#no but seriously just like... stare for a while

[tanzaniiite]

IDIOT • EDDIE & VOLT

requests: open

warnings: drinking/being drunk (nothing major)

word count: 1.9k

a/n: thank you so much for the request! i’m so glad this game has gotten me out of my two-year hiatus TvT these prompts are from my prompt list. but feel free to send me any original ideas you may have!

prompts: “i’m serious!”/ “…you’re smiling.” • “how much did you drink?” • “i’m not that drunk!”

*cross-posted on ao3

“We’re closed.”

Eddie’s gruff voice called out, not even bothering to look up from the glasses he was polishing. He expected the wayward patron to leave, the familiar squeak of the door signaling their departure. What he didn’t expect was to hear a voice, one he’s grown to know as Beverly.

“I know, I know. But it’s… important?”

This garnered Eddie’s attention, as his eyes located the personified mini bar, he noticed another being. Slumped against Beverly, with all the poise of a fawn learning how to walk, was you. Immediately, a sense of both irritation and protectiveness washed over Eddie. He moved from behind the bar, making his way over. “What did you do?” He asked, his expression dark and stoic but his voice giving away his concern. Beverly shrunk slightly under Eddie’s fierce gaze, laughing nervously,

“Well.. they offered to help me test out some new drinks, right? So, we started with mocktails and gradually made our way to cocktails and it.. just… kept.. going?”

Eddie just stared and Beverly continued her spiel. 

“I did eventually cut them off, obviously. But we were having so much fun and they were complimenting my drink making. And you know business has been slow and they’re literally my only customer–”

“Yeah, yeah. I got it.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Eddie took a deep breath. “You couldn’t take them to Betty? Having them sleep it off is a better idea than taking them to another bar.” He stated. “They specifically asked for you and Volt. And I know you know how stubborn drunk people are.” Beverly explained, hoisting you up a little. While Eddie’s expression remained neutral, the subtle heat of his face flushing wasn’t lost on him. “Right. I guess we can–”

“Is that our live wire, I see?”

“Volt!”

For the first time since entering the Breaker Box, you spoke. Arms extending out as Volt approached, nearly face planting if it weren’t for him catching and holding you steady. As happy as he was to see you, Volt was perplexed by your drunken state. Normally, you never have more than two drinks with them so this was new. Volt looks at Eddie, a silent question in his expression. “Beverly had them test out several new drinks, many of which were alcoholic. Clearly.” Eddie stated, his sharp gaze never leaving Beverly. Another nervous chuckle escaped the minibar, “Haha, well I guess I better go. Bye!” And just like that she was gone.

Volt chuckled to himself, not taking this nearly as seriously as Eddie was. You could feel his laugh reverberate in chest, making you nuzzle into him more. Eddie just took in your state, as if contemplating on what to do next. “How much did you have to drink, hm?” Volt inquired, leaning his head down slightly to look you in the eye. You shrugged, meeting his gaze, “I dunno, like five? Six-ish?” You answered, your voice slurred. “They’re still coherent, that’s good.” Eddie commented, moving back to the bar to get, what you assumed is, water. Your bottom lip jutted out a bit and eyebrows furrowed, as Volt gently guided you to a booth. 

“Don’t talk like ‘m not here.”

“Sorry.”

Once you sat down, Volt slid in the booth next to you, taking the glass of water Eddie handed to him and slid it in front of you. “Don’t take it personally, live wire. That’s Eddie’s way of showing he’s worried.” He explained. “I’m not worried. You had a few drinks, I don’t care. I’m more concerned about you drinking yourself into a state like this.” Eddie rebutted, deciding to stand rather than sit, subconsciously cracking his knuckles as he spoke. “What? ‘m not even that drunk!” You exclaimed, your voice way too loud considering the three of you were in close proximity to each other. “Right. Like you weren’t barely standing when Beverly brought you here. And damn near fell when Volt came over. Totally sober.” Eddie remarked, a sarcastic lit to his voice. Your brows furrowed once more as you looked off to the side, “You’re mean.” You comment, resting an elbow on the table along with your head in your hand. 

Eddie scoffed in disbelief, looking to Volt for back up. “You are being a bit harsh, Eddie.” Volt added, a small smile still on his lips, clearly enjoying whatever this is. Eddie starts to speak before cutting himself off and sighing. He squats down on your side of the booth, a gentle hand taking residence on your knee. “Look. I don’t mean to be mean, I just– what if Beverly didn’t decide to escort you here? What if you decided to head here on your own? And you tripped on the stairs or something, breaking Skylar in the process. You could hurt yourself or worse and at the end of the day we’re still just objects. You would’ve been on your own.” Eddie stated, taking a breath. You hadn’t thought of that, though your thoughts were a bit scrambled in general at the moment. But, nevertheless, Eddie’s words resonated with you.

“You’re right, ‘m sorry for making you worry..”

“I’m not– it’s fine.”

Standing back up, Eddie gestures for you to scoot over and you oblige. Now sandwiched between the two, Volt slides the forgotten glass of water in front of you. “You should drink some, just to sober up a bit, yeah?” He suggests. You start to whine but Eddie isn’t having it, “Drink the water, it’s non-negotiable” He states, tapping the side of the glass. You huff and drink a tiny sip, drinking some more when Eddie gives you a look. “How are you feeling overall?” Volt hums, his arm draping over your shoulder and rubbing your arm a bit. “Tired, nauseous–” You start. “Don’t throw up.” Eddied interjected. “I wasn’t planning on it?” You reply, rolling your eyes. 

Volt laughs at the banter, “That’s our live wire. You’re definitely feeling better if you’re giving Eddie an attitude” He comments. You sigh, leaning against Eddie, your eyes fluttering close. “Wouldn’t you be more comfortable in your bed?” He asks, seemingly opposed but shifting to make you more comfortable. You say nothing, shaking your head as a response, turning to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck. “You smell good.” You hum sleepily, inhaling his scent deeply. Sober you would be absolutely mortified by your drunk actions but that was a tomorrow problem. Volt snickered, coughing into his hand in a poor attempt to disguise it. He busied his hands, taking hold of your legs and lifting them up into his lap, stroking your calf gently as your breathing begins to even out.

Eventually, the pair felt your body relax completely, a clear indicator that you were asleep. “Should we take them to Betty?” Eddie asked quietly as his hand hesitantly came to stroke your side. “What? You don’t want to be their bed for the night?” Volt teased, smiling widely as a blush bloomed across Eddie’s face. “No. Skylar’s eventually gonna run outta charge and we have no idea of knowing when.” He stated, looking off to the side. “That’s true.. But do you really think they’re going to let us move them? They look mighty comfortable snuggled up next to you.” Volt chuckles, vaguely gesturing at your sleeping form. You were completely pressed against Eddie, face in his neck, one arm loosely wrapped around his waist, while your legs were resting on Volt’s lap. Eddie closed his eyes, huffing in response, he knew Volt was right.

“I didn’t finish closing.”

“Hm.”

“All that prep work is gonna be a bitch tomorrow.”

“Right.”

“But…”

“But?”

“I guess I don’t mind.. staying here… like.. this.”

This time Volt didn’t tease, just hummed slightly, acknowledging Eddie’s words. And so they sat, the two of them with you sandwiched in between them. “You know.. if this is the only way to get you to slow down and take a break, maybe our live wire should get drunk more often.” Volt commented, smirking slightly when Eddie groaned. “God no. They better not make this a habit, you’re both already enough to deal with sober. We don’t need to add alcohol in the mix.” He muttered. There was a brief silence before Volt spoke again. “You really care about them, hm?” Volt asked softly, knowing that being vulnerable wasn’t Eddie’s strong suit. Eddie stayed silent for a moment. “I mean, yeah. Don’t you?” He replied, the question rhetorical. 

“Of course, I just didn’t know about all your worries, have you always felt like that?” Volt continued, his eyes somber. “Not always but recently.. I don’t know. I guess you can say they’ve grown on me. And it doesn't help that this house is so big and that they're so clumsy. Anything can happen and we’d be none the wiser.” Eddie explained, his eyes downcast as he continued to rub your side gently. He sighed deeply, looking as though admitting his worries took years off his lifespan. “I really didn’t mean to be so.. y’know? They can just be so careless sometimes and it’s concerning. But I could’ve chosen my words better.” He admits. Volt nods, “You’ve never been too good with people. But you’re good with them, you apologize and explain your reasoning. I think they understand and don’t hold it against you.” Volt replies, reaching over to pat Eddie’s shoulder. 

A beep emanated from your glasses, disrupting the peaceful atmosphere, most likely indicating a low charge.

“I guess that’s our cue.” Eddie muttered, his grip on your shirt tightening slightly. “Do you want to take them or should I?” Volt asked, knowing that at least one of them should stay behind, just to keep an eye on the Breaker Box. Eddie lifted you off of him slightly, pausing as you mumbled something incoherent, before looking to Volt. “You can take them. I’ll stay here.” He answers. Volt gives him a look, almost as if to say, “Are you sure?” But Eddie waves him off. Volt gently moves your legs off him, moving to stand and swiftly takes you into his arms. Immediately, you're nuzzling into his neck next, as if your body craves that closeness. “I had no idea our live wire was so cuddly.” He comments, his head dipping down to kiss your forehead. Eddie says nothing as he stands as well, moving towards you and planting a chaste kiss on your cheek. Already feeling Volt’s stare and hundred watt smile, Eddie groans.

“Don’t say shit.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But you want to.”

“Nope, I’m so serious about this.”

“...you’re smiling.”

And it was true, Volt was smiling, glad to know both of them have mutual feelings toward you. “I’ll be back.” He says, making his way to the entrance. Eddie nods silently watching the two of you leave. God, you were going to be the end of him.

The next morning, you woke up with the worst cotton mouth you’ve ever experienced to date. And the pounding in your head made it no better. You were for sure saying no to Beverly next time she offered bottomless taste testing. You turn over, placing your pillow over your face, in a poor attempt to block out the sun. You could just close Curt and Rod but if you got up, you were afraid the vertigo would hit you hard. Eventually, you removed the pillow, only to notice something on your nightstand. A glass of water, a small cup with three pills in it, and a note. Undoubtedly from Eddie and Volt, just from the tone alone.

Don’t be such an idiot next time.

Feel better live wire!

- E & V

tanzaniiite © 2025 — all rights reserved. do not repost, modify, or copy. do not plagiarize. thank you.

[muffinpink02]

Car Ride

Just a little short thing. Half inspired by me and my gf.

w/c 3699

Thank you @wosofutbolfan for helping me!! and introducing me to 'nature wee's' 😂

“Okay. Water. Check. Sunglasses. Check. Sun cream. Check.” You rummaged through your bag as you checked your inventory for the day. 

“Being late. Check.” Alexia rolled her eyes as she stood by the front door, raising an accusational eyebrow at you. Both hands were perched on her hips just like your teachers used to do before giving you a detention. 

“Sorry, but you should have been honest about my hair instead of saying ‘it’s fine.’  when in fact it wasn’t fine and I looked like I’d been dragged through a bush.” You huffed out, still rummaging through your bag.  

“Your hair was fine! And it was fine the ten other times you asked!” She shook her head for the 50th time that morning. You wouldn't be surprised if the girl got a serious case of whiplash. 

“It wasn’t fine. You lied so we could leave. I know your motives, Putellas.” You squinted accusingly at your girlfriend before looking over yourself once more in the full length mirror. 

“Whatever. Vamos. Let’s go. We’re already ten minutes behind schedule.” Alexia grabbed her car keys off the side and opened the front door.

“Uh. Excuse me?” You folded your arms as you eyed your girlfriend.

She turned her body back, ready to argue about the time until she realised what she forgot. “Oh, sorry, bebé.” She smiled sheepishly at you.

“Hmm. Drop the attitude. It’s our anniversary, I don’t want us bickering. The cabin will still be there if we’re a little late, alright?” You stepped forward, pulling her gently by her shoulder to reach your level to kiss her. A little ritual you did every time before leaving the house. 

“Sí, sí. You’re right. I’m sorry.” She smiled sweetly as she leaned back, opening the door for you to leave first.

“Thank you, baby.” You smiled as you walked past her. “See, you can be sweet when you want– owww!” You flinched as your hands flew to your bum. “Alexia!” 

“Sorry, I just couldn’t help myself.” She winked before locking the front door. “Vamos.” 

—-----

“Of course there’s traffic. Why wouldn't there be traffic?” Alexia mumbled beside you as she put the address into her built in navigation. 

But you weren't as fussed as the Spanianrd, you were too busy finding a playlist you wanted for the journey. You took your job as DJ very seriously. 

“Okay, lets go–”

“WAIT!” 

“What?”

“I need a wee.” You winced apologetically. 

“Are you serious? Didn't you just go?” 

“Yeah, but it's a long journey. My bladders nervous.”

“Your bladders nervous?” Alexia stared at you, her eyebrows scrunching in frustration and slightly confused. 

“Yeah because it's a long drive and I don’t know when I’ll next be able to go. So it gets nervous and makes me need to wee more.” You tried to justify.

“How can a bladder be nervous?- You know what. Whatever, just go. Be quick.” She waved her hands at you to go.

“I will.” You quickly unbuckled your seat belt and jumped out of the car. 

“Don't slam my door–’

Slam.

Alexia winced as the loud thud serged through her body.

“Sorry!” 

“Idiota.” Alexia mumbled as she exhaled a long and very deep breath. 

She leaned back into the leather seat and grabbed her phone, opening tik tok while she waited for you. Quickly letting her attention be engulfed from the first clip of a worried girl rescuing a baby duck from a drain pipe. She was deeply invested about the survival of the duckling when a loud knock next to her head caused her to jump out of her skin, and her phone to jump out of her hand. She let out an involuntary scream, her mind assuming the ducklings mother was coming back for revenge. “Jesús Cristo!” she yelped, as she glanced to her side and saw your smiling face almost pressed against the window, waving at her very dorkily, only stopping as she wound down the window. “No, bebe, just me.” She closed her eyes and prayed for patience, taking a moment to settle her jumping heart rate. “W-what do you want? I thought you were desperate for the toilet?”. 

“I don’t have the house keys.” 

“Of course you don’t. Why would you think to bring the house keys?” She mumbled under her breath as she searched her pockets, tossing you the keys as she sighed dramatically.  

She raised an eyebrow at you when she spotted the smirk on your face. “Què?”

“Nothing…” 

“No, come on. What? What's funny?”

“Nothing. Just never heard that kind of sound come out of you before.” You bit your lip, trying your hardest to hold back the laugh that wanted to escape. 

“Like what?” She asked with a huff. 

You stepped back from the car, taking a breath as if readying yourself for your big acting debut. “Jesús Cristo!” You shouted, completely over exaggerating your spanish accent. 

“I don’t sound like that.” She snapped defensively.

“You kind of did though.” You snickered. 

“I didn’t!”

“I heard you.”

“Just go to the toilet.” She sighed before pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, alright…. try not to sound like a banshee when I’m gone.” You slipped away before she could physically grab you.

“I don’t know your stupid British phrases!”

Alexia didn't bother going on her phone this time, instead watching her surroundings looking a little too paranoid. After less than five minutes you were back, climbing into the passenger seat.

“Ready?” 

“Ready.” You nodded, clicking your seatbelt in. 

“Finally.” She mumbled before putting on her Oakley sunglasses.

The blonde started the engine, turning in her seat. She placed her hand on the back of your head rest and began to reverse out. 

“You look hot when you do that.” You said as you scrolled back on your spotify. Finally picking a playlist you were happy with.

She tried to hold back the smirk that pulled at her lips. “What? How?”

“I don’t know. Just the way you do it.” You shrugged. 

She shook her head as she smiled at your words.

A beat of silence settled between you as the music played out.

“Remember when I ate you out in that seat.” You said it like you were stating the time.

Alexia choked on her own spit. “Dios.” 

“Shall we do it again?” You purred, loving the way the blondes cheeks blushed a soft shade of pink.

“Just… L-Let me concentrate.” She stuttered. 

You hummed, smiling out the window as you started singing to yourself. 

—------

“What are you waiting for? Conduir!” Alexia sharply huffed as she pushed her hand through her loose hair. 

“Do you have any song requests?” You asked, trying to distract the girl.

“No.”

“Alright.”

You pressed play on the next song.

“Not this one.”

You skipped to the next one.

“No. Something else.”

You skipped again.

“No.”

You pressed your lips together. “Okay, do you have anything in mind?” You tried your best to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, just put on anything.” She waved her hand.

You tried again.

“Erghh. Really? This?” She scrunched her face up like she had just smelt a bad smell.

“What?” 

“I don’t like this. It’s just noise.”

You watched as her fingers impatiently tapped against the wheel.

You scrunch your face up. “How can you say Hozier’s ‘just noise’ ? He’s the Shakespeare of his time.” 

“I can’t understand him. He’s not clear. I don’t like it. Put on something else.”

You rolled your eyes, puffing out a sigh. “Fine, what do you want to listen to?”

“Anything.” 

“Oh, my god!” You throw your head back, restraining yourself from dashing your phone at her head.

You scrolled through your songs once more, trying to find something that you could both listen to. When the first few beats of Rosalía started to play out she finally smiled.

“Perfecte.”

———-

Finally after fifteen minutes of gridlock, and another half an hour of slow traffic and lots of swearing from your girlfriend you finally exited the city, leaving the tall buildings behind for green countries' sides. 

You rolled the window down to take in the fresh country air. 

“HORSES!!” You shouted as if you’ve just seen Prince rise from the dead.

“Hmm?” 

“There’s a grey one! Ohhh there’s a black and white that looks like a cow!”

“Where?” Alexia’s curiosity got the better of her, as she attempted to look at the direction you were pointing like a mad woman. Momentarily forgetting she was doing 70 down a motorway. In seconds your car began to slowly edge out of your lane, dangerously close to another car.  

Until you both jump from the deafening loud car horn. Alexia’s second heart attack of the day.

“Merda!” Alexia hissed as she quickly swerved back to the middle of the lane.

An awkward silence fell over the pair of you. 

“Do you want to play a game?” You asked tentatively.

“No.” 

“Come on.”

“No.”

“Pleaseeeee.”

“Fine.” 

“Eye spy—“

“No! I nearly killed us looking at cows. My eyes stay here.”

“Fine.” 

—----------

“Alexia! I told you it has to be a famous person. Not your coach when you were a child! How the hell was I going to know him?”

The blonde shrugged. “I’ve told you about him before. You know him.” 

“Oh, my god. It doesn’t work like that!” You huff out as you fold your arms. “I don’t want to play anymore.” You turn to face the window.

“So I win.” 

“No.” 

“Sí, you’ve given up. I win.” She smirks all teeth when you face her.

“You're so annoying.” 

“But you love me.”

“You’re lucky I do.” You whispered, but she heard.

—----------

Halfway through your journey you felt that familiar feeling again.

“Ale.”

“Hmmm?”

“I need a wee.”

The blonde's head snapped your way. “Again? Seriously?” 

“I’m human, Alexia. The body works that way.”

“We’re not far now, can’t you hold it?” 

You look over at the sat nav.

“There’s still 40 minutes!” You whine.

“Agggh! You’re like a child!” Alexia groans.

“I’m not!” 

The blonde shakes her head as she looks at the sat nav. 

“There aren't any more rest stops.”

“You’ll have to pull over.” You bounce your leg, trying to distract yourself from the liquid pushing on your bladder.

“What? You can’t go out there. There’s people. People in cars!”

“I can. There's bushes all around. Don’t tell me you’ve never had a nature wee before?”

Alexia grimaces at your words. “Never.” 

“You haven't lived.” 

Alexia barked out a loud laugh. “I haven't lived? Because I haven't weed the nature? Or whatever you call it.” 

“Nature wee, and I’m going to need you to pull over sooner than later, it's hurting to hold!” You crossed your legs as you tried to breathe. “You should try it… it's like being part of the circle of life…”

“Fine!” The blonde sighed as she started to indicate, luckily finding a hard shoulder quickly 

“Do you need my help? Or…”

“No, no. You’re good. Do you have tissues?”

“Glove box.” 

“Thank you.” You kiss her cheek before you leave the car. 

“Don’t slam my door!”

Slam.

“I’m sorry!” You wince apologetically before darting off into the bushes to let nature take its call.

“Give me strength.” Alexia prayed to anyone that would listen.

A couple minutes later you emerged from the bush with an empathy bladder and a ball of tissue scrunched in your hand. 

The car window rolled an inch.

“Stop right there.” 

You stopped in your tracks. One foot still in the air. “What's wrong?”

“What’s in your hand?” She asked accusingly. 

“Just my tissue.” 

“Don’t even think about bringing that into my car!” She yelled, her face scrunched in pure disgust. 

“I can’t leave it there, Ale! I hate littering! Besides, it's just wee.” 

“No. Nope. No. It’s not coming in this car.” 

Your mouth gaped open when you heard the lock system on the doors.

“Alexia! You’re so bladdy dramatic- oh there's a bin.” You smiled as you spotted the already overflowing bin. 

Alexia sighed in relief as she watched you throw the tissue away. But then remembered your lack of soap while using the forest as a toilet. 

The blonde rolled down the window as you approached. “Wait, wait there!” 

“What?” You sighed.

“Put your hands through the window. Don't touch anything.”

“What, why?” You went to open the door, but were stopped.

“NO! Your hands. They’re dirty. Put your hands through the window.”

She sounded like she was negotiating with a bank robber.

“My hands aren’t full of piss. I just wiped with the tissue–” 

“I don’t care. Hands. Now!” 

“Fine.” You sighed as you did what she told you. 

You watched as the blonde squeezed antibacterial gel into your hands. Squeezing way more than what was needed. 

“Rub it.” 

“Oh talking dirty already.” You winked teasingly causing the blonde to crack a smile. “Oooh! It smells like lavender, fancy!”

You rubbed the alcohol gel into your hands, making a show of it for your girlfriend. 

“Right, am I allowed to come in? Or do you need to frisk me first? Maybe a strip search?” You smirked. 

“Hmm, maybe a strip tease for all the trouble you caused me today.” 

“I think I can do that–fuck.” You gasped as you glanced down.

Alexia raised an eyebrow at you. “What? Did you forget to pack the strap?-”

“The front wheel is completely flat!”

“What?” Alexia frowned as she unlocked the car and made her way around the bonnet. 

You bent down, spotting the large screw sticking out of the now flat wheel.

The blonde sighed loudly above you before covering her face with her hands. “This can’t be happening.” 

You looked up at the blonde, then back at the rusty old screw.

Silence fell over you. Until you spoke again.

“I did pack it by the strap by the way–”

“Not now.” 

You stood back up. You looked over at your girlfriend who looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. 

“It’s fine. We have a spare tyre, right? I can just change it.” You shrugged as you walked over to the boot of the car.

“Amor, please. I don’t need your jokes right now. I’m going to call AA.”

You rolled your eyes as you began to open the boot.

“We don’t need AA. I can just change it!” You tried to reassure the girl as you pulled the tyre from the boot.  

But your assurance fell on deaf ears as you spotted your girlfriend with her face already pressed to the phone.

“Ale! I can change it myself. Let me do it. We don’t need anyone.” You shouted as you rolled the wheel over to the front of the car. 

The blonde walked further away from you. A permanent frown sitting on her face. She waved her hand at you to stop talking. “Shh. I’m on hold,- hello, yes, I need assistance with my car. My wheel has a puncture.”

“Fine!” You sighed loudly as you were left beside the car. 

You kicked a rock as you walked off to the side of the road, finding a log to sit on. You watched as Alexia finished her with the call, walking towards you. 

“They will be here in 30 minutes.” She sighed as she sat down next to you.

“Great.” You mumbled. “You know I can ju….”

The blonde turned to you, placing her hand on your thigh.

“Amor, I love you but I can’t have you messing up my car.” 

“I know how to change a tyre, Alexia.” You replied with an annoyed tone, scooting away from your girlfriend, and completely facing away from her.

This was going to be a long 30 minutes. 

—---------------

Thirty minutes later and a lot of sulking and pouting from you, AA finally arrived.

You both stood as the yellow van pulled up behind your car. 

A young guy with a high vis jacket jumped out the drivers side, and approached the pair of you. 

You didn't miss the way his eyes shamelessly scanned over your body, then right over to Alexia. Giving her the same creepy look. 

“Hello, I’m Lenny. I’m here to save the day, girls.” He laughed as he gave Alexia a slimy smile. 

You scoffed and walked back to your logg. Not giving him the time or day. 

A small smile creeped on Alexia’s face as she watched you walk away, she was always the calmer one between the pair of you. She turned back to him.

“My tyre is flat. It just needs changing.” 

“Easy work. You got a spare?” He puffed his chest. 

You rolled your eyes.

“Si, in my boot.” 

“It's not in your boot. I left it at the side of the car.” You said flatly. One hand under your chin.

Alexia looked you over, a twinge of guilt hit her then. She saw the look on your face, the demeanor in your body. This wasn't the way she wanted your trip to be.

“Alright, I’ll get this tyre on for you. I just need you to sign some paperwork first.” 

Alexia nodded and followed Lenny to the van, where we grabbed his ipad.

“Just got to sign here and here for me.” He passed Alexia the Ipad. Not without checking her out again. Alexia not noticing it at all. But you did.

As she went to take the device she noticed a tattoo on Lenny's arm.

“You are a Chelsea supporter?” She nodded towards his arm.

“Yeah, the best team in the world. I've been a blue since the day I took my first breath.” He announced proudly. He reminded you of a tropical bird, trying to impress its mate.

You rolled your eyes as the pair started talking football. Knowing Alexia this could be a while. 

So, you did what any sane person would do. You wanted to prove a point.

While the pair spoke about football you grabbed the wrench that sat on the floor next to the tyre and began to get to work. In quick speed you removed the flat, and with ease pulled it off, letting the old tyre flop to the floor.

The pair still hadn't noticed your movements. Still too engrossed with their own conversation. 

“Your women's team is very good too.” Alexia nodded as she read over the small print.

“I wouldn't know. I don’t care for the women's team.” He shrugged. “I do care about getting your number though.” Lenny propped one arm on his van, puffing his chest out once more.

That had done it.

With the sheer help of anger you grabbed the new wheel and pushed it into place, growling as you did. 

Even with the deafening sounds of the cars zooming by, Alexia heard the growl that tore from your throat, it was a little scary but mostly sexy. She knew you’d heard what he’d said.

“Was that a bear?” Lenny looked over towards you. 

Alexia knew it wasn't a wild animal. But she also knew how sexy you were when you got a little jealous. 

“Hmm, I don’t know, Lenny. I don’t tend to give my number out so easily. You haven't even worked for it.” She smiled all too sweetly.

The man child smirked, leaning closer to Alexia. Thinking he actually had a shot.

“I better get to work then.” 

Alexia tried her best to not heave. 

Movement caught Alexia’s and Lennys eyes. 

They both followed the sight of the old flat tyre rolling right past them. A clank of a spanner made Alexia turn her head to see you beside the car. You looked so hot with grease smeared across your cheek that she could ignore the fact that you were using her Nike Athlete addition AP11 signature hoodie to wipe your hands. The version that isn’t even available in stores. A gift from her latest shoot.

Lenny was first to walk over, followed by Alexia.

“You fixed it?” He said in disbelief, verging on accusational.

“What, like it's hard?” You snorted, still cleaning your hands as you eyed Alexia. 

The sheer sight of her face was worth it. The look of pure shook, mixed with pride and a little bit of horriness all mixed in one.

“Did you tighten-”

“The nuts? Yeah, always do. Sorry we wasted your time. You can get going.” You waved at him. Shoving the wrench you’d used into his chest ignoring his ‘oof’ of pain. “Don’t forget to take the flat.” You winked before getting back into the passenger side.

His pride was bruised, but he still had just enough to turn back to Alexia, hopeful.

“Bye Lenny.” She smiled as she climbed into the driver's seat, not giving him a second thought. 

You watched as the man walked back to his van, head low. 

You turned to Alexia, who was already looking at you.

“Amor, I'm so sorry I doubted you.”

You shrugged, ignoring her apologies. You turned to face out the window. 

“No, really. I mean it. I was just frustrated because I wanted this trip to go smoothly and I was letting it all get to me. I didn't listen to you and I should have. I’m sorry.” 

You felt her hand on your thigh, gently stroking your skin. 

You let out a deep sigh, turning to her. You could see she meant it. 

She moved her thumb across your cheek, wiping away the grease she found there. She smirked before she continued. “You looked really hot.”

Your own smirk creeped on your lips. “When?” 

“Throughout. But especially at the end. All greasy and sweaty. I didn't know you could change a tyre.” 

“Hmm, there's a lot of things you don’t know about me.” 

Her hand on your thigh gently gripped your muscle. “Oh yeah? What else?”

You leaned forward and whispered in her ear, making sure to let your lips nuzzler her skin.

Alexia listened to your words. Her eyes popped open and her cheeks turned pink immediately at the new information.

You leaned back, smug, happy to see her frazzled.

“I can show you when we get there. We still have a while, better get a move on.” 

The blonde couldn't put the car into gear quick enough. 

[paucubarsisimp]

pretty girl

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: bts of lando and his model!gf

warnings: swearing, a teensy bit suggestive

a/n: this is the lando version of the model fic

a/n2: i had no motivation for this so this honestly sucks 😭 😭

oscar // kika

fc: minna rosa weber!

yourusername posted

yourusername sunkissed 💋

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lando HOLYYYYY

lando HOW DID I GET SO LUCKY

lando on my knees 🧎🧎

iamrebeccad gorgeous girl <333

lando no. shoo yourusername ily rebecca 💕 lando absolutely not carlossainz55 come get your gf

user1 wow.

user2 body is tea

user3 theyre so cuteee

user4 lando 💀

you feel him before you hear him — warm breath on your shoulder, the slow drag of his fingers tracing nothing in particular on your waist. outside, the monaco sun is spilling through the windows like honey, but you’re not ready for the day yet. apparently, neither is he.

“don’t go,” lando mumbles, voice hoarse with sleep, lips brushing against your skin. “not yet.”

you let out a quiet laugh, shifting slightly under the weight of his arm. he just tightens his hold.

“baby, i have to be in hair and makeup in—”

“shhh,” he says, so softly it’s more air than sound. “they can wait. i can’t.”

you turn your head, just enough to catch a glimpse of him. his curls are a mess, his eyes still half-closed, but there’s something ridiculously sweet about the way he’s looking at you. like you’re the only thing that makes sense this early in the morning.

“lando…”

“please,” he breathes, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your shoulder. “just five more minutes. i’ll set a timer.”

you roll onto your side, face to face now, and he grins like he’s already won. you can feel the heat of him, bare skin against yours beneath the sheets, his thumb now brushing the dip of your hip like he’s memorizing it.

“you’re clingy in the mornings,” you whisper.

“i’m clingy all the time,” he shrugs. “you’re just too busy to notice.”

you laugh softly, your fingers slipping into his curls. he leans into your touch like he’s been waiting for it all night.

“fine,” you murmur, nose brushing his. “five more minutes.”

“liar,” he whispers, smiling against your lips. “you’ll stay longer.”

yourusername updated their story

caption: clingy baby 🙄

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lando

im your clingy baby ☹️💕

you

ik handsome i love you <3

lando

handsome??? 🤭🤭

lando

heehee i love you more 💕

yourusername posted

yourusername thank you to brandname for dressing me for tonight! ✨💫

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lando i js know you're not going to be able to walk tmrw

yourusername LANDO carlosainz55 lando... no. there are children on this app

user1 BAHAHHA LANDO

yourbestfriend pretty girl ❤️

lando MY pretty girl yourbestfriend right... lando BABY TELL HER YOU'RE MINE yourusername yourusername you can share 😘 lando um absolutely not

user2 ugh she's so pretty

lando ikr her bf is so lucky user2 omg lando 🤦‍♀️

f1wags

f1wags lando's reaction to y/n's latest ig post

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user1 omg hes so down bad 😭

user2 the way he js stared at the post with that lovesick look 😭

user3 and then immediately called her to his room and when she entered, he js looked her up and down while biting his lip 😮‍💨😮‍💨

user5 ahhh i want him so bad

user6 forget him! i want her so bad

the uber was quiet, the soft hum of the city slipping past the windows. your dress shimmered faintly every time the car passed under a streetlight. lando sat beside you, already half turned toward you, practically vibrating.

he hadn’t said anything for the past minute. just kept looking at you.

you sighed, smiling. “what.”

his voice was quiet. “you’re not real.”

you turned your head, trying to stay focused. “stop it.”

“no, seriously,” he said, sliding his hand onto your thigh like it belonged there. “you got in the car and i forgot how to be a person.”

you leaned away just a little as he tilted toward you. “lando. makeup.”

“i’ll be careful.”

“you won’t be.”

he grinned, shameless. “you can’t prove that.”

you dodged again when he leaned in for a kiss. this time he actually whined. “babyyy”

you laughed, low and breathy. “i spent forty-five minutes on this face. don’t make me regret it.”

he flopped dramatically back against the seat, hand over his chest. “you’re cruel. i just want to kiss you one time. a little one. corner of the mouth. zero lip smudge, i swear.”

you turned your head and raised an eyebrow. “you have the worst aim.”

he gasped. “untrue. i am an elite motorsport athlete. my aim is literally my job.”

you rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, and reached over to take his hand instead. he relaxed instantly, his thumb brushing lazy circles over your fingers.

after a moment, quieter this time, he said, “you really do look insane. like… i don’t have words. you walked out of the hotel room and i actually had to sit down for a second.”

you glanced at him. his hair was slightly messy from the wind, tie loosened just the way he liked it. his eyes were soft. no teasing now. just full, heart-eyed affection.

“thank you,” you murmured.

he squeezed your hand. “i’m so screwed.”

you laughed again, softly, just as the car pulled up outside the venue. lando was out first, jogging around the car like he was on a mission, pulling the door open for you with that slightly-boyish, proud look on his face.

you stepped out and he let out the smallest sound — somewhere between a sigh and a gasp.

“see,” he said under his breath, slipping his arm around your waist as flashes went off nearby. “you are trying to kill me.”

you leaned into him slightly. “still no kisses.”

“but i opened the door for you.”

“and i appreciate it.”

he grinned, leaned in again like he couldn’t help it. this time he brushed his lips just barely over your temple. safe. delicate. reverent.

“i’m gonna be so annoying tonight,” he whispered. “you have no idea.”

“i already do.”

his smile turned into a smirk. “you love it.”

and god, you really, really did.

the ballroom is glowing — golden light, the soft murmur of voices, champagne bubbling in tall glasses. you're not even all the way in before lando's hand finds yours again, fingers laced like he needs the contact.

and then, once you're standing by your table, he’s behind you. arms slipping around your waist. chin resting lightly on your shoulder.

you laugh under your breath. “clingy tonight?”

he hums. “yeah. can’t help it. you look like this and expect me to act normal?”

you reach up to touch his hand where it rests against your stomach, his grip warm and a little too tight to be casual.

“you’re being obvious,” you murmur.

“good,” he says, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “i want everyone to know you’re mine.”

your breath catches. and just like that, your heartbeat stutters.

he leans in closer, so only you can hear. “you’re not even trying and i can’t take my eyes off you.”

you tilt your head slightly, pretending to watch the stage as a host starts speaking — but his voice is low and dangerous and soft behind you.

“you smell so good. your skin’s warm. your back’s bare. and you keep brushing your hips against me like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“lando,” you warn quietly, barely moving your lips.

he just smiles against your cheek. “you look so pretty when you pretend you’re not blushing.”

you turn your head slightly, enough to bump his nose. “you said you’d behave.”

“i lied.”

you try not to smile but it’s useless. his hand slides down a little — not inappropriate, just enough to make you feel it.

then, quieter, sweeter: “i love seeing you like this,” he says. “in your element. confident. glowing. happy. it’s making me fall for you all over again.”

you pause, still facing forward, but your fingers squeeze his where they’re resting just beneath your ribs.

he presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. “i’ll shut up now.”

you don’t want him to.

lando posted

lando my pretty girl <33 i love you so much. happy anniversary princess yourusername

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yourusername I LOVE YOU MORE BABYYY

yourusername MWAH MWAH

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yourusername posted

yourusername i love you so much my pretty boy <33 happy anniversary love lando

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lando I LOVE YOUUUUU MY CUTIEEE

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taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @linnygirl09, @spidybaby, @dessashippr lmk if you want to be added!

[firingstars]

siren’s song [one-shot]

avengers!bucky x avengers!reader

summary: bucky hears music through the vents of his room every single night, but the team refuses to tell him for his own protection. after all, they know the music is coming from you- a secret member of the team, who happens to be able to control minds.

warnings: 18+, mdni, no use of y/n, language, alternating pov’s, the avengers don’t like you/are scared of you, bucky is your biggest and loudest defender, steve is a meanie but he’s bucky’s biggest and loudest defender,, reader is a lil insecure and depressed but eh she’s a tortured™️ artist so what did we expect, reader knows sign language and is expressed in bold text throughout the fic

word count: 10.9k

a/n: apologies in advance for any inaccurate to semi-accurate music descriptions T_T i am a washed singer/musician that hasn’t done music since i switched over to the healthcare industry </3

masterlist

Everyone treats him as if he is something breakable. Fragile. That one wrong move, one wrong word– one wrong breath is enough to shatter him. 

In all honesty, Bucky can’t blame them completely. It took him a long time to get to where he is right now, and he still has to lie to himself to say that he’s doing okay. He still hopes that the lie will somehow manifest itself into truth if he tries hard enough.

Either way, it’s pissing him off.

The team acts as if they can’t hear the music that comes through the vents during random points of the day. Sometimes, it’s piano. Bucky can’t tell the difference between a violin or a viola, but he hears one of the two as well. There’s a low thrum of a cello every once in a while. He hears an acoustic guitar in the early mornings when the sun is barely breaking through the horizons.

Sometimes the melodies strike through his skin and grip his bones, never letting him go. Other times he’s soothed to sleep as if a gentle hand is caressing his head, lulling him to bed with each pluck of the string. He can’t deny that he’s enraptured by wherever this music is coming from.

At first, he thought Tony had F.R.I.D.A.Y playing music through the halls. He asked Tony about it– wondered why the music was played at such odd times without any rhyme or reason. Tony denied having any mood music and joked about him going crazy in the head. Bucky walked out of the lab without giving him another response. 

Then, Bucky realized it was strongest in his own room, and got softer as he walked towards the common areas. He realized that the music was connected directly towards his vent. His next realization was that there was a person that had to be playing each one of those instruments. 

Bucky dragged Steve into his room to show him the music next time it happened, demanding to know what was going on– to know where the music was filtering through from.

“What music, Buck?” Steve asked him, a polite look on his face. Bucky never wanted to punch him more– more than that day on those fucking hellicarriers when Steve was just a mission to him.

“Are you serious?” Bucky replied, eyebrows shooting towards the ceiling. “You don’t– you don’t hear that? The fucking– That’s Liebestraum No.3.”

Steve stared at Bucky, blinking at him like they didn’t speak the same language. Bucky let out a deep breath, frustration coursing through his veins as he did his best to not shout at the man that he considered his oldest, bestest friend.

“You don’t know who Franz Liszt is?” Bucky asked, trying to keep his voice even and calm. He was trying to practice the art of patience, but he was failing horribly with every passing second.

“How do you know who Franz Liszt is?” Steve retorted, almost looking worried.

“I had to do musical therapy as one of my– never mind. You seriously can’t hear the piano?” Bucky quickly said. 

“Buck… Have you been sleeping well? Should we move your room somewhere else? Stark did mention that you asked him about music the other day, too.”

Bucky hated that tone of voice. Condescending. Borderline patronizing. As if Steve was talking to a child. Like he was fragile.

“Steve, no!” Bucky exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know what– fuck. Never mind. Forget I mentioned anything.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. They lock eyes, Bucky frowning at him.

“What, Steve?” he grunted.

“Trust me– you’re better off not knowing.”

The music stopped coming through the vents for some time after Steve lied blatantly to Bucky’s face– Bucky knew they were all lying to him. 

It was the same way they lied to him about the extra set of plates and cups that he noticed in the cupboards of the kitchen that no one claimed– but showed obvious wear of use. When Bucky asked who used those, they all just shrugged at him and changed the topic.

Bucky noticed mangoes in the fridge once. No one on the team ate mangoes, but there was always a fresh stock of mangoes that got brought in with each produce delivery. He noticed that the supply in the fridge dwindled down every few days until there was nothing left. He saw the peels in the trash. Nobody on the team smelled of mangoes.

When it was Wanda’s turn to cook, she would put a serving of food to the side before calling for everyone else to eat. No one would touch it. Bucky noticed that it would be eaten and gone the next day. He asked Sam one time who ate it, and got brushed off like he was insane for asking the question.

They were doing the same shit they were doing when they first brought him onto the team and he hated it. 

Bucky knew that they were doing it to protect him. That this was supposed to be for him, and they only meant well, but fuck�� he was getting tired of it. He would’ve thought that they trusted him by now. If anything, they were doing more damage to him than good by handling him with gloves. He didn’t even know what they were protecting him from. Someone else? Another person? He couldn’t voice this to any of them, not when he was already struggling to express himself. 

Soon enough, the music returned through the vents again. Softer this time. As if whoever was playing was afraid to take up space.

Bucky laid in bed, eyes falling shut as he let out a breath. The notes blanketed over him like a warm hug, wrapping around him and soothing his aches and pains. 

He was grateful that the lullabies were back. 

Bucky could return to his dreamless sleeps.

“Nice work today,” Fury complimented as you washed your hands. 

You watched as the sink turned from crimson to pink to clear. You used the brush from the sterile packet to scrub under your nails, removing any traces of dirt, blood, and other bodily fluids that you could have picked up from your interrogation. You shake your hands off in the sink, glancing through the mirror to look behind you. Fury's standing there, with a towel in hand for you.

“Thanks,” you muttered quietly in return, shutting the faucet off before turning around to take the cloth. He pulls it away from you for a second, and your eyes go to his face.

“That would have gone a lot faster if you had just used your ability on him first,” he told you, then lowered the towel into your wet hands. “Wouldn’t have to resort to all the mess.”

“It's a mess either way, Nick,” you replied with a sigh, drying your hands off. You throw the towel into the hamper of the locker room when you’re done.

“Have you made any progress with the team?” he asked, hands clasping behind his back as you followed him out into the hall.

“You’re funny,” you said, scoffing. 

“I would like to deploy you on missions with them, you know,” he clicked his tongue on you.

“And yet, when you have me do interrogations, you have me in a soundproof room and have all other agents clear the floor,” you pointed out, shaking your head. “You also have me several feet underground. Don’t even get me started on the fact that my comms channels are cleared on my field missions.”

“It’s a safety precaution, agent.”

“You’re scared, Nick. That’s okay. They are, too,” you said, your voice soft. “I don’t blame you or them. I wouldn't trust me either."

Fury stopped walking, leaving you a few more steps ahead of him. You let out a deep sigh as you stop in your place, turning around to look at him. You’re so tired. You want nothing more than to return back to the main compound. You want to shower off the interrogation, cry, and maybe listen to Erik Satie to pretend like you’re not a weapon.

“You don’t make it easy for us to not be scared of you,” Fury said, looking you in the eyes. 

“I’m just thankful that you talk to me,” you said, giving him a small smile. 

Fury lets out a sigh, shaking his head. “You said that you have control over it. You have given me no reason to not trust that you won’t mess with my head the same way that you do with our enemies. Does it scare the hell out of me when I see what you can do? Sure it does. And I thank my lucky stars that I recruited you for our side. Trust is a two way street, agent. You need to start building your side of the bridge, too.”

He started walking once more, leaving you in the hall by yourself. You watched as his figure turned the hall, listened to his footsteps retreat and disappear into the air before you decided to do the same.

You took the same route that you always do– the same back hallway and stairs that you knew the other members of the team didn’t take. 

It makes you laugh when you address them like that in your head. The team. As if you’re part of them. You were introduced to them a long time ago. Said maybe one, two– three full sentences to them before you saw the full distrust and distress on the faces of the original six members.

You really looked up to them. You heard stories of them during your time in captivity as a weapon. You daydreamed of them saving you from your lab, bringing you in, making you one of them. You thought about doing good for the world and rectifying the wrongs that you were forced to do under the hands of the captors that held you by the throat. 

It wasn’t them that saved you. There was no fanfare. There was nothing special about the way you were saved.

Your lab was hijacked by a smaller, less elite group of agents. Fury was the one that came to you. Read your file, saw that you were enhanced, and asked if you would like to be part of something better.

That ‘something better’ stared at you with disgust. 

It shattered your world.

You kept to yourself after that. They didn’t mistreat you by any means. Tony gave you your own floor in the compound once you all moved from the tower, and they left you alone. They ordered you mangoes and whatever else you asked for as long as you put the order in with F.R.I.D.A.Y..  

You couldn’t blame them.

This was a team of people that held secrets. People that had been pulled apart from years of pain, mistrust, and horrors that you hadn’t been around to experience yourself. It was only natural that they wouldn’t trust you once they found out what you could do. 

So, you worked alone. Your skillset was better for interrogations, and for solo missions. You were off field most of the time, but Fury still sent you out every once in a while. If there were some more time sensitive matters that needed to be fulfilled that were overlapping with the main team’s missions that couldn’t be handled by regular agents, he would deploy you.

If nothing else, Fury trusted you to do the job. 

You shut the water to the shower off, running a hand down your face as you shook the thoughts away. Fury’s words got to you today. You normally didn’t think about this anymore. It had been too long. New members of the Avengers had joined. Nothing has changed. Well– Wanda gives you food when she cooks.

You once asked her why.

She told you- “Even monsters need to eat.”

It was the only time you spoke to her. 

You pad through the open concept of your floor. You press a key of your piano, listening to the note bounce off the walls as you continue to walk. Your guitar is resting on the carpet beneath your unmade bed. Your cello and violin are neatly put to the side against the wall on their stands– and you vaguely think about the fact you need to clean your brass instruments soon. Your drum set remains neglected– you once received a noise complaint through F.R.I.D.A.Y and haven’t found the courage to pick up the sticks since. 

You go towards the mini fridge, pulling it open, and pause.

“Shit,” you muttered, pulling in a lip between your teeth. It was empty.

It slipped your mind to have F.R.I.D.A.Y. bring a new delivery of snacks directly to your floor. You know you don’t have anything in the cupboards either. You’re a few days off from the end of the month. You check the time.

It’s barely one in the morning.

With the location of the compound, you won’t get any luck by going into the city to get food and come back. You have another interrogation scheduled first thing in the morning. You have training sessions with a few agents that aren’t aware of your abilities all afternoon, and then another interrogation in the evening if the Avengers complete their early morning mission and bring back their target as per scheduled. If you leave the compound right now, you won’t get enough time to sleep and be okay enough for the amount of shit you’ll have to deal with tomorrow. 

Plus, your hands are itching to touch some strings tonight or you might go crazy.

You could forgo the meal. You really could.

The thought is immediately thrown out the window by a sharp pain in your stomach followed by a deep grumbling that you’re sure could wake up everyone in the compound.

You groan to yourself, reaching for a hoodie. You’ll have to head towards the common floors. 

As you board the elevator, you really hope all of the team members are sleeping. You’re not in the mood to run into any of them today. Usually, you only come up here when you know that they’re on a mission or away from the compound celebrating or just out having a good time together– without you. They should be sleeping. 

And yet– there he was. 

The main person that you were warned to steer clear of.

Stormy eyes landed on you– you, who stood there with damp hair, a zip up hoodie and a tank top with cotton shorts and slippers. Shit.

You watched as the man bristled. He held a half eaten plum in his vibranium hand, all muscles tensed under the black shirt that he wore. The dog tags around his neck glistened under the kitchen lights as his body turned, his back straightening as he moved to square his shoulders to size you up. He was taller than you thought, but you had only seen him from afar. He had also cut his hair short– it was nice. His beard was also reduced to stubble now. You wondered if he did it himself or had someone else do it for him.

You swallowed, and took a few steps. 

This was your place of work, too. You lived here, too. 

“Who the fuck are you?” he demanded, his voice almost in a low growl. 

You didn’t dare answer him. You were almost afraid to. Not that you would use your power on him by accident– but that Steve or someone else would throw you out of the one place that you could call home, even if this place made you feel like you were walking on glass.

You opened the fridge like you did a hundred times before, eyes scanning the shelves until your eyes landed on the fruit. There were two left. 

You could feel his eyes burning holes into the back of your head. One wrong move, and you were certain that he would act on command. This was his home, too. For all he knew, you were a stranger. And from what you knew– he knew nothing of you.

You were slow in your movements as you went for the cutting board and the drawer, grabbing a dull knife to cut open the mangoes. You saw him flinch out of the corner of your eye when you brandished the knife, and slowed your movements down even more. You really weren’t trying to die tonight. 

You just wanted some fucking mangoes. 

Once you were finished, you reached into the cupboards to grab your bowl and placed your fruit inside, dropping your used utensils into the sink. You turned around, locking eyes with the soldier. His breath hitched as you did, and you stared at him for a few moments. 

“I asked you a question,” he whispered. 

He sounded scared.

You held your breath for a few moments before releasing it. Then, you gave him a sad smile. You shook your head at him. No. He was better off not knowing. 

You tried to ignore the look on Bucky’s face before you turned away. 

You were warned. Steve warned you twice.

Before Bucky was brought to the compound, Steve visited your floor. Told you to never show yourself before Bucky. Said that he didn’t need you to mess with his head– that Bucky had already gone through hell enough and didn’t need it to happen again.

He came again, a couple weeks back. He told you that your music was loud. And it broke your heart. He told you to quiet down– that Bucky was asking questions. You felt as if your voice had been ripped from you all over again. You felt like you had been back in that lab.

That night, you played Prelude in E minor until your fingers cramped, and your tear ducts dried up.

Bucky had gone through several wars. His body had been modified without his consent over and over again. He was frozen, defrosted, then frozen again countless times. Lies had been shoved down his throat that he was forced to digest. He watched as his body and mind was broken and beaten, and he used to hold no regard for the state that he found himself in because he was trained not to care. 

Bucky cared now. He cared a lot. 

And he was losing his fucking mind. 

“Where do the targets go after we bring them back?” Bucky asked, removing his vest. He was dropping it off at Tony’s lab for inspection— something about Stark wanting to make some upgrades to everyone’s uniforms. 

“They go to interrogation,” Steve responded, putting his shield down on an empty table. 

“Who interrogates them?” Bucky pressed. 

“Fury, I guess,” Sam shrugged, but didn’t meet Bucky’s eyes. He frowned.

“Since when the hell does Fury get his own hands dirty when he has an entire army of agents at his disposal?” he demanded.

“Exactly. Fury just delegates the task to someone, Buck,” Sam sighed, taking redwing off his back to inspect the damn thing. “What’s it matter to you anyway? We just handle the mission— do you want to do extra work or something?”

No. It was simply driving him crazy to be left in the dark.

Bucky didn’t respond, not when he knew that all answers would just lead him back into a circle. He left the lab, aware of how his teammates' shoulders sagged in relief at his departure. It was subtle, but he noticed. He always did. 

All of them were hiding something from him. None of them would say a single word. They were great at skirting the issue, deflecting, or simply just changing the topic. 

There was one person he hadn’t tried though. One more person that he was certain wouldn’t give him any bullshit, but would definitely never let him live it down. He knew that she would definitely tell the others if word got out, too.

He sucked in a breath and changed courses for the armory. She always spent time down there after a mission to look over her guns, make sure nothing was damaged or jammed. Bucky stood at the threshold of the door for a long time, staring at her back. He didn’t know what to say, or how to say it.

Thankfully, she broke the uncomfortable silence first.

“I deleted the footage from this morning,” Natasha said, putting the safety back on her gun. 

“The footage?” Bucky echoed.

“Of you seeing our siren come out of her little cove to get her mangoes,” she clarified.

His eyes narrowed. Siren? Cove? 

“Explain.”

Natasha let out a breath. She put away the last of her gadgets and weapons in the case, locking them safely away before turning around. She leaned against the counter, arms crossed over her chest.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Are you going to lie to my face like everyone else in this damn building?” he shot back.

“It’s for your own good, Barnes,” she sighed.

“Isn’t up to me to decide that?”

They stared at each other for what seemed like hours before she finally shook her head, relenting. She gestured towards the bench, moving to take a seat. Bucky sat down as well. Natasha said a name he’d never heard before– your name.

“We all collectively decided that we would keep her away from you,” she said, looking down at her hands. “Her abilities… let’s just say she wouldn’t need any fancy H.Y.D.R.A. machines to put your brain through a blender, Barnes.”

His spine straightened as his pulse quickened. He let out a slow breath, eyebrows furrowing.

“She’s enhanced– you called her a siren,” he said, the pieces coming together in his head.

“Whatever words come from her mouth– you can’t help but listen,” Natasha nodded slowly. “If she tells you to run, you run until your body gives out. If she tells you to scream, you’ll scream until your vocal chords are fried. If she tells your brain to explode in your head… well. She’ll be the last thing you ever see again.”

Bucky’s heart was pounding in his chest. 

“Does she– she has control over it, right?” he managed to force out. 

��Fury says that she does,” Natasha breathed out slowly. “Do I trust it? No. None of us do. She’s… part of the team, which is why she has clearance to the common areas. Fury wants her to be able to be deployed on missions with us, but none of us are comfortable with the idea of her using the ability with us on the field. She does solo work and interrogations, but otherwise I’m not really sure what she does here. I know Stark gave her an entire floor to herself. I think she blasts really fucking loud music. I think your vents are connected.”

Loud wasn’t the right word for it. Calming was a better word. 

Even when the music you played was sad or melancholic, he felt peace that he hadn’t been able to know in so long. Even if you were doing a simple scale to warm up your cold fingertips, you were able to pull him out of the depths of his own mind. You brought him ease that he had forgotten he knew how to feel.

“Where’s her floor?” 

You didn’t hear the elevator doors open, not with your headphones secured over your head. You had a day off today, and you decided to take yourself down to the city to pick out your first electric guitar. You spent a lot of time with the clerk at the shop, going back and forth between different brands of guitar, amps, and other things. 

You even learned how to be able to connect the electric guitar to headphones so you wouldn’t get another noise complaint from your resident fossil, Captain America. 

You sat on the floor, back against your bed, guitar on your lap with your laptop in front of you. You had your notebook beside it, ready to jot down anything that you felt was worthy of remembering for a later time.

Your fingers danced away at the strings, a smile fitting along your face as you closed your eyes. You were chasing the ghost of your past– the sound of your father’s amp crackling to life in the garage on a Saturday morning to wake you up. You, racing down the steps of the stairs as each note reverberated through your skeleton, screaming for you as you got closer and closer, distorting your reality as you–

You felt a weight in the room, breaking your immersion. You ripped the headphones off your skull, turning quickly, one hand reaching under your bed to where you knew you had a weapon.

Bucky’s hands went up in immediate surrender.

“I just want to talk,” he said, swallowing thickly.

Your breaths were still erratic, your eyebrows furrowed. Talk? What the hell would this man want to talk to you about? 

He was truthful though. Nothing about his body language screamed that he was on guard. His eyes were on you– more on the fact that your hand was still under your bed. You forced your breathing to even out and slowly dragged your hand back to where he could see it, and watched as his hands lowered back to his sides as well.

You watched as his eyes went from you to your room. His eyes rested on your bed– the sheets still not tucked in properly because you never cared to fix them after waking up. The carpet under your bed so your feet didn’t have to touch the cold tile of the floor first thing in the morning.

Across from your bed were two couches facing each other with throw blankets strewn about, with a coffee table in the middle, and a TV mounted on the wall. On the table were music sheets that you had forgotten to organize and put away. 

Right beside your 'living room' was your music area. You had several different instruments here, along with a full set up of production material for you to even record if you wanted to– because you did, sometimes. Only if you were in the mood for it. Not that you released anything. You were just bored by yourself, and you had the ability to do it.

And Bucky was standing in the middle of your makeshift dining-room-slash-kitchen. It was just a round table with a small fridge, half counter with a partial induction stove, and half sink area. You had a microwave to use, and some cupboards that you filled with snacks, plates, and utensils.

Suddenly, you felt self conscious over the fact of how lived in everything looked. You never had your area so closely examined the way he was looking at everything. Then again, you weren’t expecting any guests.

“Do you talk?” he suddenly asked.

You blinked. Your lips parted– and closed. You nodded in response after a few moments. Bucky’s eyes narrowed at you.

“Will you talk to me?” he asked, changing his question.

You shook your head immediately. Bucky let out a sigh, placing his hands on his hips. You could see the gears turning in his head as he tried to figure out what else to say to you.

“Is it because of your ability?”

You didn’t hide the shock on your face. You don’t know who’s more stupid– the person who told him, or him himself. Why would he come here if he knew what you are? What you could do to him?

Either way, you nodded to him.

“This is gonna get really annoying very fast– Can you do sign language?” he asked, surprising you again. He must've read the surprise on your face and quickly added, “I can read sign language.”

“How do you know sign language?” you asked him, tilting your head.

“I'm 110 years old. A spy. Assassin. I think I need to know a lot of things,” he dismissed. “Are you the one that plays that music every night?”

“I am,” you replied. 

“You always play like you have something to say.”

“I believe music transcends all forms of language. We don’t need to be from the same country to be able to understand each other,” you quickly signed at him.

Bucky stares at you, eyebrows furrowed. Almost as if he’s trying to process your words. You frowned, letting out a deep sigh.

“Are you here to tell me that it’s too loud? I’ll stop if it is. I’m sorry.”

“What? No! I’m just asking,” he spoke so fast it surprised you. The next words that came out were so soft that it almost didn’t reach your ears. “I– It helps me sleep. Don’t stop. I find comfort in your songs.”

Bucky wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were trained on the floor, staring at the plush of your carpet. Your lips were parted, but your heart was beating fast. You almost felt like crying. You wanted to cry. 

A shuddering breath fell from his lips, disrupting the air in the room.

“I’ll sit here quietly. Can you play something?” he whispered, lifting his eyes to look at you again. “Anything. I don’t care what.”

Slowly, you rose from your place on the ground, pushing the guitar off your lap. You pulled a chair from the dining table for Bucky to sit at as you went for your piano, opening the cover. You could hear him take a seat, feel his eyes on you as you straighten your back. Your fingers ghosted over the ivory keys for just a moment as you contemplated what piece to play for him, your mind shuffling through everything you learned as a child– none of them fit this moment.

You played Bucky original pieces from that point forward. Whatever came to mind, you played for him.

You lost count of the amount of times that Bucky came down to your floor. Sometimes he would bring you your mangoes, along with some of his plums. Sometimes there would be new fruits for you to try before you would go and start your performance for him.

“Have you ever tried calamansi?” he asked one day as he walked through the door. You had barely had a chance to look up from your music score. You were sitting on the floor, pen in hand, crouched over the coffee table. 

"A what?" you asked, eyes narrowing at him.

“Calamansi,” he repeated, putting down the orangey-yellow drink down in front of you on the coffee table, but not before putting a coaster under the glass. “It’s a fruit from the Philippines- we had a mission there, and I just got back. This is good. Drink it.”

You looked up at him as he took a seat on your couch. He crossed an ankle over his knee, a hand draping over the back of the cushion as he took a sip of his own calamansi drink, eyes still on you. Expectant. Waiting. 

You reached for the drink yourself, a bit weary.

He must’ve sensed your hesitation, or at least seen it. 

Bucky took the glass in your hand, swapping it with the one that he had already drank from. He drank that one, as well. You let out a small breath, giving him a smile. He returned it– he had no judgement on his face.

His smile only widened as surprise took your features with the first sip of the juice.

“See?” he said, pointing at the glass. “It’s good, right?

You could only nod in agreement before you both continued to finish off your drinks.

Bucky would often come at random points of the day. It was never at any set time. There had been times where he was already in your room, waiting for you to come back from an interrogation or a mission. Other times when you had been off from the day, and you had run into him in your backway hall, already heading down to your door. He would give you a nod at these times, and walk with you the rest of the way.

You had even grown used to waking up and finding him sitting at the dining table, scrolling through his phone or looking through files while waiting for you to wake up– sometimes you didn’t even play for him on these mornings. 

“Did you even sleep last night?” you asked him, exiting the bathroom after washing up.

“Late, but I slept well after listening to you play. It wasn’t classical last night. Guitar, right?” 

“I heard it on the radio the other day,” you sign with a shrug. 

“I liked it. Can you add it to the playlist?” he asked, handing you his phone.

Another private, personal moment shared between you two. You don’t remember who started it. You two had several playlists shared.

You taught him how to make playlists. He sent you a playlist of songs that he liked, and you listened to each song religiously. You made him a playlist of music that you listened to and would continue to add songs that you played for him. There was a third playlist that you both would add songs to whenever you both felt like it. 

“Any plans today?” you asked after handing his phone back to him.

“I’m hiding here, if that’s okay with you. Steve wants to run to the city and back. I don’t want to. He managed to get Sam to agree, but I think that’s fucking crazy,” he muttered.

You don’t hide the smile on your face as you nod at him, going through your cupboards to pull out instant oatmeal for the two of you to eat. He gratefully accepts, and you two start your morning off slow. He talks at you, and he will patiently wait for you to put down your spoon so you can sign at him. 

You notice the way he pays attention to both your face and your hands to make sure he captures the entirety of the emotion behind the words you’re trying to convey to him.

You notice that he does the same exact thing when you play your music.

You could feel his eyes on your face when you’re playing, and you know it’s not just his ears that are listening to you. You can feel his heart opening with each note that you hit with your fingers, with each string that is strung. You can see the weight of the world being lifted off his shoulders in a way that you never thought was possible. 

At some point, he abandoned the chair at the dining table and would sit beside you at the piano bench, his body keeping you warm. You didn’t mind it. In fact– you were the one that closed the distance, no longer satisfied with only your knees brushing against each other’s. Your thighs were fully pressed together now, and he could feel your muscles move as you pressed the pedal of the piano when you needed to.

“Your fingers don’t get tired after playing for so long?” Bucky asked you one night, his voice soft, afraid he would talk over the notes.

You smiled, glancing over to him. You met his eyes, shaking your head.

“You don’t even need to look at the keys to play either?” he asked, just as astounded. He sounded a bit breathless, in awe of you. 

You let out a small laugh. This time, you shook your head in disbelief. You thought he was cute, but you couldn’t say that even if you wanted to tell him. 

The piano’s final note faded on your fingertips, light and airy– you don’t remember the last time you played something in a more sorrow sounding tone. Though, Bucky does seem to enjoy your minor chorded music. He once told you that it evoked something deeper inside of him.

“What was that one called?” he asked you as you pulled on the piano cover.

“Another random piece from my mind,” you signed to him. 

“Were you a prodigy before all this happened to you?”

You paused, your hands freezing. Bucky caught it, his eyes widening. His hands quickly clasped over yours, warming yours up– comforting you.

“You don’t have to answer that. I’m sorry,” he quickly apologized, awkward. “I fuckin’- shit. I was just talking without thinking. It was the music still in my head, doll.”

Your lips parted for a brief moment. You could see the panic in his eyes– the true regret he felt. He was scared you would pull away from him, maybe shut him out after all the time you had spent together. 

You swallowed, giving him a smile as you gently took your hands from his. 

“I was accepted by Julliard as an opera singer,” you signed. “My mother was a pianist. My father was a cellist. Music ran in my family. My brother was a scientist. He was the only one that didn’t do music… and he got involved with some bad people. People that–” 

Your hands clenched into fists mid-air. You sucked in a trembling breath, looking everywhere but him. 

And Bucky waited. Patiently. Like he always did. His attention never diverted from you. 

You knew he knew. You were still scared. You knew what was done to his mind, but saying it to his face… You were afraid he would run from you.

You take a deep breath, preparing yourself. You know you're about to sign like a madwoman, maybe too fast for him to even understand you. That's okay. You just need to get it all out, even if it's sloppy or messy. It's how you feel, and you hope it's enough for him to understand.

“They took my voice from me and weaponized it. It took me years to learn how to talk without hurting someone. I could hurt you, Bucky. I could do worse things to you than H.Y.D.R.A. ever did. I don’t know why you keep coming to see me. I’m not saying that I would ever do anything to hurt you. That is the last thing that I would ever do! I really like you, Bucky. I wouldn’t play all these songs for you if I didn’t like you so much, but you need to know that I am the last person on Earth that you should be spending all this time with when I am the one that could hurt you the most–”

Your hands are being forced down, and you feel the cool touch of his vibranium hand cradling your face with so much care you could almost cry. You didn’t have the time to– not when the soft, plush of his lips were against yours. Not when his fingers were intertwining with yours, squeezing your hand as if he were trying to tell you that it was okay. That he understood you. 

Your body reacted to him, allowing him to lead you in a dance to music that only the two of you could hear. Your heart was beating in time with his, feeling the trembling of his fingers against your face as if he was afraid of breaking you. This felt less of a kiss and more like a confession. You kissed him back all the same, feeling the fear that he felt too.

When your lips finally parted from each other, your eyes opened, and the song ended, you watched each other for a few moments.

“I don’t think you could do anything to ever hurt me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. 

You tried to pull your hand away from his, to reply, but he didn’t let you. He held on firmer, but not hard enough to hurt. Your eyes widened as your lips parted. You were helpless.

Bucky pulled his forehead away from you, to be able to look at your face completely. His eyes scanned your face, every single part of you was bare under his eyes. He was waiting, and your heart was pounding. He wanted you to speak to him. 

You pulled your bottom lip into your teeth for a moment as you steeled your resolve.

“I don’t trust myself to not hurt you,” you whispered, meeting his eyes. 

You watched as his face shifted– pure adoration. You felt warm under his gaze, unable to tear yourself away from his watchful eyes. The look on his face is unguarded. Soft. Reverent and absolutely beautiful. You didn’t know it was possible for him to look at you like this– for anyone to look at you like this. You were glad it was Bucky. You never want Bucky to ever lay his eyes on anyone else the way he’s looking at you at this moment.

Your heart only seemed to clamber even louder in your chest, ringing even louder in your ears. You don’t even remember hearing applause this loud at your most successful concert.

Bucky collects your face in both hands, and his lips peppered all over your skin. Your eyes, your cheeks, your nose. The stubble of his beard brushed against your skin, and you could only let out a soft laugh, hooking your hands around his wrists as he continued to kiss your face all over before he finally stopped at your lips.

“You sound like heaven, doll,” he whispered against your mouth.

“I was made to sound this way,” you murmured back. 

Bucky chuckled, shaking his head. He pressed another kiss to your lips before wrapping his arms around you, tucking your head under his chin. 

“I trust you.”

The words are etched into your bones, digging into your soul and burying themselves into the depths of your heart as tears begin to spring to your eyes. Bucky holds you tighter, swaying side to side slowly as his hands rub your back gently, soothing you.

You melt into his chest, into the comfort he gives you, ear pressed above his beating heart. This is your favorite song, you think. Right next to the sound of his laughter.

Music is played between kisses now. 

Your hands will be resting above his hands on the ivory keys, slowly guiding his to glide over the notes, only to hit the wrong ones as he turns to distract you with his lips.

Other times, you'll be sitting in bed together. His back will rest against the headboard, your back against his chest. Bucky's head will lean against yours as you strum along to your guitar, filling the space around you with romance, when his hand will come up and cup your face to demand your attention, guiding you to turn to him for a kiss.

Sometimes, your songs are completely disrupted with Bucky pulling you away from your instrument. He’ll replace your live talent with a song playing from the phone in his back pocket as he pulls you into his arms, taking one hand in his, while his other hand goes around your back. 

“Dance with me, doll?” he grinned at you. 

“Are you trying to relive your glory days, Sergeant?” you teased, hand hooking around his shoulder to press your body closer to his.

“What do you mean?” he asked, feigning innocence. “Music’s playing, there’s a pretty dame in front of me– it would be criminal not to dance right now.”

You could only laugh as he spins you around before returning you back into the security of his arms, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. You only pretend to give him a hard time, and he knows it. You love these soft moments of intimacy, where he reaches for you first. 

“You would think after a month or two of dancing with me, you’d be less stiff, sweetheart,” he hummed in your ear.

“I’m sorry, not everyone was born in a time period where dance halls were the main source of entertainment,” you scoffed in response. 

Bucky laughed, squeezing you tighter to him. “I had a seventy year break. You have no excuses.”

“Fuckin’ old man,” you grumbled, only to let out a shriek as he pinched your side in retaliation.

“You should respect your elders,” he clicked his tongue at you.

“I’m going to put you in a nursing home,” you threatened, but there’s no real heat to your voice, obviously. 

He rolled his eyes in response. “I’ll be what? Almost 200 by the time that comes around? We’ll be in the nursing home together, baby.”

“You think we’ll still be together by then? Alive?” you asked. 

“As long as I have a say in it, yes,” he nodded. 

“You sound so sure,” you frowned at him. 

“And you’re pessimistic. That’s my thing. Get a new hobby.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. You can’t hide the smile on your face. “I bet you liked it better when I didn’t talk.”

“No,” he quickly denied, taking your face in his hands. The swaying stops, and you’re forced to look at him. “Keep talking. I like hearing your voice, even if you say stupid shit.”

“Me being scared for the future is stupid shit?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

“… Maybe not that, but I’ll still disprove you,” he dismissed. “You make me look forward to the future, sweetheart. So I need you here. I’m kinda planning my future around you. Can’t have you gone.”

“That sounds like a lot of pressure, Buck,” you whispered. 

“Good. Feel pressured,” he chuckled. “I need you to know you’re wanted. The songs you played before I came to you were so sad.”

You cringe a little. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he hummed, thumbs brushing over your cheeks gently. “Because I get it. I understand.”

“… I know,” you nodded. Because you do.

You’ve spent many nights away from the music since the confession, since your hearts started beating in unison, just laying in your bed and whispering to each other. 

He told you how he laid awake and listened to the music through the vents. How your songs managed to get him to sleep and calmed him down when nightmares plagued him. How you managed to comfort him in his darkest moments, when he felt worthless. 

And he thanked you for it all.

Bucky only chuckled  at you when you burst into tears. You apologized to him— saying it was so stupid to cry when he was the one that was hurting, but he was grateful you were crying for him. 

During your quiet moments together, he would tell you how your music made him feel whole. That you would piece him together slowly, as if you were performing a reprise to his soul like he was a song that had butchered by the wrong conductor. 

You told him he was getting cheesy with his analogies, but he would ask you if you thought he was charming. You would grin and tell him that if he kept it up, you might dedicate a whole concerto to him. 

Just like that night, Bucky had a smile on his face as he leaned closer to you, as he angled your head upwards to meet his lips in a kiss. Your eyes are fluttering shut in anticipation, waiting to feel the soft pressure of his lips—

“Did you do something to him?”

You pulled away at the booming voice that echoed off the walls of your floor, your breath catching in your throat. You look past Bucky at the same time he turns around, and he pushes you behind him, to shield you from the people that just walked into your sanctuary. 

“I asked you a question, agent. You better answer,” Steve demanded, his voice low. 

“She didn’t do anything,” Bucky said, reaching for your hand behind him. He squeezed it. 

“That’s what you would say if she did something,” Steve dismissed.��

“Steve,” Bucky said, exasperated. “She didn’t do anything!”

“How are we supposed to trust that? To trust her?!” Sam demanded, pointing at you. 

Dread filled your gut as you looked down. 

“I trust her!” Bucky shouted back. “She didn’t do anything fucking wrong! Why are you treating her like some sort of criminal?!”

“Bucky, are you even aware of what she can do? Do to your brain?” Steve asked. Then, he continued, voice accusatory, “She’s worse than H.Y.D.R.A. combined if she wanted to be!”

“But she’s not, Steve! She’s never been!” Bucky said, his voice pleading and desperate. 

Your heart was breaking. You couldn’t take this. You couldn’t listen to this anymore. Not just for your own sake, but for his, too. 

These were Bucky’s friends. People that he trusted, people that he cared about. He told you that he cared about them— even though he was frustrated with the way they were handling him. You didn’t want him to argue with them. Not over you. Especially not over you.

“Bucky,” you whispered, watching his shoulders tense. His head whipped towards you. “It’s fine.”

“What? No, it’s not.”

“They’re not gonna listen either way. Just go,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. “I’m not worth the fight.”

His eyebrows furrowed, and he almost looked offended over your words. You watched as his lips parted, about to say something to refute your words, but you slipped your hand out of his. 

The second you did, Steve was crossing the room, a hand on his shoulder to guide him out. You can see Steve muttering something to Bucky that you can’t hear, but you tear your eyes away. Sam is staring at you, gaze hardened. 

“We’ll have someone come and take your toys away by the end of the day,” he said, jaw clenched. “We’ve been getting noise complaints.”

You don’t bother responding, and he doesn’t bother waiting for a response. You’re left alone in the silence of your floor, feeling colder than before. 

Bucky’s head is getting scanned, even though he doesn’t fucking want to put his head in this machine. Everyone was pressing him to at least run through with it once, to at least be able to compare his scan with the brain scan results from your other victims.

He hates the way they phrased it. 

“I’m not a fucking victim. I was there on purpose,” Bucky grunted, clenching his hands into fists. 

“Terminator, why would you go visit the siren on purpose? Are you trying to die?” Tony asked, clicking away on the holographic keyboard. 

On the other side of the glass, Steve and Sam are grilling Natasha. Bucky has no doubt they’re yelling at her for telling him about the truth. Natasha’s face is steeled, and she’s not saying a single word in response. She's just letting the two men yell at her. 

Finally, the cap on his head ascends and Bucky gets the hell out of the chair. He exits the examination room, and goes into the fray.

“— irresponsible it is to expose him to that?” Steve demanded. “Answer me, Natasha!”

“Barnes is a grown adult who can make his own decisions,” Natasha said, her voice even. “And I told him the truth eight months ago. So clearly, he’s been seeing her of his own volition.”

“Or he’s been having his brain fucking scrambled for eight months, Nat!” Sam said, dragging a hand down his face. 

“She used sign language with me for half of those months,” Bucky cut in, everyone turning to look at him. “She didn’t speak a fucking word to me.”

“What?” Steve asked, eyebrows furrowing. 

“I made her talk to me,” Bucky said, voice rising. “I forced her.”

“This is for your own good,” Steve said, clenching his jaw. “She can—“

“She’s done nothing wrong! She can what, Steve? Hurt me? Guess what? I can hurt you. I have hurt you!”

Tension began to settle right over the room like a thick blanket. They could hear the slow breaths of everyone in the room. 

“Scans in,” Tony said, opening the door behind Bucky and cutting the silence in half. “Surprisingly— uh… His brain is completely clear. No sign of siren song or anything.”

Bucky’s jaw clenched as he released a deep sigh from his nostrils. He turned on his heel, heading towards the exit. 

“Where are you going, Buck?” Sam called out to him.

“To go comfort my girlfriend,” he grunted, fists clenched at his side. 

The lab doors slid open before he reached them, Fury and Clint walking in a second later. 

“No can do Barnes. Go buy her some flowers and chocolates later,” Fury said, dropping a file on the nearest table. “I need all of you on the field ASAP."

His eyebrow furrowed. “What?”

“Satellite feed shows movement in the abandoned mine shaft that Stark took care of a handful of years back in Arizona,” Clint said, sighing deeply. “We’re not sure if someone’s back in the lab down there or if it’s just a fluke, but we gotta go check it out either way. Can’t send a regular team since the tech down there’s pretty dangerous if it’s what we think it is.”

Bucky wants nothing more than to crawl into your bed and hold you in his arms, but that will have to wait. He, along with the others, moves to get suited up. Issues aside, there’s problems that need to be dealt with— problems that are definitely not a fluke. 

This underground site was a hotspot for seismic activity and every two fucking seconds their eardrums would start exploding in their skulls. Steve and Bucky were especially affected, with their heightened sound due to the serum pumping in their veins. 

Comms were especially ineffective, with the fact the frequency kept jamming the channel they were using. 

It was jarring. It fucking hurt. Bucky found himself on his knees, hands pulled over his ears with teeth gritted in pain before a fist would connect with his jaw that he didn’t expect while he was down. 

Bucky could faintly hear for Steve to shout at Tony over broken comms to find out where the machine was that created the sound waves and to break it, but Bucky was certain that Stark’s suit was having issues against the sonic cannon. 

Bucky couldn't tell how much time had passed as he was getting thrown around, beaten up by hands that he couldn't even open his eyes to see. He couldn't even rip his own hands away from his ears to try and guard his head. There was no room to think.

Silence suddenly splashed over him like a bucket of water.

He can hear his own breaths. 

Bucky lowers his hands, confusion rushing through his body as he locks eyes with Steve. Both soldiers have pure adrenaline rushing through their bodies. Then, they notice a new presence. You. 

Their eyes turned towards you, finding that you’re squatting down in front of an enemy, the poor man’s face held in your hand in a crushing grip. He was holding a gun weakly in his hands, trying to raise it to use against you, but it was really no use. 

You’re in your tactical gear— and it’s the first time Bucky’s ever seen you in it. A hood is pulled over your head, and a mask is pulled over your nose and mouth. All he can see is your eyes. You wear fingerless gloves, and there are holsters on your thighs with guns and daggers ready to use. 

“𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓅 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔,” you whispered, your voice like a charm. The air shifted, vibrated with your words- not like the sonic cannon that was used to disarm them moments ago. It made you irresistible. They cannot help but fall into your trap, unable to fight against your command. 

But you’re not speaking to Bucky or Steve. 

Your eyes are glowing, swirling blue like the ocean— pulling in your victims into your song. You watched as his lips went from pink to blue, then you let him go. His body fell limp to the floor with a hard thud. 

Both Bucky and Steve look around— all their assailants have stopped breathing. It’s only the two of them that are alive in this room. 

You stand up tall, staring at the body for a few moments before turning towards Bucky, pulling both your hood and your mask off of your face. Concern is all over your features. 

“You look like shit,” you breathed, holding his face in your hands. 

“Well. That’s what happens when you can’t fight back,” he whispered, his voice hoarse as he leaned into your touch. “Why are you here?”

“Fury said he lost contact with you guys hours ago,” you quickly said, helping him to his feet. “I already extracted the others— they’re outside already. It’s just you two left.”

“Are you hurt?” he asked. He’s looking you over as if he can see through your gear. 

“Do I look like I’m hurt?” you asked, frowning at him. 

Bucky’s about to reply, to say something smart to make you smile. He doesn’t get the chance. 

“You can control it,” Steve suddenly spoke, both of you turning to look at him. He looks conflicted. Angry. Not with you. With himself. “You— You weren’t just speaking to that one agent.”

“… I wasn’t,” you nodded, then turned away from him. “Come on. With the amount of vibrations that just happened, there’s no telling when this mine shaft will collapse.”

Bucky and Steve support each other’s weight as you lead them out. Stray agents try to come at the three of you, but crumble to their feet with a single word from your lips.

𝒦𝓃𝑒𝑒𝓁.

𝒮𝓉𝑜𝓅.

𝐸𝓃𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽.

𝒟𝒾𝑒.

It’s silent in the quinjet when you’re all secured. The mine shaft fully collapsed with just enough time to spare, destroying everything and the remaining agents left inside. 

The entire team is staring at you both. No one has said a word since the jet took to the sky, and you definitely aren’t going to be the one to speak first.

So, you decide to keep yourself busy. You’re sitting beside Bucky, a med kit opened up on your lap. Bucky has his head leaned back against the jet wall, eyes closed as he lets you do whatever you want— which is taking care of him.

“You would make a great dog trainer,” Tony suddenly said. 

“Stark,” Bucky warned, eyes opening to glare at the man.

“I’m just saying. Does your ability work on just humans? Or all beings with a soul?” 

“Um. I haven’t tried… animals,” you said softly, cautiously. You put down the bloodied gauze to switch out for a new one. 

“You do talk normally! I thought you could only talk with sparkles and vibrations like sirens from folktales!” Tony exclaimed. You made a small face, frowning slightly as you cleaned the cut above Bucky’s eyebrow. 

“Is he always this annoying?” you whispered to Bucky.

“I would say you get used to it, but I just ignore him, sweetheart. He doesn’t get any better,”  Bucky whispered back.

You let out a soft snort, a smile fixing over your face. Bucky couldn’t help but mirror it as you placed the bandage on his face before moving over to his next wound. 

“She smiled. Did you see that?” Clint murmured. 

“I’m more floored by the fact Barnes smiled,” Natasha replied. 

“Jesus,” Bucky grunted, the grin on his face disappearing. 

“What happened to ignoring them?” you chuckled.

“I have a headache,” he replied to you. “A pounding one. None of these fucking idiots are making it any better.”

“Does tylenol work on super soldiers?” you murmured, rifling through the med kit. “Ibuprofen, maybe?”

“Probably not,” he sighed, looking at you. “I’ll try it though. Maybe a placebo effect will happen because I like you.”

You smacked his arm in his response, and he watched as a warmth crept up from your neck to your cheeks. 

Bucky ignored the bug-eyed looks from everyone else in the jet as he took the gel capsules pill from your hand, and swallowed it down without complaint. He settled back into his seat to allow you to finish poking and prodding at his face until you were satisfied— even though he knew he would be fully healed by the time the jet landed. 

Bucky would still kiss you later, and tell you he healed fast because you took care of him. You would believe him just because he said so.

“Debrief right away,” Steve ordered as the jet landed. Everyone grumbled as they got up, but they knew this was coming. The mission was a shitshow. You were fully prepared to go slink back into your corner of the compound when Steve’s eyes fell on you. “You, too.”

You paused, head whipping to Bucky a second later. He gave you a single nod.

You didn’t say a word during the debrief. You were stressed, even though all they were doing was arguing with each other over who took down the most agents before you came onto the field. 

You didn’t realize debriefs were so laid back. The team laughed with each other. They were all still in their gear, still battered and bruised, but they were happy they were together. Happy to come back home, to be able to sit around at this table and be able to banter like this. 

A bitter feeling was creeping up in your chest that you didn’t know how to stop.

You kept your gaze on the table, unable to make eye contact with anyone. You hoped they would all forget that you existed. You hoped to blend into the wall. 

You felt Bucky’s pinky brush against yours under the table. In the corner of your eye, you saw him. He wasn’t looking at you, but his body was leaning towards you. Slowly, his pinky hooked into yours, comfort rushing through your body in waves. 

“Well, I don’t know about you guys— but I am starved. Meeting over yet?” Sam asked, clapping his hands together.

“Sounds good,” Steve nodded.

That was all you needed to sprint out of your chair, the furniture clattering behind you abruptly as you raced for the exit. You could feel the weight of their eyes on you as you ripped the door open, running out. 

You heard Bucky call out your name, heard him stand, heard his footsteps rush behind you. 

You kept rushing down the hall, away from the conference room. You needed to put as much space between yourself and the rest of the team before you broke down. 

Bucky finally caught you by the arm, turning you to face him.

“Doll,” he whispered, hands on your shoulders. “What’s going on?” 

“What’s going on?” you echoed his words in a breathless whisper, trembling in his hands. You were so close to breaking, to falling apart. “What’s going on is that I hate your fucking friends. And I hate myself for admitting it out loud to you because I love you so much and I know you love them.”

Bucky’s lips parted, eyes searching your face as his hands slid down your arms slowly. You watch as he a slow breath escapes his lips as he nods. 

“That’s okay. You can hate them,” he whispered back to you.

“What?” you demanded, shocked. “They’re your friends, Bucky! How can you say—”

“I hate the way they treat you,” he cut you off, shaking his head. “You don’t think I’m pissed off? They find out that you’re useful, so they invite you to a debrief and expect you to just be okay with the neglect and silent bullshit they’ve been putting you through this entire time? I’m livid, too.”

“I don’t want you to fight with them because of me,” you murmured, swallowing thickly. “They only hid things from you to protect you.”

“And I’m choosing to argue with them to protect you.” Bucky replied, cupping your face in his hands. “Not because you need a white knight or because you’re weak, but because I love you. And I love you for you— not due to the fact that you made me or that you charmed me into it.”

“I would never charm you into loving me,” you quickly said, horrified as you grabbed onto his waist, desperate for him to know you were being truthful. 

“I know,” he said, chuckling. His eyes were soft as his thumbs grazed the tops of your cheeks.  “I told you. I trust you, sweetheart. I’ve always trusted you, even if others don’t.”

You let out a shaking breath, biting the inside of your cheek. 

“Now what?” you whispered to him. “What do we do from here?”

“I’ll join you on your solo missions,” he shrugged. “Not that you need my help. I watched you take down an entire room by yourself, but I don’t really feel like going on any missions with those asshoeles any time soon.”

“I don’t go on missions often, baby,” you said, frowning at him. “I usually do interrogations. I rarely use my ability.”

“Oh, so you do dirty work? I can do that, too. Is that why your hands are always scrubbed raw? You’re washing them too much? Let me do it for you,” he said, a grin finding its way on his face. 

“Buck,” you said, a soft giggle escaping your lips. 

“I’m serious, doll,” he said, humming. “Let me just move my shit to your room, too. I already spend most of my day with you, anyway.”

“Not like I can stop you.” You shook your head even though you were smiling. 

Bucky’s lips quirked up just a bit more before he leaned in, finishing the kiss that he wasn’t able to give you earlier. You sighed into him, relaxing into his touch. Bucky held you closer to him, tenderly. Gently. Just as he always did. 

“I’ll harass Sam to give back your instruments,” he whispered against your lips, making you laugh again. “Heard he took them away— fucking bitch. Doesn’t he know I need that shit to sleep?”

“I don’t think he does, baby,” you hummed, wrapping your arms around his neck to kiss him again.

“I’m telling you,” he muttered, between kisses, “they’re all stupid. I’ll just keep you to myself at this point. They don’t know what they’re missing.”

“You’re going to share me, Sergeant?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him as you pulled away from his touch briefly. 

Bucky paused for a moment, thinking over his words. Then, he tugs you back into him, lips meeting yours once more as your feet are lifted off the ground. He’s carrying you towards the back halls to your floor. 

“No. I’m not. Keep hating them, sweetheart. You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, a smile on his face. 

masterlist

a/n: there was no smut in this fic bc it didn’t feel right given the characterizations i gave bucky and reader. if i write a second part to this, the smut would end up being super super soft and vulnerable bc the two of them are very very gentle with each other

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx let me know if you would like to be added/removed to my general bucky taglist :)

[goquokka00]

Hiii! I love your work so much! I hope you’re doing well.

can I request Minho x reader. where Minho catches reader obsessing over his thighs. So he makes her ride is thighs and then fucks her?

Please don’t mind how horny this is😭

Oh I don't mind at all 😈

Lowkey I hope I did this request justice, it's not hard to drool over any of Stray Kids' thighs lol

Thigh Ride

Summary: Minho, being the very observant boyfriend he is, had noticed you staring at him from across the living room. Little did he know, you were looking at his thighs, silently drooling over them in your own world. But he'd soon know. They call him Lee Know for a reason, after all. And you were about to know, too.

Pairing: Minho X Reader (F!)

Genre: Smut (18+)

Warnings: dirty talk, degradation, thigh riding, a bit of nipple play, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it before you tap it, please!), Dom! Minho, creampie, cockwarming, Minho's a lot nicer at the end I promise, 100% 18+ (seriously like if you're a minor don't read pls and thank you <3)

Word Count: 1.7K

Minho caught you staring at him around 15 minutes ago.

The two of you were in your living room, each of you in your own worlds. Minho had been watching some show Jisung had gotten him into. And you had been drawing away on your iPad, occasionally scrunching your nose at something you didn't like, or reaching over to grab a sip of your water.

And from time to time, your eyes would drift over to your boyfriend. Minho was an observant man, and so it was hard for him to miss small details. The only thing he couldn't figure out was what your eyes were so entranced by.

It wasn't his face. If you were looking at his face, your eyes would look more dreamy...an idiot in love look, as Seungmin called it. It wasn't his chest, either. He was wearing a hoodie, there was no way it was that. That canceled out his arms, too. And as much as Minho loved having sex with you, he hoped it wasn't his crotch.

It didn't bother him at first, though. But it wasn't until Minho shifted and spread a bit more on the couch when he heard you shift as well. Your thighs rubbed together slightly, your tongue coming out to lick your lips.

Maybe it was his crotch.

Minho shifted his eyes to look at you, seeing how your gaze was cast down. And because Minho couldn't keep himself from teasing, he smirked, speaking up.

"Are you trying to will my dick to get hard?"

"Wh-What?" That got your attention. Your eyes looked at him, clearly shocked by what he said. And then, a pillow went flying towards him. Minho just laughed, hearing your voice scold him. "Minho! Don't say that!"

"Sorry, sorry! You were just staring at my crotch, so I just assumed that you were horny--"

"I wasn't staring at your crotch!"

"Yes you were!"

"I wasn't! I wasn't staring at anything!" You honestly didn't know why you said that. Minho didn't know why you said that, either. You knew just as well as him that he knew.

"You weren't, huh?" Minho just shrugged, looking back to the TV. "Whatever you say, my love."

You just shook your head, looking back to your iPad. You weren't aware that Minho was watching you closely through his peripheral vision, seeing you look back over at his lower body not even 2 minutes later.

You couldn't help it. Minho's thighs looked so...ride-able. The way that his jeans were pressed against his leg, the way that they sat against the couch while he was spread in that manspread position...god, you could feel yourself salivating. You just wanted to go over there and just--

"You're staring again." Fucking Minho. "You must seriously be craving to get fucked if you're staring at my crotch like that-"

"I told you, I'm not looking at your crotch."

"Then what are you looking at?"

"I'm not looking at anything." You blushed, looking back to your iPad. But Minho? He didn't like that answer.

"Oh, are we getting shy now?" Minho sat forward, making his thighs look that much better before narrowing his eyes slightly. It was like he was trying to pull your soul out of your body. "You don't get to be shy after staring at me like that. What were you looking at?"

And just like that, you had been caught red handed. Shit.

"I was looking at your thighs." You spoke softly, your voice barely carrying across the room. But Minho heard you. He heard you crystal clear.

"My thighs, huh?" He watched as you nodded, only to smirk. "Well, come take a closer look."

"What-"

"Sit." It wasn't a question. And you knew better than to disobey. You got up and walked over, letting him guide you onto his thigh. And the second you sat, Minho pulled you down for a kiss.

And while it surprised you, you kissed him back, melting into the kiss. Your arms naturally found their way around your neck, his hands gripping your waist just enough. And the second that you felt his tongue glide against yours, your hips moved against his thigh. It took less than a second for Minho to just barely pull away, his breath ghosting over your lips as he spoke.

"Gotcha." Fucking. Minho. "You actually got yourself worked up over my thighs...such a little slut, huh?"

"Min, don't-...I-I'm not-" And that was when you felt Minho press his thigh up against your clothed crotch, making you gasp.

Your clit was already so sensitive, and you were already so wet...it didn't help that you were in pajama shorts. Just pajama shorts. You had no panties on to give yourself a bit more coverage. And those pajama shorts? They were thin.

"You're such a little liar..." Minho's voice was raspy, low, sexy as hell. He knew exactly what to say to make you go crazy. He always did. "You and I both know that your slutty mind couldn't stay out of my pants...you've probably been wanting to hump my thigh like a bitch in heat."

He was right. You did. And the whine you let out as your hips moved against his thigh confirmed that.

"I fucking knew it..." And with that, Minho's grip tightened on your hips. "Ride it then."

"What-"

"Ride my thigh, just like the little slut you are." Minho's voice was still low, but it was harsh.

"B-But--"

"That wasn't a question, princess." You were stuck whether you liked it or not. You knew that. His grip was too tight for you to escape. And you'd be lying if you didn't want it. And so, you moved.

The fabric of your pajama shorts dug into your slit, rubbing against your clit just right to make you whine and shudder. And Minho's thigh curved just right to make it that much more comfortable. Not to mention how Minho would occasionally lift his thigh to press against your clothed pussy even more.

"M-Minho--"

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Minho just smirked, one of his hands slipping under your shirt to find your right nipple, pinching and pulling. You just cried out, your head going to his shoulder. "See, this is why you should just admit when you're horny instead of being a denying little brat. Then I wouldn't have to treat you like a slut."

And as he hissed those words, he tugged on your now hard nipple, making you cry out. You could feel the gush of your pussy, feel how your arousal gushed onto his thigh. Minho felt it, too. It's what got him to lose control.

"Fucking christ...get up."

"Hu-Huh--"

"Get. Up." With that, Minho lifted you up with one hand, his other going to his pants to undo them and get his cock out.

It didn't take him long to pull it out and pull your sleep shorts to the side, lining you up to him before pushing you down on his length. The only thing you could do was moan out pathetically. It was music to Minho's ears. The sweet beautiful sound only he could create.

"Fuck...tight..." But it didn't stop Minho from lifting you up again, only to thrust up into you, making you moan out and hug him close.

His pace was absolutely brutal. Each thrust made a slap, his pubic bone going right against your wet little clit, giving you more pleasure than you could've ever imagined. Not to mention how he used the full length of his dick, too. Not an inch was wasted.

It felt phenominal.

"God, you feel so fucking good..." Minho's arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him. One went between your shoulders, the other went down so his hand could grip onto your ass to hold you in place. He was purely using you for your pleasure. You knew that. He knew that. You both knew that. But neither of you cared.

The only thing that mattered is that you were both feeling good. At least, that was what Minho thought. He was making his girl feel good, and he was feeling good because his girl was feeling good.

Well, your pussy was also tight and hugging his cock perfectly, occasionally clenching to make it tighter. But mostly the first reason.

Unfortunately, you were getting closer. Minho knew your signs. You were getting louder, your body was starting to shake, and your hands were grabbing at him.

"Minho, I-I'm gonna-"

"Wait..." Minho grunted his command, hearing your protesting whine. "I know, princess, I know, just--...fuck, I'm close, just a little more..."

If he was being honest, he didn't know why he asked you to wait. Probably because you could always get oversensitive, which meant you got whiny and shaky. But he also wanted to be the one to cum first. And that's what happened.

With a final thrust, Minho let out a groan as he exploded. And you weren't very far behind. The second you felt him come undone, you followed suit, your body trembling as Minho held you close, his cock buried deep inside of you.

"Easy, easy...deep breaths, I've got you..." Minho's demeanor changed up almost instantly, his hand running along your back as he talked you down, feeling your pant against his body. "You did so well, such a good job...take it nice and easy, beautiful..."

And with a few minutes, you slowly came back to reality. You now stayed up against Minho, sitting in his lap as his now soft dick rested within you.

"Feeling better?" Minho gently whispered into your ear, pressing soft kisses against your shoulder and neck. You nodded, nuzzling in closer to him. "Wanna get cleaned up? Or stay like this? Hm, baby?"

"Stay like this..."

"Alright..." Minho just smiled, happy and content, just like his girl.

How couldn't he be? He had you in his arms, tuckered out because of him. You had been thoroughly satisfied, and in turn you had satisfied him. And nothing, NOTHING, could ever interrupt this incredible moment between the two of--

"So...you have a thing for my thighs, huh?"

Lee. Fucking. Minho.

Hey! Firstly, thank you so much for reading this post, and I really hope you enjoyed! If you did, please like, reblog, or comment so I can see how I'm doing with writing and getting feedback! I hope you have a lovely day! Sleep well, stay in good health, and eat something if you haven't! ❤️❤️❤️

Taglist: @miss-daisy04 @kayleefriedchicken @wolfs-archive @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @wolfs-howling @rose-w-00-d @skzlover24

[p1girlfriend]

you're scared of thunderstorms – f1 grid reactions

lando norris the thunder cracks, and your whole body flinches he looks over from the couch and instantly drops his controller “oh no. baby. c’mere.” pulls you into his hoodie like it’s armor and wraps himself around you

“it’s just sky burps. loud, annoying sky burps. i got you.”

oscar piastri you go completely silent during the storm and curl up small he notices right away sits beside you without a word, hands you a soft blanket and holds your hand

“i’ll stay right here. you don’t have to say anything.” lets you put your head in his lap while he reads quietly to distract you

charles leclerc you jump at a thunderclap while brushing your teeth and he rushes in like

“did you fall? are you okay?” you whisper, “i hate storms.” his whole face softens. tucks you into bed and climbs in with you “i’ll talk until you fall asleep, d’accord? you’re safe.”

lewis hamilton you’re trying to hide it, but he sees right through you sits beside you and gently rubs your arm

“what do you need right now, love? silence? my voice? a song?” puts on your favorite calming playlist kisses your forehead between booms “nothing’s gonna hurt you while i’m here.”

carlos sainz a lightning flash makes you yelp and jump into his side he holds you tightly and half-laughs, but it’s soft

“you’re shaking.” carries you to bed, lights a candle, and wraps you in his arms like a human weighted blanket “storms pass. i don’t.”

daniel ricciardo pretends he’s not taking it seriously until he sees your face then all jokes drop

“hey, no teasing, i promise. you okay?” sits you in his lap, arms around your waist, chin on your shoulder tells dumb stories and makes you laugh softly “we’ll ride it out together, alright?”

max verstappen you crawl under the covers and he follows without a word pulls you into his chest, one hand steady on your back

“it’s just noise. i’m not going anywhere.” stays up with you the whole time mutters sleepy little things in your hair “if you need to squeeze me when it hits, do it. i don’t mind.”

gabriel bortoleto you flinch every time the thunder rolls and he notices from across the room immediately goes to you, cups your face

“hey. hey. look at me.” kisses your forehead “you’re with me. okay? nothing can get you here.” holds your hand tight through every flash

franco colapinto you’re pacing in the hallway because of the storm he gently guides you back to the couch, wraps a blanket around your shoulders

“shh, mi amor. sit with me.” tells you about his childhood storms and how he used to imagine the clouds just playing “they’re loud. but they go away. and i’ll stay.”

lance stroll he finds you curled up on the couch, staring out the window, body tense immediately grabs the softest hoodie and wraps it around you

“storms freak you out, huh?” sits beside you and pulls you into his chest, lets your head rest over his heart “that sound? that’s all you need to focus on. just me. right here.”

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[karmavongrim]

Field Trip to my Heart fanfic idea

One of my favorite stories to read are those of Casper High class on a field trip somewhere and causing havoc in their wake. In almost all of them there’s a common rule of “no raising the dead” which I find hilarious, and I got an idea for my own take on this trope.

DPxDC AU where the Casper High class are now in Casper University (these kids are Amity Parkers through and through so every other place is too tame for them so they ain’t leaving their turf), their ages ranging from 18 to 19. Danny and his grew (which composes their entire class now) are casually sight seeing when le gasp! What do we have here: a hulking revenant Red Hood. Just the perfect match for their sad single twink halfa who seems to be incapable of catching himself a decent partner! Operation ‘Get their twink a love life’ is a go!!

P.S. I was watching Lady and the Tramp movie while writing this.

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

Red Hood has experienced many things in his life; he’s done many things, most of them which he’s not proud of. But out of all the bullshit his fucked up existence has thrown at him, this might just take the proverbial cake. He was doing his rounds without any issues on a very quiet night, which should have already raised some flags. Gotham was being too quiet, at least on his side of the city when it happened. He was ambushed from all sides and packed pretty easily without him getting even a glimpse of the perpetrators. Only thing he managed to do was press the emergency button!

Since his captors have shoved a back over his head he couldn’t see them, but he could hear them as could rest of the bats.

“The fuck is the deal!? Where are you taking me?” he demanded.

A female voice had answered him, and he could make out a clear mid-western accent mix in with a Spanish one.

“Oh don’t get your helmet in a twist lover boy~ You’ll find out soon enough.”

And so here he is now.

Sitting on a chair free of his restraints, seemingly having a candle lit dinner in an allay way decked out in fairy lights, softly scented candles, flower petals; really, the whole shebang. On the one other seat across the clothed table sits a well dressed twink. He can’t see what he looks like exactly since he’s hiding his face in his hands.

And if things couldn’t get any weirder, an older teen with glasses and curly hair walks to them with an accordion along with a burly asian carrying a guitar, both dressed to the nines. The accordionist starts to play and- no fucking way…

When it registers what the two boys- men? are playing and singing, his coms start to flood with laughter and hooting. It’s the fucking song from Lady and the Tramp movie.

Red Hood, or rather Jason is so confounded that he doesn’t do much other than nod in thanks when a blond chick comes in with some italian pasta. The twink mumbles something and curls further in on himself. Jason just stares; was he seriously kidnapped (rather efficiently he has to admit) for a date of all things? He allows himself relax a smidgen since it appears he wasn’t brought here out of malice.

Alright, focus and take stock of the situation. These kids seemed to be older than high schoolers, and they have some training under their belt if they were able to get a drop on him in his own territory. The bats share some of their own tidbits they’ve been able to gather from tailing these particular teens. Apparently their here on a three day field trip from Illinois and have been causing mayhem ever since they’ve arrived. Tim’s caffeine infused theory is that they are magic users from a magic school that taught necromancy which Jason chooses to ignore indefinitely.

The twink finally raises his head and Jason stills.

Oh, oh no.

He’s not just a twink.

He’s a really pretty twink.

No, focus and catalog!

They have raven black hair that is playfully tousled, making him look even younger than his short slim build already does. His ivory skin is dusted with freckles like decoration help bring out his big doe eyes, and oh those eyes, like baby blue sapphires frames perfectly by dark luscious lashes. He wonders if those rose petal lips would taste like-

No! No, bad Jason! Bad!

The poor boy, all blushing and overwhelmed apologizes, “I’m so sorry Mr. Hood! I-I told them not to do anything drastic since I don’t need a boyfriend o-or partner, but they won’t listen!”

The asian dude intersects from the side, “Of course we won’t. Otherwise you’ll never get a date who isn’t a back stabbing brick or world conquering megalomaniac like your creepy uncle Vlad.”

“Were are doing this for your sake Danny!” shouts the curly haired boy.

Okay, ignoring those concerning remarks for now Jason turns back to the pretty twink named Danny.

He smirks “So… this happens often?”

Danny groans and blushes more all the way to his ears, “Only twice before thankfully. I mean I appreciate that they want me to be happy but… after all my past relationships I’ve gotten in terms with the fact that I might never find someone right for me; after all who would want a half dead guy like me as their boyfriend.”

Jason’s heart kinda breaks at the resigned smile forming on those soft lips. He can hear Stephanie cry vehement denials and righteous encouragements trough the link.

“Hey now, don’t say that. You seem like a nice guy so it’s their own fault for not seeing the beaut that you are. Hands down this has been most pleasant kidnapping I’ve experienced so far.”

Jason smirks when he sees Danny blush even more at his complement, while ignoring Damian’s demands to seize fraternizing with the other party.

“And since were both here why not make most of it. Care to tell some about yourself?”

Danny shifts a bit and thinks, “Umm… Well, I should probably introduce myself since it’s kinda my fault your here; I’m Danny Fenton and I study engineering at Casper University. I really like space and astronomy, I also like animals and volunteer at the local zoo and animal shelter when I can. And I’ve also started to take interest in reading, mostly sci-fi and murder mysteries.”

So far so good, he thinks as he discreetly looks the other over. He says he’s in university but-

“Quick question: how old are you if you don’t mind me asking?”

Please be legal, please be legal, please be legal-

“Oh, I’m eighteen soon to be nineteen.”

Thank fuck.

“What about you? I can you tell about yourself, it doesn’t have to be anything too personal with secret identities and all. I actually used to be a teen hero before going fully public so I understand.”

Jason blinks. The coms are silent.

“What do you-”

His words die on his tongue when pair of gloved hands grip Danny’s shoulders. Green rage fills his vision when he seen the face of the monster that plagues this city. The Joker.

He growls and craps his gun.

“Well what do we have here? Couple of love birds~” comes a grating voice right above Danny, causing him to turn around.

He screams and throws a punch.

The Pit Rage coursing through Jason’s veins that was demanding him to attack, to kill, to protect, to take-Danny-and-never-let-go came to a freezing halt. He watches in awe as his gorgeous twink decks the clown fucker in the face, eliciting a satisfying crack. Joker goes flying in beautiful arch and lands on his neck.

They all watch his limp form. He doesn’t rise.

“Damn it, not again. Third one in two months, hopefully this time they won’t seek compensation.” One their musicians mutters.

Danny turns back to him and begins to ramble and gesture with his bloodied hand, “O-Oh gosh! I’m so sorry, please don’t tell Batman! I don’t want him to kick us out just yet; I haven’t gotten to visit the planetarium yet.”

Welp, now Jason knows where to take Danny on their second date. He takes his helmet off as his siblings yell at him but he doesn’t care about that, all he cares about wooing the fuck out of this murder twink. He fixes his hair a bit and leans on the table, giving his most charming smile.

“Never dream of it. Anyway~ ever read Jane Austen?”

In his opinion the name Jason Fenton has a nice ring to it.

[chrissssssmut]

can u do bully nmixx lily x sub reader smut?

MY LITTLE LOSER

bully!Lily x sub!male reader

AN: I wrote lots of stories this week! Here's one for now!❣️

“Why are you so obsessed with me?”

You flinched the second you heard her voice.

Lily. Of course.

You had your back turned, just trying to leave class unnoticed, head down, pretending she wasn’t there—but her voice cut through everything, sharp and mocking like always.

She followed you out the door and leaned against the wall like she owned the hallway.

“Seriously, do you think I don’t notice the way you look at me? It’s disgusting.”

You didn’t say anything. You never did. That only made her grin.

“Aww. Too scared to talk back? Pathetic.”

She took a step closer, then another, until her hand was on your chest, pushing you gently—no, meanly—against the wall.

“You know what’s even more pathetic?” she whispered, leaning in, lips almost brushing your ear. “The way your little cock twitches every time I insult you.”

You sucked in a breath. “L-Lily—”

“Don’t stutter,” she snapped. “It’s annoying. Just nod like the dumb mutt you are.”

You nodded, shame burning through you.

She looked you up and down, smirked, then grabbed your chin hard.

“Come to my place tonight.”

You blinked. “What?”

She smirked wider. “I didn’t ask.”

Her Room. Midnight.

You stood just inside the door, awkward, trembling, already half-hard just from the memory of her voice. She looked like a dream and a nightmare—hair tied up, baggy shirt, no pants, just tight black panties and that permanent smirk.

“Took you long enough,” she said, crossing her arms. “What, did you have to jack off first before coming here? Or were you just standing outside like a loser trying to calm your boner?”

You didn’t answer.

“Strip.”

You obeyed instantly, not even hesitating. She watched, amused, as you peeled everything off.

“Aww, you’re already hard,” she said mockingly. “That’s actually so embarrassing. You’re really this easy?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

“God,” she scoffed. “You’re disgusting.”

She pushed you onto the floor and stepped over your body, planting one foot between your thighs.

“Look at me.”

You did.

She dragged her panties down slowly, still standing above you.

“You think you’ve earned this?” she said, voice low. “You think losers get to fuck me?”

“No,” you whispered.

“Exactly.” She crouched down and grabbed your hair. “But I’m in a generous mood tonight.”

Face-Sitting & Bullying

She pulled you onto the bed and straddled your face, thighs firm on either side of your head, grinding her heat against your mouth.

“Lick.”

You obeyed. Desperately.

“Fucking knew it,” she groaned. “Knew you’d be a good little toy. All that pathetic staring finally paying off, huh?”

You moaned into her, tongue working fast, trying to earn her approval. She laughed.

“God, you sound so needy. What, you think if you do a good enough job I’ll finally touch your little cock?”

You nodded, dizzy with it.

“Cute,” she said. “But I’m not here to reward you.”

She slapped your cheek lightly, hips rolling harder now.

“You’re my stress relief. My toy. My little freak who gets hard when I call him garbage.”

You whimpered.

She came like that—grinding her dripping cunt all over your mouth while calling you names, choking on a moan, thighs trembling.

And when she came down from it, she climbed off and looked at you like trash.

“Still hard?” she asked.

You nodded, breathless.

She snorted. “That’s so sad.”

No Release. Just Control.

She straddled your hips now, teasing your cock with just her thighs, not even letting you inside her.

“You want to cum?”

“Yes, please, please—”

“You’re not going to.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me,” she said, voice calm. “You don’t deserve it.”

She leaned down, lips close, eyes glinting.

“You came here thinking I’d be some sweet little girlfriend who’d ride you like a porn fantasy. That’s not what I am.”

You shook your head desperately. “I—I know. I just—please—”

She gripped your cock suddenly, tight.

“You want me to jerk you off?” she asked.

“Yes—yes, anything—”

She spat on it. One stroke. Then stopped.

“No.”

You whined.

“Say it.”

“I’m your pathetic little toy,” you whispered.

“Louder.”

“I’m your pathetic little toy!”

She laughed, stroking once more—agonizingly slow—then letting go again.

“Good. Maybe next time I’ll let you cum.”

She stood above you again, arms crossed, naked now but perfectly composed—like she hadn’t just used you for her own orgasm and denied you yours.

“You actually thought I was gonna let you cum, huh?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice syrupy and cruel. “That’s adorable.”

You were trembling. Your cock was aching—red, throbbing, slick with her spit—but untouched. Just the occasional stroke, just enough to drive you insane.

She walked around the bed slowly, dragging her fingers across your chest, then gripping your jaw.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“You’re mine,” she said. “But not in the cute, romantic way. No. You’re mine like a toy I don’t even bother cleaning up. Mine like a dog I let hump my leg for laughs.”

You whimpered. Your whole body was begging for her. Your hips were twitching without permission.

She noticed. Of course she did.

“Aww,” she cooed. “Still trying to fuck the air? That’s pathetic.”

You whispered, “Please…”

“Please what?”

“Please let me cum, Lily…”

She leaned in close, lips grazing your ear.

“You haven’t earned it.”

She shoved you back against the mattress, crawling onto you like a predator. Her thighs caged your waist, her soaked folds hovering just out of reach.

“You don’t get to cum because you’re hard. You cum when I’m done with you. And I’m not even close.”

Her hips lowered just enough for you to feel the wet heat of her against your cock—barely touching, almost there. You gasped.

“Shhh,” she whispered, cruel and soft. “Don’t make noise unless I say you can.”

You bit your lip, shaking.

She reached down, grabbed your cock, and lined it up to her entrance—but didn’t take it in. Instead, she started rubbing her folds along the shaft, soaking you in her slick.

“Mmm… feels good, doesn’t it?” she whispered.

You nodded frantically.

She grinned.

“Too bad I’m not letting you fuck me.”

She moved faster, sliding along your length, grinding her clit on your tip, riding it like a toy for her pleasure only. Your toes curled, your hips jerked upward on instinct.

She slapped your chest—hard.

“Did I say you could move?”

“N-no, I’m sorry—”

“Fucking stay still,” she hissed. “You move again and you’re not cumming all week.”

You froze. Completely.

She smirked, watching you fight every muscle in your body just to stay put. Her pace picked up, faster, wetter, her moans escaping now in ragged breaths.

“You’re so lucky,” she gasped. “Getting to be under me like this. Most guys would kill to be my toy.”

You could barely see. Barely breathe. Your cock was leaking, your balls tight, your hands still tied above your head.

And then she came. Again.

This time it was louder. Her hips jerked, her thighs clenched, and she came all over your shaft with a messy, broken cry of your name. Her nails dug into your chest. She grinded every last drop of it out on you.

And then she collapsed on top of you, panting.

“…God,” she muttered. “Still hard?”

You couldn’t even speak. Just nodded, desperate.

She looked down, saw the mess she left on you, and smiled lazily.

“Aww. Poor baby.”

She reached between your legs—your eyes widened.

One stroke. Two.

Your whole body jerked.

Then she stopped again.

You sobbed out, “Lily, please—!”

She kissed you on the cheek like she owned you.

“You don’t cum until I say. And I haven’t said.”

She stood up and looked down at you, wrecked, soaked, throbbing.

“I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Wait—what about me—?”

She shrugged.

“You can sit there. Think about everything you didn’t get.”

She tossed her panties at your face like trash.

“Put these in your mouth so you shut up.”

You obeyed.

She laughed on her way to the bathroom.

“Good little loser.”

Time passed like syrup.

Your body was still trembling on her bed, face flushed, cock throbbing helplessly. You’d stopped counting how many times Lily had edged you. Two? Three? You didn’t know. The ache between your legs was unbearable. Your vision blurred.

You could hear the shower running.

Steam fogged up the hallway. You were alone in her room, except for the still-wet pair of panties stuffed in your mouth — a humiliating gag she’d thrown at you like an afterthought. You tasted her on your tongue with every shaky breath.

And then she returned.

The door creaked. Water still dripping from her shoulders, a towel loose around her waist, Lily stood in the doorway — cocky, perfect, untouchable.

She didn’t say anything at first.

She just looked at you — your arms still bound, mouth full, dick standing, twitching in the cold air — and snorted.

“You’re still hard?” she said, voice dripping with mockery. “Jesus.”

You whined.

She walked over, leaned on the bed, and slowly pulled her panties out of your mouth with two fingers.

“Say something. Come on. Beg like a bitch.”

“L-Lily, please,” you gasped. “It hurts—I can’t take it—please let me cum, I’ll do anything—”

She tilted her head. “Anything?”

You nodded instantly. “Yes. Anything. Please.”

She smirked. Her towel dropped.

“Crawl to the bathroom.”

You blinked.

“What?”

She slapped your thigh. Hard.

“Did I stutter?”

You flinched. “No—no, I just—my legs—”

She leaned in, eyes sharp. “If you can get hard for me like that, you can crawl for me too. Don’t make me repeat myself again.”

You scrambled out of the bed.

Naked, aching, desperate—you dropped to your knees on her hardwood floor. Your cock bobbed helplessly as you started crawling toward the hallway, cheeks burning in shame. You could feel your own pre-cum dripping down your thighs. Every inch you moved made your balls ache worse.

She followed behind, watching like you were a pet on a leash.

“Slower,” she ordered. “This isn’t a race. I wanna see you suffer.”

You obeyed. Your knees hurt. Your breath came in short, ragged pants. And yet, your cock stayed hard the entire time—slapping against your stomach with each motion.

“God,” she muttered. “What a pathetic little fucktoy.”

When you reached the bathroom door, she stepped in front of you, completely nude, steam billowing behind her.

She tilted your chin up with her foot.

“Open your mouth.”

You obeyed.

She stepped into the shower without a word and sat on the edge of the tub, legs spread, water still pouring behind her.

“Drink.”

You blinked.

“What…?”

She looked down at you with absolute disdain.

“Use your tongue and clean me up. Every drop. You wanna cum so bad? Then earn it.”

You obeyed.

Your tongue met her inner thigh, licking the beads of water off her skin like a starving man. She didn’t moan this time. She just watched, silently, almost bored, as you worshipped her.

When your tongue reached her core again, she grabbed your hair and yanked you in.

“Don’t stop until I say so.”

You nodded into her cunt.

She sighed, legs over your shoulders.

“Mmm. This is the only thing you’re good at. Being my filthy little tongue slut.”

You whimpered. You didn’t care how many times she insulted you. It turned you on more. Made your cock throb painfully.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until she noticed.

“Are you crying right now?”

You nodded, mouth still working.

She laughed.

“From not cumming? That’s actually so embarrassing. Oh my God.”

But she didn’t stop you.

She came a third time.

And once she caught her breath, she pulled you back by your hair, stared into your red, tear-streaked face, and whispered:

“You’re still not allowed to cum.”

You almost collapsed.

“Please…” you begged, on the verge of sobbing. “Please, Lily, please—”

“No,” she said flatly, standing up, dripping wet, stepping over you like you weren’t even there.

She tossed a towel onto your head like she was drying a dog.

“Maybe tomorrow. If I’m feeling really generous.”

And with that, she walked out, leaving you on the bathroom floor — aching, crying, leaking — completely broken.

[gallavichsreddie1128]

Hair Pulling (Bucky Barnes)

Description: Bucky liked it when she pulled his hair during a fight.

Warning: Hair Pulling, Hand Job

Word Count: 1,051

Request: HELLOOO i luv your recent fics!! Could i request a fic with bucky and hairpulling? congressman/post credit scene bucky!!

Ever since the first time they fought and she pulled on his hair, he knew that he discovered a new kink. She was trying to kill him and didn’t even mean it to come off like that but it did and now he sat across from her in the new avengers tower thinking about it over and over again.

She definitely thought that Bucky was hot, I mean who wouldn’t? He was very quiet around her and if he did talk to her, he stuttered. It never made sense to her, they all tried to kill each other and yet everything was fine but maybe he took it to heart.

He didn’t but why else would he act like that? “How’d the mission go?” She asked, looking at him. He didn’t even make eye contact as he answered, “Good.” She nodded and took a sip of her wine. The others scattered about after dinner, leaving these two at the dinner table. “You know why Val never assigns us on missions together?” She asked him.

He did know why, he begged her not to without explanation but he wasn’t gonna say that. “Not sure.” He took a sip of his drink and she sighed. It’s been months and he has yet to come out of this shell that he has around her. “I’m sorry about trying to kill you.” She said and for the first time he looked at her.

“What?” He asked, not understanding why that was being brought up. “I take it that’s why you don’t talk to me.” Oh how he wished it was that simple. “I don’t avoid you.” He lied, they both knew it. She let out a sarcastic laugh, “Sure.” She got up with her plate and wine glass, walking past him. He felt ashamed that he couldn’t just admit it to her and that he acted that way. He had to say something to her, it was eating at him.

She washed her dish, unlike everyone else and placed that and her fork back where they go. As she washed her wine glass, Bucky nearly scared her, “It’s something you did while trying to kill me.” He says and she nearly jumps out of her skin. She turned to him, wide eyes at first until questioning him.

He opened his mouth at least 4 times before getting it out, “You pulled my hair.” She wanted to laugh but bit her lip. “I pulled your hair so you’re avoiding me?” Now it just sounded ridiculous and he sighed. He ran his hand through his hair and he could still feel the yanks she gave him. “I’m sorry I touched your precious locks.” She joked, not taking this seriously.

“It’s not about that.” He said and she was more confused than ever. “Then what?” His face went red and he felt embarrassed, he hadn’t even said it yet. She stared at him, waiting for the reason, wondering what the hell it could be. “I like it.” He admitted and her jaw dropped. He liked her pulling his hair while trying to kill him? She was in shock and didn’t know what to say. She just stared at him, for what seemed like hours until he started to walk away.

She quickly set the wine glass down and walked over to him, grabbing his hair and pulling it. Bucky was surprised by this and gasped, it sounded pathetic but hot. “Where do you think you’re going?” She asked him, still having his hair in her hand. “You like this don’t you?” She teased, not giving him time to respond. He nodded, not being able to form words without making noises that weren’t deemed appropriate for the kitchen.

“Yeah, I know you do.” She coos and her other hand moves to his front, feeling his built body through the tight black shirt he wore. His breathing picked up as she felt him up and down, memorizing the way he felt. She tugged a bit on his hair and he let out a little moan, “Awww that’s cute.” She teased as her hand moved to his shorts that he was wearing. She could feel his hard dick through them, begging for attention.

“This hard just from me pulling your hair?” She teased and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t think with her hands on him like this. He bit his lip as he felt her hand ghost over his bulge before she stuck her hand in his shorts. Her hand was soft and felt good on him, it nearly made him moan but he kept it down. He gripped the counter hard as her hand touched his bare cock, lightly running her nails over it.

“It feels so nice.” She whispered and wrapped her hand around him. He sucked in a breath and threw his head back even more, “Fuck.” He whispered. She started to move her hand along his dick, feeling how girthy and thick he was. He was big and maybe that was the serum or maybe he just had a big dick, either way she loved it. She picked up the pace causing him to groan, her hand in his hair gripped more firmly, she was right against his back.

She was shorter than him so she really couldn’t see what was going on but the noises he let out was good enough. He was putty in her hands, loving the way her hands felt. She felt him twitch against her palm and she laughed, “You’re already close?” She teased and he bit a “fuck you” out.

He’s never been more turned on in his life and he didn’t care that he was already close. “Cum for me Bucky.” She said and he didn’t need to be told twice. She gave his hair a final yank and he came with a whine. His eyes nearly rolled as he came all in his shorts.

She milked him with her hand, getting every last drop out. She pulled her hand out of his shorts and let go of his hair while he caught his breath. She smirked and licked his cum off her hand. “Damn.” She breathed out and went back to washing the wine glass, leaving him to go deal with his problem. Things would definitely change between them now.

[yzzart]

⋆˚࿔ JINU + HUNTR/X!READER. ── HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, mention of twitter, compilation of enimies to lovers, light content.

── word count: 674!

⭑.ᐟ He was just a pretty face. — perhaps, apollonian, charming, delicate. — Only. — There was no way you could start admiring that man, besides, he wasn't everything they keep saying, gossiping about; you weren't a teenager.

⤷ But, damn, in a few moments, you were judging and scolding Zoey, alongside Rumi, for admiring the new, damn, demonic boy band; and right now, you're reveling in the group's leader. — No, you weren't proud of that, not even a little bit.

⭑.ᐟ Jinu was looking for your contact; regardless of whether he could be rejected, snubbed, offended or completely threatened. — Funny, he liked the rude and confusing way you greeted him politely next to the girls. — The boy, demonic and enigmatic, dedicated himself to tormenting you.

⤷ Daring winks, mentioning your name in an interview, flirtatious greetings, or compliments on some song you wrote? — Oh, that man was a stupid curse; you wished you had the chance to kill him. — Mira was begging you to put this plan into action.

⤷ It was ridiculous; Jinu was ridiculous. — The feeling of vulnerability could never taste your chest, however, you knew that his actions made you curious, almost disturbed; it was not out of fear, anguish or lack of security, it would never be that. — After all, you had always been taught to bury those feelings in the tombs of demons.

⭑.ᐟ OH, THE GOSSIP? — Zoey, as always, updated on everything that was being said about HUNTR/X on all social networks; seriously, she was starting to outgrow Bobby. — So, every night, especially during breaks and rests, you all got together to read all the news, tweets.

⤷ And of course, your fans and SAJA BOYS were commenting, almost obsessively, about the amount of interactions that happened between you and Jinu; right, there were many, many tweets. — Photos and some videos of him looking at you, with those soft, venerable eyes, while answering a question from the interviewer or how you were together when it was time for the photo shoot for a magazine; there were many situations.

⤷ On the one hand, you were curious to read all those tweets, posts just out of curiosity about the fans' creativity, just for that. — Ah, a demon with a huntress, what a joke in terrible and horrible taste.

“OH, look at this one!” — Zoey exclaimed, with great enthusiasm, almost spilling her soda on the couch, earning a sigh from Rumi. — “I wish i had thought of that one before.” — She laughed as she tried to show and tell what the tweet would be; Mira and you looked at each other, not trying to contain your laughter.

“Say it!” — Participating in the excitement, you said to the youngest.

“Okay, okay…” — As she turned the tablet, Zoey showed two photos where you and Jinu were greeting each other; in the first photo, you had bowed and in the second, you stared at each other for a few seconds. — Do you remember this moment? — “Listen, “They look like a couple of divorced parents who still see each other every day because of their child and who are going to fall in love again.”” — She repeated what was written in the post.

“Oh, no…” — Your hand found the small, white pillow, then slapped it against your face, hiding your red, embarrassed cheeks.

⭑.ᐟ He intrigued you; he disturbed you. — There were times when you felt persecuted, but you allowed yourself to be; acting as if you were cat and mouse, or rather, two individuals who were hard to antagonize in any environment. — You swear you couldn't say whether or not you liked maintaining this feeling, a dangerous, forbidden feeling with a creature you knew was cruel.

⤷ Jinu could contemplate, worship your presence; sometimes, you didn't even need to know or fear that he was near. — It was always a mystery. — Likewise, how he enjoyed feeling all your anger, confusion and, perhaps, fascination in singing a part of the song that might — or might not — be for him.

“How can you sleep or live with yourself? a broken soul trapped in a nastiest shell.”

[demie90s]

She Never Touched You

Paige Bueckers x You

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: She looked at you like you were hers. Spoke to you like she’d been waiting. Touched you like no one else ever could. But hey…

Word Count~ 0.8k

Genre: Obsession. Possession. Control. (Not everything is what it seems.

Warnings: Delusion, fixation, false memory, psychological unraveling.

She always says my name like she owns it.

Soft around the edges, slow at the end. Like she’s tasting it before she lets it go. And every time she says it, I feel like I’ve been chosen. Picked out of a lineup and kept like something rare.

“You okay?” she asks like she already knows I’m not. “You blinkin’ hard as hell.”

“I’m fine,” I lie, because the truth is stupid. The truth is: I’ve been staring at her. Again.

Paige smirks like she caught me mid-thought. She stretches her arms out behind her, leans back on the couch like she’s at home in my space, like it’s hers now, and maybe it is. She’s wearing my hoodie—stolen, never returned, sleeves rolled up over toned forearms like she owns the whole damn room. One leg tucked under the other, socks mismatched, braid draped over her shoulder.

She looks like she just rolled out of bed and still somehow manages to look better than anyone should. She’s not even trying. She never has to.

“Seriously, though,” she says, raising an eyebrow, “you got a staring problem or you just in love?”

“I’m not in love,” I say way too fast.

“Mhm.” She taps her foot against mine. “Liar.”

I roll my eyes. She kicks me again—playful, light, persistent. Then leans forward, body shifting closer until her knee brushes mine. When she looks at me like this—head tilted, smirk soft—it feels like the floor underneath me gives just a little.

“I think you’re obsessed,” she says.

“I’m not.”

She smiles. “You are.”

Then she climbs into my lap like it’s her seat, arms draped over my shoulders, voice near my ear. I can smell her shampoo—coconut and lavender. Feel the weight of her legs over mine. Her hands rest on my chest like they belong there.

“You let me do this every time,” she says.

“Do what?”

“Be close to you. Touch you like this. Say shit you don’t stop.”

I try to say something back, but her hand comes up and cups my jaw, thumb brushing the corner of my mouth. Her gaze doesn’t leave mine. Not for a second. It’s unblinking. Intent.

“You’re not gonna stop me now,” she says, voice so low it hums through my ribs. “Are you?” I shake my head. Barely. She kisses me.

It’s not the kind of kiss that’s rushed or messy or impatient.It’s quiet. Focused. Like she’s holding something in. Like she’s making sure I feel it exactly how she wants me to.

Her lips are soft, and her hands move slow. She kisses me like she’s scared I’ll forget. Like she’s imprinting herself into my mouth. Into my skin.

“I should ruin you,” she whispers against my cheek.

“You already did,” I breathe, and I don’t even mean to say it out loud.

She just laughs, real quiet. Not surprised.

Later, she tries to do my hair.

Paige sits behind me on the floor, legs around my waist, fingers tugging through my curls like she knows what she’s doing. She doesn’t. She keeps twisting pieces, then giving up, then starting over. But she’s focused, tongue poking the corner of her mouth, brows furrowed in concentration like this is a real assignment.

“You’re so bad at this,” I say.

She hums. “Don’t care. I’m being romantic.”

“Romantic would be not pulling my hair out.”

“Nah, romantic is letting me try.”

She leans forward and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. Then another. Then one behind my ear that lingers too long. Her hands stay tangled in my hair while her lips move slow.

I let her. I always do.

She sings in the car like she’s the only one who exists.

It’s bad. Like really bad. Off-key. Loud. Overcommitted to the runs. And I should be annoyed—but I’m not. She’s laughing. Rapping a Doja verse with confidence she didn’t earn. Sunglasses too big on her face, hand on the wheel, leg bouncing to the beat.

“Tell me I’m good,” she says through a smirk.

“You’re loud.”

“Loud and sexy. You’re welcome.”

I shake my head, but I’m smiling. She knows I’m smiling. At the red light, she leans over and kisses my cheek.

“Stop looking at me like that,” she says.

“Like what?”

“Like you love me or something.”

I look down. Her hand finds mine on the center console. Fingers lace through mine like it’s muscle memory. She squeezes, then says it:

“I love you.”

I don’t question it. Because of course she does. Because how could she not?

Later, when she holds me—on the couch, in her car, outside the gym in the backseat with the windows fogged—I let myself believe this is what it means to be wanted.

Really wanted.

Her arms around me are tight. Strong. She kisses the top of my head. Tells me I smell good. Calls me baby without thinking. Reaches for me in silence like I’m the habit she couldn’t shake if she tried.

“You’re all I want,” she says, and she means it.

But. She told me she didn’t want people knowing.

“It’s not like I’m ashamed,” she said, looking down, hands in the sleeves of her hoodie. “It’s just… I like having something that’s mine. Just mine.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t totally get it.

The first time she kissed me in public, it was in the parking lot behind the gym. No cameras. No teammates. Just the sound of her car cooling and her thumb against my jaw.

She kissed me like she was starving. Like she’d been waiting the whole day for this exact three minutes and couldn’t take another second.

When she pulled away, she smiled.

“You make me crazy,” she said, and I felt it. All of it. Every word.

Being with her was like playing a game no one else knew the rules to. We weren’t hiding. Not really. But we weren’t saying it either.

She’d whisper things under her breath in the back row during team meetings. Steal fries off my plate and kiss the corner of my mouth when no one was looking.

She kept my hoodie in her bag. My lotion in her car. My voice in her ears on bad nights when she couldn’t sleep.

I kept her in every version of my future and never told a soul. She liked it like that. Just us. Just ours. Sometimes she’d pull me into her lap and hum songs against my shoulder.

Sometimes she’d make fun of my playlist and then add every single song to hers. Sometimes we’d sit on the kitchen floor with the lights off, just breathing.

And sometimes…she wouldn’t talk at all.

The first time we really fought, it was because I asked if she loved me when she was mad. Stupid, I know.

She was already tense—season stress, media shit, exhaustion—and I asked her something soft like it would help.

She looked at me too long.

“Why would you ask me that right now?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

She shook her head. “You don’t trust me?”

“I do.”

“Clearly not.”

I tried to pull her hand into mine but she stepped back.

“You don’t get to question that,” she said, voice tight. “Not after everything I’ve done to keep us.”

“I’m not questioning us—”

“Yes, you are.”

She wasn’t yelling. She never yelled. She just… stood there. Hurt. Quiet. Angry in that cold, still way that makes you feel like you’re not real.

“You think I don’t love you?” she whispered. “You think I’m just doing this for fun?”

I didn’t know what to say. So I said nothing. And that was worse.

She turned away. Grabbed her jacket. The keys on the counter.

“You don’t get it,” she said softly. “You never really did.”

“Paige.”

She didn’t turn around. Just one more breath.

We don’t talk after that night. Not really.

There’s no loud ending. No slammed doors. No screaming in driveways. She just stops showing up in the ways that matter. Stops laughing at my jokes. Stops reaching for me when I’m near. And I don’t fight it. I don’t ask her to stay.

I think I wanted her to love me hard enough to stay on her own. And she didn’t.

It starts small. She replies late. Doesn’t call back. Says she’s tired a lot. Says she’s “just dealing with stuff.” I try to give her space without making her feel the gap. I don’t want her to think I’m suffocating her. But all that space? She fills it without me.

I stop bringing her up in conversation. People ask, and I just shrug. We’re fine. She’s just busy. She’s just tired. We’re fine. I say it until I almost believe it.

And then one day, she’s tagged in a post. Some blurry photo of her at a restaurant. Not the team. Not the coaches. Just her—and a girl I don’t recognize.

The girl’s hand is in hers.

That’s it. No soft goodbye. No closure. Just a photo on my feed and the weight in my stomach that tells me I knew this was coming. I knew.

She moves on.

And not in a cruel way. Not in a “look what you lost” kind of way. She just… does. Quietly. Completely.

I stop listening to the songs she liked. I stop walking past her building. I stop keeping her name in my drafts.

But she still shows up.

In the back of my throat when I’m trying not to cry.

In the mirror when I catch myself wearing the hoodie she left in my room. In the silence between texts that feel too dry to care about anymore.

She still exists in all the places I don’t talk about.

And I think that’s what hurts the most. She didn’t leave me angry. She didn’t leave me broken.

She just left. And she never came back.

But you’re still here. And that’s the problem.

Because nothing after this point is for you. This is where it changes. This is where you were supposed to leave.

She never came back. Because she was never yours. She was never even here. But you are. And now I can’t stop thinking about that. You’ve been imagining her longer than I have.

You read all those other stories and still came here.

She’s out there breathing. You’re here rotting.

@letsnowtalk @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264

[fayelero]

ⓘ 03. JUNO !

⤷ SMUT ﹫ nagi seishiro x fem!reader ﹫ mdni ﹫ you didn’t take your pill???!

⚠︎ dom!nagi, etablished relationship, rough sex, hair pulling, spanking, minimal aftercare, no fluff .ᐟ.ᐟ

Nagi lay beneath you—head half-buried in the pillow, hair a mess, chest rising and falling like he wasn’t even winded. Typical.

You were straddling him now, knees tucked tight against his hips, bare and ready all over again. The silence crackled. Your nails grazed down his chest, dragging slow like a threat and a promise in one.

He didn’t move—just watched. Eyes low-lidded, hand resting lazily on your thigh like he was letting you play a game he could stop any second.

You leaned down, lips ghosting over his collarbone. “You’re not tired.”

His fingers flexed. “Nope.”

“So?”

Your hips ground forward, not enough to get what you wanted—but enough to let him know you were ready. Again. Still.

He let you get exactly one roll of your hips before—

Bzzzt. Bzzzt.

A sharp, vibrating buzz echoed from the nightstand. His phone lit up. A notification, followed by a shrill, looping alarm—custom tone. Loud. Disruptive. Immediate.

Nagi didn’t even blink.

He grabbed the phone, silenced the alarm with a thumb swipe, and dropped it face-down again.

You didn’t stop moving. Too close. Too far gone. Hands on his chest, mouth brushing his jaw. “Ignore it.”

But he didn’t.

His hands came up, gripped your waist, and stilled you in an instant. Like flipping a switch.

You whined. Loud. Frustrated. Desperate.

“Baby…” you hissed, rocking your hips against his hands. “Seriously?”

He just stared at you, face blank but sharp, eyes focused like he was looking right through the bratty tone and into something deeper. Calculating.

Then:

“Ma…” he said, voice flat but heavy with intent. “Did you take your pill?”

Silence.

Your mouth parted slightly, shoulders dropping. You didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. He already knew.

His grip on your waist tightened just slightly. Just enough to remind you that he could flip this whole situation around if he wanted to. “Tch. Thought so.”

He pushed you off. Just like that.

Not hard—he wasn’t punishing you. Yet. He sat up, leaned over to the drawer, and pulled out the small silver packet. You sat there in a daze, thighs twitching, body aching with tension and denied release, while he calmly tore open the blister pack with one hand and popped the pill into his mouth.

Between his teeth.

He looked at you—completely unreadable.

Then he crooked a finger.

“Come here.”

You blinked. “What—”

But he didn’t wait. He grabbed your chin, pulled you forward, and kissed you hard. Mouth open. Intent clear.

His lips claimed yours, and when your mouth parted instinctively, he pushed the pill past your lips with his tongue—slow, deliberate. You had no choice but to take it. Swallow. Let it settle.

The whole time, his hand stayed on your jaw, fingers firm and unrelenting. His tongue didn’t pull back immediately—it lingered, tasting, teasing, dominating. Not romantic. Not soft. Pure control.

He pulled back when he was done, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth like he was wiping away evidence.

“There,” he said, voice low. “Now behave, baby”

You stared at him, dazed and breathless, the pill swallowed, lips bruised, body screaming. And somehow, you were the one left feeling owned.

He leaned back on his elbows, eyes dragging lazily down your form.

“You want it?” he asked, tone flat but heavy. “Earn it.”

No more playing princess. He’d already proven who was really in charge.

You weren’t delicate, and neither was he.

You raked your nails across his back as he pushed your legs apart. His mouth was hot, hungry against your neck, collarbone, breasts — biting down just hard enough to bruise.

“You like that?” he growled against your skin.

You didn’t answer with words — just arched your back and rolled your hips up to grind against his hardened cock.

He hissed, his cock already flushed and heavy in his hand as he stroked himself once, twice, with eyes locked on you.

Then he grabbed your hips.

No teasing.

“Why didn’t you took your pill, ma?”, he asked. Without response.

He pulled into you — thick, hot, and deep — stretching you to your limit. You moaned, nails digging into his shoulders, and he didn’t stop. His pace was brutal. Every thrust hit deep, hard, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the tight room. His grip on your thighs was bruising, but you didn’t care.

“Fuck—” he grunted, head falling to your shoulder. “So tight...”

You clenched around him in response, and he growled, slamming into you even harder. The bed creaked under you both, your moans turning into gasps as your orgasm built fast — coiled tight and ready to snap.

When it did, it ripped through you like lightning. Your whole body locked up, back arching, vision white-hot as your walls fluttered around him.

Seishiro didn’t slow down.

He rode you through it, then pulled out suddenly, flipping you onto your stomach and dragging your hips up. He shoved back in from behind, deeper this time, angling to hit that sweet spot that made you cry out into the sheets.

His fingers tangled in your hair, yanking your head back. “You want to get pregnant or what?”

“N-no…!”

You were shaking, but greedy for more.

Another orgasm hit fast — legs trembling, heat blooming across your spine — and this time he followed. His rhythm stuttered, breath ragged, and then he thrust in deep one last time with a groan, spilling inside you.

He stayed there for a moment, breathing hard against your back.

Then he pulled out, slapped your ass once, and muttered while nuzzling in your neck, “You know I love you?”

You laughed, hoarse. “I love you too, sei.”

[tobiosbbyghorl]

Hyper & Chill | psh

act 52: wedding prep

prev

Sunghoon sat on the bathroom counter, arms crossed as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. He rubbed his jaw, where the slight stubble had started to grow in.

“I think I’ll shave it off,” he muttered.

You, standing next to him, tilted your head. “I don’t mind it.”

He gave you a look. “You said it was scratching you the other night.”

You grinned. “That’s because you were rubbing your face against mine like a cat.”

Sunghoon scoffed but didn’t deny it. “Still, I think it’s time. Help me?”

You perked up, immediately grabbing the shaving cream. “Sit still, Mr. Park.”

His lips twitched at the formal tone, but he obediently stayed in place as you lathered the cream onto his jawline. His eyes remained on you, watching how carefully you spread it across his skin.

“You’re taking this seriously,” he mused.

“Of course. Your face is my favorite thing to look at.”

Sunghoon bit the inside of his cheek to hide a smile.

As you picked up the razor, you met his gaze in the mirror. “I swear, if you move and I accidentally cut you, I’m going to laugh first before I help.”

He sighed dramatically. “How reassuring.”

Carefully, you started shaving, gently tilting his face when needed. Sunghoon closed his eyes, completely trusting you. The intimacy of the moment made your heart swell—just you and him, in your shared home, doing something as simple as this.

When you finished, you wiped away the excess cream with a warm towel, admiring your work. “There. My handsome fiancé is back.”

Sunghoon smirked. “Was I not handsome before?”

You rolled your eyes and playfully flicked his forehead. “You know what I mean.”

He chuckled, leaning forward to press a quick kiss against your lips.

But before he could escape, you grabbed a brow razor. “Wait. Your brows need a little cleaning up too.”

Sunghoon groaned. “Again? Didn’t you do them last time?”

“Yes, but they grow back. Come on, let me make you prettier.”

“I’m already pretty.”

You laughed. “Just sit still, pretty boy.”

Sunghoon grumbled under his breath but let you work. His fingers absentmindedly traced small patterns against your waist while you trimmed his brows.

As you moved on to applying skincare, gently patting serum onto his face, he sighed in contentment.

“We should set a date soon,” he murmured, voice soft.

You paused, looking at him. “For the wedding?”

He nodded, eyes fluttering open. “I know we wanted to take our time, but I think I’m just excited.”

Your heart melted. “Me too.”

Sunghoon smiled, catching your wrist and pressing a kiss to your palm. “Then let’s start planning properly. I want it to be perfect.”

You cupped his cheek, thumb brushing against his smooth skin. “It already will be. Because it’s us.”

Sunghoon exhaled through his nose, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you between his legs. “I love you.”

You smiled, pressing your forehead against his. “I love you more.”

Sunghoon hummed, squeezing you tighter. “Debatable.”

Sunghoon sat on the couch, his laptop open with multiple tabs of wedding venues, themes, and planners. You were curled up beside him, scrolling through Pinterest boards on your phone, eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Okay,” Sunghoon started, rubbing his temple. “So, we need to decide on a date first. That way, we can start booking everything else.”

You looked up, tilting your head in thought. “Do we want a spring wedding? Summer? Winter?”

Sunghoon hummed. “Spring seems nice. Not too hot, not too cold. And flowers will be in full bloom.”

You beamed. “I like that. Maybe mid-April?”

“April,” he repeated, nodding. “That gives us time to plan everything properly.”

You both high-fived, pleased with your first major decision.

“Now, the venue,” you said, flipping your phone screen to show him. “I found a few options—some near the city and a few outside of it. Do we want something elegant and grand, or something more intimate?”

Sunghoon scrolled through the options. “I want whatever makes you happy.”

You rolled your eyes, nudging him. “No, really. I want it to be something we both love.”

He smirked. “Then how about a mix? Something elegant but not too overwhelming. I like this one,” he pointed to a venue by the countryside, surrounded by gardens and an open space for an outdoor ceremony. “It’s private, peaceful, and the scenery is perfect.”

You softened, imagining it already. “It’s beautiful. And we can decorate it however we want.”

Sunghoon nodded. “Should we book a visit this weekend?”

“Absolutely.”

With the date and venue settled, you moved on to themes.

“I was thinking of something timeless,” you mused. “Soft colors, lots of lights, an ethereal feel—kind of like a fairytale.”

Sunghoon grinned. “Like a princess wedding?”

“More like a ‘this-is-the-most-beautiful-love-story-ever’ wedding.”

He chuckled. “That does sound like us.”

But as you continued browsing, you realized something—planning a wedding, even just the basics, was a lot. And that was only the beginning.

Sunghoon must’ve sensed your growing stress because he gently took your phone and set it down. “You know… we could hire a planner.”

You sighed. “I know, but I wanted to handle everything myself.”

“And I love that about you, but I don’t want you overwhelmed. I did some research,” he said, opening a new tab. “There’s this wedding planner that everyone swears by. She’s the best of the best, and she makes every couple’s vision come to life.”

Curious, you leaned closer, reading through the reviews. Every single one was glowing.

“…Okay, let’s meet with her.”

Sunghoon smiled, kissing your temple. “Good. Because I already booked a consultation.”

You stared at him. “You what?”

“I knew you’d agree eventually,” he said smugly.

You playfully smacked his arm. “You sneaky little—”

Sunghoon laughed, catching your hand and intertwining your fingers. “Come on, my loloves. Let’s plan the wedding of our dreams.”

And with that, the real preparations began.

The following weekend, you and Sunghoon arrived at the office of Choi Hana, the highly recommended wedding planner he had booked. The place was stunning—modern yet cozy, with soft floral arrangements decorating the reception area. It was exactly the kind of elegance you envisioned for your wedding.

A cheerful assistant welcomed you both before leading you into Hana’s office. The woman herself was poised, exuding an air of quiet confidence. She stood to greet you with a warm smile.

“Park Sunghoon and Y/N, it’s lovely to meet you. I’ve heard quite a bit about you two.”

Sunghoon raised a brow, smirking. “Oh? Hopefully, only good things.”

Hana chuckled. “Nothing but praise. I was told you wanted something timeless and romantic?”

You nodded excitedly. “Yes! We were thinking of an outdoor ceremony, something soft and dreamy but not too extravagant.”

Sunghoon added, “Something elegant, but intimate enough to feel personal.”

Hana clasped her hands together. “That’s a wonderful direction. Do you have a color palette in mind?”

You glanced at Sunghoon, and he gestured for you to answer.

“Soft pastels, maybe a champagne or ivory base? Something airy and ethereal, like a fairytale but modern.”

Hana smiled approvingly. “That sounds beautiful. And for the reception—would you prefer an outdoor or indoor setting?”

Sunghoon tilted his head. “Indoor. If we do the ceremony outside, I think having the dinner and party inside would balance things out.”

You nodded. “That makes sense. A ballroom with big windows overlooking the garden would be perfect.”

Hana jotted down notes. “I have just the venue in mind. It fits your vision, and the reviews are outstanding. I’ll set up a tour for next week.”

You squeezed Sunghoon’s hand under the table, excitement bubbling inside you. Everything was coming together.

Over the next few weeks, the wedding preparations kicked into full gear.

• Venue visits: You and Sunghoon toured multiple locations before ultimately settling on the one Hana recommended—a breathtaking estate with a sprawling garden and a grand ballroom. The moment you stepped in, you knew it was the one.

• Dress and suit fittings: You brought your closest friends to your bridal boutique appointments while Sunghoon and Minjae went for his custom tuxedo fitting. He refused to let you see his suit, teasing, “You’ll just have to wait and see, my loloves.”

• Guest list discussions: You debated over who to invite, making sure it was an intimate yet meaningful crowd. Sunghoon, of course, insisted Minseok had to be there just so he could gloat about being right all along.

• Food tastings: This was easily Sunghoon’s favorite part. He took it very seriously, commenting on every dish like he was a professional food critic.

Through it all, Sunghoon made sure you weren’t overwhelmed, handling whatever tasks he could.

One night, after a long day of planning, you collapsed onto the couch, groaning. “How do people plan a whole wedding without losing their minds?”

Sunghoon chuckled, sitting beside you and pulling you into his arms. “That’s why I hired Hana. I know you like to do things yourself, but I also want you to enjoy this process.”

You softened, burying your face into his chest. “You’re right… as usual.”

He smirked. “You should say that more often.”

You flicked his forehead. “Don’t push it.”

He laughed, leaning in to kiss your temple. “We’ve got this, lolove. It’s going to be perfect.”

And deep down, you knew it would be—because you were doing it together.

©️tobiosbbyghorl - all rights reserved

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[literaila]

can we get a fic where gojo and reader are playing some game or something and gojo let's reader win every time because she's having too much fun and he is just a sick loverboy

also hope you're doing well I love your writing 😔

“do you have the three of diamonds?”

satoru smiles, sorting through his nine cards like his alien-like hands are incapable of holding them. “go fish.”

you sigh, pick a card off of the pile, then stare blankly at the boy in front of you.

when he suggested a card game you figured it would have more to do with suits and less to do with… just watching him struggle with his hand?

you figured it would be a break from the silence of the dorm rooms—everyone else gone for the weekend—and not the most infuriating sight you’ve ever seen.

you sigh again.

“have you never held a hand in your life?”

“i could hold yours, if you want me to,” satoru answers, leaning over far enough that you could definitely see everyone one of his cards.

but you avert your eyes because you’re not a cheater, and you don’t even need to be when every one of gojo’s turns take three minutes.

“no, seriously. are you trying to do a magic trick or something?”

“pick a card,” satoru wiggles his eyebrows, far too suggestively.

“it’s your turn.”

“oh, right. hmm… got a black seven?”

“which one?”

“clover.”

it takes a strange amount of effort—and the cost of your pride—to refrain a laugh. and this time when you sigh it’s in relief. at least his hand will get smaller and you can stop feeling so sorry for him.

watching him like this is… strange. you’re usually days ahead of satoru, sure, but he’s so good at everything.

it’s almost difficult to know something that he doesn’t.

“okay,” his eyes meet yours. “go ahead. wouldn’t want to start losing now, would you?”

“is this supposed to be trash talk?”

gojo hums.

“trash talk when you just called your card a clover?” you clarify, blinking at him.

“sounds like someone is worried,” satoru drawls. “don’t worry. we’re not playing for money.”

“you have like twenty cards, satoru.”

“actually i have—“ he looks down for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek. “eleven. eleven-ish.”

“ish?” you repeat, laughing.

“you can count yourself.”

you shake your head, about to say something else—maybe make fun of him, maybe propose a bet—but satoru drops two cards.

he pouts and you get to watch while satoru painstakingly arranges his cards in one of his hands, and then tries to pry the other cards up without dropping anything.

another card slips from his palm.

you groan. “have you really never played a card game before?” you wonder aloud, unsure how that could be possible—or why he would suggest this in the first place.

satoru scowls, trying to turn a card over with his nail. “i have.”

you laugh, shaking your head again. you set down your cards, face up—because what the hell?

and then you crawl towards satoru, attempting to catch the three other cards he’s about to drop. “can you—hey, stop.”

satoru doesnt, he shakes your hands away and drops two more cards.

“satoru. just wait a second,” and you’re laughing, looking at him and rolling your eyes at the pitiful look on his face.

he looks like an indignant child. stubborn, and completely unwilling to lose.

which, really, isnt so far off.

“okay,” you sigh, when he finally stops moving. “now, hold your hands out.”

“why?”

“i’m trying to help you.”

satoru leans in, eyes catching yours over his glasses, his face contemplative.

“we can start over after this,” you tell him, pushing his shoulder. “just let me show you.”

satoru still looks skeptical, but he relaxes, reluctantly holding his cards out to you.

“alright, now just watch first, okay?”

and you show him how to arrange the cards, fanning them out in your hands so that each one are at an angle and safely tucked into your palms. “you use your thumb to look through them. and readjust if they slip.”

“your hands are so small,” satoru coos, almost like he’s bragging.

you scoff. “and yet i’m not the one dropping my cards everywhere.”

“yet.”

“whatever, satoru. here.” you bunch the cards up and pass them to him. satoru waits a moment and then attempts to mimic your movements,

but a card at the end tilts too far, and then another follows, and then one hand goes to fix the cards that are slipping, and the other half of his pile is forgotten. or rather, the other half is now on the floor.

you laugh. “no, don’t—“ satoru does not listen, tongue poking out as he tries to fix it. “you need to—“

“i got it—“

“satoru, stop letting go—“

“i’ve got it—“

“okay, look, here—“ you lean over him, stopping his hands with both of his.

and in one second you’re climbing almost on top of him, your arms overlapping, each one of your thumbs resting on his. “relax your hands,” you whisper to him, after a moment.

it takes a moment but satoru does.

“okay,” you smile at him, watching as his eyes flit from yours and then to your hands. “now, fold your thumb here.”

you squeeze his hands together, readjusting his fingers, and satoru allows you.

“keep your hand like this, see?” satoru just barely nods. “and fan the cards out…”

then you both look down, each card visible, and none of them slipping. satoru breathes out and you can feel it.

his hands are very warm, like this, and even though he’s annoying—he was right. your hands are smaller, barely able to cover his own.

you look back to him, suddenly just inches away. you can hear his breathing right in your ear. can see the edges of incandescent blue eyes over the frame of his shades.

this time you watch his eyes fall from yours, flickering over your nose, trailing down…

you wonder what satoru sees when he looks at your lips. you see a toothy smile, the indents of teeth, the darker line of red around pink and—

you pull back, quickly, and satoru blinks—his eyes meet yours again.

you’re still kind of on top of him, still basically holding his hands.

“so,” you let go, watching as satoru’s entire body loses its tension. “i think you got it.”

satoru swallows, looking down.

“finally,” you add, like it’s going to do anything to ease the tension you’ve just unwittingly created.

this is completely stupid. you should’ve just let satoru struggle, and you should never get this close to him, and, in fact, you don’t even like playing games with him because he always—

you look down, eyes scanning his cards suddenly.

you yank his wrist over again, scowling. “i asked if you had this! and the six, and the jack—“

satoru’s grin is sudden and unabashed, his eyes not even a little bit ashamed.

“cheater! i would’ve won like ten minutes ago if—“

“what?” satoru drawls, tilting his head at you. “how was i supposed to know? i’ve never even played this before,” he flutters his eyelashes.

you tackle him right there, cards be damned.

[4pp135]

Doggy

Itoshi Sae x Reader

Sae's favourite part of his day were his walks– one early in the morning and one in the night before he went to bed. It was his peace and quiet time, where no one would come to bother him. No calls, no interviews, no meetings just calm.

One night as he was walking, he spotted you. Kissing one of the street dogs directly on the forehead. He assumed the dog was un-vaccinated and scrunched up his nose in disgust.

After a few weeks, him seeing you was like a routine. Sometimes feeding dogs, returning home late from work or just walking– like he was.

The first time he actually spoke to you was when he was right around the corner and you ran upto him, your breathing uneven and rushed.

“Do you know how dogs giving birth works?” the concern in your voice was evident, he admired your concern and love for dogs.

“No.” his answer was straight, providing no emotion at all. But he silently hoped you wouldn't leave it at that.

“Uhh, can you atleast be there then? It's my first time and I– I don't want anything to happen to Brartholomew The Third.” you kept turning your head from him to the pile of blankets on the pavement as you spoke.

His eyebrows raised slightly, though his expression stayed neutral, you knew he didn't give two shits but you did. “Fine.” he agreed at last as he followed you to where Bartholomew The Third layed.

After a while of you giving her, Bartholomew The Third, belly rubs and him just standing there you turned to him.

“Here, you can name him.” you carefully place a small puppy in his hand, smiling up at him from where you knelt at the ground.

He found your gentleness endearing, “I don't know, you can name him.” he said as he stared intently at the dog. His eyes finding yours.

“Name him anything, or you could name him after something.” you turned your back on him and continued playing with the other puppies.

He seriously wasn't buying that you didn't recognise him. Mabey his ego was to high, or you just had zero football knowledge or mabey the two.

“I'll name him Rin Itoshi.”

You went home that night hoping he would return, and a part of you would like to belive he hoped for the same.

a/n: Itoshi brother brainrot

[luneariaa]

🗡️ THINKING OF — ignoring dante on purpose because you felt like it.

"And then, I saved the entire people and building from collapsing even further, and then I—" Dante keeps chattering mindlessly to you whilst settling himself on his chair, setting his legs atop of his own desk without any care as per usual.

He keeps going on and on with his talking, even to the point of not bothering to open the pizza box just yet.

"—and then none of them thanked me at all— hey, are you even listening to me?"

"Oh?" You didn't even looked up from your phone, scrolling away while looking at the displayed posts on the screen. "Yeah, yeah of course I do."

An almost exaggerated huff could be heard being elicited from him; the sound of his chair swiveling eventually stopped.

And of course, you've been unintentionally ( or you actually low-key did it on purpose ) ignoring him— perhaps out of fun or even curiosity as to what he might do next.

Your finger(s) absentmindedly still scrolling up and down the screen of your phone, before it got vigorously grabbed away from your grip.

Before you could form any sort of statement out of pure irritation, you are greeted with the sight of Dante's pure look of disapproval, along with a pout.

"You weren't listening to me."

"I did, you dumbass."

"Then, what did I say earlier?"

"I dunno, I forgot." Dante mentally face-palms at himself— staring straight at you with a look of disbelief.

"How could you?? Seriously??"

His reaction is so priceless that it made you literally laugh out loud in sheer merriment, smacking his face with a pillow afterwards.

"You talk too much. I was starting to feel sleepy from all that."

"You're an ass."

Dante mutters half-annoyed, rubbing his face as to where you had previously hit him, before went on full grinning and hovering above you— caging you with his body on the sofa.

"I know," you returned his current expression while laughing again. "Thanks for the reminder."

— written by @luneariaa . reblogs are appreciated. do not repost; all rights reserved . 💫