#and then just slowly thinking ‘Is this supposed to be good’

[sluttywonwoo]

bad influence(s): s.coups | the bouncer

pairing: bouncer!s.coups x f reader

summary: a game, a bet, a target.

warnings: smut (18+; mdni), swearing, strangers, kind of morally questionable behavior on reader's part....

smut warnings: oral (f&m receiving), dry humping, 69ing, protected sex, car sex, semi-public sex, sex as a bet

word count: 2.5k

“Him?” you balk, pointing across the room at the man your friend had selected as a candidate for your little game. 

She nods, sipping her cocktail nonchalantly. “Yeah, he’s hot.”

“That’s one of the bouncers. He’s an employee.” 

“So? You said you could land any man. He’s a man.” 

“But he’s like, working. I don’t want to bother him while he’s on the job.” 

“If you don’t think you can get him to bite, just say so.” 

You scowl. “You are such a bitch.”

She grins. “I know. But I bet you’ll be thanking me tomorrow morning. He looks like he can throw you around.” 

“At least the guy I picked for you is a patron,” you complain. “Next time I’m going to pick the DJ or something.” 

“You’re the one who was bragging about your winning streak. Maybe I just wanted to even the playing field.” 

You roll your eyes. “That’s cheating.”

“I mean if you’re as good as you say you are, it should be easy, right?” 

You curse her again, under your breath this time, and snatch her drink from her hand. “Give me this.” She watches with amusement in her eyes as you chug the rest of it. 

You already have a couple drinks in you but you figure you’ll need even more alcohol in your bloodstream in order to even attempt to approach the guy. Liquid courage and all that. 

“Good luck,” she sings as she takes her glass back. 

“You too,” you mutter. “You have your pocket knife on you?”

“Yep, you?”

You pat your pocket. “Always. Call me if you need anything.” 

“Ditto. Love you.” She blows you a kiss, her expression souring when you don’t reciprocate. “Say it back, slut!”

“Love you too,” you grumble.

“Now go get some dick!”

You wish she hadn’t shouted that across the room but the music is blaring so loud you doubt he heard it. It still gets you a few sideways looks from other people on the dance floor, though. 

The bouncer is standing on a raised platform that runs along the outside wall. He’s one of several stationed at different spots on it so that they’re able to get a good vantage point of the entire club. Easier to sniff out trouble from above, you suppose.  

You make your way over to him slowly, trying to suss out his vibe as you get closer. You’re largely unsuccessful, seeing as it’s dark and loud and you’re more than a little tipsy. The only light in the entire place comes from neon beer signs, strobe lights, and black lights hanging above the dj booth. 

Luckily, his features are sharp enough to discern through the dark— strong eyebrows, stronger shoulders. God, he’s broad. 

Eventually, you’re able to make out the lettering on his name tag which reads: CHOI, S. If only you knew what the S stood for, then you could call his name to get his attention. Instead, you’ll have to resort to Plan B. 

“So, you come here often?”

He glances at you without turning his head, almost like he isn’t fully sure if you’re talking to him. When he sees that you are in fact looking at him, he answers, albeit still with an air of confusion.

“To… my job?” 

“Yeah, like are you here every night?” 

“Most nights, yeah. I’m a grad student though so when I have late classes I don’t work. Why, do you come here often?”

You shrug. “Only sometimes.”

“I haven’t seen you around before.”

You snort. “Do you remember all the regulars’ faces?” 

“I do when their faces are as pretty as yours.” 

Oh. Maybe this would be easy. 

“Is that so?” 

“Mhm.”

“How many times has that line worked on girls before?”

“Well, does it count as a line if you’re the one that approached me?”

He had you there. 

“I guess this is the part where I ask if I can buy you a drink,” you say, deciding to keep the bit running, “but seeing as you’re still on the clock…”

He checks his watch. “Only for about thirty more minutes. Can I take you up on your offer then?” 

Your heart skips a beat. “I’ll be here.” 

“But let me be the one to buy you a drink,” he clarifies. 

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I let you buy the drink?” you joke. 

“I get a discount.”

“Ok fine, you win.” 

“Perfect, I get off at midnight.”

So do I, you think to yourself. 

-

You’re only half-convinced the bouncer will actually show when midnight rolls around. You keep him in your periphery as the minutes tick by, occasionally making eye contact with him when he catches your attention, but then he leaves his post and disappears into one of the backrooms, leaving you to wait and see if he’ll follow through. 

You don’t see your friend anywhere so you assume she must have already sealed the deal with her mark. A quick check of her location confirms that she’s moving in the direction of her apartment. Damn, she works fast. 

You’re still scrolling through your phone when someone slides onto the bar stool next to you. It’s him. He’s still wearing his uniform, a fitted black tee and slacks, but he’s lost the earpiece. What he’s got on could pass for street clothes if you didn’t know better. 

“Still thirsty?” he asks. 

“Always.” 

“What do you want?”

“Whatever you’re gonna have.”

He waves the bartender over and orders two green tea shots. Something quick that goes down easy. You’re not the only eager one. 

“By the way, what’s your name?” you ask, closing some of the distance between you by reaching over and fiddling with his name tag. 

“Seungcheol, but my friends call me Coups.”

“What should I call you?”

Seungcheol laughs. Clearly you’re not there to be his friend. 

“You can call me Cheol,” he decides. “What should I call you?”

-

You follow Seungcheol out to the parking lot behind the building after he closes the tab. The club is still very much alive and kicking this time of night but outside it’s deafeningly quiet. The thrum of the music through the brick walls is barely noticeable after being in the thick of it for so long. 

“You didn’t drive, did you?” Seungcheol asks as he clicks a button on his keys.

“No, we Ubered.”

“We?”

“My friend and I. She already left with someone.”

“Ah, does that mean I’m the backup plan?” 

“Not at all.”

“It wouldn’t change anything for me if I was, by the way,” he says, winking as he opens the passenger side door for you. 

You wait to respond until he slides into the driver���s seat beside you. 

“Are you sure? It wouldn't change things even a little bit?”

“Well, it might hurt my feelings a tiny bit,” he concedes. “But you’re hot enough that I’d be able to get over it pretty fast.”

“I’m flattered.” 

“So, how should we do this? Do you want to go back to my place or climb into the backseat?”

“Wow, forward.”

“Says the woman that hit me with a pickup line while I was working.”

“Fair enough, let’s get in the back.”

Seungcheol gestures for you to go first like the gentleman he is, definitely not with the ulterior motive of smacking your ass when you climb over the center console. He joins you a second later, clumsily repeating the same maneuvers and landing next to you. 

You laugh. “You ok?” 

He pushes his hair out of his eyes, grinning wickedly. “Never better.”

He leans forward, bringing a hand to your cheek. It’s surprisingly gentle for the circumstances. “Can I kiss you?” 

“Please do.”

His lips are warm, just like the hand on your face. They’re a little rough too, like the calluses on his palms. It escalates quickly. He slips his tongue into your mouth as soon as your lips part in a moan. It isn’t long before he’s kissing his way down your neck and nipping at your collarbone. 

His fingers play with the hem of your skirt. “Here, get on my lap.”

You straddle him, knees touching the leather on either side of his waist. You can feel how hard he is through his pants. The material is thin enough that you can feel him throbbing already and it takes a good amount of restraint not to tease him for it. It’s not like you’re faring any better. You’re sure your panties are soaked through by now. It’ll be a miracle if there’s not a wet spot on his pants when you get up. 

“Wanna try sitting on my face?”

You glance up at the roof. Seungcheol’s car is a sedan, not an SUV. “Is there enough room?”

“Why don’t we find out?”

He shifts to lay on his back with you still on top of him, urging you to turn around so that you can ride his face. You start to unbutton your skirt but he stops you. 

“Wait, leave it on. Your panties too, just move them to the side.”

“Are you afraid someone will see?”

“Nah, no one ever comes out here,” he assures you. “Unless it’s to do this. I just think it’s hot.”

It is kind of hot. Your skirt essentially turns into a blindfold as you lower yourself onto his face. He kisses your pussy through your panties first before he pulls them aside with his teeth and begins to devour you. 

It feels good but you can’t move your hips very well like this. You’re sort of forced to be hunched over due to the lack of space but the position does give you an interesting idea. 

Your hands move to his belt on instinct, making fast work of the buckle and then the zipper. 

“Is this o-ok?” you ask between breaths. 

He mumbles something in affirmation, giving you the green light to keep going. You feel him sigh against you in relief when you release him from his briefs and he straight up moans when you press your tongue to the tip. You try to match the pace of his mouth on you with your own, taking him deeper and deeper the more he teases you with his tongue. 

You swallow around him once, then again when you feel him shudder underneath you. It isn’t long until it turns into a competition, both of you trying to pull bigger reactions from the other. He’s winning, you think, because you’re about to cum on his tongue but he taps your thigh to signal you to stop before you can. 

“Fuck, sorry, I didn’t want to cum in your mouth,” Seungcheol huffs. His lips are glistening with you. It looks like lip gloss in the dim moonlight. Pretty. 

You pout. “I did.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, were you close?” He doesn’t look sorry at all. 

You nod, still pouting. 

“Poor baby,” he coos, stroking your face. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

“You can try.”

He laughs and reaches into his pocket for a condom, producing one almost immediately. 

“Do you always have those on you?” you ask incredulously. 

“We keep them in the back,” he scoffs. “I grabbed one when I clocked out. But don’t act like you don’t keep any in that tiny purse of yours.”

“Can neither confirm nor deny,” you chirp. 

“Mhm, I just beat you to it.”

You watch as Seungcheol shimmies his pants further down so that he can roll the condom on properly. 

He looks back up at you once it’s on. “What are you waiting for?”

You grin and hoist yourself back onto his lap, hovering shakily. “An invitation.” 

He kisses you instead of extending one, causing your knees to tremble. Seungcheol uses the opportunity to guide you down onto him and you’re all too glad to let him. The stretch is divine. You knew it would be. His cock is thick, just like he is, and it feels like he’ll split you in half if you aren’t careful. 

You moan the nickname he told you to call him into his mouth and feel him twitch inside you. You can tell he’s trying to give you time to adjust to his size but you can also tell that his patience is fraying at the edges. 

“Can I push your shirt up?” he asks, evidently trying to distract himself. 

“Yeah, go ahead. But if we get caught with my tits out I’ll kill you.”

“I’d die doing what I love.”

You’d smack him if you didn’t think it’d turn him on even more. 

When you do start to rock your hips, you’re careful not to rock the car with you. It might be dark out but a swaying car would definitely draw some attention if anyone were to walk by. 

Seungcheol alternates between sucking on your tits and sucking on your bottom lip as you fuck him. You can still taste yourself on him when he kisses you. You wonder if he can taste himself on you too. 

“This is kind of embarrassing,” he stammers, hiding his face in the crook of your shoulder, “but I’m already getting close.”

“What happened to making it up to me?” you taunt.

“I’m sorry. You feel so fucking good.”

“Do you want me to slow down?”

He muffles a whine against you. “I don’t want you to but if you don’t I’m not going to last much longer.”

“I can probably get there too if you rub my-”

“Like this?”

“Shit, yes, just like that.” 

“Faster? Or-”

“No, no, what you’re doing is perfect. Oh god, I’m going to cum if you keep doing that. Please don’t stop.”

A touch of smugness returns to Seungcheol’s expression. He’d chide you for your hypocrisy if he could but he’s right on the edge too and all he can do is help you both ride out your orgasms as you cum all over his cock. 

It takes a while for the aftershocks to subside but he holds you until they do. You sit there tangled together, catching your breath before he finally breaks the silence. 

“So do you win money or...?”

You scrunch your nose in confusion and tilt your head up to look at him. “What are you talking about?”

“From the bet with your friend.”

You bolt upright, nearly hitting your head on the roof. “What? You knew?!”

“Of course I knew. You two were pointing and staring at me for like ten minutes. You were obviously plotting something.”

“I-”

“I don’t mind,” he shrugs. “I feel like I kind of won too, in a way.”

“You’re not mad?” 

He shakes his head. “I’m not mad.”

“Promise?”

“Pinky promise.” He even offers you his pinky to link with yours. “You don’t win money, though?”

You sigh. “No, I wish. It’s just for fun.”

“It is fun,” he agrees as he starts to untangle himself from you. “It’s pretty late. Do you want to come back to mine and clean up?”

“Is that code for shower sex?”

“It might be.”

“I’m not opposed to that.”

“Perfect. I live just around the corner. Oh, and before I forget,” he pauses to hand you his phone. “Text yourself. That way you have my number in case you ever need to win any more ‘bets’.”

lmk what you think! i always appreciate feedback!!

[barnesonly]

˗ˏˋ ★ Little Dove ★ ˎˊ˗

winter soldier x empath!reader

summary: Hydra sends you — a broken empath — into the Winter Soldier’s cell to keep him calm. You’re supposed to soften him. Control him. But instead, something starts to unravel. In both of you.

word count: 6643

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI— disclaimer: contains dark themes. read at your own discretion! angst, slowburn, captivity, tortures, hydra, violence, brainwashing, non-consensual experimentation, hurt/comfort, trauma, possible smut in future chapters? we’ll see.

Chapter Three | Previous Chapter

Kern sits across the table, he doesn’t smile this time. No clipboard. No pleasantries. Just the click of the door locking behind you and his stare — unblinking, unreadable.

It makes your skin crawl.

“I’ve watched the tape from the recent session,” he says calmly. Almost bored.

You say nothing and Kern leans forward, folding his hands on the table. “You were making such good progress,” he continues. “You were calm, cooperative. Focused on the mission.” His head shakes in half amusement, half mockery.

“I still am,” you say, voice even.

He hums. “Funny. Doesn’t look like it.”

Your throat tightens.

“You flinch when he does,” Kern adds. “You speak softly. You… pause. Let him speak first. Let him lead.”

He leans in farther, and the tension coils tighter.

“You’ve forgotten your place.”

Your nails dig into your palms.

Kern tilts his head, voice colder now. “You still think because he looks at you differently, he’s yours? You think a weapon like that can be tamed?”

You don’t answer.

“You’re becoming a problem,” he says flatly. “And you know what we do with problems.”

Your stomach turns, but you hold your ground. “Then why am I here?”

“Because you’ve made bigger progress than others who tried. Because I want to give you a chance to fix it,” he says. “To remind you what this is. You’re not a savior. You’re bait.”

He lets that word hang.

“You think he wants you?” Kern says, his voice quieter, meaner. “He wants the comfort you offer. The peace. But that’s not real. You’re not real to him. You’re just the calm before the trigger pulls.”

Your breath comes shallow.

“You think I don’t see what’s happening?” Kern’s voice sharpens. “The way he looks at you. The way you look at him. Like he’s something more.”

He sits back, smiling now — but it’s nothing kind.

“Let me be clear,” he says. “If I sense one more lapse in control, one more slip of judgment, I’ll have him reprogrammed until there’s nothing left to look at. And you? You’ll go back to solitary. No more sessions. No more connection. No more him.”

Silence chokes the room.

Kern stands. “Get your head on straight. Because the next time I call you in, I expect results. Not feelings.”

He walks toward the door. But before he leaves, he glances back — and this time, his voice is almost gentle.

“I warned you not to get attached.”

The door slams shut.

Interview over.

———

You step in. Your body moves with that same soldier-smooth precision they trained into you — quiet, efficient, unremarkable.

Your boots don’t echo. Your breathing doesn’t falter. You keep your gaze straight ahead, like you practiced all night behind the cold hum of your cell door.

Like Kern told you to.

So you do what he said.

You don’t pause at the threshold like you usually do. You don’t wait for the Winter Soldier’s eyes to find yours. You don’t feel for the invisible pull that always seems to stretch between you — taut and charged, like a wire strung between two live bodies.

You pretend it isn’t there.

You sit down.

Straight-backed. Hands in your lap. Composed.

You fold yourself into the kind of calm they like to see — the one that makes you forget your name. The one that makes you forget his.

But he notices.

The second you stepped in, his head lifted. Not sharply — slowly, almost cautiously, like he thought it might hurt. And now he’s watching you — not with suspicion. Not with coldness.

With something worse.

Worry.

You haven’t seen that in him before. Not like this.

“What’s wrong?” he ask after a moment. His voice is low, gravel-edged. A sound that used to make you feel safe.

You don’t answer, then — flatly, “We should begin.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The silence stretches long enough that you almost look up — almost.

“You don’t sound like you,” he murmurs finally.

You ignore the way your stomach twists. “I’m fine.”

His eyes sharpen. “Did they hurt you again?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Your spine stiffens. You force your tone steady. “I’m not.”

But you flinched. He saw it. He shifts in the chair. The metal cuffs bite faintly against his wrists. His metal fingers twitch.

“You won’t look at me,” he says.

Your throat constricts. “That’s not relevant.”

His head tilts slightly. “Is that what they told you to say?”

A beat of stillness. Then you nod.

Barely. Just once.

And his expression crumples — not all at once, but piece by piece. Like he’s trying to hold something fragile together and watching it fall apart in his hands.

“What did they do to you?” he asks again. Softer, now. Like the question hurts him.

“Nothing.”

“Then what did they do to us?”

You suck in a breath. It catches.

“I’m following orders,” you whisper.

“Whose?”

You hesitate. And that’s the answer.

The silence that follows is cold. Hollow.

“I thought I lost you,” he says, and his voice is hoarse. “After what I did. I thought I wouldn’t see you again. That I’d… ruined it… And you assured me I won’t lose you.”

You look down at your hands — white-knuckled in your lap. You’ve been gripping your own fingers so hard they’ve gone numb.

“I am here,” you murmur.

“Then look at me.”

Your chest aches.

You want to. God, you want to.

But you know what Kern said. What he threatened. That if they think you’ve grown too close — if they sense attachment — they’ll remove you. Or worse, remove him.

You speak slowly. Carefully. Like each word is a fragile thing. “I have to protect you.”

A pause. The chains rattle as he shifts again.

“From what?”

You lift your gaze — only for a heartbeat — and it’s enough. The pain in his expression cuts deep.

“From them,” you breathe. “If they think I’m too close — if they know how much I care — they’ll take you from me.”

He shakes his head. A faint, disbelieving sound escapes his throat. “I don’t care what they think.”

“You should,” you snap, more desperate than angry. “Because if I slip up again, they’ll lock you away, or worse — wipe you clean.” You can barely keep your voice steady. “And then you won’t remember anything. Not this. Not me.”

His hands flex in the cuffs.

“You can’t—… You can’t say that. You can’t walk through the door and pretend nothing ever happened. You can’t pretend you’re not mine.”

Your breath breaks in your throat. That word — mine — shouldn’t hit like that. But it does. Because it’s not possession, not control.

It’s longing.

It’s grief again.

It’s him, wishing he still had a right to you.

You look up — fully this time. Your mask slips.

“It’s not like that,” you whisper. “I’m trying to protect you.”

“By pretending I don’t matter?” His voice cracks. “By shutting me out?”

“I thought if I acted normal — if I followed their rules — they wouldn’t see how much I—”

You cut off.

His jaw clenches. His shoulders tense, and for a moment, you think he might pull back.

But he doesn’t.

He leans forward instead — slow, careful, like he’s afraid he might break you.

You don’t move.

“You’re the only thing I remember,” he says. “The only thing that feels real. And if you go away, if you start pretending like it didn’t mean anything — then I’ll forget it meant something too.”

His words hang in the air like smoke — choking, impossible to ignore.

You sit frozen, heart hammering in your chest, your hands still folded in your lap even as everything inside you screams to reach for him. To break the space between you. To tell him he’s not imagining this.

That it’s real.

That you are.

“Please,” he says. Soft. Cracked.

Your breath stills.

“Please, little dove. Don’t do this to me.”

Your heart lurches. That name — it’s not just a comfort anymore. It’s an anchor. A reminder of every time he watched you walk through that door and remembered something human inside himself.

His eyes — steel blue, full of ache — don’t leave yours now. They’re pleading. Raw. He looks like he’s on the edge of something, like the chains on his wrists are the only things keeping him from falling apart.

He slowly moves. His fingers shift in their cuffs. The chains rattle softly as he lifts his flesh hand from where it rests in his lap. You don’t breathe. You can’t.

He hesitates, halfway there.

And then he touches you.

His fingers brush the back of your hand. Light. Careful. As if he’s not sure he’s allowed. As if he’s afraid you’ll flinch again.

But you don’t.

Because it’s him.

His thumb traces the edge of your knuckles — gentle, reverent. He looks down at the contact like it’s hurting him, or healing him. Maybe both.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” he says, voice rough. “But I know what it feels like when you’re near. And I know what it feels like when you’re not.”

You blink hard, tears burning behind your eyes. You try to speak, but the words don’t come.

So instead — you turn your hand over.

You give it to him.

You let your palm meet his, your fingers curling just slightly to hold the shape of his grip. And he exhales — like he’s been underwater this whole time, and just now broke the surface.

“When you walked in here today like this… I thought I broke you,” he whispers. “That I’d lost you.”

“You didn’t,” you say, voice hoarse. “You never could.”

His eyes close for a second, as if the weight of that truth is too much to carry.

But he keeps holding your hand.

Like he finally believes it’s his to hold.

His hand is wrapped around yours. Not tightly — no. Carefully. Like you’re fragile. Like he’s terrified you might break again, and this time, he won’t know how to fix you.

The silence stretches, but not the kind that hurts. This one feels… suspended. Like a held breath. A waiting.

And maybe it’s time to stop waiting.

Your other hand trembles in your lap. You try to keep it still, try to keep yourself still, but everything inside you is starting to shake — and this time, you don’t swallow it down. You don’t push it away.

You let it rise.

Your voice, when it comes, is thin and trembling. “I’m scared,” you whisper.

His gaze snaps to yours. Alarmed. Hurt.

“Did I—?”

“No,” you breathe, squeezing his hand before he can pull away. “Not of you. Never of you.” You give him a weak, sad smile.

His lips part like he wants to speak, but no words come out.

Your throat tightens.

His thumb brushes over the back of your hand again. A tiny gesture. But it cuts through everything.

You blink rapidly, jaw clenching as the sting builds behind your eyes. You’ve held it in for so long — held yourself in for so long — but now, his touch, his eyes, the way he says please like you’re the one who could ruin him.

It undoes you.

Your breath shudders. And then the first tear falls. Not violently. Just… quietly. Like it’s been waiting for permission.

His gaze sharpens instantly.

“Little dove…” he breathes. His voice is low, frayed.

But you shake your head. Not to stop him. To stop yourself — from falling too fast, from reaching too far. Your shoulders tremble.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you whisper. “I can’t pretend it’s not real.”

He goes still. Like he’s afraid to move, afraid to breathe.

You lift your eyes to meet his.

“I’ve been trying to stay… controlled. Safe. Distant. Like it’s just a mission. Just a job. Just survival.” Your voice breaks. “But I come in here, and you look at me like I matter. You see me — and I don’t know how to live without that anymore.”

His fingers curl slightly against your skin.

“I don’t even know what I’m saying,” you laugh, bitter and wet, wiping at your face. “I’m not sure what I feel, I just—when I see you—” You press your lips together, shaking your head. “I feel like I have a name. Like I exist again.”

You’re sobbing now — quietly, not messy. Just open. Raw. Finally letting it out.

He watches you like it hurts him. Like every tear slices across his chest.

And then he moves.

His hand leaves yours — and for a second, you think maybe he’s pulling away. Maybe you said too much—

But he reaches for your face with his other hand. The metal is cool against your skin, but steady. Tender. His thumb brushes along your jaw. He cups you like he’s holding something sacred.

You still. The world stills.

Then he leans forward.

His forehead touches yours — slow, careful, reverent.

“I don’t know what this is either,” he says, voice almost a breath. “But I want this.”

You close your eyes.

And in that space between silence and surrender, he kisses you.

Softly.

Once.

And again.

Not rushed. Not hungry. Just… real.

Like he’s asking a question.

Like you’re the answer.

And for the first time in so long, the ache in your chest doesn’t hurt. It belongs.

You kiss him back with so much passion and so much hunger. The world outside doesn’t exist, not in this moment. You had no idea how much you wanted this, how much you needed this.

He cups your face with both of his hands now, as If you were about to disappear the moment the kiss breaks.

And the kiss lingers on your skin long after he pulls away. His forehead stays pressed to yours, breath warm between you, the metal of his hand still cradling your jaw like you’re something delicate. Something sacred. You don’t move. You barely breathe.

His touch is slow, reverent. The way his thumb brushes under your eye — wiping away the tear he didn’t cause — feels more intimate than anything that’s come before it.

“Little dove,” he murmurs, like it’s a prayer. A lifeline.

You close your eyes. Just for a second. Let yourself feel it.

The warmth of his flesh hand and the coldness of his metal send a shiver through your spine — the contrast is so stark yet so comforting. The ache in your chest is finally quieting.

And for a heartbeat — just one — it’s like you’re not in that room.

Like you’re not a prisoner.

He leans closer, brushing his lips against your temple — a touch so soft it barely registers.

And then—

BZZZT.

The intercom crackles overhead.

“Sit back.” The voice is calm. Not Kern’s.

Voss.

Every inch of your body goes still.

The Soldier stiffens instantly, like a string just snapped tight down his spine. His hand freezes against your cheek.

You don’t move. Can’t. Not yet.

“Now.” It’s still calm. That’s worse than if he’d shouted.

You pull back slowly. Controlled. Not rushed. Like it means nothing.

Like you weren’t just kissing him.

You lower your gaze, hands returning to your lap with practiced stillness. Your posture straightens. Your mask re-forms.

The Soldier doesn’t move.

“Compliance failure will result in removal.” Still even. Still quiet. But the message is clear.

Your heart stutters.

They saw.

They saw everything.

They always see.

They always watch.

And now — you’re not sure who they’ll punish.

The Soldier’s jaw clenches. His eyes don’t leave yours. But slowly — like it costs him something — he moves back. Just a bit.

“That’s better,” Voss says. Then silence. The line goes dead.

It blooms, sharp and ugly in its aftermath.

The Soldier’s breathing is heavier now. You don’t know if it’s anger. Or fear. Or both.

You don’t speak. Neither does he.

The damage has been done.

———

You come back the next day. Your body remembers what it’s supposed to do — smooth, composed, controlled — but your blood doesn’t. Your blood knows. Something’s wrong. You feel it before your eyes even lift.

And then you see him.

And it rips the air from your lungs. Your eyes wide up in horror.

He’s on the floor — still restrained — but he’s slumped low, jaw bruised, lip split. There’s blood dried across one temple, matting his hair, and more smeared dark down the edge of his jaw. His ribs blooming with mottled bruises — some old, most fresh. There are wounds on his chest. Ones you haven’t seen there before.

You stop breathing.

He looks up. Slowly. Like it hurts.

But the second he sees you — the second your eyes meet — he tries to sit straighter.

He fails.

The chains rattle weakly as he sags back against the wall. His metal fingers twitch, reaching — instinctive.

Still reaching for you.

“I’m fine,” he croaks, before you can say anything.

He isn’t.

You know he isn’t.

“What did they do?” you whisper, your voice trembles, cracks.

But you already know.

Because this wasn’t about him. Not really.

It was about you.

And they knew exactly what would break you.

“They said I needed a reminder,” he says hoarsely. “About boundaries.”

Your throat tightens. You try to speak — to say something — but it catches like barbed wire.

“I didn’t tell them anything,” he says quickly. Like that’s what you’re worried about. “Not about us. Not about how I feel. I just kept thinking—” He winces. Breath hitches. “—if I stayed quiet, they wouldn’t hurt you.”

You move before you can stop yourself. You’re at his side in two steps, hands outstretched — hovering, shaking. You don’t touch him. You don’t know where to touch. He’s bleeding in too many places.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, already sobbing.

He closes his eyes. His head tips back, resting against the wall. His voice is barely a breath.

“You came back.”

Your jaw clenches hard enough to ache. You blink fast — you will not cry. Not again. Not here. “I always come back,” you whisper.

His eyes open again. Clouded, pained. But soft. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t blame yourself.”

You want to scream. You want to grab him, hold him, undo every inch of what they did — but you can’t even brush your fingers against his skin without hurting him.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you,” you murmur. “I knew they were watching. I knew what they’d do if—”

He shakes his head. “I kissed you.”

“They punished you.”

“They always do,” he says, quietly and casually, like it’s nothing. “It’s not your fault, dove.”

You freeze and his gaze holds yours.

“I’d take it again,” he says. “The bruises. The pain. All of it. If it means I get one more second with you.”

Your heart stumbles so hard it feels like it might tear itself in half.

He’s looking at you — with one good eye and a face full of bruises — and he means it. Every word. Like it’s nothing. Like he’d suffer again just to feel your warmth for a moment longer.

And it kills you.

Because he shouldn’t feel that way. He shouldn’t have to bleed for crumbs of comfort. He shouldn’t be sitting here, broken, because you let yourself feel human for once — because you let your guard slip and you fell in love with someone who understood your pain in a way no one else could.

And he thinks it was worth it.

Your throat clenches around the sob that threatens to escape. “Don’t say that,” you whisper.

He blinks slowly. “Why not?”

“Because I shouldn’t matter that much to you. Because they used it. Because they knew it would hurt both of us. And they were right.” Your hands are shaking now. “I never wanted this. Not like this.”

He watches you — the way you hover, helpless, like you’re about to shatter. “But you do,” he says softly. “You do matter to me.”

Something in you buckles. Not your spine — not your posture — but something deeper. Something hollowed out long ago that suddenly fills with ache.

“I can’t protect you,” you say, barely audible.

He almost smiles. But it’s too tired, too pained to reach his mouth.

“You already are.”

You take a slow, shaking breath, then finally reach for him — gentle, trembling — and press your fingertips to the edge of his jaw, just where the bruising ends.

It’s not much. But it’s something.

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize again, and this time your voice cracks.

He leans into your hand, eyes fluttering shut and something in you gives way.

The thing you’ve been holding back — for days, for weeks, maybe even since the moment they first locked you in with him — it slips its leash.

You move closer to him, carefully — like you’re afraid even the sound of it might hurt him. Your hands move to his sides, hovering for a second too long before you finally gather the courage to touch. Just barely. Just enough to guide yourself closer.

And then — slowly, gently — you lean forward and bury your face in his chest.

He goes completely still.

You’re careful. You don’t press against the bruises. You shift slightly when he flinches — adjusting, protecting, cradling him as if he were made of glass. But you don’t pull away. You can’t.

Because the second your head rests against him — the second you feel his warmth — you break.

The sob that leaves you is soundless, but it rips through your whole body.

Your fingers tremble as they curl against his bare sides, careful to avoid the worst of the bruises. His skin is warm beneath your touch — too warm — and you feel every shallow breath he takes, every small flinch he tries to hide. Your chest shakes as tears fall hot and fast, dripping onto his skin and smearing through the blood and sweat already there. You try to stop, but you can’t. You’re not built for this. You were never trained for this kind of pain.

You didn’t mean to fall in love with him.

But you did.

And now you’re holding his broken body like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“I love you,” you whisper, so quietly you’re not even sure you meant to say it aloud. “God, I love you.”

His breath hitches above you.

His fingers — still trembling — move with slow effort. You feel the faint brush of his metal hand as it curls weakly around your wrist. He doesn’t pull you closer. He doesn’t need to. You’re already wrapped around him like you’ll never let go again.

And maybe you won’t.

For a moment, the room disappears. The walls, the cameras, the chains — none of it exists. Just the two of you. Clinging to something that was never supposed to be yours.

———

Another day passes.

They bring you in.

The lights are too bright, humming loud in your ears. The walls look the same as always, but your powers flicker the moment you walk in. You feel it — his pain, much stronger than yesterday.

And then you see him.

Kneeling.

His arms are bound behind his back, He’s bruised. Fresh cuts trail down his ribs. He’s slumped but upright, panting like it hurts to breathe, blood dried in the corner of his mouth.

And he looks up the second you enter.

The moment your eyes meet, he knows.

You know.

Your breath stumbles.

No, you think. No.

But the speaker crackles to life, overhead. Cold. Detached.

“You want to prove you’re not compromised?” Voss’s voice. Smooth. Deadly. “Then hurt him.”

You don’t move.

“What?” you whisper.

Kern is there with Voss. He must be, you think. It’s always his ideas, his commands. His sick, twisted, fucking game he loves playing so much. He’s watching. Always watching.

“Strike him,” Voss says again, with practiced ease. “Inflict pain. Make it convincing. Or we’ll send someone else in who won’t stop at convincing. Let’s see if you can break him yourself. Since you’re the one who got him into this mess.”

Your gaze locks onto the camera.

Then slowly, to him.

And he’s already nodding.

“It’s okay,” he croaks, voice rough. “Do it. I can take it.”

That’s what undoes you.

Not the order.

Not the setup.

Not even the threat.

It’s him.

The way he offers himself up like it’s normal. Like it’s nothing. Like he’s done this before.

You step forward. Slowly. Your limbs feel like they aren’t yours. Heavy. Shaking. Your hands curl into fists at your sides as you lower yourself to your knees in front of him.

He blinks at you. There’s blood on his teeth. Confusion flickers across his face.

“It’s okay,” he says again. “I’d rather it be you.”

“No,” you whisper.

“You have to.”

“No.”

You turn toward the camera, jaw tight. Your voice doesn’t shake.

“I won’t hurt him.”

Silence.

Then a breath of static. And a slow, amused hum from Voss.

“Disappointing.”

You barely have time to turn around.

The doors behind you slam open. Heavy boots. Two guards enter — bigger, armored, not here to play pretend.

“Stop!” you shout, scrambling to your feet. “I said stop—!”

They don’t listen.

They grab your arms. Yank you back. You thrash, wild, desperate, screaming his name as they drag you across the floor.

“Don’t touch him—please, don’t—!”

He lifts his head as they pull you away. You see it — just for a moment — his face, broken, bloodied, and still trying to find you through the blur.

“Little Dove—”

Then the door slams.

They don’t take you far. Just down a corridor, through a door you’ve never seen before. The walls here are darker, the air colder. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting a sickly hue on the metal surfaces.

You’re thrown into a chair, wrists and ankles bound with cold, unyielding restraints. The room smells of antiseptic and something more sinister — blood, sweat, fear.

Kern stands before you, clipboard in hand, eyes devoid of emotion. Voss watches from behind a glass pane, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“You disappoint me,” Kern says, his voice devoid of inflection.

You glare at him, defiance burning in your chest despite the fear coiling in your stomach.

“You had a chance to prove your loyalty,” he continues. “Instead, you chose weakness.”

He nods to someone behind you. A figure steps forward, face obscured, holding a tray of instruments that gleam ominously under the harsh lights.

The first cut is shallow, a mere scratch across your forearm. But it’s enough to make you flinch, to draw blood. The pain is sharp, immediate.

“This is just the beginning,” Kern says, watching you closely.

The next cut is deeper, slicing through muscle. You bite back a scream, refusing to give them the satisfaction. Blood drips onto the floor, pooling beneath your chair.

They continue, methodically inflicting pain, each wound calculated to cause maximum agony without causing death. Your vision blurs, sweat mingling with tears as your body trembles.

“Still silent?” Kern asks, raising an eyebrow. “Impressive.” He leans in close, his breath cold against your ear. “But everyone breaks eventually.”

The torment continues, each moment stretching into eternity. Your mind begins to fracture, pain overwhelming every thought. But through it all, you hold onto one thing — him. His face, his voice, his unwavering belief in you.

You won’t give them the satisfaction. You won’t let them win.

———

You don’t know how long it’s been.

Time blurs when you bleed this much.

The room is still — quiet now. The torturer’s gone. The instruments have been cleaned. You’re left hanging, slumped from your restraints, blood drying sticky down your sides. Your shoulders scream. Your legs are shaking. But you don’t make a sound. You won’t give them that.

Then the door opens again with the familiar sound of boots.

You don’t lift your head, but you already know it’s him.

Kern.

He doesn’t speak right away. You hear the slow flip of a folder. The click of a pen. Like he’s reading over notes before a meeting.

You force yourself to breathe.

To stay awake.

“I have to admit,” he says after a moment, his voice calm and even. “I expected more from you.”

Your jaw clenches.

“You had so much potential,” he continues, stepping closer. “All that power. All that pain. You could have been unstoppable.”

You finally lift your head. Slowly. Your vision doubles. One of your eyes is nearly swollen shut.

He smiles faintly.

“And then you got soft. Love makes you weak.”

You say nothing.

“You started caring,” he says. “You let him in. You started feeling things. Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?”

Your voice comes out broken. Dry.

“You mean for you?”

“For everyone,” Kern replies smoothly. “But mostly for you.”

He leans in, just enough for you to see the glint in his eye. “He’s going to die because of you.”

Your breath catches. Kern sees it.

“That’s the part that kills you, isn’t it? Not the pain. Not the beatings. Not even what we just did to you.” His voice lowers. “It’s knowing that he’s the one who’s going to suffer next. Because of what you feel.”

Your body tenses, but you’re too weak to move.

“Every second you let yourself get attached,” he murmurs, “you carved the knife deeper into him. He’s broken because you didn’t do your job. He’s bleeding because you couldn’t follow orders.”

Tears sting behind your eyes.

But you won’t let them fall.

You won’t.

“Say it,” he says softly. “Say you understand what you’ve done.”

You look at him.

And somehow, through the haze, you still find it in yourself to spit. The blood hits his shoe.

Kern stills.

Then laughs, cold and quiet.

“I’ll give you credit,” he says, stepping back. “You’ve got fire.”

He walks to the door.

“But fire only lasts so long when there’s nothing left to burn.”

He glances back one more time.

“Rest up. You’ll need it. Next time, he’ll be watching.”

Then the door shuts.

And you’re left in silence.

Hanging by your wrists. Blood drying down your legs. Muscles trembling with pain.

But you don’t break.

Not yet.

Because even now — even ruined — you’re still his Little Dove.

And you won’t let them clip your wings.

———

They throw you back into your cell like you’re trash.

Your body hits the concrete hard, a sick thud followed by the rasp of the metal door slamming shut behind you. The sound echoes, then disappears into silence.

You don’t move.

Blood pools slowly beneath your cheek. Your body is a raw, pulsing thing — ribs cracked, wrists torn open where the restraints dug deep, skin burning where they cut, peeled, pressed. Your mouth tastes like rust and ash. Every breath is a jagged edge.

You couldn’t scream by the end. There wasn’t enough left.

And now — now there’s just the cold, the blood, and Kern’s voice still whispering inside your skull.

“He’s the one who’s going to suffer next. Because of what you feel.”

You try to push it away.

You try.

But it plays again, anyway.

“He’s going to die because of you.”

You want to scream — not from pain, not even from fear — but from fury. From shame. Because you know what he meant. Because you saw the way they looked at you when he bled for you. Because you saw him kneel and still offer himself just to keep you safe.

You curl into yourself.

You don’t cry. You can’t. There’s nothing left to give. Just the quiet drip of blood from your nose, the sting of your own heartbeat against split skin, and the knowledge that this — all of this — started the moment you let yourself feel something.

“Love makes you weak.”

No. No, it doesn’t.

But here, in this silence, on this cold floor… it’s so hard to remember that.

———

They left him on the floor. Just cold concrete beneath his ribs and the weight of dried blood caked in every seam of his skin. He hasn’t moved in hours. Can’t. His body doesn’t listen, not really. Everything aches. His shoulder’s out of socket again. Jaw split at the hinge.

But worse than the pain is the silence.

You’re not here. And he doesn’t know what they’re doing to you.

The door creaks open. No alarms. No guards this time. Just footsteps.

“Soldier,” Kern says, voice like ice poured down the spine.

A chill creeps under his skin. He flinches before he can stop it — barely a twitch, but Kern catches it. He always does.

“Still in one piece, I see,” Kern murmurs. “How resilient.”

The Soldier’s breathing tightens. Shallow and fast. His pulse scrapes in his ears.

Kern’s boots stop just beside his face. Close enough to step on him if he wanted to.

And for a second, it feels like he might.

The Soldier shifts — slow, broken — trying to push himself up onto one elbow, but his arm gives out. He crashes back down with a low grunt, breath shuddering. His eyes stay on the floor. He doesn’t even try to use his metal arm.

Kern crouches beside him. “Funny,” he says. “I thought you’d be relieved she wasn’t here. After all, you’ve done quite enough damage to her already.”

Silence.

Blood drips from the Soldier’s split lip.

“I saw her,” Kern continues, softly now. “After we pulled her out. Do you know what she said before she blacked out? She asked if you were still breathing. Not for herself. Not for freedom. Not even for mercy. Just you.”

He doesn’t respond.

He can’t.

Fear crawls up his throat, dry and clinging. He tries to swallow, but it sticks.

Kern leans closer. “But that’s the problem, isn’t it?” he whispers. “You care.”

The Soldier’s eyes flick up — just for a second — and Kern smiles.

“There it is,” Kern says. “That look. That flicker of something trying so hard to be human. Tell me, do you know what we do with broken weapons around here?”

A beat.

Then he says it. Quiet. Deliberate. “We reset them.”

The Soldier’s stomach turns. His breath catches.

No.

“I think it’s time we reminded you what you are,” Kern murmurs, voice low and velvet-smooth. “No more distractions. No more softness. We scrub the slate clean.”

He leans in even closer — like a lover, like a ghost — and breathes the next words right against his ear: “Would you like to forget her?”

The Soldier recoils. He actually tries to move — muscles spasming, panic jolting through his limbs like an electric shock. The restraints on his wrists bite in harder.

Kern stands. “You won’t remember her name. Her voice. The way she looked at you. All of it… gone. Just another crack sealed shut.”

He turns to leave.

“But don’t worry,” he adds, stepping over him like he’s nothing, “we’ll keep her alive. So you can hurt her again. Just like the first time.”

The door hisses open.

The Soldier lurches forward, gasping.

“Please—”

But Kern is already gone.

And the light flickers overhead. His face is still pressed to the floor, breath torn ragged from his chest, shaking with a fear deeper than pain.

Because death would be mercy.

Forgetting you?

That would be worse.

That would be the end.

———

The surveillance room hums low with static and fluorescent buzz. The screen in front of them flickers slightly — just enough to suggest interference, though neither man seems to mind.

Kern stands with arms crossed, posture crisp, almost elegant in his stiffness. Voss sits, as always, legs spread in a relaxed sprawl, suit jacket open, a finger tapping absently against the console.

Soldier is barely visible in the monitor’s grainy grayscale. Curled on the concrete, motionless. The bruises on his side have started to bloom purple-black.

“You saw her reaction,” Kern says calmly. “She cracked.”

“She didn’t hit him,” Voss points out.

“No,” Kern agrees. “But she disobeyed. That’s more valuable.”

Voss turns his head, slow and amused. “You enjoy this too much.”

“And you don’t enjoy it enough,” Kern replies, barely a smile. “We’re past the phase of brute compliance. If we want them to turn on each other, we need her to break where it matters. Not with screaming. With silence.”

Voss’s fingers stop tapping.

“You think she’ll still protect him after this?”

“She thinks she’s protecting him now,” Kern answers. “Guilt is a powerful motivator. And he—” His eyes flick to the screen. “—he’d rather die than let her suffer. We use that.”

“Until?”

“Until she begs us to erase him.”

Voss lets out a low whistle. “Cold.”

“She won’t mean it,” Kern says, unfazed. “But she’ll say it. That’s all we need.”

He pauses, tilting his head toward the monitor.

“You take something precious. Twist it. Make her believe he’s better off gone. That she’s the one keeping him in pain. Eventually, she’ll beg us to wipe him clean. To put him out of his misery.”

Voss hums. “And when she does?”

“Then she’ll never forgive herself,” Kern says quietly.

They both look at the screen again.

The Soldier hasn’t moved.

“Should I schedule another wipe?” Voss asks.

Kern’s lips twitch, not quite a smile. “No. Not yet. Let him remember. Let him rot in the fear of it.”

He leans forward slightly, eyes sharp as blades.

“Fear is the thread we pull.”

———

You’re back in the chair again. No restraints this time, but you know better than to think you’re free. The walls are smooth. Clinical. There’s no sound except the quiet hum of the overhead lights. Across from you, Kern sits with his fingers laced, calm as ever. No clipboard. No notes. Just watching.

He waits a moment before he speaks. Just long enough to let the silence crawl under your skin.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says finally.

You don’t answer.

His head tilts. “Not like last time. Not like the screaming.”

Your jaw tightens.

“I thought we made progress,” he muses. “But maybe I was wrong. Maybe you need another reminder of what’s at stake.”

Still, you say nothing.

Kern leans back slightly in his chair. “You know what I think?” He smiles — just a faint tug at the corner of his mouth. “I think you still believe there’s a version of this where you both survive. Where you get to keep him.”

Your hands curl into fists in your lap.

“But there isn’t,” he continues. “Not really. You were never meant to get attached. And he… he was never meant to feel anything.”

He pauses.

“But he does. And you do. And that… complicates things.”

You look up, finally. Meet his eyes.

“You did this,” you say quietly. “You made us like this.”

Kern smiles wider. “And now I get to unmake you.”

He stands. Walks slowly to your side — not touching, not even looming. Just circling.

“You’ll let him go eventually. I know you will. You’re too smart to die for someone so broken. You’ll fold. You’ll cry. And then you’ll beg us to end it.”

He stops behind you. His voice lowers.

“I hope you are aware that you are in control now. I’ll let you do the honors.”

Silence.

Then he leans in, just enough for you to feel his breath on your neck.

“We can wipe him. Make him forget you… or… He can suffer, of course. You both can. We’ll continue the tortures, the pain,” he whispers. “Maybe he’ll die in the process.”

He lets that hang in the air.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

And then, like nothing happened at all, he straightens and turns to leave the room.

“Until next time, 009.”

Interview over.

fuck kern we all say in unison!

Chapter four soon! 🕊️

tags (tysm for love and support): @tfamidoingwithmylife @stell404 @shakysif @unicornqueen05 @carolinianmermaid @zoroforlife @beforemdnight @nicksolemnlyswears

[sweetcalebb]

Bad Fight

⋆˙⟡ you and caleb have a fight after he decides to put some stranger in his place, stripping you of your autonomy. again

cw: angst

a/n: this is for my avoidant girlies 🫶🏻

──★ ˙

The tension was suffocating. Tonight was supposed to be a fun and relaxing—a rare break from both of your jobs. But Caleb had ended up telling some guy off for looking at you and ruining the whole night.

God.

What right did he have to just.. do that?

You sounded like an asshole, but Caleb was always hovering, always trying to play the knight in shining armor. But you weren't the little girl that needed saving anymore and he didn't seem to get that.

Now, you were silently walking up to his apartment a few steps behind him, your chest tight and your cheeks burning from frustration.

When he let you in, you didn't even thank him. Just walked past. And it killed him. He sighed, running a tired had through his hair before shutting the door and following after you.

"Hey, are you seriously still upset?"

Heat shot up your spine. It was that 'seriously' he threw in there that really made the churn in your stomach worse. He said it like he couldn't believe you were mad at him, like what he did was so noble.

But you pressed your lips into a hard line, refusing to answer.

"Okay. So that's a yes."

Still nothing.

Wordlessly, you shrugged off your coat, then draped it over his couch. You knew you were being a bit childish. The cold shoulder? Yeah. That was never the way to go, but you didn't trust your voice right now.

Caleb let out another sigh, taking a few steps forward. "I'm sorry I screwed up our evening," he breathed out, hand twitching at his side like he wanted to touch you. "But I'm not sorry I told that weirdo to back off."

You paused, desperately trying to swallow back the thousands of angry words trying to spill out.

Stop it.

For a moment, it was silent. Just you trying to hold it together, and Caleb, standing there, waiting for you say something. To snap at him, yell at him, anything.

But you never did.

"Can you at least..." He trailed off, unsure of what to say. "Can you at least look at me? Or say something?"

You licked your lips, the words just on the tip of your tongue.

Reel it in.

He means well.

Slowly, you turned around. You stared at him for a second, thinking of your words carefully before finally opening your mouth.

"I.. I know you mean well, but what you did back there—it didn't feel good. It felt.." you paused, afraid of what this might cause, "humiliating."

A flicker of hurt passed through Caleb's eyes.

Humiliated?

The word rang in his ears, made his jaw clench and his brows pinch together. He humiliated you? Him caring humiliated you?

He couldn't help the small scoff that slipped past his lips. It wasn't mocking. Wasn't angry. Just disbelieving. "So me caring about you was embarrassing?" The hurt crept in unbidden and he hated it, but he couldn't stop it.

"Did you even see the way he was looking at you?" he asked, voice edging on something rougher.

You sighed. "Caleb—"

"He was being disrespectful," he continued. "Basically undressing you with his eyes."

Your breath quickened, your stomach burning with frustration. "And I could've handled it myself."

"How?"

For a second, you hesitated. How would you have handled it? Would you really have said anything? Sure, you could say you would've, but if Caleb hadn't stepped in back there, would you have? Really?

"I would've said something," you responded, the words weak, even to your own ears. And Caleb caught it. The waver in your voice? He didn't miss that—the sound that told him you weren't sure, but still answering just for the sake of argument.

"Right."

Heat rushed through your veins at that single-word. Right. Right, as if it was impossible for you to defend yourself.

"This is the problem," you spat, instantly regretting the bitterness that laced your words, but committing to it anyway.

"What is?"

"This!" you said, exasperated, hands making some incomprehensible gesture between him and yourself. "You don't even let me try to protect myself."

The words felt like a punch to the gut. This? As in him? Something hot and ugly was crawling up his throat. He should've stopped it. In any other circumstance—where he hadn't seen some stranger ogle you like you were some piece of meat—maybe he could've been calmer.

But he had watched some guy ogle you, and now he was the one in the wrong for standing up for you?

"You think I like always being the one to step in?"

Caleb should've shut his mouth right then and there, but the words were already out. He couldn't stop now.

"You think it feels good to always be on edge," he continued, voice rougher than he intended, "wondering if I’m crossing a line or just doing what you won’t?"

The last had more bite than the rest and your breath instantly caught in your throat.

Then, in a fresh wave, it all came back, frustration washing over you.

"You're not listening!" you seethed. "It doesn't matter what I can and can't do! I'm not asking you to play hero!"

Your voice shook with the weight of your emotions. "You choose that on your own, and I keep asking you not to!"

Caleb huffed, shaking his head as he took a small step back. "Okay, so next time I should just watch?"

Your throat closed up, angry tears welling in your eyes.

Not now.

Please not now.

"No, that's not what I'm—" You paused, trying to swallow back the tears threatening to spill down your cheeks.

You hated this.

You hated crying out of frustration.

"That's not what I'm saying," you finished, your voice losing the bitter edge it had just seconds ago.

Caleb let out a soft exhale. He caught the slight shake in your voice, the way you'd silently pulled back.

Fuck.

He was being an asshole.

Caleb softened, but for a while, neither of you said anything. You wouldn't even look at him, and that alone was devastating. Caleb hated that he'd done this, that he'd let himself get carried away, trying to prove he was justified rather than listen to you.

His voice came out quieter when he spoke again. "What do I do? I mean, I can't—I can't just watch people do shit to you. But I also can't defend you." He let the words settle before continuing, "So what do I do?"

You ran a shaky hand down your face. "Forget it. Just—" You shook your head, turning on your heel and rushing toward the guest-room, the one that was reserved just for you.

Panic flared in Caleb's chest. "Pips—"

But you were already gone, slamming the door behind you.

Caleb stood in the doorway, his heart pounding in his ears. The apartment was suddenly quiet. Empty.

You always slept in his room when you were over. Even after fights. Even when things got messy.

So he waited up in bed for you.

10 minutes had gone by, and nothing.

15 minutes. Still nothing.

Then 30. And it was becoming painfully clear you weren't coming to bed with him tonight.

He knew he should give you space, so he tried to sleep, but he kept replaying your fight, kept replaying the way the angry set of your brow softened the moment he'd gone too far.

Then he thought about the tears in your eyes—

God, the tears.

He was horrible.

Caleb couldn't stand this. With a heavy breath, he reached toward his nightstand and grabbed his phone, thumbs moving shakily across the keyboard.

Caleb: i messed up.

Caleb: i didn't hear you.

Caleb: i'm sorry.

Caleb: can i still kiss you goodnight?

Meanwhile, you were in bed, cheeks puffy and eyes rimmed red, staring at his texts. You wanted to say yes. Wanted him to come in through the door and fix everything with a little kiss and a few sweet words.

But the fight kept replaying in your head. The bitterness, the almost mocking lilt he couldn't quite hide.

It hurt.

Too much to just let him in again.

You: not tonight.

[simplylov3ly]

pairing: max verstappen x fem!reader

summary: you had a party and you came home very late knowing that Max was going to punish you.

warnings: smut, lots of smut, dirty talk, vulgar language, hot swearing, oral sex, punishments, flirting, spanking, breast massage, rough kissing, tongue kissing, neck kissing, doggy style, p inside v, blowjob, spanking, hair grabbing, lick clitoris, jealousy, couple and more.

words: 1.8k

You'd just gotten home from the party, kicking off your heels so you wouldn't make too much noise when you walked in, knowing you'd never told Max you were leaving at midnight.

He wasn't the toxic type, but sometimes he'd have his jealous rages, asking where the fuck you were, even prostrating you on the pillow to lick your wet pussy and make you realize you were his.

As you closed the front door as gently and slowly as possible, you noticed out of the corner of your eye that the kitchen light was on: that's when you knew you were in serious trouble.

With nothing else to do, you walked to the kitchen, nerves rattling every part of your body. You felt Max's pure, overpowering presence, and when you reached the corner, you saw him sipping a glass of wine, leaning against the marble countertop with his back almost hunched over.

"What a sexy man," you thought to yourself.

Max looked up at you with a stern expression that screamed from the rooftops: i'm going to fuck you up and keep you from walking for a whole week, you fucking bitch.

"I can explain," was the first thing you said after the long silence.

"Oh, yeah? What the fuck are you going to explain, huh?" He asked in an angry tone, a little loud, but he sounded frustrated, as if you had slipped through his fingers for hours.

"Max..." You whispered, trying to calm him down.

"Shut your mouth! You're not supposed to go out to parties unless you ask my permission," he said, setting his glass aside to stand up straight, moving from his perch on the counter and demonstrating authority.

"You're not my fucking father to be asking your permission," you said, placing your heels on the kitchen floor and crossing. "I just went out to have fun with my friends! I came back at two in the morning, so it's not like anyone's death."

"I almost died when i didn't see you home," he emphasizes.

"Don't be so exaggerated."

"Exaggerated? Don't call me something i'm not," Max points at you. "Why the hell didn't you ask my permission, huh?" You didn't want me to find out you were fucking someone else, did you?"

You couldn't believe what Max was telling you right now. He's calling you a whore looking for another cock to sit on, and you know better, because there's no other cock that can beat your man's big one.

Having a 5.9-inch cock satisfying your hormonally charged moments is something you've always enjoyed. During the four years of your relationship, you never turned down a moment of good sex, knowing that Max gave you a lot of sex, mornings, afternoons, and/or nights.

"You're not answering now, are you?" He asked, placing his hands on the edge of the counter in front of him, pointing out the small veins on his forearms.

"I'm not what you think, Max," you replied, almost indignant. "I spend my time enjoying your damn cock, and you call me a whore? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"So why the fuck didn't you ask my permission?" Max asks, his tone somewhere between calm and serious, making you want him to fuck you against the damn marble countertop. "Answer the question or i swear to god..."

"Or what? What are you going to swear to, huh?" You challenged him with those words. Maybe you were going to finish the shit and ask for more, but right now you were too horny to think twice. "Are you going to punish me, Verstappen?"

"You want that? "Punish you for being a disobedient, rebellious little bitch?" Max asked in a tone that, god, sounded too sexy to be true. "Mmm, tell me, liefje."

"I don't know. Maybe you want to, or maybe i'm bored in bed, like always." You provoked him, wanting to pressure him to find his breaking point.

You reached for the wine glass, but he didn't let you. He grabbed it faster than you, and all he did was throw the contents of the alcohol in your face. He pulled you towards him by the neck while he kissed you roughly on the lips, devouring you and using his tongue to part your lips, opening your mouth a little wider and showing you that right now, he was always the one in charge of the relationship.

You gasped, unable to resist the urge to caress the bulge in his pajama pants. Unfortunately—actually, good luck for you—he decided to kneel down and pull your hair towards you.

He wanted you to look at him, so he felt powerful having you at his mercy, his control possessing every inch of your mouth and body.

"Now be a good girl and suck my damn cock, liefje," Max murmured, gently patting your cheek.

You didn't hesitate at all; you used your hands to pull down his pajama pants and make his 5.9 inch cock bounce a little. The best part was that Max always got hard; in less than a minute, he could already feel his damn cock exploding between his legs.

You looked at your man and stuck out your tongue to lick from the base to the tip in a torturously slow manner. You decided to use your skills, licking the tip of his cock in circles, listening as he let out several short, raspy moans.

Feeling your hair being squeezed means many things: Max wants you to take it all, no matter if you cry or anything. He wanted to see if you passed the test of being the little whore he loves so much.

You didn't even look at him as you took his entire cock into your mouth, feeling the soft, silky skin on the walls of your mouth. You threw your head back and forth, causing a few spasms in Max, who had his head thrown back, his eyes closed, and his hand buried in your already messy hair.

"Bottom, bottom, bottom," Max whispers, lowering his head to look at you and watching you roll your eyes, feeling a bit of the tip against your uvula. "That's it, look what a good girl you are, it's hard to tell you're a fucking whore."

For seven minutes, Max dedicated himself to fucking your mouth with his member, making you let out a couple of gurgles and squeeze his thigh for air.

He made you breathe a few times, then stood up and turned you around as he placed the front of your body on the cold marble countertop. You gasped at Max's abrupt and ardent gesture.

One thing you also didn't hesitate to do was to buck your hips, wanting him to fuck you right now, but you know Max, you know him so well, that he'll do anything to make you beg and give you what you like, what you crave for life.

"How do i ask?" Max asked, slowly hiking up your shiny black dress.

The worst part was, you weren't wearing your damn panties... And that was going to unleash the best damn rough sex of your entire existence, because you could hear Max's grunt when he realized that his bitch of a girlfriend wasn't just a whore, she was a whore who didn't wear anything between her legs.

"What the fuck does that mean?" He asked, gripping your hips tightly. "You didn't wear any underwear? What's that supposed to mean?"

And as always, you were going to set all the loose firewood on fire.

"I admit it, i've fucked someone else."

"Fucking hell, liefje," Max whispered against your ear, pressing his chest against your back, covered by the fabric of your dress. "I'm going to have to fuck your little pussy to know that whores like you get punished, you understand?"

"No," you answered without thinking and felt a hard spank on your left buttock.

It burned like hell, but you loved being spanked by him. You loved that Max made you his, knowing your blatant lie. You wanted him, you wanted him so much that you couldn't help being a rebellious little girl right now, feeling your ass burning from the rough, hard spanking he gave you. You could sense that each cheek was redder than when you blushed over something stupid.

But that wasn't the least of it. You heard your dress being ripped and Max grabbing your neck to press you against his chest, leaving you both straight. He pulled off your torn dress, leaving you completely naked while he massaged your breasts with a perversity and deep obscenity that you loved. You loved that he was just the way you liked him.

Max lowered one of his hands to begin masturbating your clitoris. He didn't do it hard, but he did it at the exact spot that generated an adrenaline-filled ecstasy of pleasure. You arch your whole body from those sexy, gentle movements in your core, feeling yourself getting wet, feeling yourself starting to soak your man's fingers a little, as he enjoys having you like this.

"Did you have fun with him?" Max asked.

"Why do you ask?" This time you answered with a breathless question.

Your moans were filled with deep, pure passion; you looked like a screamer, a screamer who wanted to be fucked right now.

"I'm asking because i don't think that idiot knew how to touch you the way i'm touching you, my little slut," Max murmured, moving his fingers a little faster, making you moan even more and squeeze his arm tightly, digging your nails into him. "I've touched you in less than thirty seconds and you're already wet."

"Because you make me wet like... Like that, Max," you said, panting like a dog looking for a bone. "Oh god, Max, don't stop."

"Oh, don't think i won't stop," he says, pushing you against the counter, putting you on all fours again, and now you feel the cold marble pressed against your damn breasts. "I'm going to fuck you all the way down and remind you not to pretend to be a rebellious little girl when you can't even lie properly."

"Max..."

"What? You thought i didn't notice? You're a fucking liar, liefje," Max declared, giving you one last spank to remind you that the best part of the action is yet to come. "And this time, i'm going to fuck you with a condom, because it doesn't satisfy me to finish inside you like every other time."

Now you feel like you're literally in heaven with the Sex God, because, despite what you thought he was going to fuck you right now, it was a lie: he's on his knees, eating your pussy while you're reading on the counter, on all fours, and Max is using his tongue on you. On your wet pussy, what the fuck... I was doing so well.

And the best part always comes in the second batch.

Okay, this is my second os/fic and i love it. I had a sequel, but i didn't like it that much, so i don't know whether to upload it or not. ୨ৎ

[maryblanket]

Thank you @yakuzabrainrotlive for tagging me : )

Last song I listened to: weathergirl by flavor foley, I’ve found it recently and it’s been incredibly calming to listen to, as well as just being a really good song.

Favourite color: light blues ^_^

Currently watching: nothing unfortunately. There’s a lot I should watch (much like with reading…) like nichijou for example

Last movie: I think it might genuinely have been Ghost Rider 2007. I think this might be the second marvel movie ive ever seen, and the first I’ve ever gone out of my way to watch. I saw a scene from it randomly and was like “wow he really is a flaming skeleton on a motorcycle, life’s so beautiful”. I honestly kinda loved it..

Currently reading: Mary Shelly’s Frankenstein, very very slowly. And hopefully a bunch of manga I need to get back to.. namely trigun which I love the anime of so much and reading the manga made me remember why, I need to finish it

Sweet, spicy or savoury: I think if normally say savory but I’ve been in the mood for something sweet ^_^

Relationship status: single.. I’m really anxious and tired but I’m also really gay so mayyybe somethjng lgbt will happen to me this month

Current obsessions: I’m sort of constantly alternating obsessions between Pokémon, Shin Megami Tensei, and Yakuza, one of those always seems to be there, along with something else, like Yume Nikki, Ib, Madoka magica or Pikmin for example. Not really an obsession but I’ve been wanting to read write and draw more

Last googled: “Play toys with me cat meme” please look it up if you haven’t seen it. Or if you have. it’s a very good picture

Currently working on: Not really much, but I suppose outside of medical stuff I’ve been working at basically my first real job and the aforementioned reading writing and drawing. And in general I think I’m in the best place mentally I’ve ever been so I’m happy about that ^_^

Again, thank you for tagging me, this got way longer than I meant it to!! Also if it’s ok, I’m not gonna tag anyone because as mentioned before I’m anxious and tired but on the off chance anyone sees this please feel feel to do this ^_^

nine people I would like to get to know better

Thank you @sentowritesstuff for tagging me!! I actually really like doing little games like this even if it’s something small it makes me happy lol

last song I listened to: I Hate It Here by Taylor Swift

favorite color: probably a really dark blue

currently watching: daredevil, andor s2, agent Carter, cloak and dagger, and a couple more

last movie: Avengers Infinity War

currently reading: Family of Liars by E. Lockhart

sweet, spicy, or savory: all of them!! I cant choose a favorite!!

relationship: single☹️ My crush doesn’t like me back and I refuse to talk to him

current obsessions: agent Carter, captain america and stucky in general (as usual), Star Wars, the naturals series, six of crows again, baking carrot cakes, and writing poetry about my shitty family

last googled: where to watch into the spiderverse?

currently working on: a speech for school, a poem series, and a fanfic about stucky

I’m going to tag: @spidersinsalem @olicitylighthome @aurore-boreal1s @scarfacemarston @bufferingsummers @onyx-di-angelo @crazysandwich @bloodorange17 & @mentalmeles

no pressure though if you’ve already done it or don’t want to

[crystalquery]

watch closely.

pairing: yelena belova x fem!reader

summary: you're hot, everybody knows it. but this time, it gets a bit too much for yelena to handle.

author's note: this was someone's request, but i accidentally deleted their ask 😭 i hope you can find this sweetheart!

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊

"i mean, it's stupid! allie should have been with hammond. he's a gentleman and doesn't force a girl to go out with him by threatening to harm himself!" you whine. you and john had been arguing for over 10 minutes about who allie from 'the notebook' should have ended up with. but you had no clue john had been goading you, purposely trying to get a reaction out of you for his own entertainment.

"i'd risk my life for you, though doll." bucky mumbles loud enough for you to hear, walking towards you from the kitchen, coffee in hand. the wink he spares you afterward gives you enough to understand his proper intentions. nothing serious, just some fun. going back and forth, you both playfully shove, kick, and hit each other without even causing any harm.

however, you and bucky aren't aware of yelena's eyes glancing between the two of you, almost disapprovingly, as he then caresses your shoulder since you're now cuddled up together, fight forgotten. on the loveseat couch. the name itself is enough to make her nails dig into her palm. she knew bucky would never do anything to harm your guy's relationship, but it still made her brows furrow in annoyance.

it was her idea in the first place, have a day off, and ignore all of valentina's and mel's calls so they don't make you all go on another 'image improving mission that the superfans will love'. but why did you have to look so good? she didn't even think it was possible for someone to look so tantalizing while wearing sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt with lindsay lohans mugshot on it. she couldn't help but glance between the screen and you every once in a while, tempted to crawl on her hands and knees to you.

"hey you, i'm going out. do you need anything?" had already heard the hum of ava phasing through the walls, ava clasped your extended hand that was reached around the back of the couch. you both enjoyed physical contact for different reasons, her for stability, you for comfort, and you found it in each other. your bond was lighthearted and full of love, platonic, and you couldn't help but flirt and tease on occasion. i mean, you're in a giant building full of attractive people. what else are you supposed to do?

the belova girl was nearly about to burst, cuddling up with barnes and now holding hands with starr? she shuffled where she was sat, her current position now uncomfortable. why couldn't you just come over to her? where you belong. the greed she felt in her chest felt almost sickening, but she had no shame in the way she felt, because she knew damn well what you where doing. everyone adored you, wanted you, but they couldn't have you even if they tried.

yelena truly thought you had cast a spell on her. while it did sound cliché, she was genuinely getting frustrated with the amount of time she was spending thinking about you. while working out, while sleeping, and even during a mission (which ended up in a hospital visit). one day, she crumbled. it was 2am, and she caught you in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, on top of the counter, wearing nothing but a shear white shirt that reached your thighs. no words were exchanged, but you both could tell how the other was feeling based on how quickly your chest was rising from panting and how yelena's green eyes were now looking almost entirely black. one thing leads to another, as it so often does.

a smirk slowly crept on yelena's face, too zoned out to notice the baffled (and slightly terrified) look she was receiving from john since she was looking in his general direction. she closed her eyes while placing her elbow on the couch armrest and resting her head upon her palm. bob once told her about one of his therapy sessions that he had after recovering from the void incident, grumbling about how useless and boring is was. but she remembered one thing that he had recalled.

"she said to 'go to my happy place'."

most people would think of a beach, a cabin in the woods or maybe a library. she didn't, her happy place was with you. touching you, teasing you, hearing soft moans and gasps leaving your mouth. she inhaled sharply, trying to ignore the fact that if she opened her eyes and saw you she'd have no hesitation to give everyone a free show. just so they know who you belonged too. if the film doesn't end anytime soon she'll need to get someone to chain her up like a dog. the minutes felt like hours and she was slowly losing patience.

after a painful 30 minutes for yelena, the credits started rolling on the film, and bucky politely started cleaning up the mess left behind by john and alexei's earlier shenanigans. a loud and long sigh leaving yelena is what brings you attention to her, observing her and tilting your head in confusion about how relaxed she looks. did your plan not work? slowly, you climb off of the couch and walk backward towards the empty hallway, keeping your eyes close on the ex-assassin.

"Идите сюда" you wince as soon as you hear the words leave her mouth. you have no clue what she's saying, but you know you are in trouble. her eyes are now gazing directly at yours, no show of emotion on her face. trying to shuffle backwards, you make too big of a step and watch as her head tilts and her smile grow in amusement. yelena then jumps from her spot, striding towards you showing no restraint. however, a grin of your own appears. finally! this is what you wanted! yelena knows it too as she sees you lead her directly towards your room. all thoughts of the team completely gone, just you and her, exactly the way she likes it.

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡⋆𐙚₊

[soobkwann]

TEACH ME || ~ LEE JENO ✮⋆˙

Synopsis: When your dumb boyfriend cheats and mocks your oral abilities, who better to call for help than your childhood best friend?!

NOTES: (PLS READ TEASER FOR CONTEXT!) NSFW, Childhoodbsf!JENO x fem!reader, Oral (m received), slight angst, “cheating back”, sexually recording, LMK IF ANYTHING ELSE!!

WC: 2k || >_<

A/N; I hope you guys enjoy it!! I’ve been really excited to post! Thank you to my lovely Gabrielle for fixing my errors and Kana + Mal (@sungchoi) for reading the final versionnnn!

Jeno couldn’t believe what he just heard. He stares and leans back as if you’ve grown a second head.

This puts you on edge even further, he probably thinks you’re weird, how will you come back from this? Maybe tell him you’re just drunk! That won’t work, he’s been beside you this entire time-

“Are you sure?” Jeno cuts through your thoughts. “You really want me to show you?”

You take a deep breath and nod eagerly. “Yes, I want you to teach me.”

Jeno lets out a dry chuckle, “So suddenly? This isn’t just something you want to learn to show your little boyfriend, hoping he’ll stop cheating, right?”

Your heart practically fell to the floor. You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the words die on your tongue. He wasn’t completely wrong. But it isn’t about your boyfriend anymore.

“I mean, I was going to but-“ you pause, feeling the confidence you barely had in the beginning slowly washing away. “I don’t care about him anymore”

Jeno tilts his head at you, almost as if he’s saying “sure.” in a sarcastic way without even opening his mouth.

You’ve never felt so nervous in your life, but you really want this.

‘It’s Jeno, just tell him the truth.’ Your mind practically screams at you.

“I want to know what I’m actually supposed to do… I want to feel confident that I can make someone feel good— I just need someone to tell me what to do without claiming they’ve ‘had better’ once I’m done”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his.

“I need you, Jeno.”

Jeno feels himself folding on the spot looking into your pretty eyes.

He flashes you a pretty smile and says, “Okay, I’ll show you”

You let out a huge sigh of relief and smile back at Jeno. Not wanting to waste any time you try to lean Jeno back fully on the bed and get on your knees.

He chuckles at your sudden eagerness and pulls you back up beside him.

“Slow down, baby,” he teases. “I need a bit of foreplay too, you know?”

“Right— sorry,” you say shyly, already so overwhelmed and embarrassed.

‘How cute,’ Jeno thinks to himself.

He looks at your pretty face, searching for any signs that you have doubts doing this— you don’t move an inch, waiting for him to guide you.

Taking your readiness to learn into consideration, Jeno doesn’t waste another second and leans in, slowly putting his lips against yours.

You gasp lightly in realization, while his hand comes to cup your cheek, thumb rubbing sweet circles on your cheek. Then, without breaking the kiss, Jeno takes his free hand and reaches for yours, pulling it down until your fingers brush against his crotch is.

“Start right here,” he whispers against your lips. “Nice and slowly…”

He connects your soft lips against his but this time inserting his tongue. You don’t fight against it and just let him have his way, exploring your tongue while you palm his hardened cock.

Jeno suddenly breaks the heated make-out just enough for you to catch your breath. You continue your movements— slow, unsure, but so eager to please him. He groans against your lips and then moves to brush his lips against your cheek, then your jaw.

His warm and shaky breath hits your ear as he mutters “Just like that.” His voice deep and sultry. He leans back and examines the growing wet spot beneath his sweats.

“Fuck—feels good, baby.”

Your heart is beating at an almost deadly pace. You feel heat swarm your cheeks and also in between your legs. Squeezing your thighs together and focusing on him, you keep rubbing exactly like he told you— ‘nice and slowly’ seeing by his praise he’s enjoying it.

Jeno’s hips buck slightly and he places his hands on top of yours, halting your movements. He kisses you once more and looks at you with eyes that are already dazed.

“Get on your knees for me now, baby.”

You slowly drop off the bed onto your knees and look up at him.

Jeno could compare you to a sweet little puppy the way you’re so cute and compliant.

Helping you just a bit, he pulls his sweats and underwear off and leaves them pooling at his ankles.

You practically drool at the sight before you. His cock was long and girthy, the veins on the side protruding similar to his arms and a pretty pale pink tip leaking pre-cum from your previous assault.

Jeno signals you to give him your hands again, you do, of course, and he takes one of your hands and places it on his shaft, just below the tip.

“Let me show you how I like it,” he says, and wraps his hand around yours. Slowly he moves your hand up and down the base at a painful slow pace— his hand aiding your small one that doesn’t reach all the way around.

He continues helping you while also trying to keep his composure, he takes your thumb and places it atop of his aching tip. Getting the hint you rub your thumb across the slit, Jeno instantly hisses from the stimulation.

Your other hand laches onto his cock too and continues the slow stroking method he just taught you.

‘He likes to be teased’ you think to yourself.

You smirk to yourself at the sudden realization about what your friend (?) is into and take it upon yourself to speed up ever so slightly.

Jeno, now leaning back on his elbows, twitches at the sudden but small pace change, chasing the pressure.

“That’s it, Y/N.” he practically whimpers, voice still deep and dominant despite slowly coming undone. “You’re doing so good, already.”

You suck a breath at his praise and clinch your thighs together, trying to relieve the ache in between your legs.

Jeno notices your flustered shifting and smirks,

“You like being praised, baby?” Without giving you a chance to respond he instantly rubs your cheek lovingly and continues “Keep being good for me and I’ll praise you all you want.”

Nodding at his words, you give his tip one last teasing stroke and look up at Jeno.

“Show me what you know,” Jeno says.

You move your hands and instantly open your mouth trying to fit all of him in— leading to your eyes watering and you slightly gagging around his shaft.

Jeno tuts at your actions and still as patient as ever, pulls you back up.

A single tear falls from your eye— partly from choking, partly from embarrassment. Jeno swipes the tear with his thumb and looks at you sweetly.

“It’s okay, baby. You just need to pace yourself” he claims. “Start slow.”

Nodding at him with trust, you gulp and prepare to try again. You start slow, this time starting off by placing small kitten licks across the head.

Jeno adores your ability to follow directions and ultimately gives you the praise he promised,

“Good girl, just like I told you.”

You continued licking a few more times and then put the tip in your mouth, with barely anything in your mouth but you can’t help but moan at the fullness.

You suck slowly but efficiently and use your other hand to stroke what you can’t reach at the moment. As you take a peek up, you see Jeno with his head back letting out moans into the room, shuddering at the feeling of your warm tongue swirling around his slit.

Feeling confident from his reactions you decide to take a bit more of him down your throat and stroke him faster.

Jeno’s thighs tense as he tries to hold back from coming so soon, knuckles turning pale white from gripping the sheets.

He couldn’t even believe this was happening, he was supposed to be here comforting you— now here he is falling apart under your mouth.

It’s not even about how you’re making him feel— it’s the fact that it’s you. His Y/N. Years of tension unraveling with each stroke of your hand and tongue.

Jeno doesn’t know what this is going to mean for the two of you once he reaches his orgasm, he just knows he doesn’t want this to end. And he’ll make sure it doesn’t…

You hollow your cheeks and take as much more of him as you physically can. A strangled groan escapes him and he jerks his hips up— unconsciously gagging you with his big cock while moaning your name.

“Shit— Y/N, keep going” Jeno is moaning louder now, his chest heaving, lost in the pleasure of it all.

Aside from lust, mischief also clouds Jeno’s mind. An idea to have you to himself takes over along with pleasure.

“Y/N, gimme your phone.” He says breathlessly.

With your free hand, you still manage to dig into the pocket of your (his) hoodie and pull out your cellphone, still giving it your all to get Jeno off.

Jeno instantly takes the phone and with shaky hands goes to the camera app, swiping to the video feature.

He flips the camera and clicks record, videotaping you sucking his cock sloppily.

Jeno stops the video and then messily scrolls through your contacts, rolling his eyes while clicking on “My Love <3”.

He adds the video to the messages and clicks send.

—

Your boyfriend is sitting on the couch of his own apartment when he suddenly gets a notification.

Y/N..🩶: +1 New Message

(1 VIDEO ATTACHMENT)

Not thinking much of it, he clicks on it. Nothing could’ve truly prepared him for what the video contains.

“Show the camera how pretty you look sucking me, baby.”

He knows that voice all too well — fucking Jeno Lee, Y/N’s oh-so-lovely “best friend.”

The video continues and the angle is vile.

It shows you sucking Jeno off without a care in the world.

He barely has time to blink before he hears a loud, wet gag, piercing his ears through the phone— Jeno’s groaning followed shortly after.

“Shit— good girl, take all of it” Jeno commands and you comply, sucking eagerly with spit seeping from the sides of your mouth. Looking up at Jeno with those pretty eyes then flashing the camera a wink, giggling playfully with cock in your mouth.

His grip on the phone tightens, jaw locking and eyes twitching as the video goes on.

“Fucking, slut,” he spits.

Jeno’s breathing grows rapidly, his hips shuddering as your mouth takes him just like practiced— hand stroking the rest.

His chest is heaving at this point. You can see his tummy contracting and the veins in his arms straining as he groans out.

“Fuck, Y/N— I’m so close, don’t stop, baby.”

You whimper around him, sucking harder trying to bring him to release faster. And then it hits—Jeno moans deep and raw, body trembling as he spills into your mouth.

You let him ride it out, swallowing what you can and licking him clean with slow kitten licks, teasing the sensitive tip.

In the background, the camera catches it all—your swollen lips, the glisten of cum on your tongue, and your soft giggle as you look up at him, utterly pleased with yourself.

Then the video ends..

Your boyfriend is practically seeing red, instantly typing a storm, threatening Jeno and degrading you. His message didn’t even get a chance to send before-

Y/N..🩶: +1 New Message

“Nothing better than that 😮‍💨”

Your ex-boyfriend practically breaks the phone in half trying to call you, mind rushing with insults to call you.

You don’t pick up.

Jeno’s hand is in your hair, hips bucking, while your mouth is already full of someone who actually gives a damn.

— End.

Taglist (this post): @tyongspice1 , @bluedbliss , @hi00000234567, @ra3lyn-exe || Comment to be on permanent taglist!

[smutmind]

Good Thing ft. Shuhua

idle x BWC

Alexei had imagined something quieter.

He’d come to Korea on an academic exchange, expecting long lectures, strict rules, buttoned-up uniforms. Hanyang’s campus was beautiful, yes—sleek and modern, stretched under blue skies—but it wasn’t the buildings that were throwing him off.

It was her.

Shuhua stood at the center of the courtyard like the rules bent around her. Blue sleeveless polo, skin-tight, hugging every curve like it was stitched to her chest. A navy tie dangled loose beneath the collar—half-uniform, half-attitude. And her shorts? If they were any smaller, they’d qualify as a crime scene. Long, dark hair framed her face like silk and shadow. Her eyes locked on him the second he stepped off the steps.

“You’re the Russian, right?” she said, walking straight up to him like she’d already decided he was hers.

��Alexei,” he said. “First day.”

“I’m Shuhua. I’m supposed to guide you.”

He blinked. “Seriously?”

She tilted her head. “Disappointed?”

“No,” he said quickly. “Just… surprised.”

“What, you were expecting a shy girl in a blazer?”

“Something like that.”

She grinned. “Sorry. They gave you me instead.”

Alexei glanced around. The other students moved in polite clumps—polished, quiet, careful. Shuhua stood out like a flare.

“You’re Taiwanese, right?” he asked.

“Yeah. Born in Taipei, raised to misbehave. And you’re from?”

“Moscow.”

Shuhua raised a brow. “So you came here thinking Korea was gonna be conservative and tame.”

He smirked. “It was a theory.”

“And now you’ve got a guide who doesn’t believe in bras and thinks rules are optional.”

“You’re not what I expected.”

She stepped closer, brushing his arm with hers. “And you’re not as uptight as I thought a Russian would be.”

“I’m holding back.”

She leaned in, voice soft. “Don’t.”

Alexei watched her—the way she looked at him, no hesitation, no fear. He’d met girls who flirted. But none like this. None who played with tension like it was candy on her tongue.

“You’re dangerous,” he said.

“You’ve got no idea,” she whispered, glancing down between them. “That thing you’re packing in those jeans? I’ve been trying real hard not to stare all morning.”

He stared at her, stunned. “You noticed?”

She laughed. “Baby, I felt it when you hugged me hello.”

She reached for his hand and didn’t wait for permission. Pulled him around the edge of the library building, behind the hedges and out of sight. Her hair caught the sunlight, jet-black with a halo glow. Her voice stayed low, electric.

“You ever get sucked off by your ‘guide’ on the first day of orientation?”

“No,” he said, heartbeat thudding. “Not even close.”

Shuhua dropped to her knees, all smile and heat. “Welcome to Hanyang.”

She undid his jeans with quick fingers, pulling him out, eyes widening.

“Oh my god,” she whispered. “Is this, like, standard issue in Russia?”

She knelt in the grass, eyes on Alexei’s cock like she’d been starving for it. Her tiny denim shorts were already tugged down to mid-thigh, her blue polo pulled just enough to frame the swell of her tits. The summer heat wrapped around them, thick and still, but she didn’t seem to feel it.

He was half-dressed—T-shirt tossed nearby, jeans open, cock thick and flushed in her hand.

“You’ve been walking around like this all week?” she whispered, stroking him slowly. “No wonder you didn’t talk much.”

Alexei’s hand found her hair, not guiding, just there. “You’re trouble.”

She grinned, then sank her mouth onto him—wet, slow, tongue swirling with practiced ease. Her spit made everything slick, shining. She bobbed her head, moaning softly as she took him deeper, hand pumping where her lips couldn’t reach.

He groaned. “Fuck, Shuhua…”

She pulled off just long enough to whisper, “Come on, baby. Let me hear it in Russian.”

His voice cracked. “Ты с ума сводишь…”

She smiled around him, sucked harder, faster—spit dripping from her chin, eyes gleaming. When he twitched too close, she pulled back and stood.

“Not yet,” she said, turning around and pushing down her shorts. “I want to feel that monster inside.”

She bent forward, ass high, bare and golden in the sun. He lined up behind her and slid in with a growl—deep, slow, unforgiving.

“Oh my god,” she gasped. “You’re splitting me open.”

His hips slapped against her, building a rhythm that shook her legs. Her blue polo was bunched up around her ribs, tits swinging freely beneath her. Every thrust made her gasp, every grind pulled another moan from her lips.

“You’re so deep,” she choked out. “It’s too good—fuck, I can’t—”

Alexei gripped her hips tight, then pulled out.

“Sit,” he said roughly, falling back on the grass.

She turned, dazed, and straddled his thighs—back to chest. He pulled her down on his cock again, this time with her facing away, legs wide over his.

The stretch made her shake.

“Oh—fuck—Alexei—” she cried, hands on his thighs for balance.

He slid a hand up to her tits, squeezing them as his other teased her clit. His mouth brushed her shoulder, kissing, biting softly as she trembled in his lap.

“I’m gonna—shit—I’m—”

She squirted with a ragged cry, soaking both of them, her whole body convulsing as he kept thrusting up into her.

She barely caught her breath before spinning around, straddling him face to face. Her thighs were slick, her eyes wild.

“Now,” she panted. “I want it all.”

She rode him deep and slow at first, then harder—grinding, bouncing, her tits brushing his chest with every movement. He grabbed her ass, helped guide her rhythm, his face buried in her neck.

Their bodies slapped together, soaked and breathless.

“I’m close,” he groaned.

She kissed him, panting, “Do it. Come for me. Fill me up.”

Alexei let go with a shudder, hips locked, groaning deep into her mouth as he spilled inside her.

Shuhua slowed, still grinding, riding him through the last of it.

When she finally stopped, she rested her forehead to his, breath ragged.

“Yeah,” she whispered, grinning. “You’re definitely not going back to Russia the same.”

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 14: Living in the Quiet

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Sorry this is so short! This was originally supposed to come at the end of Chapter 13, but I was a little depressed 🙃 I’ve used some strategies from my therapist, so we should be back to normal now! Thank you so much for your patience and support; it really means the world to me!!!! I hope you love this little chapter! xx Elle

Warnings: Intrusive thoughts, negative self-talk, mentions of emotional manipulation, and verbal abuse

Word Count: 2.5k words

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Morgan was already waiting at the curb, ready to take Azzi to Four Oaks. The two greeted each other warmly, then they were heading out of the city.

Azzi decided to journal in her wake. Not about the perfect day like Paige had wanted her to, but she needed to mind dump. Or those thoughts she’d talked herself out of would come flooding back in.

For the next 47 minutes, Azzi’s pen tore across pages with no real break.

spiraled again today :) triggers??? it was too still, too quiet after nika and ice left. we were proud about progress, but there’s still too much to be done. i feel like didn’t do enough and didn’t earn them caring enough to help me?

i got a lot done though. finished soleil’s room. little table for her work, the bed, bookshelf. decorations too. we finished couch and rug and coffee table. would be comfortable when we did noon school. feels more like a home than a condo.

they helped, but i did a lot too.

still need to add more…warmth? charm? character? could def be more homey and comfy. would look good at quick glance, but not up close.

is effort enough? did it look as messy as i feel?

^ something grant would say to me

don’t need to earn their help. i’m in their family. i am wanted, not just tolerated.

i am safe.

i am not too much.

i am wanted.

i am loved.

i’m not perfect, and i don’t need to be

what to do so i can be better?

care for soleil

let everybody love me

date paige (?!?!?!?!)

stay

“We’re here,” Morgan called from the driver’s seat.

Azzi closed her journal, slipping into her purse. “Thanks, Morgan. We’ll be right back.”

She hopped out of the car, joining the other families going to the office to sign out their children. She smiled looking at their outfits; she fit in with the rest of them.

Soleil was sitting quietly, legs swinging slowly. Her big blues lit up when she noticed the brunette. She was across the room in the blink of an eye. “I love it hewe! I maked five new fwiends!” Her little face was buried in Azzi’s neck.

“Yeah? You had a good day, Lei?” She giggled, holding the girl to her front.

Short legs wrapped around her waist as Soleil went on. “Miss Wussell teached us about the pawts of a book, and I telled her you alweady telled me about books! And see sayed I was weally smawt.” She paused to take a breath. “We gonna come back tomowwow?”

Azzi strapped her into her car seat. “Of course you can come back tomorrow, Sunny Girl. Do you still wanna do lunch and school with me every day?”

“Yes!” She exclaimed. “We do volcanoes togethew and have fun! Oh and guess! I was on gween all day today, and Miss Wussell gave me a blue smiley face in my foldew. Blue is even bettew than gween!”

“Wow! That’s really good, Lei!” Morgan turned from the front seat. “Your mama is going to love that.” She glanced at Azzi. “Where to?”

“What do you think we should have for lunch, Soleil? Do you want burgers, sandwiches, or noodles?” Azzi asked.

Soleil’s face twisted into the cutest pensive look, “Mmmmm, sandwich please.”

“Okay, Morgan, let’s go to Léa French Café please. Then you can go, we can walk back home. It’s only a few minutes away from the house.”

Their journey to the café was filled with Soleil pointing to every building and naming the shape of it.

The two of them split a croque monsieur and a cranberry apple salad. The little girl asked the woman what they’d be doing after they got home. “We’ll do poetry and history some days and science and art on other day. We’re gonna do French every day though, I know you like the fancy words.” Her blue eyes widened with excitement, and her next monologue started, going on about what she wanted to learn about in each subject. Azzi catalogued the information, already planning the next couple of weeks. Soleil’s rambling tapered off as she finished her portion.

“Okay, Sunny. Ready to go?” Azzi asked.

Soleil’s arms stretched up, and her lips turned down in a sleepy pout. Azzi smiled warmly, lifting the girl to her hip.

Azzi’s chest tightened a bit with anxiety. She should’ve thought through this. The last time she’d had Soleil out of the house, Grant had gotten too close to them.

Paige made sure he wouldn’t be coming back. Soleil is safe. They are both safe.

Azzi repeated the mantra the entire seven minute trek back home, sighed in relief when her front door was closed behind her.

She carried her to her fresh room and tucked her in. She hesitated before dropping a soft kiss onto her forehead.

Azzi closed the door to her room, tiptoeing to the kitchen to set up their volcano experiment. On the coffee table, she set up paints and paper for their art activity. Then she got to work with labeling. Azzi knew that kids learn best through immersion, so she used index cards to label all objects and surfaces with the English word and the French translation.

She padded into Soleil’s room, deciding to organize her bookshelf while she waited for the girl to wake up.

About forty minutes later, she heard it. “Azzi, this is my woom?” A groggy voice called out.

Small fists rubbed sleep out of blue eyes.

“Of course it is,” Azzi whispered with a smile.

Soleil slid out of bed and crawled into Azzi’s lap. The relaxed in comfortable silence until Soleil’s head popped up. “I’m hungwy.”

“How about we eat some fruit while we practice our French?”

Little feet scurried out to the kitchen before Azzi could even get off the floor. She grabbed pink sticky notes and a purple marker and followed her out.

Azzi set a fruit board on the coffee table in the living room and clapped lightly.

“Okay, Mademoiselle Soleil,” she started, “The first thing we’re going to do is label the entire apartment.” She paused dramatically, “If you’re ready, say, ‘je suis prête’!”

“Je suis prête!” Soleil called around a strawberry.

They started with the basics. Soleil would touch a different surface. Azzi would tell her the word in French, and Soleil would repeat it. They would write the word together. Giggles and tricky ‘r’s filled the space.

“La lampe,” Azzi said, touching the shade.

“La lampe,” Soleil echoed, “Just like lamp!”

“Très bien, Lei.” Azzi praised.

Soleil went to touch the rug next, “Le tapis.” Azzi called.

“Le tapis! The rug is le tapis!”

When they got to the refrigerator, Azzi’s heart almost burst with affection. “Le frigo.”

“I’m gonna call it le frigo box!” Her voice was serious, brows furrowed deeply.

The got through eight more objects, la fenêtre, la porte, le canapé, le livre, la chaise. Then Soleil calls out, “I’m gonna sleep on le tapis! No mowe fancy wowds today!”

“Okay!” Azzi said, pulling the book off the table. “Come sit with me and we can read a book.”

Soleil climbed into her lap, curled up with her head tucked under Azzi’s chin. The book balanced against Azzi’s knees showed a brightly illustrated nonfiction story: A Child’s Guide to Pompeii.

Azzi softened her voice as she read, making it half lullaby, half documentary.

“Once upon a time, nearly two thousand years ago,” she began, “there was a busy Roman town full of people—just like us. Kids who went to school, bakers with fresh bread, artists and mosaics. And behind their town was a beautiful mountain called Vesuvius.”

Soleil squinted at the cartoon drawings. “They didn’t know it was a volcano?”

“Nope. It hadn’t erupted for hundreds of years. It just looked like a big pretty hill.”

“What happened?” she whispered.

Azzi tilted the tablet so Soleil could see the next illustration: a cloud of gray exploding out of the mountain, swallowing the town.

“It erupted really fast,” she said. “Ash and fire and smoke. People tried to run, but it was too much. The town was buried under the ash for centuries.”

Soleil’s eyes were wide. “Like a blanket?”

“A very heavy one.” Azzi tapped the screen again. “But then, archaeologists started digging. And guess what they found? Spoons! Paintings! Dolls! It was like opening a time capsule.”

Soleil sat bolt upright. “We have to make our own volcano.”

“Art class it is,” Azzi said, kissing the top of her head.

They cleared the table and gathered supplies from the recycling bin and under the sink: paper towel rolls, cardboard, glitter glue, old tissue boxes. Azzi snipped shapes and Soleil taped them together with great ceremony. The structure ended up looking a little like a very aggressive lampshade, but they both agreed it had volcanic spirit.

They mixed red and orange paint in an old yogurt container, Soleil stirring like a mad scientist. Then came the glitter—too much glitter—and finally, a paper flag at the top reading Mount Vesuvius in blocky, determined handwriting.

Azzi took a breath. “Now for the final touch—”

“I want to make a museum!” Soleil shouted. “Like the real Pompom museum! With signs!”

“I like how you think,” Azzi said. “Let’s make our own Pompeii museum!”

They turned the kitchen table into an exhibit. Soleil arranged the volcano on a folded towel to look like terrain. Around it, she added artifacts: a painted spoon, an old Barbie shoe (“a gladiator sandal,” she explained), and a small pile of pebbles she declared were “Roman gold.”

Azzi helped her cut index cards for signs:

Mount Vesuvius

Ancient Coins

Do Not Touch (seriously)

This spoon is 2,000 years old. Maybe.

The finishing touch was a strip of painter’s tape across the edge of the table. Azzi wrote in red marker: MUSEUM STARTS HERE.

When Azzi stepped back to take a picture, Soleil grabbed a handful of glitter and flung it into the air.

“ERUPTION!” she shouted, shaking the volcano. “KSHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Azzi clutched her heart. “So realistic. I fear for my life.”

Soleil collapsed in giggles.

They sat like that for a while, letting the glitter ash settle. Soleil leaned against her shoulder, catching her breath.

“Next time,” she whispered, “can we make lava that’s real?”

Azzi gave her a sly look. “What about Wednesday?”

Soleil beamed.

Azzi laughed, quietly, and rested her cheek against the top of Soleil’s head.

Their cuddle was interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Go to your room, Lei. Close the door.” Azzi said seriously.

The girl scurried to the back as Azzi crossed her living room. She looked through the peephole, sighing in relief.

“Come on out, Lei!” She called. “Mommy’s here!”

Azzi swung the door open. Paige’s eyes trailed up Azzi’s frame. The corners of her lips lifted as she took in the smears of glue on her pants and the glitter on her face.

She couldn’t believe that she lost track of time this much. She looked like an idiot in front of the woman she liked.

 ~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige was confused as to how someone could look so perfect when they were a mess. She figured it was because she knew Azzi looked like that because she’d been doing something with Soleil.

Her pretty girl ran around the corner. “Hi Mommy!” She yanked Paige into the apartment. “Come on. I can show you my fancy wowds and my volcano!” Soleil exclaimed.

“Wow! You’re learning French?” Paige looked at the brunette who was still standing by the door. “That’s very impressive.”

She smirked at the blush blooming on Azzi’s cheeks as she let Soleil walk her around the living room. Lei looked at Azzi whenever she came across an object she couldn’t remember, and each time, Azzi reminded her gently.

It was so fucking hot. Seeing how she dealt with Soleil.

“And we maked a volcano too, Mommy!”

Soleil walked her over to the ‘museum’ and smiled proudly. “A long time ago, there was a volcano that blew up in Pompom! And a smoke blanket covered everything. And then the people digged it up and found spoons!”

“That’s such a cool volcano you made, Lei-Lei. You guys did a great job today, baby.” Paige bent to Soleil’s level. “You know what that means, right?”

Her blue eyes widened as she threw herself into her mother’s arms. “MOVIE NIGHT!”

“Yeah, baby,” Paige smiled. “We get to have movie night.”

Soleil started to tug her mother towards the hallway.

“You girls have fun.” Azzi leaned against the doorway.

Paige kept her eyes on the pretty brunette until the elevator doors closed. Her whole body flooded with warmth when she noticed how happy Soleil was.

Outside of the singular sentence about liking her new school, Soleil’s ramblings were centered around Azzi Fudd. The sandwich and salad they shared. The pretty bedroom Azzi had put together for her. The new French words she’d learned.

Paige was comforted knowing she’d made the right choice when she decided on Azzi a month ago.

“Mommy, can we have popcorn and candy and soda?” Soleil asked as Paige washed the glitter off her little body.

She knew she should say no, but she couldn’t, not when those big blues were locked onto her. “Yes, but only a few Sour Patch Watermelons and a cup of Sprite.”

Ten minutes later, the pair are snuggled together on the couch in matching unicorn pajamas Jana had made for them last Christmas. A bowl of popcorn and candy rests on top of the rainbow blanket covering their laps.

“We watch Encanto, Mommy?” Soleil asked as they scrolled through movie options.

They hadn’t watched the film in a couple of weeks, and Paige was more than happy to sing “The Family Madrigal” with her baby.

Halfway through the movie, Soleil climbed into Paige’s lap, thumb in her mouth and the other hand tangling in long blonde hair. Blonde brows furrowed; Soleil didn’t suck her thumb unless she was feeling very needy.

“I haven’t been around as much as I usually am, hm?” Paige questioned, guilt filling her heart.

Soleil didn’t say anything, just shook her head.

A long kiss landed on the smooth forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. You’re right. Do you want to start our weekly Mommy-Lei Lei dates again?”

“Yeah,” Soleil nodded. “We can have a dance party too!”

“That’s a great idea, Sunshine. Maybe we can do one every Tuesday, and another one on the weekend if you have a good week at school.”

Her daughter nodded again, Mirabel grabbing her attention.

For the rest of the film, Paige couldn’t focus on the sweet storyline, only that she had let her daughter down. This was the first time something like this had happened. She knew her developing friendship and relationship was taking a lot of time, but she hadn’t yet figured out how to balance a partner with being a mother.

She was going to do a better job.

She had to.

[l0s3rd0wnt0wn]

Random thought:

WB!reader who was born and raised in the Caribbean and only knows Caribbean Spanish. The batfam realizes this, so before they move in, they all decide to brush up on their Spanish before they come. Only to realize they they have close to no idea what the hell WB!reader is saying. 80% of the words that come out of their mouth are slang, and it sounds like they're speaking at 2x speed

Just food for thought

–💽

OMG I LOVE THIS!!!

Bio: The reader is newly arrived, and the island's bats are not very good at Spanish. (I recall learning Castilian Spanish for a friend when it should have been Mexican Spanish; there are significant differences, even in just a few words.)

Standing in the airport, suitcase in hand, backpack strapped to your back, T-shirt with your country in big bold letters, Jesus cross on your neck that you keep on fiddling with. You just can't wait to meet them, but what if the language barrier is too strong for them to understand you? What if they hate you if your English is bad? Maybe you should take a ticket home; you have some leftover money, you can make it work. But your mom will be pissed if she's back home, "You're supposed to visit your father and his children back in the States." Why, you never met the man a day in your life, and it's not like you care. Why fix what ain't broke, then? "[NAME]!!" Someone shouted your name at the top of their lungs. It can't be—oh, it is! You wanted to cover your face so they wouldn’t notice until you were hit with, "There he is, behind that trash can!" Okay, so you can't avoid them. Perfect. But wow, they're tall, and wow, they're pale, and wow, they look super tired. Dick was the first one to come running towards you, pulling you into a bear hug. Yup, he was definitely the oldest, the big brother. He was tan like you, but he didn't look like your dad at all—covered nose, tan skin—but he did have the blue eyes and the black hair. The next one came dashing, pulling him back; that must be Jason. Unnaturally green eyes, dyed white hair, skin so pale he looks like a zombie—who beat his ass with all those scars? But he was way calmer. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was the eldest. Tim was rushing in with a little one; he must be the youngest called Damian. Tim was your height, but he was a bit more lean, with small eye bags, looking like he stays up all night doing God knows what, with long black hair to his shoulders. The little one looked like a kid version of you, with green eyes, and he was pretty cute, like a dog. "It's a pleasure meet you." God, you were learning English on the plane; how the hell did you mess a greeting up? And why did you say it so loud? Ahhh!! You wanted to die and turn into mush, then "[Name]," you flinched. It was your father. God, he's tall! You could barely see the people behind him. He was wearing sunglasses, as if he didn't want to be discovered. What the hell could he be finding from the CSI? He gave you a hug. You went stiff, only to slowly melt into it. Then he opened his mouth and spoke what you believed to be Spanish. Oh, they keep Spanish! You don't have to worry anymore. "Ay Dios mío, sigues en español, gracias a Dios." Then you started rambling, speaking at double speed and using slang they'd never heard of. "¡Guay!" they all said, "Huh?" in unison. Turns out your family was learning Spain Spanish, which is clearly different from the islands.

[the-shedevil-writes]

Words of Affirmation (Matt Murdock x Reader)

DESCRIPTION: Matt is a very logical man. It's one of your favorite things about your boyfriend. But when you need comfort and he only offers solutions to your problems, it pushes you away. With help from Foggy and Karen, he learns about love languages—and realizes what he really needed to do. WORD COUNT: 2.2k WARNINGS: Miscommunication. Slight arguing.

NOTES: Anyone else feeling the Matt Murdock drought since the show ended? :( Needed to write some for my main man. MY MASTERLIST - READ ON AO3

Matt and Y/n had been together for a little over a year now, and the honeymoon phase was slowly slipping and being replaced with domesticated bliss. The routine they built together was put together by a foundation of tender love and care they had nested. Such as, her swinging by his office with lunch for him. Or when Matt would ask the florist which flowers were pink so he could fill her kitchen vase with her favorite color. Small things to brighten each other’s day. 

And that aspect of their relationship was perfect. Filled with consideration and a sense of knowing each other… But she had been feeling struck by a horrible mood lately. She was going through a bad streak at work where it felt like she couldn’t do anything right. Her hair was at an awkward length because of a messed up haircut she had gotten recently (thank god, Matt was blind). And she hadn’t had time to go to the gym because of her hectic work schedule lately.

It just felt like everything was wrong. Everything brushed her the wrong way. 

She tried to get the support of her boyfriend, but it was like pulling teeth. Matt was a very logical man, and that was something she loved about him. Whenever she was spiraling with anxiety or overthinking something, he was always there to remind her of the more objective truth.

 ‘Nobody is gonna notice.’ ‘It’s just one mistake, nobody will be mad at you.’ ‘The world isn’t ending because of this.’ 

But sometimes that just isn’t what she wanted to hear. And that strategy blew up in his face one night.

One night, after an already stressful day at work, she and Matt were supposed to go to dinner. But the dress she had really wanted to wear didn’t fit right. It was a beautiful, bright blue silk dress that was supposed to hug her curves just right. She had bought it just for Matt because she knew his heightened senses loved the feeling of the material. It was an expensive buy, but she knew it’d get some use with Matt around.

Yet it didn’t look like it had a few months ago. She tried to take in deep breaths, but they were shaky. She was just a little bloated because of her cycle, and she knew that. But it was more than that. She felt like her skin was overly oily, and her hair wasn’t at its shiny, voluminous peak.  The skin on her legs was dry from the winter cold starting to settle in. The ill-fitting dress was just the cherry on top. 

“Sweetheart, we've got twenty minutes before we have to get in the cab, and you haven’t even started your makeup.” He said, peeking his head in.

She stared at herself in the mirror, unhappy with herself. 

“I don’t wanna go.” She said, and she knew she was being dramatic. But she felt just awful. 

Matt’s brows furrowed, and genuine concern washed over him. “What? Why? You’ve been wanting to go to this restaurant for a while now.” He pointed out, which made her feel worse. Because she was looking forward to this. She had seen all the new desserts online and wanted to try some with him. Yet she just felt so… off that she didn’t want to.

“I don’t feel right. I- I think I’m just really tired or something.” She said softly

“Well, I told you to take a nap earlier.” He said. 

Ding. Another thing that made her feel worse. She didn’t want to take a nap because she wanted to get some extra work done at home before her next shift. But his pointing it out just made her feel like he was rubbing it in.

“I couldn’t. And I just don’t look good today, and this dress isn’t fitting right.” She complained, looking over at him as he leaned against the door. He was already dressed in a nice white dress shirt and pants. He always looked nice- it was easy for him. Even though she was getting annoyed, she did always appreciate how dressed up he was. For work. For dates. For errands. He always looked put together… She didn’t feel put together, much less look it. 

“Then wear another dress.” He stated simply, and he was met with furious silence. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes.

“What’s wrong? I’m sure you look fine.” He said, confused, and starting to get a little frustrated himself. Even without his super senses, he could tell she was angry. He didn’t need to hear her fast beating heart to understand the frustration building around her. “You know that I don’t care.” He tried to joke, pointing to his eyes… Bad timing.

“You don’t care?” She snapped, “I just- I try so hard to look and feel nice, and you don’t care? I wear the silk and the lotion and the makeup, and-” She stammered. “It’s not working tonight, but have you ever even cared?”

Matt walked further into the room, sensing her spiral. “Hey, hey, sweetie, it’s not that I don’t care. You just know that… I can’t see you. You could be wearing a plastic bag, and all I’d be able to sense is that you’re wearing less.” He tried to explain, reaching to hold her hips.

But it wasn’t really about the looks, and she was too tense and filled with emotion to be able to talk through her feelings directly. “I’m not going.” She said.

He sighed and raised his hands. “Fine. Fine. Whatever you want.” He said, not understanding where all this sudden anger came from. 

“So we didn’t go to dinner. I went home, and she’s barely talked to me since.” Matt said to his friends, looking for advice. 

Foggy and Karen stared at him from across the booth at Josie’s slack-jawed. 

“You’re… you’re joking, right?” Foggy asked after he told them what had happened. 

He furrowed his brows. “No, why would I be joking?” 

Karen scoffed and put her hands on her mouth in disbelief before going, “Jesus, Matt, why would you say… any of that?” 

He looked around confused and leaned in. “Say what? I didn’t say anything. I just told her the truth.”

“So you’re telling me. That your super-hot girlfriend is feeling bad about herself, and you essentially told her that her efforts have been for nothing.” Foggy said.

“On top of telling her multiple times what she should do or should’ve done,” Karen added, “Which is probably the worst part of that.”

“That’s not what I meant! I didn’t mean to do any of that. I was just trying to be honest.” He defended himself, but was definitely starting to understand. 

Karen took a sip of her Long Island iced tea in front of her. “It just sounds like you weren’t really listening to her.”

“Karen, I can’t not listen to anybody.” He said with a huff.

“Matt.” She chided. Her voice was a warning that he needed to actually listen here: “Trying to simply fix everything isn’t listening to her. Do you know what her love language is?”

He took a sip of his beer and shook his head. “No, what’s that?” 

“Matt, you’ve been dating this girl for over a year, and you guys have never talked about this?” Foggy asked, surprised. 

“No. No, I have no idea what you’re even talking about.” He replied, and as much as he wanted the Let’s Shame Matt parade to end, he felt that he needed to feel it.

Karen chimed in again. “It’s like how people give and receive love. There’s like physical touch, gift giving, acts of service-”

“Quality time. Words of affirmation.” Foggy chimed in.

Matt just listened now, wanting to understand this new concept. 

“What does she like? What’s something you do that sends her over the moon?” Foggy asked.

He thought about it. It was hard because it felt like they did everything. He bought her flowers. He was over every weekend. They’d help each other around their respective apartments. It’s not like they were lacking in the physical touch department. 

Then he really thought about it, and a memory popped up. It was from a few months back. She had been studying so hard for a promotion at work. This important test to advance up. And when she came back, revealing that she had gotten the promotion and had received one of the highest scores, he hugged her, of course, then said. “I knew you could do it. My sweet girl is so smart. So so smart.” And that had rendered her speechless. Then she proceeded to practically pounce on him, which he remembered in more vivid detail.

“She… she really likes it when I compliment her.” He said to them.

“Words of affirmation,” Karen said with her hand out, “That’s what I was thinking it was. Because when was the last time you did that?” 

… That test was the last time he remembered. “The time I’m thinking about was a few months back. I’m sure there were other times, but what I’m thinking about was obvious.” He sipped his beer again. “It’s just hard because it’s not like I can see her,” Matt explained why he was so infrequent at this.

Foggy rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen you flirt, bud. You can definitely do it without sight. I’m just surprised you’re so bad at it with your actual girlfriend.” He teased

“Hey.” Matt warned with an expression that told him to cool it, “I’m trying.”

“Tomorrow. Go apologize, and use your words to show her just how much you love her.” Karen interrupted the two.

That’s how Matt ended up at her apartment with a bouquet of lilies in his hand and a slice of her favorite cake in a plastic takeout box. The kind of cake with the strawberries and syrupy glaze she liked. He opened the door using the key she had given him. 

“Sweetheart? It’s me.” He called out, “You home?” 

There was no answer, but it’s not like he didn’t know. He could hear her heartbeat in her room, and it had picked up when he opened the door. 

He walked down the hall to her bedroom and gently opened the door. The smell of her vanilla candle filled his senses. The millionth rewatch of her favorite rom-com, Pretty Woman, played on her TV. She lay strewn across in bed in his old Columbia law T-Shirt, she had had it so long that she had practically forgotten it was originally his, and some velvety pajama shorts. 

“Hi.” She said, a drop in her usual tone, but she didn’t stop him. Her eyes were set on the television. 

“Hi, sweetie.” He said, walking in. “I got you some things.” He said, gently putting the lilies and the cake on her bedside table. 

She looked them over. “Thank you.” Even though she was still mad at him, she didn’t want to seem unappreciative. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed and gently reached out to hold her hand. 

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry about the other night. I- I wasn’t listening to how you felt. And I should’ve been a lot more considerate instead of just trying to fix everything.” He said, “That wasn’t fair to you.”

Wow. He hit the nail on the head. She squinted her eyes at him in disbelief.

“Who’d you talk to?” She asked suspect. As much as she wanted to laugh at that, she didn’t want him to blow it off so easily. So she didn’t change her face.

“Karen and Foggy. Who beat some sense into me.” He said, and he looked over at her for a second before leaning down. “And just reminded me of how beautiful and stunning and clever my girl is.” He said gently before kissing her temple.

He heard her heart leap in speed as her eyes widened. 

He gave another kiss on her cheek. “I’m so lucky. So so smart and driven. Always working so hard.” He said, his voice low, and she looked up at him, nodding. She sat up a little so he didn’t have to lean so far. 

“You know, when we’re out together, I can hear all the heads turning to get a good look at you. I can hear their hearts skipping beats because of how beautiful you are.” He whispered just before her lips and then pressed a gentle kiss. 

“Jesus, Matt. Where’s all this coming from?” She asked breathlessly, now wrapping her arms around his neck, wanting him closer. 

“I just realized I wasn’t properly showing my love and appreciation.” He said, “I have a lot to talk about, and a lot of time not doing it to make up for.” 

She smiled. Practically beamed. “Thank you…” She said feeling much better already. 

His hands gently traced up her legs. “You smell really good. You know I like that cherry shampoo.” He said, and he reached up and felt the material of her shirt along her waist, “And I love when you wear my old shirts. I’m sure you look much better than I ever did wearing them.” He planted a kiss on her neck, “Much prettier.”

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack, Matt,” She said, sighing, relaxed for what felt like the first time in ages. 

“Oh, sweetheart, we can’t have that.” He shook his head, “Your heartbeat is my favorite sound in the world. I love making it speed up like this.” He said before kissing her again. And again. And again. 

[yvvnii]

00.     BORED ── lee haechan .ᐟ

( suggestive )

LEE HAECHAN x FEM!READER

[ 장면 ] ── a lazy night turns a little heated when haechan, seemingly bored, finds his attention glued to your thighs. ( w.c : 1.0k )

warnings ⋱ ⠀kissing, kissing, kissing…but thigh kissing, light praising, clingy!haechan

zaya ! : reblog for a kiss ˖˙ ᰋ

your legs are comfortably stretched out on the couch, one knee bent lazily, and your focus fixed on the tv screen ahead of you. some random show is playing, mostly background noise while you scroll through your phone. you’re not thinking very much of the way haechan’s head was resting on your lap, arms wrapped loosely around your thighs, his breath warm against your skin.

you’re not even paying attention to him.

not until he kisses your skin. a slow, soft press of plush lips just above your knee. then another, closer to the inner part of your thigh.

“hyuck,” you mumble, glancing down briefly. “you okay down there?”

he hums, doesn’t even answer. instead, his mouth moves higher, soft lips trailing up the curve of your leg, kisses turning wetter, messier. he parts them slightly, sucks just enough to make your skin warm.

your eyes flicker back to your phone.

“you’re bored, aren’t you?”

he grins into your skin. “a little.”

he plants another kiss, this one lingering. you can feel the way he opens his mouth, lets his tongue drag slowly, teasingly, before pulling back. your thigh twitches, reacting on instinctively.

“you’re not even watching the show,” you say softly, but your voice lacks any real protest. who were you to tell him to stop when you liked it anyway?

“why would i,” he murmurs, “when i’ve got all this right here?” his fingers press into the outside of your thighs, squeezing gently like he needs to feel every inch of them. like they belong to him.

you can hear the smile in his voice, the way he’s smirking like this is some game he’s determined to win. like nothing else matters now that he’s got his lips on your skin, worshiping your thighs like they’re the most interesting and precious thing in the world.

you shift, trying to sit up a little straighter, maybe gain some composure, but he objects.

“uh-uh,” he whispers, kissing the top of your thigh again. “don’t move.”

“you’re distracting.”

he looks up at you from between your legs, eyes fluttering, lips already plump and pinker. “good.”

“you weren’t watching the show either.” haechan murmurs as his hands start to move, thumbs tracing slow circles into your skin. he presses another kiss, and another. each one feels a little more desperate and needy. like he can’t stop.

“so soft,” he praises quietly, lips brushing your skin with every word. “you don’t even know what you do to me…”

you let your head fall back against the couch, a small sigh slipping out.

the tv keeps playing, faint laughter from some scene that, clearly, neither of you were following. and there he is — your boyfriend, your sweet, clingy, insatiable haechan — kissing up and down your thighs like you taste just like his favorite dessert. something sweeter than honey, like he could spend all night right here and still not get enough, which he obviously would if you’d let him.

he nuzzles a little closer, lips dragging over the inside of your thigh now, just barely avoiding the edge of your shorts. you can feel his breath through the thin fabric. it makes your skin prickle with goosebumps, stomach tightening even though he’s barely touched you.

his hands smooth up and down your legs like he’s trying to memorize them. “can’t believe you just sit here with your thighs out like this,” he mumbles, voice thick, like it physically pained him. “so, so pretty. how am i supposed to focus on anything else?”

you laugh softly, trying to sound unfazed. “you never focus anyway.”

“especially not when you’re dressed like this.”

he leans in, pressing a long, open-mouthed kiss higher, right near the crease of your thigh, and your breath catches in your throat. your grip tighten a little around your phone before you toss it aside, giving up the act of pretending you’re still interested in anything else.

haechan notices. of course he does.

“that’s what i thought,” he grins, mouth brushing against the edge of your shorts now. “pay attention to me.”

you lift your hips just slightly, just barely enough to encourage him, and he takes it, runs with it even, hooking his fingers under the hem of your shorts and tugging them down slowly, watching the way more of your skin gets exposed to him inch by inch.

he presses another kiss, deeper now, right where your skin was most sensitive. your thighs twitch again, instinctive and unfiltered.

“haechan…”

“hmm?” he gazes up at you through his lashes, lips pink, chin resting against your thigh. “say it again.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice comes out softer this time. “haechan.”

he hums again, this time dragging his tongue along the inside of your thigh, slow and wet. “you’re being so good for me. just sitting here, letting me love on you like this.”

his words sink in low, warm and curling in your stomach.

“didn’t even ask, just did,” you murmur, biting down on your lip as he kisses you again, right beside where you really wanted him most.

he grins against your skin, cocky and clearly unbothered. “you’d tell me if you wanted me to stop.”

you don’t. of course you don’t.

he licks up your thigh again, this time closer, bolder. the kisses start to blur together, hot and open-mouthed, his tongue sliding against your skin like he’s starving. his hands push your thighs apart gently, not rushing, just claiming more space for himself.

“wanna be between your legs all night,” he whispers, breath ragged now. “just—right here.”

you tilt your hips toward him, there no use in pretending you’re not affected anymore, and he groans, fingers tightening on your legs like he’s trying not to lose it.

“fuck, baby…”

you reach down and run your fingers through his hair, tugging lightly until he looks up at you again — eyes heavy, lips wet with his saliva, breath uneven.

he looks wrecked already, and you haven’t even touched him.

“come here,” you whisper.

he climbs up without a word, knees on either side of you now, lips meeting yours fast and messy. you feel the weight of his body settle over yours, and suddenly nothing else matters.

not the show. not your phone. not whatever this night was supposed to be. and the way his hands are sliding under your shirt now tells you he’s nowhere near done touching or kissing you.

[sniktbaby]

heavy in your arms

summary: logan doesn't think he deserves you.

content: angst, FLUFF, pet names, reader is human sunshine, nicknames ("lo-lo", "lo"), age gap (reader is an adult!)

word count: 1.4k

author's note: something short and sweet while i cook up some other spicy stuff :) there's no smut in this, it's just a cute lil drabble. i hope you enjoy <3

Logan wasn’t the young man he used to be. Sure, he was a mutant who had been alive for over 200 years, but he didn’t look young anymore. Didn’t feel young either. His muscles weren’t as defined and his skin was etched with scars from wounds that didn’t heal quick enough. His hair and beard were salt and pepper streaked. It was getting harder for him to exert himself, his body was slowing down.

Logan was nervous that you were losing your attraction to him, your love with him fading with every new scar marked on his body. So, he’s started distancing himself from you. It’s what Logan does best – avoidance. He doesn’t want to be a burden, especially not on you. You’re so special to him, so young and full of life.

Logan sighs as he runs a hand through his hair, briefly glancing up at you as you enter the room. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, reading through the newspaper and sipping on a cup of coffee.

You bend down as you walk by him, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead before moving towards the fridge.

“Good morning, Lo-lo,” you murmur cheerfully, turning back to smile at him as you pull out the raspberry lemonade. You know he’s trying to be tough, but you won’t let him put up walls again after all the work you did tearing them down. “How’s it going?”

“Mornin’, doll,” Logan mutters, watching you move around the kitchen like sunlight – warm, bright, and too damn good for someone like him.

You called him ‘Lo-lo’ again. Nobody else ever got away with that kind of nickname. Hell, if anyone else even tried, they’d probably end up with claws near their throat. But with you? It felt right. Familiar. Safe. Like something soft in a world that only ever handed him violence and blood.

“Same ‘ol, same ‘ol,” he says, folding the paper with a grunt.

You lean against the counter, taking a slow sip from your glass. The way Logan looks at you makes your heart ache – he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be loved, expects you to leave him one day.

“‘Same ‘ol’, huh?” you echo with a playful smirk, though your eyes search his face for something – anything – that will tell you what he’s really feeling. You bite down on your lip. “You know, you don’t have to pretend with me, Lo. If something’s wrong…we’re supposed to talk about it.”

You walk over to him and place a gentle hand on his shoulder, your fingers brushing through the short bristles of his grey-streaked hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan flinches at the contact – not because it hurts, but because it reminds him of how much he likes having you close. How much he hates pushing you away.

“Kid…” he starts, then stops himself. That word feels like a shield, something to keep distance between you. And right now, it just sounds hollow.

His hand comes up slowly, resting over yours as it lays on his shoulder. His calloused skin against your softer touch. He holds on to you like you’re real. Like this moment is real.

And maybe it is. Maybe that scares him more than anything.

“I ain’t good at this, darlin’. Talkin’ never fixed nothin’ for me.” He looks up then, meeting your gaze head-on. Those eyes of yours see too much.

Your breath catches under the intensity of his gaze. You can feel the internal battle waging behind his tired but piercing hazel eyes – the struggle between letting you in and locking you out.

“But it might help,” you whisper, your thumb gently stroking the rough skin of his hand. A beat passes, heavy with unspoken words. You step closer, leaning into him just enough so that your warmth mingles with his.

“It might…” He repeats the words like they taste foreign in his mouth. Talking never worked for Logan. Words don’t fix the kind of damage he carries.

But here you are, closing the space between you, reminding him that there’s something worth trying for.

Logan shifts, reluctantly pulling his hand away as he rubs the back of his neck. “I dunno how to do this without draggin’ you down with me,” he finally admits.

You watch him, seeing the conflict written all over his face. He’s afraid. Afraid of being vulnerable, of opening himself up to you. But you can’t let him shut you out.

“You’re not dragging me down, Lo.” You move closer, your hands resting on his broad shoulders as you slide into his lap. “And I’m not going anywhere. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever.”

He freezes as you settle, your thighs wrapping around his hips. Every instinct screams at him to push you away, protect you from getting even more tangled in his mess. But God help him, having you close feels too damn good. His arms wrap around your waist automatically, holding you steady. He breathes in deep, catching traces of your scent – freshness with something sweet underneath. Like home.

“You say that now…” he begins, then pauses. He looks up at you, searching for any sign of doubt. “What happens when you realize this ain’t what you signed up for? When the shine wears off and all that’s left is…”

You frown. You cup his face in your hands as he trails off, forcing him to meet your unwavering gaze. Your thumbs brush away the furrows of worry creasing his brow, tracing the lines of a life lived hard.

“A man who has survived hell and come out stronger for it?” Your voice is soft but firm. “A man who loves fiercely and loyally, even when he thinks he can’t? Because that’s who you are, Logan. All of you. The good, the bad, the beautiful scars…” You lean in, resting your forehead against his. “I fell in love with your whole self. Not some glamourized version. You can’t scare me off that easily.”

Your words hit him like bullets, each one striking deeper than the last. He wants to believe you. God knows he does. But believing doesn’t come easy for men like him.

Still, feeling you pressed against him, your breath warm on his skin…it stirs something. Hope, maybe. He finds himself leaning into your touch instead of pulling back.

“Stubborn woman,” he mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. Just resignation. Acceptance. Gratitude.

His hands slide up your back, fingers tangling in your hair. “Guess I’m stuck with ya then, huh?”

A smile blooms across your face, bright and genuine.

“Guess so,” you agree softly. “And lucky me, getting to keep such a handsome man all to myself.”

You lean in, brushing your lips against his in a feather-light kiss. A promise. A seal on the words you’ve spoken.

The kiss takes Logan by surprise, your lips on his always do. Soft. Sweet. Full of promises he still isn’t sure he deserves. But damn, if he doesn’t want them anyway.

He growls low in his throat, pulling you closer, deepening the kiss. Tasting you. Claiming you. A reminder of why both of you fit so well together.

When you break apart, he rests his forehead against yours, panting slightly. His heart pounds in his chest, loud and insistent. Alive.

“Handsome, huh?” he teases. A grin tugs at his lips, unfamiliar but welcome. “Better watch yourself, darlin’.”

You giggle, the sound light and carefree. It warms something inside of you to see him smiling, teasing. It was rare these days, and you cherish every instance.

“Oh, I’m very careful,” you purr playfully, your fingers walking up his chest. “Careful to keep you on your toes.”

You punctuate your words with another quick peck, then slide off his lap. You grab his mug, refilling it with hot coffee.

“No more moping, Lo-lo. We’ve got plans today, remember? The farmer’s market downtown. Then dinner with my friends.” You set the steaming mug in front of him, your hand lingering on his shoulder. A reminder. A lifeline.

He watches you, all energy and light. You have a way of filling up spaces, making them feel less empty. Less lonely.

Farmer’s market. Dinner. Plans. Normal stuff. Stuff couples do.

Weird how something so simple can make Logan’s chest tighten. He never would have pictured himself here. Sitting at a kitchen table, watching a beautiful woman bustle about, planning a day together.

He grins at you and nods. “Yeah. I remember.”

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [8] - Diplomacy

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: The first day of work can be stressful.

Warnings: Explicit language, yearning.

Word Count: 4381

Series Masterlist

Well.

This was exactly what the first day of school used to feel like.

You couldn’t stop the sigh leaving your lips as you stared up at the Capitol Building, trying to ignore the anxiety churning your stomach. You knew you were supposed to go in, but somehow your legs refused to listen to you, so you exhaled slowly the way your therapist had taught you to get at least some sort of—

“It’s not too late to change your mind.”

You jumped out of your skin, then pressed a hand over your chest and glared at Bucky.

“What did I say about sneaking up on people?”

“In my defense, you looked pretty out of it already.” He shrugged his shoulders. “And as I said; not too late to change your mind. We can still leave.”

“Right,” you said with a laugh. “So we just forget about the Congress and everything and go away?”

He grinned. “Mm hm.”

“Where?”

“Brooklyn.”

You tilted your head. “Except that Brooklyn elected you as their representative, I feel like they’d ask what the hell you’re doing there.”

“You make a good point,” he said and thought for a moment. “Okay, new plan.”

“I’m listening.”

“We get new names and identities, move to a small town where no one knows us, and grow old and gray there in peace. We never check the news, ever.”

Your heart skipped a beat but you tried to focus. “Do we have to change Alpine’s name too?”

“I don’t think she’d let us,” he said, a soft smile pulling at his lips. “She missed you, by the way.”

This was not flirting.

This was just friendly. That was it. Two friends talking.

About running away together.

“I missed her too,” you said. “How does she like your new place?”

“She doesn’t,” he murmured before turning to glance at the building. “We’re gonna be fine.”

“Are you talking to me or yourself?”

“Yes.”

You repressed a laugh and bumped your shoulder against his.

“Come on,” you said as you started walking with him next to you. “Today is your day, and you’re gonna be very busy.”

“Yeah, the schedule was pages long,” he said. “I have meetings with people I don’t even know about.”

“Think of it like your debutante ball,” you told him. “They all want to see if you’re the right fit for them, how much dowry you have, and if they can bed you.”

“Please talk to me about something else.”

“Okay. “You shrugged your shoulders. “Onto some heartwarming news; I told Max to go fuck himself last night.”

Bucky frowned. “Hold on, he’s still calling you?”

“I called him,” you said. “He got the apartment after I prepared my boxes and stuff, and I paid the movers extra so that they would move everything without me being there, but apparently Max went through my boxes even if he refuses to admit it, because Blinky is not in any of them.”

“Who’s Blinky?” He paused for a moment. “Or what is Blinky?”

“Blinky is my childhood plushie,” you said. “It’s a fox plushie with one eye, the other eye fell off on the first day, that’s why I named him that. I took him everywhere I moved, and guess what? Max refuses to give him back.”

“Well, that’s interesting information.”

“I know, right?” you asked as you both walked into the building and held up your IDs to go through the security even if Bucky didn’t need to do that. “He claims he hasn’t seen him, but I’m so sure he hides him somewhere in the apartment.”

“You have a toy?”

“It’s a plushie.”

“It’s a toy.”

“It’s a plushie—you know what, I’m not going to stand in the Capitol hallway to argue semantics about my nostalgic childhood plushie with you,” you said while Bucky grinned at you. “You have one thousand things to do and so do I, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

That wiped his grin off his face. “Wait, tomorrow? You’re not gonna be around?”

“I’ll be gone all day.”

His eyes widened and he shook his head.

“Birdie, no—”

“I have the orientation, I’ll have to meet everyone and stuff, and apparently there’s this tour… It’ll be chaotic. Kels will be with you though, and Caleb as well.”

“But it wouldn’t take you all day,” Bucky tried to convince you as if you were the one who planned the schedule. “What are they going to do, make you tour the place twice? Just tell them you have stuff to do.”

“This is my stuff to do.”

“So you’re leaving me alone with these people?”

You tried not to laugh at the look of betrayal on his face.

“These people are going to be your colleagues,” you reminded him. “So you need to make friends with them. You don’t need me for that.”

“I do need you for that, actually,” he argued. “I don’t…I don’t make friends.”

“Fine, don’t make friends with them, just be civil. You charmed half of Brooklyn, remember?”

“Because you were there.”

“You’ve been through literally the hardest things anyone can go through—”

“To repeat, none of those things required making friends. Or socializing for that matter.”

“You’ll be fine, and I’ll drop by the office if I can,” you assured him. “But remember. Diplomacy. That’s the currency here.”

Bucky took a deep breath and nodded. “Yeah.”

You took a step to leave, then turned around again to look at him.

“I feel like this goes without saying when it comes to diplomacy, but do not glare at or threaten anyone.”   

Bucky stared at you as if you had just asked him whether Alpine could fly and you pursed your lips, then rolled your shoulders back.

“It’s gonna go great,” you muttered to yourself as you started walking again. “Diplomacy, here we come.”

                                      *

Okay, you expected today to be chaotic, but you did not know it would be this chaotic.

It felt like for the whole day you had been running to one place or the other, and by the time you had found some time to yourself, it was way past lunch time. You had about half an hour until the next item on the schedule so you figured you could drop by Bucky’s office to talk to Kelsey and Caleb and see how Bucky was doing so far.

When you entered the office, most of the team was busy with either their phones or laptops, but Caleb and Kelsey were watching Bucky’s closed door, having a discussion in whispers. You tilted your head, then made your way to them.

 “Is everything okay?”

“What are you doing here?” Caleb asked. “My orientation lasted all day.”

“Mine will too, I just got a break—what is happening?”

Kelsey licked her lips. “Guess who asked for a last minute meeting with Bucky.”

“Who?”

“Amos Drexel.”

Your stomach dropped and you gawked at her. “Sorry?”

“I think you guys are the only people who know this person.”

 “I’ve been memorizing everyone’s faces and names and titles since the election night,” she said. “And trust me, people know who he is. People in high places, if you know what I mean.”

“Kels, he’s just a consultant.”

Kelsey scoffed. “He’s not just a consultant, Caleb.”

“A lobbyist.”

“Lobbyists come and go, this guy has been bribing and extorting the politicians for like, decades. He has half of them in his pocket.”

“I feel like I would’ve heard about him,” Caleb said and Kelsey shook her head.

“He’s too smart for that,” she said. “It’s easier for him if the public thinks he’s just a consultant. But trust me, every single politician here knows about him.”

“What is he doing here?” you asked, your heartbeat getting faster as you stole a look at the closed door. “I checked Bucky’s schedule this morning, he wasn’t there.”

“As I said, last minute meeting,” Kelsey said. “What was I supposed to do when Drexel wanted to see him, ask him to reschedule? I squeezed him in.”

“If he tries to bribe Bucky, I feel like he might kill him.”

“Obviously but that’s not the point,” Kelsey said while you grabbed her penholder so that you could do something with your hands. “The point is, if Drexel is here, it means he wants to—”

You dropped the penholder as soon as the door opened, and you ducked under the desk to gather the pencils as he passed by the desk.

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Barnes.” You heard him say as he walked out of the door and you put all the pens into the holder, then got up from under the desk, letting out a breath.

Bucky looked absolutely furious as he glared in the direction he had disappeared into before his eyes found yours, his gaze softening in a second. You gave him a tightlipped smile and put the holder on the desk—

And the rest of the room turned to the door again.

“Almost forgot.” His voice reached your ears, making your whole body tense up. “Honey? Your mom wants to know if you’re free for dinner next weekend.”

Oh.

Oh he had planned this.

Of course he did. He knew every schedule in this goddamn place, and he knew the moment you had a break, you’d come straight to Bucky’s office.

You forced yourself to ignore the whole team and Bucky staring at you, your cheeks burning in humiliation as you turned around to glare at your father who was standing by the door with a calm smile on his face.

“Make sure to text her please,” he told you. “Have a great first day.”

Then he walked away, leaving the whole office in a stunned silence.

You could feel the tears of frustration burning the back of your eyes but this was neither the time nor the place. You blinked a couple of times, clenching your jaw and then made a beeline into Bucky’s office with Caleb and Kelsey rushing after you. Kelsey closed the door behind her and you licked your lips, taking a deep breath.

“I can explain that—”

“He’s your father?” Caleb asked and you cleared your throat.

“Well…”

“Why is your surname different?”

“How is he your father?” Caleb and Kelsey asked at the same time and you cleared your throat.

“I’ve been asking the same question to my mother for ages now.” You tried to joke as you stole a look at Bucky who was just watching you with an unreadable look on his face.

“Your father is Amos Drexel and you still have roommates?” Kelsey asked, motioning at herself and Caleb, and you shook your head fervently.

“I’m broke.”

Caleb scoffed. “Oh come on—”

“No, I am.” You pulled your phone out to open up your bank app, then showed the screen to them. “See? Totally broke.”

That seemed to have snapped Bucky out of the haze he was in. “Wait, you need money?”

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head fervently. “No I don’t.”

Caleb stared at your phone screen. “How is that even possible?”

“I got myself a separate bank account when I was eighteen,” you said. “I wouldn’t touch his money with a gun to my head, I know where it comes from. And before you ask, I won’t touch it when he dies either, it will go straight to charity.”

“And he’s okay with that?”

“Not at all but he ignores it, just like he ignores how I’ve been begging him to disown me for years,” you said and turned to Bucky. “Please say something.”

Bucky just held your gaze for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Your surname is different?”

“I changed it to my mother’s maiden name the day I turned eighteen,” you said. “You should’ve seen the paperwork.”

Bucky pointed at the door. “Birdie, I just told your father to go to hell.”

“You—” Kelsey’s eyes widened. “You told him to go to hell?”

“With different words.”

“What words?”

Bucky raised his brows, then motioned at her and you. “You two are here, I can’t exactly say what I said.”

“Bucky how many times must we tell you that people can curse around—” Caleb started but Kelsey cut him off, throwing her head back to look up at the ceiling like she was asking for help.

“Jesus, we’re not gonna last a term.”

“Would he assassinate him?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “No one is going to assassinate me, Caleb.”

“Hypothetically, would it even count as assassination if he killed you?”

“No.”

“I was going to say who died and left you in charge of assassinations, but I think everyone in this room knows the answer—”

“Bucky, I don’t think you understand,” Kelsey insisted. “Let’s say you’re Aragorn, this guy is Sauron!”

You made a face.

“He’s not Sauron, his power does have a limit.” You paused for a moment. “He’s Saruman at best.”

“Thanks, that makes it so much better—”

“Can we have the room?” Bucky cut her off and Kelsey and Caleb exchanged glances, then left the office. You could feel the anxiety churning your stomach but you swallowed thickly, keeping your eyes on him.

“Bucky…”

“Why not tell me?”

You let out a bitter laugh. “Would you have hired me?”

He frowned. “Of course I would.”

“And how would that go? Here’s my resume, oh by the way, my father bribes and extorts politicians for a living?” you asked. “See, I don’t think you would.”

“So your solution was to keep it a secret? Even after we—” He stopped himself. “Even after we started working together?”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“I couldn’t just tell you,” you said. “Listen, I wanted to work in politics, and…”

“And you could’ve easily got a job here,” Bucky told you. “You didn’t have to wait until I got elected.”

“Do you think that’s why I’m doing this?” you asked. “Bucky, I don’t want to work for a politician who is only gonna hire me because of my father, he stands for the opposite of everything I believe in—”

“And it’s been like that from the beginning?” he asked, making you pull back. “From the first minute we started working together?”

When the realization crashed down on you, it tightened your throat like a fist.

“You don’t believe me,” you muttered, biting inside your cheek and he let out a breath.

“Birdie, listen—”

“No, you listen,” you cut him off. “The next time you accuse me of working for my father, or—or having anything to do with his corruption, I will walk away, Bucky. I’ll pick one of the many job offers being thrown at me from someone who’s not in my father’s pocket -surprisingly, there are still some of those- and I’ll go and work for them. So I guess the question you should be asking is, do you really want that to happen?”

With that, you stormed out of the office and made your way to the stairs without sparing anyone a glance, your heart still pounding in your chest.

                                                 *

Well needless to say, as far as first days went, that one was not so good.

You had gone straight home after work without dropping by Bucky’s office again. Caleb came home an hour after you, and Kelsey was the last one to arrive, and they had a lot of questions.

At least they had both brought booze and snacks.

And now, way past midnight, all of you were sitting on the floor, still drinking and snacking but the air felt much lighter.

“I just want to say, Birdie,” Caleb said. “Even if your father is a demon sent from hell to bribe politicians, we love you.”

“Aw, thanks Caleb.”

“Can I also point out that,” Kelsey said, reaching for some chips, “it sure is weird that we have a TV, a fucking gramophone—”

“No badmouthing my gramophone, Kels.”

“But we don’t have a couch?”

“We’ll buy a couch,” you said, throwing a piece of chocolate in air to catch it with your mouth. “Like, next month. When we can afford it.”

“Maybe we should let your father know his daughter doesn’t have a couch, so that he can send us a gold one.”

You shot her a look and she grinned.

“These jokes will continue, just so you know.”

“I know, I know…” you muttered and pointed at the TV. “Swipe left.”

“No, swipe right!” Caleb told Kelsey who tilted her head, still holding her thumb over her phone screen. You had connected her phone to the TV and for over an hour you were going over the ‘options’ for her as Caleb had put it, and even though you’d had doubts at first, this turned out to be much more fun than watching political news.

“I mean he does give off fuckboy vibes, Caleb.”

“I don’t give a shit, he has a dog,” Caleb said. “One of us has to find someone with a dog. Birdie already has Bucky, who has an asshole cat—”

“I don’t have Bucky, and Alpine is a pretty princess.”

“And I’m a dog person,” Caleb said, pointing at the picture on the screen. “Maybe he’ll bring over his dog.”

“You make a good point,” Kelsey said as she swiped right, and all of you made a face at the next picture on the screen.

“Left!”

“Do you guys think I’ll have to work for someone else?”

“I think Bucky would rather resign himself than fire you,” Kelsey stated and Caleb nodded, taking a fistful of jellybeans into his palm.

“She’s right,” he said. “Do you want the green ones?”

“Yes please,” you said and held out your hand so that he could put the green jellybeans in your palm, and you popped them in your mouth. “And if he doesn’t trust me anymore?”

“That’s why he looked like a kicked puppy when I told Kels you were already home within his earshot?”

You let out a whine and downed your drink. “It’s gonna be so weird when I see him tomorrow.”

“Just pretend nothing happened,” Kelsey said, making Caleb scoff.  

“I’m sure it’s a very healthy approach to disagreements in a relationship.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” you said sulkily as the roar of a motorcycle outside reached the apartment. “He’s in a relationship with Hazel fucking—swipe right on this one Kels—Brooks.”

“Who hates your guts because she knows Bucky likes you.”

“Right,” you said with a laugh. “Because Bucky would ever leave his hot, successful, billionaire girlfriend —who is, if I may repeat, super hot— to be with me.”

“That’s irrelevant.”

You flailed your arms. “We don’t even have a damn couch, Kels!”

“Then he fucks you on the floor, who cares?” Caleb exclaimed as he poured more wine into your glass, and your phone buzzed on the floor. You picked it up, sitting up straighter the moment you saw the text.

From: Winter Is Coming

Hey. Are you awake?

“What the…” you muttered and turned the screen to Caleb and Kelsey so that they could read the text. “Is this a ‘you up’ text? Is Bucky sending me a you up text?”

“The man has to google half of the things I text him, but he’s sending you a you up text, sure.” Kelsey scoffed a laugh. “See, told you things would work out. That’s gonna be an apology text, text him back.”

You sent a quick yes, your heartbeat getting faster as Caleb grinned.

“He’s so lying in bed thinking about you, aw!”

“He’s not doing that— ” You started but you were cut off when your phone buzzed in your hand.

Do you mind stepping outside for a minute?

“Holy shit!”

“Caleb, stop shouting!”

“He’s here?!”

“Oh my God, oh my God…” You jumped on your feet, fanning yourself. “What do I do?”

“Well, you calm down,” Kelsey said, getting up as well. “And you go outside.”

“How do I look?”

“You look great.” Kelsey pulled your top down a little and wiggled her brows. “For good luck.”

You took a deep breath, fixed your hair, and rushed out of the apartment to make your way downstairs, then you stepped out of the building to find him leaning against his motorcycle. 

Goddamn it.

You were supposed to be angry at him, but somehow the butterflies in your stomach refused to listen to you.

“To repeat,” you said as you walked down the stairs and approached him. “I have a doorbell.”

“It’s 2 a.m.” Bucky replied, his eyes fixed on you, making your heart skip a beat. “I figured Caleb and Kelsey would be asleep.”

“Nope, we’re picking guys for Kelsey,” you said. “So what brings you here?”

Bucky paused for a moment and licked his lips.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About today…”

“Listen, I know you’re gonna say I should’ve told you but you need to understand—”

“I’m sorry.”

That made you stop talking and your eyes snapped up to his, a confused frown pulling your brows together. Bucky gave you an apologetic smile and cleared his throat as if he was willing to get the words out.

“I don’t like it when people hide things from me, and I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, averting his eyes from yours for a moment. “I trust you a lot, so when you—”

You shook your head fervently. “Bucky, I would never betray your trust.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” you insisted. “Because I need you to know that. I would never go behind your back and do anything to—to hurt you in any way.”

That soft light appeared in his blue eyes. “I know.”

“It’s just not who I am.”

“I know, Birdie.”

You bit inside your cheek.

“And I’m sorry too,” you muttered, pressing your palms on your eyes for a moment before dropping your hands. “I swear, something evil comes out of me whenever someone so much as mentions me being anything like him. Especially when I spent years trying to prove that I’m not.”

“I get that.”

You looked down, shifting your weight from one foot to other, then raised your head to smile up at him.

“Do you want to come in?” you asked. “You can help us pick guys for Kels, and there’s wine and snacks.”

“Tempting offer,” he said. “But I’m actually here to drop something off.”

You frowned as he reached into the box behind his motorcycle. “What? I’m pretty sure I got all the files—”

You stopped talking the moment you saw what he pulled out of the box, a gasp leaving your lips and your hands shooting up to your mouth.

Blinky.

He held out the worn out plushie for you and you gawked at him for a couple of seconds before you reached out to take it.

“Wh—how?”

“It was on my way.”

You pulled your brows together, looking down at the fox plushie before raising your glances again.

“My old apartment, which is in New York,” you said slowly, “was on your way to your home, which is in DC.”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a mischievous smile.

“Well okay, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “I just got back to the city, that’s why I texted you at this hour.”

You could feel your heart melting in your chest. “You went all the way to New York to get my childhood plushie back?”

“I still think that counts as a toy,” he pointed out as if it was crucial information. “But you said it was important to you, so…”

Don’t kiss him.

You can’t kiss him. He’s your boss, he has a girlfriend, he does not see you that way, do not kiss him.

“And if anything, I’d been wanting to talk to Max for a while now, so the toy was basically just an excuse.”

“It a plushie—” You changed directions mid-sentence. “What do you mean you talked to Max?”

The look on his face was too innocent. “We just had a conversation, that’s all.”

“About?”

“About him not making anything difficult for you. Or something along those lines.”   

The warmth swirled in the pit of your stomach, making you feel lightheaded as you beamed at him, a giggle climbing your chest.

“Bucky.” You breathed out. “I don’t know what to say...”

“Oh it’s nothing, really.”

“It’s not nothing,” you said. “It’s—it’s amazing. You’re amazing.”

That made his head snap up, his eyes searching yours while a proud smile pulled at his lips like your praise meant the world to him. It could’ve been funny if you weren’t trying so hard to control yourself from kissing him; the deadliest assassin in the world, the infamous Bucky Barnes who barely smiled at anyone, who could strike fear in anyone’s hearts with a mere glare, now had the same expression of an excited puppy who was given a treat.

His throat bobbed and he blinked a couple of times like he was trying to pull himself together, then gestured at his motorcycle. “I uh, I should go.”

You were painfully aware that you were pouting. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “And hey, I’m sure you’re needed inside too. Can’t have Kelsey choose the wrong guy.”

You huffed out a laugh, hugging a plushie to your stomach and nodded.

“See you tomorrow,” you said quietly and took a couple of steps but then turned around to look at him.

“And…” You cleared your throat, your heart pacing in your chest. “Thank you. It means more than you know.”

His voice was soft: “Good night Birdie.”

He waited until you were in the building to ride away and you pressed a hand over your chest before climbing the stairs to enter your apartment.

“Hey,” Kelsey said. “How did it—is that a plushie?”

“Bucky got you a plushie?” Caleb asked, confusion clear in his tone and you looked down at the plushie, then back at them.

“Guys, we have a problem,” you rasped out, your voice weak even to your own ears. “I think I’m actually falling for him.”

[arabellasfvv]

Kyle dealing with your anger cause I'm currently fuming over dinner. MDNI 18+

Kyle perks up the seconds he hears you curse. There wasn't a bang or an 'ouch', so you're mad. Which would be fine any other time. But a glance on the calender tells him it's that time of the month. So a simple curse will turn into death threats torward everyone and everything, and a minimum of two things broken.

Not fun.

But he's been learning to deal with it. Slowly getting up from the couch, mentally preparing himself for an outburst.

The closer he gets to the kitchen, the better it smells. Clearly you had something good cooking. He peaks around the doorframe to check if you were curled up in a ball and sobbing.

That, frankly, would've been better than your tense figure, hands curled into tight fists. Your heavy breathing makes his own heavier, as if he's trying to blend in, not wanting to set you off.

"Sweetheart," his voice is soft as ever as he steps beside you. "What happend?" A dangerous question that could definitely blow up in his face.

"Nothing fucking happend!"

Right. He doesn't believe that. And you know that.

"Uh huh. Somethin' wrong with the food?" He pressed, while his hand snuck up your arm. Not too soft, he wanted you to feel him, a firm, grounding touch.

Kyle didn't flinch when your fist came down on the counter, one, two, three times. Just gripped you a little tighter. "Nothing's working! The sauce was weird, the potatoes ain't cooking, the fish smells fishy-"

"I think that's how fish is supposed to smell." Oh boy, if looks could kill he'd be a dead man. The kiss he presses against your head is supposed to be soothing.

He takes a fork to stab into a potatoe, before dipping it into your 'weird sauce'. Tastes fine, like everytime. "They're hard boiling potatoes, luv. Supposed to feel like that. And your sauce taste like usual, yer taste buds might be a little out of whack."

He wraps his buff arm around your shoulder, his hand slipping up to your jaw to tilt your face to him. "You bought the wrong potatoes, Kyle."

"Aww, did I? List just said potatoes." He's quick to retreat when you squint up at him, brows furrowing like he's stupid. "Okay, okay, that's on me. I shoulda known better. So why don't ya tell me which ones ya want for next time, hm?"

You want to smack him for being so rational, so calm, while your heart is about to beat out of your chest. "All purpose, or starchy." You grumble. He nods, like 'of course, those are the right options'. "Noted. You go sit down, sweetheart. Pick out a movie, order some pizza.."

He doesn't give you the chance to interrupt, the moment those pretty lips part he knows what you're going to say. "Don't worry, this won't go to waste. I'll put it aside, and we'll make something out of it tomorrow. No point in trying when you're all grumpy."

You huff. How dare he be right? You stomp away to do as told.

He joins you on the couch a little later, smiling when he saw your choice of movie. No suprise there.

He was far more focused on you than on his own appetite. So he quickly shoved down his pizza to focus on you. Guiding your feet into his sliding his deft fingers between your toes, massaging each one. Watching your little reactions, the ones you were trying to hide, so you could keep acting mad.

He's itching to you advice on how to deal with this. He knows better, though. Had learned the anger during this time is different than usual, so he doesn't. No, his warm hands just keep gliding slowly along your feet, tracing along the curves of your arch, showing exactly how familiar he is with them.

His thumbs were pressing gently into the soles, doing his best to knead away any and all tension, when you speak up again. "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. As long as ya don't kill anyone, we'll always be alright, got it?" "So, killing is your limit? Ironic." "It's the laws limit."

You smile back at him, you do feel guilty about getting so worked up. Which makes it tempting to get angry again, just to ignore that feeling. But he's quicker, reads the emotions off you like it's written on a billboard.

Hands slide up your legs, before kyle is pulling you closer to him. You insult him under your breath for his strenght. He's too busy to notice. Busy pulling you into his lap, shifting you until your legs are straddling him. His hands are all over you in an instance. Feeling up every little curve, before one settles with slipping under your shirt, and drawing little patterns into your lower back.

The other coming up to cup your cheek. You lean into it like a dog starved for affection. "You're an emotional thing, I'm aware of that. Wouldn't have gotten involved if it bothered me," he assures you in a gentle whisper against your lips.

You barely manage to whisper the sacred words of 'I love you' before he has your lips against his own. Slow, and careful, but he tilts his head to fit you better, to kiss you deeper. He wants to steal your breath, watch you pull away and pant just to drag you back in until everything else's fades away. Until that flame of anger simmers down and allows your mind to be a little quieter. If just for a moment.

That's it, I'm too lazy for more.

[thatpieceoftrash]

You look just like a dream

Malleus Draconia x reader

WC: 1.016

In which you capture a picture of a certain fae(along with his heart)

“Hey stranger, what brings you here in the dead of night?”

Except he definitely wasn’t a stranger, especially not after finding out his real name a few weeks prior.

“Good evening, Child of Man. Isn't it a bit too late for you to be outside?” Malleus greeted you as stepped through the gate leading to ramshackle.

“Normally it would be, but I wanted to test the camera Crowley gave me” you told him, holding up the so-called ghost camera the headmage gave you at the beginning of the year, so you could capture what goes on throughout the school, although you suspect it was another task he was freeing himself of. Well, it wasn’t that big of a deal, at least you got a cool device to make up for it.

“Ah, I believe I have seen you around with it, although I’m not quite certain how it works.“ He said with a pensive look on his face, which was now much closer to you. Close enough to also see the confusion clouding those impossibly green eyes of his.

“Come here, I’ll show you how it works,” you said patting the space next to you. The fae was reluctant at first, likely not being used to such a close proximity with anyone, but after a moment he joined you on the old, cracked stairs of ramshackle, with his shoulder touching yours.

“Alright, so first you look through this small window to see what exactly you’ll take a picture of,” you started explaining, pointing your camera towards the starry sky, “and then, once you’re sure this is what you want, you just click on this button and it’s done!” You demonstrated as best as you could to Malleus, who wore such a serious expression on his beautiful visage, you’d think this was an incredibly important meeting, and not some barely understandable explanations.

“I see. To think whatever you capture is forever immortalised in that camera of yours. How fascinating.” There was a soft glimmer in his eyes as he spoke to you, and so the words coming out of your mouth shouldn’t have been all that surprising.

“Would you like to be immortalised as well, Tsunotaro?” You inquired, slowly turning your head towards him, catching the faint surprised look on his face, but it slowly turned into his familiar and haughty smirk. Now this one you were familiar with.

He let out a small laugh at your question, “You’d wish to capture me with your camera? Truly fearless of you to ask me, I do not usually let other people photograph me, but since it’s you I’ll make an exception.”

You absolutely beamed at this and got up as fast as you could. “Really?! Okay, okay just stay there and I’ll set the camera!” You would not refuse an opportunity to have a picture of the prince all to yourself. After all, he really was quite pretty to look at.

“Very well, is my pose agreeable to you?” Malleus asked as he sat up straighter, but while his whole demeanour screamed nobility, his smile was slightly wider than you were used to, and you could even see a fang poking out from behind those pale kissable lips.

“Perfect!” And you weren’t lying, as you quickly captured what you definitely consider your magnum opus for pictures.

“I’ll definitely be keeping this somewhere safe, out of Grim’s paws, and the ghosts wandering gazes.” You smiled to yourself as you looked at the small paper with your horned friend on it.

“You’d keep me only for your eyes to regard? Possessive, are you?” Malleus questioned, from his position now behind you, with this chin on your shoulder taking a glance at his portrait “Well, I suppose I don’t mind if I have your admiration alone.“

Maybe he doesn’t mind the proximity after all “Well I’ll think of this as my own treasure, don’t you also have that?” You tried to keep a cool head, but his hot breath next to your ear made it harder to even think.

“Oh, I most definitely do, my dearest Child of Man”

You barely had enough time to register his words before you felt a pair of hands grab your waist.

“Why, my greatest treasure is right here.” His whisper sent a shiver down your spine.

“Are you also gonna keep me for yourself only?” You teased him back, turning your face to gauge his reaction.

His eyes widened a little, before he let out a laugh, “you say the most curious things, I advise you to be careful, lest a dragon steals you away.” He almost purred those words, and your brain stopped functioning.

“What if I say I wouldn't mind it?” You challenged him, slowly bringing your lips closer to his.

“Oh my, a brave one, are you? Tempting me like this. Remember that you brought this on.” And as you were about to retort, he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Malleus, you tease!“ you sputtered before turning away completely, but you didn’t leave the warmth of his arms.

He gave a delighted laugh at that. “Apologies, my dear, I just couldn't resist. You’ll forgive me for my insolence, won’t you?” He said, placing yet another kiss on your shoulder.

“I’ll forgive you, but then you'll also have to forgive me,” you said, suddenly turning back to him.

“Whatever for-“ but he didn't get to finish his sentence, as you planted your lips to his.

For a moment he froze, and you wondered if maybe you shouldn't have been to bold, but his shock quickly melted away, in favour of kissing you back, with just as much, if not more vigor, grabbing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, as you grabbed his ethereal face.

You only pulled away when you needed to breathe, with your foreheads touching each other. Neither of you said a word, as you basked in the comforting silence that followed, though you knew you’d eventually have to talk about it.

“Well, I suppose I could pardon this transgression, if you give me another kiss.”