#do more than take up more than just closet space—they come with a story. And a new Netflix series

[babyleostuff]

call me back

fluff (+ a bit of angst) 𐙚 established relationship 𐙚 idol!hoshi x fem!reader 𐙚 wc: 1.6k

. . . fighting with you is never easy for hoshi. especially not when an ocean is separating you

was fighting over the last piece of cake stupid and immature? yes. did it feel like hoshi’s whole world was about to collapse when he noticed you ate it? double yes. while your boyfriend wasn’t known for his great patience and non-existent anger issues, he never took his anger out on you, no matter how frustrated and annoyed he was.

well - until last week. 

hoshi came home tired and very, very hungry, nothing out of the ordinary, though you could clearly see he was a lot more agitated than usual, so you did what you always did when he came back exhausted like that - gave him space. you were just about to start your nighttime routine when you heard your name being yelled from the kitchen, and not in a happy “baby, my love, my darling, please come hereeee” kind of way. 

you didn’t even get a chance to take a breath as you entered the kitchen, coming face to face with soonyoung and his angry pout. “where the fuck is my cake?” he asked, and now, a week later, his words were still echoing through his head. 

it was never his intention to lash out at you like that. obviously. he was tired, and hungry, his muscles were aching, he felt like a bad boyfriend for spending so little time with you, and he forgot to buy a gift for his mom's birthday - not that it mattered, nothing could excuse him for being so mean to you. to make matters worse, instead of acting like a man and begging on his knees for your forgiveness, he chickened out and just left. 

“man, why don’t you just don’t call her and apologise?” woozi sighed, throwing his head back because it had to be the tenth time he had to listen to hoshi’s story of how he decided to act like the biggest dick over an overpriced piece of a strawberry cake. 

“i did but she’s not answering.” 

“no shit, i wouldn’t have answered either.” 

and that exactly was the biggest problem - it was hard enough to go through a fight while he was home, but now that he was overseas, a thousand kilometres away from you it was impossible. yes, he could send you flowers and shit, but it would only piss you off even more. there was no way for him to show you how truly fucking sorry he was. 

“i know you’re angry with me right now, but please,” hoshi took in a shaky inhale. he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so… sad. “please, just call me back,” that had to be the tenth voicemail he left you ever since he left home. 

you, on the other hand, weren’t doing much better. you felt like slapping the shit out of him that night in your apartment, and although you were able to control your sudden surge of violence, you didn’t hold back on cursing him out after he left. you even thought about burning his side of the closet but if you did that you’d lose all of your favourite hoodies and flannels, so you gave up on that too. 

after your short rage situation, you sat down at kitchen island, and stared at the empty plate where soonyoung’s cake was supposed to be. how were you supposed to know he’d act like that over a cake? obviously you wouldn’t have eaten it then. you figured your boyfriend must’ve had a really bad day at the rehearsals. the past couple of days were really harsh on him, and if you could you’d wrap him in bubble wrap, a couple of blankets, and cuddle the shit out of him for being so strong through all of this. 

all of those excuses for him and still - you couldn’t bring yourself to answer his calls and texts, no matter how much listening to his voicemails broke your heart. 

“so, um, i know we’re not talking but i’m just calling to tell you good morning. remember to eat, and um, have a great day, baby.” 

the boys were slowly losing their patience too (seungcheol asked mingaho if he could share some of his calming tea) because a grumpy hoshi was never a fun hoshi, plus - they hated seeing their best friend constantly beating himself over your fight. there was something lacking without their performance team leader’s spark. 

“should we just call her?” mingyu looked over at soonyoung, who was sitting by himself in the corner of the room. “he looks pathetic, moping around like that,” he snorted. 

seungcheol groaned, banging his head on jeonghan's shoulder. as they started to get older he started to feel less like a leader but more like a therapist (he really thought about resigning the day seungkwan came whining about a love triangle he got himself into). “they are adults, they should figure it out between themselves.” 

“oh come on, do we have to remind you what we had to do for you when you forgot about your girlfriend's birthday so she would forgive you?” mingyu snickered, and pulled out his phone. 

you didn’t know what to expect when you saw mingyu’s picture flash over your phone screen. it definitely had something to do with your boyfriend, that much you gathered, but you weren’t sure you wanted to hear what he had to say. your boyfriend’s words really hurt you, and no matter how much you wanted to forgive him, you weren’t sure you could do it yet. 

eventually, you clicked on the green button with a shaky finger. “yes?” you took a deep inhale and prepared yourself for whatever you were about to hear. 

“okay, so you know exactly why i’m calling. your boyfriend looks like a kicked puppy, he stopped saying horanghae, he’s dressed all in black and he looks like he drank an entire bottle of soju. i mean, don't worry, he didn't do it because he would be reeling now, but you get what i mean. whatever happened between the two of you, give us back our hoshi."

"well, that was very tactful," you heard coups' voice in the background.

“can you shut up for one second?” 

“no, in fact i can’t.” 

“okay, boys, i don’t want to interrupt whatever is going on, but i really need to know if he’s doing as bad as you're saying.” 

“bad” didn’t even come close to what hoshi was feeling. at this point he was so angry and frustrated at himself for acting like he acted, that seriously had to be one of his lowest points of his life achievements. now you were going to dump him, and he’d have to drown himself in soju, and grow a beard, and write a sad love song that he’d hear at the radio for the rest of his life, and-

there was no way you were calling him right now. and yet, “h-hello? babe?” 

“no, the fucking pope,” he’d have to add a cabin in the woods to his list of what he’d do after you’d break up with him. “kwoon soonyoung, you have to be one of the most insufferable, impatient and immature people i know. all this because of a piece of cake? do you hear how childish that sounds?"

loud and clear, honey. 

“that’s why i didn’t apologise in the first place. i immediately realised how fucking stupid i acted, and felt so ashamed of saying all of those awful things to you, and so i just left.” 

you sighed defeated. you kind of anticipated him saying that - your boyfriend had a habit of doing things before thinking them over, and as much as you understood him being exhausted and overworked, you still couldn’t forget how small he made you feel that night. 

“look, i really don’t want to fight, being away from you is hard enough, but…,” you ran a hand over your face. what were you supposed to do? you spent the last three nights on the couch because you couldn’t fall asleep in your shared bed, and there were so many times when you wanted to text him about the most unserious things that only he’d get, but you just couldn’t. “your words really hurt me.” 

“i know, shit, i know, and i’m so fucking sorry. whatever i’ll say it won’t be enough, i should’ve apologised right away. fuck, your boyfriend is such a loser,” you heard him laugh, but it was not the usual soonyoung laugh that made the flowers bloom, and sun shine. “i understand if you want to take a break.” 

“that’s the thing, i don’t want to take any breaks. i miss you so much. i miss talking to you every night, i miss our silly conversations, i miss getting my daily hoshi boyfriend pics. i’m sick of seeing your face on twitter and not over face time,” you pulled the sleeve of his sweater over your hand, like it would make you feel any closer to him. “let’s take it slow, maybe?”

you could swear you heard soonyoung exhale, “yes, yes, let’s do that. whatever you need, babe,” he said immediately. “my poor baby must’ve been so nervous.” 

“i love you, you know,” you whispered. there was no point in making things worse and pretending that you didn't miss him, and even though it would probably be a while before everything went back to normal, you didn't want him to doubt whether you still loved him as much as you did before.

“i love you too. very much,” he whispered back, finally sounding a bit happier. “and baby? thank you for calling me back.

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[peachesofteal]

oooh okay but what if the guys find Darling right before she’s about to give birth?? She took off after the confrontation and just never went back, and they gave her space hoping she’d come back. So then they were actively looking for her and finally found her? What’s one of the ways that could go down? Sorry I’m sure your ask box is absolutely full of asks about the baby trap au and other things but this idea struck me and I had to get it down 😩

👀 these little stories have completely consumed my brain.

🩵🩵🩵

18+ / baby trap AU / mature/dark themes

Deep breath.

Just breathe.

You can do this, you can do this. It happens all the time. You’re not the first person on earth to have a baby, for Christ’s sake.

Your feet step one in front of the other in a pattern down the hall, to the kitchen and then back to your bedroom, over and over while you try to stretch your back. It’s been almost forty minutes since your last contraction, and your muscles are sore, everything from your fingers to toes cramps.

It’s way too soon to go to the hospital.

But it’s not way too soon to be really uncomfortable, and nervous, and kind of freaking out, which you currently are.

You’re unprepared, even though you’re not sure there’s anything more you could do. You have the nursery set up, to the best of your ability. You even painted her room a soothing sage green color, and got all her clothes put away. You baby proofed everything. You have bottles, and formula, and nappies. Blankets and a boppy, even some pacifiers. On the outside, it looks like you and your little flat are totally ready.

But the reality, or at least how it feels, is the opposite. You don’t think you’re ready. You’re not even sure you can do this, if you’re being honest. You don’t know if you can be a mum, if you can take care of a baby, a defenseless little human who will need you for everything.

You struggled to take care of yourself half the time.

Your muscles tense, slow building pain splintering across your lower belly and you blink away some tears that threaten to form. It’s not just the pain… it’s everything.

You’re alone. You’re alone, after the two people you loved more than anything did the worst thing in the world to you. After they took your choice away. After they ruined everything, betrayed your trust, hurt you beyond repair.

Even worse was… you missed them. You hated them for it. Hated yourself for it. Everything felt so complicated, so fucked up. You were so angry, so heartbroken and still… couldn’t stop yourself from mourning their absence. Couldn’t stop from thinking about them at every doctor’s appt, every night when you closed your eyes to sleep.

You couldn’t even think about what was going to happen… after.

It was torture. It was hell.

It was affecting your health.

You had long been on restriction, light duty, almost mandated to bed rest. You had trouble eating, trouble sleeping, trouble with your blood sugar. It was exhausting.

Bee moves, not kicking but something else, a ripple pinging across your belly and you rub there soothingly.

“I know, I know.” You murmur, eyes wandering to your bed. Laying down sounds really good right now.

When you wake one hour later, it’s to pain. More intense, more sharp, lingering in the muscles of your back and thighs. It’s clearly a contraction, much more intense, and nausea rises in the back of your throat.

Fuck. That hurts.

You bite your tongue, heaving yourself out of bed as the pain fades, leaving you a little breathless while you waddle to the closet.

Maybe you could take a bath, or try to walk some more.

Just as you’re about to turn the tap on your tub, you hear a noise, a knocking on your door. That’s odd. You hadn’t ordered anything, food or packages. And you definitely weren’t expecting anyone either. Your stomach does a somersault, and you approach the door hesitantly, standing on the other side, staring at it blankly.

Without even checking the peep hole, you know who it is on the other side. You don’t need to look.

You always knew this would happen. You’d be lying to yourself if you said that sometimes, in the middle of the night, you didn’t dream about this. Even though it was wrong. Even if it meant you were weak. Stupid. Foolish.

You take a deep breath, and pull the handle.

Johnny’s holding his breath when the door creaks open. He doesn’t know what to expect, he just prays to nothing that it’s you on the other side. That after months of trying to track you down, they’ve finally got it right. He just hopes that you’ll give them a chance, that you’ll listen to them for even a second, so they can get down on their knees and tell you how sorry they are. So they can tell you they love you. So they can beg you to come home.

You peek around the door, just barely, enough for them to catch a good glimpse of your face.

He feels like he’s gotten the wind knocked out him. It’s been so long since they’ve seen you, too long, and you’re so pretty, so perfect he has to squeeze his hands into fists to try to calm his racing heart.

“Hi.” You keep the door more than half shut, and he swallows dry.

“Darling.”

“What’re you guys doing here.” You don’t phrase it as a question, and your voice is flat. Unenthused.

“We wanted to see you.” Simon starts. “We… wanted to check on you. See if you need anything. If you’re okay.” You give him a grim smile, and shake your head.

“Let’s not pretend.” You shoot back, and Johnny feels his heart wilt.

“We’re not pretending, love. We’ve been so worried. We’re so, so sorry. I cannae start to explain, how sorry we are. We did something awful. We-“

“I don’t want to hear it.” The door moves, just a little bit wider, and reveals more of your body, swollen belly, heavy on your frame. You look tired, like you haven’t been sleeping.

Johnny wants to break down. He wants to cry, if he’s being honest. He failed you. They failed you. They were supposed to love you, protect you, care for you. Instead… they allowed their twisted, selfish desires to influence their decisions.

He can’t imagine how this has been for you. Pregnancies were difficult for anyone as is, and you weren’t just anyone. You never have been.

“Can we come in?” Simon tries, voice soft. His eyes haven’t left your frame, taking in everything he’s seeing, Johnny’s sure. Coming to the same conclusion.

“No.” You bite out. “I don’t want you here.” He’s about to start begging, start pleading with you, but you make a face, brows pushing together, mouth screwing up like you’re in pain and his blood runs cold.

“Darling?”

“It’s nothing.” You breathe, but your hand cradles your belly, and your eyes are closed, face still screwed up in discomfort. “You should leave.” Not bloody likely.

“You’re in pain.” Simon summarizes the obvious, and you shake your head.

“I’m fine. I just uh- am having some cramps.” Cramps? He knows you’re pretty far along, by the math. Worry prickles along his spine.

“Cramps?” He takes half a step, not even. It’s enough to startle you, make you draw back, door jerking in your fist, closing it to only a crack, and he holds a hand out, cautiously. “Darling. Hey, it’s alright.”

“Go away.” You spit, but the words are choked out halfway, and they sound rough. Like you’re in pain. He tries to count, in his head. How far along you are, how close to a due date you might be.

“What’s going on?” Simon tries, and they can just barely see your palm press over your mouth. Johnny’s heart is galloping in his chest now, scared. Panicked. You’re in pain. You’re in real pain, and you won’t talk to them. Won’t let them in.

He’s about to ask you if it’s more than cramps, if you need help, or a doctor. But he doesn’t get the chance.

The door slams in their faces.

[justkending]

Mr. & Mrs. Hunt (Chapter 5/7)

Mini-Series Summary: Two of the most stubborn people in the group partnered together for an undercover mission are also the two people with the most hatred for each other, so what could go wrong? Or is it, what COULDN’T go wrong?…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger Reader (Enemies to Lovers) (Fake Marriage Trope)

A/N: I think we are staying on track for this to wrap up within two more chapters, but again, we are both in the dark if that's the case😂 Thank you guys for the love! If you are wanting to be tagged, please send me an ask. It's a lot easier for me to keep track of who's been added and who hasn't :)

_________

Y/N’s POV:

Okay, so maybe I blew up a little more than necessary, but I tried to chill out before he started chasing me, ordering that I didn’t walk away and talk to him. Let a girl try to get a hold of her emotions for a second big guy.

I’ve been anxious all day, waiting to talk to him about some deep seeded trauma, and then he comes and screws up all of it with a simple exception to an invitation. I know he didn’t mean harm by it, but he’s a trained professional. That was not a trained professional response. Plus, stepping out of my normal routine of being a bitch to him to keep him at a distance wasn’t just a switch I could flip.

Again, I could have handled that better, but now my brain is in mission mode, trying to reprogram what this night has set up for us. Considering the invitation was for tonight, it gave me little to no time to prepare.

“What time did she say dinner was?” I shouted from my bedroom, where I was going through our small, hidden arsenal of gadgets Tony had made for us.

“Six,” Bucky replied from his room down the hall.

Great, that was forty-five minutes from now… “Ok, I can do this.” Deciding it was best to keep some bugs on hand in case we could plant them in the house, and we would be planting them, I needed to consider sizes and placements.

“Should we bring over some wine or something?” Bucky’s voice was now in the doorway to my room, but I kept my back to him as I sifted through our tools.

“I made a pie earlier today. We can take that,” I answered absentmindedly.

“Why’d you make a pie?”

“Felt like it,” I shrugged and walked out of the closet with three small wires/ bugs in hand. When I looked up, I saw he had changed into a nicer button-up and was tightening a tie around his collar he hadn't been wearing earlier. “Why are you wearing a tie?” I examined him.

“Same reason you’re wearing a nicer dress. I want to make a good impression,” he shrugged, straightening pieces of his outfit.

“I’m wearing this because we were going to our ‘anniversary dinner,’” I made sure to put the lie in hand quotes. “I had a story that went with it, but this can pass as casual, too,” I motioned to my dress and moved toward him, placing the wires on the bed. “This looks like you’re about to give a sales pitch.”

Without thinking, I pop his collar up and loosen the tie to get rid of it. The whole time I’m focusing on untying it, I ramble about what the plan is for the night.

“I’m going to give you a wire to put wherever you see fit, and I’ll do the other two. I’ll excuse myself to use the bathroom and sneak it where it’s needed. I feel it’s important we look for cameras already in the house in case it’s a setup. We don’t need them having hard proof that we bugged their place. We want to come off as simple yet good assets if we want them to bring us on board for their work,” I struggle with a certain spot on the tie he somehow fixed in an efficient way I’d never seen. “Jesus, were you a sailor in another life? Might as well have knotted it.”

He doesn’t respond, but I get it off in the next two seconds and look at him to see he had been studying me intently as I invaded his space. I see my slip-up, push the tie into his chest, and take a step back.

“Sorry.”

“No problem,” he answers rather calmly, and I look at his eyes, seeing patience there. Always that damn patience. How did he still have it with me even with how I’ve treated him? “Listen-”

“About last night,” I say at the same time, and he seems shocked but gives a single nod to tell me to continue. “I want to say I’m sorry for being all over the place recently. From last night to thirty minutes ago.”

He seems frozen by my apology, and I became anxious enough that I start to word vomit.

“I took some time to think after last night and spent the day stressing, thinking how I was going to talk to you about it because I do want to. I want to get what I can out on the table if you’d be ok with that,” I look up through my lashes, and I see the most subtle turn of his lip as he watches me attentively.

“Are you hinting that there’s a chance I’ll get to see the side of you others are lucky enough to see?” he retorts, grin growing and taking a step closer to me.

His use of the word ‘lucky’ shortcircuits my brain, and all I can do is nod once, slowly, as my answer. He takes another step, and I match it with one back. I feel more vulnrable than I was expecting to.

“You can understand now why having our plans for the night changed made me slightly temperamental.”

“I think slightly may be an understatement.”

“I think you still should choose your words carefully,” I say, tightening my smile. However, it doesn’t shut him down like normal. Instead, he laughs under his breath, and the doorbell rings.

Both of our heads shoot toward the noise, and solemnity takes over the room.

“You don’t think that’s,” Bucky pauses as he turns back to me.

“How often am I wrong?” I take a deep breath in and smooth my dress out as I walk over, pausing beside him. “Hide the wires. I already did a sweep of the house while you were getting ready to make sure we didn’t have anything out of place. I’ll tell them you’re getting ready.”

I don’t need to open the door to know who it is, but when I do, the urge to yell, “I told you so!” in Bucky’s face is strong.

“Bethanne!” I smile kindly and immediately notice the dish in her hand. Reggie is behind her, holding two others, looking like he just got off work and had been dragged over here. “Did Beau tell me wrong? Are we not eating at y’all’s house tonight?”

She scrunches her face in a practiced motion and lifts the ceramic bowl up as she explains.

“I hate to ask this of you, but our oven is still the old rickety one. The new one had some faulty design, and we had to ship it back. Needless to say, it decided to give out on us today of all days,” she raised her shoulders. “I know we sprung the dinner on you suddenly, but would you two be willing to host if we provide the food?”

Not on the money of what I guessed, but pretty fucking close to the money if you ask me.

“Who is it, Doll?” Bucky’s voice carries from the hallway he’s now emerging from. The first three buttons on his dress shirt are undone, and he’s messing with the cuffs on the sleeves. “Hey, Bauers,” he smiles yet still holds shock in his features by the neighbor's appearance. “Did we get the time wrong?” he asks, looking at his watch before coming to my side, where I've now moved and am letting themselves in.

“No, no, no,” Bethanne shakes her head and hands off one of the pots to me as she takes one from Reggie, who looks more bothered to be here than happy. Long day human trafficking, asshole? “We had some appliance issues thanks to some of the renovations we were doing. I was just asking your wife if we can use your house as tonight's setting and possibly use your oven while here.”

Without hesitance, Bucky takes the dish from my hands and the dish Bethanne had swapped for and nods for Reggie to follow him.

“No problem at all. Let me help you ladies with that. Char," A nickname he had never used for my character before, but it seemed to work fluently. "Would you like to get some wine for the two of you while I get this organized in the kitchen?” he asks me, placing a kiss on the side of my head while his hands are full as he walks towards the other room.

I don’t know how he’s learned to play his role so well, but it’s convincing, even to me.

“Uh, yeah,” I almost stutter in my response as I motion for Bethanne to follow me to the wine cooler out in the garage. “Red or white with tonight's dish?”

"Do you have any more husbands like that in the back I can steal? What a gentleman," she coos, shoulder-bumping me.

___________

Half an hour of baking the food and getting it plated, and our conversation continued with questions mostly strictly about us, which would have been fine if not for the reason behind such invasive intentions.

They started off simple. How’d you guys meet? Who made the first move? What did we love about the town so far? What kind of hobbies and adventures did we take on before moving here? All questions we had prepared for, and if not, could easily improvise.

So far. No slip-ups. If anything, we sold the scheme far better than I’d imagined we would even when they became more personal. And our discussion on being the ‘prude couple’ last night seemed to affect Bucky’s actions a lot more than I was expecting.

An obvious hand on my thigh under the table and an arm thrown over my seat in a slightly possessive manner seemed to catch the eye of Reggie, who mimicked some of the moves as if it were a competition.

In addition, Bucky kept making small compliments about how I looked and how smart I was when they asked about my job. Dropping little comments about things I did (not my character) that he loved and appreciated.

“She’s always doing things like that. I almost never have to worry about making coffee in the morning because she has it all set up just to hit a button and go.”

“You should ask Charlotte about that! She’s the reason our house looks like a home. I’m sure she could give some advice on the kitchen backsplash.”

“She may not know how to boil an egg correctly, but her baking skills are unmatched. I've put on a few pounds now that we have a nice kitchen to spend time in."

I did my best not to act shocked every time he dropped a compliment, but the fact he could have made shit up for my character and used those details as conversation pieces, yet he went the honest way (although more convincing, of course), shocked me.

“Speaking of baking skills,” Reggie nodded his head back to the kitchen counter behind us and smiled at me. “I spied a pie on the counter. Any chance we can have that to finish off this dinner?”

I was still staring at Bucky from his last form of appreciation when I blinked out of my distraction and returned to our neighbor.

“Oh, of course! I was just about to offer,” I smiled, standing up, and Bucky quickly stood next to me, pulling my chair out. “Thank you.” I smiled at him and placed a hand on his arm as I moved around to the counter.

“How sweet. Oh, Charlotte, would you mind telling me where the bathroom is?” Bethanne asked, standing and giving her husband a look for not showing the same chivalry as Bucky.

I watched her, knowing that I would have used the same excuse to do what we planned to at their house. But I was two steps ahead of her.

“Of course! Beau, do me a favor and get some plates out for dessert. I’m going to show Beth-”

“Oh, I’m sure I can find it,” she waved off, coming around the table and moving to the hall promptly.

Yeah… Not without a chauffeur, honey.

“No problem,” I waved off, moving with her casually. “I need to grab some floss from my bathroom before dessert. I’ll show you to it.”

I can see the most subtle glaze of annoyance at my insistence, but she smiles and walks a step ahead of me.

I show her to the bathroom and make it seem I’m going into the master down the hall while she’s in there. And I do, but I keep an eye to make sure she isn’t snooping in any other room besides the one. We’ll have to survey it after they leave, but better that and the dining room than the whole house.

Once we’re back with the boys, no wandering to be done, Bucky helps me plate a slice of chocolate pie for each of us, and I offer to move the conversation to the porch. Any kind of redirection from the comfort of the inside of our home is welcome.

“I love how you’ve decorated your porch. It’s so cozy,” Bethanne notices, pointing out the colorful decorative pillows, hanging swing the size of a daybed, and loads of plants and decor that make the space more intimate. She and Reggie are sat on the two rocking chairs facing the front yard, and Bucky and I are sat close together on the swing, where he’s controlling the tempo we sway in.

“I always wanted a spot outside to escape. We didn’t really have that at our last home, and it was important for me to have this time around,” I replied.

My answer is actually very true. I loved being outside, especially when it was something as simple as sitting in the backyard or swinging on a porch. I had one requirement about this mission, one I’m not even sure Bucky knew about. But I asked Tony to supply a nice budget for the porch.

Call it cheesy, but growing up in such an unnatural and dehumanizing way, you crave a small part of that normalcy you see on the movie screens. For some reason, a porch I could escape on but still be within the comfort of my own home was a dream. And because it was, I thought I’d make this situation a little more bearable by granting that small wish I always had.

“Well, I may have to start budgeting for a new kind of renovation,” she patted Reggie’s back, and he gave her a tight-lip smile. "What do you say, Reg? Do you think we can get a swing like that one?” She smiled over at us just as Bucky pulled me into his side, his arm going around my waist and his hand resting on my hip bone.

“I have a feeling we might as well have built a home from scratch by the time you’re happy with the renovations we’ve taken on,” Reggie answered with a nod before taking a swig from his beer. “Get that recipe for the pie from Charlotte, and I’ll consider buying you a new porch,” he winked my way and turned back to the front of our lawn.

I instantly found Bucky’s hand tightening, and his thumb started rubbing in an up-and-down pattern along my hip. When I turned to him slightly, his gaze stayed on Reggie.

Before finishing cleaning up for the night, we said goodbye to our guests, and just when we thought we hadn’t made any headway in our conversation about work (mind you, we had dropped hints and notices about it all night, but neither of the two seemed to take the bait), Reggie stopped on the last step to our porch and turned to Bucky.

“You mentioned working in transportation, and by the sounds of your new job up here, if you’re interested in a more innovative place, I may have some ins for you,” he shook Bucky’s hand. “I have some coworkers around the states that could use some employees like you on their route.”

“I may take you up on that offer. It all depends on how this week rolls out,” Bucky answered perfectly. The Bauers said their goodbyes, and we watched them walk home before turning to each other.

In a silent celebration, we grinned at the invitation and then sent wordless glances to tread carefully when we got in before scoping the place for bugs…

_______________

Bucky’s POV:

I’m not surprised that the blonde sole cycle instructor of a neighbor was able to get a wire in our bathroom, but neither Y/N nor I were in the mood to remove it right away and give away our knowledge of it, so we each grabbed another drink for the night and debriefed subtly on the porch where the only bugs we had to mind were the crickets chirping their music for the night.

Bethanne was right. Our porch was nicely done, and I hadn’t even noticed Y/N had hung lights out here until she plugged them in.

“I feel like this spot is more put together than the rest of the house.” I noticed the details when we were out here earlier. Now, we both have taken up spots in the rocking chairs our neighbors had vacated.

“I may have focused more of my attention on this spot than the others,” she smiled as she brought a tumbler glass up to her lips. She had drank wine while Bethanne was here, but as soon as they were gone, the whiskey I had made a glass for myself was stolen out of my hand before I could take a sip. Now, we had each of our own.

“Was what you said about the porch a real thing? I mean, we have balconies at the compound,” I looked at her as I sat my drink on the small table between us.

“Balconies and porches aren’t the same. At least in my head, they aren’t,” she nodded, taking a deep sigh and resting her glass in her lap. “Did you mean what you said when you were complimenting me all night?” She lulled her head to the side to look at me.

I had been making compliments. It felt easier to use the ones I had picked up on than the ones I made up. Yet again, I think anyone should get the recognition they deserve when they excel in something. Y/N just tended to excel in more than I think she was aware of. And I was learning she didn’t seem to be used to people taking note of those things.

“Why lie?” I shrugged, starting to rock in a steady pattern.

“Because that’s this whole gig. A lie,” she answered, taking another pull of the hard liquor.

I considered her perspective and shook my head, looking out to the lights on the other side of the street. “I guess it gets tiring at points. Don’t really feel like doing it if the truth can be just as usable.”

She didn’t answer for quite a few seconds, and when I turned back to her, she was staring at me like she was waiting for another shoe to drop.

“How are you so patient? Seriously, is it a drug Tony made you before you had to deal with me on this mission? I don’t get it,” she laughs, but I can hear the genuine confusion in it as she sits forward and turns her body to me.

Honesty. I’m in a mood to be 100% honest.

“Want me to be real with you?” I asked, turning my own body.

“It’d be preferred,” she nods and rests both her arms on the armrest.

“I don’t know anything about your past, but I know most people have a reason for acting the way they do. It took years and a ton of patience before I felt like I was even close to who I used to be. I still struggle to come to terms with the fact I’ll never be who I was before the train incident,” I sigh and rest my head back against the chair as I look at her. “I guess I have understanding more than patience. I understand that you have a history of your own that I don’t know, and I can’t blame you for a lot of the things you do.”

“But you should. I’m an asshole to you,” she says, and the admission is kinda nice to hear, even if it is sad.

“Yeah, and I was hoping you’d be willing to share why that is,” I reply calmly.

She tenses some and sits back in her chair, pulling her legs under her to sit crisscrossed, the chair rocking with her movement and her dress overflowing past her knees.

“I guess now is as good a time as ever…” She looked at me sidelong before finding comfort in the view in front of her instead. “I didn’t really have a chance to develop a personality of my own because of my time in this lifestyle,” she motions around her, “started as soon as I could walk. So I had no identity to fall back on since I had to find it after I escaped.”

I had questions, but I found it best just to listen. Clearly, what she was talking about wasn’t something she brought up lightly, and being an ear to listen was what she needed right now.

“I was left behind by whichever no-good parent gave me up, and Adonis Hummel took me as his own and decided he’d try to recreate the famous assassin, The Winter Solider, from birth practically.”

The name drop came quickly and struck home. I didn’t know her whole story, but I had enough imagination and experience to believe where she was going.

“Wait, Hummel?” I started because the name sounded familiar, but…

“He was a low-level scientist who worked for Hydra when they were still using you under Pierce. He thought he had the brains and resources to create his own version of you. A version that would be more undetectable as a woman and a version he could tweak however he wanted,” she rolled her shoulders. “Lucky for him, I didn’t have to be brainwashed since I knew nothing besides the life of abuse, experimentation, and a shit ton of conditioning... " 

"To clarify, I say that for context, not sympathy,” she straightened, and I could see her shifting back to her unbothered disposition, but the truth was shining through the cracks. She may not have wanted sympathy, but something about the vulnerability seemed to lighten the load on her shoulders.

“As for why I may have built a wall around you, an unhealthy and senile wall, I felt as though…” She gulped as if the next part was harder for her to say than the abuse of her past. “I felt as though you had been my competition my whole life, and a part of me, a young and in-need-of-therapy part of me, thought it was best to keep you as far away as possible and hold onto that anger instead of work through it. It felt easier than facing the fear that I didn’t actually equate to you in any way. So that’s another reason why I felt everything with you was to prove a point.” She lets out a short breath after using all the air in her lungs in one swift swoop.

I-

It’s a lot to take in…

She doesn’t move her head back towards me after her confession, and I can’t seem to break my stare from her.

“This is where you say something like, ‘Well, it’s your lucky day. I’m actually an asshole either way, so we can go on hating each other for completely understandable reasons!’ or I don’t know? Anything but silence would be preferred, though…”

Her hand is gripping the arm rest unconsciously like an anchor keeping her on earth.

On instinct, I reach across and pull her hand into mine, keeping my stare heavy, enticing her to look at me.

She closes her eyes at first and takes another short breath before turning.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel unworthy of being on the team.” I feel like I personally am the reason for her suffering, even if I had no correlation with her before I joined the team. "You are more than an asset to the team and are your own kind of weapon. It's incomparable."

“Ugh,” she sniffles and rubs an eye with the heel of her free hand as if to disguise a possible tear as allergies. “This would be so much easier if you were a piece of shit misogynistic asshole, but you're part of the few good ones out there. Steve, Sam, and Clint included, not Tony,” she noted.

I smiled, thinking about how I’d make a team like that even if she had me believe otherwise for so long.

“What I’m trying to get at, B, is you’re not the one I should be blaming for my past. You’re just as much a victim as I am, but I took the easy way out of making it more manageable for me, and I only made it harder for us both in the end. And for that,” she turned and stared into my eyes fully, the hand she held squeezing my own. “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve an ounce of the kind of cruelness I tried to bury you in. You are the opposite of what they tried to make you, and you’re genuine in proving that to anyone who meets you. I've been envious of the strength you have, and I can say confidently that I deeply regret ever blaming you for that.”

I once again have to process yet another collection of words I’d never thought I hear. From her. Ever. A part of me believed this was a dream, but the part that Y/N had a grip on was practically pinching me into reality.

Without hesitating, I stood up, pulled her arm up with me, and yanked her into my body in a crushing hug.

She froze at first… The motion was quick and surprising, but slowly, she unhooked our hands, brought both of hers tightly around my waist, and laid into me. I rested my head on top of hers and pulled her shoulders in with my arms, wrapping both of my own tightly around her.

I wasn’t going to let go until she did, and by the looks of it… She wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

Marvel Tags:

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[luveline]

god i want nothing more than to help aaron hotchner bath and just take care of him after a hard case

i hope u don't mind i took this as a request! taking care of aaron when he gets back from a case ♡ 1.2k fem!reader

You're lying in bed with Jack asleep over your chest when the front door finally opens. You jump at the sudden sound, and quickly rub at Jack's small back when he starts to rouse, pressing a tiny apology kiss against his forehead. You'd been half-asleep yourself, waiting up for your clinger's father to come home. 

Aaron very likely thinks you're sleeping. You should be so late, and he doesn't rush upstairs. His routine echoes up the stairs, the sound of his shoes coming off, his safe opening. The clink of a crystal tumbler. 

You think about gently pushing Jack off of your chest but give up as soon as his arms tighten around you. He's a weight you wouldn't trade for anything, except maybe his dad's. Even then, it's a hard sell. 

Aaron doesn't attempt to hide his surprise when he opens the bedroom door and finds you with your eyes still open. 

You cover Jack's ear with a careful hand. 

"Hiya, handsome," you whisper hoarsely.

"Honey. Did he keep you up?"

You shake your head mildly. "Mm-mm. Couldn't sleep, I wanted to see you." 

He loosens his tie but doesn't quite pull it off, crossing the bedroom and bending at the waist. 

"You shouldn't have," he says near your face. 

You close your eyes in wait of a kiss. When he doesn't give you one, you pout. "Aaron," you murmur. 

He pushes your hair from your forehead and kisses you much quicker than you'd like. One against your pout, one to your forehead. He does the same to Jack, carding hair from his face to kiss the skin beside his eye. 

"We were trying to wait for you but I remembered the time difference."

"Well, I'm glad it's the weekend." 

Aaron moves to the closet in search of some clean clothes. He leaves them on the end of the bed, so you know a shower is afoot.

"Does that mean you're ours tomorrow?" you ask, trying to hide your hope and failing. 

He looks over his shoulder. His eyebrows rise. "Yeah," he says softly, "all yours. As soon as I shower. I smell like Dave’s cologne." 

"Is he still wearing Vétiver?" 

"Half a bottle." 

You burst into laughter, startled by his humour considering how tired and stressed he'd seemed. You're loud and Jack stirs again, this time enough to lift his head off of your sternum and blink. 

"Why are we laughing?" he asks, little voice all croaky and sweet. 

"Oh, baby, I'm so sorry. It's just your dad making me laugh," you explain, running a hand down the back of his head and the breadth of his shoulders. 

He blinks some more. "Daddy?" 

"Jackers," Aaron greets, "hey, hey buddy." Aaron scoops him up off of your chest. You mourn the loss of his warmth but celebrate your regained mobility, sitting up and stretching as the Hotchner boys get in their daily cuddle. 

"I have so many stories to tell you," Jack informs. 

"Yeah? Wanna tell me while I tuck you in?" 

"Yeah." 

"Okay. Give Y/N a kiss goodnight." 

You lift your chin where you're sitting on the side of the bed and Aaron lowers Jack enough for you to kiss each others' cheeks. 

"Thanks for being my pillow," Jack says as they cross the threshold. 

"Thanks for being my space heater, handsome," you say back. 

You watch them disappear into Jack's room down the hall. "Can we read something?" you hear him ask Aaron. 

"Maybe some of something, yeah." 

You stand up tall and stretch again, back clicking, tension unfurling from between your sore shoulders. You think, If my shoulders are hurting I can't imagine how Aaron feels. He wakes up, goes for a run, spends hours sleeping on a jet. If he isn't on the jet he's straight backed in an office chair. You wonder if he had to do much running on his last case, if he tackled somebody, if a gun was pointed at him at any point. 

But thinking about that stuff never helps. You won't lie to yourself and ignore how dangerous his job is, you're simply trying to be grateful for what you have now — Aaron home, safe and sound. 

And if his shoulders ache half as much as yours, he needs a good soak. 

You manoeuvre around stray toy cars and into the adjoining bathroom. You push the plug into the porcelain tub, turn the faucet, and hold your fingers under the stream to feel until it's hot but not scorching. You move to the cabinet under the sink and sniff at balsam and bath salts, wondering what ones Aaron will like best. Probably not anything with a strong smell. You decide on plain old lavender, sprinkling a generous amount into the water with a capful of Jack's bubble bath. Steam kisses your cheeks as you shake your hand in the water, bubbles growing in a thick hill. 

"Will you be long?" Aaron asks from behind you. 

You turn with a huge smile, then remember you look like an oily mess. "This is for you." 

"For me." 

"Mm-hm. I'm not that cruel. Do you really think I'd do that? You come home after three days away and a four hour flight and you think I'd take the first bath?" 

Aaron eases one leg between your thighs, then another. You wrap your arms around him to stop any accidental falling in, hands pressed lovingly to the small of his back. His shirt feels remarkably starched considering it's a day old. You rub your hands up and down, feeling the texture of it against your fingertips. 

"Has everything been okay while I've been gone?" he asks, guiding your face into his navel. 

You nuzzle him with your cheek. "Yes, sir. Everything has been amazing, 'cept for missing you." 

"Jack's been good?" 

"You know that he has, Hotchner." 

He groans. You've heard it all before — everybody calls him Hotch all day long (besides Rossi). It's nice to hear my own name. Unfortunately for him, messing with him is too tempting.

"Jack's an angel," you say, more than sincere, "he's perfect. You don't ever have to worry." 

"I know." He leans down to press his cheek against the top of your head. "What about you?" 

His voice is so quiet it's almost indiscernible over the rearing faucet. 

You lift your head and force him to stand up straight. "I'm really tired," you say honestly, rising to your feet. "So forgive me if I'm sleeping when you get out, okay? Don't rush." 

He dips forward until his nose is an inch from your own. "Nice try. You're getting in with me." 

"We won't fit." 

"Yes, we will." 

"It's too late… But," — you start to pull his tucked shirt from his pants — "I'll wash your hair." 

"Deal," he says immediately. 

You set about unbuttoning his shirt. He fights you every step of the way, his big hands on your arms and your shoulders and your face. You give up when his arms slide over your shoulders, crushed to his front in a tight hug. 

"Bathroom's gonna flood," you mumble. 

"I'll pay for the damage." 

[bagopucks]

T. Zegras - Family Reunion

✄————————————

Trevor Zegras x Reader

Requested✨

Word Count: 2.9k

Warning(s): none!

—————————————

It was the first time I was taking Trevor home to meet the entirety of my family. So many people in one place. Rambunctious, loud, intimidating people.

Trevor would fit right in.

I knew that, but he wouldn’t listen. No matter how many times I told him, he never believed he would be fine.

We had to fly to the city nearest to my hometown. After bidding goodbye to his lizard and leaving the poor thing with his roommate. He begged to bring Drago at first, but I insisted it wasn’t happening. My father was not a fan of animals in his home. Anything other than a dog would not pass. I knew my mother would wrinkle her nose at the sight of a lizard too.

There were certain family members I was worried about Trevor meeting. One side of my family tended to be a little more judgmental than the other side. One side was full of fun and insanity. The other side was.. well they were fun too, but sometimes new people could throw off the dynamic.

I worried Trevor would do just that, but I also told myself it was a simple Fourth of July party. Nothing to fret over. A few days we would be home, and then we’d go back to Anaheim.

I got him started on the hour drive from the airport to my childhood home, thankful that my parents wouldn’t be there to see him as soon as we got there.

We utilized the time alone. I let Trevor roam around the house, and eventually I led him up to my old bedroom. He was concerned by the sight of a twin sized bed, but I told him we’d make do with the space we had.

He asked about all of my tiny trinkets and decorations, getting to know a part of my life he was never fully immersed in. Then my parents came home and we spent the evening in the living room. Catching up, telling stories, and laughing the night away.

By the morning, Trevor was up well before me. Not early by any means, but we’d been up late, so sleeping in felt necessary.

He shook me awake around ten a.m., and we laid together for close to an hour before we slipped out of bed to get ready.

“Do you think this is overkill?” I stepped out of my closet to peek at Trevor. His blue polo was matched with a pair of white shorts. He didn’t have any red on. Nothing looked too overdone or extra. His hair looked a little poofy, but I’d blame that on the shower he took before bed, and all the moving he does when he sleeps.

“Trevor, you look fine.” I assured before I stepped back into the closet. I gave my own outfit one last look before I stepped out to slip on my shoes. I was met with the sight of a very unconvinced looking boyfriend, and I let out a sigh the second I noticed his tension.

He looked great, honestly. A piece of me wanted to stay home and celebrate the Fourth of July in another way with him. His skin was such a pretty golden color, and his cheeks were slightly pink from the beginnings of a sunburn he got back in Anaheim. I reached out to grab one of his forearms while my other hand traced the tattoo he had on the opposite arm. Nike, a beautiful statue and a meaningful symbol in his life.

“My family is going to love you. Just be yourself, yeah? Maybe don’t curse as much.. but other than that, be yourself.” I teased softly. Trevor was slow to nod before a smile made its way to his lips.

“I can’t believe I’m meeting your whole family.”

I couldn’t believe it either. I couldn’t believe it up until the moment we were pulling into my grandmother’s driveway, parking off to the side, and climbing out of the car. Then my body was buzzing with electricity. I could already hear everybody inside. We were early, so it was only immediate family there.

I walked Trevor through the garage and into the foyer. My heart was beating a mile per minute. I’m sure his was too. His hand squeezed my own as the conversation slowed. I kicked my shoes off just in time to see my baby cousin come flying out from the living room.

The little guy shouted my name in excitement before he looked back at his parents to see if they heard him.

Soon my whole family was rushing into the foyer to greet.

“Holy shit.” Trevor mumbled as he stepped up behind me, his body pressed into my back.

The hugs and endless, “how are you’s” eventually died down enough for me to introduce Trevor. The moment of truth.

“This was that plus one I was telling you guys about.”

“I’m Trevor. It’s nice to meet you guys.”

He was accepted into the family almost immediately. After he was introduced and got to know my family, he blended. He was regarded as just another visitor after more people began to arrive. I lost him after a while, only to hear him in the kitchen where my grandmother was asking him to help her carry things out to the fire pit.

Nothing meant more to me than knowing Trevor got along with my grandmother, who was usually high strung and easy to stress out.

As more people came around, the party moved outside. Kids ran about while family caught up. Everybody made their rounds meeting Trevor. He communicated well with people, that I knew, since the day we met. But he communicated even better with my family.

“He’s real sweet, you know that?”

I looked away from him to see my grandmother peering down at me with a proud smile.

“Works hard too.” She added.

“Yeah.. I love him a lot.”

“I can tell just by the way he looks at you, that he loves you too.” She pointed a finger at me. “I was so worried when you left for California. I don’t really know what I was worried about now. I should have known you’d be bringing somebody home.“

“Thanks.. that means a lot.”

When I looked back, Trevor was gone. I heard a squeal from behind me, and when I turned in my lawn chair, I caught sight of Trevor playing wiffle ball with the kids. His shoes and socks were gone, kicked off to the side with a bunch of other tiny pairs. I couldn’t help but giggle at how he played with them. Chirping and smack talking, chasing them down and laughing all the while. That awkward breathy giggle laugh that was so contagious it had me chuckling in my seat.

Trevor and I agreed we weren’t ready for kids, but when we were.. I knew he would be a great dad.

I set my drink down and stood up, walking across the yard. I kicked my own shoes off and slipped my socks away.

“Can I join? Or is the game strictly for kids?” I called, and caught the attention of all the little eyes. As well as the big pair in the midst of all the fun.

“You have to be on the opposite team.” Trevor responded, heaving for air.

“You bat!” The little girl at home plate called. “Trevor throws too fast.” I walked over as she slipped the bat into my hand and ran off to the side, giggling excitedly.

“Are you playing unfair?” I asked accusingly. One didn’t have to be athletic to play wiffle ball. Hand eye coordination was all it took. And I’d been playing this since I was as old as the toddler standing on second base with his older brother.

“Me? No!” Trevor and I both assumed our stances as he responded. “But I’m not taking it easy on you.”

“Same here, Zegras.”

He pitched. I swung. The ball went flying. We weren’t far from the house, and I felt accomplished the second I heard the plastic ball whistle through the air and hit the wood siding of the old home. Trevor took off after it, I thought it funny to prance around the bases. Until I spotted Trevor running full speed ahead at me while I was in between third and home plate. One rule in family wiffle-ball. A rule as old as time. No home runs. If it was possible to get tagged out, you were going to get chased down.

“Trevor, no!” I screamed as laughter immediately fell from my lips. I picked up the speed, as did he.

He reached for me just as my feet touched home plate, one of them getting caught beneath it and managing to fall forward.

Trevor grabbed ahold of me, but he went down too.

I heard my team shouting in victory, and the rest of my family laughing and shouting as well, but I was too busy laughing along with Trevor. Our legs covered in grass stains, as were our elbows. Trevor carefully touched the ball to my side.

“You’re out.” He spoke.

“I am not! I crossed home plate!” I gave him a shove, and soon I felt a pair of tiny knees digging into my back, and a child drape herself right over my side. Another kid joined, and I groaned as he climbed on top of me as well.

“Man pile!” I heard a little boy yell, and I gasped when he jumped on top of Trevor.

Soon there was a whole lot of us laying in the grass and laughing. Trevor tried to push a few kids off, but they only returned. We accepted our fates until parents came by to help us out, pulling their kids aside and giving us some space.

“I definitely scored,” I mumbled as I pulled away from Trevor.

“Did not.” He reached out to brush the grass from my knees, ever the gentleman despite our argument.

“Did so!” I countered, soon feeling the tickle of his fingers against my sides. I broke into a fit of laughter.

“I won, fair and square!” Trevor pulled an old dandelion from the ground around us, shaking it in my face. I grimaced and tried to wipe the fuzzy seeds away.

“Damnit Trevor, quit that.” I groaned softly with a smile.

No wonder he got along with the kids so well.

I finally slipped away from him and stood up, brushing myself off while Trevor made a show of the ‘pain’ in his joints while he stood up. I rolled my eyes at him.

I heard a few kids shouting about s’mores when one of the adults brought the marshmallows out.

“Are we making s’mores too?” When I looked back at Trevor, his eyes were wide with excitement.

“Obviously, T. Though I’m not sure you need any more sugar.” I turned around, hearing him huff and feeling his hand slip into mine as I guided him back toward the fire. Kids were already gathered around the table, and I giggled before I slipped away from Trevor to make my way over.

“You guys have to be careful with all these pointy sticks, okay?” I instructed as I grabbed one of the bags of marshmallows and opened them. “Everyone tell me how many they want.”

It was a hot mess trying to figure out which kid yelled which number, but soon Trevor was at my side, helping me with the little ones.

“Be careful, and don’t run!” I called to the last child as he left to find his mother. I glanced up at Trevor before grabbing a one of the metal skewers.

“We have to send a picture to Jamie. He’ll be so jealous.” I couldn’t help but chuckle at how excited Trevor looked. The way his eyebrows moved with his mouth, and his eyes squinted when he was excited.

“Give me a marshmallow, Zegras.” I chided. He pulled two from his half empty bag and slipped them onto the stick. “I said one.”

“You won’t make one for me?” He pouted.

“Ugh.. god Z, you’re so needy.” I whipped my body around in a sluggish manner, whining playfully over his own pout. Trevor chuckled at me before his arms wrapped around my body.

“I know, I’m the worst.” He mumbled with a giggle. “I’m gonna put the rest of our stuff on a plate, then I’ll come find you.”

“Grab peanut butter cups!”

When he joined the rest of my family around the fire, we found ourselves seated in the grass. Trevor sat next to me while I roasted our marshmallows, the plate of Graham crackers and chocolate in his lap.

The kids quickly began to gather around us, plopping down left and right, mostly around Trevor, but a few with me as well.

“Trevor look what I have!” A kid held out her messy marshmallow. Her face was covered in evidence of the other three she ate before.

“I’m about to have one too.” Trevor giggled. “I’ll tell you guys how it tastes.”

“Oh auntie makes them the best!” Another little boy called. He practically lunged into Trevor’s lap, settling himself in the space where his legs were folded criss-crossed. I giggled at the surprise on Trevor‘s face.

When I looked back at the marshmallows, I realized they were beginning to melt off the skewer.

“Trev! Crackers!”

The kid seated in Trevor’s lap leaned back against his chest while Trevor helped me make the s’mores. I leaned the skewer up against the fire ring after, and we clinked our snacks before I allowed Trevor to take the first bite.

The look of pure bliss on his face was enough to boost my ego for a lifetime.

“Wow.” He spoke through a full mouth.

“That’s why I suggest the peanut butter cups instead of normal chocolate.” I quipped before I took a bite out of my own s’more.

“I want a bite!” The boy reached for Trevor’s snack, and I giggled when my boyfriend pulled it out of the kid’s reach.

“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll make you one.” I stretched an arm out to ruffle his hair. “Kelsey, can you go grab me another marshmallow?” I asked a little girl to my left. She smiled and quickly got up to go find the bag. I leaned into Trevor’s side while I waited.

The little boy in his lap aimlessly played with Trevor’s shoe strings, before looking up at the hockey player with a blank stare. Trevor was busy finishing the last bite of his s’more before he made eye contact with the kid.

“Hunter?” The little boy’s head perked up at the sound of his mother’s voice.

“Gotta go.” He mumbled as he climbed out of Trevor’s lap, with a bit of assistance.

“Bye, Buddy.” Trevor offered him a fist bump before the kid ran off to find his mother.

I stared my lover down with an incredulous smirk. When Trevor looked back at me, his brow rose quickly.

“What?”

“Nothing. I just love how good you are with kids. And my family.”

“Really?” He looked surprised. “God I was afraid they’d hate me.”

I laughed softly, wrapping an arm around his back. “They could never hate you. You’re the first guy I’ve dated who’s actually treated me nice.”

“Oh don’t tell me that.. that makes me sad.” One of his hands came down to rest on my thigh. I brought my free hand to rest on top of his.

“You’d have to kill me or burn my apartment down before they hated you.” I joked, earning a small laugh from him.

“I don’t think I’ll end up doing either of those things.”

“Eh who knows? You might manage to cause a small kitchen fire one day.”

“Hey!” He gently pushed me, and I giggled at his offense.

Our conversation settled into silence before I looked back up at him.

“How many kids do you want?”

“Huh?”

“Kids.. Trev. Do you want kids?”

I watched him contemplate my question.

“A few? Maybe like.. three? I grew up with two siblings. I feel like three kids balances out a house well. Ya know?”

I didn’t quite understand his logic, but if Trevor wanted three kids, I figured I could go along with that.

“What about two and a dog?” I suggested playfully.

“Oh, a dog like Louie?”

“Yeah, we can get a dog like Louie. I was thinking maybe something a little more protective though. A Great Dane?”

“What if it eats our kids?” Trevor’s question caused a quiet fit of laughter to fall from my lips.

“They’re very gentle dogs. Just territorial with strangers and intruders.” I explained.

“Well that’s what we have Jamie for.” Now we were both laughing.

“I’m not having three kids and Jamie.”

Trevor playfully gasped. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

“He’ll get over it.” I gently squeezed his hand.

“He’s gotta be the uncle to our kids. He’d better get over it.”

“What about Griffin?”

“Eh. Jamie’s closer.” I rolled my eyes and giggled softly, leaning back into Trevor’s side.

“I’m gonna tell Griffin you said that.” I mocked quietly.

“He’ll get over it.” He responded in time.

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

[eqt-95]

a new kind of romance, pt 6

part 5 | could we? wood we? - - - - -

💤 | cuddles

Kara Zor El, eater of foods, saver of worlds, and, above all else, lover of cuddles, was in a predicament. 

More specifically her predicament was around the whole ‘lover of cuddles’ thing which, normally, wasn’t a predicament. In fact, normally it was second nature. Because of course she was going to sweep Alex into a giant hug any chance she could. And obviously she was going to drag Nia, kicking and screaming, onto a shared loveseat at game night. And most definitely, her internal clock was going to wake an hour early every time Lena slept over to sneak in some extra pre-work cuddles.

Which would have been so normal.

But then Kara discovered The Line in Lena’s closet. And then in the woods there was The Moment.

This was why Kara now lay awake, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she and Lena had plastered to her ceiling three weeks ago mulling. 

And not the good kind that comes around the holidays and brings festive cheer and warmth and tidings of comfort. 

No. There was absolutely no comfort and definitely no festive cheer. This was the kind of mulling that led to existential crises and fretting and second guessing and exactly four inches of space between herself and a soft, slumbering best friend. A demilitarized zone. A limbo. A Line.

And such a predicament it was because, up until recently, it hadn’t crossed Kara’s mind that these late nights turned sleepovers turned early morning cuddles might have toed a line. A line that seemed to loom larger and bigger and greater and cloudier with each passing day because the looming felt heavier and weightier and - oh gosh Lena just looked so peaceful when she slept.

Kara blinked away from her best friend’s curled form and back to the constellations above, settling on the Coma Berenices Lena insisted on making room for just down from Ursa Major. She replayed the Queen’s story in her head, trying to ignore the fact that, normally, she’d already be curled against Lena’s back with a hand wrapped around her waist and nose pressed to her exposed neck. And normally that would have been met with a small sigh and a hand curled around said arm wrapped around said waist and then maybe - maybe - once the soft, steady breathing meant Lena was asleep, then maybe she’d have normally pressed her lips to her neck as a friendly - platonic - goodnight kiss. 

But tonight played out differently than that.

It began like most: Lena came over with a bottle of wine, a bag of take-out, and the soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her.

It continued as usual: they lingered in the kitchen while the bottle was uncorked, the containers were portioned onto plates, and that same soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her lingered behind stories of their days.

It even managed to stay normal through the first thirty minutes of the docuseries: a glass of red was topped-up, the empty plates were stacked on the coffee table, and the soft kind of smile Kara pretended was only ever meant for her was paired with a contented sigh as tucked legs were untucked and extended across Kara’s lap.

And Kara kept it cool as a cucumber. She didn’t overthink the shared blanket wrapped around them or the slip of her hands beneath the soft weave to settle on Lena’s legs or the muscle memory that sent those same hands lightly massaging tight calves or how those same hands wandered and settled where socks and sweats didn’t quite meet or how they danced across the exposed patch of skin or how a yelp of realization flew out of her mouth when she realized what her treacherous hands were doing.

Admittedly, that last bit was not a cool cucumber sort of thing to do. It was more of a ‘having kittens’ moment.

And that’s when the night derailed.

“What’s wrong?” Lena asked a half-standing Kara tripping over the blanket and spilling confused noises from her mouth. 

“I-I… I gotta-”

“Go.”

Surprisingly, it only took a moment for Kara’s adrenaline-fueled brain to connect the dots: she glanced at Lena who was glancing out toward the city, face serious and full of intent.

“This can wait; Supergirl can’t,” Lena continued, reaching to pause the show.

And yea, maybe Kara should found her big girl pants and told Lena there wasn’t an emergency and that her super hearing hadn’t picked up some tragedy that needed her attention and that actually it was because the pads of her unreliable fingers were toeing the friendship line and the hilarity of them being fingers and not toes was not lost on Kara but this was not the moment or time for laughing. This was a time for panicking. 

So Kara didn’t put on her big girl pants. Instead, she got rid of her pants and flaunted her Supergirl outfit and flew out into the night without so much as a cat to untree.

She kept to the skies until well past the soft murmur of Lena’s heartbeat confirmed a deep slumber before, like the coward she was, Kara crept back into her apartment and settled - floated? hovered - just above the mattress.

And mulled.

She hated lying to Lena. Of all the people in her whole multi-planetary life, Lena’s trust mattered to her the most, yet it was hard to tell the truth about something Kara didn’t even fully understand. Was there something to understand?

Her brow crinkled. It was a crinkle that Alex would poke at and Nia would prod at but one Lena would wipe away with a soft brush. Kara wasn’t quite so gentle. She rubbed her nose a bit too aggressively, and maybe that aggression rattled the air a bit too much because the calm of Lena’s breathing broke and her heart stuttered and curled form unrolled and a pair of sleepy eyes landed on Kara’s still very crinkly face.

“Hey,” and ooph did Lena’s sleep voice hit in ways Kara couldn’t articulate. She didn’t try because a hand had already climbed its way to Kara’s forearm and squeezed. “Everything ok?”

“Yea.”

“You sure? Because… Kara are you floating?”

“I, uh… didn’t want to wake you?”

A soft, sleepy chuckle crawled across the mattress and dragged Kara onto the mattress. “My hero.”

The words tickled Kara’s ears. And other things.

“Everyone safe?” Lena continued, pulling the duvet to cover both of them before finding a home nestled into Kara’s side.

“Mhm,” Kara managed, throat tight, pulse racing, and body temperature sweltering past the surface temperature of the sun.

“Good,” Lena hummed and sighed and tucked closer with a comforting arm slipping onto Kara’s waist.

It took seconds for Lena’s breathing to slow and fall back into a rhythmic slumber. Meanwhile, Kara hardly breathed at all, fighting her natural instinct to squeeze an arm around Lena and in lieu of honoring the line.

The line that had already been crossed. And honestly? Crossing the line felt nice. It felt good. It felt perfect.

So, yea. Kara Zor El, eater of foods, saver of worlds, and, above all else, lover of cuddles, was in a predicament. Because her best friend in the whole world was curled around her and maybe - maybe - Kara wanted to keep crossing the line. Because maybe - maybe - Kara wanted something more.

- - - - - -

part 7 | mistletoe magic

[lains-reality]

nondualism and "manifestation"

okay so there was an anon question abt manifesting. i'll answer with this post. i barely proof read this so tell me if theres an error. if you need more (you don't) then there are relevent links at the end.

anon: Ima here with a question :) Suppose I'm manifesting my desired clothes , so I just be aware/know that I already have them in my closet ? And Whenever I think that nope it's not true they aren't there …I JUST USE MY IMAGINATION, SEE A PICTURE OF THOSE CLOTHES AND AGAIN BECOME AWARE OF THE FACT THAT I HAVE THEM ? Basically when I found myself thinking about them I just shift my awareness to that I have them ! is this all I have to do ? And what if I feel euphoric 🤧 knowing that I already those clothes in my closet ? Is it oky ig it should be bc feeling has nothing to do with it !? RIGHT ?

I'll ask these questions first: do you want the desire or to be free? could you let go of trying to get happiness from this item and sit in the happiness you are?

you don't use your imagination. you ARE imagination. you're living in your imagination.

you don't have to identify with those thoughts telling you, you don't have the clothes

you've asked this question to another blogger, so you're spamming, searching for an answer? not gonna get you anywhere .. also have u even read my posts?

are you the person that sent this? nondualism IS NOT A METHOD

first of all, i want to you to remove every information, believing that it's real, your brain, spiraling, wavering, blockages, the universe giving you what you want, someone outside of you, the 3d, the 4d, behind the scenes, the 3d mirroring you, saturating your brain, etc ... [choroukgod]

there's no manifesting.

you are not the manifestor. you are not the doer. i mean it as the character, anon, doesn't do anything. Self does. Self can also be called awareness or consciousness. for Self, all exists. its like a comb, there's the handle and then all the teeth. Self is the handle, you anon, are one of the teeth. you are Self imagining being a human with desires.

i'll give you a snippet of a draft post i made:

"they wanted to be the doer. the character doesn't do. it's not You, it's just a habit. when you know you are Self, then everything is harmonious and effortless. the Self does, it is under all the imaginary character - if the character isn't real, then it doesn't do, the Self does."

since you are Self, this means you are beyond time and space, body and mind. they're not real. only the character/mind thinks its real, it'll chat forever about how you need to do this and that.

this is because the mind only knows what it knows. it cannot know anything more than what it knows right now. it's a collection of thoughts, feelings and memories that you've collected and turned into a habit. it's a habit to go back to the memories as a reference point. its a habit to identify with thoughts that come into your awareness. when you stop the habit and don't identify as the character, it goes away.

abt the body: well when you dream, you might still think. you feel the body and all, all the sensations. it feels real enough. then you wake up. you didn't take the physical body into the dream did you? you just felt the sensation of having one. doesn't this mean it's a bunch of sensations, just like a thought in the mind is?

also the mind can affect the body (e.g. nervous feeling -> sweaty palms). the thought or feeling rising into awareness, the mind takes note and ownership "i'm nervous, my hands are sweaty", affecting the body. if the unreal mind can affect something, then is that thing also not unreal?

(try to observe the thoughts or feelings next time without attaching a story to it or resisting it. see whether it goes away quicker. being able to accept the present moment is essential for this)

extra note - you as Self is also imagining the concepts of manifesting and shifting (and all the concepts related e.g. states, 3d, persisting etc).

thinking they the reason why you can get what you want IS FALSE. THOSE ARE YOUR OWN CREATIONS, ARE YOU GOING TO CREATE SOMETHING OUT OF YOUR OWN CREATIONS? [choroukgod]

What is there to be saved from except illusions? And what are all illusions except false ideas about myself? My holiness undoes them all by asserting the truth about me. - acim workbook

so, you know now the reality of who you are and not to identify with the imaginary, lets talk about the desire.

desires are born out of not knowing who you are. if you think you're the body-mind then several hundred concepts are needed to be taken into account to just live.

another snippet

"all these memories, feelings, thoughts and subsequent stories create desires and fears. the mind will try and protect itself and plan for stuff, but it can't. because it's so limited in knowledge & power."

the character wants the desire because of the story it has, the feeling. usually of happiness, love, joy. what you don't know is that that's your standard way of being. so you search everywhere.

the characters main motivation is to find the truth and happiness, underneath the searching is the belief 'i am not okay' or 'i am not enough', which leads to several needs & fears but importantly, need of control, especially of the future. it refuses to sit in the present moment.

desire is completely fine actually, its the attachments to it that make it hurtful. when you don't understand that desire is just another passing sensation, you, as the character, think you NEED it and will not stop until you get it, or you suffer.

you think that theres a world to control. you think that its outside of you. you think that there is a physical world. you're missing the most important info of all: all is Self. all is consciousness. all is awareness. whatever you wanna say. all is you, theres nothing to manipulate now. theres nothing to force now. its all unreal. you as Self, are imagining to be a human with desires that now has to change stuff that they think is real! how exhusting! you don't even need to change yourSelf, Self is perfect!

there's nothing to do.

Self is all. Self is whole. Self is perfect. Self is who you actually are.

there's no transition to Self. you already are that. it's letting go of all the concepts of limitations that is a transition. - i don't remember who said this, maybe lester levenson?

manifesting is not the point. the point is to be free! it's to recognise your true self! not just to feel better or okay .. to BE freedom, to BE peace, love etc. do you want to keep going into imagination to fufilll yourself all the time? you don't have to if you understand that you are fulfillment, you are whole already.

the "world" changing can't sway you because you are complete as you are, when you manifest with the intention to fulfil the desire so you 'physically' get it - you're only gonna feel full when you get the thing .. and then it goes. things cannot fulfil you. what would happen if the clothes get shredded by a dog? your happiness goes. why? why would you place your happiness on a thing that is FINITE?

being in the present moment is best. its literally the only way you live. you can't see into the past or future, there is only now.

The best place to grow is right where you are. The best time is now.

when you're worrying abt the future, you're thinking more. when you're worrying abt the past, more thoughts. in the present moment, you slow down and see what is in front of you now.

when you get caught up in the mind, you can stop yourself halfway (or even after it happens) and go "oh the mind was doing ...", then you start to pick up how much your mind wanders back or forwards. you start to pick up how limiting the thoughts are when you remind yourself that you are not the body or mind. with the understanding that the mind is imaginary -> no need to listen or identify with what's happening. it just is. feelings or emotions that come up into awareness cannot do anything. you are never disconnected from Self.

'oh i want to go [x] but i have to buy a plane ticket and get this and that...' -> if you are not the body-mind you don't have to worry about physically travelling anywhere, you are beyond time and space naturally. you don't have to prepare anything either, the mind wants to plan, but Self is harmonious and all, so whatever you 'need' will come to you. lester actually did this once.

"With full confidence that “everything is A-okay and taken care of,” I packed a bag and walked out of the house."

when you catch yourself in the moment: release and disidentify. you can just disidentify with it immediatly if you want to.

to release a belief or emotion (probs also desires) (sedona method):

welcome the feeling.  it doesn’t have to be strong. it is what it is. ask yourself: Could I let it go? Would I let it go? When? then, remembering that you are not the body-mind, answer. deep breath in and out, let relief come if you feel it. read the link for more.

when you ask yourself, “Could I let this feeling go?”,  remind yourself that you can let any emotion go, like dropping an object. when you ask yourself, “Would you let the feeling go?”, consider whether you would you rather hold on to pain, stress, and suffering, or, would you rather be free? when you ask yourself, “When?”, what you’re doing is creating an invitation to do it now

it can take some courage depending on the emotion, the character'll want to run away. but sit in the present moment and observe the feelings. ignoring and suppresing is not healthy. the focus is to keep releasing the feeling when it comes up. you can also coax the feelings up yourself.

to disidentify: well, just don't identify with it. just go "oh that's a thought". maybe remember your Self. maybe say 'on this path i constantly give up trouble' and move on. a simple knowing that that is not You, is enough.

surrender. i used to be scared of surrender bcs i thought it'd mean i have to let go of control and i'd get nothing! or just the same thing or worse! i was scared, i as the character was in full force. then some days past and i calm down (and lowkey give up), then i get some experience where it feels like i'm saying 'yes you ARE your true Self, its natural!!' to myself. something happens w/ 0 effort and i'm never suprised tbh (i used to be), it only grows my faith in mySelf. i promise you when you go 'f it idk whats gonna happen, it'll be fine' it'll be okay. but first you need to understand who you are. you trust your Self and just release the stories that tell you you aren't, that you are stuck, that you haven't got it, that you aren't fulfilled etc.

let me rephrase that bcs ppl saying "just believe!" used to piss me off: surrender it all. just stop. on this path you constantly give up trouble. you give up entertaining thoughts that make you feel bad. stop getting annoyed at yourself. stop beating yourself up. stop trying. just let yourself relax. if you want to do something, do it so you can feel better rather than to fix, manipulate, control etc.

all this arguing takes effort. it takes energy to not surrender. its hard to be something you are not. all the effort is being put into being an ego or to resist being it. you're squashing god into a small box and going 'why won't i fit?!' - lester levenson (modified)

Self is perfection, you are not surrendering to get worse, you are surrendering to perfection. Absolute Perfection. your mind only knows like 20 years (less or more!) of experience, in only one way of being. to your Self, there is all.

if theres anything to "do" its recognising stories of limitation and releasing/disidentifying as them.

(although surrendering is put last here. it is actually the first step. it might even be the only step)

self inquiry pointers (do not skip)

could i let go of wanting to get happiness from [insert item] and allow myself to rest as the happiness i am? can i turn [desire] into a desire for freedom? would i rather have the desire or would i rather be free? am i longing for the desire or to get out of pain? can i let go of wanting to change this and let it be as it is? could i let go of [belief]? would i rather believe in [the belief] or know the truth? would i rather believe in [the belief] or be the truth? am i arguing for my limitations?

more

letting go of ego | haven't read yet, but the skim looked good.

detachment | edwardart

what is the main difference between the now and old? | nisargadatta

go all the way, not just tolerate and endure | lester levenson

the true you | 4dbarbie

self surrender | edwardart

things come to die | heavenlythea (use of the word 3d, but still great post)

manifesting is struggling, life is effortless | 4dbarbie

how did i get something random? | 4dbarbie

attachments | 4dbarbie

some pics to read

after thoughts

i talk abt a method after my you don't need a method post lol, but that method is actually completely for the mind, says it upront and isn't just used for manifesting. in the end you'll stop using this too

could this be a guide to recognising your greatness? maybe?

let go of the insane amounts of responsibility, pressure, and personal attachment you've put on yourself.

[just-jordie-things]

perhaps... #17 with megumi? 😳

threw in another bc someone requested them both and honestly they're perfect together <3

17: Needing To Kiss To Hide From The Bad Guys 38: Awkward Teenage Crush Kiss ___

there had been many times where megumi found himself wondering what it was like to kiss you.

were your lips as soft as they looked? did they taste like the strawberry chapstick you always picked up at the convenience store? do you lean completely into someone when you kiss them? would your hands hold onto him? would they touch his hair? if he were to kiss you, would he find a blush on your cheeks after?

yeah, he'd thought about it more than he should have, seeing as you were his friend, and nothing more.

but somehow he found himself in this situation.

the closet you find yourselves trapped in is a very small space, and he briefly wonders what the hell is supposed to be stored in here, and thinks you're lucky there's only a few coats on the rack because there's no way you could both hide in this space if there was anything more substantial in size.

it wasn't until you were closing the door behind you, bringing you chest to chest with him in the confined space that megumi is made properly aware of the situation.

"we'll die if they catch us, right?"

your words are panicked, but your voice is smoothly calm as you whisper to him.

being sent on a little espionage mission to the zen'in estate had seemed like an honor at first. gojo satoru trusted you two more than anyone else to try and sniff out the mole that had been consorting with curse users- the same curse users who's launched an attack at jujutsu tech during the exchange event.

now, you're cursing your teacher for sending you on this death mission.

you and megumi had arrived under the guise of meeting his cousin, mai. something about feigning interest in transferring, and then something about taking a walk around the gardens.

well you certainly hadn't found yourself in the gardens when you both ransacked every room you could for any kind of clue about this mole. you had been certain one of the staff had seen you in an office you certainly weren't permitted to be in, and long story short this closet was the first place you could find to hide you both.

and you hadn't even found a scrap of evidence that the zen'in clan had any ties to a mole or the curse users. they seemed just as in the dark as you were.

"we're not going to die" megumi mumbled back, but it was hard to speak with the lump in his throat.

you were so close he could smell your perfume, and he swore it was some sort of poisoned concoction, because every time he'd catch a whiff his mind went foggy along with all of his senses. including common sense. he once almost toppled into a koi pond after walking too close to you and breathing in that heavenly mix of roses and vanilla.

"we will if we don't have some kind of story," you whisper back, your worried eyes meeting his. "and quick. we'll have to think of some way to explain ourselves. we can't hide in here forever"

because that would just be.... awful... megumi's eyes are flying around the small space, desperate to look anywhere but at how close you are to him.

"we got lost" he suggests.

you roll your eyes.

"we were outside," you hiss. "do better"

but he can't. he's going to blow this whole silly operative because he can't focus. he's lucky he's even breathing.

speaking of breathing, yours noticeably quickens suddenly, your head turning to watch the crack of light under the door.

"footsteps," you mumble, before turning back to look at him with wild eyes.

megumi doesn't think he's seen you look afraid before, and it makes him panic, as well.

"they'll find us fast," you're whispering so quietly that he's reading your lips more than listening to you, and his focus is drifting out once again. "we have to-"

before you can finish speaking, another thought comes to mind, and to his surprise you're raising your hands and grabbing the few coats around you, sliding them along the rack until they're covering you. megumi's brow furrows at your poor attempt at concealing yourself.

"(y/n) that's never going to-"

"kiss me"

your eyes are wide as megumi's flicker between them in shock. at first he was certain he'd heard you wrong, but seeing the serious look on your face, he assumes you've just lost it.

when he doesn't respond right away, your hands reach up to the collar of his jacket, gripping onto it in fists, but you don't move an inch closer to him.

the footsteps are growing closer, and you can faintly hear voices. concerned voices. investigating voices.

"we'll act like we snuck off to find somewhere private," your voice grows shaky as the reality of your half assed plan plays out in your mind. "so just- just kiss me"

megumi blinks, his eyes as wide as yours with uncertainty. he glances down to your lips curiously, and he thinks about all the times he'd fantasized kissing them before.

sure, you could be the one to seal the deal and kiss him yourself, but admittedly you were too shy. even in the face of being caught and severely reprimanded for what you've done, even when presented a pretty decent excuse to kiss the boy you'd been crushing on for months, you're too anxious to bring yourself to move.

"they have no business traipsing around this home as if it were their own!" a voice booms from the hallway, loud and clear.

it's now or never.

just as your brows pinch together and you're certain you're going to get caught with no excuse, megumi surprises you.

his hands are on your waist, pulling you closer against him, and his lips are on yours before you can take in a breath of anticipation.

his lips are soft as he kisses you tenderly at first, as though testing the waters. but then his grip on your waist tightens in the slightest and his nose is prodding against yours as he quickly deepens the kiss.

he's putting his all into it. he supposes if this is his only chance to kiss you, he may as well kiss you good.

and good it is, you almost forget what you're doing until there's a jostle of the doorknob behind you.

you let out a panicked gasp, but megumi silences it with his mouth, one of his hands raising to the nape of your neck, keeping you firmly in place. you can tell he's trying to tell you to relax, and go with it.

this was your last ditch effort of a plan after all.

when the door finally opens the light that pours in has you both squinting when you pull away from one another. there's a brief second where you look at each other, both trying to take in each other's reaction before you're inevitably shamed by the zen'in clan.

and shamed you are. you're invited to never return, and promptly escorted off the property. it's embarrassing, especially when you hear mai cackling as you make haste in walking down the street. you don't even bother calling for a manager to pick you up. figuring out another way back to campus would give you the time to clear your heads, and hopefully move on from the embarrassment of the entire ordeal.

"well that was... regrettable" you shake your head and let out a huff. megumi looks over at you as you shove your hands deep into your pockets.

"it was?" he asks dejectedly, feeling another layer of embarrassment being added to his shoulders.

you stop walking as you turn to him with wide eyes, and you're shaking your head again, but this time with fervor.

"not the kiss!" the words fall out of your mouth before you can find the right way to say them. "the kiss was fine- good! it was great, the kiss was great. perfect even, actually, you're- you're good. you're good at kissing. you're a good kisser"

you're rambling so fast megumi nearly misses the way your cheeks bloom with a rosy blush, but luckily he's able to enjoy every second of your awkward display. his embarrassment is effectively washed away, and he finds himself smiling with pride.

"you're a good kisser too. great. perfect even"

in the moment he earns himself a smack to the arm for his teasing, but later he earns answers to his many questions about kissing you. you're eager to have the answers to his questions, of course.

___

a/n: ik the plot kinda doesn't make sense but i wanted it to be as different from the gojo drabble with this prompt as i could so i hope it was still good.

xoxo ~ jordie

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 3720

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

4. Cake Doughnuts (shitty non-doughnuts)

This is not the way Mary expected her life to go. Divorced at 29, probably unemployed, and now declared mentally incompetent and legally attached to some stranger? Ew.

At least when the cops had dragged her into the ER, she’d been drunk still. But she’s sobered up a lot since then, and ever more so during the drive from the hospital to back to Brooklyn. It’s the most awkward car ride of her life. Steve’s the one who drives. Mary doesn’t know why that surprises her, but it does. And he’s the one who leads the way into their building and up the stairs. It’s an older building with character but no elevator, so they make the three story climb on foot. Another resounding Ew.

Mary walks silently around Bucky’s (and Steve’s—because of course he’s gay and married) apartment, feeling shy and hesitant and all the things she just really doesn’t want to be feeling right now. She stops when she gets to the second bedroom, stares at its pristinely tucked-in sheets and neutral tableau.

“You can bring over any stuff you need from your place,” Steve is saying gently from behind her, where he and Bucky are lingering in the hallway. “It’ll be your room. We won’t bother you in there.”

She whips around. “How long do I have to stay here?” Better to figure it out now. Make a plan. She glares at Bucky, since he’s the one in charge of this disaster. “I’m not staying here forever.” Steve looks even sadder at her words than Bucky does, kind of like a kicked puppy. It’s disconcerting, so Mary keeps her attention on Bucky instead, forcing herself to make eye contact. “Well?”

“Until I feel like it’s safe and healthy for you to be on your own,” he says, not a hint of sympathy in his tone. That’s disappointing, and it pisses Mary the hell off.

“Screw you,” she says, not particularly loudly, but definitely full of all the contempt she feels for this guy. “You think you can just—”

He’s got her pushed up against the wall faster than she can track with her eyes. One second she’s standing feet away from him, and the next she just … isn’t. He’s in her space and against her body, one hand at the base of her throat and a thigh pressing forward, holding her to the wall. It’s terrifying and shocking and …

“Oh I know ‘I can just’,” he says darkly.

… She’d rather eat glass than tell him what else it is. “Let go of me,” she grits out.

Disappointingly, he does. Steve is just standing there like a big idiot, blinking wide eyes at the scene. Bucky takes a full step back from her and says, “Don’t curse at me, Mary. It’s disrespectful.”

She wants to ask him exactly what he’s done to earn any respect from her. She grinds the words into her teeth instead while Bucky watches her knowingly. She hates that look almost as much as she hates the way he says her name, as if he’s known her for years rather than a millisecond.

“House rules,” he says calmly. “The practicalities of what’s going to happen. We should discuss that, don’t you think?”

Steve places a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, comes up beside him and wraps an arm around his waist in a way that reminds Mary that the two are a couple. “Hey,” he says softly, speaking in Bucky’s ear. “Why don’t we let her get some rest before you go asserting your dominance, huh?” Mary wrinkles her nose at the word, and Steve regards her kindly. “You’ve gotta be tired,” he says. “You want to sleep?”

Bucky looks like he’ll protest, so Mary nods quickly. “Yeah. Yeah I’m tired.”

She watches as Steve squeezes his husband’s shoulder. “Come on, Babe. Let’s leave her to get some rest. She’s been up all night.”

Suddenly, Mary realizes that she has been up all night, and it’s almost comical, how fast the exhaustion hits her. Her throat starts to ache with a yawn that she fights not to let out in front of them. “Yeah,” she says again, this time thinking less about Bucky and what he wants or doesn’t want, and more about the bed that Steve said was reserved for her. She remembers that she feels like absolute shit, and probably looks it, too. “M’gonna sleep,” she says, turning away from both of them and heading for the bed.

The door ‘snicks’ shut softly behind her, and she assumes it was Steve who closed it. The two men's muffled voices fade off down the hallway, and even though it’s probably naïve to trust them so easily, Mary believes what Steve said about them not bothering her in this room.

She collapses on the bed that is exactly as soft as it looks. The sheets are tucked with military precision and smell like no one’s ever used them before. Mary grinds her face into the cool pillows and briefly wonders if Steve and Bucky have never had any company over to use this bed, before falling into one of the deadest sleeps of her life.

She wakes up feeling much, much better. Steve and Bucky’s guest bedroom has an en-suite, so she goes in and does her best to freshen up with the toiletries she finds stocked there.

There are three Advil Liqui-gel capsules sitting on the bedside table when she comes out. Mary regards them sharply and glances back to the door, but it’s still closed, no sign of life heard from outside in the hallway. Either the pills were there earlier and she just didn’t notice them, or else Steve is a lot stealthier than he looks. Twisting her lips, she scoops the pills up and tosses them back to fend off the headache she can already feel brewing behind her temples. 

A quick search of the room’s dresser drawers yields nothing, and she’s forced to face the fact that she’s going to have to do this confrontation dressed in only her huge tee shirt from the night before. No matter, she thinks, squaring her shoulders and reaching for the doorknob. She’s got a new strategy in mind.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she ventures out to find Bucky and Steve sitting in the living room.

Steve reaches for the remote to mute the tv, and Bucky sits back with a doughnut that he’s just plucked from a box on the coffee table. He bites into it, looking only vaguely interested "Want one?"

She spares a glance at the box. "Are they yeasted?"

"What's that mean?" Steve asks.

Another glance reveals that they're not, and Mary turns her nose up at them. "It means you're eating shitty, overbaked cake, not a doughnut," she says snottily.

Steve just blinks and looks back at the box with a little frown. Bucky takes another huge bite of his doughnut and chews it, maintaining eye contact with her and speaking around his mouthful, "Weren't you sorry for something?"

Mary purses her lips and starts over with her contrition act. “Yes. Look, I know you guys are just trying to help me. And I know I probably seem like such a hot mess to you right now.”

“Cause you are,” Bucky drawls.

Mary quells the urge to go over there and slap the doughnut straight out of his hands. That won’t help her with this new strategy she’s decided on. ‘Honey versus vinegar’, and all that. “Yeah,” she says instead. “So I’ll admit, my life hasn’t been going very well lately. And I really did need some help.” She forces herself to give Bucky a friendly smile. “So I’m glad you were willing to step in and help me. Thank you.” Bucky is looking at her way, way too unimpressed, and Mary squirms in place, thinking that he should be looking happier at what she’s just said. “Well?” she says.

He chews another bite of doughnut for a solid five seconds, swallows, then says, “How much did it hurt you to spit that out?”

She scowls. “I was trying to be nice.”

“Mm hm.” He pats the couch beside himself in a clear invitation. “Come sit down. Have a doughnut.”

She’s obeying before she even thinks about it, though at least she has the sense to take a seat on Steve’s side of the L-shaped sectional, and not Bucky’s. “I’m not hungry,” she says, just as her stomach gives a small growl.

“Well clearly that’s a lie,” Steve chuckles. 

Mary glances over at him, peeved, but decidedly less so than she is at Bucky. Steve just seems less … threatening, maybe. Whatever it is, Mary pushes it from her mind.

“Look, I’ll stick around for a few hours or something if you really want to make sure I’m okay,” she says, attention back on Bucky, because she can already tell that he’s the one she’s got to convince. “But then I have to get back to my apartment.” She sees Bucky’s expression shutter at this and quickly adds, “I understand that you’re responsible for me, temporarily, technically. And I appreciate what you’ve done. I don’t want to cause you guys any more trouble than I already have. I’m going to take steps to take better care of myself now. And we can … we can keep in touch if you want. Just so you don’t ... you know … worry.” By the end of her speech she’s lost confidence, as she can see from Bucky’s expression that this is not being received well.

"Is that all?" he asks, eyebrow arched.

“Bucky,” she complains, floundering. “Come on. This isn’t … I mean you can’t just, adopt me, or whatever. I’m not some stray dog. You don’t even know me!"

He nods. “Yeah, you’re right. I don’t.”

For one brief, overly-optimistic moment, she thinks that she’s actually going to get out of it that easy.

“But I’ll get to know you. Because you’re not leaving here anytime soon, Honey.”

All of that optimism tanks straight into a sour pit of disappointment. Mary shoots up to standing, startling Steve a bit where he's reaching for the doughnut box. “Don’t call me that,” she snaps.

Bucky takes another smug fucking bite out of his doughnut. “What?” he asks. “‘Honey’?”

“Yes! I’m not your ‘Honey’. I’m not your anything.”

He licks the sugar off his lips and stares her down. “You like it when I call you that.”

“No, I hate it,” she sneers. “Just like I hate your smug, self-satisfied face. I hate men like you.”

Bucky relaxes further back into the sofa, gesturing at her with the last of the doughnut before he stuffs it in his mouth and eats it. “Men like me, huh?” he asks once he’s swallowed, infuriating in his nonchalance. 

“Yes.”

He chuckles and starts sucking his fingers clean one by one. “And what would that be?” he drawls, letting his legs splay wide on the couch cushions, thigh muscles straining against the denim of his jeans. He sees her getting distracted and hums. “Hm? Pray tell, Little girl. Do enlighten me. What are 'men like me' like?” 

For one, airless second, all Mary wants in the world is to drop to her knees right between his legs, put her face at the seam of his jeans and rub her cheek against his thigh, against his … 

Her thoughts go unfocused, fuzzy at the edges, static in her brain. She licks her lips absentmindedly, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight of how he’s positioned himself …

“Mary.”

The sound of her own name draws her out of it, like a slap. She meets his eyes and juts her chin out, half dizzy from the effort. “Men like you think they know everything,” she grits. “Think that they’re the end-all-be-all. Men like you don’t feel any compunction about stepping on everyone around them. Men like you think you’re so fucking smart, that you can’t even fathom the likely alternative.”

“And what would that be?”

“That you’re actually just a cocksure moron,” she hisses.

Bucky tips his head at Steve. “Stevie tells me I’m a moron every other Tuesday, don’t you Babe?”

Steve shrugs a little from where he's leaning forward, holding the lid of the doughnut box open while he tries to choose a flavor. “Well, yeah.”

Bucky smirks, so unaffected that Mary just wants to scream. “So," he says. "You ‘hate men like me’, huh?”

“Yes. I do."

“That’s why you’ve spent your whole life around them, then?”

“I …" She falters. "What?”

Bucky glances over to Steve, and the two of them have some sort of silent exchange overtop the lid of the doughnut box, wordlessly communicating in a way that evidences a years’ long relationship. When they both look back to her, it’s Steve who speaks first.

“We got to read up on you a little, while you were asleep,” he says. He nods to the laptop and packet of papers on the coffee table. “Did some research. Learned about what led up to this.”

“'This'? What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been under the control of domineering men your entire life,” Bucky says, interjecting more forcefully over Steve’s gentler tone—Mary feels like she’s getting whiplash between the two of them. “First it was your father, out in Bumfuck, Nowhereville,”

“Indiana,” Steve mutters.

“Whatever,” Bucky snaps, zeroing back in on Mary with glinting eyes. “And he was ‘that sort of man’, wasn’t he?”

Mary feels a little like she’s been punched in the gut. “So what?” she says. “So you looked me up? Hospital gave you info on me and now you think you know me? You don’t know shit.”

“Your whole life, he said jump and you said how high, right?” Bucky asks, clearly not wanting or needing an answer to the question. Maybe Mary’s expression is answer enough. She’s not quite sure what she must look like right now. Horrified maybe. Or furious. “And then you latched onto the first jerk who’d give you a ride out of town.”

“Shut up.”

“Married him, too. And that worked for you alright ... Until it didn’t.”’

The backs of her eyes are starting to feel hot. “I said: shut up,” she whispers.

Bucky nods and leans forward on the couch, as if her anger and humiliation mean nothing to him. And damn him, maybe they don’t. Maybe he likes this, the sick bastard. “If he hadn’t hit you so bad, you would’ve stayed. Right? He met your needs in every other way.”

Mary shudders. “What are you talking about?”

"I'm talking about self-medicating, Honey. It's what you've been doing. Probably since you were a little girl."

She's disgusted with herself for the tears that break through, unmoored by how Bucky knows all of these things about her, and that he's able to fill in the gaps so easily. “What the hell is your problem, huh?” She swipes angrily at her eyes. “What does any of that have to do with anything? Except for that it’s none of your goddamn business?!”

Bucky softens a little. He glances at Steve, who gives him a warning look. “Sweetheart,” he says, looking back at Mary plaintively. “The drinking and the cutting, the feeling miserable and being sad all the time; that all started after your divorce, yeah?”

That … is not what Mary expected him to say. She’d been expecting more insults, more heartless jabs at her past. “I … What?”

“Answer the question,” Steve urges gently. He looks like he’s in on some secret with Bucky, something only Mary doesn’t know. 

“Yeah,” she admits warily. “I mean, divorce is … well it’s divorce. It sucks. Of course I wasn’t happy about it.” She scowls and crosses her arms. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that, dysfunctional as they were, you had very specific relationships with very specific types of men, until what, like a year ago?”

“... Year and a half,” she mutters, unease creeping up her spine at where she thinks this is going.

“Right. And that’s when all your troubles started. Because let's be real: you weren't hurting yourself before then." He tilts his head, feigning curiosity. "Why do you think that is, Mary? Why weren't you falling apart before? When you had a father touching you wrong, or a husband putting holes in your drywall?"

"Stop," she breathes.

He nods sadly. "It was was after, when you didn’t have those people in your life anymore, structuring it, telling you what to do. Once you were alone, that’s when you started to fall apart.” He levels her with a pitying gaze. "Now why do you think that is?"

Oh, hell no. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Mary says. She actually takes a physical step back from where she’s standing. “You think what? I was using my douche ex-husband as some sort of a … a dom? My freaking father?!”

“Mary, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” She jabs her finger at Steve, who’s spoken. If she thought she’d been angry at these two before, well now she’s just … she’s just … “You’re fucked up,” she tells them, voice full of quiet fury. “And you,” she points at Bucky. “You might be diagnosed with some freaking mental disorder or whatever, but that doesn’t give you the right to put that fucked up psychology onto everyone else!” She jabs her thumb at her own chest. “I’m normal! I’m not like you. I don't–I don’t have …”

“Mary,”

“No! I don’t. I–I didn’t …” Vaguely, she starts to recognize that her pulse is pounding in her ears, that it’s getting harder to draw breaths. “My f-fa, my, my f-father…”

Bucky stands up and comes towards her. “Mary,”

“No!” She makes to push away, to leave the room, but he closes in too fast and before she knows it, he has one hand on her throat and one at the base of her skull, gripping her hair. And it’s not mean, the way he’s holding her, but when she jerks away it tugs her hair unpleasantly and she whines and stills. “Let go,” she gasps, terrified by the way his hands make her feel.

“Steve, a little help?”

Her heart lurches as she hears Steve move, sees him getting up off the couch and coming over. “Wait,” she whispers, afraid and not understanding why. Not understanding why she’s even whispering in the first place, instead of screaming like she should be. “No, wait, wait—”

Steve is behind her, and even though he’s hardly even doing anything, just has his hands resting on her lightly, Mary still feels a tremor run through her whole body. She feels so trapped. Fixed in place and terrified, but not because she thinks they’ll hurt her.

Because suddenly she can draw a deep breath again.

And she can see the look in Bucky’s eyes, can see how he knows that. “Please,” she whispers, closing her eyes when tears well to the surface. “Please, just, I just need to …”

“You’re okay,” Bucky soothes. “You’re okay, Mary. Just breathe against my hand. Breath against me, against Steve.”

She shakes her head, even though she knows what he means. With her eyes squeezed shut like this, she can feel both him and Steve so solidly, can feel the points where their bodies connect with hers. When she inhales, she feels them there. “What the hell?” she winds up whispering, more to herself than to them.

“You were starting to have a panic attack,” Steve murmurs. He hugs her from behind, and Mary shivers but doesn’t try to shrug him off.

“I don’t have those,” she says. Even to her own ears, it sounds weak. “I don’t,” she insists.

“First time for everything,” Bucky says.

They stand there for a long minute or two. Hell, maybe it’s more. As long as Mary keeps her eyes shut, she can at least pretend that it’s only a minute. It’s only once she opens her eyes that she has to face reality. When she does, she sees that Bucky’s watching her keenly. He looks … sad.

The thought that the man with one hand fisted in her hair and another wrapped around her throat is concerned for her strikes Mary as almost comical. She doesn’t laugh, but she also doesn’t feel close to crying anymore. “I’m okay,” she rasps, swallowing thickly. “I’m okay now.” Shaky maybe, but better. She can breathe again. “Really, I–I am.”

“Yeah?”

She nods, and the motion makes her all the more aware of his hand on her throat. She has to fight back a pleasured sigh at the feeling of it, fight to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. 

Bucky shifts in, sandwiching her even closer between their bodies. “So what?” he murmurs. “You want me to let go of you now?”

“Yeah,” she says, not feeling like she wants that at all. “Please.”

He hums. “You’re very good at saying ‘please’,” he observes. “And at telling me you’re not submissive.”

“M’not,” she insists, trying harder to make her voice firm, or at least more than a pathetic, breathy whimper. She looks him in the eyes again.

When had she stopped looking him in the eyes? She can’t remember. She feels like she’s watching this all happen through the lightest sort of fog, or maybe in slow motion, like a videotape playing at only 70% speed. Something like that, she thinks dazedly. She doesn’t feel like she has to worry about it, though. It's warm and heavy and nice here; like being under bathwater.

Bucky’s not looking at her in concern anymore. He looks more relaxed now, nicer, his eyes softer around the edges. And he hasn't let go of her, either. 

“She down?” 

That’s Steve’s voice, coming from right behind. Mary likes the way she can feel the quiet rumble of it where he’s pressed to her back.

“Mmhm. Waay down.” 

“Is it normally that easy?”

Bucky chuckles, it's a nice sound that Mary likes, the richness of it making her want more, like how chocolate makes you want more.

“No, it’s not. This is deprivation, right here. Poor thing.” 

“Is she gonna be okay?”

“Oh, sure. We’ll just stay like this for a minute. She needs the contact."

Something about the two of them talking about her like she’s not there is … well it multiplies the bathwater feeling. She hears Steve asking a question, and Bucky making an unhappy noise and answering,

“It should never be this easy. Right now she’d go down for anyone, for even the smallest thing.”

“And she was working in the service industry?” A huff of breath hits Mary’s ear. “Jesus.”

“... Hey,” Mary says, sure that she should protest somehow.

But Bucky’s hand tightens just the barest bit on her throat, and he shushes her sweetly, tells her she’s a “good girl,” and kisses the top of her head.

And Mary pretty much forgets what she was going to say, after that.

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card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square N5: childhood trauma

[blouisparadise]

Today we have the fifth part of our short fic rec list! All of the fics on this list are a nice quick read that is less than 10k. If you missed the other parts to this rec list, you can find part one here, part two here, part three here, and part four here. Happy reading!

1) Shut Your Mouth, Baby | Explicit | 3,028 words

While fooling around in a closet at a New Year’s Eve party, Louis can’t seem to keep quiet. All he needs to do is hold off until midnight, when Harry will finally uncover his mouth and let him come at full volume.

2) Heaven In These Sheets | Explicit | 3,557 words

Bunny Hybrid Louis has it out for his boyfriend’s phone.

3) Tide’s Deathless Death | Explicit | 4,350 words

The Red Serpent gleamed in all of her marvellous glory from where she was anchored a meagre few miles away from the land. Her flag waving proudly in the afternoon sun. The image was certainly memorable, of the flag, that is; a serpent coiled viciously around a human heart, fangs sunken into the organ and blood oozing from the very spot. If not for the ship herself, the flag had its own repute of conveying the message that the captain was not to be trifled with. There was no single man who had survived after taking up arms against the captain. Well, there was one man, but including him amongst the hoard of common faces would be a foolishness on the feared-by-all captain’s part. That man currently stood silently staring after the captain, palm curled around the handle of his blade, and teeth clenched in anger. He was certainly going to relieve all the navies of their plight by taking down the captain. At least then, in his relatively newfound life of piracy, he would have done one good deed.

4) Always Tell The Truth | Not Rated | 5,027 words

Harry is Louis’ dentist and getting a wisdom tooth removed shouldn’t be the end of the world.

5) I Knew It From The Start | Explicit | 5,233 words

Louis starts calling Harry ‘daddy’. Consequently, Harry discovers that he has a daddy kink.

6) Spaces Between Us, Hold All Our Secrets | Not Rated | 6,441 words

The thing about Harry is, is that he is the most wonderful guy you´ll ever meet. He is kind, compliments you on things you are usually insecure about, which shows he truly pays attention to who you are as a person. And he befriends everyone. Except Louis.

7) Outline Of My Sins | Explicit | 6,551 words

Prompt 453: AU where alpha Harry is an art student who is taking a figure drawing class and omega Louis is the nude model. In the many years that Harry has taken art classes, he has never been more hot and bothered than now, having to stare at a beautiful nude omega model for hours.

8) Shouldn’t Cry (But I Love It) | Explicit | 6,586 words

They're roommates. They're quarantined. There's a small problem coming up.

9) Your Name Is Tattooed To The Bottom Of My Heart | Explicit | 6,613 words

Prompt 114: a PWP where Louis gets an arse tattoo with Harry’s name for his birthday.

10) Leave Like The Summer Breeze | Explicit | 6,551 words

When Louis and Zayn are stranded in Alabama, a farmer offers them shelter. He just asks for one thing in return.

11) Smile for the Camera for It Knows Everything, Hollywood Star| Mature | 6,676 words

Prompt 132- The story of Nancy Reagan being called the blowjob queen of Hollywood but it’s Louis.

12) The Writing On the Wall | Explicit | 6,705 words

When BookToker Louis receives a gift basket filled with all his favorite sweets, wines, and stuffed animals alongside the new Harry Styles book, he’s shocked at the story he finds in the pages.

13) Muffins & Cigarettes| Mature | 7,591 words

Louis pouts. “You can’t pout your way into this, Louis”, Harry said as he was fixing his tie, watch and rings glinting against the soft sunlight filtering through the window. “Of course, I can. Watch me.”

14) The Knothead Neighbor| Mature | 8,058 words

Prompt 3: Neighbors AU, preferably ABO! Harry works evenings/nights (maybe like a surgeon something that requires him to be gone for long hours) and has a cat. The cat has a little kitty door at the back so that it can explore and such. Louis just moved next door and the cat seems to always end up at his door. Eventually, Louis lets the cat in, as he’s new and he’s feeling quite lonely. They become fast friends, so much so that the cat prefers to stay with Louis rather than go home. Harry gets concerned that the cat starts to stay out all day/night so he eventually leaves a note attached to the cat’s collar with its name and phone number. Louis texts him telling him he’s his neighbor and not to worry, the cat just likes to hang with him as it might be lonely. Harry gets pissed that this stranger is stealing his cat so he goes to confront Louis and tell him to stop stealing his cat. Of course, as soon as he sees Louis, he falls in love with him and the rest is history. (If ABO could be cute that both Harry and Louis like to cuddle with the cat because it holds the other’s scent)

15) Kiss It Better | Explicit | 8,080 words

Harry shakes his head with a light laugh and leans down to kiss him again which Louis happily accepts even if he is a little confused by the reaction. "Baby, not a night has gone by that I haven't thought about you in my bed, naked, and begging for my cock." Blinking up at him with wide eyes, Louis opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out. While they did flirt a lot over the last few weeks, Harry had never said anything like that. It shocks him as much as it turns him on. "News to me." "I won't lie and say I like random hookups or casual sex, but to me this isn't what that is." Louis swallows thickly, unsure of what to say to that but once again Harry gives him an out. "So, If you want we can stay up here and I can show you all the things I've thought about doing to you." Another kiss, quick and sweet. "Or, we can go back downstairs and we'll dance all night."

16) Could Start A Cult | Explicit | 8,750 words

He lowers down the top that Louis is wearing, successfully unclasping his nursing bra as well, letting Louis’ tits bounce at the sudden movement. Harry massages both breasts to stimulate the milk flow, and he can feel his cock hardening inside his pants.

17) Should Be, Meant To Be | Explicit | 9,174 words

Prompt #65: Louis signs up for a Sugar Daddy dating website on a drunken dare. He forgets for a while, until one night he gets a notification for a message request from none other than his really hot (really rich) boss, Harry Styles.

18) Into It | Explicit | 9,197 words

Louis meets Harry. They hit it off.

19) Something To Prove | Explicit | 9,425 words

Louis is the first and only omega to work at Red Valley Medical Center. Despite being more than qualified, he still faces prejudice for his career choice everyday. From patients refusing his treatment to condescending alpha doctors intervening with his work, practicing medicine in Boston is more challenging than Louis had ever thought it would be.

20) Sugar Water | Explicit | 9,454 words

When his most familiar begins to feel all too unfamiliar, Harry finds out what it means to love like real people do.

21) Hook You Up (Charm You Down) | Explicit | 9,600 words

Swiftly, Harry raises his right hand to his head. Bringing two ringed fingers up, he touches the brown hat sitting on his head, tipping it with a raise of eyebrows in the direction of Peter Pan. He punctuates the whole action with his signature smirk. The reaction is almost immediate. Like Harry hoped it’d be. Though he expected the grin he received, he can’t say he directly expected the man to come forward his way. But he surely isn’t going to complain. “Captain! Fancy seeing you there,” Peter Pan says when he reaches Harry’s space. And wow. Seeing it from up close, Niall was right. Face of an angel, totally Harry’s type and all that. 

22) Poppies In May | Mature | 9,603 words

And maybe he deserves it, Louis thinks bitterly. His hand curls around the fence tightly, and he feels like if he lets go he’ll slid onto the cold ground and never fucking get up again. Maybe standing here, staring at Harry’s hunched over, retreating back is what he deserves.

23) Wanna Do Nothing With You | Explicit | 9,606 words

The accident happens in the stupidest way possible. One minute Louis is demonstrating a skateboard trick he’d just learned for Lottie, the next he’s waking up in a hospital. He’s told that he wasn’t unconscious the entire ride, but he has absolutely no recollection of it. One second he’s fucking around in his own garden and the next he’s being assaulted with the strong sterile scent of a hospital. So. There’s that.

24) Hello, My Name is Louis | Explicit | 9,686 words

Louis hurried to hang up the phone and take off his headset, throwing it away as if it was burning hot. He hugged himself by the shoulders and hid his face in his knees, sitting in his desk chair like a swimmer ready to dip into a pool, a pool of embarrassment. Not many people got past "Hello, my name is… " and even fewer engaged in a full conversation with him. And if they did, it usually went better than this.

25) Got It Right Such A Long Time Ago | Explicit | 9,699 words

Note: This fic is locked and can only be read by AO3 users.

There are a lot of people Harry might expect to find on his doorstep at three o’clock in the afternoon these days. It could be the delivery man, come to drop off the pair of boots Harry impulsively ordered online last week. It could be one of his neighbors, dropping by to complain about how a party he’d thrown weeks ago had clogged up the street. It could also be any number of his friends in L.A., who stop by unannounced most days to mooch off Harry’s food or whisk him away to try some new yogurt shop.    As a rule, it definitely cannot be Louis Tomlinson, although Harry’s blinked at least three times now, and it’s still Louis standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder and a duffel bag at his feet.

Check out our other fic rec lists by category here and by title here.

[bugs1nmybrain]

Shoulder - Tomura x Fem!Reader ◇ Non-S3xual MDLB

Listen I've put myself in a rabbit hole. I am embarrassed and ashamed. I am so sorry. My heart tugs for this boy. It was actually very sad to write this and I teared up a little to be honest. I want to hold him so bad, even if I die at contact. I don't know if I can tag this sfw only because I know the mommy dynamic weirds people out sometimes, but there is nothing sexual in this story at all.

This isn't a sexual fic but I would prefer minors to not interact.

Warnings: non-sexual mdlb (i am so ashamed), is it problematic? I have no idea, angst, reverse comfort, Tomura cries pretty hard, panic attack, unprescribed use of anti-anxiety meds, PTSD, mommy issues, nausea and vomiting, abandonment issues/separation anxiety, season 5 blue hair Tomura era (ignoring the Gigantomachia canon), reader is probably older than Tomura, reader is resistant to Tomura's quirk because the plot requires it, reader's POV, a lot of paragraphs start with "you" and "he" I'm so sorry

He was silent when he came home, not saying a word as he entered the bedroom. You watched as he just slid his shoes off and slumped himself on the bed, with himself turned to face the wall. He didn't acknowledge you.

This was unusual for him. It wasn't out of character for Tomura to be in a bad mood, but quiet wasn't typical. Usually, he would come complaining to you with his nasal voice, moaning and whining about how much he hated something or how bad his day went. It wasn't just that his silence that was concerning you. When you looked at him, he was breathing so heavily that you could see his back expand and shoulders rise and fall. At first, his breathing was slow and heavy, but it continued to build.

You left him be for a moment, not wanting to invade his personal space. Maybe he just needed a little time to himself. But when you went back to resume the task that you were doing before, you began hearing verbal, raspy breaths that sounded as if he was suffocating. You turned around to see Tomura's shoulders shaking, and he was closed in on himself. You realized that the only hands he had on him right now were the ones on his neck. His mother's.

You didn't want to upset him more, but you couldn't just watch him like this. You slowly approached him from behind and sat on the bed next to him. You didn't want to touch him yet, worried that he'd be startled or angered by the sudden sensation.

"Tomura?"

"What?" he rasped out, still gasping on the oxygen he managed to inhale.

"What's wrong?"

He didn't respond. His shaking got worse, and his breath seized to function. You could tell because his shoulders and back were no longer moving, and he was rigidly still.

"Tomura..." you reached out to rub his back, fearing that he'd snap, but he didn't. "Tomura, you need to breathe, okay?"

You rub firm circles on his back, and then motioned up and down. He was now only allowing small exhales come out through his nose, and his shaking stopped. Now, though, his body was tight and tense. You couldn't see it, but he was beginning to sweat.

"Tomura-"

"I need a bucket."

"Huh?"

"Now! I'm gonna puke!"

You didn't hesitate and rushed out of the room to grab a mop bucket from the kitchen closet. You returned fast, Tomura was now lying on his back with his eyes closed and furrowed, hands on his stomach.

"Here."

"I-" he was huffing in between words. "I" "I can't move" "I'm gonna throw up." "If I move I'm going to puke."

"It's okay, please sit up. You'll feel better if you let it out."

It takes you tucking your hand underneath his head and helping him to sit up for him to move. The moment he sat up, he snatched the bucket and hurled it into it. The sounds of him puking made you uncomfortable, but it sounded much more painful for him. It went all out quickly, though.

He holds out the puke bucket, signaling that he's finished.

"Are you done, baby?"

His mouth formed into an uncontrolled pouty frown and he held his head down. He only motioned a nod to tell you yes.

"Okay. I'm going to go put this outside for now and come back with a water."

Tomura mumbled an "mhm" and criss crossed his legs, head still facing downwards. You took the bucket and brought it out into the alleyway outside. You'd take care of it sometime later, but not now. All you wanted to do was make sure it wasn't stinking up the house, and to get back to your boyfriend to make sure he was okay.

When you came back your heart shattered. You watched in silence as Tomura sat there with a palm holding the sides of his face, crying. His sounds were very vocal, but when he realized you were back he began concealing them. He itched himself red as he cried, as if bugs were biting him all over. Slowly returning to his side, you began to stroke his long, blue hair softly. He shakes at your touch and his cries became uncontrolled, with breathy sobs and tears falling out from underneath his hand and he scratched vigorously.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You soothe at him gently.

"I can't-I can't breathe."

He was indeed still shaking and he sounded like he was choking on air. Your glance met the hands around his neck again, and you worried that they were causing more discomfort. You reach out to cup them, a little freaked out by it initially. They were dead hands, after all. Cold and lifeless.

"Maybe you should take these off."

"I can't. I need them! They're suffocating me! I hate this! I hate it..."

"I know, baby," he sobbed harder when you said that. "But they're hurting you. Just for a while, okay? You can put them back on later, once you've had a chance to catch your breath. Is that okay, sweetheart?"

His hand lifted off his face. He still averts his gaze, but he nods with a deep sigh. "Yea."

You proceed to remove the hands. It was hard, actually. They were snug on his neck so tightly, clasped together, and very difficult to separate from each other. You made sure to put them with the others, where they would be safe.

When you sat back on the bed you continued to rub Tomura's back. His tears soaked his lap, and his face was red.

"Hey, hey, hey..."You ran your fingers on his scalp for comfort. "Come here, Tomura..."

You gestured him toward your embrace and he latched onto you. His hold was tight and needy as he tugged on the back of your shirt and rested his face on your chest. His cries drenched your shirt and you could feel his heart pumping rapidly against your body. It felt like he was on the verge of a heart attack. You couldn't bare it.

"I have some anxiety meds, do you think that would help?"

He nods into your form and you try to get up from his embrace to get the medication. As you rise he pulls on your shirt, "please come back."

"I will, I promise."

It was sad, given that the meds were only inside of a drawer close to the bed. You got out a couple of pills and grabbed the water that you had gotten him earlier. Tomura wasn't prescribed these medications, but frankly, it didn't really matter right now. It wasn't like he hadn't committed far more severe crimes. He needed to calm down, or his body was going to collapse.

You move back on the bed and hold out the medicine and drink for him. He takes both with his trembling hands as you put your hand on his tense back again. The medication goes down easy, and he sits there with the water in his hand, shaking.

"You should drink more. You're going to be dehydrated because of crying."

"I'm sorry."

"There's no need to be, I want to make sure you're taken care of."

The pout that returned on his face made your heart thump in sympathy. What was going on? You had never seen Tomura in this kind of state before. It was unlike him.

"What's wrong Tomura? Please tell me. I don't mean to be nosy, but I can tell something is hurting your feelings and I want to help if I can."

Tomura turns back to snuggle you close, holding your body as if his life depended on it.

"I don't know how to explain it. I don't understand why I'm like this right now. I just...I feel empty. I think I miss her? Like I'm grieving something I don't even know. I don't get it. I fucking HATE this so SO much!"

You didn't need clarification on who he was referring to. The hands, the needy physical touch, the balling whenever you would stroke his hair or call him "sweetheart" and "baby"...It was clear to see that there was a void within Tomura. One that he'd never be able to fill. He must have felt grief for what he didn't have, what he lost a long time ago.

"I'm sorry, babyboy. I really am."

The grip he made almost suffocated you, but it was okay. He needed this, and you wanted him to feel nurtured. Loved.

"I can't get her back. I never will. What if I lose you, too? What if you stop being resistant to my quirk? I don't want you to, I can't bear even thinking about losing you. It makes me feel sick."

"You won't lose me, I promise," there was something you weren't sure would help. You expect a negative response somehow, but you try to test the waters to see what could comfort him right now. "Mommy's not going anywhere."

If Tomura wasn't crying before, he surely was now. You were scared that you broke him, but his grip around your waist didn't loosen, and he held you so hard that you felt stuck. His tears seeped out harder as you stroked his hair with his head buried in between your warm chest.

"Does mommy love me? Have I been good for her?"

"Yes, baby. You're my good boy and you've been more than good for me. Mommy loves you with her whole entire heart, Tomura. I'll never let you go for as long as I have you."

The exchange of words was foreign and was awkward to process, but it felt natural even so. There was nothing about it that seemed sultry. It was a need for him. You were simply substituting a void for him, and you couldn't feel ashamed for being there to give him that affection and nurture that he hadn't had since murdered his family. You only knew about what he had told you, and he only knew about what his master told him. This regression was heart breaking for you to witness, but if you could comfort him, maybe it would be all better.

"I love you. I love you so much, mommy. I need you to be here. I need you to hold me."

"I will. I'll hold you all night long. You're such a perfect little boy, do you know that?"

Tomura snickers as tears escape his eyes, "Thank you."

"Of course, baby boy. You should rest, though. You've been through a lot."

"Will you sleep with me?"

"Yes. I'll be right here with you and beside you when you wake up, okay?"

"Okay."

"I love you, Tomura."

"I love you too."

[elfqueen006]

Siren

Continuation of "Trash"

Tags: drunk Joseph, emotions a lot of emotions, non-consentual touching, unrequited love

---

You dragged a hooting Joseph through your apartment door, struggling to keep his arm slung over his shoulder. 

“What a night, huh?” he slurred.

“Yeah,” you turned halfway to shut the door behind you. You advised him to lean on you while you took a second to think. 

You seriously considered just tossing him on the couch and calling it a night. Though with the way he’s practically thrashing right now, you doubt it could handle him. You’d come in to find it knocked over or the legs broken come morning.

Instead, you opted for his bedroom. It was more comfortable, and stronger as to hold his large frame.

Besides, what’s a few more seconds of a sore shoulder?

Guiding him along down the hallway, you then reached his door, which you kicked open. And now that you’re inside his room, you take the opportunity to look around. You’ve never actually been inside, only ever catching short glimpses when he had a guest over before he pulled them inside for half a day of debaucherous sex.

There wasn’t a lot inside, just the closet, a dresser with no defining features other than a smeared vanity mirror and an ashtray sitting on top of it. And of course, there was a bed set with the comforter you lent him, but no sheets.

“Why didn’t you tell me you needed bedsheets?” You asked, voice low so as not to rattle him up or excite a headache.

He half shrugged, “It doesn’t bother me none…”

You lead him around to his bed and get him out of his jacket. Easing him down to sit, you then lift up each leg of his to pull off his boots. They have a very pretty design of a rose and some other etchings on each side of them. He told you once they were his most prized possessions. And you wouldn’t be surprised if he were serious.

“Alright, come here,” you take a hold of his hand, and it's massive over your own. Massive and hairy. Even a guy like him has lonely nights.

You push him up the bed lightly and guide him down by the back of his neck. 

“Theeere you go.”

Once he’s settled, you turn to leave, but he doesn’t let go of your hand, and in a split second you're pulled back and tumbling over his large frame. You grunt when you land face first in the pit of his arm.

“Jesus, Joseph!” You exclaimed.

You tried to get up again, but he just pulled you back down. You’re brought up to where your back is to his chest and you straddle one of his thick legs. He wrapped both of his strong arms around your torso.

Joseph rested his head on your neck and sang your name, “Where you goiiing?”

You huffed, “To my own room, Jo.”

“You don’t gotta do that,” He mutters, “Whatcha wanna do that for?”

“I like my own space.” You replied plainly.

“I like your own space.”

You pushed and struggled against his body, but he’s way too strong for you. It’s admittedly a bit frightening, especially when he’s in this state.

He pressed his lips into your neck and your face burns hotter than anything you’ve ever felt.

“What are you doing?!”

Joseph snickered, “What am I doing?” he buried his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply, “You smell good.”

“Well you stink.” And that was the truth, despite your attempt to shield your embarrassment with annoyance. His breath smelled of booze. 

“Stop being mean to me,” he said, falling back onto the mattress again. And with no other choice, you follow. “Stay with me.”

He’s never been this close before. You’ve had your quiet moments with him before. And you’ve lived together long enough that he became comfortable with telling you a few breakup stories and trauma dumps. You even told him a few of your own in turn.

But it never escalated. Nothing changed.

“Stay with me, baby.” Joseph slurred.

For seemingly no reason, you felt tears prick your eyes. “No, Joseph.”

“I’ll…make you…breakfast…”

You shifted a bit to face him. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open in his drunken stupor. He looked so pretty while he slept. Wavy hair falling over his brow, lashes fluttering slightly from the struggle to stay in a dream and to open his eyes. Meanwhile, you were wide awake, feeling like a sailor being led to the rocks.

Breakfast did sound good in the morning, though.

[solacebloom]

Steven Grant x Autistic!Reader

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Just some drabbles of what being friends/partners with Steven Grant would look like with an autistic reader since, I myself, am autistic. Autism is a spectrum so I tried to make it inclusive but some of the traits are obviously going to be more geared towards my experience since that's what I'm writing from. Also gender neutral!reader

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺

TW: talking about stimming, autistic meltdowns, cpstd, insomnia, DID

Steven Grant

Steven Grant has a lot of autistic traits, so I’ll be treating him like he is.

Rigid routines, hyperfixations (Egyptology), always calling his Mom every morning, being visibly upset when his routine is changed, etc

CPSTD can exacerbate autism traits so whether or not Marc and Jake have autism in particular I’m not going to get into right this moment BUT

man has insomnia among other things he gets it he understands you better than most.

If you were cohabitating the both of you would have your safe spaces in the flat

On top of that the entire place would be sensory friendly, your little retreat

Overhead light never gets turned on when it’s with you two, Steven keeps the curtains open for some natural light

incense from his involuntary travels would be stockpiled

He definitely has some sort of trinket or keepsake that makes white noise of some kind

Might be a water feature or windchimes hung up by the window- Gus’ tank also emits some white noise from the filter and water pump

The flat will always have some sort of noise to drown out the busy streets outside

When the noises are overstimulating to the both of you though he’s got noise canceling headphones and earbuds- he misplaces them a lot so there’s always extra to go around

Though eventually he gets you your own pair for around the flat

If you use a cane or any sort of walker he invests in making sure you have a spot to put it while you’re around the flat and that there’s actually space for you to walk around with it if needed

While he loves his collections of books, if you can’t traverse the flat with all that stuff on the floor he’s going to find another spot for them. Shoved into a closet somewhere- a storage unit, whatever he can do to keep his books and you

You both definitely stay in a lot more than you do go out

The street just outside the flat is busy but in the quieter hours the two of you go on short walks under the moonlight

If you’re novelty seeking though Steven’s not going to be the best at helping but will do his best to tag along with you if it’s outside of the house. 

Sometimes he’s right there with you ready to go out and other times he’s just wanting to stay home, you don’t always match energies 

Novelty seeking at home though? Completely different story. He’s always happy to dive into a new topic with you, whether it’s related to his own hyperfixation or one of your own

Insomnia and DID affect his memory so even if he has come to terms with Marc he’s still going to be writing things down, taking notes on the subject you two are diving into

When you need to stim Steven has a TON of trinkets and stim toys around the flat if not already in his pockets

The only thing he wouldn’t share with you is his rubik cube, if that’s not already in his hands while the two of you are talking it’s in his pocket or misplaced on a shelf it’s definitely his most well loved stimming item and he has to fix it, often

Puzzles also! From old crosswords to literal picture puzzles he’s down to do them all with you and will probably be absentmindedly doing one while you info dump

He has a rocking chair somewhere in the flat that’s incredibly comfy and well loved for some full body stimming

I don’t think Steven would have a sensory swing and if he does he was to embarrassed to set up for himself

Like Steven doesn’t hate himself for being autistic

He never learned to mask but there’s still lingering anxieties, they just aren’t focused around his autism, more on his DID and just general trauma 

If you or any or the other alters found the swing though there would be some questions and a lot of hesitance and excuses on Steven’s end

Well you bet that swing is getting set up now

Even if Steven doesn’t end up using it as much he’s glad that it’s there if you or him need it at some point 

You both do parallel play/being alone together- you’ll focus on your task and he’ll do his while you both are in the same room

Whilst some tasks give Steven the ick he can’t offload all the chores to his alters 

So when the dishwasher needs to be opened or dishes cleaned in the sink he has a whole process to try and make it easier on himself

He wouldn’t be good at helping you out with these tasks either but his presence is appreciated 

If eating noises are triggering Steven will either fetch the noise canceling headphones or go eat out on the porch or off in another room

Safe foods! He has them written down if he doesn’t already remember them

The flat is stocked with both his and your safe foods

If you’re out of the house he keeps a backpack on him that would have snacks and trinkets

I don’t think Steven goes nonverbal often mostly because I think that version for him is probably just retreating back and forcing the other alters out so that at least someone is talking in whatever situation is happening

I think if it does happen in a safe space with you though he’s most likely writing down his thoughts to you over his notebook

When you go nonverbal he gets a little panicky, because he knows how he feels when that comes up so he’s much more fretful over that

He starts asking you a bunch of yes or no questions to things you may need which isn’t always entirely helpful as it can be a bit overwhelming

But after his anxieties are quelled he’s much more able to help out in whatever you need

Whatever communication device or tool you use he’s more than willing to accommodate and carries around cards in the backpack as well

When you have a meltdown for the first time in front of him he definitely isn’t entirely sure of himself, he doesn’t know exactly what you need so it takes some trial and error 

After the meltdown though he asks what you’d like to have happen when another one occurs

Whether you need physical touch or instead a weighted blanket or touch sensation at all he’s ready to help

Whatever entertainment medium you like he’ll put on/grab to keep your mind distracted and calmed

If it’s in public he will probably let another alter handle it since that’s overwhelming for him too though I think he feels guilty about it despite it just being a defense mechanism on his end. 

He wants to help you and himself, but part of that is accepting where he’s at and sometimes trying to push yourself is the opposite of what’s needed

[thecoffeelorian]

Plan 100...?

Plan 100 (Crosshair x Reader)

Premise: As the fourth installment of the "Surprise Guest" series, you and Crosshair are careful to let Omega rest on your way to your rendezvous point, but not without planning your own next few steps.

Word Count: 1.2 k.

Masterlist: The Surprise Guest Series

Story Notes: Hoo boy...I think I've just reached the 'deep in the underbrush' phase for the next leg of this saga, yet as I watched all of S1 and read the episode transcripts for the others, never mind beginning to take romance lessons from the "Bridgerton" show, editing this installment exactly 7 times, and slowly pulling out a few things from my personal life angst closet...I will not be doing this lightly. There is so much that I wish this show could have properly addressed as well rather than setting it up in every first half and then knocking it down in every second half, so I will do my absolute darndest to cover it all myself.

Special Notes: My credit goes to @stars-n-spice for creating the beautiful Crosshair header, as well as to @talesfrommedinastation for inspiring me to use a form of sign language for silent communication after watching "The Expanse".

No Pressure Tags: @momojedi @calicos-clones @bigboypantstime @youreababboon @techhasmjolnir

@tink1221 @ms-grassi @galaxyglittering @littlefeatherr @donntmindmejustwandering

@housepartyfortwo @beatthisbi @mysticalgalaxysalad @groguandthebadbatch @pendustt

@weirdest-lights @flyiingsly @courtney0-0 @emmaflame1336 @shadow-rebel-223

@littlemammoth69 @theosb0rnway @shazkenobi @reader6898 @maxims-multifandom-corner

@monster20045 @darkangel4121 @nevadastarrsworld @thatacefr @crosshair-lover

@bennieandthejets-5 @jamine-boi-124 @lani03sstuff @ttzamara @beezez-blog

@myeternalsin @sublimeclodkidcolor @nish-xiii @ash04w3 @clonereeses

@lllllmm @melymigo and anybody else who might be on the lookout for more Crosshair x Reader content, because I couldn't have made this series without you all. <3

You're out of that spaceport before whomever or whatever might be following you notices your escape, your family's slightly used shuttle giving you all the speed you need to make your flight. It’s quiet on board almost as soon as you leave the atmosphere, too, yet sometimes, quiet can be exactly what everyone needs to clear their heads.

Nowhere is this more evident than your own cockpit, a small but comfortable space that carries the control console; a few chairs with safety harnesses; one old childhood drawing of yours kept in a place of honor upon the wall, and a mini-fridge to the left. You had a few minutes to gather up some food and drinks before heading out, so of course, you were careful to add the packs of dried meat and lemonade so that at least one person could add some missing salt and sugar to their system if they needed it.

Someone like Omega, even, for she’s careful to ask you nicely before you hand her one of the lemonades. Whatever this one has just been through, wherever she’s been…you can only try your best to alleviate her transition back into society.

Wherever her society waits to be found, that is.

Once you reached deep space, though…Omega’s sound asleep in minutes, her half-empty cup hanging loosely in her right hand. This is, perhaps, a big convenience for you and Crosshair both, because you might not have to worry about her for a little while.

What you are able to do, at least for the duration of this trip, is start planning…and what Crosshair is able to help you come up with ends up exciting you and confounding you at almost the exact same time.

First comes that moon over Ryloth, as you originally agreed to in order to see Omega off. That’s certainly a given, considering you already agreed to his idea of separating himself from her so that any and all demanding guards that might come calling won’t be able to recapture them both.

After that, though—or so Crosshair does his best to explain—the two of you will, indeed, have to clear out not long afterward, with or without any harsh words from Hunter or Wrecker.

What harsh words, you signal to him, the both of you speaking with your hands so as not to wake Omega.

And why would they be mad at you?

I turned away, he signals back, and perhaps just a little too sharply judging by the pained look upon his face.

They had their ideas, I had mine, and now it’s too late for all of us.

I see…

An awkward silence passes between you both, and for a moment, you’re stuck wondering if you should ask any more questions, or else just be still until he starts up again. It’s suddenly very difficult for you to figure this out entirely on your own, as up until a certain point today, you thought you were going to spend another day by yourself.

Funny what difference a few hours can make.

Once you brace yourself to say something else, however, it’s here that he speaks first, signaling a bit slower for emphasis rather than controlled rage…or so you hope.

They clearly wanted to dig around the galaxy for scraps rather than ask for anything more secure.

Oh…? And is that where you were before you escaped? A ‘secure’ place?

Not exactly.

Another awkward silence. You’re both choosing your next words this time, a sure sign that you’re either learning how not to push the other into a fit of stress…or else falling apart long before you can ever try to get closer. You might not be so sure about what’s in Crosshair’s head right now, but you are sure of one thing.

You’re not ready to leave his side so quickly.

I thought playing by someone else’s rules would help keep me alive. Useful, even…but I obviously thought wrong.

Lucky for you, he’s talking again, though that left hand of his starts shaking a second time.

Not that it matters any longer. They already suggested that I’m too severe and unyielding to ever be around them, so it’s time I just let them all go.

What, do you—you think they’ll be happier if it’s just them and Omega?

They’ll certainly be safer, won’t they?

One more round of silence comes, only this time, you’re giving him all of one nod to signify your agreement with this plan. You might have gone out at least ten steps ahead of whatever guard or bounty hunter might become interested in your capture, but truly, that sense of a false peace could only last the three of you so long. Be it three days, three weeks, or even three months…all the necessary precautions would need to be made, for better or for worse.

In the meantime, though? Simple. You’re offering Crosshair both of your hands now, your palms up in a wordless invitation for him to either take hold of them, or else ignore them entirely. He certainly has room to do just about whatever he wants, considering he might not exactly be using weapons anytime soon.

“And…what about me? Should I also be dropped off?”

You remember to ask this in the lowest whisper possible, all the better to keep Omega from waking up or hearing any of your secrets.

“…You should not, Y/N.”

“Really? And why is that?”

You barely hold back a gasp as his hands meet yours, the unexpected joining of flesh and bone sending a surge of emotions through your body.

“Because—Because I think I like the thought of you tagging along a bit more.”

Your head is reeling at this point, so much so that it’s a curious miracle that you haven’t given yourself vertigo yet.

No matter how much you might have also tried to hold yourself back, your body suddenly feels light as a feather, so you’re quietly relieved when you manage to push one foot behind the leg of your seat to keep yourself from floating straight up to the ceiling. This stranger, this Trooper, has just consented to you remaining at his side with no sign of sarcasm or jokes at your expense…and, be it only until you find yourselves a new refuge or not, you’re certainly beginning to feel the same way.

The last few hours have, for better or for worse, had that effect upon you.

In fact, maybe...maybe this is just the beginning of something grand, some new adventure that you never dreamed of having before, but which clearly may have just found you at long last. Maybe you're on your way to someplace fresh and new, and with it, a chance to be something more than just some forgotten flight controller's child or some diner owner that nobody else really notices.

Maybe this is about to become your second act, and you need only step out onto the stage in order to claim your true place in the world.

And, once the two of you find a safe place to land together, whichever planet and community that place may be a part of…you can’t wait to find out if Crosshair might feel that same affect right beside you.

[dbnightingale24]

Getting Lost In The Silence With You

An Emmett Lovestory

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Surprise, and Happy Halloween!!

I just wanted to make something fluffy and loving, since I'm always giving you guys angst and despair 🙃 anywho, I hope you all enjoy this little story, I hope you're enjoying one of the best days ever, and please be safe! As always, thank you to @fuckingbyefor the amazing moldboard, and for just existing. Alright, enough of my rambling, enjoy!

Like always, Tumblr is on it's bullshit, so I'm only gonna post part of it here, and leave the link to my AO3 if you wanna read all of it.

Word Count: 15,618

Warnings: SMUT (18+ Minors DNI), Swearing, Drinking, Heartbreak, Dealing with Loss, FLUFF, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Self Doubt, A Bit of Self Loathing, uhh...I think that's it?

Song(s) That Inspired This Chapter: You Are The One I Waited For, I Knew It All Along

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I do not give permission/consent for my works/stories to be posted elsewhere.

~~

You keep your giggles quiet as you feel something tickling your toes.

Emmett.

‘Happy birthday,’ he smiles down at you after your eyes finally open.

This has been routine for the past three years now, and you can’t help but smile at the fact that you and Emmett have had each other to lean on. You wonder how something so beautiful came from such an ugly turn of events.

When Emmett found you, you were both wary of one another. He hadn’t meant to find you, and you hadn’t meant to find him. He stumbled across where you’d been hiding, searching for materials to stock up on. The second he found you hiding, you both pulled your guns on one another. While you were more than sure that he could see the fear in your eyes, you saw the emptiness and despair in his. Yet the longer he looked at you and the more you shook, the softer his features became.

He held a finger against his lips, a sign for you to be quiet, and slowly led you out of the closet. You warily grabbed the few of the things you had and followed him. You’re not sure why you followed him to this day.

“What were you doing there?” he asked softly, once you two had reached where he was hiding out, putting away the few supplies he was able to scrounge up on his trip.

“The same thing everyone else who’s alive is trying to do. Hiding.”

“That’s a terrible hiding spot.”

“It worked out just fine for me for the last two months.”

“Are you alone?”

Silence.

He turned around to see you standing there, eyes watering as you tried to look anywhere but at him.

You’d been alone for a year at the time. There hadn’t been anyone you’d confided in, and you didn’t find yourself wanting to know anyone. The last person in life died in your arms and you’d decided to keep to yourself from then on out. It just felt like the best idea; the safest in this world surrounded by danger.

“I don’t mean to be harsh, you just...that spot was dangerous. Even more so if you’re alone. Have a seat. Have you eaten today?”

“Don’t eat much,” you mumbled, taking a seat at his table, looking around the empty space. “I don’t hunt unless I have to.”

“I’ll get you something, just sit tight,” he told you softly. 

You looked around and saw the different drawings, a few pictures, and wondered how long it’d been since he lost everyone.

“Th-thank you,” you told him softly, pulling out a bottle of wine and setting it on the table.

Seemed like a pretty decent peace offering. 

“Where the hell did you get that?” he half smiled, coming over and picking up the bottle in admiration. 

“Some of it’s self made, others are from...before.”

“How old are you?”

“What’s the date?”

“October 31st.”

You smiled and shook your head, wiping away a few tears, “I’m 27 today.”

He offered a sympathetic smile, “happy birthday.”

And that’s how it started. You never intended on staying with him, and you’re more than sure he never meant to let you stay, but you both soon found that you enjoyed the company of each another. It’d been a long time since either of you had people in your lives, and it just felt nice to have someone around.

Even if you two didn’t say much to each other for the first few months.

Every once in a while, he’d hear you crying and sit by you, softly placing his hand over yours and you’d squeeze it softly. Other times, he’d have restless nights, tossing and turning for hours, and you’d just sit by him and take his hand until he felt at ease. In exchange of him getting food, you taught him how to make his own wine and vodka. You would share books, and every now and again you’d both go to the nearby falls together just to hear something.

This stayed a constant for months until he found you listening to your iPhone one day.

“How do you still have one of those?” he marveled, putting a plate of venison in front of you.

Deer was his specialty.

“My best friend figured out to make a battery one night,” you laughed softly. “She was drunk as shit, but real determined to make it work. She refused to lose all of the comforts from the way things used to be. It was the last gift she ever gave me. I’m not the best when it comes to things like that, so I try not to use it often. I don’t wanna end up breaking it and being fucked,” you finished with a scoff as you pressed ‘pause’ and set it aside.

“What’s special about today?”

“It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Explains why it’s so damn cold,” he muttered, and you laughed softly. “Anything good on there?”

“Depends on what your definition of good is,” you smirked, pouring the both of you a cup of wine. “Being a Jersey girl, there’s a lot of Springsteen on there-”

“You’re from Jersey?” he questioned before he realized he cut you off, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

“No, it’s okay. We’ve never talked about it. Um yeah, I was born and raised in New Jersey. My parents moved to Millbrook after I went off to college. I was here visiting when...when everything happened. Got stuck,” you chuckled humorlessly. “At least I don’t have to worry about paying off my college loans,” you muttered as you cut up your deer and Emmett laughed.

It was the first time you’d actually heard him laugh.

~~

You can read the rest here.

taglist: @autumnrose40

[allzelemonz]

Explore: Bill Williamson X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader is referred to as ‘hustler’ which is a term used by male prostitutes Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut Warnings: Bill is cute when he’s pining, incredibly gay and closeted Bill, prostitution, Top Bill and bottom Reader, Reader is an experienced prostitute, references to period typical homophobia, mentions of past sexual experiences, exploring sexuality and preferences, not his first time but it might as well be, teaching/learning about sex, anal fingering, anal sex, Summary: Bill finally has the courage to seek out another man and you’re happy to show him a good time.

Men like you are rare, you only know of one other. Being an insider makes it a little easier, you’ve been here long enough that you consider the women sharing your space and occupation to be family. They’ve defended you when the law comes asking, saying you’re one of their brothers or cousins just making sure they’re safe, then they’ll turn their tricks with the law and they stop asking around. They’ve helped cover for you when getting hotel rooms for your own johns, keeping your identities safe when the rooms at the saloon are full. It’s a calculated business, one you couldn’t do without this little family of whores. It was the mother figure, the oldest of the girls, that helped you learn how to be as careful as you are now. She was the first to call you a hustler, a term she’d heard a man like you use so he wasn’t so obvious. She taught you how to tell if men were interested, if they were inclined to you or one of the sisters. You all help each other, reading all of the signs and working to make money in a profession you all find to be very noble.

That’s why one of the sisters introduces him to you. It’s nothing abnormal. The girls will play the floor, finding a john they think wants a nice night. They’ll flirt and laugh, offering their services when the time is right. But sometimes they pick up on certain clues, men that shy away or seem far too disinterested, sometimes they even look at you. The girls will smile and ask if they’d be interested in a friend of theirs. If they’re sure, then you get an easy john. If not, you fish on your own.

But, tonight, they bring you someone different from the norm. Most men that come to you are either very old or just old enough to be considered at all. Most men that come to you are clean shaven, maybe a little rich, maybe escaping a wife they’ve never enjoyed. This one is very different. He’s broad shouldered with a heavy beard on his face and the distinct look of living rough covers every inch of him. Still, as one of the girls leads him over to you, he looks like a nervous animal. His face is red beneath his beard as if he’s unsure of himself. You can guess his story easily, it’s nothing new. He’s never been with a man, only looked and longed. He’s finally worked up the courage and when he talks to you he will either follow you shyly or run away.

She lets go of his arm and joins you, leaning against the wall with a smile on your face. “Bill, this is my friend. I think he might be more suited for ya.”

The john, Bill, looks up at you and his eyes dart the way most first timers’ do. He looks at your face, then below the waist, then to the side. He looks older than he must be, his eyes have some youth in them from what you can catch. Reading johns is important, especially when you’re outing yourself every time you try to make money. Plenty of men have attacked you for who you are once you’re alone, plenty of them have been stabbed by the knife you keep on you for that very reason. You note that this john has a gun, most do, but the way he stands gives you the sense that it’s always on his hip.

“Hello, Bill.” You say, light and calm with a smile.

He meets your eyes for a moment before glancing away again. “H-Hello.”

“So.” You glance at the girl that brought him over and she takes the hint to leave. “You, uh, looking for a nice night?”

Bill shuffles on his feet and rubs the back of his neck. “I-I ain’t so sure about all that.”

You nod. “That’s alright. I’m here for whatever you want.” After a beat of silence it’s clear he doesn’t know what to say. “How about we go upstairs and talk? Just talk.”

He glances over you again, just your face and chest this time. Then he nods. You give him an attempt at a reassuring smile and start towards the stairs. The girls point you to an empty room as Bill sheepishly follows you with his head dipped down to hide his face with his hat. You open the door for him and close it once you’re both inside, locking it as usual. Bill stands awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking everywhere but at you. Usually you’d want to get paid before anything, but with men like Bill it’s important to make them comfortable. The shy ones are always the type to pay, compliment, and tip all in one. It’s not like you get johns too often anyway, you don’t mind taking your time because a lot of guys that you treat nice come back and it’s much easier than guessing which men might be interested.

“You have any interesting stories?” You ask, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Anything interesting you’ve done?”

Bill snorts a laugh. “Sure I do.”

He seems a little at ease in the privacy of the room, not comfortable by any means, just less on guard. Most men are, they don’t have to hide from you like they do every other man in the building.

“Tell me.”

Bill licks his lips. “Well, uh, when I was in the army we had these boys that’d go around and, uh-” He stops himself as he joins you, sitting as far away as he can on the bed. He swallows his nerves and glances around as he finds his place again. “These boys that went around playin’ jokes. Colonel didn’t like that, captain didn’t mind but the colonel hated it.”

“What kind of jokes?”

Bill smiles, reliving the memories. “They was runnin’ around and putin’ syrup on whatever uniforms they’d find lyin’ around.”

“Syrup?”

Bill laughs. “Anything sticky, just ta annoy folk.”

You smile along with his laugh, putting on that slight flirtatious attitude you try to have with johns. “So you were in the army?”

“Cavalry.” Bill nods.

“Did you like it?”

You’ve had johns that were military before. Most of them were gruff old men that realized things about themselves a little too late. Bill seems different. Uncertain about his desires, but he has enough of an inkling for his eyes to wander over your body when he talks.

“Sure.” He says, nodding. “I suppose.”

He seems nervous again, so you change the subject. “What do you do now?”

“Oh.” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head. “Ya don’t wanna know about all a’ that.”

“Sure I do, you seem like an interesting man.”

Bill’s face goes red again and he looks down, flattered by the slightest compliment. “I ain’t so interestin’. Yer just saying that ‘cause ya have ta.”

You smile. “I don’t have to do anything. I liked your story, that’s all.”

Bill glances up, then right back down as he clears his throat. “How, uh, how does all this work?”

“You’ve never done this before?” You ask, wanting to make sure his experiences align with your guessing.

He shakes his head. “Well, I-I tried. A couple girls, but I never got that far.” He pauses for a moment as his fist grips at the blanket. “There was a feller a few years ago. He robbed me blind afterwards.”

“Well, I’m not gonna rob you.” You say, softly, not wanting to put any pressure or influence on his decisions. “You just tell me what you’d like to do and we’ll do it.”

Bill shuffles in his seat. “Anything?”

“Generally.” You say. “There’s some things I’ll say no to, but I don’t think they’ll be a problem.”

“Can I kiss ya?” Bill asks, faster than he’s talked all night.

You nod. “Of course you can.”

His eyes light up, but his expression is still nervous. He wants this, but he has that hesitation so many men do. The uncertainty forced on them by society that nags them into believing what they want is wrong. You scoot a little closer to him, making it easy. He leans in, keeping his eyes on yours this time until they close as your lips connect. It’s barely a touch, like the feeling of a wind. Then he must feel it, the desire that pushes past the expectations of a man that looks like him, because he leans in more and actually moves his lips against yours.

His beard scratches against you as he grows in confidence, finding a familiar rhythm. His hand moves to rest on your knee, then he slowly moves to lay you back against the bed. His lips don’t leave yours as he positions himself over you, but he stops when his lower half brushes against you.

“It’s alright.” You assure him, a hand slowly reaching to remove his hat. “You do what you want, I’ll let you know if anything’s wrong.”

Your hand goes to his hair, smoothing it down as you try to reassure him. He takes it, leaning back down to kiss you again and his hands move to work on getting rid of your shirt. You help him where he needs, letting him toss the shirt away. He looks down at your chest as his hands run over it, feeling over your pecs and down your stomach then back up. His breath hitches as he does it and he’s not really breathing, just admiring the fact that he’s running his hands over another man’s bare skin. Then he seems to come-to, unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it aside as well. You follow now that he seems sure of himself and what he wants, ridding yourself of clothes as he does until you’re both bare.

His eyes move over every inch of you, processing what he sees with a now obvious consequence out in the open. His hands run over your thighs, feeling the warmth as they travel closer to your own obvious arousal. He looks up at you and you give him a nod and a smile, telling him it’s okay to continue. So he takes you in his hand and feels the weight against his palm. His thumb runs over your tip, spreading the pre-cum and it makes you hiss slightly. Bill’s other hand feels at your balls, just running his fingers over your sack and massaging lightly. His wonder as he explores your body isn’t overly unique, men that haven’t done this before often want to touch because they’ve never gotten to feel another man this intimately before. It’s one of the perks.

You can’t help when you buck into his hand as he squeezes you, needing to feel friction. Bill looks up at you and your gaze meets his with a look that makes his mouth go dry. He leans back over you and kisses you and on hand stays to jerk you slowly while the other finds your hair. You press against him, kissing him back and meeting the motions of his hand.

Then he stops, pulling away just and sitting back on his knees. “I, uh, I ain’t sure how ta do the uh…” He gestures downwards.

“Prepping?” You ask.

He nods. “I-I know it hurts if ya don’t do it, I just ain’t sure how.”

“Do you want me to do it or do you want me to walk you through it?”

Bill looks away for a moment as the red on his face comes over his ears too. “I-I wanna learn.”

You take the hand he had near your hair and he watches as you take a few of his fingers in your mouth. His mouth drops open as he watches you and you can tell his dick is doing the thinking as his eyes keep steady on your mouth. You coat his fingers in spit with a skill acquired long ago, then you bring his hand downwards.

“Feel around, it’s not hard to find.” You instruct, voice soft so as not to freak him out in this new situation.

Bill blinks, trying to think clearly as he runs his hand between your thighs until he feels the right spot.

“One at a time, go slow.”

Bill slowly pushes a finger inside of you and you lift your hips with him to give him a better angle. He moves the lone finger around slowly, then he adds another.

“You want to make room for yourself, so spread them out and stretch the muscles.” You say, keeping your voice as steady and clear as you can with Bill’s large fingers inside of you.

Bill follows your instructions, spreading his fingers apart as he rotates them. He thinks of his size, making sure to spread his fingers wide and ensuring you’re stretched until he’s not nervous about hurting you so much.

“Okay.” You say, breath taking up most of your voice. “Okay, that’s good, Bill.”

“S-So I can, uh…”

You nod. “Go on. It’s okay. Just make sure you get some spit on yourself too, it makes it easier.”

Bill nods as he removes his fingers. He spits into his hand and runs the liquid over himself, spreading the pre-cum as well. He feels slick, he thinks, so he aligns himself. You help him, raising your hips so he can come closer and properly have access. He looks at you one more time and you give him a nod, encouraging him. He takes your hips in his hands as he pushes into you, slowly, careful to watch your face for signs of pain. It’s mostly easy, the stretch nothing too new to you, allowing you to relax in the pleasure of the friction inside of you. Bill fully sets himself inside, his balls flush against your skin and his breathing heavy.

You relax into the bed as he moves, letting him explore the feeling for a bit. Bill moves slowly, grinding and circling to figure out what feels good. The men he’s slept with before took control, he’s never had the time to figure out exactly what he likes.

“What was yer name?” He asks, stopping his movements when he realized he never learned it.

You tell him and he repeats it before he starts a solid pace. You let him settle into it before you move with him, earning a groan when you do. Bill’s pace turns faster and you can feel the ache more and more, but he beats you to it as he wraps his hand around your dick and pumps it as best he can in time with his thrusts. You focus on moving with him, trying to get him off because you can feel your own end coming. Bill does cum first, his thrusts faltering but his hand keeps strong long enough for you to follow him. Your eyes find Bill in time to watch as he pulls out of you and leans forward to kiss you again.

It’s heavy, full of a lot of emotion, and unmistakably more than just a kiss. Not just from Bill, partly from you too. It’s not unheard of, johns falling for their hustlers, but the other way around is much less common. Something about Bill has you though. Not just the sex, his demeanor, his seemingly caring nature, his enthusiasm. So you let your hands tangle in his hair as you enjoy the kiss. It lasts for a long time, Bill not wanting to pull away because he knows it’s supposed to be over now. But he does, once his lips hurt and his jaw aches, he pulls away just an inch and rests his forehead against yours as you both catch your breath.

Silently, unconsciously, he nuzzles against your cheek. It makes your heart skip and you press a kiss to his cheek. You’ve never been so affectionate with a john before, but you’re feeling things with Bill. So when he falls onto the bed next to you, you curl into him and rest your head on his chest. He watches you, face red and heart skipping as he puts an arm around you.