#did i get lazy at certain parts?

[spidey-bie]

Techpunk Royalty AU Idea

Hobie had been by Ansi's side for as long as he could remember. He remembered the day that he was first assigned as his personal knight.

The prince was only a young boy but had such a cold and stoic demeanor. The Knight had seen a number of corpses in his lifetime but he had never seen such lifeless eyes. Daily the boy had to endure rigid lessons and training in order to ready himself for the throne. His mother taught each lesson with an iron fist, never failing to spare the rod if she felt that his efforts weren't up to her expectations.

Though the young Knight knew there wasn't much he could do to change the situation he made it his goal to make the prince happy.

It was hard at first but the day he first heard the prince laugh was when he realized his efforts were worth it.

It wasn't long before they grew to be inseparable.

However, things changed once the Queen died. Too many people felt that Hobie had gotten too close to the prince. Soon after the funeral he was sent away under the guise of a special mission.

The prince was left alone completely surrounded by those who wished to use him for the crown. The corrupted nobility began to enact out their twisted games in order to gain more power.

Ansi tired and longing for his beloved slowly becomes that unfeeling and stoic person from his youth. It wasn't long before he put an end to his vassals blatant disrespect and greed. He made them an example and displays their severed heads along the gates of the palace.

So began his reign of tyranny.

Hobie on the other hand has been fighting off assassination attempts, sand storms, wild beasts, and illness all to make it back to his beloved and yet when he finally arrives back at the palace to find that nothing is the same as it was before

The garden where they snuck away to hide from their instructor has been turned into an armory.

The kind servants who he had grown alongside him with had all been replaced.

Even the castle itself seemed different. The halls seem more somber and dreary.

He couldn't understand how things turned out this way until he saw the King.

This wasn't the man who he had devoted his life too. His beloved prince had become the very thing that they were hoping to destroy.

"My Knight I know that it's taken quite a long journey for you to make it back to me."

He smiles but it's only for show. His eyes held an indiscernible emotion that Hobie couldn't place.

"I wish to reward you for your valiant efforts but first," He says as he walks towards the knight. "I must ask something of you."

He dismisses everyone from the room. The King reaches out to rest his hand against his beloved face but the knight jerks away with a look of disgust.

The King chuckles sadly.

"You were never able to hide your true emotions from me."

"Get on with your favor so I can get going."

"I can't let you leave, beloved."

"Don't call me that."

For a moment Hobie thought he saw a pained look in Ansi's eyes but it was gone as fast as it came. The King cleared his throat and continued.

"I know you. I can already see the cogs of a revolution whirling around in your mind."

"So what, you're gonna kill me?"

Ansi chuckled.

"And waste such valuable talent? I think not."

"Instead I offer you two choices. Join my side or," He pulled his sword out of its sheath. "kill me and take the throne for yourself."

"And let the kingdom label be a traitor and execute me immediately after?" Hobie scoffed. "You're insane."

"I thought so too but my mind is the only thing that's remained intact over the years."

The Knight didn't give a reply he only looked at the sword in the King's hand.

"Don't worry. You'll be able to take over the throne with ease. I can call in a vassal to confirm if you so wish."

"No." He grabbed the sword from the King's hand. "I think this is the only truthful thing you've said in a while."

"It seems you've made up your mind then." The Knight glanced remorsefully at the King.

"Surely there's another way?"

The King sighed and looked down. His knight had always been a merciful person.

"You once told me that those who've spilled blood can only pay for their sins with blood. Don't tell me you've turned soft now?"

"Any last words?"

The King thought for a moment before looking up at the Knight again. "No."

He smiles sadly at the Knight.

"Do you?"

The Knight often thought of what he'd say to his Prince once he returned.

Those words were meaningless now.

"No."

@hobiebrownismygod @i-like-moths-and-men @ponfarrtimeatthevulcannightclub @chessbox @pinkpinkspidey

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[arolesbianism]

Oh god the new cotl trailer is dragging me right back in... Damn you goat why must you relight my interest in this game so

[tragedykery]

trying to figure out character voices for my ocs and I think the one I have the clearest picture of rn is taituk. they speak…not quite stiffly maybe but definitely a tad formal. more connective words & full sentences than most people use when speaking. they’ve got the admirable habit of just letting silence fall until they’ve thought of the right thing to say, very little uhming or use of other filler words. they tend to be overly specific rather than vague—e.g., instead of saying something is rare or common, they might try to give a numeric indication of how rare or common it is. they talk quite slowly and quietly, but can make themself heard if so desired. absolutely hate shouting. they prefer to speak calmly, and if they’re in an emotional situation they will wait to compose themself until they know their voice will be level. because of this they can seem emotionless to the untrained eye, but they’re just good at hiding/repressing them lol

[chiisana-lion]

considering moving Again to a brand new acc where my main isnt the art blog this time

[scarlettmurphy]

STARCROSSED +ੈ✩‧₊˚ LOGAN HOWLETT.

logan and y/n — where you are completely in love with a man older then your father by a good 100 years.. and whose in love with another.

- content warning age gap. nsfw. sh. angst. not really happy endings! pairings: older!logan howlett x xaiver!reader

spoiler: horrible yearning!

note this is my first piece of work so i hope it’s okay! i love logan sm i had to write something for him — and this is really angsty :) pls ignore if there’s any bad grammar! i’m a bit lazy rn, also with the timeline for this fic i have no idea when im going for. im saying 2000s-2010s just remember its a bit scrambled timeline wise cos i wanted my favs here!🤭 enjoy!

you hated when he was around. you couldn’t stand it anymore. your longing glances to him, the yearning looks you gave him which were never returned and only thrown back into your face when you saw how he was looking at jean the way you looked at him.. it had all been getting too much. at first you acted like it didn’t bother you and part of your school-girl crush deluded brain pretend you were just seeing things but as the weeks / months had passed you realised that was the furthest thing from the truth.

recently you couldn’t even bring yourself to glance at him because it hurt too much and that wasn’t even being dramatic, the aching feeling in your heart wasn’t worth getting a glimpse of his timeless beauty so every time he was around you bit down the urges swallowed your pride and acted as if he was nobody to you, just a good friend. a father figure, a teammate.

it felt rude at first, to you since you were the only one noticing it, how you just stopped all those little things you were doing but you couldn’t help it or stop yourself from being like that because it was too hard to deal with — loving someone so much with all your heart but you knew you couldn’t have them. you hated to admit it but it destroyed you and that little part of you right now was falling into a full blown rage as you sat on the sofa alongside logan and wade — charles, hank, scott and rogue being present in the room too.

“i just don’t get her.” scott said out, repeating the same line over again, still bitching about the fight him and jean had after they all got back from the mission — everyone could hear the screaming and scott’s harsh gaze when he entered the room just confirmed it all and the second,of course, logan asked a question after wade made a snarky comment that set off scott and he hadn’t stopped mansplaining it since.

“yea’ well certain people don’t.” logan gruffly spoke out as y/n couldn’t stop her eyes from moving over to him at his words, feeling a sense of hurt coarse through her like it usually did whenever he spoke about jean or implied her. everyone knew what logan’s comment meant and y/n could see how scott was biting his tongue, clearly pissed off like he always was around logan. for good reason.

the tension only grew worse when scott couldn’t help himself and made a comment right back at him, his eyebrows raised as he stood from his seat. charles attention turning right to scott instead of logan, “and what’s that supposed to mean, asshole?” scott spat out like his words were venom.

rogue rolling her eyes at his words as hank shared a little glance with y/n who was cursing the entire situation in her brain as she couldn’t stop herself from looking at logan — those very same feelings boiling in her body as she saw the way his mouth twitched and his jaw clenched. how protective he was getting over jean, a feeling y/n couldn’t help have been wishing for the past two years of knowing the man he would get like over her — sure in a friends way he might’ve done it before, at least that’s how she saw but it never like this.

y/n swore she could physically feel her heart aching.

“pretty sure you know what that means pal.” logan bit back harshly, his words falling to the same tone as scott’s did as scott scoffed at what he said as he bit back with full frustration as charles clearly wanted to get involved - a little grimance pictured on his face as y/n studied her fathers expression, him clearly knowing what jean meant to logan, as y/n looked away before her dad could catch her staring her eyes falling onto a pissed off scott who downed the drink he had in his hand, placing it on the table.

“she picked me.” was all scott needed to say as the weight in the room shifted heavily on logan’s end as everyone could see the way logan’s face dropped a little, that comment taking the little coy expression he had right away but y/n didn’t even bring herself to look, scott’s eyes taking her in as if he knew what she was feeling in this moment. his eyes meeting her own as y/n felt a lump form her throat — the tightness almost burning — as he tutted at how silent logan was before he walked out the room without another word.

with this the room fell silent. everyone knowing the feelings logan must’ve been harbouring right now, y/n especially, as she glanced over to him not expecting to be met with his brown eyes looking back at her as he took in her expression before he roughly got up without another word — going right over to the door.

chaeles couldn’t help himself as he spoke up firmly the second he watched logan head for the door, “logan—“

“just goin’ for a piss, wheels.” he roughly said back before the door shut right behind him.

“more like a bitchless weaping session.” wade couldn’t help say as he had left the room, hank and rogue not being able to help their little laughs from coming out as y/n bit down on the inside of her cheek limiting the feelings she was experiencing as much as she could before she stood up.

“—i’m going to shower.” y/n said out lowly, her words slipping out quickly as the others nodded or hummed in agreement, wades eyebrows furrowing as he clearly felt he knew more of the situation then the rest did but he kept that to himself.

“take some pics for me!” wade called back to her, earning a little look from charles as hank scoffed in reply.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

that shower was more like watching a re run of singing in the rain which y/n couldn’t help watch the entirety of for no specific reason before she eventually hoped in the shower. the faint sounds of her speakers being heard as she hummed along to the lyrics of the specific song as she felt the cold water glide down her naked body.

swallowing the pain-filled whimpers that were aching to escape her wet lips as she acted as if the water gracing against all those marks and burns on her skin wasn’t killing her inside despite her ‘little’ case of immortality. immortality sadly didn’t mean you never experienced pain and y/n was clearly the leading case proving that matter as she soon got out the shower after washing her hair and her body.

wrapping the towel around her dainty body as she took in herself in the mirror, the thoughts forming in her brain being within the ‘self loathing’ category as she exited her bathroom. her face falling once she was met with the gruff expression on logans face which turned to one of shock as his eyes scanned over y/n immediately. him swallowing his own spit as y/n hands immediately wrapped around her towel just to make sure it wouldn’t fall.

“lo— shit, i didn’t know you were here.” she quickly managed out, her face a bright shade of red as she watched as logan didn’t move his gaze off her figure.

“—wait.” not a single word escaping his lips as y/n walked over to her bed where her clothes were laid out for her.

y/n’s breath was hitched and she swore she felt all the heat rush to her face as she took in the way logan was just staring at her as she grabbed her clothes with her other hand, taking a few steps back into the bathroom before she swiftly shut the door. her mind a mess as she quickly put on her pajamas before she sprung over to the mirror to double check her appearance before she walked back out to her bedroom.

logan being in the exact same place she had left him — not a single word had left his lips and his facial expression was the exact same as y/n nervously smiled at him.

“what are you doing— uh, here?” y/n asked him swiftly, her words rushed as she swore she could hear her heartbeat in her ears as she saw logan slowly seem to come back to reality, scratching the back of his neck as his lips parted as he tried to say something.

yet it took a little for something to come out as y/n swore she felt something growing in the air as logan finally spoke, his gruff tone a little knocked back then usual, “was coming here to bitch about scott. didn’t mean to see anything i shouldn’t have.”

his words sent a little chill through y/n’s spine as she managed a little smile on her lips, no matter how fake it was she still managed it, as she looked at him. his first words being all the confirmation her heart needed in this moment as she held back her feelings as she felt her heart tense.

“it’s okay.” y/n rolled out quietly, her attention falling over to her bed as she walked over to the foot off it — sitting down on the edge of the bed as logan stayed in place, his arms crossed as he leaned against the fireplace in her room now.

“so scott, you wanna bitch?” y/n trailed off into as logan looked out the window, seemingly lost in his thoughts as he shrugged his shoulders.

“nah, not anymore.” he said, his voice low as y/n took in his hush voice — his words only adding to the building up tension that was making the air thick as y/n looked at him. her eyes taking in every inch off him and how he looked, her mind wondering how he’d feel.. how’d he’d taste.

yet her thoughts were immediately cut short.

“—you seen jean about?”

his words were like a harsh hit round the face as she felt a lump for her in throat, her mind tingling a little as she glanced over to the door. she hated this, every inch of this. she wanted to scream, punch him in the face. confess right there and there at him but she didn’t. she couldn’t.

no matter how much it killed her inside. every second without him being like a gun shot to the heart as she plainly looked back at him, a soft smile growing on her face which was so fake it was indescribable as she nodded to her bedroom door.

“her room, i guess.”

her low words were enough to make anyone know she was hurt yet of course logan didn’t, or he didn’t show he knew as he gave her a playful wink.

“thanks bub.” he said with a nod as he went to walk out the room — his hand on the door when y/n heard his muttered words.

“sleep well y/n.”

his words fell into silence as y/n watched him leave, the door closing behind him being the utmost reminder of how her feelings will probably never be acknowledged. and that harsh reality left her alone in her bedroom for the entire night and with every toss and turn her mind was on one thing and one thing only. him.

— +ੈ✩‧₊˚

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nursle.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.4k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Mentions of Pregnancy, Implied Stalking, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Lactation, Slight Breeding Kinks, Daddy Kinks, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, and Age Gaps (Gojo is 20, Reader is 35+).

[Part Two] [Part Three]

A few days into the new school year, you decided that Gojo Satoru could not be Fushiguro Megumi’s primary guardian, despite what the paperwork filed by the former claimed. Honestly, the fact that Megumi’s name had been misspelled in every conceivable way across the aforementioned paperwork should’ve been enough to make that clear, but after a decade of teaching, you’d learned to pick up on the smaller signs; a certain discomfort that passed through Megumi's expression whenever you asked about his homelife, the lapse before a half-hearted answer whenever you posed a question to Satoru as to Megumi's preferences. It didn’t necessarily mean anything bad was going on, just that something was going on - something you couldn’t ignore, not completely.

Four weeks into the new school year, you decided that Fushiguro Megumi did not like Gojo Satoru. All your students were at the age where they were suddenly eager to distance themselves from any adult they could call an authority, but Megumi was the only one still in your classroom hours after the school day ended, the only one who stayed for as long as you could afford to let him. Sometimes, Satoru would make an appearance, loiter outside of your classroom or pass time with the best attempts at small talk someone nearly two decades your junior could make, but Megumi made a habit of ignoring him and try as you might, you'd never had the heart to be very strict with your students. The only days he didn’t stay to help you (as much as a nine year old could help anyone do anything) were the days when his sister was free to pick him up and, much to your relief, Satoru was nowhere to be found.

Two months into the new school year, you found yourself on the doorstep of Gojo Satoru’s listed address which, notably, was not the dingy flat you’d dropped off Megumi in front of whenever he stayed too late to justify letting him walk home alone. Instead, you gaped openly at the skyscraper in front of you, as tall as the eye could see and pouring out the kind of people you couldn’t help but want to get away from. You’d called ahead, let Satoru know you’d be making a home visit to discuss some of your concerns about Megumi, but for as long as he’d kept you on the phone, he’d never bothered to explain why he would ask you to meet him in a place like—

“You’re early, Miss (L/n).”

You stiffened, glanced over your shoulder to find Gojo Satoru – dressed in his usual plain, black uniform and unaccompanied by the student you’d come to discuss. He greeted you with a wide grin, a lazy nod, and you returned it with a purse-lipped smile and a tightened hold on the strap of your messenger bag. “Well, I’d hate to waste your time.” You toyed with the idea of meeting his eyes, but your gaze skirted over the pitch-black lenses of his sunglasses and settled firmly on the collar of his button-up. “And you don’t have to call me that. It makes you sound like one of my students and—” A slight pause, a nervous laugh. “I think you might be a little too old to blend in.”

Satoru’s grin only widened. With only your own paranoia as warning, he strung an arm through the crook of yours, dragging you towards the entrance of his looming tower. “I think it’s got a nice ring to it, Miss.”

Something sharp pricked at the back of your throat.

In hindsight, it might’ve been easier to do this with the nine year old.

You kept your teeth grit and your smile plastered on as he led you through the lobby – all shining crystal chandeliers and glistening marble floors – and hauled you into a gold-gilded elevator, the kind that would’ve let you know you were somewhere you didn’t belong under normal circumstances. You watched in stomach-knotting, heart-stopping terror as the numbers ticked up, up, up, until the mirrored doors were sliding open and you were stepping into the living room that could’ve swallowed your shoebox of an apartment whole. Your heels (blocked, low, practical – the only pair you’d found the strength to wear since coming back from your leave) clicked against the bare tile floor as you stumbled into the remarkably open space, his furniture sparse and largely utilitarian. You spotted one of Megumi’s drawings on a low coffee table, a pile of Tsumiki’s hairbands forgotten on an otherwise empty bookshelf, but any other signs of life were either nonexistent or exceptionally well-hidden. Any hope you had that Megumi and Satoru’s situation might’ve just been that of a young, overburdened guardian and his slow-to-warm ward evaporated immediately. Those of limited means tended not to live in penthouses that cost triple your annual salary in rent.

If Satoru noticed your growing anxiety, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. With an exaggerated yawn, he strode past you and collapsed onto a leather couch – too pristine to have been recently visited by two hyperactive children. When you stalled near the entryway, he let his head lull to the side, his tinted glasses falling low on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to be shy. There’s plenty of room – not that I mind the view, if you really wanna stand.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a long, labored exhale. He’s practically a kid, you reminded yourself. You could only be thankful you hadn’t gotten him a couple of years ago – otherwise, you’d be dealing with an actual child.

Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders and perched yourself on the far edge of the sofa. Satoru immediately closed the distance, draping his lanky arms over the back of the couch, his fingertips just barely brushing against your shoulder. You pulled your messenger bag into your lap, opening your mouth as you looked for Megumi’s file, but Satoru cut in before you could start your well-practiced monologue. “This is your first year at his school, right? I’d remember if I saw a teacher as pretty as you around campus.”

“It’s my first year back,” you corrected. “I’ve noticed Megumi very introverted for a boy his—”

“Let me guess – maternity leave?”

Your lips quirked into a tight frown. Fighting the urge to cross your arms over your stomach self-consciously, you sent him a withering look out of the corner of your eye. “I’d rather not talk about my personal life, if it’s all the same to you. Like I said, I’m not here to waste your time.”

Your tone was clipped, your voice strict, but Satoru’s only response was an airy chuckle, a careless grin. “I’m not in a rush,” he said. “But you’re probably eager to get back home to your baby girl. I know you try to spend time with her on weekends.”

This time, you didn’t try to breathe. Letting your bag fall back to your side, you moved to stand, but Satoru was quick to catch you by the wrist, to pull you back down with a single, playful jerk. Your bag fell off of your shoulder, hitting the floor and spilling open at your feet, but you didn’t reach for it. He was stronger than he looked, and you already knew everything you had to about strong young men with more power than they knew what to do with. “I’d really rather not talk about myself when Megumi is—”

“Can’t be easy, leaving her all alone like that. Did you ask your neighbor to babysit again, or was it that brat of a teenager you call up on weekends?” His hand fell to your thigh, and you immediately regretted wearing a dress, let alone one that ended well before the knee. You’d wanted this to seem causal, unintrusive, but as his fingertips bit into the plush of your thigh, you regretted not going straight to the police as soon as you noticed something strange. “Can’t be easy, not having a husband to dote on you and the little princess anymore.”

You keep your eyes on your feet, on one of the manilla folders spilling out of your bag. Megumi's name was scrawled messily across the upper right corner in red pen, because red was his favorite color and you knew he would see it every time he helped you organize paperwork for your other students. “I appreciate your concern, but we’ve managed to take care of ourselves.”

“I know.” He was close, too close. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, against the shell of your ear. “It’s just that I think I might just be able to take care of you a little better.”

“I think I should leave.” You spoke slowly, your tone flat, factual. Like you were talking to a child, or a dog, or worst of all – a man in monks' clothing, ready to worship at his own alter. “Before either of us does anything we might regret.”

Satoru let his lead lull forward, his fanged smile biting into the corner of your jaw.

You tried to bolt, but it was already too late.

It happened too quickly for you to process. One second, you were writhing in your own skin, your favorite student’s neglectful guardian pressed into your side and the next, you were on your back, splayed over the length of his couch, Satoru’s knee between your open legs and his hands on either side of your head. Your body reacted before your mind, trying to run, to resist, to get away from him, but Satoru’s hand was on your chest before you could so much as sit up, keeping you trapped underneath him without a trace of effort. “You can stop working so hard, momma.” His glasses had fallen away completely, revealing eyes as blinding as the cloudless sky and as unfeeling as raw ice. It was hard to remember why you’d ever thought a man like this could ever have anything to do with a boy as sweet as Megumi. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

You shouldn’t have been so worried about the dress. It didn’t matter how long your skirt was, not when the cheap material fell apart so easily under his eager touch – your bra and panties discarded with just as little thought. You panicked, started to kick and shove and thrash, but his hands were already locked over your hips, keeping you pinned to the couch as he bent down and buried his face between your thighs. However young you’d thought he was, he must’ve been younger; his inexperience shining through in the overzealous way he nipped at the inside of your thighs, how hastily he laved the flat of his tongue over your slit. His pace was rough, his technique nonexistent, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had time to touch yourself, and you hadn’t slept with someone else since…

This time, when your mind went blank, you were the one willing away fractured thoughts and bitter memories. You didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted pleasure Satoru was forcing onto your body either, but it would’ve been impossible to ignore the way his teeth grazed over your clit as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, to not hear the slick sound you just couldn’t seem to believe a part of you would make as he forced two fingers into your tight pussy. You threw your head back, clenched your eyes shut, but no amount of aversion could seem to block out his throaty laugh, to make the reverberations his deep voice sent pulsing through your cunt anything short of unbearable. “Needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling away just far enough to press a lingering kiss into the apex of your hip. “Bet he was neglecting you even before you ran off. Is that why you had to leave him? He didn’t know how to treat a pretty thing like you?”

You would’ve given anything to make him stop talking, but you didn’t have a chance to try and bargain. While his fingers pumped mercilessly into your pussy, his mouth pushed slow, wet kisses into the rounded curves of your stomach, your midriff, your chest. He noticed it before you did; saw the thin trail of thin, near-transparent fluid running down the curve of your chest before you felt the telltale soreness in your breasts, managed to draw a connection between that and the shallow, airy moan Satoru let out as he ran his tongue over your leaking nipple. He took long, agonizing seconds to lick up the spilled milk before his lips found the closest nipple and finally, he latched onto you properly.

He was worse than your newborn. It was an awful thing to think, it was a terrible thing to have to think, but it was true. He was rough, and clumsy, and noisy – groaning as he lapped and sucked, eager to swallow down anything you had to give. Drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth, whatever pain he might’ve alleviated immediately replaced as the fingertips of his free hand kneaded into your swollen tit. By the time he pulled away, he was panting, scissoring open your pussy with enough force to leave your toes curling, your thighs twitching, little involuntary whimpers slipping past your lips despite your best efforts to choke them back.

He didn’t so much earn your climax as drag it out of you, piece by fractured piece, broken moan by stuttering convulsion. Your hands shot to his head, fingers soon knotted through messy white hair, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to mind, his attention devoted entirely to spreading open your cunt and milking your chest dry even as the last of the aftershocks faded and the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. When he did pull away from you, it was with an exaggerated smack of his lips, a teasing nudge of the heel of his palm against your clit, a cocky smirk that reminded you of the expression Megumi would sometimes draw onto his doodled stick figures as they were hit with simplistic, two-dimensional cars or torn apart by black and white wolves. That was something you’d meant to bring up during your conversation with Satoru – Megumi’s tendency towards more violent forms of creativity, how it could be an early sign of emotional unrest in children too young to properly express themselves. Now, you could only wonder why he didn’t draw Satoru more often.

You were barely conscious by the time he drew back working one arm under your back and another under the bend of your knees. You let your eyes fall shut and, by the time you found the strength to open them again, you were on your back, dark satin sheets underneath you and Satoru above, snowy hair providing a much-appreciated barrier between you and those terrible eyes. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from meeting his prying gaze, and he welcomed your bleary stare, drinking you in for one second, then another, before dipping that much lower and slotting his lips against yours. The kiss was surprisingly gentle – all slow tenderness and delicate warmth. Your mind flitted back to dark eyes and pitch-black hair, pointed teeth and deceiving smiles and you willed yourself not to think at all.

You heard fabric shift, felt his hands curl around your thighs. With an aching sort of slowness, he pushed your knees into your chest, leaving you spread open and vulnerable below him. You felt the head of his cock press against your slick entrance, heard a raspy groan trickle past his lips as he thrust into you – bottoming out in the same stroke.

He didn’t wait for you to adjust to his size. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he rutted into you with short, brutal thrusts; never pulling out of you entirely, never happy unless his cock was abusing the deepest pocket of your wet heat. Immediately, it was overwhelming – too much stimulation being forced onto you too quickly with too little preparation. Your hands fell to his back, your nails biting into his skin as he fucked into you with a jagged kind of desperation. His cock scraped against something soft and spongy inside of you and you cried out, arching against him. “I can’t— It hurts, Gojo, slow—”

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.” His voice was low, airy. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, rolled his hips and pressed himself that much deeper into you. “What’s my name? Who’s takin' care of you from now on?”

It was more an act of desperation than anything; a broken plea that you could barely recognize as your own voice. “Daddy,” you sobbed, shrinking against him. “Please, don’t cum insi—”

You were cut off by an unabashed moan, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you. His hips pressed into yours, his thrusts growing shorter, more violent as he pumped something warm and awful into your pussy. At the same time, his thumb found your clit, pushing harsh circles into the vulnerable bundle of nerves and bringing your exhausted body to its second climax. Your vision burnt white as your cunt clenched around him, as his thrusts turned labored and languid, as collapsed against you – limp and boneless. Idly, almost lovingly, he nuzzled into the side of your neck, letting several seconds pass in silence before sighing, the pinnacle of satisfaction. Eventually, he picked himself up, resting his weight on his elbows as he cupped your face. “Pretty girl. I think the brat’s got a crush on you, too – always going on about his favorite teacher, telling me to keep my dirty hands away from you.” He laughed, shook his head. “Think he’ll be excited to have a younger sister?”

You didn’t answer, but Satoru didn’t need you to. He was already picking himself up, already pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck as he straightened his back, staring down at you with eyes that must’ve gone lifeless years ago. Eyes that, despite your best efforts to ignore their similarities, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d seen before.

“Speaking of, I think it’s about time we checked on our baby girl.”

~

Less than an hour later, you found yourself in your makeshift nursery; the corner of your bedroom occupied by a crib and a few shelves of miscellaneous supplies. You sat on the foot of your bed as Satoru held your daughter in his arms, rocking her as she sniffled and threatened to cry. You’d taken a taxi back to your apartment – called up and paid for by Satoru, of course. He’d given the driver your address before you so could so much as process where he was taking you, something you were currently choosing to ignore.

“She looks just like him.” His tone was light, his smile soft. He gestured to your daughter’s curly tufts of dark hair, her brown eyes – both only a shade away from black. “It’ll get worse as she grows up. He was always like that – couldn’t stand to let anyone else be the center of attention.”

You felt sick. Black spots still danced in the corners of your vision, and it took all your strength just to choke something coherent out. “He’ll never meet her. I’d die before I ever let him put his hands on my daughter.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He flashed you a grin, then turned back to your daughter. “I’m gonna keep both of you safe, be such a good daddy to both my pretty girls.” He pulled her that much closer to him, pressing a ginger kiss into her forehead. “You know, you really gotta open up more. I tried as hard as I could, but I don’t think I ever managed to catch her name.”

That made sense. You tended not to use it, when you could help it, when you were strong enough not to think about the man who’d given it to her – the man who’d tried to take yours, before you’d gotten away from him and and his monsters. You weren’t feeling very strong right now, though.

“Himari,” you mumbled, the sound of it alone still enough to steal the air out of your lungs, to leave the taste of blood heavy on your tongue.

“Geto Himari.”

[hwallazia]

ANT!FRAGILE – 최산

synopsis . in which you pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

pairing . choi san & fem!reader

genre . smut (mdni!) fluff at the end, comfort, established relationship, idol!au, and a poor attempt of comedy.

taglist . @bro-atz @purplenimsicle | apply to join my taglist ♡

word count . 3,1k

DISCLAIMER! unprotected sex (wrap before tap!), bath sex, slight degradation? (reader’s referred as “dumb girl” once), dirty talk, softdom!san, sub!reader, dacryphilia?, slight overstimulation, hickeys, size difference, bulge kink, cow girl position, petnames (princess, love, darling & more), teasing, squirt, suggestive language (yn tells wooyoung to kill himself, jokingly! they’re two very friendly friends ;)), coachella san (as a warning itself, yes).

NIC’S NOTES this took way too long for no reason at all (⁠￣⁠ヘ⁠￣⁠;⁠) but here it is! my brain rot of coachella san (ofc with teeth rotting fluff at the end bc i’m the one writing it) also, lowercase is intentional! (again, too lazy to write it properly;;)

you should’ve seen it coming after you found out that your boyfriend, san, would be performing at an event as important as coachella. not that you were complaining though.

you knew how much your boyfriend loves attention, how much it turned him on to hear the fans scream for him, and how the cameras adjust their lens to zoom in on his face or his toned muscles from dancing and moving from side to side. there were constant conversations in which san would ask you “should i wear this?”, “if i unbutton a couple of buttons will i get a reaction from atiny?” of course, you’d tell him dismissively that no matter what he does, he’d always get a reaction from everyone, from you especially.

but taking off his shirt in the middle of a concert? really?

you had already seen him without clothes on the upper part of his body, of course, —and also without clothes down there, but let’s omit details—. the thing here’s that you knew how cautious he was with his clothing, always trying to cover what was most important. but this surprised you, and immensely.

it is, in fact, a sight for sore eyes. but a certain level of jealousy invaded your body; you liked to think that you were the only one with the privilege of seeing his well-worked body. but now millions of people and locals would have photos and videos of your shirtless boyfriend on stage. you definitely couldn’t accept it, even though the entire internet already knows exactly what ateez’s choi san looks like underneath the expensive fabric that covers him at concerts.

you were fully aware that this was his job, and that he was paid for it, but did it really have to be him? why not any other member? maybe seonghwa? or mingi! what about him? he also has a pretty active and... desperate fanbase. it was obvious that more than one fan would pay to get, at least, a glimpse of his abs. so, with so many options, why was your boyfriend the exposed person?

but of course you couldn’t show up in his dressing room with a jealous expression clearly decorating your face, you had to act like the sweet and tender girlfriend you were and put jealousy aside for a moment. your boyfriend had just finished performing on a dream stage for any artist, you couldn’t ruin his night because of a little scene.

you weren’t a jealous or toxic lover; you were a conservative one. you liked knowing that you were special to san and you expected exclusivity from him; consequently, he would receive the same treatment. but you should’ve expected it when you started dating choi san. he’s an idol and that's his job: to cause, in any way, the attention of the fans which, consequently, would keep them afloat or flying through the charts.

but, that was an indelible feature of yours. therefore, in some way, you would make it noticeable.

you hit your knuckles a few times, with moderate intensity, against the modern metallic door decorated by a gold star that highlighted your boyfriend’s band name. you watched as the handle turned slightly and opened the door wide, managing to discover wooyoung with a foaming glass of champagne that found its rest in the palm of her hand. behind his figure, you could see mingi sitting on a noticeably comfortable leather couch next to yunho, both of them clinking their glasses together with a clink; yeosang and seonghwa taking a selfie in the mirror and jongho and hongjoong talking animatedly, perhaps about the upcoming scenarios you thought.

“what the hell are you doing here?” wooyoung said, looking at you confusingly. you narrowed your eyes slightly at his quick lack of courtesy.

“good night to you too, wooyoung. you were incredible out there.” you replied sarcastically, hoping he would finally greet you properly.

“oh thank you so much. but seriously, what are you doing here?” he asked once again.

“what do you mean what am i doing here? i came to congratulate y’all for the show because you totally killed it. all the atiny around me went absolutely feral because of you guys.” you praised, and wooyoung grinned nicely. jongho and hongjoong came up behind him, intrusively joining the conversation.

“well thank you very much, yn.” jongho responded and you gave him your purest smile, truly meaning your words.

“but i also came here to congratulate my boyfriend personally?” you interrogated since his figure wasn’t appearing in your visual field.

“that’s why i was asking! damn, you really don’t listen." wooyoung sentenced, his gaze being comparable to that of a mother scolding her daughter. “as soon as the concert was over, he changed and went to the hotel to see you. he thought you’d be there.”

“but i don’t have a ride home, and my phone died” you explained, doe-eyed as you waited for wooyoung, or any of the boys, to take the hint and quickly take you to the hotel to your boyfriend.

“you could just ask for it, you know?” wooyoung tsked, but finally surrendered to your big, brown eyes with a sigh. “give me two seconds to look for the car keys. i’ll take you there.”

and that’s what he did as fast as lighting since he knew they’d only have that night all for themselves before flying back out to korea. the next day would be full of promotion of their songs to the locals and their stage in coachella, so san wouldn’t be able to even spend a bit of his day with you. 

during the ride to the hotel, wooyoung spoke, “hey just don’t tire him out since we have quite the amount of work to do tomorrow.”

“you know, you could say something like ‘have a nice time together’, ‘take care of him’, ‘call me if you need anything-” before you could continue, he interrupted you briskly. 

“oh hell no. the both of you are responsible adults who know how to take care of themselves without someone else’s help so don’t even try to bother me tonight because i’m exhausted as shit.” he confessed, hands adjusting their position on the steering wheel when cornering.

“oh so now you’re saying i’m a burden?” you asked ironically, knowing wooyoung would catch it was only a joke.

“oh you do know how to think!” he smiled looking away from the road for a bit to lock gazes with you. wrinkles decorated the corner of your eyes as you closed them a little.

“go kill yourself.” you huffed.

“shut up, you love me,” his puckering lips sent a flying kiss to you. he stopped his words briefly, “actually you kind of have to, since i’m taking you with your beloved boyfriend.”

“touché” you agreed. 

the ride to the hotel was quick and calm since you were talking and joking animatedly with wooyoung. and when you least expected it, the car stopped moving. consequently, you turned to look out through your window, yellow lights, and gold decorations hurting your eyes with how beaming they looked, even when it was one in the morning.

“here we are.” wooyoung turned to look at you, his sincere eyes transmitting warmth, “remember what i told you-”

“yeah, i got it mom,” you answered, rolling your eyes vexingly. the man gave you an annoying gaze, so you replied, “what? you’re acting as if you were my mother! chill out, for fuck’s sake. as you said, both of us are responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves.” you used his own words as a weapon to defend yourself against his exaggerated concern.

“whatever. just go,” he unlocked the car’s door so you could get out of the car once you finished your little conversation. “he’s been a pain in the ass lately because he hasn’t had time to see you.”

“imma get going then,” your hand approached the car door handle and finally opened it and got out of the vehicle. “thank you, woo. i owe you one.”

“you owe me way too many to count ’em” wooyoung wheezed. “but yeah, we’ll add it to the list.” he gave you one final smile, which you reciprocated sweetly.

you finally closed the door and watched wooyoung make his way back to where coachella was taking place, he’d probably go to enjoy the rest of the night’s stages with his members. you genuinely wished for him to do well and arrive with the boys safely, but now you had something more important to do: pamper your successful boyfriend after his dream night at coachella.

after you saw wooyoung getting lost on the dark LA highway, you turned around and ran towards the hotel to get into the elevator and quickly dial the floor of your boyfriend’s room.

once there, before your brain could think about it, your legs moved on their own and guided you recklessly toward the door. you hit your knuckles against it a few times, but there was no response.

“sannie? it’s yn. are you there?” you mutter softly against the door frame. another moment of silence came in response.

remembering your boyfriend had given you the key card, you pulled it out of your coat and faced it against the handle. after a soft peep sounded, you opened the door. just to be greeted with a dim-lighted room.

you wandered around the room, looking carefully at the floor so as not to bump your feet against any furniture or step on any item of clothing that, perhaps in a hurry, had been forgotten on the carpeted floor. you kept repeating your boyfriend’s name until the silence stunned you. the dazzling city lights illuminating what the poor little lamp that rested on the nightstand could not illuminate.

suddenly everything went silent. until you heard, in the back of your head, a faded tune. you quickly recognized the melody and started humming the song, the lyrics of the weeknd’s starboy being the only thing you could think about.

once again, you knocked a few times on the door, this time receiving a response from the other side. a dull “who is it?” was heard. “it’s me, love. yn.” you replied.

“oh, babe! come in!” he said happily, you could imagine the adorable smile drawn on his lips.

you turned the handle gently. and lord, didn’t the scenery you were greeted with turned you on.

your boyfriend’s toned body resting on the bathtub, lavender-scented bubbles covering most of it, his nipples being exposed to the fresh bathroom air that would soon turn into a heavier one, and his arms resting on each side of the tub. a serene, yet excited, expression decorating your boyfriend’s gaze.

“hi, beautiful,” he welcomed you. his eyes becoming crescent moons due to the effect of his beaming smile.

“there they are, those beautiful eyes i love so much,” you mumbled, walking right next to him to caress his left cheek soothingly. “how’re you feeling, champ?”

“alive as fuck,” both of you giggled at his response, your loving gaze locking with his for a moment of comfortable silence. suddenly you felt his hand fondling yours.

“mind joining me here?” his sharp eyes turning darker than they already were as they looked at you. fortunately for your boyfriend, you were willing to give him the moon and the stars that night.

you still can’t explain how you ended up on top of san, the water covering up to your navels, while he moved his thumb masterfully over your clit and his fingers repeatedly entered your cunt. his phalanges stretched you deliciously, causing several moans and moans from you.

“is that the spot, sweetheart? you're shaking so much.” his voice was hoarse and deep as the ocean, causing dizziness to affect your common sense.

“y-yes, don’t stop, please- ahh! ngh...” you could barely answer.

“sorry, love.” he announced before stopping his movements, drawing a annoyed, pathetic whine from your swollen lips. before you could insult him, he spoke first. “’wanna feel your tight cunt cumming around me, pretty.” during his brief pause, a pitiful cry from you was heard. “will you let me?”

“yes!” you answered desperately, “y...yes, i’m all yours, sannie. use me.”

san let out deep groan, which resonated inside your ears and made your heart jump out of your ribcage for a second. you rapidly adjusted yourself so you could reach the height of his crotch and massage his veiny, prominent erection, then align it to your entrance.

“go down slowly, don’t want my pretty girl to break.” he expressed, his soft, low voice driving you insane. still, you looked at him with cocked eyebrows.

“break? hah. surely, coachella drove your ego up to the clouds.” your eyes stabbing daggers into his. his hands found a home on your hips, slightly drawing them down to insert his cock inside you. your hand landing on his bare chest stopping his every move.

“nah. it’s just that you’re kind of fragile after all.”

you knew he was messing with you, provoking you. if there was one thing he always reminded you of, it was how strong, determined, and passionate you were, and it was one of the many features that made him fall deeply in love with you.

“let’s see who’s the fragile one here” you went down without warning on his cock, surprisingly touching your cervix all at once. a moan was snatched from both of you. your shaking body began to move carefully up and down him.

“f-fuck, yn- mm,” you heard a strangled moan from your lover, his lower lip was caught in between his teeth.

“f-fragile? that’s y...your- ah! your shit ass cock.” you manage to respond, notoriously provoking him.

“i don’t think it’s a shit ass cock, beautiful- ngh.” he panted, “just look how full you are.” he held your hand delicately despite the momentary brutality and placed it over your belly, a small lump formed there, “full of me, and my shit ass cock.” san breathed, kissing your collarbone, leaving cute lovebites in it. “you cry and beg for it every single night, hun. what does that have to say about you, hm?” a pitiful whine left your lips, demonstrating san that you were truly incapable of formulating coherent words. you were just too fucked out.

“well, lemme tell you,” he continued. “you’re just a dumb girl who needs to be fucked by a big fucking cock, otherwise, you don’t stop whining.” he said profoundly, his voice stimulating all your senses at once as he absolutely ravished you. “isn’t that right, princess?”

“i- ah! sannie, pleeease.” you blubbered, your eyes shedding the most precious tears.

“i asked you a question, darling. and i expect you to answer.” he sentenced sternly, grabbing your jaw and mushing your cheeks together. a pout was, therefore, formed on your lips.

“yes! yesyesyes, you’re right. i just need and think about being fucked by your big fucking cock-” you acknowledged, immersed and lost in the feeling, feeling like he was fucking you just like the first time.

“you’re such a cutie when you whine for me.” he chuckled while you, on the other hand, couldn’t hold back your screams anymore. his eyes stuck to your bouncing breasts, and your parted lips.

“what happened, princess? is it too much?” he cooed at you, looking at you adoringly, his eyes beaming at the sight of you.

“n-no,” you tried with all your might not to stumble over your words, but it was almost impossible since your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion of your boyfriend's cock into your tight cunt.

“no? let’s see if it is now,”

your bastard boyfriend directed his hand toward your vagina, his ring finger and middle finger deliciously touched your clit. san watched as you exploded inside, his cock was bringing you closer to an abysmal orgasm that you doubted you could withstand, but you were a masochist, and despite all of this, you continued to go up and down on his cock sloppily.

“san! i’m s-so close- fuck!” your frowned eyebrows, reddened cheeks, swollen lips, and arched back made san float, he couldn’t worship you more than he already did at that moment. he was internally so grateful that you were his. only his to kiss, to hug, to fuck, and to adore.

you had had many guys behind you in the past, and they all promised the same thing: ‘i promise you the moon and the stars’, but absolutely none of them reached the level that choi san reached, who promised and delivered to make you see the stars, the moon and– fuck, he made you see the entire milky way every time you were with him.

“go on, babe. let it out for me, i got you,” he hid his face in the crook of your neck when you slowed down bouncing, and then he lifted it up. his lips brushed your neck, a position which he took advantage of to lick and suck on the side of it, adorning it with some nice and new hickeys next to the ones he did some moments ago.

san did everything he could to give you a good orgasm, a strong one, but pleasant. he loved seeing your expression as you had reached the peak of pleasure, a squirt erupted between your bodies, causing strangled moans to come from both mouths. your walls became tighter, squeezing out every drop of cum held in san’s hard cock. you felt how a strip of that viscous, white essence warmed your insides even more. the feeling even being comfortable in some kind of way.

“see? i didn’t break, idiot. hah,” you huffed out a sigh, looking at that beautiful face that you would never get tired of.

“mhm, you’re always so strong and beautiful. aren’t you, my love?” he reacted breathlessly as he stroked your cheek, as if it were the finest diamond.

“always, and only for you,” you wrinkled your nose as you looked at him foolishly in love.

you turned and felt stupid every time you were around this man, but what could you say? you weren’t complaining at all.

that man was capable of loving you in all your facets, in all your states and moments.

you were also grateful that choi san was yours, and solely yours.

“well, big boy,” you started, settling into his chest with him still inside you, keeping you warm, “i’m very proud of you and your achievements, love. you really brought home the trophy.”

“actually, you came here all by yourself.” he flirted, a cocky smile causing a giggle to ring inside your ribcage. “hm. thank you, princess. but the actual trophy is you and will always be you.”

you hid your face with your hands, splashing a little water unintentionally, “don’t start being all mushy, you softie. i’m gonna cry otherwise,”

he laughed, his voice causing your skin to vibrate lightly. “okay okay. wanna finally wash up?”

“can we just... stay like this? just for a bit,” you closed your eyes, enjoying the warmth your boyfriend provided you.

“of course, princess. whatever you want,” he held you in his arms safely, making you sleepy. two minutes of silence filled with tranquility and love passed, until san started talking, “remember you’re always my trophy.” he muttered lowly with his honey-dripping voice.

“babe,”

“hm?”

“shut up.”

| masterlist

[mirohlayo]

GIRLY GIRL : A LANDO'S

PERFECT MORNING

( In which your boyfriend needs to follow your his 3 step morning routine, which is undoubtedly your favorite time of the day. )

warning : none just pure fluff, lando being the SWEETEST boyfriend ever

note : I didn't plan on writing this much but it doesn't matter cuz I'm glad I did because it makes it even cuter

word count : 2.5k

9:30 - skincare time

“Just 5 more minutes, please, baby”. Lando snuggles up closer to you, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. If there is one thing that Lando hates above all else, it is having to get out of bed and at the same time abandon you when he only wants one very specific thing, and that is to cuddle you all the day, and sprinkle your face with thousands of kisses.

And he hated leaving bed even more during lazy mornings.

"Lan, I love lazy mornings too but I need to get up and prepare myself for the day". You move slightly so that you can have a view on him. “Why should you get ready when we’re going to spend the day at the apartment?” His hoarse morning voice is only a reflection of the long but pleasant sleep he spent last night.

“Because I want to feel clean, fresh and pretty.” You place a light kiss on his hair. “But you look stunning all the time, how could you be even prettier?” A shy smile takes its place on your morning face, while a slight chuckle emanates from your body.

"Come on Lan, please. It's time for your favorite part of the day." At this sentence, you feel your boyfriend's body slumped on top of you suddenly straighten up, his face just inches from yours. A most adorable smile appears on his lips as he places a light kiss on the tip of your nose.

"That's right. Let's get you prepared, pretty girl." A gaping smile creeps onto your face as you feel the thick white blanket of your bed slide, revealing your bare legs to the cool morning air. Lando helps you out of bed, gently and lightly taking your hand, as you disappear into the bathroom.

“Skincare time, love”. You place your few skincare products on the edge of the sink, in a certain order so that your boyfriend doesn't make a mistake in the steps of your skincare. Lando pats the small padded stool stored next to the sink, so that you can sit on it comfortably.

Sitting down, you carelessly tie your hair into a ponytail, ready to receive your daily morning skincare. “Should I start with this?” Lando’s soft voice tickles your ears as he stands close in front of you. His blue-green eyes peer curiously at the product in his hands.

The way he cares about the product is just adorable, and you can't help but crack a smile. “Yes, I always start with the toner.” With a nod, your boyfriend unscrews the cap of the product and generously pours the liquid into the palm of his hand.

"Are you ready ?". Lando asks you carefully, to make sure you're comfortable enough. This thought, the fact that he is always so caring and attentive to making you comfortable, for fear of doing something wrong or hurting you, warms your heart because there is nothing more adorable than this subtle but yet important gesture.

You nod your head quickly, and while Lando lets a most precious smile appear on his face, he very delicately applies the product to your cheeks, your forehead, your chin. He is very careful, and caresses your face with a frail delicacy, which leaves you overwhelmed by a wave of comforting warmth.

His touch is soft, delicate, as if he was afraid to touch you, or at least as if he was afraid of the idea of damaging you. “Your skin is really beautiful.” He didn't hesitate to say these few words to you, without really thinking about what was coming out of his mouth. You crack a big smile as you giggle adorably.

This sweet laugh, this sweet sound that reaches Lando's ears makes him miss a few heartbeats. How can a sound be so sweet? It's probably the one and only thing he could die for.

“Oh, I know this product. It’s your serum, right?” The enthusiastic intonation of his voice and the glint of excitement in his eyes gives you the effect of a wave of admiration. Your gaze becomes softer, as you stare at him intensely, with hearts in your eyes. “That’s it, baby.” The smile of victory and pride he displays when he has just realized that he is gradually learning to know your skincare by heart consumes you so pleasantly.

Because you know how much your boyfriend literally loves doing your skincare for you. He likes taking care of you, being able to touch and caress your skin delicately. See your being relax under his delicate touch, while he takes the time to perfectly apply the products to your skin. It's something that will never leave him indifferent, always obsessed with the way his heart savors every moment spent with you.

9:50 - hairstyle time

Your skin has finally finished absorbing all your skincare products, and after storing the products in the small cabinet hanging on the wall, you come and grab your hairbrush. “Hey, it’s my job to get you ready, I want to do your hair too, princess.” Lando takes the comb from your hands as he places his hands on your shoulders so you can look at yourself in the mirror in front of you.

The desire is too much, so he comes without further delay to place a kiss on the top of your head, inhaling the delicious smell of your shampoo from the day before. Then, with fluid and delicate movements, he begins to gently brush your hair. Combing slowly so as not to hurt yourself and to avoid big knots in your hair.

You close your eyes, lightly enjoying the moment, and allow yourself to be sensitive to your boyfriend's touch. It always manages to give you a relaxing, even comforting feeling. As if ultimately, he was the solution to your worries, the ultimate solution to your happiness.

“What hairstyle do you want today, gorgeous?” He asks you this simple question, still with this look of concentration planted on his face. You thought vaguely, taking a quick look at the hairstyles you could wear. “Just a simple braid, please.” Lando nods slowly, muttering a low "mm'kay", indicating the fact that he is focused.

He places the brush back on the sink, as he separates your hair into three equal parts. Then, he begins to braid the strands together, crossing them one after the other to obtain a pretty long braid. He braids your hair with absolute delicacy, and it's as if you feel transported to paradise. Everything is perfect.

“I love styling your hair y’know. It’s relaxing. Especially when I see that it also relaxes you a lot.” He offers you a most daring and mocking smirk, while you feel yourself blushing profusely. Your eyes meet in the mirror and you have to look away, too embarrassed.

“You’re cute, baby.” You don't react to his comment, since your body is already taking care of it by coloring your cheeks even more a pretty pink. And Lando loves that he has such an effect on you. Since usually you're the one who makes him completely feral.

Your soft hair that slipped under his fingers is now braided, and Lando comes to tie it using the elastic around his wrist. The rubber band he never takes off, in case you need it when you complain that you lost them all. It has become a real bracelet for him now.

“I’m proud of myself.” Lando smiles to himself as he gazes at your hairstyle, savoring the beauty of your hair. You stand up and turn around to place a quick kiss on his lips. "You did a great job. It's pretty". He grins at you, as his arms wrap around your waist, squeezing it softly.

“Not as pretty as you.” He gives you that cute smile back as you roll your eyes in amusement. “You have improved your flirting skills since we met.” You points out. His eyes fall to your lips, eagerly waiting to kiss them. “I knew I had to improve to be able to pull a girl as beautiful and amazing as you.”

You let out a laugh as he smiles goofily at your behavior, taking the time to readjust your braid as your body presses against his chest. It's in these moments, these innocent moments, that Lando finds comfort, that he feels his heart beating a little harder for you.

10:10 - outfit time

You stop in front of the large dressing room that you share with Lando. His clothes are stacked in a haphazard and very disorganized way, it's simply untidy. You take a look at your clothes, waiting for Lando to choose your outfit of the day.

You feel his hands place on your waist as he rests his chin on your shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss to your neck. “What should I wear today, baby?” Your question makes him move again, and taking a few steps forward, he begins to examine the different pieces of clothing you own.

"Something sexy. Hot and sexy. You'll look so good in that". He tries to show you a very tight top but you stop him by hitting his arm teasingly. “No, today I want to feel comfortable.” You protest, placing your hands on your hips. “You’ll feel comfortable when I take it off you.” He protests, offering you a smirk.

You poke his ribs and he contains a little scream. He ends up giggling, amused by the situation and the fact that he embarrassed you so easily. You sigh, looking at the mountain of clothes overflowing from the closet. “What color should I wear?”

"Pink. I think pink suits you really well." He takes out a pink hoodie from the closet, from Daniel Ricciardo's "enchanté" merch collection. His eyebrows furrow as he holds the item of clothing with his index finger and thumb, displaying a look of disgust.

"Eww. I didn't know you had a Daniel brand hoodie. It's horrible." You scoff dramatically as you snatch the sweater from his hands. "Excuse me ? I love it, it's so comfy." You hold it against you, glaring at your boyfriend. He raises his eyebrows, surprised.

"Ain't no way you'll wear that... awful thing." He approaches you, grabbing the hoodie from your hands and throwing it behind him. "You're all mine, you can only wear my hoodies or those of my brand. No Daniel or other drivers." His arms come to wrap around you as he presses you against him. He leaves soft kisses on your neck.

“Huh, much jealous.” You kiss his cheek as he snuggles closer to you. "Of course I'm jealous. You're my girl, not his." His voice is muffled, but quite noticeable. You giggle weakly as you play with his curls. "I only have eyes for you, baby. Don't need to worry."

He pulls back to smile at you like a child, a silly smile but so adorable. “Well, that still didn’t help me find my outfit.” You point at the wardrobe as your boyfriend finally finds some clothes. He ends up choosing a pink lounge set, comfortable but thick enough to keep you warm. Everything you need.

You don't wait any longer before locking yourself in the bathroom to change, and returning to the room where Lando is waiting for you, dressed in your outfit chosen by him. As you enter the room, his eyes fall directly on you. And you really think you're going to melt under his gaze.

His eyes are filled with hearts as he doesn't hesitate to stare at you intensely, a gaze burning with love and affection. “Stop staring at me please.” Your voice is a low whisper as you feel more shy. You never stopped feeling special every time Lando complimented or admired you, despite the fact that he did that several times a day.

It's stupid, but he always looks at you with such passion and ardor that it was impossible not to feel that same feeling of happiness. That feeling that makes you feel so unique and precious in his eyes. Because after all it is.

"Lan, you're staring at a bit too much." You snap your fingers in front of him to snap him out of his thoughts. He comes back to his senses and stares at you as intensely as ever. "Sorry, but how could I not stare at the most beautiful woman in the world? It's unfair how gorgeous you are."

Your brain doesn't think any further before coming to kiss him passionately. His arms wrap around your waist as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer to him. As you pull back, he pecks your lips a second time. And then he admires you.

For a moment, there is silence. A deafening and noisy silence, but because it emanates words of love. Unspoken words of affection, but yet you already know them without even having to say them to yourself. Because after all, no one knows how to describe the love you have for each other better than yourself.

“Mornings like this are my favorite. I do your skincare, your hair, and choose your clothes.” You can't contain a laugh, as Lando looks at you perplexed. “You’re such a girly girl, baby.” His eyebrows furrow slightly as he tilts his head to the side.

You continue to laugh while Lando still looks at you confused. “What does girly girl mean?” He asks curious. "Basically when you're a woman, and you like to take care of yourself. I don't know how to explain it, you have to be a woman to be able to feel it." You explain to him kindly.

“Does this mean that women have superpowers?” He asks innocently, and that cute face he shows forces you to quickly kiss him on the lips. "No, not really Lando. But it's just that you give girly girl vibes, because you like to take care of me." You keep giggling.

“Is it really that bad if I love taking care of my beautiful girlfriend?” He grins at you, almost kissing you by the way. You smile with all your teeth, shaking your head. "Not at all. It's even my favorite thing in the world." He smiles even wider at your words, feeling overwhelmed by love. “Good, because I wasn’t planning on stopping.” His lips press against yours, in an eternal passionate kiss.

After all, he was right. Is it so bad to take care of the person you love most in the world? Because for Lando, it's certain, there is nothing in the world that can match the mornings where he is lucky enough to be able to be next to his favorite person, the one for whom his heart continues to beat very hard every minute, each day that passes.

It is in the tenderness of his caresses on your skin, in the gentle gestures of his hands in your hair, in the innocence of his taste for your outfits, that Lando feels free, loved and happy. That he feels at home, that he really feels in his place, alongside his girlfriend, alongside the one he will love for the rest of his life, forever, because he has known it since day that he laid eyes on you: his heart is in your hands, and it will never stop beating for you. For the girl he always dreamed of having.

For the girl he hopes will wake up next to her, every morning, for the rest of his life.

[yestrday]

— YANDERE! MALEWIFE! GENSHIN AU part one | two | three | four

⇢ alhaitham, kaveh, tighnari, cyno

introducing ! at the altar decorated by the blooming lotus flowers, your wrist is bound to your husband with a red string and a promise of togetherness. while the people dance and sing in celebration of the newlywed, his eyes are on you and you only— possessive through and through, even in parabandhana.

[ surpriseeeeeeee yea you did not expect this did you yeah neither did I. i just sat on my computer and decided to be productive. also did not include baizhu and mika for now cuz I got lazy. ]

warning ! yandere behavior, drúgging, manipulation, mentions of locking you away and múrder

— ADMONISHING INSTRUCTION. alhaitham | الهيثم

[ “sure, sure, i’ll clean up after you go. hm? i’m not being lazy at all, just enjoying my peace and quiet.”] 

⇢ my boy is living the dream life. no nosy seniors, demanding bosses, and curious co-workers. just him and his hardworking partner and the freedom to do his research at his own time. when you’re around, he tends to slack off (though he denies it) but he does his part of the chores anyway, so you don’t really have any complaints. he’d already been living the cushy life before, but now this lifestyle is more than comfortable.

⇢ he helps you out with your work when he sees you struggling, and he lets you use him as a soundboard to work out solutions. sometimes even lets you complain. keyword: sometimes. most of the time he’ll distract you with a movie or just bring you to the bed so the two of you can read a book together. unfortunately, his tolerance towards whining is very low (reminds him too much of a certain blonde), but he still loves you enough that he’s willing to let your stress out through other means.

⇢ marriage seems to have made him a bit of a romantic, though he’ll tell you that he’s stayed the same as he was when he was still your boyfriend. whenever you’re squinting at your computer screen in frustration, you’ll be caught offguard when he presses a tender kiss to your temple and sets down a mug of coffee next to you. or while you’re talking about something or another as you eat, he’ll clasp your hands in his and press a chaste kiss to each knuckle. these gestures has you blushing and stammering all the time, reverting you back to the naive student you were when you met him. this makes him a bit smug, so you often hit him in embarrassment.

⇢ he would never look down at you. marrying you means he has acknowledged you his equal, and to be fair he doesn’t really have a habit of looking down on others. however, when he sees some pesky flies fly a bit too close, he often gets too full of himself. someone trying to smooth talk you at the cafe? haitham’s not one for pda, but he’ll wrap a sturdy bicep around your waist and watch as the poor thing trembles from his gaze. 

⇢ haitham doesn’t always tell you this, but he admires you for a lot of things. but sometimes you get a bit too… irrational, and he knows that he has to be the one to bring you down sometimes. you’re not a kid, so you should know better. besides, haitham’s always been the more rational between the two of you. sometimes bordering on…heartless, but you never tell him that. you don’t have the heart to.

⇢ he’s often the decision-maker, most of the time not even asking you what you want. he says it’s not about want, he has to take the rational decision for the both of you. you’ve always been a little… dull. it’s an endearing trait, but it’s something that has to go away as you both age. he sees the hurt flash in your eyes when he tells you this, and he thinks he can make up for it with a gentle kiss between your pretty eyes. he loves you like his equal, really, but sometimes (most of the time) you need a good talking down to.

“so you’ll continue to let your brother exploit you, despite everything he’s done to you in the past?” haitham shuts his book and stares at you with a seemingly bored gaze. “you know you don’t need to give them that solicitation, right? he’s not worth it.”

“it– it’s not about him, haitham, believe me!” you plead with him. “i’m, i’m doing this for his wife, okay? she doesn’t deserve to deliver a baby in his dingy apartment with no professionals around. it’s not fair! just because my brother was a díck doesn’t mean she deserves the cold shoulder too! have some compassion for once!” he rolls his eyes and gets up, towering above some good inches. his eyes look down at you, but his hand rests heavy on your shoulder as if trying to calm you down. “it’s not about compassion, dear. it’s about being rational. once your brother sees you softening, he’ll start asking for more and more and more and well, we know what kind of person you are.” you open your mouth to retort, but he shakes his head. “you’re too soft, [y. name]. chasing around the affection of others… you don’t have to do that anymore.”

[ “this is for the both of us. i’m sure you can’t tell now, but sooner or later, you’ll thank me.” ]

— EMPYREAN REFLECTION. kaveh | کاوه

[ “you’re the — hic!— the best thing’s that ever happened to me! of– of course i’m crying! i’m not heartless!” ] 

⇢ for kaveh, your marriage was both a blessing and a cause of distress to him. a blessing, of course, because what sane man would not want to get married to you! his darling, light of his life, the one who tolerates his flaws more than any other person on teyvat! but at the same time, he can’t just let you shoulder his burdens! he can’t give you the luxury you deserve to have, you don’t deserve to be saddled with his debt, it’s– it’s just not fair!

⇢ with kaveh’s sense of aesthetics and talent for architecture, you two will have the prettiest home around! it is a must for this architect to gift you with the prettiest home you’ve ever laid eyes on. sure, he can’t give you the grandiose mansion that you deserve even with both of your savings joined, but a master architect will make the most of what he has. this is the place where he’ll make memories with you, where you’ll grow a family and your chi… children (?!??!!!!) will live. it has to be as beautiful as you.

⇢ complains like you’d never believe. he’s always been chatty, but he gets even chattier after a disagreement with a client or a run-in with a certain someone or when he hears whispers of your horrendous workplace. to anyone else, his overdramatic flair might be a bit too much to handle, but you can’t help but listen with amusement as your husband drones on and on and on and embellishing his rants with over-the-top remarks. nevertheless, in the case that you do get weary, just press a kiss on his lips— it will surely leave him an incoherent mess in no time.

⇢ a bit too eager for your praise. it’s not like people don’t praise him all the time, but it’s only your approval that he cares for. when he makes a meal that he’s proud of, he’s squirming nervously in the seat across you as he watches you take bite after bite. when he finished his part of the chores, he tends to be a bit clingy with you as he tries to fish for compliments. it’s your choice to cave in so easily or play around with him, but when you do utter a compliment, know that you’ll be left with a gooey pile of mush cuddling into you.

⇢ on the other hand, kaveh absolutely cannot handle fights with you. fighting is a normal thing between couples, but he gets so absolutely wrecked it’s unreal. your look of disappointment, the glare you gave him, the fed-up sigh when you push him away and say that you need some time away from him… they all drive him insane. he curses himself, wondering why’d he have to go and open his stupid mouth and fuck everything up. you’re not wrong, never wrong, and it should be him to take the blame. the longer the fight, the more his wellness and self-confidence cracks. it’s a common sight to see him groveling on the ground, for your forgiveness, begging for you to notice him again. the sight is so pathetic that you can’t bear to look away.

⇢ the most insecure husband to ever exist and grows even worse with every fight you two might have had in the past. anyone who approaches you has him tensing up and tightening his grip on you, but a raised brow from you has him reluctantly loosening his grip and shamefully looking away. he’s plagued with thoughts of you leaving (because why would you stay with a wreck like him?) and overthinks every friendly gesture you give towards anyone who isn’t him (is that how you smile with someone who isn’t a complete fool?). he’s a pushover and craves your love and attention the most. if you love being an asshole and having someone completely around your finger, there’s no perfect husband to get more than kaveh.

“kaveh…” you start hesitantly, brows furrowed as you put a hand on his shoulder. “kaveh… there’s really no need for you to do all this.” but despite your gentle words, it only makes kaveh flinch and bury his weeping face even more into your chest. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i’m sorry,” he keeps whispering with a voice ragged from the amount of apologies he’s repeated. “i won’t do it again. whatever i’ve done please just forgive me. i can’t, i can’t stand it!” he looks up at you and that pretty face of his is ruined with tears. “please come back to me. you don’t have to sleep at that inn anymore. i can’t handle you not being with me anymore.” your grip on his shoulder tightens, and your expression seems to twist between a grimace and guilt. the only reason you stayed at an inn was because you were a coward, and you couldn’t handle watching kaveh break down as he beats himself up for a mistake that you caused. this fight was your fault to begin with, but the only one ruined was the innocent one. “i… i forgive you, dear,” you hushedly whisper, with the audacity of a man who did nothing but take advantage. “i forgive you. no matter what you’ve done.” and when he brightens up and smiles so prettily, your heart squeezes in your chest as he pulls you into a kiss sweeter than you deserve.

[ “wh… what are you apologizing for…? there’s no need to look at me like that…! you can blame me all you like!” ]

— VERDANT STRIDER. tighnari | الطغنري

[ “once again, i told you not to eat your boss’ baking! no, i don’t care if they looked nice! they. are. poisonous!” ]

⇢ he’s more at ease now that he doesn’t have to tolerate idiots who think eating poisonous mushrooms recklessly count as experiments or co-workers who tell him stupid jokes all the time. it’s a less stressful environment now… at least, that’s what he thinks. so why do you keep coming home barely alive?! you’ll find tighnari fussing over you and nagging at your office’s poor working environment.

⇢you’ll have the prettiest garden in the whole neighborhood, if not the whole world! the research data he can acquire from the plants in his backyard is limited, so it’s mostly a hobby of his. of course, he doesn’t just grow whatever there! there’s tons of medicinal herbs growing there and there’s a shed you both built where he can experiment wherever he likes. whenn you’re off work, you like to idle the time away in the garden while tighnari is hard at work on another of his concoctions. simply admiring his focused face is enough to put the stress of work behind you, and you think it’d be prettier if you tucked a flower behind his ear. but you never learn, do you? he launches off to another lecture about why you shouldn’t pluck flowers thoughtlessly while you daydream about his pretty face.

⇢ please please please don’t bring him to any work parties, lest you want to see the entire world burn. he still has that dry sarcasm that you oh so love, but he’s ruthless when it comes to your boss and your more unpleasant co-workers. if any of them try to act chummy with you, he immediately raises a brow and gives them the side-eye. he combats whatever fake-ass comment they have with a dry retort, leaving you panicking and trying him to stop it. but no one stops tighnari in verbal combat, and before long he’s revealed your boss’ and co-workers' vulnerabilities and have them deflating like a balloon.

⇢ tighnari always knows how to make the perfect brew, his teas always the perfect blend of both taste and remedy. it’s too bad though, that you always fall asleep before you can manage to finish a single pot. whenever you awake from a tea-induced slumber, your body feels strangely heavy but you can’t complain about the sleep. your husband is always the first thing you see from these naps, his fluffy tail wrapped around your legs and his big eyes staring intently at your face.

⇢ whenever he mixes in the drugs in your food or tea, tighnari’s tail swishes back and forth as he begins thinking of your cute expressions while you’re half-sober. sometimes he doesn’t put the usual dose and instead just halves it, just to see you flailing to get a grip on your senses and reaching out to your oh-so-innocent husband for help. he often chastises himself for this… dirty behavior, but the devil in his mind gleefully reminds him that this counts as research. the test subject just happened to be his trusting partner for life.

⇢ tighnari isn’t above imprisonment. it’s less for the thought of protecting you and more for his personal benefit. he likes to tell himself this is strictly research, but he can’t deny the awestruck look on his face as he greedily eats up every expression of your drugged face. when you grasp onto his clothes and lean on him for support… it makes him shudder with delight. you’re so cute when your system is laced with drugs, and even cuter when you look at him like he’s your entire world. he wants you to rely on him… and in turn, he wants to abuse that over reliance.

“you look better like this,” he murmurs as he brushes your freshly bathed hair. your figure is slumped in your chair like a doll, which isn’t far from the truth from how he handles you like one. he holds you gently, like porcelain, but you don’t react. you are too knocked out from the dose he had slipped into your tea awhile ago. he leans into your face, tutting at the dark circles under your eyes. “look at this… clear neglect of your health. i keep telling you to sleep, but you never listen to me, do you?” he sighs before focusing his attention back to your hair. “you’re so stubborn sometimes, you know. i barely know what to do with you.” he spends the next few moments in silence, rubbing cream into and ointments into your face. you smell slightly of lemongrass now, thanks to the bath he’s given you. tomorrow when you wake up, you will marvel at the softness of your skin and the clearness of your mind, before you throw yourself into another week of overwork. like always. tighnari regrets giving you the sleeping drug now. maybe he should’ve added a dose of the aphrodisiac drug he’s just finished. with the way his feline eyes zero into your blissful face and the eager swaying of his tail, he can just barely hold himself back now.

[ “aaah, i’ve run out of your meds again. oh, don’t you worry, i’ll make you some more. it’s nice how your body is so… receptive to my medicine ♡” ]

— JUDICATOR OF SECRETS. cyno | κύων 

[ “... we’re married… …what? i honestly didn’t think i’d come this far.” ]

⇢while there’s no other man you could imagine to spend the rest of your life with, you’re inwardly groaning about the amount of dad jokes you have to put up with later on in life. sure, you love cyno’s goofy lil personality, but you think you can only take too many stupid jokes before you go crazy. you voice this concern to cyno, who just gives you a reassuring hand on your shoulder and says he can handle you just fine if you do. you’re not quite sure what this implies.

⇢ quite sulky, but he refuses to own up to the fact. sometimes you get a little distracted with one of the neighborhood children, start chatting up one of the kind neighbors, or meet one of your co-workers. you tend to get a little bit distracted by them, and while cyno believes that he’s not overly bothered by this, he admits that he is a little bit miffed about you not paying attention to them. he also gets pouty when work starts taking up of your time and you start to neglect him, so expect him to just shut the laptop close and demand you to eat dinner with him without rushing to get your job done. 

⇢ he used to scare the neighborhood kids away with just one look and you always had to comfort him and pat him on the back in sympathetic understanding. “maybe you’ll get them next time,” you had joked, handing him an ice cream as he sulked on the park’s bench. “one of your jokes should do the trick.” you really shouldn’t have suggested that, because after another trip to the park he stared those kids down with his same stoic expression and cracked one of the corniest jokes known to man. every kid looked at him like he was stupid. now no one takes him seriously. well, at least they like playing with him now???

⇢ overprotective, like over overprotective. he knows you can handle going outside the house on your own, and hell, he might have no qualms with your workplace. but the more you complain, the more paranoid he gets until he’s staking out the site for himself. touchy co-workers? cruel bosses? he could easily have their corpses fed to the dogs. he is a protector of justice, after all, and what is justice but not killing those who lay a hand on their partner?

⇢ it’s not very easy to just push him over the edge, but he can and has the will to lock you away. it’s the modern world, no one’s going to have it out for a salary worker slaving day in and out for a corporation, but still. he’s made plenty of enemies when he was still in the force and there’s a paranoia eating at him whenever you go out of the front door. when he does lock you away, he’s as gentle as he can be, even with the stench of blood all over him. this is all for your sake after all, and he couldn’t bear to see you hurt when he had the power of protecting you.

“cy,” you huff in exasperation, looking up from your laptop as he glares down at you from behind it. “what in the world are you talking about? they’re my co-worker, my superior. you can’t just tell me to stop talking to them. i need their help!” “what help could you possibly need from them when you have me?” he huffs back, crossing his arms. “i’m telling you. they’re dangerous. i… i just know it, okay?” “what could a retired general possibly know about handling excel sheets?” when his face falters, you sigh and shut the laptop closed. “look, i know you just want to protect me and i appreciate that, really. but come on, cy, don’t be unreasonable.” the pressed line of his lips tells you that he has something against being called that, but you press on. “the company does background checks on their employees. it’s safe, i promise.” you press a kiss on his cheek and smile at him. “sit here and calm yourself down, okay? i’ll handle dinner tonight.” he watches your back as you disappear into the kitchen, humming a bright tune that offsets the stormy look in his eyes. he could tell you all about his time in the workforce— the violations he’s made, the blood on his hands, and the enemies he’s made— but he won’t. not if it means breaking this beautiful life he’s created with you. but that’s okay, that’s fine. he’s been trained to adapt to the situation and to work with the shadows.

[ “even if you don’t have a care in the world… i’ll be right behind you. wherever. whenever.” ]

[itostea]

care for me? (gojo x wife! reader)

——————————————————————————

in which you’re forced to share a bed with the husband you’re convinced hates you

warnings: there’s only one bed!!!! suggestive bc it’s gojo, they’re both a bit confused, pic from lving yamada kun at lv999

a/n: part of the gojo’s wife series (i recc you read the fic before this one to understand some things), also i’m posting this stuff on my phone now since i’m on vacay …meaning format will be extra ugly💀💀

——————————————————————————

“What exactly did you say to make the principal Gakuganji agree to us on a mission together?”

You think Gojo or rather your husband, doesn’t really understand how fast he actually walks. With the way he towers over every civilian in Japan and how much longer his strides are, you’re almost certain that his pacing is far from normal. It gets to the point where you’re jogging to keep up with him, a huff escaping your lips in exasperation.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over that, ‘kay?” He gives you a lazy smile and with the blindfold wrapped around his head, you can’t exactly see the way he glances over at you–gradually shortening his steps for you to catch up.

You choose to ignore his comment about “your pretty little head” and instead sigh. “Sator–I mean ‘Toru,” you say carefully, gauging the way he gives a satisfied smile at your correction. After the moment you both had in the kitchen at a dangerously late hour, he insisted you call him a nickname.

He gave some recommendations: my hubby, my king, the strongest and most handsome husband. Naturally, you refused to call him those nicknames in public and even denied him the joy in private. So to avoid his needless whining, you compromised and decided on “‘Toru.” The way he brightened up that day made you feel giddy all over but you brushed it off with the fact that you were just glad he was actually talking to you.

“You didn’t do anything bad right?” You inquire, shooting him a glare.

“I think what I did was reasonable!” He chirps, reaching in a bag of candy to plop some in his mouth—the same bag he insisted on getting before you both went on the mission. You can’t help but feel a bit meek when his fingers inch towards your mouth and he gives a toothy grin, beckoning for you to open. You breathe out an annoyed huff, slightly parting your lips to let the sugary treat on your tongue.

He smiles, leaning forward to let his fingers linger in the plush of your lips. “Good girl.”

The way your breath hitches is visceral and you feel the pricks of embarrassment probe at your skin. Your eyes avert from his and you quicken your steps, trying your best to hide the fact that Gojo Satoru was having an effect on you. You miss the way his smile widens at your reaction.

You still avoid his gaze when he catches up. “You know I’m the one who cleans up after your mess whenever you piss the higher-ups right? It’s me who gets the scolding!”

“Scolding? Would you believe me if I told you stuff like that won’t happen again?”

You pause, analyzing how he flashed a coy grin. Immediately, your eyes narrow. “Gojo Satoru.”

“It’s ‘Toru to you,” he voices, chuckling at how your frown deepened. “Relax. I didn’t do anything that bad. Just did enough for them to stop annoying my wife.”

You choose not to linger on how easily the words “my wife” falls out of your lips but it’s hard when he went so far just for your wellbeing. Your mind drifts to his lips pressed against your forehead, instantly regretting it as you feel your neck growing warm. You shake your head, trying to dispel the thoughts from multiplying, earning a curious look from Gojo.

Before he can ask why you went quiet, you stop in your tracks, looking at him with an expression so cute he nearly feels himself fall over. You click your tongue. “‘Toru. You annoy me more than them.”

He whistles, looking at the sight of the abandoned hospital–the location where the S-grade assigned to the both of you curse lies hidden. “Harsh.”

-

The lady in the front trembles as she inputs the data for the two of you. Her eyes scan Gojo’s wide grin and your blank expression that seems even more menacing with the red splatters on your clothes. You blink, tilting your head. “It’s not my blood,” you try to reassure her but that only seems to worsen her fear.

“R-Right!” She squeaks. “One room for Mr. Gojo, correct?”

Gojo nods with a hum, taking the keycard from the lady’s trembling hands. He gestures for you to follow him, walking with so much bravado that any onlooker doesn’t even question the bloodied state of your uniform. “You should’ve been more careful,” he says. “You made a mess.”

“Not everyone has infinity you know?” You mumble, following him into the hotel suite. Your eyes scan the seemingly fancy interior and furniture, not paying much attention until your eyes lock onto an unmistakable sight.

“‘Toru. Why is there only one bed?”

His disinterested hum only serves to make you grow more baffled. He shrugs off his jacket, cracking his neck with a hum. “That’s odd. I could’ve sworn I said two beds. The lady must’ve messed up seeing you all bloodied up. Must’ve scared her real bad huh?”

You’re almost certain that this predicament has brought you more stress than any mission you’ve been sent. And you’re amazed–no bewildered, that Gojo’s not even batting an eye at this.

“Oh? Don’t tell me you’re getting all shy now that you’re sharing a bed with your husband.”

“We’ve never done that before!” You squeak out, dropping your bags on the floor.

That was partially his fault, he thinks. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut. “You have any extra clothes you can wear?”

Even in your frenzied state, you still process the question, blinking in recognition. “No…”

He shrugs. “Then you can wear my shirt,” he points to the white button-up. “Might be gross but it’s better than nothing right? Besides that makes us even now. I got to see you shirtless when—”

“‘Toru!”

He grins an easy-going smile. “Ya know if you’re not comfortable with sleeping on the same bed as me, I can always sleep on the couc–”

“No!” You say a bit too quickly, straightening yourself out when he raises a curious brow. “No I mean like, I don’t mind that much. Besides, I don’t want you to hurt your back on the couch…”

“That’s the only reason?” He smiles and it’s not hard to realize he’s teasing you.

You nod, resolute despite your sweating palms. “Yes.”

“Then…” he shrugs. “You can take a shower first. I’ll leave the shirt near the door. Promise I won’t look. Unless you want me to.”

You can only give another nod, shooting a glare at his shit-eating grin. You take off to the showers, clasping a hand over your mouth as you silently scream in embarrassment. The warm water makes your skin feel hotter to touch and you only try your hardest not to dwell on the details. It’s just a night on the same bed together. Nothing more, nothing less.

You wish you could have kept that confidence huddled in your blankets–watching your snow-haired husband crawl into bed. You try not to linger on his bare torso for too long to be considered healthy and have to physically restrain yourself from jumping when his hand grazes your thigh.

He’s not wearing his blindfold or shades, meaning you can really see how his eyes watch your every move in interest. He leans closer, making you bite a squeak down. “You’re hogging the blankets.”

“Huh? Oh yeah,” you laugh awkwardly, throwing the fabric off your body for him. Gojo Satoru doesn’t have a favorite art piece but you in his shirt might just take the spot. He licks his lips, seeing how you unbuttoned a few buttons near the collar for more room–how you avoided his gaze. Cute, he thinks.

He raises a brow when you lay on your side, covering yourself in the blankets until you’re a heap of fabric. His lips twitches into a smile when he sees the way you curl up into yourself. Then again, he chooses not to mention it when he feels himself growing drowsy.

You’re not sure how much time passes but you can hear Gojo’s gentle breathing fill the room. You bring a hand to your legs, trying to ease away the goosebumps forming on your skin. At first, you assumed they were from nerves but now, you’re almost certain it’s because the hotel’s blasting the AC. And oddly enough, Gojo seems completely unaffected, even able to sleep peacefully.

You sigh, turning to face him. You’ve always known your husband was an attractive man but it’s not fair for him to look so good even while sleeping. His lashes are long and you find yourself staring a bit too long at his lips. Again, your mind drift to the moment when he pressed those same lips to your forehead and instead of being filled with embarrassment, you’re filled with a feeling that squeezes at your heart.

Subconsciously, you’re reaching for his face, grazing a finger down his cheekbones to the corner of his lips. His skin is smooth against your touch and you’re almost jealous that his skin was perfect too. You continue to map your way to his jawline, mesmerized at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” He mumbles, his eyes closed though a smile crosses his face. You’re about to retrace your hand away from his face but he’s quick to clasp one around your wrist. You nearly squeak when he leans closer to your palm, his eyes finally opening to peer into yours. “Eyeing me when I’m asleep? I didn’t know you were such a per—“

“I’m not!” You yelp, snatching your wrist away from you him with a flushed face.

He hums, propping himself on his elbow to watch you. “Hm? Now you getting all embarrassed on me after you felt me up?”

“I did not feel you up.”

He merely shrugs with a grin. “It’s all good. I think you’re pretty cute too.”

You didn’t know it was possible to be this flustered until you shared a bed with Gojo. “I only touched you because I was cold!”

That wasn’t entirely a lie either. When you felt Gojo’s face, his skin was warm under your touch and you wondered if the rest of him was like that. Naturally, you refrained from thinking even further or else you really wouldn’t sleep a wink.

To your surprise, you feel see him pat the spot besides him. Your lips fall apart as you continue to stare. He only shrugs with a lazy smirk. “What? A husband has to make sure his wife’s comfortable right?”

It’s hard to say no when you feel the cool air of the AC bite into your skin—your limbs trembling. You hold his gaze for a few seconds, sighing as you scootched closer to him. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling your frame closer until you’re against his torso.

You try not to dwell on the fact that you can feel how his muscles move against your shirt—or rather his shirt; how he nuzzled his face in your neck, breathing in your scent that this scene felt so naturally domestic.

You squirm in his embrace, shifting your hips around to find a more comfortable position. His arms immediately squeeze you tighter, making you squeak. “Stay still,” he says lowly against your ear.

“You’re holding me too tight,” you whine, wiggling your hips again. This time, his hand squeezes your hip.

“Yeah? Well if you don’t stop squirming, I’ll have another problem to deal with.”

“What—“ You say before the realization hits you and you’re left spluttering like an idiot. Your head turns to face him and you immediately regret it.

His blues bore into yours and you see how his lips twitch as if trying to hold back a laugh. “I—“ You start, turning away from him with your stomach doing flips. “Okay,” you squeak, clenching your eyes shut at your response.

He only grunts in response, spooning you with his chin atop of your head. Minutes pass and you relax in his arms. “‘Toru?”

“Hm?”

“Why are you being so nice to me right now? I thought you hated me?”

“What?” For the first time, he sounds awake. He leans up so you can see his hues peering down at you. You watch bemused as a tortured expression crosses his face for a second. “(Name), I don’t hate you. I never hated you.”

Your bewilderment grows. “But you…you never talked to me.”

He smooths a hand through his hair. “Can’t say I don’t have some regrets about that.”

It’s the same like last time, when the two of you were in the kitchen. He’s looking at you so tenderly that you can’t bring yourself to look away. “I care for you,” he continues, trying to pick his words thoughtfully. “Much more than I want to.”

He still peers down at you, so close that you almost think he’s about to lean in for a kiss. You observe him with a wide-eyed look, only letting out a little gasp when you feel his lips press against your forehead again—the feeling familiar to you. Gojo resumes his cuddling shortly after, squeezing your hip once more. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You widen your eyes, remaining silent. You’re at a list of words, momentarily left speechless. Even so, you reach down to press a hand over his on your hip, squeezing it lightly. “I know.”

Gojo thinks he sleeps the best when you’re besides him. You’re soft against him, fitting perfectly in between his arms. He thinks, there’s no way he was going to let this moment pass—and he was a man who kept true to his wishes. The next time he was going to sleep in his house, he was going to do it with you by his side.

BONUS:

“‘Toru…”

“What is it again?” He grumbles, though there’s no bite in his tone.

“Why couldn’t we just teleport home instead of going to a hotel?”

A brief silence follows.

“Go to sleep.”

[solbaby7]

Testing the Waters

pairing: rhysand x reader

[ 1 ] [ 2 ]

part 3 to the shy!reader massage mini-series

warnings: sexual content, minors DNI, massages, some swearing, probably typos

summary: Weeks of rubbing up on a certain High Lord is bound to build some tension.

—

“Need you to do something for me, bunny.”

There’s a feeling in your stomach at the pet name, bare toes digging further into the throw blanket and it’s instinctual the way your body rises to meet him, your book long forgotten. Rhysand doesn’t resist when you come ease his jacket from his shoulders and throw it over the couch. “Anything.”

His hands run over the back of his neck, head slowly rolling and the tension in his body is unmistakable. He doesn’t even bother asking you to go grab your oils or salts; Rhysand’s hand waves and it’s all laid out on the table before you. His clothes disappear with a lazy blink and the way the High Lord’s body drapes across the couch in your room was utterly boyish, boxers tight around his thighs. “Please? I always get the best sleep after these.”

You hum in acknowledgement, grateful for his face pushed into the pillows to hide the blush that blooms at the sight of his body. It never got tiresome; the rippling muscles that contracted whenever he adjusted or the gravelly tone that set in when you finally got your hands on him. It begins as a fleeting touch, fingers just barely grazing the smooth skin between his shoulder blades and his body goes still. “Try to focus on your breathing,” It feels weird as you say it, giving the most powerful male in all of the Courts a demand but Rhysand is quick to comply. “Gonna try something a little different this time.”

You’re not even facing him and you can feel the smirk that pulls on full lips. “Is that so? Maybe I should lie on my back instead.”

“You know, Cass said the same thing when I did this for him last night.” Rhys goes quiet a moment, violet irises tracking your every move like hunters did their prey, taking in the gentle tease of the pale purple hem of your nightgown against your thighs, the cute tapping of your toes against the terra cotta rug as you pulled out a black box filled to the brim with smooth rocks that were warm to the touch.

“And did you take him up on his offer?”

There’s a shake in your voice when you answer, skin blooming with heat at the nature of the conversation but you busy your hands with the little glass jars of oil, its contents significantly depleted. “That’d be highly inappropriate. He’s my friend.”

Rhysand relaxes instantly, clearly pleased with your response but his eyes still watch you as you prepare. Dainty fingers dip into a tiny little jar and you’re swift in the way you swipe it under his nose, the soothing scent of lavender filling his nostrils each time he breathed and he couldn’t deny the way it aided in his relaxation. “You’ve never thought about it?”

“Rhys,” It comes out so quietly you barely hear it yourself, skin going warm and you’re quick to sit on the back of his thighs before he can see the affect his words have on you. “You don’t usually ask me questions like this.”

“I’ve had a long week, bunny. Reports and responsibilities; things you don’t have to worry your pretty head about.” You try to focus on the crackle of the fire instead of the casual compliment falling off the deep rumble of his low voice, throat bobbing when he lets out a little chuckle. “Indulge me.”

Heated oils drips on his spine, a deep sigh releasing when you finally put your hands on him. Slow, smooth motions; easing the stress away from the broad stretch of his shoulders to the muscular taper of his waist. “Was that an order, High Lord?”

“No.”

It takes a second for you to work up the nerve to answer and you’re grateful he doesn’t push; taking the time to ease into the feeling of your palms gliding over golden skin. “Yes, I’ve thought about it,” You finally confess, thumbs pressing firm circles near the spot where his wings would sit.

A groan pulls from deep inside the High Lords throat and you can’t tell if it’s from your fingers or the shy admission but you don’t ask; too fearful of the feeling beginning to form between your thighs and you’re quick to readjust your positioning, rising to your knees to avoid any more contact than necessary. He was too handsome—smelled too good and felt like heaven beneath your fingers that you didn’t trust yourself not to grind down on the thick thighs beneath you if he’d asked a thing more.

Mother above seems to laugh at you, winking from above when the Lord of Night leans into your touch, one eye prying open to look at you. “Tell me what you think about. Tell me who.”

“My Lord, I really think—“

“Come on, bunny. I’m just Rhys when we’re like this; just tell me.”

You swallow thickly, hands stuttering to a stop on his back. “You promise not to laugh at me?”

“I’d never.” The seriousness in his words is all you need to nod a little to yourself, one hand bracing at his waist to lean over and grab the warm rocks he’d summoned. They’re smooth to the touch; retaining their heat and once they touch his skin, he finds them to be far more soothing than initially anticipated. “Cross my heart.”

Your bottom lip is caught between your teeth, debating on if you were actually brave enough to do as he’d asked—not commanded. It felt like such trust; an opportunity to make him proud and you didn’t want to disappoint no matter how jittery it made you. “Sometimes, when I’m doing this,” You feel him adjust beneath you, head turning to the side and even though his eyes are closed you can still see that gentle furrow of concentration, waiting in anticipation. “—I think about letting my hands wander places I know they aren’t supposed to.”

He sucks in a sharp breath when your fingertip barely grazes under the waistband of his underwear and he’s acutely aware of the tremble of your knees on either side of his hips. He doesn’t want to say anything, violet eyes clamped shut as his mind wandered to just that, your soft hands coated in sweet oils wrapped around his cock, those shy eyes fluttering with wonder at the way he’d crumble to pieces for you.

A High Lord, completely at your mercy.

Rhys swallows thickly, voice so hoarse it’s impossible to miss the affects your words have on him and a confidence brews in your belly, words more sure when you proceed. “I think about what would happen the next time one of you jokingly asks me to strip down for my turn and I actually do it.” A smile works its way on your mouth when you see the way the High Lords brows crease, imagination running wild behind those lids.

“You think about doing that with all of us?”

Silence.

The gentle scrape of rocks against one another as you trail them up and down the sides of his spine, the oil slick and the warmth working out deep knots from the countless hours being hunched over his desk with a whiskey in hand and brain overloaded with information Rhys was no longer processing. “At the same time?”

The noise he lets out is positively sinful and you’re suddenly aware of his breathing beginning to quicken. “You can’t say things like that.”

“Forgive me, I didn’t understand.” But you did now, understood the underlying question behind his inquiry. “I sometimes think about it with Cass on nights he’s trained especially hard because he gets really vocal and sometimes those sounds are really hard to get out of my head.” Rhys hums in strained understanding, body relaxing but his hips keep shifting every now and then, fingers clamped tight around his biceps as he encourages you to continue. “Sometimes, I think about it with Az because when I’m doing an especially good job, he gets so relaxed that his shadows forget to obey and they start playing around in my clothes.”

Rhysand grunts but you take it as your hands doing good work, not the fact that he didn’t blame the slinking shadows; nearly subject to doing the task himself if you’d kept up.

“But you, High Lord,” It comes out breathless, hands stilling as if you couldn’t focus on touching and talking at the same time. “I think of you the most.” He physically shivers at the confession, fingers gripping so hard at his arms he’s sure he’s left marks but he tries to relax, forces himself to breathe and listen to the pure filth of such desires that hummed deep within your brain.

If only he could just slip past and look for himself—

“Especially that night with you in the tub,” You whimper, the noise sending filthy shocks of pleasure straight to his cock. The rocks clamber to the floor, his body twisting before you can comprehend his hands suddenly on your waist, violet eyes half lidded and so lust blown they’re nearly black. You can see the print of his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear and you’re certain he’s clocked the way your tongue slides over your bottom lip. “Rhys.”

“Keep going, bunny.” His voice is wrecked, tone so low and commanding you don’t resist when strong hands ease you down on the thick bulge. He gives you time to deny it, to pull away and scramble off but it never happens.

“But—“

“You’re just helping, right? Helping your High Lord and this,” You follow his gaze to where both of you touch, the hardness of him pressed between your legs, the embarrassing wet patch that he’s surely felt seep through thin cotton. “I really fucking need this.”

The delicious drag of his hands guiding your hips over the rigid length of him, gaze eating up the way your lips part and your hands slip against his abdomen. "What about me in the tub, bunny? Tell me."

You don't understand how he expects such things from you when you can barely keep control over your body with such intense pleasure coursing through it. The friction of cock and cloth against your sensitive clit is enough to have your toes curling at the pressure, fingers digging perfect marks into your hips as you scramble through the brain fog long enough to remember how to form words and string together sentences. "Fuck," The slur doesn't even sound like you, eyes clamping shut and it takes great effort to remember what had been asked of you. "I've thought about it every night since; picturing what you looked like beneath all those bubbles."

"Was hard as a fucking rock the second you stomped to the door." He feels you clench around nothing, head falling back as you submitted to the pleasure and he genuinely has to hold back from finishing the second your hand slides up your own frame to grab at your breast. "Mother above."

He doesn't even have to guide your movements anymore, hips grinding into him with such hunger it makes the room darken; a deep, rumbling power filling the space and Rhysand actually moans when you don't shrink away from it. "Rhys, I'm—"

"Just a little more for me, yeah?" You catch yourself nodding along with him even when you don't believe you'll be able to fulfill his command. The burn in your stomach was near unbearable, mind stuck in a frenzy when warm hands bunch up the thin hem of your nightgown just enough to show off the wet drag of cloth on cloth. "So fuckin' pretty."

So eager to please, eyes glossy and half-lidded when you peer down at him, hands running over the defined muscles of his abdomen as your hips take on a pace that had the High Lord sucking breath through his teeth. "Thought about being the reason you made those noises. Wanted to use my hands," Your fingers drag over the strong planes of his chest, nails scratching just enough to leave a hint of a trail and your words carry a sultry drawl to them. "—my mouth too."

He's seconds away from release, skin on fire and hands eager in their exploration of your body over the silky material of your clothes. He trials up the length of your belly, fingers smoothening over the hard nipples poking through. The room smells of arousal, male musk and feminine desire twisting about the air so thick there'd be no way denying what had taken place if anyone had decided to walk in.

None of it matters though.

Not when you lean over, hands bracing on his chest and press a whisper of a kiss to his bottom lip.

The bruising grip on your hips leave only to pull your mouth back to his own, both of swallowing the others moans in and you can feel his cock twitch against you the moment your own release shudders through you. He doesn’t stop kissing you through it, hips slowing to a stop and you have to pull away simply to catch your breath before you pass out. “It’s your turn,” You huff out and you’re quick to smooth out the curious furrow of his brow. “To tell me what you’d been thinking about all those times?”

A feline smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “I’d rather just show you.”

[ellsarchive]

Ken Sato HC’s (extremely random) *.• (sfw)

Writing this instead of part two of starcrossed 😭

Calls you “doll.” It started off sarcastic, like when he was teasing you or something of the sort. It soon became an unironic part of his vocabulary, now a common name between you two.

Speaking of pet names, also calls you “baby.”

PDA guy, but lowkey. Like an arm around you or a hand on your lower back, subtle claims and displays to show you off.

(Someone else said this and it was too true not to repeat) He bites. Whether that means nibbling your skin playfully or sinking his teeth into you is up to your interpretation.

Sometimes he leans down to hear you better, to kiss you, etc. and his dog tags hang in your face.

Refers to you as “my girl” in interviews and when telling people about you

Takes a long time for him to feel like he can show emotion around you. It took countless reassurances and a lot of love, but strangely enough, he finds comfort in knowing you’ve seen that side of him. You saw it and still stayed.

The type to dance with you in the living room to disgustingly sappy music (even when your laughter is much louder than the song)

Listener.

Unless he has something important, you will never catch this man in something other than sweats or his baseball uniform.

Knows he’s attractive, but doesn’t try too hard to seem so. He knows certain things he does are attractive and he does them, but doesn’t try to make them attractive, you know?

The cocky act isn’t ENTIRELY a front. Of course it’s mostly a show for the fans, but he’s a sarcastic man at heart.

No minute goes by that he doesn’t have a snarky comment

Except for when he’s with you.

He’s nicer when he’s with you.

Low spice tolerance (America did its number on him)

Likes to watch projections of his old life with you, pointing out little details and meanings behind things that couldn’t be seen. He loves teaching you about who he was before you.

So clingy when he’s tired. If you try to get out of bed it feels like you have chains holding you in your place. His determination is almost terrifying. Also much less sarcastic, his most sincere words have been spoken when he’s half asleep.

Speaking of which, the first time he told you he loved you was when you were cuddled up, falling asleep. He let it slip without realizing, his eyes shutting the moment he said it. His last memory of that night is your faint voice saying “I love you” as his dreams took over.

Will DESTROY a carton of milk in the middle of the night if he’s thirsty (he usually only uses it for cereal)

Likes to binge TV shows with you when he gets the chance. What’s a better way to spend a rainy day than to be lazy and escape from this world with the person he loves most?

Had a dog growing up

Nothing is safe from the heinous amounts of soy sauce he puts on his food. One bite would kill a Victorian child

Was actually really nervous about being in a committed relationship. Luckily, you being his saviour, helped him every step of the way. He’s changed so many ways since meeting you, one of them being the absence of the walls he had built.

Puts a hand on the back of your neck when he hugs you

Car guy (as hinted by his collection of cars in the movie)

Sometimes falls asleep on your chest, body in between your legs, and wakes up having no idea where he is.

Wishes he had more pictures of you, but always forgets to take them.

Always wins his games when you come to them. Seeing you in the stands is the highlight of the game, not the win.

MEAN side eye. Could kill a man with ts

Is 100% sure that he’ll never love another the way he loves you. He’s certain.

Thinks of you when he sees corny romance movies

Was genuinely surprised when you first told him you loved him (when he was awake this time). When he realized how real it all was, he was confused. He didn’t know someone could see all the bad parts of him and still really, really love him.

Once he got over the doubt, he was proud.

Felt pathetic when he first realized how much he loved you. The way he couldn’t get you out of his head was unfamiliar, and your effect on him was so much more than anyone else has had. It frustrated him to no end.

Loves trying new food places with you

Sometimes jumps a little when he sees you out of the corner of his eye, someone else in his house so often still new to him.

Doesn’t cry easily

Cried while watching titanic with his mom when he was little

[diejager]

I know I already sent you an ask but could I get something for monster!141? Specifically Dragon!Price? Sorry for asking again but I love price and your writing!

Dragon Heart

Pairing: Dragon!John Price x fem!reader

Cw: knot, breeding kink, creampie, smut, fluff, morning sex, implied somnophilia, slow sex, romantic sex, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.7k

You knew dragons ran hot, their bodies powered by the kindled fire in their hearts, breathing smoke and fire with every breath they took. European dragons were creatures synonymous with fire, the powerful blaze that humans coveted for warmth, protection and destruction, but Price was all but the latter with his ragtag group. You once thought that Soap - sweet, rambunctious Johnny - ran the hottest, his body exhuming heat in plumes of vapours, his body exhausting itself from rapid muscle growth. Now you knew better, nothing burned more than a dragon itself, his heart pulsing in powerful waves, warm and soothing, his body warmed by the will of fire that thrived within him. You felt it all, his body calling to yours, naked under the sheets of his bed, cradling his face between your arms after your nightly activities that would follow in the morning —a promise he whispered on your lips. 

You woke up to his soft kisses, severing his mark on your body just as his hands did on your wrists, and the rough scruff of his beard, tickling your cheek and throat as he moved down. He was hard between his thick thighs, the flushed head of his cock pushing inside you in a slow roll of his hips, your slick walls stretching around his girth. Price liked waking you up with slow and gentle sex, watching your eyes crack open while they rolled back and lips cracked open to let out a few sleepy mewls, feeling him fill you up. There was something in being woken up with Price inside of you on slow mornings, to feel the warmth of his body pressing you into the bed, soft sheets hugging you, and the heaviness of his cock, carving the shape of it inside you. 

Mornings like these were full of love and affection, unhurried pleasure and gentle caresses. Price - John, you called him behind closed doors - was a devoted lover, giving you much more than he received, finding pleasure in giving rather than receiving. He was a firm, but kind hand, soft but guiding, he took the reins and watched you unravel beneath him —much like a flower blooming, petals unfurling into the prettiest blossom he knew. Price was a strong lover, caring for you through anything with strong conviction, grounding in anything he ventured into, a strong hand reminding Ghost that you were here for him, a gentle hand grounding Gaz from his slight fears, a firm hand keeping Soap in check, and a protective hand holding you close. He was everything and nothing at the same time. He gave and never asked for more, taking what was given to him with a smile and warming eyes. 

While you liked the moments of shared animosity, clawing and biting at him, pressing him down on his desk and riding the life out of his cock, milking him for all his worth while he grasped and bucked into you, holding you captive under his burning gaze; you cherished these moments of domesticity, where he was neither captain nor were you his corporal. You weren’t restrained by duty or regulations, you simply held one another out of passion, one that had his heart soar and yours skip a beat. You loved him, you knew you did as much as he did, and he loved you so much that it hurt his old heart. He whispered your name, pressing his lips against yours, a soft and sensual act drawn out in lazy mornings and passionate gazes —he never failed to look you in the eyes when he expressed himself, telling you how much he cared and how much he would give for any one of you. 

“Love you, John,” you gasped, hips bucked up, searching for his cock to hit a certain spot inside of you, the gummy part of you that made you cry and mewl. “I love you.”

His kiss tasted like cigar and smoke, a woody taste similar to Ghost’s earthy bourbon, but Price’s was more powerful, a distinct taste of him. It laid heavy with love, it clung to you with such boiling joy that you smiled, eyes closed. Your fingers found his spine, the curve that went up to his singular wing, a vestige of an accident that left him crippled in the air, you pressed down, hitting a knot while he fucked into you at a steady pace. He groaned, his pace stuttering, jerkily bottoming out, his balls flush against your ass and his wild pubic hair scratching your throbbing clit. He shuddered and you knew he liked it, the relief it gave him when you pressed a certain knot in his back, the one that released tension and gave him more leeway to move about freely and without restraint. It was your way to give back when he wouldn’t take.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he rasped, brows furrowed and blinking away the daze you put him in, having his cock milked and his back popped felt amazing, the immediate relief painted on his face, “You’re a blessing.”

He felt like a blessing to you, his heart, his body, his mind, and everything about him was a blessing to you and his team. A gifting dragon to his hoard, keeping and protecting what belonged to him. Words wouldn’t be enough for you to show him how much you appreciate him, you used acts, favours and everything you had to show it to him. Whether it be a sudden kiss on his lips that brought a smile on his face, the skin under his eyes wrinkling from how happy he looked, or the massages you gave him, unwinding all the tension in his body after a hard mission, hearing his pleasured groan and his struggle to stay still, to stop himself from snatching you up and give you all the love he deemed you worthy of.

You murmured confessions, praises directed at his character rather than his duty, proclaiming little whispers of love. You raked your nails down his back, fleetingly touching the base of his tail, thick and robust, curled around your leg, holding it over his hip for deeper penetration, the rounded head of his cock kissing your cervix despite your prone position —a vanilla morning sex in missionary. Your hands slipped under his arm, roving over his hairy chest and pinching his perky nipples, rolling the rounded nubs between your thumb and index. You felt him twitch, a soft moan leaving his swollen lips, still kissing you with feverish need. His nipples were sensitive, especially in the mornings when his body reacted much more than at night, he’d succumb to your little tease, jerkily thrusting into you. Every drive of his cock thickened the ring of white around his cock, the ribbed girth of it catching the edge of your cunt when he pulled out, bringing you mind-numbing ecstasy. 

You could feel the coil in your core tightening, the unwinding pleasure that followed the first spasm, walls clinging onto him. You let out a shuddered breath, feeling the ribs rubbing your sweet spot and his leaky cock throb against your cervix. Slick oozed out of your hole with each thrust, the motion pushing out yesterday’s load, cream jostled out of you, squeezed around his shaft. 

“Touch yourself, sweetheart,” he groaned, bowing his head over your shoulders, his breath hot and mouth nipping at your skin, threatening to sink his teeth and mark you for the others to see, for them to strew in jealousy that he had you all night long and the following morning. He spoiled and cared for you. “I want to hear you moan.”

Moan, you did, thighs tensing when your fingers circled your swollen clit, rolling the twitching nerve in rapid motions. You breathed laboriously, panting and gasping into his ear, mewling his name with teary and burning eyes, rolling back from pleasure and the thin veil of grey smoke that rose from his lips. It smelled like cedar, a smoky incense mixed with the natural scent of cedar and his strong cigars, a soothing and bitter smell. It drove you off the edge, his smell, his warmth, his body, and his voice sent you careening over the precipice of your pleasure, an explosive fire blinding you in white light, stars dancing around your sight as you clung to him. Your walls gripped in him a vice, clenching down on his cock and hand stuttering on your clit, the bundle of nerves sensitive and slick. 

He was sloppy, growling out praises, telling you how good you were for coming for him, confessing how he lived to bring you over the brink of relief and much farther, and mumbling how he’d ruin himself for you. It was wet and messy, he came with a single buck, snapping into you, his green-tinted balls slapping your ass wetly, and bottoming out, his knot catching and inflating with a deep groan. Hot cum filled you, ropes of potent semen shooting out of his red tip, engorged and throbbing against your gummy cervix. You felt like you’d bloat from how much he was spewing, imagining the bump of cock and cum under your skin, poking out in an erotic sight.

His back slumped over, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you towards him, face pressed under his chin and his wing covering you. You listened to his purr, a low sound meant to comfort you after sex or any other straining activity —similarly to a cat showing its joy and pleasure. Price always cuddled you while waiting out his knot, pressing his burning body against yours and spoiling you with words and kisses. His knot comfortably seated inside of you, keeping his load from going to waste, preventing his fertility from leaking out of you like the faucet-like jet of his tip, he murmured into your hair, nosing the few strands that clung to your forehead and kissed you deeply. You kissed back, fingers carding through his beard and bushy hair, nails scratching his scalp, being careful of his sensitive horns. 

“We have the day off, darling,” Price smiled conspiringly, blazing, amber eyes brimming with mirth, “Reckon we stay in bed a while longer?”

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @havoc973 @angelcakes-222 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @virginalsacrifice @beau-min @makayla-666 @urfavsunkissedleo @kaelysia @mixplara @notspiders

[aestherin]

KEEP MY HEART

goal 28: we aren’t a couple

It was mostly your voice that filled the silence between you and the man beside you. Some effort from him was apparent though, as seen with his occasional quips and playful remarks. Truthfully, it wasn’t that he was lazy to retort, or that he had nothing to say. Rather, it was just that he had much more to listen to than tell.

Scaramouche swore he would never tell anyone, but he loved listening to the little parts of you — the little parts of your day, the cute memories you have, all the stories you had for him. He loved reading your daily messages, of course. But nothing can ever compare to how much he loves hearing your voice as you talk comfortably with him.

Your steady footsteps as you continued to freely tour around Scaramouche’s campus came to a stop when you felt a cool fabric suddenly sit on your shoulders. A navy blue varsity jacket with white sleeves.

The representative colors of Scaramouche’s own university.

“Why are you putting your jacket on my shoulders?” You rambled as you walked. “For your information, I am not a clothing rack.”

“You really are stupid.” Scaramouche playfully flicked your temple. “I’m giving you my jacket because it seems you aren’t even aware that you were slightly shivering.”

“Kuni, you’re also stupid.”

“What?”

“‘Giving’ is when you’re handing something to someone without planning to get the item back. You should call it ‘lending’ instead.”

“Who said I had plans to get my jacket back from you?”

“Huh?”

“I want you to keep it.”

“But this is your varsity jacket! You use this in games, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah. But I have lots of those, so don’t worry.” He said as he lightly rested his arm above your head.

That was now the second jacket of his that he asked you to keep.

Matching his footsteps with yours, he came to a halt when you did. “Can we sit there, Kuni?”

Scaramouche’s eyes followed to where you were pointing. It seemed you were talking about the several benches in the wide field located in the heart of their campus. He was about to nod when a certain information he recalled reading on an online thread during freshman year suddenly flashed in his mind.

“Absolutely not,” he frowned as he crossed his arms.

“What?” You whined. “But my feet are killing me!”

“There’s a saying about these benches.”

“Really?”

“Mhm. People say that couples who sit together on these benches will break up.”

“But we aren’t a couple…” You trailed off, seeing Scaramouche’s mood subtly going down due to your words. He always had an honest face.

You cleared your throat. “Well then, just to be safe… Why don’t we sit on the grass instead?”

You see the corners of his lips curve a little.

“Okay, let’s do that then.”

You both continued with what you were doing prior to seating on the field. You talked and talked, and he listened and jested. As much as you loved how genuine of a listener he was, you craved more of his voice and stories.

“I’m actually starting to think this is unfair, Kuni.” You feigned a frown. “Why am I always the one who does the talking?”

“Are you getting bored of me now?”

“What? No!"

“I just… Isn’t there anything that you want to tell me? Open up or talk about or share? Anything at all?” You tried to keep up with his stare. “I just feel bad that I am always the one that does the ranting and you always listen, but I can’t even repay you by lending an ear.”

He avoided your gaze. “You being there for me always is enough,” Scaramouche uttered lightly, enough for you not to hear. Instead, he just let out a deep sigh. “Okay then. It’s my turn, I guess.”

You smiled, thinking he was going to start light.

You thought wrong.

Scaramouche immediately started with how his coach — which was also his mother — was harsher on him than on the other members of the team. Harsh trainings, hectic routines, and high expectations seemed natural to him. You even began to contemplate whether what you’re hearing is still a relationship of a mother and a son, or that of a tenacious coach and her promising trainee.

“She wasn’t always like that though,” he said softly. “Believe it or not, I have memories of when she was so gentle and loving with me.”

“She only started becoming like that when I became firm with my decision of being a soccer player.”

‘But was that even enough for her to change so drastically?’ You thought. Maybe there’s another reason?

“It would’ve been easier for me to hate her if I didn’t have any fond memories of her, don’t you think?”

KEEP MY HEART — scara x reader smau

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[notsopersonalcharlie]

My Belle

Biker!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader fluff

Bucky is part owner of a mechanic shop and bar, but his girlfriend is the one who rakes in the big bucks, so who's to judge him (his friends) if he's just a little (very) whipped for her.

Notes: Based on this post and this post! In my own personal headcannon readers name is Noelle, which explains the nickname bell(e) lol. There will CERTAINLY be more installments of this story. Gif isn't mine

You muttered under your breath as you pulled your work shoes off your stockinged feet. There were runs at the toes because you were too lazy last night to cut your toenails. Too lazy and distracted by a certain biker coming home. The same biker who was waiting outside, who had kindly turned off the idling engine, but still waited on the sidewalk patiently holding an extra helmet. 

Bucky looked down at his phone. The Howling Commando group chat was blowing up about some sports game and Bucky turned the notifications off before making sure you hadn’t messaged. You hadn’t. He checked your location, you were inside the building in front of him. He checked the texts again and then put his phone in his pocket. Staring at it won’t help, is what you would say. What did you know? Everything, Bucky thought to himself. Sam would have laughed in his face if he could hear the inner monologue.

“See ya monday!” Your team's receptionist called. 

“Not a moment sooner!” You quipped back over your shoulder as you pushed open the glass double doors. All six feet and a bit of your biker were waiting on the sidewalk, tattoos peeking out at the neck and along the wrists speaking of one of your favorite features of his.

“Hi Buck!” He looked up and a grin split his usually stoic face. 

“There’s my girl.” Two long strides and you were wrapped up in his arms, a warm kiss pressed hard to your lips. Bucky spun you in a circle.

“I missed you, belle.” 

“I missed you too, Buck.” Anyone would have thought you hadn’t seen each other in days, but Bucky had stopped by only a few hours before to drop off your lunch.

“You’re not getting on the bike like that, honey.” You rolled your eyes, setting down your bags. 

“I know, I forgot to grab my overpants this morning. Do you have extras?” Of course he did, you knew that, but it was the sweet pout and big eyes just for him. You knew he loved to take care of you, so if you “forgot” the pants, maybe it was just because he liked to know he was always prepared. 

“Of course I do.” He waited as you slid the cargo looking pants up over your work bottoms. He stored your bags away as you did, and then sat down on the bike, making sure your helmet, the black one with muted flowers sprouting along the edges that he bought especially for you, was secure on your head.

You slid onto the bike behind Bucky, taking a deep breath of the mechanics grease and sweat smell that always seemed to live on his biking jacket, before snapping your visor shut. Bucky couldn’t help the way his heart leapt a little like always when you wrapped his arms around his middle and rested the chin of your helmet against the middle of his back. Two squeezes to check that you was ready or okay, two back to tell him you was good to go. Three squeezes to say I love you, four back to say I love you too. 

Bucky started the bike and took off back toward the little house they shared just two blocks down from the Howling Commando. You watched the scenery passively, relying on Bucky’s expert riding to get you home safe. You was so glad it was the weekend. Work had been busy, all week you had found yourself calling Bucky, letting him know that you had to stay late, that you would call a rideshare home so he didn’t have to come. Of course every night by the time you were ready to go, Bucky was sitting outside, leaning against his bike. The only day he wasn’t, it was because he had to drive a few towns over that afternoon to pick up a special part for your car.

Instead Steve had been waiting with his own motorcycle, grinning ear to ear as he recited precisely the text Bucky had sent to make sure you was dressed properly and your helmet was on correctly. 

“You know he has never, since childhood, through the service, after, never once, acting like this with a girl.” You just rolled your eyes, followed the instructions as you always did, and sat on the back of Steve’s bike and let him drop you off right in front of the white picket fence Bucky had insisted he would build when you first moved in. 

“You there, belle?” You blinked and found that they had already gotten home. 

“Yeah, just... thinking.” You slid off the bike, gravel driveway crunching under your feet. Bucky pulled your helmet off your head and his blue eyes were intent on your expression, his adorable little pout on his lips.

“What’s up?” You took the helmet from his hands, setting it on the bike before pulling his gloves off his fingers and then intertwining your fingers together. 

“I love our life, Buck.”

“I love our life too.” He looked worried, the little crease between his eyebrows so endearing as always. You lifted one hand to rub your thumb to the spot, eliciting a smile from him. 

“That’s all, baby. I want to spend every day of my life with you.” The grin grew, and you found yourself lifted in the air again, and seated back on the bike. His sweet demeanor towards you and his friends made it easy to forget that Bucky was six feet tall and made entirely of muscle, even if he had built up a healthy bit of relationship chub since you started dating. Bucky kissed you, soft in the dying light of the evening. 

“I want to spend the rest of my life with you too, belle.” You stood like that for a long while, till the glow of the sun was barely left in the sky and the automatic yard lights had turned on. 

“What do you want to do tonight?” Bucky asked. Sweet, as always, but it was the same thing you did every night. 

“I can get changed and we can head over to the bar.” And as always, “Only if you want, honey.” 

Bucky put your things away, dirty lunch containers in the dishwasher and bag beside your desk in the living room, while you got dressed. It felt like it was a fresh start to life when you pulled on comfy jeans and one of the well worn and soft shop t-shirts. You grabbed a sweatshirt, and then paused and got another one for Bucky, before heading back into the kitchen where Bucky was looking at his phone. 

“Howling Commando, huh?” Bucky joked. You nodded with a grin, tossing him one of his gray Army sweatshirts. 

“Only if you'll let me be one."

"You're already an honorary member," Bucky responded, pressing a kiss to your temple. You walked down the road less than a half mile hand in hand. The bar must have been getting busy on a Friday night, because you hadn’t even made it within view before you could hear the rowdy sounds of your friends and regulars. The front patio was full of folks, some spilling over into the front driveway of the shop. 

“Oh! Can I check on my baby?” You asked, popping up on your toes to try to look into the tinted glass of the garage doors. 

“I thought I was your baby!” 

“She was my baby first,” you shot back, already heading for the side door between the bar and shop. Bucky tossed the keys to you. 

“Do you want your usual?” He was already headed toward the front door of the bar. 

“Mmm, how about whatever cocktail special Sam is whipping up today?” He nodded and you unlocked the door, pushing into the dark mechanics shop. The side door led right into the garage, as opposed to the neat front office, or at least Yelena liked to keep it neat, and you fumbled in the dark momentarily to find the lights. They were slow to warm up, but you started toward where your car had been sitting for a few weeks, inoperable while Bucky painstakingly replaced every piece of the engine to make sure it was as safe as possible for his girl. 

Bucky walked in the front of the bar after saying hello to a handful of regulars and service buddies who still stopped by. Steve was leaning against the front of the bar, and clapped him on the back when he sidled up beside him. 

“Where’s your better half?” 

“Checking on her baby,” Bucky waved for Sam’s attention, “Where’s Nat?” 

“Trying to get her to take a break.” Yelena scoffed from where she was sitting on a stool on the other side of Steve. 

“As if you could ever make her do that.” 

“I said trying to,” Steve shot back as Sam walked over. 

“Where’s your belle?” Bucky scowled at his friend. 

“Wants whatever cocktail concoction you’re making. I’ll take the usual.” 

The custom painted powder blue vintage Mini Cooper was more assembled than it had been when you checked in on it a few days ago, and as you got closer you could see that it was almost done, a few pieces were still sitting on Bucky’s workbench. 

A slightly Russian accented call of your name identified it as one of the two Romanoff sisters, one who ran the front of the shop and the other the front of the bar. 

“Yeah, I’m back here.” 

“I figured.” Natasha appeared from the other side of a Cadillac SUV. 

“She’s almost done!” You grinned. 

“I heard. The guys put me on break and when I was refusing, Bucky said I should come make sure you didn’t linger too long.” You laughed. 

“He hates when I mess with his work.”

“Then maybe you should come let him mess with your make up,” Natasha suggested. 

“Are you flirting with me for Bucky?” you asked incredulously. The redhead laughed as you followed her out the side door, locking it behind you before going into the bar from the front. Multiple of the regulars called out your names, offering waves and grins, and the cacophony doubled inside. 

“Finally! The better one! I have your drink right here!” Sam called. You smiled, taking the drink. 

“Thank you, kind sir.” The bar was reaching capacity, pool tables in the back already in full swing. The waiters were a constant blur, Howling Commando Bar shirts identifiable in the bustle from the star logo in white. 

“Buck said you had a long week at work,” Nat said, returning to her spot at the front of the bar waiting to intercept underaged looking patrons. 

“It was a busy one. We’re tr- Actually, you don’t really care and I don’t really want to talk about it. Where is Bucky?” You responded good naturedly, trying to spot the brunet in the crowd. 

“I think I can see Steve’s blond ass over there,” Sam said, pointing further into the bar. You took your drink and headed toward the general direction. Steve and Bucky were in the corner near the office, heads together. 

“Hey Steve!” Both men looked up, eyes wide, at your appearance, and quickly took half steps apart. 

“Not at all suspicious guys. Good thing you were special forces.” Steve smiled, and Bucky looked a little shy. 

“Buck keeps trying to hustle me in pool,” Steve responded, “I have fallen for that many many too many years in a row. Your turn to carry the burden.” He pushed into the crowd, leaving you beside Bucky. 

“What was that about?” 

“Just business stuff. How is the Sam special?” You eyed him as you took your first sip, pleasantly surprised by the lack of a remarkable burn on the back end of the taste.

“Better than the last one.” Bucky's hulking presence should have been stifling or claustrophobic, but instead it was comforting. You looked up into sincere blue eyes and he leaned down, pressing warm lips to yours. Your hands slipped up around his neck, holding your drink out so the condensation wouldn’t drip down the back of his shirt. Bucky’s arms were strong and warm and one hand palmed your ass before pulling away. Bucky’s hand found its way around your back as you looked across the bar.

“You know, you guys really did something,” you said, “I know I say it all the time. But it's just amazing.” Bucky and Steve had wanted to start something after they left the service and with their penchant for drinking and ability to fix nearly any mechanized vehicle a bar and mechanics shop made the most sense. Three members of their team, Tim Gabe and Percy, had moved on with their lives, even though they stopped by when they rolled through town. Sam, the Romanoff sisters, Tony, and a half dozen more had joined the family since the start, but there were still plaques honoring the fallen Commandos above the bar. 

“All we knew how to do.”

You spent the rest of the night drinking with regulars, Bucky beating them in pool and not taking money from them, and you running drinks and convincing one of the girls at the bar that Sam was actually sweet and coming by again couldn’t hurt. 

“If that’s what kinda wing woman I get when I make a good cocktail, I should really do it more often,” Sam joked when the group of women moved off. Bucky appeared over your shoulder, sliding his pint glass over to his friend who refilled it. 

“What’s that?” 

“Just trying to get Sammy a girlfriend, since he blew his shot with all our friends.” 

The bar was still in full swing when Bucky and you said your goodbyes, and if Bucky picked you up and carried you over his shoulder fireman style while you giggled the whole way home so they could get back a little faster, that was between the two of you.

Wonder what Bucky and Steve were talking about... Find out here right now!