#it's a case of doing the wrong thing getting the right answer

[wabatle]

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Studying Together (bllk ver)

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Featuring: Reo. Sae, Rin, Kaiser, Bachira, Chigiri

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Warnings: lots of swearing, mentions of summer school 😱, rin gets called a freak of nature (slander bc i love him but if you do what he does ur not a freak only he is)

𓆩⚝𓆪 — Contains: gn!reader, fluff, comedy

𓆩⚝𓆪 — A/N: it's exam time for me so take what i wrote about studying while i should've been studying

-ˏˋ⋆ Reo Mikage

╰┈➤ I would like to think Reo doesn’t ever really need to study (smartass) but he would gladly help you study if it means he gets to see you!! (down bad ass)

╰┈➤ It’s less like studying and more like he’s tutoring you, I guess. He goes over most of the things in the curriculum quickly and then helps you with specific things you need. He gives you random questions and also helps you with the vocabulary and important terms.

╰┈➤ He looks online to find practice tests or previous exams and you take them together, so he’s learning too. He lets you answer first in case you’re wrong.

╰┈➤ Studying with Reo is very organized and put together, and you usually feel quite prepared when you’re done. Which is probably why the both of you passed with flying colors! YAY!

-ˏˋ⋆ Sae Itoshi

╰┈➤ Sae really doesn’t like to study, but he always does without fail or complaint. It’s like, he hates it but he likes it at the same time, and doing it with you can make it slightly less of an annoyance.

╰┈➤ All he’ll do is go over the terms with you, and maybe have you quiz him on some of the them, and then vice versa.

╰┈➤ If you still want to study when he’s all done, he very well might just find you some random practice test online to keep you occupied like a Mom giving her child Cocomelon.

╰┈➤ You hardly feel prepared when it’s time for the exam, but when you get your grade back, you basically aced it. So, it worked, I guess?

-ˏˋ⋆ Rin Itoshi

╰┈➤ Rin does not like to study either, so he just doesn’t, and he gets good grades anyway. What the fuck?? FREAK OF NATURE!!!

╰┈➤ So when you ask to study with him, his immediate response is literally “no.” like ok rude much??

╰┈➤ So, you know, eventually you wear him down and he agrees to study with you. He isn’t very cooperative and is usually doing something else, but he will genuinely help you if you’re feeling stuck. If you ask him to explain something, he will, but not without being a little bitch first (he’s a big bully).

╰┈➤ Basically, as long as you ask him the right questions and study a bit on your own, you’ll do good on the exam. Proven since you got a decent grade! YAY!

-ˏˋ⋆ Michael Kaiser

╰┈➤ Okay listen. He thinks he knows what he’s doing. You ask to study and he says yes, thinking he’ll be tutoring you. He’s confident he’ll ace the exam. He boasts about how smart he is and how easy the whole course was.

╰┈➤ You start studying by doing a practice test and Kaiser finds out he’s literally cooked. Buddy has no idea what the fuck he’s doing and basically his entire life is a lie, he’s definitely going to fail the exam.

╰┈➤ So most of the studying is you teaching him and studying every single term from the entire year, as well as taking practice tests and whatever other work your teacher gives you.

╰┈➤ You pass! YAY! Kaiser barely scrapes by.

-ˏˋ⋆ Meguru Bachira

╰┈➤ Bachira asks you if you want to study together because he wants to hang out with you (#bsfs4life) and you’ve been talking about how you’re going to study, so he thinks it’s the perfect plan!

╰┈➤ However, despite him being at your house for the whole day, you hardly study. You basically do everything but study. Every time you try to lock in, one of you says something quite silly and then you get completely distracted for the next 20 minutes.

╰┈➤ You do manage to lock in and get maybe 30 minutes to an hour’s worth of studying, but it isn’t great.

╰┈➤ You both bomb your exams. At least you’ll be together in summer school!

-ˏˋ⋆ Hyoma Chigiri

╰┈➤ Chigiri wants to study. You want to study. Might as well study together, right? So, you end up at your house.

╰┈➤ The single question, “Can you lock the fuck in?” is uttered thousands of times between the two of you, because you just can’t focus. The majority of the time is not spent studying, it’s trying to get one of you to study.

╰┈➤ In a few hours, you make it through maybe three practice tests and some vocabulary. It’s not a lot, but it’s probably more than you would’ve done if you were alone.

╰┈➤ You both pass. You could’ve gotten a higher grade if you just locked the fuck in, but at least you don’t have to go to summer school.

𓆩⚝𓆪 — thank you for reading!

𓆩⚝𓆪 — taglist (ask 2 be added): @mariaace , @stellas-starry-sillies13, @meowkages

𓆩⚝𓆪 — blue lock masterlist

[xoxolaw]

aaaa first time sending an ask but a random thought came to me after rewatching whc..

maybe something like reader ends up in the hospital and that's where she meets suho in a coma so she ends up visiting him everyday to talk to him even though they've never met thinking he couldn't hear her, but it turns out that he could hear her the whole time he was in a coma hehahwhwh

love the way you write!!! all your works are so well-written ><

+ 𝗪𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗟𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗜𝗡𝗚

in which she starts talking to a coma patient just to feel less lonely - and doesn't realise he heard every word

+ 𝗔𝗛𝗡 𝗦𝗨𝗛𝗢 𝗫 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗘𝗥

fluff

The first time she stepped into Room 201, it wasn’t on purpose.

She was supposed to be getting her discharge papers. A sprained wrist and a mild concussion — not bad, considering the crash. But the halls were quiet, and the vending machine had eaten her last coin. She wandered down the wrong corridor looking for a nurse and paused at the open door.

There he was.

Still. Silent. A boy maybe her age, maybe older. Maybe younger. Skin pale beneath tangled hair. Tubes trailed from his arms like spiderwebs, and machines blinked softly around him.

She wasn’t sure why she stepped in.

Maybe it was the way his room felt too quiet. Or maybe it was the nameplate on the wall: Ahn Suho.

Someone who had a name shouldn’t be so alone.

“Hey,” she said quietly, voice unsure. “Um. I’m not supposed to be here.”

He didn’t move, of course. But that was the thing about talking to someone who couldn’t answer — it didn’t matter.

“So,” she said, pulling the chair closer. “I guess I’ll sit here until I get my discharge, if that’s cool.”

She looked at the heart monitor. Steady.

“You don’t mind, right?”

✮⋆˙

Visit #2

“Okay, hear me out,” she whispered, tugging her hoodie over her hospital bracelet. “Today’s theory: hospital food is a government plot.”

She set a wrapped chocolate bar beside his untouched apple juice. “I stole this from the nurse’s station. You’re welcome.”

She leaned back in the chair and glanced over. “I should probably introduce myself. I’m Y/N. I was in a crash. Umm. That's it.”

Silence.

Except for the hum of machines.

“I used to think comas were like… complete darkness. Like being unplugged,” she continued. “But then someone told me that maybe people can hear things. Even when they can’t respond.”

She looked at him. “I’m gonna pretend you can. Just in case.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #5

She came in mid-rant, sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“I bombed my stats midterm,” she huffed, throwing herself into the chair. “I studied for weeks. Literal weeks. And for what? A 53. A tragedy.”

She turned her head and eyed him.

“Honestly? You’re probably lucky. No classes. No midterms. No group projects from hell. Just… naps. That’s the dream.”

She tilted her head. “...Too dark?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “You’d tell me if I was annoying, right?”

Stillness.

“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #9

“Do you believe in soulmates?” she asked one day, legs folded under her in the chair.

He didn’t answer. Couldn’t. But she stared at him anyway.

“Like, not in a romantic way, even. Just… someone whose energy feels like home.”

She leaned her head back against the chair, eyes closing.

“My grandma used to say the people meant for you find you. Even if it’s by accident.”

A pause.

“I don’t know why I keep coming back here. But I think it’s helping.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #14

She brought a juice box and a book of crossword puzzles. Not for him — for her. But she left both unopened.

Instead, she spoke softer that day. Slower.

“I had a nightmare last night. The kind that makes you wake up choking on your own breath.”

Her fingers twisted in her sleeve.

“I keep thinking about what would’ve happened if I hadn’t swerved at the last second. I keep seeing the headlights. I keep hearing the metal twist.”

She exhaled.

“I know you’re the one in a coma, but sometimes I feel like I haven’t really woken up either.”

She looked at him then, eyes wet but steady.

“You know what’s weird? I feel safer here. Sitting with you. I don’t even know you.”

She smiled, a little broken.

“But I talk to you like I do.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #17

She came in late this time — hoodie damp from rain, socks mismatched.

“I brought gummy bears,” she announced, holding up the bag like it was treasure. “But I already ate most of them. So now I’m just here to confess my crimes.”

She plopped into the chair and leaned forward, unwrapping the plastic around his IV line just a little so it wouldn’t tug against his skin.

“I think if we were friends, you’d be the kind who judges my snack habits silently,” she mused. “Like, you’d sit there with your stupid perfect posture and side-eye me every time I pulled out something processed.”

She smiled faintly. “But I bet you’d still take one. Even if you pretended you didn’t want to.”

She was quiet for a long while after that.

Then—

“I don’t know why I keep talking like you’ll wake up.”

A breath.

“I think I just… hope you do.”

✮⋆˙

Visit #20

She pushed the door open with one elbow, a juice pouch hanging from her teeth and a hoodie several sizes too big draped over her shoulders. It was the third time that week she’d come by unannounced. The nurses stopped asking questions.

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of day I had,” she said around the straw, dropping her bag onto the chair. “There was this guy on the train, right? Full-on tried to hit on me while I was literally in the middle of chewing a protein bar.”

She took the straw out of her mouth and pointed it at him like an accusation.

“Who flirts with someone mid-bite?”

Silence answered her. Of course.

“I told him I was seeing someone,” she continued, shrugging off the hoodie. “And he asked if it was serious. And I didn’t know what to say.”

She froze for a second, then laughed softly.

“I mean. How do you explain… this?”

Her eyes flicked over to him. Peaceful. Still. Like always.

“‘Yeah, I’m in a one-sided talking situation with a boy in a coma.’ That wouldn’t go over well.”

She sat down and leaned forward, elbows on her knees.

“I didn’t say anything. Just told him I wasn’t interested.”

There was something heavy in the way she said it. Like she meant more than she let on.

She stared at him.

“You know what’s funny?” she murmured. “I don’t even know where you go to school. I don’t know your favorite color. Or what kind of music you like. I don’t know if you snore, or if you’re the kind of person who organizes their apps by color.”

Her voice cracked just a little.

“But I keep coming back.”

She looked down at her hands. Fidgeted.

“Is it weird that I feel like I know you better than people I’ve known for years?”

She glanced back up. Her voice dropped to a whisper.

“Is it crazy that I… miss you? Even though you’re right here?”

The heart monitor beeped steady. Soothing.

She reached out and touched his hand, just barely.

“You don’t know me. But if you ever wake up… I’d really like to change that.”

And for a moment — just a moment — she imagined him smiling back.

✮⋆˙

Visit #23

She was quieter this time. Sleepy.

She curled her knees into the chair and whispered like it was a secret.

“I used to talk to the moon when I was little. Thought maybe someone out there was listening.”

She reached out and gently brushed his bangs back from his forehead.

“I talk to you like that now.”

She hesitated.

“Is that selfish?”

No answer, but her gaze lingered.

“If I were you, I’d be annoyed by now. Some girl spilling her whole life in your room every day. No warning.”

But her voice cracked a little.

“Still… it makes the world feel less heavy. Talking to you. Like… there’s a version of me that only exists in this room.”

Her thumb brushed the back of his hand.

“I like you."

✮⋆˙

Visit #27

She was crying before she even sat down.

“I failed a class,�� she whispered, words trembling. “I worked so hard and I still failed. And my mom said it’s because I get distracted. That I’m wasting time.”

She sniffled, voice breaking.

“I think she meant you.”

Silence wrapped around her.

“I wanted to scream at her. But I didn’t. I just walked out and came here.”

She curled her fingers around his.

“Tell me I’m not wasting time.”

And for a second — just for a second — she thought his hand squeezed back.

She gasped and looked up.

But nothing had changed.

✮⋆˙

Visit #33

She showed up late. She almost didn’t come.

But she walked in, shut the door softly, and slid her fingers between his.

“I think I’m falling for you,” she whispered. “And that’s probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever said out loud.”

She looked at him like he could hear her heart beating.

“But if there’s even a 1% chance that you remember any of this — I just want you to know.”

She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. Just once.

Then stood.

And left.

✮⋆˙

She didn't plan to come today. Finals were around the corner. Her mom was breathing down her neck. And honestly? She was tired.

Tired of hoping. Tired of talking to someone who’d never talk back. Tired of Room 201 and its terrible fluoresce nt lights and the smell of antiseptic and the sound of a steady heart monitor that somehow felt louder when everything else was silent.

But she came anyway.

Because habits are hard to break. And so are hearts.

She stepped into the room like she always did.

Only this time.

It was empty.

She stopped cold in the doorway.

Room 201 was still Room 201 — white walls, faded curtain, the too-bright glare of sterile ceiling lights. But the bed was stripped clean. The machines were gone.

And he wasn’t there.

The chair she always sat in was tucked neatly under the window. Like she’d never been there at all.

“No,” she whispered, heart stuttering. “No, no, no—”

She backed into the hallway, scanning for someone—anyone. Her throat was tight, like every breath scraped against the inside of her ribs.

Where was he?

She grabbed the nearest nurse she could find.

“Where is he?” she asked, not bothering to mask the panic in her voice. “Room 201. Suho. Ahn Suho. He—he was here yesterday.”

The nurse blinked, caught off guard.

“Oh—uh—” She glanced at her tablet. “Ahn Suho was moved this morning. He regained consciousness late last night.”

Y/N froze.

“What?”

“He’s stable,” the nurse added quickly. “They moved him to Recovery Ward B. Down the south wing, third door to the right.”

Y/N stood there like she hadn’t heard anything after ‘he regained consciousness.’

Because her brain had simply stopped there.

He was awake.

He was awake.

She turned and ran.

✮⋆˙

She found the room by sheer instinct.

The door was cracked open, and sunlight poured through the windows, warm and golden in a way Room 201 never was.

She stepped inside.

And there he was.

A little thinner. Propped up against pillows. Eyes half-lidded but open. Really open.

Ahn Suho.

He looked… human. Fragile, even.

But real. Alive.

She didn’t know what she expected — some cinematic moment where he saw her and smiled like he’d been waiting. But he didn’t. He just looked up slowly, tiredly, like his whole body was still relearning how to exist.

Their eyes met.

Her breath caught.

And for a second — just a second — she forgot how to speak.

Then:

“You’re awake,” she said softly.

He blinked. Then nodded. Barely.

She stepped forward. One hesitant step. Then another.

“You probably don’t—remember me,” she said. “I just… I used to visit.”

His lips parted. It took effort. But he spoke.

“…Y/N.”

She stopped.

“You remember?”

He gave the faintest, smallest smile.

“Gummy bears,” he rasped.

She laughed. Sharp and sudden, wet with tears she didn’t know she was holding back.

“You idiot,” she whispered. “You remember the gummy bears.”

“You… talk a lot,” he said, like it was a compliment. “I didn’t want to miss anything.”

She let out a broken sound. Somewhere between a sob and a laugh.

She stepped closer until she was at his side. Until their hands were inches apart.

“I thought you forgot. I thought—”

She shook her head, smile shaking.

“I never forgot,” he said. “Not a single thing.”

Their hands brushed.

His fingers curled weakly around hers.

“You stayed,” he murmured.

She nodded, eyes shining.

“And now,” she whispered, “so will you.”

✮⋆˙

She sat by his side that evening, telling him about everything he missed. The vending machine conspiracy. The guy on the train. Her failed stats midterm. Her nightmares. Her heart.

And this time—he listened.

Really listened.

He smiled.

He asked questions, slow and soft, voice still gravel.

And when she leaned in to press her forehead to his?

This time, he tilted his to meet hers halfway.

And everything — every visit, every word, every aching silence — had led here.

+ 𝗔𝗨𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗥'𝗦 𝗡𝗢𝗧𝗘 + 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

Hope you enjoyed this <3

+ 𝗧𝗔𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

@l5byrinth @m3sty @inom17 @dna-black-and-blue @mizxuqii @d4ily-s-nsh1ne @mwsrphm @maxinehufflepuffprincess @intoanothermind @cayrelyra @coolasiangal123 @mariii-0001 @susuheartsyou @ineed-myspace @ruhaniii @ohtobelovedbyanartist @choihyunwookie @itzcandy

[lyrmouche]

do you mind writing a kinich x reader that struggles with sh?? i'll understand if not!! (⁠✿⁠^⁠‿⁠^⁠)

I promise you this,

— A/N ; i don't mind at all anon!!! i didn't know if you wanted hcs or a drabble, i made this g/n just in case and did some hcs with some dialogue between them. hope this lived up to your expectations! <3

— warnings ♡  sh, slightest bit of angst, ooc atrocious grammar and writing <3

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . kinich is pretty observant, so at first, he knew something was up that started to concern him a little. 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . it was a bit scary when he confronted you about it, he wasn't very good at those things, but he wanted to try for you and get an honest answer. to him, these things are extremely important, late or not 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . he would be just slightly pushy, after all you are his partner and honestly the most important person in his life, kinich wanted to make sure he did his best for both of you 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . he will have a talk with you about it eventually, and wont let you excuse yourself from it 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . afterwards he would make time to check up on you more often than usual just in case, also tries to ask if you want anything to feel better 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . one thing he will say though, he doesn't care about scars or anything like that, even if you're struggling, he'll help and listen to you the whole time and help you manage through tough times. kinich will always love and support you!

"i hope you know that ill always be here for you, no matter what. for you, ill do anything, and i mean it."

"dont worry about what other people think, i belive you can push through this, you're strong, i know you are."

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . he usually tries to give you some words of comfort or acts of services when you're feeling really down 👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . if you're comfortable with it, kinich sometimes gives you small kisses or offers a small cuddle session

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . kinich is concerned you'll do it again at some point, so he does his best on checking up on you once in a while just to make sure nothings too wrong

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . i feel like he would be the person to think that your scars aren't something to be ashamed of. they're something you survived and show how you fought through it and slowly are starting to heal. even if things get worse again, your scars are something that is a reminder of how you were brave enough to live past that moment, so he thinks you shouldn't be ashamed of what you did.

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . if you did end up breaking down or relapsing, he would prefer you at least admit it to him later just to have a small talk

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . kinich wouldn't be mad at all, he would just come over as soon as he could, stay quiet and offer some help.

👾 ◟੭‏‏‎ ‎ . he usually just helps you clean up the area around it and gives you some bandages just in case it doesn't get infected or anything

"Do you want me to help you clean them? If not, i won't force you. we can cuddle, or i can cook up something for you instead, whatever you'd think would help you feel better right now. "

— i am loving these kinich asks ahriwvsjd

credit to cafekitsune for the div!

[lorimnnn]

femdom | random character x reader | smut; mdni

it's 3:30am right now but i just had the most beautiful idea

you're a junior police officer who just got promoted to the special crimes unit, and your newness has naturally got the team coddling you and avoiding involving you when possible. plus, it doesn't help that you're sweet in nature; cheerful, soft-spoken, dressing in a spring wardrobe despite the coldest seasons that never seem to end within the chilly confines of the office--- you don't exactly look the part of a ruthless, thick-skinned detective that wears their mortality like a second skin and at any moment's notice, would lunge into the heart of terrorist gunfire. if anything, you look like a body they'd ID at the scene. another statistic. nobody really understands how you got into this industry or why you're in it, let alone what miracle worked in your favour to get you this far. nobody questions it either, though. it's hard to when you're so good at keeping your head down and obeying the instructions they give you, which is very uncharacteristic of every rookie they've ever been assigned.

so there you are again, babysitting a criminal. a grown man. it's your fifth day with him doing nothing while your team runs around sprouting branches from the latest case; all of which are short, rotten and weak. you've never seen more dead-ends in your life. then again, there is something off about this case, and while nobody believes you, you're confident that they're missing something huge, and the complexity of the whole thing is a clue on its own.

you're also ninety-nine percent sure that the seemingly disposable lackey that they've caught purely for dummy intel is more important than they think, but who you were kidding?

you'd embarrass yourself more trying to explain it to them than having them figure it out anyway knowing you were right. they were all high and mighty government ghouls; it'd not only be a waste of breath, but a useless donation of dignity, too. and that was already hard to keep. not like you started with much.

"I'm bored."

you pause, raising your gaze from your laptop to the stranger in the corner of the cabin. for all five days that you'd been around him, he hadn't spoke. he'd smirked, scowled, glared like he was going to kill you, but hadn't spoke, and you'd reconciled with creating a mental guidebook on his physical cues to figure out what he needed in what moment. furrow of the brows and zoning out means 'i will cannabalise you and then myself if i don't eat in the next ten minutes'. bouncing of the leg means 'i need to pee right fucking now'. grinding of the jaw means 'i want to sleep but i also can't sleep but if i don't sleep i might miss something. i'll just rest my eyes...'

somehow, hearing him voice his needs was enough to disrupt your entire system. it was just two words, but you felt out of your depth; did he want something? surely, he wanted something. what did he figure out that finally prompted him to talk?

you gnaw at the inside of your cheek, debating whether or not to answer. that felt dangerous. you push yourself to your knees from where you're draped over the bed in the middle of the room, watching your show and shamelessly inhaling the head detective's lunch donut. she'll get over it. in her eyes, you could do no wrong if she expected nothing from you.

"i'm bored," your hostage calls out again. he stares at you impatiently and cocks his head. "i know you can talk. talk to me."

"are you hungry?"

"what?"

"thirsty?"

"huh? no."

"do you need to---"

'no, I don't need to take a fucking piss. i'm bored."

'okay,' you say, but do nothing about it. You just continue to stare at him as he stares at you, the awkward silence yawning wider between us as he waits and you make him wait longer. your show hums into the quiet, unpaused.

'can you pick a show that we can both watch, at least?" he says gruffly. "your shit pisses me off. everyone's a blockhead and the plot hasn't moved anywhere for a whole season."

'it's a slow burn," you mumble. 'it's supposed to be that way."

'slow burn?' he scoffs. 'there's not even a spark. you've been watching this shit since i wound up here and they haven't even found the sticks to make one. change it.'

you sniff. 'i like my show. and for your information, they just held hands. if you were paying attention, you'd know that. can you be quiet now, please? unless you have something useful to say." you stare at him. he's quiet. 'that's what i thought.'

he wrinkles his nose at me, but there's no real heat behind it. you guess the five days mellowed him out. what used to be a feral dog of a man spitting in the lead detectives face is now just some random guy trying to watch your low-budget romance show that has too many seasons. all the tattoos and muscles and scars mean nothing, now. he's into your girly show, and he knows it.

begrudgingly, you angle my laptop his way.

'stacy is just about to confess," you say softly. 'i know you're watching. i know you'd want to see it happen.'

'whatever,' he grinds out, but doesn't complain. he does squint, however. you faintly recall seeing something on his file about being short sighted and sigh, getting up and bringing the laptop with you. great. so he's blind and into girly shows-- is he even trying to be a problem? he's pretty bad at it. you're starting to feel like if you just asked nicely, he'd tell me whatever you want.

i pull a seat up next to him and set my laptop down on the table.

he stares at me.

you point at the screen. 'you're going to miss it if you stare at me."

he quirks a brow instead. 'you're a little weird, doll."

you frown. 'that's a strange way of saying thank you.'

'c'mere and i'll show you how grateful i am.'

you stare at him.

he stares at you.

'your record doesn't say you have any sexual assault or harassment charges against you,' you say, looking away. 'i'm disappointed.'

"'cause i don't."

"uh huh."

"i'm serious, doll. was just tryin' my luck."

'yup."

'you're real pretty."

'so i've heard."

"you've been taking good care of me, too.'

"i get paid to."

okay guys lowkey i opened my drafts and i do NOT remember what the idea was so i'm going to just freestyle it

'for such a sweet face, you can be pretty cold when you want to."

you sigh, slamming your laptop shut. the sharpness of the sound startles him--- this large, tough man relentlessly flirting with you--- and when he looks at you, this softness in your demeanor has completely dispersed. what's left is a cold, hard shell, a robotic expression and calculating eyes.

he tenses.

"what do you think is happening right now?'

"what?"

"what do you think this is?" you murmur, setting your laptop aside and shifting your chair to face him head-on. you swing one leg over the other and cock your head. "did you think we were friends?"

"on our way there, maybe."

a small smirk flickers at the corner of your lips, and you lean forward, planting your chin on your fist. "funny. you think you're funny."

"you're two-faced as fuck."

"and you're hiding something."

he lifts his chin. "oh. so you wanna talk business, doll?"

"depends. are you going to talk? or am I going to have to make you?'

he sneers. "try your best."

the laugh that spills from your mouth is sweet-sounding, gentle, like bells. it's innocent enough. but the looseness of your posture and the way you hold yourself makes it sound nothing short of deranged--- and now, that smallness of your character, that unassuming quietness, the steady sweetness... it all becomes increasingly clear that it was a veil for whatever unpredictable monster writhed inside.

"what do you think i'm going to do to you?" you touch your chest. "me? lil ol me? the lackey?"

"i'm not one to underestimate."

"are you one to overestimate, then?"

he grits his teeth. "nothing i won't be prepared for. if you're looking for answers, then you won't find them in me."

"won't I?" you purr. "See, i've been studying. I've been spending some time with you. I know that you know something important."

"what... what are you doing right now?"

"what are you talking about?"

he squints. "why are you talking to me like that?"

you lift one leg, planting your foot on the edge of his chair between his knees. his breath hitches, and his gaze darts from your toes to your face as though the double take might make him see you better. then you kick.

his chair swings backwards and hits the ground.

"motherfucker-"

"language," you tut, standing over him. he wriggles on the floor, yanking against his restraints. there's a new kind of panic possessing him, now. not the kind that comes from the fear of getting hurt, but the fear of his own reaction, the fear of his unknown. you stand with a leg on either side of his ribs, staring down at him as though you are watching listlessly through a screen. 'relax. i won't do anything you don't want me to do."

"fuck off."

you grin. "you talk so big for someone who's face is so red. you like this, don't you? I knew you would. i've been watching closely, you know. i figured that violence would do nothing for you. it's not really in your head that you're not a winner in this situation, is it? because you know that you could get yourself out at any minute. but you won't. you know why?"

his snarls at you, bucking off the chair like the momentum will swing him upright again. He tries to twist on to his side, and you frown, stomping on his shoulder. He hisses as the ground slams into his back.

"well," you continue. "it's because I know you're interested in me. and that's your weakness, isn't it? you know someone's coming for you, so you think, 'i might as well have fun'. But no. No no no."

the panic seems to flare as you lower yourself on to your knees, hovering over him in a straddle. of course, there is nothing objectively wrong about what you're doing. you could make the excuse that you're about to hit him, punch him, have your way with him to hopefully choke out an answer--- in which case he should be completely fine. but it's clear that you were right about one thing. you smirk.

'silly darling,' you coo. 'you think I wouldn't pick up on the fact that you want to be treated like a dog?"

his eyes widen. "what?"

"you've been getting hard getting hand fed and walked to go piss. did you think I wouldn't notice?"

his cheeks flare red, and he sputters. "you--- you---"

"y-y-you," you mock, dropping your weight on to his stomach and rolling your eyes. you seize his face with one hand and wiggle it, pouting at him. "me, what? me, me, me? is that what you've been thinking about? is that what you've been exciting yourself over?"

he pants, his chest heaving with each breath. the more he looks at you and the more he talks, the more red his face grows. nervous sweat collects at his temples, and his eyes flutter. lust wars with outrage in those dark, arrogant eyes, and you revel in it, bathe in it, thrive in it.

"am i wrong?"

his feeble attempt to turn away from the intensity of your stare only pushes his face into your palm, and you grin, taking the opportunity to reel your hand back and strike him. he gasps, bucking up and off the chair. you squeal, delighted, as you are lifted off the ground.

"i guess not. but you have words, don't you?" you croon. "come on. say them."

he grinds his teeth, glaring at you. a red handprint blooms over the side of his face, and as if seeing exactly what you're seeing--- this large, imposing criminal rendered into a pathetic mess beneath you, trembling and hot and sweaty with need--- he shudders.

"fuck. fine. you got me."

you cover your mouth, trying to smother a smug laugh. "I got you?"

"yes."

"good boy, answering me so honestly." you drag your hand down his chest, over your own thigh, behind you. he squeezes his eyes shut as fingers ghost over the probing outline of his cock. "you want me to take care of that?"

"obviously."

you pull your hand back. "oh?"

"fuck!" he barks. "yes! fuck! Please!"

you chew the inside of your cheek. you hadn't meant to find a thrill in all of this, but somewhere along the way, you had discovered that you may have enjoyed this more than you thought. you fight another delirious smile and press your palm against him, your heart lurching in your chest at the faint whine echoing in the back of his throat.

"tell you what," you whisper. "let's make a deal.'

"no."

"you'll like this deal."

"i'm not answering you for shit. you can't make me." he glares at you. "and i'll report you for pulling this shit."

"just hear me out," you say sweetly, nimbly undoing the buttons of his pants and pulling down the zip--- without breaking eye contact with him once. "you can listen, right? dogs can listen."

his cheeks flame again, and he clamps his jaw shut.

"good boy," you croon. "now, first of all, let's get one thing straight. it doesn't matter what you tell them. they'll never believe you. second, whatever you tell me, I won't be telling them, because I want this to be my case. I can't have them taking credit for my efforts, can I? No, that's right. And thirdly..."

you hook a finger under the waistband of his boxers, tugging it away from his cock. somewhere along the way he had grown pliant. he stopped struggling. he stopped trying to bite off your face. now, he looks like he'd do anything to wrap your pretty hand around his length and get to work, even if it means resorting to begging, whining and pleading to the point of no return.

"thirdly?" he pants, clenching his fists.

you smile. "thirdly, for every answer you give me, i'll make you cum."

he flinches. 'that's your reward? no fucking man can cum that---"

"oh, but you can," you say, leaning back against his thighs. "and you will. what do you say?"

the look that scrunches his face together is deliciously conflicted, and even more so needy. but no matter how conflicted he might be, his decision was already made--- and his answer arranged all nice and pretty for the taking.

"Good boy."

---

when the detectives come back, you're feeding the hostage soup. the bowl sits on the table, steaming, and you're negotiating a next mouthful as he lays there, seemingly resistant.

what they don't notice is his flushed cheeks, the undone button of his pants or the way he breathes--- hot and heavy, as though he is running a fever. what they do notice, however, is that you're glowing, a bit more cheerful than usual and a bit brighter than they're used to. You turn to them with a smile.

"Oh. Welcome back. Any luck?"

"Barely," the lead detective sighs, shedding her jacket. "Another dead end. Thankfully we've got a tip to look into, but that's tomorrow's problem. Did he talk?"

"No," you say, seemingly dejected. "I tried, but it was the same. Not a word."

"Silence?" The lead detective muses, quirking a brow. "That's a new one. That's suspicious."

"That's what I'm saying."

"You want someone to stay back with you for the next few days?"

"Oh, no." You grin, looking back at him. "We'll be fine."

[julietcpulet]

Hi! It's me again 🤣

Thanks for the solid response! I appreciate it. It reminded me of what Joka said to Maomao in Volume 13, where she emphasized that Maomao shouldn't just be content with receiving in the relationship, but that she also had to become her best self. I believe Joka's words instigated Maomao's actions (as also seen in Volume 5). Maybe my interpretation of the situation is mistaken for taking her attitude toward her blood clan at face value. But to be fair, her dislike for nobility, status, and her clan has been consistent for the past 16 volumes, which is why it just felt so sudden to me that she started behaving like one out of nowhere. Especially when in Volume 14 she still states she does not consider herself part of the La clan.

I think the reason this strikes me as unfair is because Jinshi faces a similar predicament. Both of them dislike being forced into certain positions (the throne for Jinshi and the La Clan's Princess for Maomao), yet we root for them for different outcomes. We want Jinshi to be abdicated, so why do we want Maomao to accept her "rightful" place? I know it's essential for her growth and character, but something about this just seems to rub me the wrong way.

Then again, if they were to strip away their noble relations, they would simply become commoners, and I'm not really a fan of that ending. Maomao even brings this up with him in Volume 16, though my knowledge is based solely on leaks. This is why I agree with your point about them making compromises for their relationship. Part of me believes Maomao is willing to make this compromise only because Jinshi's love for her is overwhelming (for her), making her feel she has nothing else to offer in return (LN 12). But also because it comes with many benefits career-wise.

In fact, I think the next hurdle Maomao has to face is her communication with Jinshi. She's willing to take this risk and accept his feelings, but I don't think he's aware of how far Maomao is actually willing to go. He still doesn't want to inconvenience her, which is why he's willing to let her go if the worst-case scenario happens. Perhaps the answer to their problems will be the same: they'd get married, not as a royal nor a commoner, but somewhere in-between (still nobility). A compromise.

I am so sorry this became long but I really love reading your analysis for this series, so I just had to turn to you! I hope you don't mind.

Oh I don’t mind at all, so glad you liked the response! And don’t worry about long responses, as you can see I have no problem with writing haha, just may take me a bit to reply cause I want to be thorough 😄 (Spoilers below)

To me the reason there’s no unfairness in Maomao’s elevation vs Jinshi’s demotion is because of what each position does for the person. Where it’s been clearly shown that Jinshi will only be destroyed as the Emperor due to his kindness, like Maomao noticing he loses sleep and overworks himself, Maomao is elevated by being in the La clan, she thrives at being able to provide things for herself and to move amidst these higher ranks where before she couldn’t without having to seek out someone else’s assistance.

Also I think the reason we root for Jinshi to not be Emperor is because, while he has good leadership qualities, the palace is a source of constant strife and a lack of meaningful relationships for him. He doesn’t even know his true relationship to his parents and his once more friendly back and forth with Gyokuyou is now contentious because she wants Maomao back in her service but believes he’s making that difficult in pursuing her as a wife. And of course the biggest relationship hindrance between him and Maomao, where they’re unable to marry and have children because of the risks to her life and him being sucked into succession talks which has kept him from being as affectionate with her as he’d like to be out of respect. So we look at his situation and see only misery and obligation keeping him there where he is vs if he were to walk away or at least take a lesser position he could be free to be with the woman he loves and maybe surrounded by genuine friends and relationships.

For Maomao in contrast entering the clan comes with being surrounded by family who are welcoming to her even if it’s an odd dynamic. She and Lahan’s brother are on good terms, Lahan functions as a brother and they bicker like siblings even if she wants to act like she doesn’t like him all the time and Lakan is her father who is willing to dote on her despite not being best at understanding her, not to mention Luomen who would then officially become her family not just by adoption. I do also really see her rejection of the status as her personality quirk of continual denial when most of the time she’s already doing said thing she denies. Like knowing who Jinshi was when she kept saying she didn’t know. She already has functioned in her capacity with the La Clan several times just fine and is even developing a taste for the finer things yet continually says she doesn’t like it or is against being nobility. As I mentioned I think this is because there are more personal reasons why she wouldn’t want to accept, like feeling separated from the Verdigris House or what she’s become accustomed to than it is necessarily the position itself.

This is all speculation on my part of course and I don’t know what the author’s real intentions with the plots are but I also think this is one of those times where Apothecary Diaries does good flipping things on its head. Where we expect to see the man in power have all the enjoyment and privilege but he’s actually the most miserable and we want him to get out of that position due to his lack of freedom and ability to have fulfilling relationships. On the flip side we expect that the serving woman would have the saddest life with no possibilities but that isn’t the case. Maomao so far has been the most free of the two of them and the one with the possibility for advancement open to her so we want her to succeed and take those opportunities so she can have the life she wants. To me that’s the deeper aspect to this Jinshi leaving royalty and Maomao stepping in story is the underlying dynamic of really upending our expectations about who has real freedom and not taking everything at face value.

As for Maomao entering the La clan as a compromise because she sees Jinshi’s love as overwhelming compared to her own and she’s not sure what she can give, I do get that sentiment and I think if she could believe this were a compromise on her part to meet him where he’s trying to do so much for her and them to be together, that could be a good thing and not a bad one. It would show she’s willing to do something uncomfortable and put herself in a position she may not like as much for the sake of someone else who’s been doing the same for her for years at this point, which Jinshi has. The idea would be that in her doing this it could help them both find a way out that’s mutually beneficial. Love doesn’t always mean one side takes all the discomfort and the other all the ease, if both sides can bear some burden then it’s less stress for both. So if Maomao entering the La Clan would be a way for her to alleviate Jinshi’s struggles in the palace as they work towards a solution, I’m all for that. Obviously he doesn’t see her feelings as less in any way and so she doesn’t need to do anything to prove something to him but gestures can be meaningful whether the person needs them or not.

Overall, from a fairness point of view, I like this moment in LN 10 where it’s honest that between the two of them she’s the one less fair than Jinshi:

Jinshi was a man who could have had anything and everything he desired. And yet, he was such a straight shooter that it caused him to beat around the bush like this. He didn’t want to take the shortest route to what he wanted, but the one that would be best for the other person. Too bad that doesn’t exist here. So it was that Maomao pretended not to know, even though she did. Not fair of her at all.

He’s just wishing he could hold her here but dismisses it again out of not wanting to be inappropriate and she feigns ignorance when she really does know what he was looking for. It shows that their whole dynamic is centered around him working hard to do what’s right by her when he could’ve gotten things the easy way but chose not to. She respects that, even if it frustrates her at times his lack of openness about what he wants and she has a hard time finding ways to reciprocate until later. The story does good showing that there’s a balance between them that works for them but in these rare moments we can admit that Maomao is often on the better end of the deal than Jinshi is and he sacrifices a lot for her benefit. So if she in turn would choose to do the same at some point for him, say like joining the La Clan if she truly does consider it distasteful and isn’t simply being deflective, that just would go to show the kind of growth she’s gone through and how she’s emotionally developed to be even more selfless towards someone and reciprocate those feelings she was worried she could never feel, like love.

Completely agree on your last point about their relationship. I think once we see them truly communicate with each other on how far they’re actually willing to go for one another we might see the final conclusion be worked out then. Right now they’re both doing so much for each other but neither one knows it, ironically. But this has been their fatal flaw since day one, not being able to be upfront with each other, they dance around until finally one gets too tired, over the edge or blurts something out and then finally their feelings are revealed. Troubled pasts make for complicated futures. All in all though it’s sweet because they want the other to be happy and are working towards that end in such a selfless way without putting themselves first but it’s funny that if they’d just tell each other they might come to a solution good for both of them 😂 I agree though I don’t necessarily want them to be commoners in the end, somewhere in-between would be best for where they’ve gotten used to and could help people which is what they both seem to really want, not complete obscurity just normalcy.

[sturnboos]

[🍝] Dinner Disaster

inspired by this

summary: bestfriend! nick x reader keep getting mistaken as a couple.

warnings: public confusion, secondhand embarrassment, sarcasm,(don’t know if the waiter would count as homophobic)

the triplets were back home in Boston you were nicks childhood friend so of course he wanted to hang out with you while he was here. They didn’t arrive until late Chris and Matt went off somewhere with Justin. Meanwhile nick was craving pasta. So you offered to drive him to a new Italian restaurant that just opened up a month ago.

Right now you're sitting across from each other at a candle lit booth. The table’s way too small, the music’s subtle, and Nick has already pointed out that the font on the menu is hostile.

“I can’t read this,” he hisses, holding the laminated menu two inches from his face. “Is this in Latin? Am I being cursed?”

You snort. “its an ITALIAN restaurant nick.. It’s literally says chicken alfredo.” you translated for him.

“It doesn’t say that, it says pollo con crema- oh my god their just showing off.”

You’re laughing when the waiter appears. He’s tall, slightly too confident, and already grinning like he’s walked in on a rom-com date halfway through act one. “Hey folks,” he says, way too warmly. “Are we celebrating anything special tonight?”

You open your mouth to answer, but Nick beats you to it. “Nope.”

The waiter chuckles. “Anniversary?”

Nick stares at him. “Of what? The day i escaped the closet?”

You choke on your water. The waiter blinks. “Oh. Sorry, I just thought—”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Nick says, waving a hand, rings clinking. “It’s the eye contact, right? And the fact that we’re sitting on the same side of the booth?”

“We’re not.”

“We were for like five seconds,” he says, unbothered. “She was cold.”

“I still am cold,” you mutter, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Do you want my jacket?”

“Obviously.”

Nick shrugs it off and tosses it at you like he’s a rom-com lead and you’re the love interest, which doesn’t help your case at all. The waiter squints at both of you like he’s trying to spot a lie. “So… you’re really not dating?”

Nick drops his menu flat on the table, leans in, and says, very slowly, “I like men.”

There’s a pause. The waiter is clearly not convinced. “Right, but—like, are you sure?”

You blink. “Did you really just ask him if he’s sure he’s gay?”

Nick sighs, deadpan. “Yeah, you caught me. I’m actually here to propose. Hope she likes breadsticks.”

You smack his arm. “Nick?!”

He grins. “What I’ve watched one episode of Love Island and I’m changed.” he jokes. You both burst out laughing while the waiter retreats slowly, like he’s trying to escape a weird improv scene.

Later, you're sharing a giant bowl of pasta because Nick 'accidentally' ordered the wrong thing so now he wants half of yours and you’re still discussing about the situation earlier. “I don’t understand why everyone assumes I’m straight just because I exist near a woman.”

It’s the emotional intimacy. We talk. We laugh. You let me cuddle with you” You talk twirling spaghetti onto your fork. “I can’t even breathe around any guy, without dating rumours”

Nick groans and flops dramatically against the booth. “We need shirts. Mine’ll say, 'i love hot dads' and yours can say 'I love hot dumb men'”

“Like your brothers?”

he gasps jaw dropped. “Stop it”

you chuckle and raise your glass. “To being 'a couple' in every public setting, ever.”

He clinks his soda against yours. “Cheers to that, bestie. Let them stay confused.” And when the waiter drops off the check with a sheepish, “You two really aren’t dating, huh?”

Nick just winks and says “Only in each other’s nightmares.”

TAGS: @blushsturns @riasturns @iloveduckssm @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @kayskreativeideas @tits4matt @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @norahsturns @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @gemzyy @mattschelseaa @hesvoid34 @phone4pills @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar @luvsturns @nickssidewitch @ariieeesworld @babyt0matoes @sugarraez

[feelslikepants]

Bellario is still bouncing around in my brain. I'm working on a longer, smuttier fic for them, but in the meantime this came out. Lucanis, you've been abandoned for the moment for your hot, messed up cousin, sorry. No regrets.

Pairing: Illario x Bellara, established relationship Words: 800 Rating: T? Nothing happens but they are talking about a sex machine CW: Illario thinks in one line about his boundaries being pushed sexually in other scenarios

Bellara's face crumples in disappointment first and then pinches in confusion, but Illario is not deceived by her bewilderment, innocent or otherwise.

"No," he says again firmly. "Absolutely not."

"Really?" she asks and has the gall to sound puzzled by his refusal. "What's wrong with it?"

Her gaze drifts down to the - to the contraption she's holding, straining her muscles with its weight, bits of metal welded together and exposed where it's not padded. The whole thing is one giant warning flag, and he refuses to let himself be moved by the way his heart twists at the thought of being the cause of her dismay. She is genuine and sincere and open to new experiences, and Illario typically lov - li - enjoys the pleasure of her company enough to indulge her, but he's realizing that sometimes she needs to be reined in.

Specifically now.

"For one, it has two power crystals," he answers.

"Oh, I mean, I didn't think it was powerful enough with just one. So I figured two would be better."

"The last time you said that, it took my thigh a week to stop twitching."

"Right, sorry," she says and wilts a little. "But it worked great when I tested it on myself."

Illario is a consummate professional, even in personal conversations, and he suppresses the involuntary spasm that threatens to run across his face at her words. Apparently she needed an intervention days ago, and he was not paying close enough attention.

"You have to stop doing that."

"What? Why?" she asks defensively.

He pitches his voice low and soothing. "Cara mia, you're going to get hurt with these things."

"I won't. I know what I'm doing, and I'm always careful. I checked it out three times before I used it!"

Illario knows he made a mistake and lets himself wince; he drops the intentionally soft quality in his tone. "You are very skilled at what you do, yes - but does that mean I'm not allowed to be concerned? Especially when it's a sex toy that you're testing alone, and I know you didn't tell anyone else what you were doing."

Her face falls at his last comment, and she allows, "Maybe I shouldn't test things without other people, just in case."

She frowns at the machine in her arms then turns to heft it onto a sidetable instead of holding it, wobbling a little with the weight. "Okay, too many power crystals. What else didn't you like about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, we can't use this obviously, but I want to know for the future. I have other ideas! Unless - do you just not want me to make things to use for sex at all?"

"I would prefer not using things that move and require power sources on sensitive places in bed, no," he answers cautiously.

Bellara looks thoughtful for a moment then shrugs. "Okay. But I'm still allowed to work on some other stuff here, right?"

Illario is not sure what to do with the easy acquiesance truthfully. He knows she is dismayed whenever her ideas don't work out and for him to stifle her creativity without even trying it - he anticipated more arguing, more pouting and sulking, some negotiation of his boundaries. Acceptance isn't something he expects from other Crows or casual sex partners and hardly something he can even afford on contracts; some tension he didn't realize was there relaxes in his chest and unfurls toward her, soft and vulnerable.

Still, honesty is not something Illario likes to practice, even with himself, and he isn't a fan of emotional revelations in front of other people so he pivots the conversation to take it away from the bedroom.

"As long as you don't blow anything up," he retorts.

"I won't," she protests, pride pricked again by his words.

"That's what you said three weeks ago."

"I stopped it! Your desk was only a little scorched."

"I still had to get a whole new one."

"Sorry. Can I make it up to you?"

"Yes, I could smell you making churros last night, and you ate them all with Lucanis."

"I was practicing as a surprise," she huffs at him but she's cute when she's annoyed, so he slips his arm around her to guide her out the door.

"I am a Crow - you will have to be sneakier than loudly banging around our kitchen with my cousin to surprise me." He exaggerates the boyish moping quality in his voice to make her roll her eyes and adds, "Besides if it's something for me, I should be the one taste testing for you."

"Fine," she sighs, but she sounds more amused than put out. "We need to get more cinnamon first though."

"To the market then. I could do with some fresh air."

[p-01-s-0-n-0-us]

"She asked but you never answered her? Come on, she's making an effort to do these things and you block her off like that?" Kou raised an eyebrow. "What if eventually she's gonna stop asking too? If she puts in effort to get to know you, you should put some effort into letting her get to know you. Unless she's just a random colleague, which I doubt in your case." he tilted his head slightly to the side, a smile on his lips. "Well I doubt your father is still here to be a dick about you being celebrated and not him. Easier said than done, but try to remember that a dead person shouldn't hold that kind of power over you." Drake's description of his past marriage fit his past lifestyle. Kou truly felt bad that most things seemed to have been tragic, if not traumatizing in a way. "Why'd you marry her then? Just for drugs?" Not that he believed in marrying your true love but Kou was curious about the reason. "You were the definition of sex, drugs and rock'n'roll, weren't you?" he asked slightly amused.

"If there is one thing you can always count on is that old ladies make the best food. I just look too scary for them to flirt with me so for me it's a rare treat." Kou laughed. He let out a sigh at Drake's comment. A playful one. "Do I need to sit you in front of a mirror and point out all the handsome features on your body? You have the looks, Drake." Kou sounded serious while looking at him. His voice left no room for sarcasm. He simply said the truth. His demeanor shifted something more relaxed and playful when the topic was changed again. "Sexual torment is something else, that I enjoy. On both sides. Tormenting and being tormented." A smirk formed on his lips when he saw Drake's reaction. "So you like to overstimulate your partners? That does fit you. Wouldn't you just love to hear me beg for you to stop because I can't handle the pleasure anymore? If you try hard enough I might even start crying." Kou winked.

"It's amazing headbanging stuff. I write most of the music." It wasn't hard to see that Kou was proud of his work. And he loved doing it. Even if there was just a single person listening to his songs, he'd keep making music. "You play the harmonica? I can see that, to be fair. It's a cozy instrument to me. And stereotypically it's played by loners, isn't it?" That was just Kou being playful with Drake. But Drake did sound like he was a bit of a loner, which wasn't a bad thing at all. At least not to Kou.

"You got pictures of your cars? Or will I have to wait for you to take me to Canada and show them to me?" There was obvious excitement in Kou's voice. Next to music cars and motorcycles were his next big passion. "Not sure there would be a lot of fixing getting done if I sit back to help." he grinned, "I would make sure to keep your hands occupied with something else."

"I suppose you have to be a bit of a sadist to be dealing with bad guys all the time. Must be very satisfying to handle them when you know you're in the right and they're in the wrong." At least that's what Kou pictured. "You're off call right now? Because of me?" That was surprising to hear. In a way he expected Drake to still be working, being the workaholic he is. But knowing he wasn't made Kou smile, a genuine, happy smile. "Leave the dirty and old out of that description. You're a dog, loyal to your keeper. With huge puppy energy. Just makes me want to play with you. Maybe put a collar around your neck?" His tone lowered as he placed his hand gently on Drake's neck. That would be a sight the drummer would thoroughly enjoy. "It's pretty hot knowing that you are so possessive. And aggressiveness in the right circumstances is great as well. You've got me very curious about what you are capable of, darling." The fingers on his thighs caused a subtle shiver, a soft sigh even leaving his lips. "That can is already wide open, my dear. Now it's just a matter of how far you are willing to go." he whispered against his lips, pulling Drake into another heated kiss. Fingers boldly sliding under the officer's shirt to explore his skin. Anywhere he could reach he touched. "Don't be nervous, just do what you think feels good. Be as soft or as rough as you want to be." He momentarily leaned back to admire Drake, his flustered expression and heated cheeks. It was as sexy as it was cute.

10-4 I’ll come where is your location? I’ll come to you.

[Text: Officer 👽]: Sent you my address. Should be easy enough to find. There's a parking lot nearby, in case you come by car.

Attached to the text message was Kou's address.

[technically-human]

I think the seduction is working

A part two to this, since you guys asked. I'll probably add another one soon!

[weaselle]

it was too much i had to make my own post

line cook here. ACCURATE

if you don't get the hate, here's what you don't understand.

it takes up to 2 hours to close down the kitchen.

The last 60-90 minutes before closing time you do almost no cooking because the restaurant doesn't have many people in it and you've already cooked most of their diners.

So if someone walks in during, like, the last hour, the cook is in the middle of an industrial deep clean of the kitchen.

(these numbers can vary quite a bit from place to place but i have worked several restaurants with these actual times and the concept remains the same)

Say the place closes at 10. If you wait til the restaurant is already closed to start all your cleaning duties, you'll be there until at least midnight.

More than that your boss knows that on an average night you can start your clean up as soon as the last rush ends and get out of there around 10:45, even 10:15 on a slow night if you get lucky. That means there are plenty of restaurants where if you do take until midnight the manager is going to come up to you at some point that week and ask you what went wrong that night, and you'd better have an answer.

So this example restaurant closes at 10 pm. The dinner rush ends around 8:30, and shortly after that the cook is going to start getting every single dish possible over to the dishwasher because the dishwasher always gets hit hard and late, and the machine runs for 2 full minutes and only holds so many dishes, so the way that works out is if you wait an extra 30 minutes to give the dishwasher all your stuff it can mean adding like 60 minutes to the end of his shift. And you're gonna KEEP finding shit to send to the dishpit right up until you leave probably.

all these little square and rectangle containers in this cold table have to be pulled out and changed over into new containers, replaced by new full ones, or in some cases filled from larger containers in the back, which can result in even more empty containers to send to the dishwasher.

while it's all pulled apart to do this, you have to clean up all the spilled food and sauce and juices and stuff from the joints and ledges and shelves and drip trays

Once you get your line changed over in this way, and fully stocked, anytime someone orders something that makes use of a bunch of that stuff, you have to restock and re-clean it some. It might already be covered in plastic. Some of it might already be stuck in the back to make room to take apart your cutting board counter to clean. To cook a dish isn't TOO much of a problem at this point, but you're really hoping for zero orders because you still have so much other cleaning to do.

Meanwhile the salad bar and appetizer section and server station and everybody are all doing the same thing. Even the bartenders are stocking olives and lemons and sending back whisks and stir spoons and shakers and empty 4quart storage containers that used to hold the back-up lemons and olives and things. Every section is dumping their must-be-cleaneds to the dishpit as fast as possible because early and fast is the only thing they can do to to help that dishpit not absolutely drown into overtime.

The poor dishwasher is always the last to clock out, soaking wet and exhausted.

Around this time you probably scrub the flat top, which has turned black from cooked on grease and is still about 500 degrees. Line cooks are divided in opinion on water-based or oil based cleaning methods for this, but they all involve scrubbing with (usually) a brick of pumice stone using every ounce of your strength while you try not to burn yourself

you scrub it from fully blackened to gleaming silver and now if somebody orders something that needs the flat top to cook, you can either fuck up your cleaning job or fake it in a couple frying pans and pass that tiny fuck you down to your dishwasher (who usually understands, especially if you help them take the garbage out or clean your own floor drain later)

If there's deep fried stuff on the menu then the fryers have to be cleaned out, which includes straining the oil out into enormous and super-heavy pots full of oil so hot that if you spill on yourself then it's probably a hospital visit and if you slip and fall face first into it it'll be the last thing you ever do.

Then you gotta scrub out the fryer. Like you gotta take the (hot) screen out and reach your arm down into the weird rounded pipes and curved areas (so hot, burn you if you brush against them hot) and scrub off whatever is down there

Depending on your kitchen you might have to do up to four of these. Then you'll have to pour the (dangerously hot) oil back in

oh, and if you didn't dry the pipes and get ALL the water out of the trap and tank?

water reacts with hot oil in a sort of mentos and coke way that can send a tidal wave of oil past the open flame of the pilot light ...HUGE dangerous mess and/or burn down the kitchen if the oil lights up.

Unless! If the oil has been used too hard and needs to be changed, it's time to carry those open topped super heavy pots full of will-kill-you-hot oil and dump them in the barrel outside by the dumpsters so you can put room temp fresh oil in the fryers. whew!

The clean up is not just some light wiping down that can be easily interrupted, is what i'm saying.

You might have to do some kind of walk-in duty (moving around 50lb cases of lettuce and 50lb bags of onions to get to the stacks of five gallon buckets full of salad dressings and sauces to move so you can reach the giant metal pots and bus tubs full of prep and get it all organized and make sure it's all labeled and i have to stop now i'm having flashbacks)

THE POINT IS

by 15 or however many minutes to close, the line cook is doing an intense deep clean and probably has the whole stove taken apart to detail.

For some industrial stoves this means lifting off large cast iron plates that weigh like 20 lbs each and are still quite hot. Whatever metal burners are on there, you gotta take off and clean, you can see here the lines that indicate the large thick cast iron rectangles that sit on top of the burners to allow heavy pots to rest on. Those five (each has one front burner hole and one back burner hole, see?) have to be lifted off and cleaned with soap and a wire brush usually, and then the underneath area also has to be cleaned because a lot of shit falls through the burner holes on a busy night.

if you didn't do it when you did the flat top you have to do the grease trap (which can be like a full five minutes and is always disgusting).. You gotta clean out all the little gas jets in each burner with a wire or something so the burners all flame evenly, and sometimes you have to remove some of the natural gas piping that connects the burners to access where you have to clean.

you gotta clean out the bottom of the oven and the wire racks, and, oh gods, you gotta take down the filter vents from the hood fans above the stove.

See all the lined parts along the top of the wall?

those are hood vents, and as they pull air up they also pull a lot of grease and they have to be taken down and cleaned, then you gotta climb up there and scrub where they go before you put them back...

And then there's the mopping and floor drains and...

Anyway, that's what the line cook is doing when you walk in fifteen minutes before closing and order something that needs to be cooked on that stove. They are doing an entire industrial cleaning of a professional kitchen.

In some restaurants maybe one or two of these jobs will be every other night or even only twice a week, but in many, possibly most kitchens, ALL of these things happen EVERY night. You don't want to leave any food mess that might attract insects or rodents for one thing, so a really good kitchen is as close to brand new as you can get it every night.

IF YOU ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO ORDER SOMETHING ANYWAY, HERE IS WHAT TO DO

open with an apology and ask the server to go ask what the cook would prefer you to order.

Any good server will already know what the cook is hoping for and what will make their line cook go into the walk in and scream. If it's significantly less than an hour to close and they say some variant of "oh anything is fine" they are either telling the lie their boss wants them to say, or they actually do not know what their line cook wants, and you can either use human connection and a conspiratorial just-between-us tone to get them to drop the customer-is-always-right act, or get them to actually go ask the cook.

It might be as specific as "the lasagna is easiest on the kitchen" or it might be a simple guideline like "nothing that requires the flat top" or "any of the sautés are easy" but a good line cook will probably have a system for if they have to make a couple of the most popular items after they start their close, so the answer is likely to include something most people like and you should be good to order that.

but for the love of all that's holy, please only do so at great need. Leave that last 30-60 minutes to the truly desperate and the crew's duties.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: implied nsfw, implied noncon/dubcon, poly yanderes, sprained ankle, captive reader, apocolypse au, talk of fertility and pregnancy

♡ FEM reader

♡ P1: The Bunker

Your ankle feels better after a little over a week.

The one initially against you staying has been giving you medical check-ups every day—something about wasteland toxins and underlying, possible contagious sicknesses he’d like to keep a weathered eye out for. 

You hadn’t refused. After all, such precautions were only warranted.

When you first encountered them in the wasteland, they were both wearing hazmat suits and gas masks. And though you had already been put through the standard disinfection and the basic check—eyes, teeth, and tongue—before they’d even let you in, you can’t blame them for taking extra measures—no matter how meticulous the check-ups have been since, comprising of endless spit, blood, and urine samples.

Somehow, you actually appreciated the thoroughness. It was just one more thing that reminded you of the past. The way he sat there, behind the desk like a doctor, and you opposite, like a patient, waiting for your results.

You’d gotten more or less used to it now, so it didn’t feel as awkward anymore. And, if you were to say so yourself, you think he’s even warmed up to you a little bit too.

“You’re all clear. No detectable toxins,” he states after a moment, mulling over the data, more or less the same outcome he’d come to for the last four or so days. He scribbled a few things into the file he’d been conducting, a focused furrow between his brows as he worked. You felt inclined to inquire about what exactly he’d been jotting down all these days of running tests but then decided against it—explaining things to you would probably only vex him. He was a man of as few words as possible, after all.

He sighs, then informs, “We can stop checking every day now.”

“Really?” you light up—feeling excited for some reason. Suppose you took it as a sign of improvement even without knowing entirely what any of it actually meant. In any case, lesser checks must be good, right?

“Yeah. You’re way healthier, thanks to all our produce and not consuming any of that wasteland trash.” He pulled a grimace before his face settled back into that constant look of dour solemnity. “Blood pressure, heart rate, vitals—everything looks good.”

It almost seems like such a silly thing to even bother caring about. Only a few weeks ago, you hadn’t cared for any such thing as health as long as it meant you weren’t starving or freezing—and here you are, celebrating such a privileged thing as blood pressure.

You sniffle, can’t help yourself, balled fists quivering in your lap as a few tears start to drop, “Thank you—truly. I’d have died if it weren’t for the two of you.”

He must think you’re ridiculous, too, crying over something so small. You wipe your eyes, only to notice him holding out a tissue for you. You can only laugh at yourself while accepting it.

“You’ll help me in the greenhouse today since your ankle is all better,” he states while getting up.

You spring to your feet, too. This would be the first time you’d been asked to help out. “What about—”

“He’s busy doing inventory,” he answers before you get the question out. “We’ll have to change a few things since you’re staying.”

This stills you, breath caught in your throat. You look at him wide-eyed, scared you’d heard him wrong. Voice weak as if scared to ask, “I’m staying?”

“Tch—” It’s his turn to chuckle, though he does so much differently from you—mockingly, a way he often does at both your and the other's expense. Though, you’d taken to find it rather endearing. He gives you a look—it’s very almost soft. “You didn’t think we’d waste our resources on something we planned on chucking back out again, did you?”

A tug pulls your wobbly lips back into a smile. “I guess that would be silly...” you sniffle again. “Still, thank you.”

This time, as you say it, you rush to hug him—tightly, with both your arms wrapped around his tough midsection and your head tucked against his broad chest.

It’s him who falls still now—stunted by the action and left both speechless and frozen in place. His arms hover mid-air, unsure of where to rest, before slowly lowering to settle atop your narrow shoulders—so much smaller in comparison. It’s crazy to think you’d endured out in the wasteland for so long.

He’s sure you’ve done things in order to stay alive you’re not at all proud of. Still, your survival is no less than a miracle.

He clears his throat. “Let’s hurry up,” He dismisses, then proceeds to nudge you off as if the hug was unwanted, but even you can spot the blush dusting his cheeks as he looks away with another grumble, “We’re making dinner before he’s done.”

The smile on your face is a sight for sore eyes, he thinks. You didn’t smile like that a week ago.

“Yes, sir.” You salute, following him in stride.

You’d said it innocently enough, but by God, if only you knew how it takes everything in him not to bend you over the medical desk right then and tell you all about how you’re in the perfect window for conceiving. 

He manages to steal himself. 

After dinner, he promised himself soothingly, calming the hunger in his gut—after dinner, they’d decided, tonight would be the night they’d finally make use of you the real way they’d intended—have you earn your keep.

When you’re done tilling the gardens, about a couple hours later, the two of you move on to the kitchen. You’d learn that the brash one was in charge of making most meals, as the other one was more than hopeless in the kitchen. It seemed you were replacing him as the helper, given simple tasks such as cutting, measuring, and fetching things.

It felt nice to be doing something again, especially something so trivial. Housework and domestic chores were something one could only reminisce about, and yet here you were, doing just that—cutting carrots as if the outside world wasn’t a badland of people killing each other for a can of expired dog food.

You really were so lucky you could hardly believe it. The tears start bubbling again.

“If you’re finished cutting, go to the cupboard over there,” he jolts you out of your thoughts. Not looking away from stirring the pot, he points with his other hand toward the far side of the kitchen.

You pad over and open it to find two dozen or more bottles of wine, all neatly shelved.

“Pick one out,” he calls out.

You blink, looking between the wine and him. “You mean—”

“Anyone of ‘em is fine,” he says. “Feel free to read if you’re looking for something special, though. It’s you were celebrating, after all.”

This time, you can’t stop the tears as they trickle down your face one after the other, soaking your cheeks.

Hearing you sniffle makes him sigh with rust. Scolding you with military toughness, “Quit cryin’ already—it’s getting old.”

You wipe your eyes and stiffen your lip. “Yes, sir.”

Turning your head back to the shelf, you can hardly believe the sight. It had been all moonshine and slop out in the wasteland. Dangerous stuff you were better staying well away from.

You can’t believe you’re going to drink actual wine again—your mouth waters just at the thought as you pick the first bottle you set your eyes on. But then you stop yourself—a guilty knot in your stomach twisting.

“Is it really okay?” you ask. “Shouldn’t we save it?”

“Tch—” he scoffs disapprovingly again. “You gotta stop doin’ that.”

You’re left looking at him even though he keeps his back turned, still busy stirring the pot. He lifts a spoon for tasting, then adds more spice to his liking before continuing as though he could tell you were confused just from the silence.

“You’re not in the wasteland anymore—” he states. “You can afford to live a little now.”

A concept like that had yet to have reached you. 

Suppose you were still settling in. 

“Besides, there are more in the cellar,” he reveals. “Even if we drank a bottle every day, it would take years for us to finish. So don’t worry your pretty head ‘bout it, a’ight?”

Your grip around the bottle tightens—trying to toughen up to keep the tears at bay. But today was an emotional day, and it seemed there was no end to the blessings you were given. It was all so overwhelming, your heart swelled with happiness—a feeling you hadn’t felt in such an awfully long time.

“Something smells good!” comes a call.

It seems he’s returned from doing inventory.

“Oh no, why are you crying?” He instantly rushes over to you, holding your face to inspect the damage, then snaps his head to the other, who’s still busying himself with perfecting dinner. “Are you being too harsh on her?” he accuses. “You know, not everyone can live up to your cooking expectations—”

“Tch—I haven’t done shit,” he denies. “She’s just emotional ‘cause I told her we’re lettin’ her stay.”

“What!? You told her without me?” he cries then. “We were supposed to surprise her together.” His pout is instantly replaced with a blank look of surprise as you wrap your arms around him like you’d done with the other earlier—hugging him tightly.

“Thank you,” you repeat to him as well.

You still couldn’t believe how nice they had been to you. 

After dinner is eaten, the three of you end up sitting there, chatting—about the past, most of all, how things used to be—how people would live in little houses with next-door neighbors they’d invite over for game night—little families with kids and backyards and pet dogs—college, marriage, careers.

You helped the stoic one clear the dishes while the chipper of the two opened another bottle of wine. You can hardly believe it when they bring out the record player and slide a vinyl on.

You end up crying again as the music plays. You even dance. Laughter fills the bunker while you get completely swept away with the feeling of utter bliss. And as the wine finishes and the conversation turns sloppy, the hands twirling your body to the music get a little touchier, a little greedier, until you’re suddenly kissed.

Between the two of them, the air becomes hot—steamy as you share breathes. 

Busy hands, large and strong and callused from labor, work on your button-up shirt. It’s gone before you know it, then the hands move on to your pants.

Honestly, after all the emotions joined by the wine and dance and being spun between the two, you can’t say you’re completely without lust, but at the same time, you’re just a bit confused. 

Despite not having seen them kiss in front of you, you’re certain they both go to bed in the same room every night—so all this time, you’d been under the impression that they were involved with each other and not interested in you that way. 

Not that it matters much what you thought, you think, you’re not against what’s happening so much as you’re a little hesitant about how it’s about to happen. It’s been a while since you’ve slept with anyone—willingly, that is—you’ve sort of forgotten how to enjoy it. 

If it were just one, you’d maybe find it a bit less overwhelming, but given there were two, you quickly found yourself feeling somewhat claustrophobic.

“Wait—” you stutter. Blocking the advance with your own hands, looking up into drunken and heated eyes and the soft look of arousal painted on the face before you. 

“Don’t worry,” he comforts with that kind smile. “You’re the most valuable thing we have—we’re gonna be gentle.”

You almost bite, almost give in, almost let it soothe you. But even in the drunk haze, the choice of phrasing finds you a little odd. And you’re unable to disregard that feeling that’s been nagging at the very back of your head ever since you stepped foot in the place. 

Something’s not right.

“Valuable?” Sure, you could choose to understand it as them saying they care for you, but somehow, it just doesn’t feel as if that’s all. “What does that mean?”

“You know…” he utters softly—his kind smile curling into something different. His eyes fall downward as he licks his lips before finishing, “This.” 

He’s laid a hand atop your belly where his gaze is set—his palm flat and firm as he rubs tentative circles into the softness.

It takes you a moment before you shudder. “You…” 

You needed to be rational about this. Some part of you always knew there was something going on, didn’t it? Why else would you be here? Why else would they let you stay? The cameras in the bedroom, in the showers, all those medical checkups—you’ve known there was something. And still, you hadn’t left. You hadn’t even so much as humored the thought even once.

There is no life for you out there. You don’t just want to stay—you have to—you need to.

And is it really so bad? Hadn't they been nice? Haven’t they been more than generous? Don’t you owe them so much more than what they’re asking in return?

But what are they asking? It’s not just intimacy. It’s something else—something premeditated.

“You want to use me to…” The realization makes you shudder. “To make you a child…”

Like an incubator.

They don’t deny it.

You want to back up—create space—room to breathe, but the other is just behind you with his big chest pressed stiffly against your back, keeping you close, trapped before the one in front.

“It’s true…” he confesses at your ear. “That is all we wanted from you in the beginning.” 

It sends a chill down your spine.

“It was almost too good to be true when we found you,” he continued while playing with your waist in big hands. “How a perfect candidate fell right into our lap mere days after we decided to go lookin’ for one.”

You suck in a hitched breath as the well of tears breaches, dribbling down your cheeks at the clinical word—candidate.

“But you’re more than that now,” the other reassures, bowing and fishing for your eyes as you’d taken to look down—too horrified to look him back in his. 

“We figured you’d be a savage, havin’ lived out there for so long,” the one behind says. He’d been the most skeptical at first, but he’d come to learn it was rather the opposite—your time out there hadn’t toughened your skin or hardened your heart but only made you timid and soft.

“In all honesty, we weren’t sure we were gonna keep you after the pregnancy…” the one in front whispers upon your lips. “But that’s all in the past now.”

He lifts your chin, taking in the all-too-soft look of despair on your face. It’s a strange thing to say he’d missed. It nearly makes him feel guilty for the hard-on in his cargo pants. But then again, tears are the allure of the gentler sex. It’s only natural for a man to enjoy the sight.

“We want you to stay.” He strokes your cheek, catching the tears on his thumb. “After all, it would be best for the baby to have a female presence—especially one as soft as yours.”

“And, well…” You flinch at the stubble being dragged upon your shoulder and neck, a kiss placed in the nook there along with his words, “We’ve grown to like having you around.”

His hands had fallen from your waist down to rub your hips, swaying you back against his crotch—and the bulge there, that now felt a little more like a gun being poked against your back. 

“It’s been a long while since we’ve had the company of a woman,” he continues while pressing himself against you. “It was unfamiliar at first, but… it’s nice.”

Something urgent takes over your body then—even though it’s beyond stupid. There’s no plan, no further thought than run—despite having no solid clue as to where. And yet, it ends up not mattering in the slightest. You don’t make it far.

You scream as their hands snag you. The grumpier one locks your arms, the chipper one grabs your legs—and they both lift and carry you back—laying you down on the little round table you’d had dinner on.

You struggle, but your wrists are pinned down to the metal with a strength you can’t hope to match.

“Don’t be like that.” He clicks his tongue dismissively like he so often does when you say or do something stupid. “There’s nowhere to go.”

“No—” you cry. “Please—don’t.” Shaking your head while squeezing your thighs shut. 

Never mind having sex, you could endure that much—but having a baby in this mess? They’re the ones who lost their minds down here. 

“I can’t—”

“Of course, you can,” the other insists, prying your thighs apart to make space for himself between them, already with his hands returning to undo the button of your pants, zipping down the fly and tugging them off.

“No—”

He’s back to console you just as quickly, “Shh-sh, don’t cry,” he soothes, cupping your face in both palms. He gives you that kind smile again, but it no longer serves as any source of comfort—now just a mouth full of teeth. “We’ll be gentle.”

♡ BNHA – KiriBaku, BakuDeku, ShinKami, DabiHawks, EndHawks, ErasurMic ♡ JJK – SatoSugu, ItaFushi, SukuIta ♡ HQ – Miya twins, KageHina, BokuAka ♡ CSM – AkiDen, YoshiDen ♡ BLLK – NagiReo

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[ama3003]

In the Middle

Character: Bucky Barnes

Requested: No

Type: Angst/ Fluff

Summary: Being caught in the middle is always hard.

A.N: DO NOT READ IF YOU DON'T WANT THUNDERBOLTS TO BE SEMI SPOILED!!!!!!!!! I have seen Thunderbolts* on Thursday (amazing btw) and have been craving Thunderbolts!Bucky. Also reader is like mid to late 20s.

Also double whammy with these fics. Also thank you those who requested some fics. I'm getting on them right now. Keep em coming!

Again THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS ARE IN THIS FIC

3...2..1...

“I cannot believe this dude,” Sam says, pacing the living room like it personally offended him. His hands are moving almost as fast as his mouth. “I tell him Ross wants me to rebuild the Avengers, right? I open up—I mean really open up. I tell him I’m not sure I’m the guy for it. That maybe Steve made a mistake giving me the shield.”

He stops mid-step and points dramatically in the air, like he's building up his case.

“And you know what Bucky says? ‘No, he didn’t.’ That’s it. No discussion. Just—‘No, he didn’t.’ Point. Blank. Period. And I'm not gonna lie, that's all I needed to hear."

You open your mouth to say something, but Sam’s already spinning toward you.

“And I believed him! I believed him because I thought he was my best friend.”

"Hey!" you cut in, brows raised.

Sam waves you off. “Nah, nah—don’t ‘hey’ me. You know you’re like my sister. Ultimate mega best friend status and all that, but not the point right now. Lemme vent about your ugly boyfriend real quick.”

You throw your hands up in surrender. “Go ahead.”

“Thank you!” Sam claps once, then starts pacing again. “Then I find out there’s already a ‘New Avengers’—capital N, capital A—already up and running. And guess who’s right in the middle of it? Bucky! Like I wasn’t gonna find out!”

He stops again, staring at you like it’s your fault. “You know what I call that? Betrayal.” He jabs the air for emphasis. “Straight-up betrayal.”

You’re sitting on the sofa, letting him work through it. Honestly, you couldn’t blame him. Bucky had called not ten minutes ago to talk about—of all things—the copyright on the Avengers name.

Now Sam wants to sue them.

“Fourteen months,” Sam says, voice rising, “of back-and-forth with this man and his ‘new family.’ You remember what we went through? What he went through? Guess what? We were his family first. And now he’s calling me like I’m the one stepping on toes? Like I’m in the wrong for trying to do what Ross asked me to do?”

“He told you to back off?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Sam gives you a long-suffering look. “He wants me to give him the rights of the name."

"So it didn't end well..." You sighed, rubbing your temples.

"Y/N… if I’m venting like this, how do you think the call went?”

You try to offer something. “Can’t you just… I don’t know. Combine the teams? Be the MegaVengers or something? Steve literally said ‘Avengers, assemble’ and there were like a thousand people who showed up. We all kind of worked together then.”

Sam looks horrified. “No. No combining. It’s not about numbers—it’s about principle. That man knew what this meant to me. And now he’s trying to sidestep it like it’s nothing.”

He crosses his arms and looks at you with purpose. “You need to talk to him. Get him to step back.”

You shake your head. “Nope. Not getting in the middle of this.”

You meant it. You’ve known Sam for years—he was your ride-or-die, your day-one, the brother you got to choose. But through Sam, you met Bucky. And he became your favorite person. You were in between your best friend and the love of your life.

You learned about the ‘New Avengers’ team at the same time Sam did. The two of you had stared at the screen in disbelief.

But after hours of yelling at Bucky—tears, arguments, explanations—you got it. You understood that he hadn’t meant for it to happen like this. That Valentina made moves he couldn’t stop. He hadn’t betrayed you… not intentionally.

Still, the line between intention and impact? That’s where Sam lived.

He stares at you for a moment, then reaches into his jacket and hands you a folded sheet of paper.

“What’s this?” you ask, skimming it. Then you stop. Your eyes widen.

“I want you to join my team,” he says simply. “The new Avengers.”

Your jaw drops. “Sam…”

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says quickly. “You really think I’d build a team without you? Come on. We’ve never not been on a team together.”

“Sam, I… I can’t sign this,” you say, handing the paper back. “You know I can’t.”

He rolls his eyes. “You can. You should. Y/N, I’ve already started recruiting. I’ve got a plan, but I need my right hand. I need you.”

You stand, walking toward him. “And I can’t go against Bucky.”

He exhales sharply, then softens. “Just… think about it, okay? I don’t need a yes right now. Just don’t say no yet.”

“Sam…”

“Think about it,” he says again, looking at his watch. “Ugh—venting session’s over. Gotta go pitch Ross on the plan. Wish me luck.”

He leans in, presses a quick kiss to your cheek, "Please think about it," and walks out the door.

You sit back down, staring at the paper. Then you run a hand through your hair, heart pounding.

A few quiet moments pass.

Then you grab your bag and head straight for the other tower.

*****

“James Buchanan Barnes—you are in so much trouble.”

Your voice echoed through the tower as you dropped your bag with a thud. The team—scattered around the lounge doing everything from eating chips to watching TV—immediately snapped to attention.

A chorus of "Ooooooh!" broke out like a middle school lunchroom.

Bucky stood up fast, hands already in the air like he was facing down a SWAT team. “Okay, doll, don’t be mad.”

You marched forward, hands on your hips. “Don’t be mad? You asked Sam to drop the Avengers name.”

“He’s suing us!” Bucky shot back, already defensive. “We had the name first! Val got the jump on it—we just made it official.”

He crossed his arms like a stubborn teenager. Behind him, his teammates exchanged exasperated looks, a few shaking their heads like, here we go again.

“Are you both five?” you snapped. “You need to talk. Face to face. Not through lawyers. Not through phones. Like actual adults.”

“He doesn’t want to see me,” Bucky muttered. “And honestly, I don’t want to see him either.”

He tried to hold his glare, but it faltered when he looked at you. He could see it written all over your face: this was tearing you up. And he hated that he’d played a part in it.

“I saw Sam today,” you said quietly. “He asked me to join his team.”

The room fell completely silent. Even Yelena put down her snack.

Bucky blinked. “And… what’d you say?”

“I told him no. For now. But he asked me to think about it.”

Bucky scoffed like that was the dumbest thing he’d ever heard. “Think about it? What’s there to think about? You’re not joining them.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Excuse me?”

Every single person in the room physically cringed. Even Red Guardian mouthed oh no.

“You’re not serious right now,” you said, voice low and dangerous. “Did you just try to tell me what to do?”

“I’m saying Sam’s being irrational,” Bucky argued, digging his own grave. “He’s suing us, Y/N. You can’t join them. That’s not how this works.”

You stepped toward him, fire in your eyes. “He’s not being irrational. He’s hurt, Bucky. He thinks you betrayed him. And the truth? Even if it wasn’t on purpose—you kind of did.”

Bucky opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“I get it,” you added, softer now. “He shouldn’t have filed a lawsuit. It’s messy. But this—this whole thing—is a disaster. And you’re both too stubborn to fix it.”

Bucky slowly reached for you, pulling you into his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “I never wanted to put you in the middle of this. I just... I won’t give up on this team.”

You let him hold you, but your heart was heavy. “I know,” you whispered, then gave him a small kiss. “But I can’t keep being the bridge between you two.”

He pulled back, looking at you. “Then don’t be. Move in with me. You said you were thinking about it. And hell, you could just join us too. We’d be unstoppable.”

You stepped back, blinking. “Are you seriously asking me to join your team right after I told you Sam asked me the same thing? Are you kidding me, Bucky?”

“Not cool,” Yelena muttered, earning a death glare from Bucky.

Then your phone rang—loud and dramatic. Mariah Carey’s voice filled the room. You groaned and answered.

“What, Sam?”

“Figured you were over there,” he said. “So I’ll keep it short. Ross and I have a few new recruits saying yes already. We might fast-track things. So I need an answer. ASAP.”

“You gave me thirty minutes—”

“Thirty minutes for what?” Bucky leaned in, practically pressing his ear to your phone.

“Would you stop?” you muttered, pushing him back.

“Is that Barnes?” Sam asked over the line. “Yo, Barnes—fuck you.”

Bucky blinked. “What did he just say?”

You sighed. “He said—”

“I said fuck you,” Sam shouted, louder this time.

You snapped.

“That’s it!” you barked, stepping between the two of them. “Both of you, shut up.”

The room fell into stunned silence.

“I am so done being in the middle of your pissing contest,” you said, voice shaking now. “You used to be a family. We used to be a family. And you two are tearing it apart like a couple of overgrown toddlers.”

Bucky looked like he’d been slapped. Sam was silent on the other end.

“You know what’s really messed up?” you added. “You both say you love me, you both trust me—but you’re trying to make me pick between you. And I won’t. I won’t.”

Everyone was still, barely breathing.

Then Sam, faint over the phone: “Wait… Did Barnes ask you to join the FAKEngers?”

“We’re the real Avengers, for the record,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh my god,” you said, throwing your hands up. “I’m done. Until you both grow up and get your shit together, I’m out. I’m not picking sides.”

You turned, grabbed your bag, and stormed toward the door.

“Wait—what do you mean?” Bucky called, chasing after you.

You turned back, pointing between him and your phone. “I love you, Bucky. And Sam—you’re my brother. But if you two can’t stop acting like enemies, then you don’t get to have me caught in the crossfire.”

And with that, you hung up the call and walked out.

Back in the room, Walker slowly picked up the paper. “Ouch,” he said, wincing. “Don’t you just hate when they walk away?”

Yelena smacked him in the head. “You’re not helping.”

***********

It had been a few days since everything exploded—and both Sam and Bucky were unraveling in their own ways.

Neither of them said it out loud, but they both felt it: the quiet ache where you used to be. The texts left on read. The silence that said more than any shouting match ever could.

Eventually, they both found themselves doing the same thing—sitting alone, staring at their phones, thumbs hovering over each other's names.

Bucky sighed, ran a hand through his hair, and hit the contact.

Sam’s phone lit up. He stared at the screen for a long second before finally answering.

“Barnes,” Sam said flatly.

“Wilson,” Bucky replied, just as dry.

A beat.

Then Bucky exhaled. “I miss her.”

Sam’s voice was quieter this time. “Yeah. Me too.”

Another pause.

“We gotta fix this,” Bucky said. “This whole thing… it’s not worth losing her over.”

“No, it’s not,” Sam agreed. “We should talk. In person. Try to settle this."

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah. Tomorrow’s good.”

“Alright.”

“Cool.”

“…Fine.”

“…Fine.”

They hung up.

No apologies yet. Not out loud.

But it was a start.

Maybe this whole MegaVengers idea wasn’t so bad after all.

[straw-berrysoju]

STUDY BREAK (18+)

Synopsis: A late-night study session with your sexy, sharp-tongued study partner turns into a game of control when he quizzes you with pop questions, punishing wrong answers with teasing touches and threats. What was supposed to be studying quickly becomes an erotic lesson in submission and power.

Themes: study partners, college setting, psychology majors, study sessions turning into intimate encounters, power play, teasing and edging, control and submission, sexual tension, public risk, control, obedience

Pairing: seungcheol x female reader (both psychology majors)

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, power imbalances, public setting (library), oral sex, fingering, edging and orgasm control

Word count: 1.9k

Minors dni!

PART 2 : STUDY BREAK (ORAL EXAM)

_______________________________________________________

It’s close to midnight when Seungcheol finally shows up.

He’s ten minutes late, again, with his hoodie pulled low and his hair still damp from a shower. You pretend you don’t notice the way he smells—like soap and warm skin and something a little too clean for the things running through your head.

“You already started without me?” he asks, throwing his bag on the chair across from mine.

“You were late,” you say flatly, not looking up.

He laughs, the deep kind that vibrates low in his throat. “Someone’s cranky.”

“I’m focused.”

“Mm. We’ll see how long that lasts.”

The words are offhand, but his gaze lingers. There’s something about the way he says it—how casual his voice is while his eyes roam over you like he already knows what’s going to happen.

You cross your legs under the table, gripping your pen a little tighter.

He takes his seat. You start reviewing. At first, it’s normal—terms, definitions, case studies. But then…

“Define operant conditioning,” he says, leaning in just slightly.

“Reinforcement or punishment used to increase or decrease a behavior,” you reply automatically.

“Good girl.”

You freeze.

He says it so softly you're not sure you heard him right. But when you glance up, he’s looking at you—really looking.

“You—what did you just say?”

Seungcheol smiles. “Just giving feedback. Positive reinforcement.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what? Call you a good girl?” His voice drops. “Does it bother you?”

“It’s distracting.”

“Interesting,” he says, folding his arms behind his head. “Because it looked like you liked it.”

Your pulse kicks up. The room is too quiet. Too private. It’s the end of the semester, and most of campus is asleep or wired on caffeine in another building. We’re in a back corner study room, half the lights off, no one walking by.

You should shut this down. You should get back to your notes. But then his foot slides under the table and touches yours. Light. Testing.

“Want to play a game?” he murmurs.

Your hand stills. Your mouth is dry. “No games. We’re behind.”

“Then let’s multitask.” His eyes flash. “For every correct answer, I reward you. For every mistake…” He smiles slowly. “You get punished.”

You know you should say no. Should roll your eyes and go back to reviewing. But your thighs are already pressing together under the table, breath catching in your throat.

You glance up. “How are you defining ‘reward’ and ‘punish’?”

His gaze drags down your face, your chest, your legs.

“Why don’t we find out?”

You swallow hard and nod once.

He leans back in his chair, arms folded, legs wide.

He smiles like he’s been waiting for this.

“Question one: What’s the difference between positive and negative reinforcement?”

You blink, recite from memory. “Positive reinforcement adds a stimulus to increase behavior. Negative reinforcement removes something to increase behavior.”

His smile deepens. “Good girl.”

The words slide under your skin like silk.

You’re not prepared for the way his foot slips under the table, brushing your calf, sliding up, slow and deliberate. You suck in a breath.

“That’s your reward,” he says. “Next.”

You barely have time to recover.

“Question two: Define punishment in behavioral terms.”

You hesitate, fingers tightening around your pen. “Punishment… decreases behavior. Positive punishment adds an unpleasant stimulus. Negative removes a positive one.”

His foot presses between your legs, nudging your knees apart.

“That hesitation cost you.”

You stiffen.

He leans forward, dark eyes locked on yours. “Don’t close them. Keep your legs where I put them.”

You obey, your breath catching when his toe presses lightly against your inner thigh.

“Third question. Define fixed ratio schedule.”

You’re panting now, trying to think. “It’s… reinforcement given after a specific number of responses.”

“Correct.”

This time it’s not his foot—it’s his hand, sliding under the table, fingers skimming the bare skin just above your knee. You’re hyper aware of every brush, every shift of his knuckles.

“Shorts?” he murmurs. “Or skirt?”

You meet his gaze, throat dry. “Skirt.”

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes briefly, like he's holding himself back. “You really are trying to test me.”

His fingers drift higher.

“Fourth question. Describe the concept of learned helplessness.”

You try. You swear you try. But all you can focus on is the heat of his palm against your thigh, creeping higher, tracing the crease where your leg meets your hip.

“W–when an individual… is exposed to inescapable negative stimuli, they stop trying to escape, even when a solution is present.”

His fingers pause just short of your underwear.

“Very good,” he murmurs. “So smart.”

You’re aching. Slick between your thighs. And he hasn’t even really touched you yet.

His thumb strokes along the waistband of your panties. The featherlight touch makes your breath hitch.

“Next one,” he says. “Ready?”

You nod, swallowing hard.

“Name two famous behaviorists.”

“Skinner and… Watson.”

“Good girl,” he whispers, and this time he rewards you with a single, slow stroke over your clothed core. You twitch in your seat, biting your lip to keep from making a sound.

“Oh, you liked that.” His fingers repeat the motion. “You’re so wet already, baby. I haven’t even done anything yet.”

You shift in your seat, thighs tightening. “Cheol, we can’t—”

“We can,” he cuts in, voice a command now. “No one’s coming in this late. And you’re the one begging for attention with those pretty little skirts.”

“I wasn’t—”

He cuts you off with a soft, dark laugh, leaning in. “You wore lace under that skirt to a study session. You wanted to be touched.”

Your cheeks burn. He’s right.

And when his fingers slip past the lace this time—bare skin to bare heat—you forget how to breathe.

He groans, the sound deep and quiet. “Fuck. You're soaked.”

“Cheol—”

“I told you.” He sinks a single finger in, slow and teasing. “Get the answers right, and I’ll give you what you want. Get them wrong…”

He pulls his hand away. Cold. Empty.

“…and you’ll have to beg.”

You whimper, chasing his hand instinctively.

The smirk he gives you is pure sin.

“Last question. Get this right, and I’ll make you come right here, right now.”

You stare at him, shaking slightly, thighs slick and trembling.

“Define conditioned stimulus.”

You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. His hand hovers just above your cunt, waiting.

“One…”

You panic. “A—a previously neutral stimulus… that, after association with the unconditioned one, triggers the same response.”

His hand sinks back down. Two fingers this time. Crooked just right.

“Correct.”

And just like that, you fall to pieces—back arched, breath ragged, his name on your lips like a secret sin.

You try to stay quiet, really, you do.

But when his fingers start pumping in and out, slow and steady, curling just right, it’s impossible to keep still on his lap. Your hips roll instinctively, chasing the friction, grinding down as your thighs tremble around him.

“Fuck, you’re needy,” Seungcheol growls against your neck, voice barely above a whisper. “Dripping all over my hand in a goddamn study room.”

You bite your bottom lip, tasting skin, trying to suppress the moan clawing its way up your throat.

His free hand grabs a fistful of your hair and tugs your head back just enough so he can watch your face as he fucks you with his fingers. “Let them hear if you want,” he says, eyes dark. “Or be a good girl and stay quiet. Either way, you’re not leaving this chair until I feel you come.”

You dig your nails into his hoodie as your body shakes, that coil in your stomach twisting tighter and tighter. Every press of his thumb against your clit sends sparks flying. You’re soaked, whimpering into his shoulder, thighs clenching around his wrist as he works you through it.

“Cheol—please—”

“That’s it,” he mutters. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be loud. Be messy.”

You do. You fall apart right there in his lap, teeth sinking into his collarbone to muffle the broken gasp that spills from your lips as your orgasm hits hard and fast, making your whole body go tense and weightless at once.

By the time you catch your breath, your panties are ruined, and his fingers are glistening.

“You made a mess,” he smirks, sucking one finger into his mouth with a filthy groan. “We’re not done.”

He doesn’t give you time to recover. Doesn’t let you fix your hair or adjust your skirt. He just grabs your bag, presses a kiss to your cheek like you’re some innocent girl he’s walking home, and guides you out of the library with his hand on your lower back like he owns you.

When you finally reach his dorm, he doesn’t even turn on the lights. He locks the door, pins you to it, and kisses you like he’s been waiting all semester to ruin you.

And he does.

He strips you slow—fingers tracing every inch of skin he uncovers like he’s studying you now—and when he finally peels your panties off completely, he brings them to his nose with a groan, then pockets them like a trophy.

“You’re gonna ride me,” he says, voice rough as he pulls his hoodie off and sinks onto the edge of his bed, jeans undone, cock thick and hard in his fist. “Nice and slow. Show me how much you really learned tonight.”

You climb onto him, thighs sore, cunt still throbbing from earlier. His hands grip your hips as you sink down, and the stretch steals your breath. He’s thick. Hot. Heavy. Every inch of him fills you up perfectly.

You start slow, bouncing gently, rolling your hips the way he taught you to move, but Seungcheol clearly has other plans.

“Not like that,” he snaps, slapping your ass. “You teased me all week wearing those short skirts. Begging for my attention in those tight little study group outfits. You don’t get to take it slow.”

He grabs your wrists, pulling them behind your back and holding them with one hand, while the other grabs your throat—not tight, but firm enough to make you moan.

“Now fuck me like you mean it.”

And you do.

You ride him hard, your thighs burning, tits bouncing, moans filling the dark room. His cock hits every sensitive spot, thick and perfect, dragging over your walls until you’re crying his name like a prayer.

“Touch yourself,” he growls. “Let me see how pretty you look falling apart on my cock.”

Your fingers find your clit, and with just a few messy circles, you’re unraveling again—legs shaking, cunt clenching tight around him as you come with a sharp cry.

“Good fucking girl,” he groans, and then he’s flipping you onto your back, hooking your legs over his shoulders and slamming back in, fucking you deep, hard, relentless. “One more,” he pants. “Give me one more.”

Your head lolls back, brain fogged with pleasure, body wrecked and begging. “Cheol—please, I can’t—”

“You can,” he says, biting down on your collarbone. “You will.”

You come again—shaking, sobbing, nails digging into his back as he finally lets go with a low, guttural growl, spilling inside you and holding you tight as he rides out every wave.

After, he doesn’t speak for a while.

Just pulls you into his chest, kisses your forehead, and strokes your hair as you lie tangled in the sheets, spent and dripping.

“Guess we’re doing another study session tomorrow,” he murmurs.

And the smirk in his voice makes you shiver all over again.

_______________________________________________________

Author's note: this smut may or may not have been a reaction to Scoups' met gala look. Sorry not sorry. I also may have gotten a little carried away and started writing the second part of this oneshot but I'll most probably not upload it.

[himbosandhardwear]

"Look who's talking, Mr Ponytail and a Crop Top," Steve says with a smartass grin.

Eddie looks down. "Huh?"

"You," he waves toward Eddie's general vicinity, "looking like some kinda Metal Cheerleader." He noticably swipes his tongue over his bottom lip.

Okay. This is it, this is the perfect moment to tell Steve he's sending signals that he definitely doesn't understand he's sending.

"Steve," he has to clear his throat before continuing, "I need to tell you something."

He leans in, wide eyed and focused. "Yeah?"

That's not helpful. "Um. So, to guys like me... Gay," he chokes out, still hard to say aloud even though he knows Steve knows, "sometimes you say things or do things that come off as...flirty. And I know you didn't know," he rushes to explain, "but I wanted to make you aware. To not do that. You know, in case the wrong person overhears it. It's a safety concern," he finishes lamely. Safety concern! Ugh. More like 'You're breaking my heart, I can't take much more of it.'

He waits for Steve to say something but he's just blinking owlishly.

"Steve?" He prompts, concerned.

"......yeah?" He finally seems to come back to himself. His eyes drift away, over Eddie's shoulder. "So...you want me to stop flirting?"

"Yeah, just in case, you never know who-" Wait. What? "What?"

Steve still isn't looking him in the eye. "What?" He mumbles.

"Did you say..." He can't even repeat it, it sounds like putting words in his mouth, but he did say that, right?

"Yeah. Sorry. I'll stop. I didn't realize it was bad, I guess. I thought... It's stupid. Nevermind. I'm gonna, um, take off actually. I'll see ya around, maybe."

He hops off the back of the van and actually starts walking away, like they're not 6 miles from his house. That snaps Eddie out of the paralysis spell he was under, adrenaline taking over like a bump of cocaine.

"No!" He shouts, like an insane person, and then takes it one step further by jumping up and tackling Steve into the grass.

"Uggff," Steve grunts when Eddie accidentally shoulders him in the gut, but he ignores the embarrassment in favor of crawling up his body so they're eye to eye.

He gets Steve's face between two hands and smooshes it. "Were you flirting with me on purpose?" He shouts.

"Are you serious?" He mumbles, half coherent, through pursed lips. "I'm gonna jump into the quarry."

"Answer the question!" He rattles Steve's head a little bit, for good measure.

"I work for Scoops Ahoy." Steve deadpans, unamused.

Eddie is going to throw one hell of a tantrum in a second. "Steve."

He smacks Eddie's hands away from his face. Doesn't bother to move out from under Eddie, he notes absently. "Yes, dude, obviously I was flirting with you on purpose! I thought that was, like, an understood thing that was happening. Why are you surprised?"

He feels like he's losing his mind. Why are you surprised the grass is made out of taffy? Would've made more sense as a question.

"Because you're straight." The duh is implied.

Sensibly, he asks, "Why would I flirt with you if I was straight?"

Eddie becomes very aware of every inch they are pressed together. Aware of the sound of the leaves rubbing together in the wind, aware of Judas Priest still playing through his speakers. Love Bites is a hell of a track to be having this revelation to.

"You're not straight?"

"No."

"And you were flirting?"

"Yes."

"With me?"

He rolls his eyes, not an ounce of bitchiness lost to his embarrassment. "No, Eddie, with the crusty blanket on your van floor. Yes, of course with you- Mmmphh!"

They probably shouldn't be making out on the ground at Settlers Quarry in broad daylight but, honestly, the shambling corpse of Jason Carver could show up right now and Eddie would not give two shits. Steve slides a hand down the back of Eddie's pants, grabbing what little bit of ass cheek he has, and Eddie thinks, Hope you're watching from hell, you bastard. Enjoy the show.

[muqingslover]

[ This is different than what I usually post but I had to get this out of my system. The new DMC show brought back so many memories and idc what the haters say it's PEAK.

Anyway, to the DMC lovers out there, please accept this humble offering ]

Being in a relationship with Dante. | some NSFW included.

⊹— He may be the best demon hunter but in a relationship? He's the BIGGEST loser. Dante is always throwing some lame pick-up line your way and believe me when I say he will not give up until one sticks. (Spoiler warning: The fact that it actually works only makes him want to do it again)

—⊹ Dating Dante is not for the faint hearted. You have to be ready for all kinds of beyond ridiculous situations and have a godly amount of adaptability.

⊹— He will ALWAYS answer the phone for you. Literally. It doesn't matter what he's doing or where he is he will pick up the second he sees your name on the screen.

"Babe? Oh yeah! I'm totally still up for dinner! By the way, can you add those pieces of chocolate again to— *Approaching yelling in the background* Just a sec! *Crashing sounds and gunshots* Whew, okay, anyway like I was saying—"

—⊹ Oh yeah, he loooooves using pet names and silly nicknames. His personal favorites are "Babe" and "My little luck charm".

⊹— He likes to give you "traditional" dating gifts because that's what he always saw others do so when he shows up with a big ass teddy bear and a box of chocolates (which by the way he definitely ate some before giving it to you) please tell him you love it.

—⊹ Bro is so competitive. Dante is NOT letting you win in card games or any other board games because he wants to show off his skills to you. Though, if you get genuinely upset he would feel bad and invite you to play video games with him because he fails miserably at them every time.

⊹— His hands grab your ass every time you hug him. Not even in a sexual way he just can't help it and he never fails to throw a "nice ass" right after.

—⊹ Missing jewelry, hat or belt from your closet? He's the culprit. This guy will wear anything as long as he believes he looks good in it. I pray for you if you guys are a similar size because then you will have full clothing pieces missing.

⊹— He is THE hype man. Dante kisses the ground you walk on and he supports your rights and rights (because you could never do any wrong ;)).

—⊹ Dante's favorite thing is to show you off in every opportunity he gets. And if he doesn't have the opportunity then he'll just do it anyway. He is constantly yapping about how incredibly hot his partner is, how good your cooking is, how cute you look when you're focused and the way you smell so damn good all the time like, man! You're a freaking gift from the gods! (someone save poor Lady she can't bear to listen to him any more)

⊹— Please also hype him back in return! He has the worst praise kink case I've ever seen. Each time he's praised he just doesn't know what to do with himself and despite the initial cocky attitude he is easy to overwhelm if you don't stop. The first time you praised him while patting his head or scratching his chin he got a hard-on and had to rush out with a poor excuse before you noticed it.

—⊹ There is nothing romantic about sharing a bed with him. It's an absolute nightmare. First of all, this guy is physically incapable of sleeping with his clothes on. He just can't do it. Dante used to sleep butt ass naked but then you convinced him to at least wear boxers. Next on the list of problems is the snoring— Like, it's so loud you thought there was a truck engine next to you instead of your boyfriend. Not to mention the fact he takes up all space on the bed and moves around SO MUCH while he's asleep.

Please invest in separate beds before you kill him.

⊹— Absolutely hates morning. Getting him out of bed is the hardest thing to do and that's saying a lot with the life you two lead. He will keep you trapped in bed with him by wrapping his strong arms around your waist only to when you get up he sloooowly slides off the mattress and onto floor like a worm hanging to you.

—⊹ Surprisingly, or not, very insecure. This man is not controlling in any way though, he is just very worried that he won't be able to protect you if something was to happen or that you will realize you made a mistake by being with him.

⊹— His favorite thing is to make you smile. I know a lot of people paint him as stupid but I genuinely think he just acts silly as a defense mechanism. It's a mask. With you, though? He will purposely act like a dork because he knows it makes you smile.

—⊹ To add to that, Dante does everything he can to keep your spirits up; Someone hurt your feelings? No need to fret, he’s already planning their downfall. Feeling under the weather? tickle monster time! Migraine? He is closing the curtains and cuddling you until it gets better!

⊹— The filter between his brain and mouth is naturally bad but with you, who he is truly comfortable with, it's just INEXISTENT. This may range from random, useless bullshit to out of pocket comments that should definitely not be said out loud.

—⊹ Physical contact is his thing. I mean, he NEEDS it and can be very high maintenance about it. Having his hands on you is not enough for Dante he has to be as close as physically possible and you need to be giving him some kind of attention in return.

⊹— Hugging you from behind when you're cooking, snuggling while on the couch together, keeping a firm arm hooked around your waist while outside, constantly nuzzling his nose on your hair, kissing your neck at every chance he gets, pulling you into his lap as if it's his second nature ECT.

—⊹ Did I mention he adores your hair? In particular long hair because then he can fidget with it by twirling it around his finger or by being a dork and putting it between his lips and nose to make a mustache.

⊹— Your lips are like a drug to him. He will be saying "okay, okay I REALLY gotta bail now" and then stare at you for a solid two seconds then steal another kiss and another and another....oops, he's 30 minutes late already.

—⊹ Dante is a biter. God help you when you give him cuteness aggression (which is basically always) because he will chew on you like candy. Your skin is often red from teeth marks and he doesn't feel sorry about it at all.

⊹— Cannot cook to save his life but absolutely loves your food. Especially if you're good at baking! Man's scarfing down those sweet treats like it's his last meal on earth.

—⊹ He sings while he's showering and holds the bottle of shampoo to you like a microphone so you'll join him. Oh and yes, he is VERY tone-deaf.

⊹— No matter how many times he sees you naked he never gets tired of that blessed sight. He flirts with you like it's the first time he's seeing you and those naughty eyes speak for themselves.

—⊹ He has a high libido, especially in the beginning of the relationship where he's even more excitable than usual. Sex can be very clumsy and messy with him, but that's just what makes it so him.

⊹— If you're a breasty lady, he is reaaaaaally into you using your boobs to get him off. Dante also enjoys having your lips around his cock more than words could describe and a quickie in dark, tight spaces is part of the package with him.

—⊹ Bondage is a guilty pleasure of his. Dante prefers to be the one restrained and left at your mercy instead of the other way around because it's just very hot to him when you take control. You're also the only one he would trust to be this vulnerable with.

⊹— This guy is always late for EVERYTHING, but he shows up without a fail in the end. No matter how battered or tired he might be, not even if he was run over by a truck, he will definitely be there.

[spaceyaemonds]

pairing: dr. jack abbot x reader

sum.: you meet a few of jack’s coworkers.

warnings: age gap (jack is late 40s, reader is 23), slightish angst?? just incase?? i don’t think it is but just incase, unplanned pregnancy, jack is divorced, not a widower, and it is mentioned that he previously did not want kids. minors DNI.

notes: okay so this is not what i had initially planned for this part, but i could not get what was supposed to be the second half of this to flow how i wanted so i am scrapping some of it and putting into part 6! also, there will definitely still be a lot of teasing and stuff said by the ED staff!!! i just didn’t know how to incorporate everyone here quite yet, but it’ll come! starting with part 6, they will be slightly longer pieces (but all less than 4-5k words) so we can get more into the drama of the story. in the next part, there will be slight angst (that was supposed to be here LOL, i’m sorry!) AND smut! i also have a few more drabbles for this universe that i hope to post this week, but parts 6 (and possibly 7) will be taking priority along with the schedule i posted yesterday. unedited. and as always, any feedback is extremely appreciated, it helps keep me motivated. especially reblogs/comments/asks!

wc: 1k

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Unfortunately, immediately after getting off the phone with you and getting his keys to Dana, an ambulance pulls up with a trauma, which not only means he is probably not going to be able to see you, but you’re meeting Dana alone.

Which leaves you in your current situation, standing awkwardly in front of said nurse while she looks you over, studying you.

Of all the things she was expecting when Jack Abbot told him a girl was coming to pick up his keys and drop hers off, you are not at all what her brain came up with.

Not that there’s anything wrong with you, except for the fact you look a little young for Jack. But she definitely didn’t imagine you.

“So, you’re borrowing Jack’s truck?” Her tone is friendly when she asks.

She seems nice, but she makes you nervous. Being here makes you nervous. You don’t know what Jack has or hasn’t told his coworkers about you or this situation.

You nod, a small smile on your face despite your discomfort, “Um, yes. I’m buying a new desk and my car is too small to get it home,”

She nods politely, “Are you neighbors?”

She knows the answer, that you are definitely not neighbors, but she’s curious about what you’ll say.

You bite your lip, “Uh, something like that?”

She raises her eyebrow at the way you word your answer as a question, but before she can speak up, Samira says your name.

She’s smiling brightly, “I thought that was you! Are you doing okay?,”

You smile back at her, “I’m good,”

“How’s the baby?”

You freeze, glancing at Dana out of the corner of your eye, praying to god that she doesn’t put it together.

Dana’s brows raise to her hairline, looking between you and Samira, and then briefly glancing at trauma two. No fucking way.

“Um, good- great actually. Just a little grape in there,” You chuckle, gesturing to your abdomen before turning to Dana, digging your keys out of your purse and clipping the key to your apartment off the chain.

“Anyway, um, can you just make sure Jack gets these, please?”

Dana nods, “You sure you don’t wanna try and wait for him?”

You look between her and Samira, a slightly anxious look in your eyes, “Yeah, no. He’s gonna be by later anyway so I’ll just see him then,”

You wince, why the fuck did you say that?

That causes Dana to smirk, “He’ll be over later,”

“Yeah, well I mean, maybe. He’ll have to get his truck back at some point. Probably tonight, but I mean who knows, ya know?”

In the midst of your rambling, you don’t realize Jack has finally wrapped up his case and is standing right behind you.

“What are you going on about?”

You about jump out of your skin, “Oh my god!” Your hand is on your chest as you take a deep breath, dramatically trying to calm yourself down, “You scared me,”

He laughs with a cheeky shrug, mumbling a small sorry as he squeezes your shoulder gently before taking your keys from Dana. He bites back a laugh at the lip gloss attached to your keychain, “You aren’t gonna need that?”

You smile, the anxious feeling finally leaving you, “No, I have a few in my purse.”

Jack briefly catches Dana’s eye as he places his hand on your shoulders and guides you out of the ED, her eyebrows are raised in question, glancing between the two of you. He shakes his head at her and mouths later and continues walking you to where he’s parked, not realizing the storm he’s started up at the nurses station.

“Now, don’t go lifting this desk by yourself or anything like that. It’s not good for you or the baby,”

You glance up at him, “I already places the order for it, they’re just going to put it in the truck when I’m ready and a neighbor said he could get his son and they can bring it up for me,”

He tries not to bristle at the mention of your neighbor that he hasn’t met yet.

“Alright, well I can help you get it put together tonight and make sure your equipment gets all set up.”

His offer makes you smile brightly at him, “Are you sure? I know you’ll be tired after working,”

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t offer if I couldn’t do it, honey.”

There’s that name again. You love it when he calls you that, it makes you feel warm inside.

He bites back a smirk as he watches you squirm, already knowing you well enough to know your cheeks feel hot.

“Well, if you insist. I’ll have dinner and beer ready when you get to my place,”

“You sure know the way to a man’s heart, honey.”

“Just yours, anyway,” You don’t give him time to respond, leaving quickly and not even realizing the impact your words just had on him.

When he gets back inside, Dana is giving him a side eye, and try as he might, he just can’t ignore it.

“Just say what you need to say,”

Dana hums, “She’s young,”

Jack sighs, running a hand down his face before scratching at his jaw, “Yeah,”

“She pregnant?”

There’s no judgment in her question, she watches silently as he pulls out his wallet to hand her the photo of your ultrasound.

“Yeah, ten weeks.”

She sighs softly, looking at the baby, “Yours?”

Jack just grunts in response. Not sure what to say or how to say it.

Dana puts a hand on his arm, squeezing softly, “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

He closes his eyes, “I didn’t. This wasn’t exactly planned. But I’m taking responsibility for this, for her,”

“Does she want you to take responsibility for her?” Dana’s question is valid, and Jack knows that.

“I told her I wouldn’t abandon her. And I won’t.”

“You’re a good man, Jack,” She gives his arm one final squeeze before pulling her hand away, “She seems nice,”

He smiles, “Yeah, she is. Real fucking smart too. And funny,”

Dana feels her chest squeeze at how Jack looks when he talks about you, unable to recall if he’s ever been this way before.

They sit in silence for a few moments before glancing up at Robby when he makes his way up, devilish glint in his eyes.

Jack sighs, already knowing what’s coming.

“I didn’t realize your babies mom is in her twenties, Jack,”

“You mad I got more game than you or something?”

Robby laughs, “Is that what we’re calling it?”