragged on dates with Abs he’s hanging out with you as much as he can

Can handle his alcohol fairly well, usually the second one after you to get wasted easily and he’s a giggly drunk that likes to instigate - can be really annoying sometimes because of it, also sings a lot more when he’s drunk

Him and Mystery share a lot of the same interests in manga, music, games etc so half of your time is spent listening to them ramble about their interests and by proxy it becomes your interest as you start complaining about plot to them or how one character is shit so it becomes an argument on who’s character is better

Visits his family on the weekend every couple of weeks, you and Mystery usually tag along to catch up with them

NSFW / suggestive - Whenever you guys got drunk together (uni and now) there’s a high rate where you’d make out or get handsy with one another, like you don’t think twice about it and don’t always remember what happens the next day but he definitely does 

NSFW / suggestive - you have given him head while he fingered you during one of these handsy nights (has happened more than once) - i won’t elaborate further on this one

NSFW / suggestive - bi curious in uni - made out with abs, him and mystery fooled around a little bit but it was a little awkward since they’re roomies AND long term best friends - probably considers himself bi with a preference for women

NSFW / suggestive - does not have much sexual experience, has no body count (you are the closest thing to counting as 1)

Abs (Abby)

Legal degree - major in law, minor in health and sciences or phys. education equivalent

You meet him in university, he’s in the same legal degree as Jinu and as an E - he had adopted Jinu which in turn means he adopted you and Mystery

At first you two weren’t too close because you’re kinda scared of how loud and rambunctious he is until you realise he’s a lot more perceptive and caring than he lets people in on, notice how he always neatens things up when people make a mess or how he always reaches a hand out to hold the table corner if someone’s bent down so they don’t smash their head when they get back up, a lot of small stuff like always grabbing you a snack you when he showed up uninvited

Even though he’s outgoing and likes talking to people, he’s actually relatively closed off and selective on the people he’s vulnerable with - the only ones that he’s open to is the other guys and you, everyone else gets the semi-fake and curated version of him that keeps them at a respectable distance

He’s the oldest out of you, Jinu and Mystery - born first (my HC alone) in the year regardless of your birthday

He takes Jinu out on double dates or rather, forces him to be match made with various girls he comes across because it’s been noted that Jinu hasn’t dated anyone in the entirety of him knowing you guys and Jinu finally confesses to Abby one day that he can’t do another date because he doesn’t want to think about any other woman that wasn’t you

Steadily develops feelings for you during uni but he has a lot of guilt about it because he knows jinu and mystery are also in love with you, but they all have a heart to heart about it and just let it out that they’re not gonna pursue anything until it’s obvious that you’re interested since the dynamic is too comfortable to break and it’s hard to gage where you’re at bc you’re affectionate with them

Does a senior-freshman buddy program where he brings Baby into the group, loves having his lil introverts to harass

I see him as an oldest of too many kids (like 4 younger siblings), big brother vibes and explains why he has that teasing older sibling thing going on - divorced parents but they’re on speaking terms (lowkey hates his dad)

Heavy weight. Definitely a heavy weight like, with his build it just takes him a while before he feels tipsy and even when he’s drunk as hell he’s still more sober than the rest of you - actually mellows out when he drinks but does like to humour people by pretending to be wild

Out of everyone he’s closest with jinu and romance, then you, then baby, then mystery - jinu’s his best friend in uni and romance is his best friend back in HS, when he was actively hanging around you mystery had been distant so he didn’t talk to him that much until your last couple year of uni and now in the office

Him and Romance have a shared apartment that’s extremely spacious but a little out of the way so you guys don’t really go hang out there unless it’s a vacation period / long weekend

No one really knows why he calls Baby by baby boy, baby man, etc - when you finally ask he shrugs and admits its because he likes to piss him off and then it just makes perfect sense after that

Bi, no real preference - he’s comfortable in his sexuality and doesn’t really care to prove himself on anything

NSFW / suggestive - He’s experimented with Romance in HS and in uni he and Jinu had made out once bc Jinu admitted he was a little curious, you find this out about him when you’re all a little tipsy and opening up about stuff to each other - Jinu confirming this too and they’re pretty chill about it

NSFW / suggestive - I have a drabble in my notes where you make out with him when you’re both drunk and almost sleep together the same night, but he’s a gentleman and makes sure you’re not doing something you’ll regret and it doesn’t escalate further - Jinu and Mystery would find out from a drunken confession from you a few weeks after it happens

NSFW / suggestive - Always keeping you by his side at parties and drinking less so he can make sure a repeat doesnt happen of you begging him to climb into your bed - he’d become near celibate when he realised he’d fallen for you cause he used to be into casual sex and non-committal arrangements

NSFW / suggestive - average amount of sexual experience, lower body count than Romance

Mystery (Minseok / Min / Myst)

Finance degree - minor in psychology

Been your best friend since primary school, you’d moved into a new area and were neighbours so your parents made you hang out so ofc he falls in love with you during that time and assumed it was a crush that would go away (it never did)

A lot of sleep overs growing up or just hanging out in general, was there during your first period and you were both freaking out on what to do bc why is your vagina bleeding - you both get given the talk and he’s got female hygiene products stocked in his bathroom at all times as well as a couple in his bag just in case you ever forget

Towards the end of HS and during uni he struggles with his feelings for you because he did confess towards the end of your time in HS and you genuinely didn’t know how to take it, you said you weren’t sure how you felt and you had cried because you didn’t want to lose him but you didn’t know if you loved him in that way but also you know it’s more than friendship at the same time - teens unable to understand complex feelings and also the added baggage of knowing him for so long so you don’t know if its feelings of familiarity of if he made butterflies erupt in your stomach

Certified introvert but great at pretending he’s not - out of your little trio he actually went and socialised the most in uni even though he didn’t really talk much

Studio apartment nearby the office that you guys like to go to as your main hang out spot after work

When youre all off work he puts his earrings back in, enjoying the familiar feel of them and he doesn’t really want the holes to close back up - also likes that you always look at him a little more when he’s got them on

Chaotic drunk - gets more vocal as he gets wasted but it takes him a while to get there, like by the time you or Jinu are gone, he’s a couple drinks out from also getting there

Pays the most attention to you, knows all your quirks and habits, knows when you’re lying - everything, same can be said from you to him so you knew long before he confessed that he had feelings but you’d been hoping maybe you were wrong

His parents are pretty good to him, he’s got an older brother that he’s not too close to - moved out early and they’re just naturally a little awkward around each other but generally get along pretty well

NSFW / suggestive - I HC that during university that he still hangs out with you and Jinu as his long term best friends - sharing a dorm with jinu, but he starts to sleep around and has a lot of one night stands so he can hopefully get rid of his feelings for you but it makes it worse as he imagines whoever he’s sleeping with to be you - for a brief time during uni he dyed his hair and changed his hairstyle (more fuckboy esque) and gotten his ears pierced - changed up his whole vibe but when he was in his dorm with you and jinu he’s back to his regular quiet and nerdy self

NSFW / suggestive - He meets Romance at one of those mixer events and then opens up about his love problems to him which Romance helps him through and the two bond about unrequited love and how to cope in a healthier manner - Romance pointing out that you never said no and its clear you do love him you just don’t know how to go about it, progressively stops sleeping around and getting black out drunk as he cleans up his act midway through your third year of uni

NSFW / suggestive - doesn’t label his sexuality bc he’s not actually sure, experimented a lot in uni but doesn’t really count it as anything that mattered because it was meaningless and emotionless sex

NSFW / suggestive - second most in terms of sexual experience, highest body count

Romance (Roman / Ro)

Marketing - has a degree in communications too

Oldest in the group, a year older than Jinu, Mystery, Abby and you

HS friends with Abs and had met Mystery in university during both of their whore arcs and he puts a stop to Mystery’s self destructive coping mechanism

Originally wasn’t at Saja LLC with the rest of you guys until a year later where he transferred into your company eventually after a company merger, originally just there for a shared company project

He develops a crush on you briefly but otherwise it’s actually unknown what he thinks about you in a romantic aspect, he definitely platonically loves and dotes on you but he’s never disclosed how he feels to any of the guys and is always able to avoid the topic if asked - the years you’ve been friends and hung out at work is when he starts to really develop anything for you in that regard

Is the most aware out of all of them how messy everything is but he lives for it, has reprimanded you for messing with everyone and pointed out that you may be hurting them without realising so you close yourself off for a period of time and become distant bc you dont want to hurt them by not fully reciprocating feelings or leading them on

He talks to you again about it and just says that let whatever happens happen then, bc even with the feelings it seems like everyone collectively just gets along as friends and aside from the romantic sloppiness of it - it’s clearly working for your guys’ friend group

Sometimes if it’s really quiet in the office he gets away with coming up to work on your guys’ floor bc no one really gives a shit as long as he primarily gets his work done - but there are a lot of instances he actually is just there because he’s supposed to be bc marketing and legal needed to run things by each other

Loooves to talk about gossip it’s such a fun thing to him, but if anything involves you or the guys he’s extremely defensive and will actually get violent with people that mess with you guys if he hasn’t already been extremely petty towards them (one time he had to give documents to someone that insulted you and he took the time to put each individual page of the 100 page document out of order so it’d be like 1 - 89 - 23 - 36 - 2

He likes to pretend he doesn’t know what’s going on but is very emotionally aware of people, likes to pretend he’s dumber than he actually is as well cause it lets him get away with things - mean streak when you cross him (never does anything to outwardly harm you or the other guys though)

Blended family - has step sisters and gets along well with them and his parents/step parent are really lovely people

Openly bi / pan, does not particularly care as he’s more interested in the connection than any persons’ gender - slow burner and does not fall in love easily but does entertain crushes etc bc he thinks it’s a little fun

NSFW / suggestive - is the most open about his sex life or his sexual interests, not to like a ‘always bragging’ kind of thing but more that he’s not opposed to answering questions anyone has because he doesn’t mind being informative

NSFW / suggestive - most sexual experience, average body count

Baby (Byeol)

Finance degree - has a few IT certificates under his belt as well (he got bored - probably wouldve been compsci but he didn’t like the program and swapped to finance)

He’s the youngest in the group, younger than everyone by a couple years - being a freshman when the rest of you are nearly in your 2nd last year of your respective degrees

Baby is an extremely efficient worker but youre all fascinated by him constantly alt tabbing and working on different projects at once bc he struggles to focus on just one thing - you gift him a fidget cube and he uses it basically all the time

Potentially has undiagnosed ADHD, no one can confirm it and he can’t be bothered to confirm it himself either - extremely poor time management which is why Abby being his buddy in uni helped him get socialisation in & you and mystery help him at work now so it works out that you guys give him a loose routine to follow

During one of the drinking nights you guys have he shows up and you’re sloppy drunk again where you’re overly affectionate to everyone and coo-ing at them bc you love them and you’re rambling and as it’s just you two for a moment he lets you kiss him while hes tipsy (he kisses back) then you’re just giggly the entire time as he gets steadily more n more drunk and you’re all just knocked out in Jinu and Mystery’s dorm - you’re his first kiss

Light weight! Cannot hold his liquor! Bro is tipsy from his first shot and he’s developed your same clinginess when he’s drunk so he’s always trying to be close to you or he actually initiates hugs with the other guys (Abby is like omg my baby boy..!)

Only child, parents were a little dismissive and he isn’t that close with his parents

Sweet tooth as well as liking spicy stuff, insane snacking habits bc of it like when you guys are off work this guy is burning through multiple packs of chips or going through a shit tonne of candy

Had a crush on you in uni - lingered til you graduated and he kinda forgot it existed when he wasn’t actively around you much, you didn’t really keep touch after uni cause he was more Abby’s friend than yours

Has a soundcloud, still occasionally posts his stuff there but it’s so far removed from anything he does that it’s actually hard to find 

Probably helps resolve IT issues on your guys floor now bc there’s a time where your pc is spazzing out and you look like you’re about to cry and before Mystery can flag down the IT guys he just steps in and fixes it for you (if it’s after you’ve grown closer he might peck you on the top of your head so you don’t cry)

Typical gamer guy - used to bring his laptop for LAN games when Abs’ dragged him to hang out with you guys if not just console gaming nights, high rank in any game he plays competitively and thinks nothing of it

NSFW / suggestive - Baby hanging out with you guys in uni against his will and one time when you all were drinking and he was just forced to hang out with you, the guys had all stepped out for fresh air / to go grab more drinks and you’d gotten whiney and complained about it being too hot so you took your hoodie off but your shirt had gone up along with it and he had the best view of your bra clad tits and you kept whining about being too hot as he wrestled your shirt back down over your body - he had jerked off to the mental image for over a week straight

NSFW / suggestive - ^ the above headcanon is why Baby abruptly gets up and goes to the bathroom when it clicks in his head who you are - struggled to recognise you in your work attire cause he was used to you drowning in one of the guys’ hoodies or usually baggy clothes and when he realises who you are his brain just blasts the memory of your tits and he’s gotta go rub one out

NSFW / suggestive -  has the least amount of sexual experience but doesn’t really care too much for it. 

Probably leans to demisexual with a bit of a preference for women but it’s hard to gage bc you’re the only person he’s really thought of in that way

[marasmadness]

Would u be willing to write some sort of jj x female reader where jj is super protective of her and even kind of possessive (not in a toxic way). Jj wont hesitate to leave noticeable marks on reader and if needed, jj will get extra handsy when men try to flirt or be gross with reader

Sweet & Sour || Jennifer Jareau x Reader

CW: established marriage, gross men, mild food play and voyeurism, kissing, possessive JJ( HOT … who said that), sensual fic with no explicit sex :)

A/N: your wish is my command lovey. I’m a bit rusty, I apologize, hope you enjoy

JJ’s head perked up at the sound of your light laughter drifting from the porch through the open windows. Her eyebrows furrowed, unsure of who you could be talking about when no one was expected to be dropping by your home today. She placed her open book down on the couch, pivoting around on her knees to peer out the window. You were leaning against the railing parallel to the side of the house, a wet piece of laundry hanging from your arm. The goal of hanging them up to dry in the bright sun seemed to have been forgotten. JJ spotted a vague silhouette of another person lingering between her house and the neighbor’s, which had remained vacant for quite a few months now. She surveyed the moving trucks parked in the driveway and grew slightly more nosy at the low, gravelly sound of a man’s voice.

Hopping up quickly, she stepped out onto the porch barefoot, as if she was nonchalantly checking to see what you were up to. Hearing the soft pad of her footsteps, you turned around with a bright smile. “Brad, this is my wife, Jennifer. JJ, meet our new neighbor.”

She smiled softly, a dull greeting compared to your cheeriness. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

“Thanks. Your wife was just telling me about the area. This was my parents house. I decided to stay here for a bit. Not sure how long I’ll be here, but it was nice to meet you.” The younger man was leaning over the edge of the porch railing. You and your wife peered over the side as JJ gave a slight nod to the explanation of his recent appearance.

Looking up over Brad’s head, the blonde’ eyes level with the woods behind their house, zoning out to the tail end of your bubbly conversation with the new neighbor. Hearing her name come from your mouth recaptured your attention. “That works right, dinner tonight Jayje?” You tilted your head, under the impression she had still been tuned into the conversation.

“Sounds great,” she agreed softly, playing off the fact that she had not been listening to the dinner plans forming nonchalantly. The introduction concluded, and Brad sent a wave as he turned and headed back across the yard toward his place. You wrapped your arm around your wife’s waist while heading inside. A slight sigh escaped her lips as the front door shut behind the two of you, restoring your privacy.

“What’s wrong?’ you asked, catching on to her quick shift in mood the second you were alone.

“Nothing is wrong, love. She tugged on the hem of your dress, pulling you up against her. Content with your closeness, a soft smile spread across her face before she pressed a soft, prolonged kiss to your forehead. “I just like the peace and quiet of our dinners together, alone.

“Together alone?” You teased, raising your eyebrow as her hands slid around your waist. Planting on the small of your back.

She scoffed playfully. “You know what I mean. I don’t like strangers in our home. I prefer having you to myself, but if you would like to be the most welcoming neighbor, I’ll get through one night of sharing your presence, but he better not overstay his welcome.”

You kissed her quickly with excitement. “Thank you, Jennifer Jareau, for setting your possessive tendencies aside for your favorite wife.” You thanked her with playful dramatics, earning you a cheesy smile before you headed off to dig through the pantry.

“I’m your only wife!” She shouted back after she was already halfway up the staircase.

While you were pulling ingredients down onto the counter, assembling meals in your mind out of items you already had at home due to the short notice, JJ was sifting through clothes upstairs, yours and hers. You tapped your nails against the counter rhythmically, impatiently waiting for your pot of water to boil. JJ called out from upstairs, hanging a white sundress of yours over the banister. “How’s this one?” She asked, twirling it through the air. “I’ll iron and lay it out for you,” she offered, her outfit already draped over her arm.

“Perfect, thank you, love,” You blew her a kiss upwards before she disappeared back into the bedroom. By the time she darted back downstairs, you had drained a pot of pasta and were intently focused on slicing and squeezing lemons. JJ’s soft, sauntering footsteps went unnoticed until her hands looped around your waist and you jumped, caught off guard.

The scent of lemons overwhelmed the room. The heat of the stove and JJ’s hands on your hips left your face flushed as you attempted to focus on the tasks in front of you. At first JJ just appeared to want to help; she began whisking the sauce that was simmering, yet her one hand never lifted from your skin. By the time you had squeezed the last lemon over the pot, your hands were slick with juice. “Done with that?” Your wife plucked the lemon half from your hand, letting it roll aside. Before you could answer, her fingers closed around your wrist, dragging your hand up toward your mouth. Her lips parted, wrapping around two of your fingers and sucking them clean. Her face puckered slightly at the sour taste, but she stared directly into your eyes unblinking as she slowly dragged your fingers out of her mouth, freeing them with a soft pop.

She smirked, dragging you in a slightly dazed state over to the sink. Luckily, you were actually done and washed your hands. JJ tossed you a towel, leaving you to continue cooking once you gathered yourself. She turned off the stove on way out, knowing it would take you a moment to pull yourself out of her trance. “Looks done to me. I’m going to finish getting ready.

Quickly you chopped and mixed up a salad, tossing it in the fridge while you went to go get ready. As promised, JJ had laid the dress out on the bed for you, the fabric still faintly warm to the touch. After slipping it on, you found a white hair ribbon to match and swiped a wand of lip gloss across your lips. Looking in the mirror, the ring on your finger gleamed in the reflection as you spun it around your finger. Just as you finished, the doorbell rang.

JJ got the door, welcoming Brad inside as she stepped out of the way. “We set up a table outside since it’s so nice out today, if that’s okay with you.”

“Yeah, that sounds great. I brought this for you guys. I appreciate you hosting so last minute.” He handed over a bottle of wine to JJ, who brought it into the kitchen. You joined the two of them with a warm greeting as your wife led everyone outside to the back patio. JJ politely questioned him about his hometown, job, family, and typical small talk while pouring out three glasses for the table. He did the same, asking about you and JJ, your marriage. It seemed like nothing out of the ordinary. Plates and bowls of food were circulated around the table. JJ seemed calm and at ease, a good sign for her. The sun was setting and lit up her blonde hair with an angelic glow. The slow disappearing of dishes sent a reminder ringing in your head. “Oh shoot, I was going to cut up watermelon. JJ picked it up last weekend, and we haven’t eaten it yet. I’ll be right back.”

You stood up, heading inside, feeling comfortable enough to leave JJ and Brad outside now that they had gotten to talk a bit. You watched through the window above the kitchen sink as you cut up slices of watermelon, laying them out on a plate. JJ’s lips curled up slightly, eyes brightening in a way others would mistake as her being impressed, but you knew differently. Her expressions were slightly overexaggerated, mocking, in a way.

“Honey, come here!” JJ called out, and you lingered halfwayout the door. “Did you know a Director Johnson when you worked in counterintelligence?”

You frowned, knowing JJ wasn’t usually one to share much about either her job or your past one. “No, I don’t believe there was one, or at least not while I was there.”

She grinned, “See, that’s what I thought—”

“Wait, you both have worked for the FBI?” Brad cut JJ off, his face falling unintentionally before he straightened out his expression.

“Exactly, Brad, you’re getting it. That’s why you’ve lost me. I have been a supervisory special agent for the BAU and served as the acting unit chief, yet I’ve never heard of your boss… And furthermore, my talented wife worked in counterintelligence for a decade as well. And you said that was your department, didn’t you?

He stuttered, unable to come up with a response. His phone started ringing, and he stared down at it as if a fairy godmother was watching out for him. “Sorry, that’s my sister. I have to take this.” He walked off, pacing around your yard. JJ came inside to help you finish with the watermelon.

Finishing quickly, she wiped off her knife and held out her last cut piece of watermelon toward you. You carefully took a bite, leaning forward in an attempt to keep the running juices off of your white dress. Instead, it ran down your chin, and you moved to catch it with your fingers. JJ gently but firmly captured your wrists with one hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it. You gasped sharply when her lips met your neck, sliding across your skin. Slowly she peppered kisses across your skin along the curve of your breasts. Her finger hooked around the neckline of your dress, dragging it down.

You leaned your head against her, nearing her ear as you tucked a strand of hair behind it. “I know I didn’t drip that much,” you whispered teasingly.

She smiled at you, circling her tongue around your nipple before releasing it with a pop. “Just double-checking. You’re all good.’ She grabbed your hand and the platter, following you closely like a puppy dog. “There’s a reason this dress is my favorite,’ JJ murmured in your ear, sliding her hand down your ass before you stepped outside, struggling to hold it together.

Brad had returned to the table. JJ set down the fruit and dragged her chair right up against yours before sitting down; his eyes quickly darted to your chest and then back up. You peeked a glance at JJ’s mouth, which was slightly smeared with red lipstick, and froze knowing that meant it was probably also all over you.

“Is your sister good?” JJ’s hand landed on your thigh as she resumed the conversation.

“Yep.” He tucked his phone into his pocket.

“Good. You know, I’m curious. You were really interested in how my wife and I met. Do you have anyone special in your life?”

“No, not really. I’m more of a casual guy. I have more modern views, you know? Like it doesn’t even need to be exclusive. Actually, speaking of which, I was really interested to hear about you guys dynamic. You guys seem happy, maybe open to trying new things—”

JJ cut him off with a hand, her other pinching your thigh. “This went exactly where I thought it was going,” she mumbled under her breath through gritted teeth. “Y/N, go inside.”

You listened. As soon as the door shut, JJ stood up, walking around the table, but you couldn’t hear anything. JJ was never much of a yeller. When she was angry, her voice got low and gravelly, which was honestly more frightening. By the time she came in, Brad was gone; you didn’t even see his door shut behind him

You wrapped an arm around her, still feeling her heart beat against her chest. “If you had an inkling about what he was after, why’d you let him stay?” You murmured, pulling her closer.

“Because I promised I’d play nice, so I needed to be positive. Don’t worry though, my threats were no gentler than usual.

“You’re hot when you’re protective.“ You laughed, gently biting her lip as she kissed you. ”You could’ve told me I had marks and lipstick all over me though.”

“I thought it would send a message, but clearly men are never very good at taking a hint. I’d be happy to wash it off for you, though.” She raised an eyebrow, tugging you toward the shower.

[dark-frosted-heart]

He Turned into a Cute Beast - Clavis Lelouch

As usual, can’t guarantee 100% accuracy on this

One day, I woke up to see that my beloved had turned into a beast.

Clavis: I'm back, Emma.

Emma: Thank goodness you're back, Clavis...Where did you go while looking like this?

Clavis: Well I heard that leopards were stealthy, so I went to test it out by observing the town. If there was anyone else in the same state as me, then we could exchange information.

Emma: I see. How did it go?

Clavis: Unfortunately, no one else in the country's been turned into an animal. Moreover, I caused quite a stir when I wound up on a main street.

Emma: You weren't even trying to be stealthy, were you?

Clavis: I was just curious, you know? It was like a fun festival with how everyone screamed in surprise.

(...Everyone, I'm so sorry for taking my eyes off Clavis for a moment)

Clavis: By the way, my lovely fiancee, shall we change locations?

Emma: Meaning you want to go somewhere else?

Clavis: Yes, I'd like to go on a walk with you. Will you follow me?

Emma: Okay.

(Where are we going? Hopefully we won't scare everyone again...)

--

(—There's no one here. That's good)

Emma: I never imagined climbing a tree.

Clavis: Despite saying that, you climbed with me. That's what I love about you.

(Because I don't want to leave Clavis alone if I can help it)

(I had help getting up, but I don't think I can get down by myself...)

Emma: So, why on a tree?

Clavis: Ah, I've heard that leopards live on trees to protect themselves. Now I instinctively feel relaxed here. It's even better with you here with me.

(I see, you weren't feeling comfortable on the ground or indoors)

Emma: That makes sense then.

Clavis: Haha, you adapt well. Unlike me, you're still human, but you're pretty brave.

Emma: Because you're with me. You chose a tree that's easy to sit on, so it's no uncomfortable at all.

Clavis: I see, that's good to hear...Is this love?

Emma: ...Possibly

Clavis: Haha, you're so tsun.

Emma: A-anyway, do you have any leads on how to turn back into a human?

Clavis: No, unfortunately I don't know anything. Since I'm in this form, why don't I take this chance to share some leopard trivia?

Emma: Since it's your own crest, you must know a lot. Please do tell.

Clavis: Does this distinct pattern remind you of anything?

Emma: Huh...?

Clavis: Hint: It's something you like.

Emma: Oh, you mean roses?

Clavis: That's right. It's why leopard spots are called rosettes.

Emma: I didn't know that...! What a lovely name for it.

Clavis: Ah, that's a nice reaction. I knew you'd be impressed. I have the leopard's crest and I love roses, so I'm the perfect partner... It's like fate, isn't it?

Emma: Hehe, it does feel like it.

(Of course, most people in Rhodolite love roses, but I'm happy to have this special bond with Clavis)

Emma: It really is a lovely pattern.

Clavis: Well, my lovely fiancee...You're pretty passionate today, aren't you? You're looking at and even stroking my body so lovingly.

Emma: Can you not make me sound like a pervert?!

Clavis: What? There's nothing to be embarrassed about. It's fine being a pervert. ...Anyway, here's another bit of trivia. The only thing a leopard will bring up into its tree is its prey.

Emma: Huh, what do you—Eek! D-don't just suddenly lick my leg!

(His tongue's rougher than usual and oddly ticklish)

Clavis: Haha, you left yourself open in a place where you can't escape. You're lacking a sense of danger.

I felt a sense of danger when the leopard approached me atop the tree, my heart pounding as I looked into the golden eyes filled with amusement.

[blackkatmagic]

Any WIPs to share while AO3 is down?

Literally I am the only audience for this but. Have some Jaster/Ulic.

There's green beneath and all around him, a bed of thick, soft grass that immediately makes him think of camping out on missions with Cay and Tott. Everything is warm, as humid as Yavin IV, hushed like it’s still early morning, and something in Ulic is so worn, so tired that even if he’s always been up with the sun, all he wants right now is to sleep until some of that low-level ache finally eases.

Footsteps on the grass don’t come with any sense of warning, but they're heavy, and Ulic knows what that means, as instinctive as his next breath.

“Atin,” he murmurs, considers rolling over, but chooses not to. Even if he were the type of man to hesitate, Mand'alor the Indomitable knows not to doubt his welcome at this point.

There's a low sound of amusement, the creak of armor settling beside him. A moment later, a hand slides over Ulic's chestnut hair, teasing out the loose curls in a familiar motion.

“Still sleeping?” Atin asks, touched with humor, and by the sound of it he’s still wearing his helmet. He was meeting other Mandalorians for serious matters, that means, so Ulic should definitely be awake, be moving, but…he can't bring himself to do more than curl closer to the body beside him, the soft edges of a cloak beneath his cheek.

There's unfamiliar beading there, long, thin beads like tiny tubes hung in a thick fringe along the edges of the cloth, but Atin has been complaining about his old cloak wearing thin. He must have finally chosen to get a new one, and Ulic feels a flicker of humor, of fondness. Usually it takes him far longer than the handful of days he’s spent mourning the holes in his old cloak to replace his equipment. A sentimental man, even if he doesn’t let it interfere with his duties to his people.

“How much of the galaxy do we have to conquer before we’re allowed a day to rest?” he asks on a sigh, hooking a hand over one of Atin’s greaves and stroking his thumb across the slick surface. It feels different than normal, warmer, almost like living flesh despite the fact that it’s still metal, but—Atin likes to sit out in the sun when he gets the chance. It’s a charming thing for a fierce bastard like Mand'alor the Indomitable, oddly dear to Ulic even if a Sith shouldn’t think such things, but—

Sith. Something twists, strange, around that name, something that gives him pause. An edge, a tug, and he makes to open his eyes—

The hand in his hair strokes down his back, one slow, possessive slide, strange for the giving, eager lover Atin has always been. He’s never protested having to share Ulic with Exar, never shown an interest in owning his affections, but that touch is something odd. It makes Ulic pause, and he asks, “Is everything all right?”

“Simply marveling,” Atin says, low. “You truly are one of the great ones.”

The words send a cascading shiver down Ulic's spine, and he jerks out from under the gauntlet on his back, rolls up with one hand already reaching for his lightsaber—

And freezes, something locking up tight in his throat. Not Atin. Not Mand'alor the Indomitable’s crimson armor, battle-scared and lovingly repaired. This is copper and gold and shades of green and blue, colors shifting like it’s hammered from light itself. The cloak with its heavy fringe is a patchwork of different fabrics, stitched together with red thread like bloody sutures and draped over the figure’s shoulders so the beads click and chime against sleek armor. The figure is carrying a polearm Ulic has never seen before, the blade a gleaming crescent of silver that may as well be made of moonlight, and everything about this being burns in Ulic's senses.

Not Atin at all, Ulic thinks grimly. Someone who got past him, got into the camp, found the quiet place he and Atin had slipped away to so they could enjoy each other in the time between battles. But—getting past a whole Crusader encampment should have been almost impossible. And this man, this Mandalorian—he would have raised questions, if he had walked through the Crusaders. Ulic knows enough about them by now to know that. The Taung don’t take lightly to those who disrespect armor, those who impersonate them, and this stranger isn't wearing armor that’s anything like that the Crusaders wear.

“Now you’re awake,” the figure says, still with that edge of amusement, and rises to their feet. They're speaking Mando’a, a very old form of it, and the usual harsh consonants are almost sibilant on their tongue, raising an echoing hiss that crawls across Ulic's skin. “The man who beat my counterpart’s greatest champion, with all the odds against him. I have high expectations, Ulic Qel-Droma.”

“How do you know those words?” Ulic asks, tight, and swallows down the urge to reach for the Force, reaches for his lightsaber instead, because Mandalorians understand threats with a physical weapon best. It comes easily to his hand, the same one he built after he infiltrated the Krath and Exar took him as his Hand—

The song of the kyber, clear and pure, makes him go still in shock, something jolting through his bones. A Jedi's lightsaber, not a Sith's blade, and that shouldn’t be the truth. He’d broken his old blade in his rage, in that terrible anger that overwhelmed every sense, that Exar Kun dug his fingers into and twisted, turned to his own purpose. It washes over him, entirely overwhelming, and for a bare instant he can't think, can't speak, can hardly focus on anything at all beyond the high, bright voice of his blade.

The figure chuckles, stooping over him. They're as tall as a Taung, and as broad as one, though the shifting colors of the patchwork cloak as it moves make it hard to judge just how large they really are, what they are beneath the armor.

“Why wouldn’t I know those words?” the Mandalorian asks. “They were spoken, weren’t they?”

By a ghost. By a Sith. By Freedon Nadd, who had been so smug in his defiance of death, who had known that Ulic would fall to the Dark Side. Who had said you will be one of the great ones, like he had won a battle Ulic hadn’t even understood he was fighting.

Not that it made him unique. Everyone seemed to have known that Ulic would fall, well before he did, from his mother to his Master.

Only Cay had believed in him, and Ulic betrayed him for it.

The guilt turns, wretched, sliding into fury at himself for his own weakness, and it makes Ulic grit his teeth, squeeze his eyes shut as he channels it, funnels it into power the way Exar taught him. The exact way Arca taught them not to, but—the Sith are more powerful. The Sith use emotion, don’t flinch from it, serve themselves instead of some vast, supposed greater good that never led to anything. That saw Ulic blamed and pushed out and doubted, no matter how hard he tried to be the perfect Jedi that was required of him.

“By a ghost,” Ulic says, and pushes to his feet as carefully as he can. None of the aches he remembers from the Krath’s torture are there, dug into his bones and muscles, and he feels…not whole, maybe, but not like he’s recently come from being subject to Aleema and Satal’s tender mercies.

The stranger tips their head. “All the easier to hear, then,” they say, and reach out. Ulic tenses, though he doesn’t ignite his blade, and without any apparent fear the Mandalorian presses the thumb of their gauntlet to the mark carved into Ulic's brow.

“You made a man without equal the guard dog of the Sith Lord's servant,” they says, and it’s still amused, but the vicious edge beneath the humor makes Ulic's skin prickle. “And then you didn’t even have the honor to die with him, Ulic Qel-Droma. He died alone, his forces split to aid you, and was eaten by beasts in the jungle.”

Horror jolts, and Ulic takes a step forward despite himself, fear knotting in his throat. Atin can't be dead, he thinks. They were just together, just sleeping here. If Ulic knelt down, he’s sure he could still feel the warm imprint of Atin’s body in the grass. There’s no jungle here, no beasts; they set up camp in this place because it was safe, and the scouts would alert the Crusaders if they saw anything different. So—what beasts could possibly have overcome the Mand'alor?

“Eaten?” he demands, sharp.

The stranger cocks their head, and Ulic can't see any trace of their features behind the dark visor of their helmet, but he gets the feeling that they’re smirking. “On Dxun,” they say, light. “I suppose you don’t remember that. What a shame. I'm sure there were great lessons for you to learn from it. All that rage, twisted up with grief—well. I'm sure he would have been delighted to know you cared.”

“What?” Ulic asks, and it cracks in his mouth. Remember, he thinks. Has he forgotten something? Or is this unknown Mandalorian lying to him, spinning him some strange tale for an unknown purpose?

Belatedly, suddenly, Ulic realizes he can't feel all the minds that should be in the camp beyond the small clearing. He can't hear the basilisk droids, or the Crusaders’ voices, or the passage of ships overhead. There's no sound at all, in fact, like the whole world has been wrapped in cotton, muffling everything down to nothingness.

With a low, hissing chuckle, the Mandalorian steps close, leans in, leans down. Ulic has always been tall in comparison to the other Jedi he trained with, taller than Cay and Tott by a full head, but—Atin makes him feel small, and this person is even taller than Atin, unmistakably a Taung by the bony ridge of their jaw now that they're close enough to see it, by the way they wear their armor as naturally as breathing. They reach out, gripping Ulic's chin, and when he tenses, they cock their head. Ulic can feel their smile like a thin blade pressed into his skin.

“If I were a kinder thing,” they say, touched with something close to glee, “I might try to help you, Ulic Qel-Droma, or at least put you out of your misery. What a shame for you that I'm not.”

The way he talks about Atin—this is revenge, Ulic thinks, cold for reasons he can't quite put into words. This person wants revenge against him, and this—this is all a part of that revenge. Whatever has happened, they're seeking to make Ulic pay for what was done to the Mand'alor.

Except Ulic doesn’t know what was done to the Mand'alor. He can't remember anything after falling asleep, exhausted but satisfied, with Atin at his side. It was only last night to him, bare hours ago, but—

The strange Mandalorian is aiming for revenge. That doesn’t mean he’s not telling the truth right now.

“Who are you?” Ulic demands, knocking their hand away—

A gauntlet snaps closed around his wrist, clenches, and Ulic cries out as bones grind together, as the stranger steps forward, drives him down to his knees as he fights the grip but can't move it even slightly. The pain fractures through him, a hundred times what it should be even with his wrist on the very edge of breaking, but the stranger doesn’t open their hand. They lean in instead, looming over Ulic, smug and amused like a tooka with a struggling insect pinned beneath a paw.

“I am tired, Ulic Qel-Droma,” the stranger hisses. “Sloth has reigned for a thousand years, and destruction sleeps. Sloth will be the downfall of my champion, and I will not have that. So you will wake our third, no matter what it costs you, because if you do not, I will take away this life I have given you, and every moment of it will be an agony you have never experienced before.”

Ulic gasps, and it hurts, hurts like the torture in the Krath palace, hurts like the anger carved into his bones, hurts like Exar’s fingers digging into his wounds. Tears blur his vision, and he jerks his head in a nod, struggling, shaking from the agony—

And then it’s gone. The Mandalorian releases him with a chuckle, reaches out to stroke his hair with a possessive hand as Ulic curls around his burning wrist, nauseous with the force of the pain.

“Good boy,” they say, mocking, amused, and that beaded fringe clatters musically as they lean down, tipping Ulic's chin up to look him in the face. “My work is exquisite, so don’t take it for granted, Ulic Qel-Droma. Settle into your role, play your part, but watch for my message. And when I give you your orders, I expect you to obey immediately. Understood?”

Ulic nods, willing to offer anything if it will make the stranger release him. It makes the Mandalorian click their tongue, reproving, but they pull away regardless, straightening as their hand slips from Ulic's jaw.

“Your time with the Krath made you weak to pain,” they chide. “There will be more of it, Ulic Qel-Droma. You have not escaped so easily. But if you do as I will, I may graciously keep you alive until you’ve served your purpose. Do we have a bargain?”

Something shivers down Ulic's spine. Keep him alive, he thinks. And—he doesn’t fear death. Not in the way it’s clear Exar would like, to make him easier to manipulate. But everything here is strange, unsettling, and it’s clear something has happened that Ulic doesn’t remember. He wants to avoid the return of that pain, and he wants to know where he is, why it sounds as if this being is implying he died and was brought back, something that should be impossible even for the greatest of the Sith.

Wants to know, too, what happened to Atin, and how so fierce and brave a Mand'alor could have died alone, far from Ulic's side.

“A deal,” he says, rough in his throat, and the being chuckles even as the mark of the Hand on Ulic's brow starts to burn.

“I will hold you to it, Ulic Qel-Droma,” the stranger says, and in a ripple of light reflecting off copper-bright armor, they slip out of Ulic's slight like a shadow put under fierce light, fled in an instant with no trace remaining.

[beef-brisket]

Adam smiled from the kitchen. He knew it would go well. Sure, he may have been a teeny bit nervous, but he knew they woukd want to see him.

Archangels are held to such a high standard that most are terrified to even mention them, but really, they're all just goofs.

Adam would have liked Micheal to be here, but while messaging him and Lilith, they didn't think it was such a good idea, despite how badly Michael wanted to see him, the warrior didn't want to bring more stress to the Devil than necessary.

As he got started on making dinner for all the sins, Raphael came over, ducking slightly to miss the beam going through Adam's kitchen.

Raphael: I am not sure why you're so insistent on having these damned wooden structures through your ceiling, Adam.

Adam rolled his eyes: It's support.

Raphael: Support? Now, now, Adam. If you needed support, you could have just rested your tits in my hands~.

The first man laughed and slapped Raphael’s arm: Fuck off, mate. They're pecs, get it right.

Raphael: I am the head of everything medical in all of the rings of Heaven, Adam. I know the difference between pecs and tits, and trust me, it's not what you think~.

Adam: Pft. Yeah yeah... well, you'll be proud of me, I'm making a salad to go along with dinner.

Raphael: My, my. How healthy of you, Adam. It looks delicious- are those croutons...?

Adam: Uh... yeah-?

Raphael: Ooh, this night just got 100× better.

Adam: So... seeing Lucifer wasn't enough, but CROUTONS are what tips your scale, huh?

Raphael: Oh, most definitely. Love those little bastards... speaking of the little one... thank you. For bringing our brother back in our arms. Where he belongs.

The first man found himself pulled into a soft hug, which he quickly returned, wrapping his arms around Raphael’s abs. Tall bastard.

Adam started chuckling, which made Raphael look down at him: what?

Adam: I can feel your dick on my stomach.

The archangel playfully pushed Adam away: Not here, first man. No need to create a scene.

Adam: Stop being so tall then, weirdo. Now piss off, I have to perform magic to feed all of you.

Raphael smiled and nodded: I mean it, you. Thank you for this.

Adam: ...Anytime, Raph. Go spend time with Lu, he needs you guys.

With a pat on the shoulder, Raphael walked off back towards his siblings who were laughing and sharing stories. Adam was definitely going to need to go grocery shopping after this.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.