#the reader letting him play with her and explore the reactions she has when her pussy is touched just because

[rottiens]

i believe the first time you let (virgin) kakashi play with your pussy, it comes accompanied in an unusual way of talking on his part. it's almost like he takes notes to himself, almost like he doesn't talk to you. the tired gaze is set between your sticky thighs, watching carefully how your folds stretch as he puts his finger in and pulls it out, you exhale. 

"oh, here?" he slowly bends it and pushes, you cry out. "too much?" 

he doesn't even look at you as you gaze at him in raw adoration. you don't even know what expression he has because he refused to take off his mask. 

"you're squeezing so tight." his eyebrows draw together for a second before returning to his usual expression. with the thumb of his free hand he squeezes and strokes the bundle of nerves. "so wet." kakashi pushes deep, faster this time and your legs tremble, you call out to him and he ignores you with a hoarse throaty purr. "here. i like that sound." 

wet clicks fill the office. kakashi fucks your pussy with one finger and then adds another with perspicacity, careful of every step he makes next. 

"I think it's gonna cum for me." your looks become one, unbreakable as he massages you like someone with experience and makes you wet his knuckles, juices dripping down his fingers and wetting his gloves. you scream his name clinging to that intangible, rushing to hold on to his thick white strands pulling him further into you. 

kakashi do it, he's guided by your fingers leading him further in; to take a glimpse of how you open up for him, how you tremble, how you squeeze. "does it always get so swollen?" he asks, and you know once again he's not talking to you. he leans in and the tip of his nose brushes the lovely sore nub back and forth almost as if he's teasing, then he takes a deep, shameless inhale, and you forget to breathe. "cute. you can cum now, I have to try again to see your reaction one more time."

[alygator77]

♬♪ ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : beat of my heart ♬♪

♬ pairing. college au // drummer! gojo x psychology major! reader (f)

♬ summary. being a psychology major with a passion for music, you're no stranger to chaos—between juggling school, caring for your mother, and working at a local music shop, you've learned to keep your cool. but when a cocky drummer pushes your patience to the limit, a chance encounter with satoru gojo—an enigmatic, sharp-tongued musician—turns your world upside down. as you're drawn to his dangerous charm, an unexpected connection deepens, but so do the secrets you've both been running from. will you get caught up in his rhythm before you realize it’s too late?

♬ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, slow burn, smut, angst with comfort, some fluff, readers mom has dementia, mentions of suicide, alcohol/weed usage, unresolved trauma, commitment issues

♬ words: 7.3k

♬ a/n. hi lovelies, welcome to the debut of this fic :) very excited to explore this dynamic between satoru and y/n, thanks for reading ♡

♬ taglist: open

series masterlist ♬ next chapter → pending...

ch 1 // the first measure

“Emotional regulation is defined as the process by which individuals influence the emotions they experience, when they experience them, and how they express them in response to different stimuli.”

Staring at the neatly printed words in your psychology textbook, your mind automatically begins to dissect the concept.

Emotional regulation. The holy grail of human behavior, wrapped neatly in clinical terms. It’s the ability to keep yourself in check, to craft a perfect mask that hides what’s boiling beneath the surface. The world only gets to see what you allow. If it were as easy as the textbook made it sound, half your classes wouldn’t exist.

Letting out a breath, you sink deeper into your chair.

People aren’t simple equations you can balance, after all—people are… complicated.

Emotions, even more so.

They ebb and flow like unpredictable tides, swelling when you least expect them, crashing down when you think you’ve regained control. They are messy, stubborn, and relentless—especially when the brain stops following its own rules.

Your mothers face comes to mind—uninvited. Her once-bright eyes are now dull with confusion, emotions flickering in and out like static on a broken TV. Dementia has stolen the filter that once kept her reactions in line with reality. It’s as if her mind is betraying her, one piece at a time.

You press your fingers against the pages of the textbook. Will any amount of psychology truly prepare you to untangle the complexities of the human mind? Can it allow you to help her—or at least understand her—before she’s lost entirely?

Before you can sink further into that thought, an ear-splitting crash reverberates through the store, jolting you back into the present. Glancing up with a sigh, the peaceful hum of the music store is shattered by the clumsy cacophony of someone abusing a drum kit like it owes him money.

Clearly, emotional regulation isn’t on that guy’s radar.

Yet, somehow, you’ve grown used to it. Working part-time here has taught you how to tune out chaos, as if the dissonance of the store has become its own kind of background music.

It’s chaotic, but it’s your kind of chaos.

The strings of guitars being tested, the pounding of drum kits, the chattering of customers—it all blends into a rhythm you no longer notice.

You’ve been working part-time in this quaint little music shop for so long that silence has become unsettling. If it’s too quiet, your mind starts wandering, spiraling into places you don’t always want to go. And so, the chaos is your anchor—it helps you focus, keeps you present.

Studying in silence feels foreign.

“Ugh… I have such a headache,” Utahime’s voice breaks through your thoughts, her hand pressing to her temple. Standing a few feet away, she shoots a glare towards the drum section. “He’s been at it for practically an hour now. Like… come on. Is he trying to destroy that kit or learn how to play it?”

Glancing up from your textbook, you eyes land on a brawny guy with jet-black hair, slamming away on the drums with no sense of rhythm, no control—just brute force.

“Has it really been that long?” you ask, blinking at the scene. The noise had faded into the background for you, becoming just another layer of the store’s soundtrack.

Utahime gives you a look that screams disbelief.

“You didn’t notice?”

You shrug.

“Guess I’ve learned to tune it out.”

“Tch… wish I could do that,” she rolls her eyes, rubbing her temples like the sound is physically burrowing into her skull. “That guy is killing me.”

Oh, shit. Now that your attention is focused, you notice just how bad it really is. It’s not just noise—it’s borderline offensive to music. He’s not even playing the drums—he’s assaulting them—completely unaware of the sonic devastation he’s unleashing on the store.

Utahime lets out another long, exasperated groan, her entire body sagging as she leans forward in defeat.

“I swear, if he keeps going, I’m going to snap,” her elbows rest on the counter, and she presses her forehead into her hands. “y/nnnn,” she whines, lifting her head just enough to glimpse at you. “Can you please do something?”

Glancing around the store, you catch the irritated looks of other customers—one guy near the synthesizers is glaring openly at the drummer, his hand gripping a set of headphones so tightly you half expect him to snap them in half.

It’s like the whole store is holding its breath, waiting for someone—anyone—to make it stop.

A sigh escapes your lips as you close your textbook. It’s one thing to tune out the chaos when you’re focused on studying, but now that you’re paying attention, the noise feels like an assault on your senses too. You can’t blame Utahime for losing her patience—though she’s never been one to take matters into her own hands.

“Fine, I’ll handle it,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your seat.

“Oh, thank God,” she breathes, finally peeling her hands away from her temples. “Please, work your magic. Before we all go deaf.”

You roll your eyes internally, though you can’t help the grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Magic. Sure—that’s one way to put it.

What Utahime calls ‘magic’ is really just years of learning how to manage other people’s shit without losing your cool.

It’s not magic—it’s survival. A skill you’ve honed out of necessity, not desire. And sure, maybe your love for psychology helps—you’ve got the theories to back up the practice—but most days it feels more like wrangling toddlers who never learned how to grow up.

Taking a steady breath, you step into the fray, weaving through the store’s labyrinth of instruments and displays. As you get closer, the vibrations from the drums rattle through your bones, crawling up your spine. The sound is unbearable, like nails on a chalkboard amplified through a megaphone.

The guy doesn’t even look up, his head bent low over the drum kit, raven hair falling in messy strands across his forehead. His arms move with the rhythm of someone who has no idea what rhythm actually is, and the muscles in his forearms ripple with each heavy-handed strike as he slams the sticks down like he’s personally offended by the drums.

You stand off to the side for a moment, watching him have at it. You’ve dealt with a lot of difficult people working here, but this guy? He’s so oblivious to the fact that the rest of the store is on the verge of mutiny.

Clearing your throat, you raise your voice, hoping to break through his focus.

“Excuse me!”

Nothing.

Another crash of the cymbals, loud enough to rattle your skull. Your jaw tightens as you try again, this time louder.

“Excuuuuse me!”

Still nothing. He’s completely in his own world, bashing away with reckless abandon. It’s like he’s in a vacuum, utterly disconnected from the chaos he’s creating around him.

Jesus this guy… your patience thins and you step closer—close enough now to feel the heat radiating off him from his overexertion. His shirt clings to his back with sweat, and the muscles in his arms continue to ripple with each reckless swing of the drumsticks.

He’s not just playing hard—he’s playing like he’s got something to prove.

As you reach out to tap his shoulder, you try to keep your touch firm but not aggressive, although, the moment your fingers make contact with him, his entire body jerks—drumsticks freezing mid-air as he whips his head around to face you.

His dark eyes lock onto yours, sharp and filled with a flicker of annoyance.

“What?” he snaps, voice dripping with irritation.

Keeping your expression neutral, you try not to let his attitude get to you.

“You’ve been at this for a while,” you begin, as calm as you can manage. “We have a limited selection and there are other customers who may be wanting to try this kit.”

His eyes narrow, clearly unimpressed.

“So?” he drawls, waving the drumsticks lazily, like your request is beneath him.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you press your lips together in protest. Stay professional, you remind yourself. Shifting your weight slightly, you square your shoulders and look him directly in the eyes.

“So,” you continue, voice firmer this time, “store policy is thirty minutes per instrument. You’ve been playing for over an hour.”

A low, sarcastic laugh bubbles from his chest, the sound filled with mockery as he tilts his head back slightly.

“And… what are you gonna do about it?” leaning forward, he rests his elbows on his knees like he's settling for a show—eyes glimmering with amusement as his lips curl into a smirk. “Throw me out?”

You bite down on the inside of your cheek—every fiber of your being is itching to knock this guy down a peg.

Ugh. What a tool.

The condescension in his voice grates on you like sandpaper, but you force yourself to stay composed.

“Look…store policy is pretty clear,” you reply evenly, nodding towards the sign behind the counter. “You either give someone else a turn, or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Your words seem to pique his interest—his smirk widens, eyes flicking over you slowly, appraisingly. Suddenly you’re more interesting to him than this drum set. He pushes himself off the stool in a slow, deliberate movement, and you hold your breath the moment he towers over you.

He’s by no means, a small guy.

The light behind him is blocked from his broad shoulders, and there’s a new edge to his gaze now. The moment he invades your space, it is just a little too close for comfort.

“Oh yeah?” your stomach turns from the low suggestive timber of his voice, “And what if I don’t feel like leaving, sweetheart? You gonna make me?”

Ick.

This guy might take the cake for being the most difficult prick you’ve had to deal with here, and that’s saying something. Working in this music shop, you’ve come across a lot of full of themselves wannabees, praising themselves like the next big thing—acting like God’s gift to music when all they want to play over and over again is ‘Stairway to Heaven,’ and ‘Wonderwall.’

A surge of discomfort ripples through your body, but you stand your ground. You know how this goes—he wants a reaction, and you’re not about to give him the satisfaction of seeing you flinch.

“Look dude, I’m not asking,” your tone sharpens, leaving no room for argument. “This is your last warning”

His eyebrows shoot up in mock surprise, and a low whistle escapes his lips, as if he’s impressed—but it’s the kind of faux admiration that makes your skin crawl.

“You’re a tough one, huh?” he muses, chuckling softly.

Leaning in, the heat of his breath brushes against your skin as he invades your space once again—far too close for comfort—and you feel his gaze sweep over you slowly, lingering in a way that feels slimy and unwelcome.

“I like a girl with a little fire,” he adds, voice dropping lower. “It always makes things more fun.”

Gross.

Your hands curl into fists by your sides and you fight the urge to recoil as a surge of revulsion twists through you like a knife.

But before you can respond—before you even have the chance to formulate the sharp retort already forming on your tongue—the air shifts and a new voice cuts in.

“Wow, did I just walk in on the world’s worst pickup line, or are we about to throw hands over a drum kit?”

Turning your head towards the source of the voice, your eyes land on a tall figure standing a few feet away—his hair is a striking shade of snowy white, messy and untamed, falling in tousled strands that almost brush against the black sunglasses obscuring his eyes, and even with his face partially hidden, there’s no mistaking the mischievous glint tugging at the corners of his mouth—like he’s watching the scene unfold for his own amusement.

Despite the casual nature of his appearance—jeans slung low, a loose-fitting hoodie—there’s something undeniably striking about him. It’s the kind of presence that demands attention without asking for it

Who the hell is this guy?

Clearly irritated by the interruption, the drummer straightens up—his smirk faltering as he sizes up the newcomer.

“This doesn’t concern you, man,” he growls, tight with irritation. “I’m just having a little conversation with her.”

The snowy stranger’s grin turns sharp, though his voice remains light.

“Yeeeah, see, that’s where you’re wrong,” he steps up beside you, and without hesitation, his arm slips around your waist, pulling you smoothly into his side like you’ve always belonged there. “Everything concerning her concerns me.”

Your heart skips a beat, caught off guard by the sudden, possessive gesture. Part of you bristles at the boldness, but another part… feels oddly safe in his grasp—like he’s been by your side forever.

There’s a shift in the atmosphere as the drummer's eyes narrow—like the balance of power has tipped—the presence of this stranger throwing him off.

“Oh really? And just who the hell are you?” he snaps.

Your mysterious stranger doesn’t miss a beat—he chuckles softly, his sunglasses sliding down the bridge of his nose just enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes—brilliant, vivid blue, and gleaming with a spark that teeters between playful and dangerous. It’s the kind of look that makes your heart flip.

“Oh, me?” he feigns innocence with a nonchalant shrug, like this whole thing is just mildly amusing to him. “I’m nobody special.”

Sliding his sunglasses back into place, he casually pulls you in a bit closer, and you are met with the warmth of his body as he leans into you just slightly.

“Just here to make sure my girl doesn’t have to deal with assholes. Y’know how it is.”

Your mind scrambles to catch up.

Your girl? You blink, heat rushing to your cheeks as the words rolling off his tongue begin to register. You barely know this guy—hell, you don’t know him at all—and yet here he is, acting like the two of you are something.

But…maybe it’s working? Because the drummer’s eyes narrow further, his expression twisting as a furrow darkens over his features. Ah…but then you realize he’s not focused on the claim your stranger just made—no, his attention is locked on a different word entirely.

“Asshole?” he echoes, voice rising with indignation, practically spitting the word back. Clenching his fists, he steps forward with a scowl twisting upon you face. “You calling me an asshole?”

“Well, yeah,” your stranger remarks casually, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He shrugs again, utterly unfazed by the tension mounting between them. “When the shoe fits…I mean, you’re acting like one, aren’t you?”

Pure rage flashes across the drummer’s face, and you can visibly see his fists trembling slightly.

Uhh… on second thought, is this guy even helping?

Now you’re not so sure if your so-called rescuer is making things better or worse, because clearly, the drummer is on the verge of snapping.

“You better watch your mouth man,” the drummer snarls, fury simmering beneath the surface.

But the stranger’s grin only widens, and he exudes a confidence that makes it clear he’s not worried in the slightest.

“Heh. That’s a warning I get a lot,” he muses, tilting his head slightly. “But y’know what? I don’t usually listen.”

It's a wonder the drumsticks the drummer is fisting haven't cracked under pressure, given how tightly he clenches them—his knuckles turn white.

“You think you’re funny, huh?” he growls through gritted teeth.

A low hum rumbles against your strangers’ lips as he ponders the question thoughtfully.

“I mean, I’ve been told I’m pretty hilarious,” he scratches the back of his head, like he’s seriously considering the statement, then, glancing at you, his eyes gleam with amusement as his sunglasses slide down the bridge of his nose slightly.

“Whatcha think babe? Am I funny?”

The question—and that pet name—catches you completely off guard, leaving you momentarily speechless.

But the drummer isn’t interested in the little game your stranger seems to be playing. His jaw clenches—teeth grinding audibly as his face hardens into something feral.

“I’m about two seconds away from wiping that stupid grin off your face,” he spits, taking another aggressive step forward.

Fucking hell, is a fight really about to break out at your work?

Your pulse quickens, and for a split second, you think he might actually swing at him.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” the stranger says, still grinning like none of this phases him.

He releases his hold on your waist and steps forward with a smooth, almost lazy movement, placing himself between you and the drummer. His hands slip casually into his pockets, posture relaxed, but the air around him shifts.

“Let’s pump the brakes, big guy,” he tilts his head slightly, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. “You’re welcome to try. But I’ll tell ya right now—” his teasing lilt diminishes, replaced by something colder, more commanding, “you’re not gonna like how it ends.”

His words—a warning and a challenge wrapped in one—hang heavy, and for a moment it feels like the entire store is holding its breath, waiting to see what happens next. Glancing around, you notice a few customers watching the scene unfold.

Fucking hell—this has gone from bad to worse.

And yet…the drummer doesn’t swing. He doesn’t move—doesn’t even flinch.

He’s seething—rage evident in the set of his jaw, the clenched fists at his sides—but something about the stranger’s calm, unwavering demeanor is throwing him off balance. It’s almost impressive, really.

No, scratch that—it is impressive.

You misjudged this guy. He might have walked in here like a cocky troublemaker, throwing out cheesy one-liners and pushing your buttons, but now? Now, he’s cool under pressure, defusing a situation that could’ve easily escalated into violence.

Body language often says more than words ever could, and his is completely in control—relaxed, hands in his pockets, not a single muscle tensed for a fight, yet there’s a sharpness beneath the surface—an unspoken control that demands attention.

It’s brilliant in a way. He’s defusing the threat without lifting a finger—a textbook example of how to manage tension without aggression. This guy is winning a psychological game the drummer doesn’t even realize he’s playing.

Their silent standoff stretches, until finally, the stranger breaks the silence with his smooth and almost disarmingly casual voice.

“Look, man,” he shrugs one shoulder with a nonchalance that seems almost practiced. “This is me giving you a chance to walk away with your dignity intact.” Tilting his head slightly, he gestures toward you with a subtle nod. “She asked you politely to stop. This is a store, not your personal garage. So maybe it’s time you pack it up and go before you make things worse.”

There’s a moment—a pause that feels like it stretches just a beat too long—where you can practically see the drummer’s gears turning in his head, weighing his options, trying to hold onto whatever’s left of his bravado.

Then, finally, he mutters through gritted teeth,

“Whatever.”

The word is spat out, dripping with frustration and barely-contained rage, and with a sharp movement, he tosses the drumsticks onto the kit—the wooden sticks clattering against the drums in a final act of defiance.

“You’re not worth it, and this place sucks anyway,” he mutters, full of aggravation, but his heart no longer in it—it’s clear his fight has deflated.

Turning sharply on his heel, he shoves past both you and the stranger with a forceful shoulder, storming toward the exit, and once the door slams shut behind him, the sound reverberates through the store with an unmistakable finality.

Just like that, the tension breaks. It’s like the whole store exhales at once—the weight lifting from the air as the distant murmur of customers resumes.

Before you can fully process what just happened, the stranger beside you turns his attention back to you.

“Well, that was fun,” he remarks, “Could’ve gone worse though. I mean, I didn’t even get to throw a punch. Talk about anti-climactic, huh?”

You barely manage to take a breath as he closes the space between you just a little more, his movements slow and intentional, and your heart flutters the moment his sunglasses slip down slightly, just enough for you to get a direct glimpse of his eyes. They lock onto yours—those bright, vivid blues—and for a second, everything else around you fades into the background.

“Seriously though,” he murmurs, voice softer now. “You okay?”

There’s something undeniably genuine in his tone, something that cuts through the playful exterior and lands right in your chest. You weren’t expecting that—this tenderness from someone who moments ago had brushed off a near-fight like it was nothing.

His eyes—soft but still burning with intensity—hold yours captive, and for a second, you forget how to speak.

“Uh… yeah,” you manage, “I think so.”

“Good,” he says with a nod, pushing his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose. “Because I think you owe me a ‘thank you’ for that stellar rescue.”

You blink out of incredulity.

Thank you?

So much for tender—who does this guy think he is? You nearly scoff aloud. He wants a 'thank you' for a rescue that, truthfully, you weren’t even sure you needed?

Unsure whether you’re amused or annoyed by his arrogance, you open your mouth to respond—but before you can say anything, he cuts you off with a wink.

“Kidding,” he says with a chuckle, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction. “Always happy to help.” His hands settle into his pockets and he pauses, the corner of his mouth lifting just slightly. “Especially when it means I get to rescue a pretty girl like you.”

The compliment lands harder than you’d care to admit as you feel the warmth creeping up your neck and into your cheeks—betraying the fact that—against your better judgment—you’re not entirely immune to his charm.

A flicker of something stirs in your chest…

—nope. Let’s not go there.

Pushing it down before it can grow into something more, you refuse to let that feeling root itself.

You’re not looking for attention, especially not from a guy like this—a guy who flashes a cocky grin like he knows it works. The kind of guy who acts like the world bends to his whims.

Romance? No thanks. You’ve got bigger things to focus on. He’s exactly the kind of distraction you don’t need.

“Rescue might be a strong word,” you mutter, finally finding your voice again as you cross your arms over your chest. “I had it under control… mostly.”

“Oh, you did? My bad,” leaning in slightly, his voice lowers as if sharing a secret. “But trust me, that guy? He was one wrong word away from turning this into a full-on disaster. You’re lucky I stepped in when I did.”

You can’t help but raise an eyebrow at his comment, refusing to let him rattle you this time, and there’s a flicker of amusement creeping into your voice as you challenge him.

“Lucky, huh? So, what now? You expecting a medal or something?”

His grin widens—a grin that’s undeniably magnetic, but you resist being pulled into its orbit.

“Naaaah, I’m not that high maintenance,” straightening himself, he regards you with a slight tilt of the head. “But… I’ll take a coffee if you’re offering.”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by his response.

Did he just… ask you out?

“Wait, what?” you stammer, not quite sure you heard him right.

“A coffee,” he repeats smoothly. “Y’know, like a reward for my heroic efforts.” He pauses, just long enough to make it clear he’s toying with you. “Or is that too forward? I can settle for your number instead.”

You can’t help the scoff that escapes your lips—a sharp exhale that’s part disbelief, part amusement. This guy is unbelievable.

Nope. You’re not going to let him get to you that easily.

“I don’t even know your name,” you shoot back, lifting your chin just a little higher, “and you’re already angling for a reward?”

“Ouch, y/n,” he replies, placing a hand dramatically over his chest as if you’ve wounded him deeply—his grin, however, never falters. “That stings.”

You stare at him, your brows furrowing in confusion.

“How do you…?”

“How do I know your name?” he finishes for you, clearly enjoying this a little too much. He tilts his head. “Well, for starters, your nametag.”

Oh.

You glance down quickly and—of course—there it is, printed neatly on the tag pinned to your shirt, and now you are mentally kicking yourself for not realizing sooner.

“Right… of course,” you shake your head in mild embarrassment. It’s infuriating how easily he’s messing with you.

An amused chuckle dances on his lips and he leans back ever so slightly—hands in his pockets like he has all the time in the world.

“But that’s not the only reason I know you,” he adds, voice taking on a more playful tone, almost like he’s daring you to figure it out. “You really don’t recognize me, do you?”

You blink, trying to piece together where you might’ve seen him before. There’s something vaguely familiar about his voice…have you heard it before? Do you know him?

“I don’t…” you start, trailing off, searching for any spark of recognition, but you come up blank. “Uhh… should I?”

Flashing you a toothy smile, he's clearly delighted by your confusion.

“Ouch again. Double whammy,” with a dramatic sigh, he shakes his head in mock disappointment as his crooked grin curves up. “I guess I’m not as memorable as I thought.”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his theatrics, and despite yourself, the corner of your lips do too. Ugh. You want to be irritated with him but somehow, he makes it incredibly hard to be.

“Right… well,” tilting your head, your voice dips with playful sarcasm, “maybe if you told me your name, it might jog my memory?”

With a soft chuckle, he slides his sunglasses off and rests them on top of his head, and just like that, you’re greeted with the full, unobstructed view of his eyes—striking, electric blue, so vivid they almost don’t seem real, and they lock onto yours with an intensity that sends a flutter through your chest.

“Satoru,” he says smoothly, as if his name alone should be enough to make everything click. “Gojo Satoru.”

The name floats in your mind, like it’s circling around something, but still, nothing concrete surfaces. He seems so confident—so sure that you should know who he is—and it only adds to your frustration.

Do you know him?

Generally, you keep to yourself, both at work and on campus—with your moms condition you don’t really have time for the exciting college life. Tilting your head, your eyes narrow as you study his face—surely, you would have remembered someone like him... wouldn’t you?

“Gojo Satoru…” you test the name on your tongue as if saying it aloud might unlock some hidden memory. But still—nothing. “Sorry, not ringing any bells.”

Satoru laughs again, rich and unbothered, like this is the highlight of his day.

“Wow, I’m really striking out today,” he shakes his head in mock dismay. “I guess I’ll have to try harder next time.”

Before you can muster a response, he reaches out casually, plucking a pair of drumsticks from an endcap display nearby, twirling them between his fingers like it’s second nature. He examines them for a moment, then looks back at you with a raised brow.

“So, since we’re here and I’m feeling generous… how about you check me out?”

You glance down at the drumsticks in his hand, then back up at him—his expression is unreadable, that signature smirk lingering as if he’s waiting for you to catch up.

“...you mean ring up the drumsticks, right?” you clarify, though your voice is uncertain.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he murmurs, and then, with a sly wink, he adds, “But I don’t mind if you do both.”

For a beat, your breath hitches, and you fight back the urge to roll your eyes.

Okay—this is guy is definitely a flirt. You’re not falling for his trap.

“Wow… you’re really not subtle, are you?” reaching out, you snatch the drumsticks from his hand. “How many women actually fall for that?” you turn on your heel towards the counter, and he follows in step.

“Hmm…I’m not exactly keeping score,” he admits. “But let’s just say I don’t hear too many complaints.”

Glancing back at him, you arch an eyebrow as you approach the register—fingers automatically moving to unlock your cash drawer, and he leans casually against the counter beside you, propping his elbow on it—like he owns the space.

“Will say though,” he adds, voice dipping lower, “I don’t usually have to try this hard. You’re pretty special.”

You scoff, your fingers hesitating slightly over the keys, though you refuse to let him see how his words make a tiny flutter bloom in your chest.

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” you mutter under your breath, trying—and failing—to focus solely on the transaction.

Satoru hums, watching you with that same playful gleam in his eyes.

“Nah,” his tone drops to something almost conspiratorial, “you’re definitely one of a kind.”

Yup. He’s a smooth talker—and without a doubt, bad news.

Pressing your lips together, you force your gaze to remain on the screen in front of you. He’s playing a game, and you’re determined not to lose.

As you scan the barcode on the drumsticks, he casually pulls out his wallet to pay, and that’s when something catches your eye—a student ID peeking out from the clear pocket inside his wallet.

Narrowing your eyes slightly, your fingers hover mid-air as you get a better look. The ID is familiar—yet you can't make out the school’s name plastered right across it, but the logo and the colors are unmistakable.

Wait a second…

“We go to the same school?”

Satoru looks up, his grin stretching even wider and the glimmer in his eyes practically daring you to catch up—he’s been waiting for this moment.

“Took ya long enough,” he teases, playful but with a hint of smugness. “Yeah, we do.”

You blink, the pieces clicking together a little too late.

“Why didn’t you say something sooner?” you demand, unable to stop the half-accusatory, half-embarrassed tone that underlines your voice. A groan slips past your lips and you shake your head in frustration. “I swear…you’ve been messing with me this whole time.”

With an amused chuckles, Satoru lifts his shoulders in a casual shrug.

“Hey, it’s more fun this way,” he leans in a little closer, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you. “Besides,” he pauses, tilting his head just slightly while his lips curve into a sly grin. “I like watching you piece things together. You’ve got this cute little furrow in your brow when you’re thinking hard.”

The intensity in his eyes makes your breath hitch, and no matter how hard you resist, there’s that undeniable flutter in your chest, warm and unwanted.

“How come I’ve never seen you around?” you ask, trying to steer the conversation back onto safer ground.

“Oof. You’re killing me, y/n. I pass by you every day, actually.”

You frown, narrowing your eyes.

“Every day? Where?”

“The water fountain,” he says smoothly, tapping his fingers on the counter rhythmically, just a light touch. “Y’know, where you sit and study. Every afternoon, without fail. I walk by almost every day.”

Ah. That’s why his voice must’ve sounded familiar. You probably heard him—another voice blending into the background while you were studying.

“Really? Guess I never noticed you.”

Resting his chin in his hand, a dramatic huff falls from Satoru's lips as they form into a pout.

“Jeez…you don’t quit. I can’t believe I’m that forgettable.”

You can’t resist the soft laugh that escapes you, despite yourself—it’s hard not to find his antics at least a little amusing, and though you’d never admit it, the way he’s so desperate for your attention is almost… cute.

“Maybe you just blend into the background too much,” you shoot back, raising an eyebrow while extending your hand, silently gesturing for his payment.

“Ouch...” he winces dramatically, pulling out his card before placing it in your hand. “Okay, that one stung a little.”

“Yeah, well… I’m sure your ego will recover,” you quip, glancing up briefly before focusing back on the transaction. But there’s a brief pause as you swipe his card—a silence that suddenly feels charged with something else.

You can feel his gaze lingering on you, heavy and expectant, and you try your hardest not to give in to the pull to look at him again—but the heat of his attention is unmistakable, almost like a gravitational force pulling you in, and you can feel your pulse quicken under his scrutiny.

“I gotta say, you’ve got a sharp tongue—I like it,” he murmurs.

Your fingers freeze for just a second, your breath hitching slightly as his tone shifts, and you can’t resist—your eyes flick up and he holds your gaze captive yet again.

“But it’s a bad habit, y’know,” he continues, his voice dropping, growing more intent as his eyes flicker over your features. “Not being aware of your surroundings like that...” leaning in just a fraction, his words become a quiet murmur between the two of you. “What if some creep tried to take advantage of you?”

The gentleness in his demeanor… is he genuinely concerned? It’s hard to tell—harder than you’d like to admit—and it’s easier to convince yourself he isn’t—that this is all part of his charming routine, because that makes it easier to ignore the subtle pull he has on you.

“Well,” you keep your voice steady, despite the flutter in your chest, “lucky for me, no one’s tried. Unless…” tilting your head slightly, a teasing smirk tugs at your lips, “you’re secretly admitting to being a creep.”

Satoru’s laugh spills out, rich and warm, breaking the moment just enough for you to catch your breath.

“Nah, I’m not creep,” his voice lightens as he straightens up just a little. “Just a concerned citizen looking out for someone who’s too absorbed in her textbooks to notice the world around her.”

You huff, though the corners of your mouth twitch upward against your will.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much,” you quip back, determined to maintain control over the situation. In a quick, defiant motion, you grab the receipt and shove it into his hand, a small victorious gesture.

“Right, right. You definitely proved that today when I swooped in for the rescue,” he teases, and his hand brushes yours ever so briefly as he takes the receipt—a touch so light is sends a tiny spark up your arm. “But hey, what if you don’t show up at the fountain one day? I’m gonna have to file a missing person’s report.”

You can’t help but laugh at his ridiculousness, the sound escaping before you can stop it.

“A missing person’s report? Seriously?” you roll your eyes.

“Yup,” he grins, emphasizing the ‘p’. “You’re there so often it’s practically routine. Same spot. Same time. Every day. It’s kinda predictable, y/n. If I don’t see you there one day, I’ll just assume some creep finally got to you.”

You narrow your eyes at him, though you can’t help the faint heat rising in your cheeks.

“Predictable?” you retort, trying to sound indignant. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh, you are,” he counters, clearly reveling in your reaction as he slips the receipt in his pocket. “But hey, that’s not a bad thing. It makes you easier to find if you ever disappear.”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes, a snappy reply ready on your tongue, but he’s already raising his hands with a dramatic flair, like he’s about to paint the scene in vivid detail.

“I can see it now: ‘Missing: Cute girl who spends way too much time by the water fountain. Last seen buried in a psychology textbook. Answers to y/n.’”

It’s impossible not to laugh again, the sound bubbling up as you watch him weave his ridiculous scenario with such confidence and flair. His eyes flick to yours, and a satisfied grin tugs at the corner of his mouth—clearly pleased with the effect he’s having on you.

“Wow,” you manage between chuckles. “You’ve really thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement, leaning slightly closer. “Gotta be prepared. I don’t want anything happening to my favorite water fountain girl.”

Your heart flips—and for a second, it feels like he’s given you some kind of title you didn’t realize you wanted. You try to brush it off, to ignore the warmth spreading across your cheeks, but it’s not so easy with the way he’s looking at you.

“Riiiight… well, lucky for you,” you manage, attempting to sound nonchalant, “I’m not planning on disappearing anytime soon.”

“Good,” he murmurs, low and smooth. “Because I’d miss seeing you.”

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the upper hand, though the small smile that tugs at your lips betrays you.

“Uh-huh. Sure you would.”

There’s a brief moment, just the two of you—his gaze still locked onto yours, when—

“Ahem.”

You jump slightly at the sound, turning to see Utahime standing beside you, arms crossed, a knowing smile pulling at the corner of her lips. She gives you a look—a very knowing look—that sends heat rushing to your cheeks all over again.

“I’m taking my break,” she says, her tone casual but her eyes dancing with mischief as they flick between you and Satoru. “So… don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

Suddenly hyper-aware of the tension in the air, you swallow hard and offer her a tight smile.

“No promises,” Satoru quips, that cocky grin returning to his face as he leans against the counter slightly—clearly unfazed by the interruption.

After Utahime saunters off, he continues smoothly, picking up right where he left off.

“So...” he starts again, “What do you say? How about you give me your number? Just in case I need it, y’know, for emergencies.”

He’s relentless, isn’t he?

Heat creeps up your neck as you blink from his boldness—with a soft, incredulous laugh, you desperately try to find your footing again.

“You really don’t give up, do you?”

That familiar and confident gleam glistens in his eyes as his grin widens.

“Not when it comes to someone as interesting as you.”

There’s a flicker of something in your chest—a flutter that you’re quick to squash.

“Mmm… sorry,” you murmur, tone sweet but firm. “But I don’t think you’re ready for that kind of disappointment. I’m really not interested in players.”

For the briefest moment, his grin falters, and something unreadable flashes behind his eyes—a momentary crack in his facade. It’s so quick, so subtle, that you almost miss it. But there’s just enough time to wonder if maybe you hit a nerve.

Still, Satoru recovers in an instant, his playful charm sliding back into place like nothing happened.

“That’s cold, y/n,” his voice light and teasing, though there’s a trace of something deeper, almost wounded, lurking beneath. “You really think I’m that kind of guy?”

Tilting your head slightly, you cross your arms over your chest as you study him—gaze sharp but not unkind.

“Yeah, well, I’ve met enough guys like you to know how this works.”

With a soft chuckle, and a smooth, almost lazy motion, he lowers his sunglasses from where they’re perched atop his head—resting them back on the bridge of his nose as the dark lenses now obscure his eyes from you.

He’s hiding behind them—letting them do the work of shielding his real thoughts. Huh. Typical behavior for someone who enjoys the chase but avoids real vulnerability.

“You’re quick to judge. I’m just a guy who knows what he wants. And right now? I just want your number.”

Classic deflection—you think. He’s not even denying it. Still... something about the way he says it makes that familiar flutter stir in your chest, and you hate it.

“Yeah... that’s not happening,” crossing your arms more tightly, you try to maintain control of the situation.

His hands come up in mock surrender as a small, amused sigh slips from his lips.

“Bummer,” he concedes, though there’s no real disappointment in his tone, only amusement. “But hey,” he picks up the drumsticks from the counter, “offer’s on the table if you ever change your mind.”

“Right... I’ll keep that in mind,” you dryly reply, knowing full well that you won’t.

“Please do,” he shoots back with that infuriatingly confident grin. “Besides, I’ll be seeing you around, water fountain girl.”

The familiar nickname brings an unwanted warmth that you attempt to shake off.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up, Gojo.”

But Satoru just steps back toward the door, exuding that same unshakeable confidence. “Oh, I’m not worried,” he says with a cocky smirk. “You’re predictable, remember? I know exactly where to find you.”

You open your mouth, ready to fire back with something witty, but before you can, he’s already halfway out the door, twirling the drumsticks between his fingers with effortless ease.

“See ya around, y/n,” he calls over his shoulder, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft jingle before you even have a chance to respond.

And just like that, the store feels quiet again, as if the air shifted back to normal now that he’s gone. You stand there for a moment, blinking at the closed door. You should feel relieved that he’s gone, that the exchange is over, but instead, you’re left with this strange, restless feeling you can’t quite shake.

What the hell just happened?

Shaking your head, you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. There’s a part of you that’s frustrated—frustrated at how easily he slipped under your skin, how effortlessly he managed to unsettle you with nothing but a grin and a few flirtatious remarks.

You hate that you’re even thinking about it. About him. He’s just another guy with too much confidence for his own good.

But something about the brief crack in his facade sticks with you. That fleeting moment where his grin faltered, and something else—something almost vulnerable—flickered behind those cocky blue eyes.

What was that?

With another shake of your head, you push the thought aside. He’s a flirt. A player. The kind of guy who never takes anything seriously.

That’s all there is to it.

You don’t have time to psychoanalyze every flippant guy who crosses your path, even if there’s a part of you that’s still curious.

Just as you’re about to shake off the thoughts entirely, your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your daze. You pull it out, glancing down at the screen.

Kyoko: Hey sweetie, just wanted to let you know your mom's been having a rough day today. She’s more confused than usual, keeps asking for you. Maybe you could visit soon?”

Reality crashes back in—grounding you in the weight of your responsibilities.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair, already mentally preparing yourself for the evening ahead.

You: Thanks for the update, Aunt Kyoko. My shift is almost over, I’ll be home soon.

Focus. There’s no room for distractions—not right now.

Not with Satoru Gojo. Not with anyone.

a/n. thanks for reading the debut of bomh (or i guess the re-debut since this is a rewrite? hehe). i'm excited to explore a lot of topics in this fic, and rewriting it definitely helped rekindle my passion for this story. so, i'm looking forward with whats to come! hope ya'll enjoyed 💕 → you are currently all caught up ♪

taglist:

@gojoslefttoenail @satoryaa @ninjaturtletoes @murtabuckz @sorcerersseestars

@reagan707 @sakurasimppp @sugxryratz @tkyemfk @lovelyjkook

@lovebittenbyevans @kaemaybae @bloopsstuff

[pablitogavii]

we need prank wars back🙌.

maybe where reader pranks gavi and she buys a man’s cologne and sprays it all over her to see his reaction,he gets confused,jealous,angry and ending with a smut?if you are comfortable of course.💗

love you

Instead of a cologne, let's do a shirt ;)

Whose shirt is that?

You were so excited to see Pablo's reaction when he gets home and finds you in a foreign men's shirt. You saw it in Zara while you were shopping and couldn't help the prank that came to mind.

"Amor, I'm back...joder I'm exhausted princesa" he said putting his crutched to the side and slowly walking towards you on the balcony.

"Hi, mi amor" he said kissing your lips and you put the book down getting up and kissing him back lovingly.

"Wanna take a bath cariño?" you asked knowing it helps with his knee pains but he was way to concerned with what you were wearing now to answer.

"Y/n..whose shirt is that?" he said sternly and you fought off the urge to laugh shrugging your shoulders and playing innocent.

"It's probably your old one...vamos" you trie pulling him towards the bathroom but he wasn't determined to move.

"It doesn't look old...and it's not mine! So whose shirt are you wearing! Answer me!" he was getting angrier the longer I played stupid but that was sort of the plan.

"If I tell you, don't be jealous?" you say internally smirking

"My girl is only wearing some other guys shirt and you want me not to be jealous! Joder, Y/n! Whose is it!" he was running his hand through his short hair in nervousness.

"Fine, then never-mind!" you kissed his lips pulling away with a smirk but his strong arms enveloped you pulling you in so that you were facing each other.

"Whose shirt is it princesa!" he growled into your neck fighting an urge to kiss it.

"Do you like it on me?" you tease feeling his grip tighten sending shivers down your spine.

"No...I only like my shirts on your precious body because you're mine princesa" he whispered into your ear as you melted into his arms. Damn it Gavira, you were driving me crazy!!!

"We should go to bed, it's cold here Pablito" you say but he wouldn't let you go.

"We're not going anywhere until you tell me whose shirt is that" he said angrily now and you sighed turning a bit so that your arms can wrap around his shoulders.

"Hm...it's nobody's cariño. I bought it today to prank you, see it still has a tag on" you show him and he sighs in relief puling you even closer and kissing your lips lovingly.

"My little player...I'll get you back for this one" Pablo smirked kissing you again as you both moved towards the bed where he laid you down and hovered above you.

"Pablo...ugh...your knee" you remind him and he sighs laying back in frustration but you had another idea moving slowly towards him and kissing down his chiseled chest.

You slowly unbuttoned the shirt tossing it to the floor with a smirk on your face which matched his.

"Hm I'll apologize properly to you cariño..." you said moving in and kissing his lips before slowly tailing downwards while he laid back and enjoyed your ministrations.

"Hm...I might want to keep this shirt" he said and you giggled nodding your head continuing to please your man while he let his hands explore your body.

[swannieluv]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖꩜ Alchemy, bombs... Family? - PLATONIC Albedo and Klee x Child!Reader

✦⸼࣪⸳𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐜: 1,4k

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: Mentions of injuries.

✦⸼࣪⸳A/N: Just a small concept I'd like to share. I'm planning to post more and turn this into a small series if you guys like it <3

It was no secret that Albedo and Klee were a small family. The energetic girl in red who passed by like a flickering spark; and the mysterious alchemist who looked after her. Ever since Alice left to live her adventures, Albedo has been playing a major role in taking care of the small knight.

When Klee wasn't in solitary confinement, it was because she was certainly out exploring and blowing things up. Even though she has a small stature and innocent eyes, the rule of never underestimating her always stood. When unsupervised Klee could destroy everything, no exceptions.

And unlike all her past adventures, which had ended in explosive discoveries - which were mostly made up of toasted fish and monster remains - she had made a discovery that, hopefully, wasn't harmful to society as a whole.

It was just another day of fun for the little girl, who had just been released from the tedious hell of solitary confinement. She would only go up the Dragonspine to meet her older brother, Albedo and play for a while before going back to her other activities.

"Klee's finally going to show off her new jumpty dum-"

While bouncing around quietly, she lost her balance by tripping over something and fell face-first to the ground. Luckily for her, the fall was covered by snow. After seconds of shock, she turned around to check what she had tripped over.

Well, not exactly something, but someone.

A child who appeared to be older than her was there, on the ground, covered by the snow. They weren't dressed in the same clothing citizens of Mondstadt would wear, with a thick coat and boots specially crafted

to help them get around in the snow. Even though their outfit was made for the cold, it was in shambles and their boots were completely worn out.

There was no reaction from them, which created an immediate sense of panic on the girl, who immediately thought she had killed them.

"Oh no, oh no! I’m sorry!" She looked down and then to the sides in panic. “I-I’ll grab Mr. Albedo!”

She ran off, desperately up the mountain. Her eyes filled with tears as she hurried to the Albedo Campsite. Klee ran so fast that even the hilichurs scattered around the site were confused.

When Klee finally reached her destination, she started screaming to call his attention. It worked, since he seemed to have heard her.

"Mr. Albedo! Mr. Albedo!"

There he was, fiddling with his little notebook while making some sketches (which would be left completely unfinished). When Albedo turned his gaze to her, he couldn't help but notice the hot tears flowing from her eyes.

"Klee? What happened?"

He crouched down next to her and put his hands on her shoulders, the sketchbook already abandoned in some corner.

"K-Klee hurt someone! But it was an accident, I swear!"

His face darkened, but not in a way that frightened her. If what Klee really confessed was true, she would be in serious trouble. Solitary confinement would be silly next to the consequences she could receive, since her bombs are quite powerful. He feared he wouldn't be able to help her out of this situation this time.

"Did you... hurt a person? Take me there, quickly please."

She began to guide him down the mountain. The two of them with distressed faces racing against time to get to where Klee had found the injured person. When they arrived, the child was still there.

Albedo knelt down next to them and cautiously measured his pulse; there were signs of life. He let out a relieved breath as he checked.

"Are you sure you hurt them, Klee?"

He asked before cradling them in his arms. There was no trace of destruction at the scene or any wound that looked like it had been caused by a catalyst, Klee's weapon. This indicated that perhaps there had been a misunderstanding there.

"I was running and then... boom! I fell!

"When I looked back, they were lying there! But Klee promises it was just a little accident!”

"Got it." He looked at her, seeing her eyes full of guilt. "But maybe you didn't hurt them. Don't think about it too much, okay?"

"Okay..."

The two made their way all the way back to the Campsite, where Albedo treated the wounds and warmed the child with blankets. It wasn't too difficult to raise their body temperature when you had Klee around; the girl herself was already a walking heater due to her pyro vision.

"Hm...?"

They opened their eyes, taking in their surroundings and the two people in front of them. Two blonds with big eyes, at least in their point of view at the moment.

"Wait a minute... where am I?"

"You're safe.”

They sat up and looked directly at Albedo. However physically unstable, they were in a state of alertness around the two of them. Who wouldn't? Waking up in an unknown place with unknown people when you just passed out. It’s definitely a weird setting.

"Safe where exactly?"

"Mondstadt! The city of freedom!" the youngest exclaimed with her hands up to the air and a big smile. "Although we're on the Dragonspine... but it still counts, I guess."

"Mondstadt..." They looked around in confusion before their eyes widened and they started looking all over the place for something.

"Looking for this, perhaps?"

Albedo held out his hand to them. A slightly dirty anemo vision met their eyes, calming their racing hearts. There was still hope while this gem still shone.

"Oh, for the Archon..."

"From your clothes, you don't look like you come from Mondstadt." Albedo returned their gaze, placing it in their palms while offering a friendly smile.

"I don't know... I can't remember anything."

"What do you mean you don't know? Can you at least remember your name?"

They tried to answer, but soon gave up. Their faces bore an expression of confusion that made it clear that they were completely clueless.

"I don't know if I even have a name-"

"Then can I give you one?"

Klee watched them with a smile on her chubby face. The joy in her eyes was evident.

"I think... you can."

Klee then put her hands together and began to think of various name ideas. Perhaps allowing a child to choose a name is one of the worst decisions possible. But Klee was too cute to deny it. It would be cruel to shatter her heart when she was so excited.

"Dodoca...? That way you have a name that matches dodoco’s."

"What?"

The two of you stared at each other for an uncomfortable second. They were completely speechless. What kind of name was that?! They were young, of course. But even so they knew it was a bad choice.

"Klee... I think it would be better if you choose from a list instead of creating a name."

"Why?" She put a finger over her lips, thinking about the option on offer.

"Wouldn't it be better to have several options instead of just one? You might think of a better name later and regret having thought of this one."

Albedo spent a few minutes thinking and writing down some options on a sheet of paper. When he had finished, he presented them to Klee. Some were popular names in Mondstadt and others more unique. He seemed to have written down more than twenty options.

Klee went through them one by one, looking at the other child a few times to try and find one that matched.

"What about... [Name]?"

She pointed to one name in particular, drawing the attention of the other two to herself. It was a cool name with an even cooler meaning.

"I think it's a good name, but the final decision is up to the one who'll receive it."

"I... I like it!" Their smiles widened a little, causing Klee's to widen even more. Perhaps Klee had finally found a new friend to whom she could introduce Qiqi and Diona.

"So it will be [Name] until your mind remembers your real name."

Albedo smiled and patted both their heads gently. His hands, even with gloves, were cold; but that wasn't a problem at the time. His touch was gentle and gave a sensation of safety.

"Welcome, [Name]."

✦⸼࣪⸳♡ BONUS:

"So... you blow up the fish?"

[Name] was holding some of Klee's bombs cautiously. He was looking at the lake in front of them, where shoals were calmly passing by.

"Yes! Do you want to try?"

"Of course."

And that's how the first double solitary confinement in Mondstadt's history was carried out. The Intendant Grand Master's headaches were far from over.

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: The moment Mingyu saw you on the beach in that skimpy bikini, it was over for him. Pairing: Mingyu x fem!reader Rating: R18+ Genre: smut Tropes: spring break au Word Count: 1,525 Warnings: language Smut Warnings: public sex, body worship, breast play, unprotected sex, creampie

Chapter 1: Honey Flavored Lips ៚ WITT Masterlist ៚ Chapter 3: Patience is Key

The last thing Mingyu wants to do right now is sit in the bungalow. He slept on the couch last night and will be for the whole week; he’s not the most pleased with the arrangement, but at least it’s a comfy sectional. He weighs his options and ultimately decides another day on the beach couldn’t hurt at all. If anything, that’ll be the most fun option without getting absolutely drunk at 2 pm in a club. The club is a half-hour drive away into the city anyway. It’s not very easy to do without a rental car. He doesn’t even bother to ask the others if they want to join him. Changmin and Hyunguu are off exploring the town and the jungle that lies just behind it. San and Jaehyun went to the nearby city earlier, and Youngkyun is likely still a recluse despite them being in a tropical location.

He leaves the house after preparing, and, of course, he lacks a shirt. Why should he wear one when he is on the beach anyway? His hair is up and out of his face, and he still wears a silver chain despite his lack of clothing on his upper half.

Luckily, the beach isn’t too busy despite the nice day. He sets up his spot and stays sat on the sand for a while. There are a few other people in his surrounding area but not too close that he feels like he’s on top of them. It’s not too hot that he feels the need to be in the water, and the wind isn’t too strong to make him feel the need to bake in the sun, either. It’s just all around a really nice day.

He notices a gorgeous girl walking up the beach and toward the beach blanket set up nearby his. Her bathing suit leaves just enough to the imagination that Mingyu wants to know more. It couldn’t hurt to at least try, right? The moment she’s settled and laying belly down on her place, Mingyu glances over. His glance must’ve been more of a look because she looks over at him and giggled quietly.

“Enjoying the view?” you ask flirtatiously.

“Is it so bad if I am?” he flirts back.

You chuckle, flipping your hair over one shoulder, “You trying to do something about it?”

Mingyu smirks, leaning back on his hands behind him. He looks up in the sky for a second, then drops his gaze back down to you. You’re giving him a rather suggestive look. It conveys very clearly to him. He returns your gaze, and it tells you all you need to know.

“There’s a private bathhouse over by those palms.” you jerk your head in the direction of the trees.

“I do need to learn the beaches a little better. Care to show me where you mean?”

You stand up, brushing a bit of dry sand off your chest and stomach. You can feel his eyes on you, and you absolutely love how easily you can get a reaction out of him. You walk over to him, swinging your hips a little extra, and stop right in front of him. You squat down, resting your butt on your heels. His eyes are transfixed on your chest, which is now basically at his eye level. You reach out a hand in his direction.

“Let me show you around then.” you ask with undertones of flirting.

He takes your hand, “Show me the way, beautiful.”

You’re pinned to the wall of the bathhouse the moment you step inside with the tall man. His lips are immediately on your throat, pulling sweet sounds from you. He has one hand holding your hip while the other is playing with your chest. Your hands find their way around his neck and up into his hair. You gently tug at the locks soliciting a quiet groan from the man. His hand travels around to your back from your chest. He pulls the string that’s holding your bikini top shut, and then you feel the release of the fabric.

“So fucking beautiful.” he sighs, “If we weren’t stuck in this stupid building, I’d spend so much time making you feel good. We don’t have a whole lot of time, though, do we?”

“We could go to yours or-”

Before you can finish your thought, he takes one of your nipples into his mouth a swirls his tongue around it. His hand that had previously been untying your top returns to your chest, playing with the breast not occupying his mouth. Your breath is stolen from your lungs, and you grip his hair just a bit tighter so as to hold onto a bit of sanity. You start to grind against him, hoping that he catches your drift and fucks you soon.

“God damn,” he moans slightly, “you okay if I fuck you raw? I didn’t bring anything with me.”

“If you don’t fuck me in the next thirty seconds, I’ll leave and find someone who will.” you threaten, though there’s no intent behind it.

Mingyu chuckles slightly, knowing there’s no true threat to your words. His lips continue to kiss paths across your body in any way he can. You snake your hands down his muscular form and into the front of his bathing suit. You feel a shot of arousal run through your body and center itself in your core, just thinking about how well he’ll fill you up. He lets out a shaky breath as you start to move your hand around his member. His hand moves away from your chest and glides across your side to tug at the strings holding the lower half of your bathing suit together. The moment one side falls loose, his fingers quickly find your clit and rub circles on it. It takes everything in you not to crumble against his body.

“You’re so wet. Bet this pretty pussy would take me so well.” he muses between a few kisses to your collarbones, “Let’s see if I’m right.”

You can’t think of anything to say. Your brain is practically mush hearing and feeling how he worships your body. You simply shove his bathing suit down as best you can to finally release him from the fabric. Within moments he’s fully inside you, and if you thought you couldn’t think straight before, now is even worse. He waits a few moments to allow you to adjust to his size. Still, he kisses any skin he can reach on your body, whispering praise between each one.

“Y-you can move; please move.” you practically moan.

“So fucking pretty, and you take me so well. Fuck, ‘m gonna start moving now, pretty girl.”

When he starts moving his hips, you swear that you see heaven. He’s hardly started, but you already have a continuous stream of moans and whimpers escaping your lips. Your back is pressed against this wall rather uncomfortably, and your hair is definitely a mess, but right now, all you can think about is how good he’s making you feel. He’s an expert with his hips, rocking them at a pace that isn’t too fast or slow. His fingers never stop drawing circles against your clit. You clench around him slightly, making him groan against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

“If you squeeze me like that, I don’t know how long I’ll last, beautiful.” he warns you.

“Can’t help it,” you breathe out, “you feel so good inside me.”

Soon enough, Mingyu’s pace becomes rougher and slightly uneven. You couldn’t care less since your high was quickly approaching. You feel like you’re on cloud nine, high off of the adrenaline of fucking a stranger in a public place. Just as you’re about to topple over the edge of an orgasm, you hear someone outside the small bathhouse. The man fucking you couldn’t seem to care less, though. You moan loudly but try your best to muffle the sound against his neck.

“Don’t hide those pretty sounds,” he tells you, “those guys out there are just my housemates; they won’t mind one bit.”

Normally, something like that would make panic swell in your belly. This time though, it makes you feel more of a rush of arousal bolt through you. Tossing your head back against the wall of the building, you let your moans fly free. The tall man warns you that he’s about to cum, and you let him know he’s more than welcome to cum inside you. When he does, it triggers your own orgasm, and he carries you through it with the continued stimulation to your clit, now combined with him toying with your nipples again. His hips slow to a stop. Both of you pant, trying to catch your breath. He chuckles slightly and rests his forehead on the wall beside yours.

“I, um, I never caught your name.” you admit.

“Mingyu,” he informs you, “that was one hell of an adventure for being strangers, huh?”

“Mmh,” you hum in agreement, “You gonna be around the rest of the week?”

“Name a time and place, gorgeous. I’ll be there.”

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[smoothielenny]

ʟɪʟʏ ᴘᴀᴅ

Part Two

Ao’nung x Human!fem!reader

Summary: your mother finally allowed you to go outside and explore your new home. Your excited to meet some new friends, but that excitement died quickly when you are treated horribly.

Warning: bullying, teasing

[one•two•three•four•five•six•seven]

It’s been two day since your mother permitted you to go outside. You’ve been having fun seeing the world around you. Playing with kids (who eventually be pulled away when their parents saw you.), watching Lo’ak fail his lesson (your very own entertainment) and just admiring the ocean. You’re not bum out like your siblings when moving here, in fact you’re excited to know about a new type of landscape in Pandora.

You went outside this afternoon after lunch wanting to make those sand castles you’ve saw from your late mother’s pictures. You found a great spot where it’s close to the water yet won’t wash away your sculptures. You happily pat your sand bump trying to remember those sand castles and copying them.

While enjoying your activity, two metkayina boys known their presence by kicking your sculpture. Your eye’s furrowed and look up at them, cheeky smirk on their faces. You pouted your lips looking back at your destroyed sand castle. The joy you had minutes ago gone because of these assholes.

“Hey, demon! Why don’t you go back to your marui so we don’t have to see you!” They snickered saying those words. Your face seems hurt from what they’ve said. You’ve never felt any sadness from someone treating you like crap, but this one, no one ever called you a demon, well except when you first arrived here (by the Tsahik.)

You stood up and look up at them, “what’s your deal!?” pushing them lightly showing your anger. All they did was giggle, what would a small mere human would do anyways? You look to weak to even beat them and that is true, Neytiri always treat you like a fragile glass, she never let you go out unless someone is with you, not being Lo’ak.

“We don’t want you here, leave!” They yelled. Your face drop from hearing that, you’ve been ignored or glared before because of you being a human, but not saying something like that. It’s just horrible. Your eyes started to water, lips trembling, body stiffened. You feel like breaking down in front of them and that’s the reaction they wanted from you. To cry before them.

“Hey! Leave her alone!” All of you turned around where those words came from. It was Ao’nung, the boys then fled not wanting to deal with him. You knew Ao’nung by Lo’ak, Neteyam, Kiri’s story and all of those stories combine lead to a conclusion: he’s a mean one.

You look down refusing to make eye contact. Is he also gonna bully you too? Like the way he did to your siblings? Well that wouldn’t be a surprise.

“You alright?” Your head lifted facing at him. His face is blank, you couldn’t tell what emotion he has on his face. As if he’s dead, but it might just be the lighting. You nodded backing away a little from him. Feeling a bit queasy near him.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” He said and turn around going back to his own business. He doesn’t seem so bad from what you’ve heard. You tiptoed following him, but Ao’nung knows, your little feet making sounds with the sands is enough to know you’re behind him. He turned around staring down at you. You look up at his ocean eyes still looking dead.

“You should go back to your marui, or else they’ll be back again.” You shook your head and walked close to him, “but if you’re near me, you’ll defend me, right?” His cheeks warmed quickly. Well you are right, he won’t allow those skxawng bully you again. It hurts to see you like that taking those words from them fro some reason. You are pure to his eyes and he won’t let anyone dirtied you.

You both have been walking in silence, no idea to break it. You were too distracted on seeing a lot of new trees, ilus, and others. Ao’nung on the other hand is a nervous wreck, tho he hide it very well. He doesn’t know how to talk to you, if he open his mouth he thinks that words would be fumbled when they come out.

“What is that?” You pointed at the creature that has a wings yet can still swim. He looks at it and smiles, “it’s a skimwing, only the elders can ride it.” You nodded. You continued to watch it fly, it reminded you an ikran, you love riding on an ikran with Neytiri, if she has a free time she usually takes you out with Tuk to fly at night.

“I wanna ride one!” Your excited tone made Ao’nung’s heart warm. He likes seeing so excited. Few days earlier you were finding some good shells to use for accessories and you find a big one with pretty colors shine when sun hits it. Unbeknownst to you, Ao’nung was watching you a few yards away, not wanting to be caught by you and definitely not wanting to be caught by his sister.

“If I’m old enough to get one, we could ride it… together.” His last word was a whisper, but you heard it and turned around showing him your smile. His heart beating so fast seeing your beautiful smile. He was in paused for a bit until waving your hands cut it off.

“You alright there?” You asked with concern. He just nodded. You both continued to walk, now talking to each other with no hesitation. While walking you heard your brother, Neteyam, calling your name. You turn around to greet him with a smile, he also gave you a smile then it turn into a blank face when he saw Ao’nung.

“(y/n), mother is worried, you should go home.” He said as his eyes glare at Ao’nung. You just nodded and walked passed him. Before Neteyam follows you he gave Ao’nung a word, “try hurt her, your gone.” Then he left. Ao’nung didn’t know Neteyam could be this threatening, but he doesn’t plan to do that to you anyways. He just clicked his tongue and walk to his marui.

To be continued…

Tag list: @myh3artt

(Comment if you wanna tag in next chapter)

[holylulusworld]

Between a rock and a hard place (2)

Summary: You are in big trouble and in need of money. Two wolves are more than willing to help you. For a price…

Pairing: Mobster!Walter Marshall x fem!Reader x Mobster!August Walker

Warnings: angst, language, power imbalance, debts, scared reader, extortion, degrading, groping, implied mentions of prostitution, seduction, mentions of spanking, dirty talk, biting, darkfic, both brothers are not nice guys, mafia au

Between a rock and a hard place (1)

Between a rock and a hard place masterlist

“Cute, don’t you think?” Walter dips his head to watch you twirl in the light sundress he wants you to wear. He’s been toying with you for the last few days. So far, he hasn’t touched you. Walter prefers scaring you even more to make you compliant. “August stop scowling. I’m training our girl.”

“I don’t want a cute girl,” August snaps at his brother. “What I want is a wet cunt to take dick at my club.”

You try not to listen to them. If you let your mind wander while you twirl in your brand-new dress, you can pretend you’re not here, in their hands.

“August,” Walter gets up from his chair. He grabs your wrist to stop you from twirling, “I told you that she’s mine. If you behave, I’ll share. If not, she’s only my cute pet.”

“She owes us a fucking lot of money,” August raises his voice. He grabs your other wrist, tugging hard. “Come, it’s time to pay me back.”

“Hands off,” you whimper when Walter pushes his brother away. He shoves you behind his back and clicks his tongue. “One last time, you won’t get the girl. She’s mine to play with. If you want the money back so badly,” Walter gets something out of his pocket. He throws it at his brother and sneers. “Have my new car. It’s worth what she owes you.”

“You give away your car for some pussy?” August laughs at his brother’s possessiveness over you. “Brother, you don’t even know her! What has gotten into you, Walter?”

“That’s none of your business,” Walter grunts. “I never asked about the girls you fucked. Now shut the fuck up about the money. My mouse will pay me back every buck.”

Walter turns back around to cup your face. He hums as you stare up at him with wide, fearful eyes. 

“Walter, you can’t be serious! You just bought the car,” his brother hisses behind Walter’s back. “I’m talking to you!”

“Shush, sweet mouse,” Walter leans closer to whisper in your ear. “You are going to be such a good girl for me, right? Imagine, I go down on that sweet pussy and make you cum all over my face after I spanked this pussy raw.”

Your eyes widen, but your lips part and you press your thighs together at his words. 

“What are you doing?” August watches his brother move his hand to your neck to press his thumb against your pulse point. “Do you want my big hand to spank your sweet petals? I’ll make it hurt so good, sweetness.”

Your breathing quickens.

“Yeah, you’d love my big hand between your legs. Not only to explore your flesh but to conquer and claim,” he smirks knowingly. “I bet,” he dips his head to look at his brother, “she will let me hold her legs apart with a spreader bar and watch me spank her pretty cunt until it’s swollen and puffy.”

“Christ, Walter. That girl won’t survive a single session with you. Not with your hand, nor your cock! Give her to me. My customers are middle-aged losers wanting to get their dick wet.”

“Who tries to go easy on her now?” Walter smirks darkly. “I want her to become my perfect little cockslut. She will be mine, and writhe on my cock soon enough. I only need to prepare her for getting thoroughly destroyed.”

“She’s pressing her legs together,” August watches your reaction like a hawk. “I bet her cunt will be soaked after you spanked her.”

“Hmmm…” Walter nuzzles you. He scratches the sensitive skin on your neck with his thick beard, causing a shudder to run through you. “Do you want me to feel if you are already wet, mouse?”

“Nghh…” you fail to find your voice. Walter is a dangerous and cruel man. But also, intoxicating, and seductive. “I-please let me go home.”

“Home?” August laughs behind you. “Your home is gone. Everything you own, we snatched it before burning down that shitty house you called your home.”

“What?” You whimper. “The bank…no! I…I need to pay them. Please…”

“Shhh…” Walter sinks his teeth into your neck, forcing a scream to tear from your throat. Your hands instinctively grasp for his shoulders, confused if you want to push him off you or bring him closer. “You’ll have all you need here, with me. For now, you need to learn your place is in my lap.”

August crosses his arms over his chest. He must watch his brother bring you on his lap. Walter forced you to rest your head against his shoulder and started to pat your head and back. 

You broke down and started to cry the moment the brothers started to fight over your value. It was all too much. Losing your husband, your home, and your freedom within not even a week broke you.

“Brother, a word,” August tries to not lose his composure. It’s impossible to convince his brother to choose any other woman over you. “Walter!”

“Not so loud,” Walter shushes his brother. “She’s slowly calming down. You scared the shit out of her when you got your gun out.”

“Walter, with all due respect, you lost your damn mind. She’s just some pussy you want to fuck. Get it over with. Put her on the desk, stuff her cunt, and then, she can work at the club.”

“My answer stays the same,” Walter snarls in his brother’s direction. “She’s mine but I’m willing to share with you. Only you.”

“What if I’m not interested in her cunt?”

Walter runs his hand over your head, and down to your shoulders. He’s gently massaging your scalp, making you moan. You hate to admit it, but you relax in his arms.

“Do you think I care?” He grunts and angrily glares at August. “I was willing to share with you. If you are not interested in my sweet mouse, fine. More for me.”

You surrender to exhaustion and tiredness. Falling asleep in his lap, to let sleep bring you away from them for a moment, or a few hours.

“Walter, we need to talk about your behavior,” August tries once again. His brother brought you to his bedroom and covered you with his blanket, much to his brother's chagrin. “You act like you care about that pussy!”

“Brother,” Walter laughs. “I thought you got that I played with her. You are the bad cop, and I’m the good cop. Anytime you are bad to my sweet mouse, she seeks shelter in my arms. I told you that I want to train her to become my perfect little cockslut.”

August furrows his brows. He’s not sure if he can trust his brother with you. “You sure?” He questions. “We don’t have time to waste on some woman. If you only want to fuck her, keep her. I’ll take the car. If not…”

“She’s shy and sweet,” Walter grins like the devil. “I want to break her down to nothing and make her mine. After I’m done with her,” he shrugs. “I’m willing to hand her over to you and your club.”

The brothers stared at each other for a moment, and neither of them said another word. 

August still doesn’t know if he can believe his brother’s words. He can’t deny that having his way with you makes his cock swell. 

“If you lie to me, you’ll regret it, Walter.”

“Why would I do such a thing, brother?”

Part 3

Tags in reblog.

[chaos-is-beautifvl]

𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐩 𝐩𝐭. 𝟐

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: eddie munson x fem!reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after the first accidental and absolutely horrid incident with your dad, eddie isn’t all too keen on the idea of meeting him officially. spoiler alert: he has every reason to be worried || part one

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠: hopper!reader, fluff, tad bit of angst, ‘freak’ used derogatorily + affectionately, assumptions, hopper being this close 🤏 to having a heart attack, joyce being the best mom (besides steve), slight mean hopper bc he cares about his kids, mike again being a little shit, el being confused, jonathan needing to learn how to read the room & mentions of sex

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4596 (these are my blood, sweat, and tears - no actually, i think i got a paper cut)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: the long awaited sequel of doac is here! also, you guys are absolutely insane. 2,000+ NOTES??!! thank you so much! i hope you all enjoy part 2 as much as you did the first. feedback is golden, so please let me know what you think. feel free to send me a request. guidelines here and check out my other eddie fics here!

stay tuned for bonus chapters & maybe a part 3???

“I don’t think I can go through this again... Once was enough, but twice? No, no, no.”

Hopper was strewn across the couch, arms over his head and legs splayed out. He slumped over like he was tired of carrying the world’s weight on his shoulders.

“Can’t do what, Hop?” Joyce questioned, replacing the clothes in the dryer with the clothes in the washing machine. “Let your kid grow up?”

“Grow- Hold on, you’re on her side?”

Joyce rolled her eyes, starting the dryer and bringing her laundry basket over to the table to fold the clothes. “There are no sides.”

“No, no, you are. You’re on her side.”

“Okay, fine. I’m on your teenage daughter’s side, who has done nothing wrong.”

“Nothing wrong-?” Hopper sat up, ignoring the instant head rush that followed. “Joyce, she had a boy in her room - a boy - and if I hadn’t gotten there when I did, who knows what would have happened? I swear, it’s Mike all over again.”

Joyce tossed a pair of mismatched socks on the table, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again. She loves the man, but he constantly pushes her buttons. “I mean, she is at that age. It was only a matter of time before she got curious and started exploring her sexual-”

“Joyce!” Hopper groaned, covering his face with his palms as though that would prevent his ears from hearing her words. “Why the hell would you say that? You know something I don’t?”

She shot him an annoyed look, not withholding her eye-rolling. Heaving a sigh, Joyce turned to her laundry, taking note to sew the hole in Will’s shirt.

“She’s almost an adult. Do you expect her not to know or be interested in those things?” She refrained from using the forbidden ‘S’ word to prevent Hopper freaking out. Again.

“No! What kind of question even is that? What? Do you expect Jonathan and Will to be doing those things?” He threw his hands in the air, returning Joyce’s annoyed look. 

“Will, no. Jonathan, yes. I mean, c’mon, Hopper, you saying you weren’t like that when you were their age?”

The man could only grumble. Joyce was right. While he was significantly older, he hadn’t refined much since his teenage days. The problem was that even though he was as wild and free as ever, that didn’t mean he wanted to imagine or see his kids doing the same. The thought was grossly unfathomable to him.

Joyce sighed as she cast a glance at Hopper. She could see his inner turmoil, and although his reaction was overly exaggerated, she offered him some solace. 

“Look, Y/N is a good girl. I’m sure nothing is or was going on. It’s likely just what she said - they were playing around. Kids do that, you know. If you can somehow pull your head out of your ass, you’ll see why she didn’t tell you about him.” As Joyce was speaking, Hopper opened his mouth to spew what she knew were more excuses. She held her hand up, effectively shutting his mouth. 

“You don't even know the boy. He’s sweet, and he seems to care about Y/N a lot. That should make you happy.”

It did. Hopper wouldn’t admit it aloud, but he was glad that the little punk treated his daughter well, even if the man thought the boy had other intentions.

Joyce snapped as an idea came to mind. She turned to Hopper with a coy grin, and he didn’t like where she was headed. “Dinner. We’ll have dinner. And if you decide you still don’t like it, fine. But you have to try at least.”

After a few contemplative minutes, Hopper begrudgingly resigned, sinking further into the couch. “Fine. Dinner it is.”

——

You don't think you’ve ever seen Eddie so skittish. His eyes were wide and alert, and he constantly looked over his shoulder so he would be prepared if your crazy dad came charging at him again.

“D-Dinner?” Eddie sputtered over his words. “You want me to go to dinner with you and your dad? Your dad tried to kill me!”

The nearby patrons of the cafeteria stopped talking after Eddie's outburst, turning their full attention to you two. You smiled sheepishly, waving a hand dismissively. You were granted a reprieve when someone yelled across the cafeteria, and all staring was redirected.

You sighed, turning back to Eddie. “Look, I know my dad was…”

“Crazy, insane, deranged? Murderous, maybe?”

You grinned at Eddie's interruption. While you felt bad, seeing him so frantic was adorable. You hid your amusement behind your hand, clearing your throat and trying to get back to the issue. “You’re right. He was a bit murderous, but if he got to know you, he would love you.”

Eddie sent you a skeptical look, and you adjusted your words. “Love might be a bit strong, but he would definitely like you. I’m sure. I like you, and I happen to have very great judgment.”

“That’s debatable.” Mike interrupted as he plopped down in the seat next to you. 

You rolled your eyes, “Funny. Don’t think I asked for your opinion.”

“No, what’s funny is how Hopper tried to kill Eddie.” The boy opened a can of Coke, and the sizzling annoyed you just as much as he did. “He was like, ‘I'm going to kill you for dating my daughter’.”

Mike’s impression of Hopper wasn’t that far off, but his levity of the situation deterred your endeavors of convincing Eddie to come to dinner. Eddie was back on alert, not that he’d ever stopped being overly cautious.

“Dating?” Gareth asked as he and the rest of the crew joined the party. To say that you wanted you and Eddie to be alone was understated. “Congrats, guys. I didn’t even know.”

“Thanks, man. Just let me know if you see a man about yea high with a murderous look in his eyes.”

“Context, please.”

“Can we just leave it alone? Yes, Eddie and I are dating. No, you will not get any context.” You quickly shut down the impending questions that would follow once you and Eddie started explaining. 

You don’t think Eddie was paying much attention to the conversation anyway. He resorted to virtually sitting in your seat, hoping you might save him if your dad came around. You wanted to reassure him by explaining that even though your dad was homicidal the first time they met, he wouldn’t actually kill him. But, as you thought about it, you honestly didn’t put a thing past your dad. It is Hopper you're talking about. 

You overheard Dustin asking how nobody caught on to you two dating because he caught on after the first few times you hung out together. You couldn’t help but agree silently. You and Eddie had not been subtle about liking each other at all. 

Pushing the conversation to the back of your mind, you rekindled the one with Eddie. “He said he’d give you a chance, and, believe it or not, my dad hardly goes back on his word.”

Those were the wrong choice of words, it seemed, with how Eddie finally stopped glancing at all the available exits for his escape plan and whipped his head around to look at you with widened eyes.

He was progressively looking like a deer in headlights the more he thought about being brutally murdered by the chief of police. “So, he was, like, serious? About, you know, killing me?”

“Eddie, he never said he was going to kill you.” He didn't exactly say the words, but his actions proved otherwise. You didn't voice those thoughts, though.

Sighing, you grabbed Eddie’s hand. “I really like you, and it would take so much more than my, like you said, deranged dad to change that. And you totally don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but I want my dad to see you the way I do.”

Your words seemed to do the trick. Eddie laughed, and his grin resulted in one of your own. “Could’ve just told me you were obsessed with me, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing him away from you, “Shut it, Munson.” Pursing your lips to hide your smile, you squeezed his hand, “So... dinner?”

Eddie leaned his head back, hair sweeping behind his shoulders. He hummed before sitting up and wrapping an arm around you. “Dinner.” He held up a finger before you could thank him. “But only because I feel bad you’re terribly infatuated with me.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Aww, aren’t you guys cute?”

“Shut up, Mike,” both of you groaned, resulting in laughter from the group.

——

You think that inviting Eddie to dinner was a grave mistake. Hopper had been staring Eddie down the entire time, which made for an awkward conversation.

Just when you were about to ask your dad to stop terrorizing your boyfriend, he stabbed a fork in his mashed potatoes. “So, Munson, what are your intentions with my daughter?”

“Dad!” You groaned, sending him an annoyed look.

“What? It’s a simple question. It shouldn’t be too difficult for him to answer. Or maybe it is with all those extra years in school.” He grumbled the last words under his breath, and you were so close to giving him a big piece of your mind when Eddie replied.

“It’s fine, Y/N. And, uh, sir, I have no ‘intentions’ with your daughter. I just think she’s really cool, and she’s such an amazing person. So, yeah,” Eddie glanced over at you, offering a grin. “No intentions, but I really like her, sir.”

You took a sip of water, hoping the coolness would diminish the heat that swarmed your face at his compliments. Eddie was never one to shy away from telling you how he felt, but your heart skipped a beat or two faster with how he looked at you.

Eddie’s response was a good one, and there was nothing Hopper could say as much as he tried, so he only grumbled as he ate his potatoes.

The conversation went back to normal - talk about school, the new mall they were building, blah, blah, blah. Then it took a surprising turn.

Jonathan was pretty quiet during the entire span of dinner, scarfing down as much food as he could. You knew it was due to the hefty amount of purple palm tree delight Argyle left him with on his last visit.

That’s what led to him speaking. “Hey, Eddie…” Jonathan squinted as if he wasn’t sure Eddie was the one sitting in front of him. Eddie hummed, and Jonathan nodded, convinced that Eddie was indeed sitting in front of him.

“You still, uh, you still coming on the trip with us, man?”

Eddie’s head shot up so quickly you would think he got whiplash. His mouth opened and closed like a fish. You sent a wild look to Jonathan, waving your hands to get him to stop talking.

You hadn’t exactly meant for it to be a secret; you just never got around to telling your dad about it. And, in light of recent events, you decided it was best to wait until things blew over, but Jonathan seemed intent on ruining that plan.

Mike raised an eyebrow at your frantic movements, and you coughed, reaching for your water when Joyce sent you a concerned look. It seemed you weren’t transparent enough because Jonathan continued, despite your attempts at diffusing the situation. 

“This chicken is so good, Joyce,” was said as you picked at the piece to prove your point.

“You know,” Jonathan blinked slowly, mistaking Eddie's nonresponse as confusion. “To the Cali trip. I talked to my man, Argyle, and he can’t wait to meet you, you know, thinks you’re pretty rad.”

The silence that followed was loud, terribly so. Your fork was lifted halfway to your mouth with the chicken you suddenly didn’t have an appetite for anymore. 

Mike’s expression developed into shock and slight amusement, which pissed you off, but it wasn’t the time to reprimand him. Will’s widened eyes caught your gaze, sharing your mortification. Joyce looked like she might be close to laughing with how her lips rolled together. You wanted to be annoyed, but honestly, you can’t fault her. 

And El, not knowing why the table’s facial expressions ranged from mortified to humorous, tilted her head in confusion. Her brows furrowed, and you made a special note to start explaining things more. She was lost most of the time, and it’s your job as her big sister to direct her on the right path. That’s something you’ll worry about later, though.

Meanwhile, Eddie looked like he might shit a brick - a perfectly rectangular one. You’re sure you look the same. 

And Jonathan, the cause of the array of facial charades, was just as confused as El until it settled in. You wonder if some genetic thing makes the Byers form similar expressions. His face morphed into shock, like the rest of the crowd. The next he made was guilty, and you’re so glad he feels that way about the mess he created. His shaggy hair flipped around as he turned to you. You could barely understand the words he tried to mouth, but they were apropos of the situation, like ‘I’m so sorry.’ 

He should be.

A harsh clang of silverware on the table made everyone jump, removing them from their stupor. You don’t know how you or anyone else could have forgotten about Hopper. You slowly dragged your eyes over to your dad, and his expression exceeded all your expectations of what it would be. It’s comical and terrifying, and the way Eddie’s face paled, you think he might have actually shit that brick.

Hopper’s face was red, resembling the color of the salad bowl. Like the first unpleasant time he met Eddie, literal steam came from his ears and nose, nostrils flaring as he gripped the table.

You were trying to think of anything that could appease the situation. You screwed up. Majorly. Totally. Tragically. Your heart attempted to flee your chest cavity in hopes of escaping what appeared to be a perfectly disastrous situation.

“What. The. Hell?!” Hopper’s words came out in disgruntled anger, interrupting your meticulous planning, and you wished you hadn't tried to introduce the two. After all, you are the daughter of a cop, and this cop is notorious for taking things over the top.

“Dad, wait, I can explain-” The words tumbled out of your mouth before you thought of an actual explanation.

“Oh, you sure can, missy. Please tell me why you not only lied about who was going on the trip, but you were going to sneak off with him and do god knows what.”

You blubbered over your words as you twisted your fingers. You knew your dad had a temper, that much was evident when he tried to attack Eddie, but this was worse. You hated when he was mad, even more so when he directed it toward you.

“What, you have nothing to say? Go on, tell me! Tell me why my daughter has become someone completely different since meeting this freak!”

Any thought of not talking back in fear of making your dad angrier disappeared. You could handle him being mad at you - you didn’t like it, but it was tolerable. What you refused to tolerate was him treating Eddie like shit.

Standing up, you slammed your hands down on the table, rattling the silverware and the people at the table. You weren’t known for your outbursts so seeing you in this state was surprising to everyone, even your dad, who raised an eyebrow.

“You do not get to talk to him like that. God, Dad, you wanna know why I didn’t tell you? I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d do this - overreact.”

Hopper’s eyes widened, and he stood as well. “You think this is overreacting? Oh, trust me, you haven’t seen overreacting yet.”

“Don’t you hear yourself, Dad? You haven’t even given him a chance, and yet, somehow, your mind is all made up. Do you see the problem there?”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see everyone itching to get away from the table, and honestly, you wished you could do the same. But instead, here you were, arguing with your dad about your boyfriend while said boyfriend was sitting next to you, looking petrified.

Hopper sighed frustratedly, dragging a hand down his reddened face. “No, Y/N, the problem is with him. I don’t want my daughter dating someone one step away from being his dad-”

Eddie stood up this time, and all eyes shot to him. He cleared his throat, “You know what, I think I’m gonna go. The food was great, Mrs. Byers, but I have a chemistry test tomorrow. And, well, I wanna pass, so yeah.”

“Ed-” You felt terrible. You wanted this dinner and practically forced him to come even though he was reluctant, and now he was leaving early because your dad couldn’t keep his so wrong opinions about Eddie to himself.

“It’s okay, really,” Eddie grinned at you, trying to show that he wasn’t affected as you were. He whispered the last words, “Hey, at least I know what it’s like dating the daughter of a cop.”

His reassurances did little to reassure you. So, when he left, and everyone at the table was trying to make it seem like they weren’t there, you turned to your dad. There was so much you wanted to say to him. You would have told him how much of a literal asshole he was.

But all you could say was, “You didn’t even try, Dad. You said you would.”

With that, you walked off, following after Eddie, hoping your dad hadn’t ruined your relationship with the one person you didn’t want to lose.

The front door slammed shut, and Hopper had half a mind to tell you to come back inside, but he kept it to himself. It was tense then, and Joyce, who needed to have a lengthy chat with Hopper, told the kids to give them some space.

They hurried away, mumbling, "I have to use the bathroom anyway," and "do you guys wanna play video games?"

Once the table was clear, Joyce turned to Hopper, awaiting an explanation. Hopper plopped down in his chair, covering his face with his hands as he groaned vehemently.

“Do you see what I mean? And she says that I’m overreacting.”

Joyce’s muted response prompted the angry man to remove his hands from his face and send her an inquisitive eyebrow raise. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“C’mon, Hop, do I really have to say anything?”

“So you agree? I mean, I can’t be the only way that sees a major problem with-”

“Jesus, Hopper, are you serious?” Joyce furrowed her eyebrows as she glared at the man sitting next to her. She had put up with his initial disinterest in Eddie because most dads are like that, but she was annoyed now with him actively being an asshole.

“Look, I get it, she’s your daughter, but you’re going to ruin your relationship with her if you continue acting like this.” Hopper opened his mouth to no doubt spout a series of excuses when Joyce held up a hand, signaling him to shut up. “Do you really want to know why Y/N didn’t tell you? She was scared, Hop. Scared of how you might react because she likes a boy you wouldn’t give a first chance. And she hid it because she didn’t want to disappoint you.”

“But, Joyce-”

“No buts, Hop. Eddie, who is very sweet, by the way, hasn’t done anything wrong. You’re letting your judgment get in the way and doing the same thing you did with El to Y/N, and you saw how that worked out. So, you tell me, what is your problem?”

Hopper didn’t answer the question everyone was asking, instead sulking in his seat like a petulant child. He pulled out a cigarette and didn’t even bother to light it, just letting it hang between his pouting lips.

Joyce shook her head, crossing her arms, “We can sit here all night until you fess up, or you can just pull your head out of your stubborn ass and tell me what’s going on.”

The man rubbed his forehead, sitting up in his chair and hanging his head low. He stared at the chip in the floorboards before heaving a dreary sigh. “She’s my girl, Joyce. She’s my little girl, and yeah, maybe I was overreacting-”

“You think?” Hopper didn’t even have the energy to roll his eyes.

“Just- look, I know that she’s getting older. They’re both getting older. But she’s my girl, Joyce, my little girl. What if she gets older and she-” Hopper choked on his words. “What if she gets older and forgets all about her old man?”

“Hop…” Joyce sighed. “Our kids - they’re gonna get older. We can’t change that. But if there’s one thing I know about Y/N," she ducked her head to meet his eyes. “She is never going to forget her dad... as long he stops acting like an asshole.”

Hopper chuckled, wiping a stray tear from his face, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“Give him a chance, Hopper. He makes her happy.”

“Okay,” he resigned. He lit his cigarette, furrowing his brows, “How come you’re always right? Is it like a woman’s intuition thing?”

“No, you’re just a moron most of the time.”

——

“So,” Eddie inquired as he tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, “Got a place in mind?”

After storming out the front door, you made your way to Eddie’s van, thankful it was still there. You thought he would be long gone after your dad practically bit his head off, but no. He had just started his vehicle and was contemplating if this time Hopper would actually kill him when the passenger side door flung open.

“Please don’t kill me!” The words were frenzied as Eddie squeezed his eyes shut and held his hands in front of him as if that would protect him from Hopper’s rage.

You grabbed his hands, laughing as you slid into the van. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

“I don’t know. Anywhere with you is good.”

“M’kay, how about…” He hummed before taking a right turn to a lookout point. “Here?”

“Here’s good.”

For the first time, the air was awkward between you two. You didn’t like it, but you didn’t know what to say. What do you say to someone after your dad was an asshole to them during dinner and then proceeded to call them a freak more than once?

Eddie’s “so…” was said simultaneously with your “I’m so sorry.”

You made eye contact, and he let out a laugh you couldn’t help but copy. “Sorry,” he said after catching his breath, “you can go first.”

“My dad,” you started, looking away from him and instead focusing on the view outside. “My dad was an asshole to you, and I know that I can’t make up for that, but I am so sorry, Eddie. Believe me, if I knew he would act that way, I would have never pushed for dinner.”

“Y/N-”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to make eye contact so he could see your genuineness. “No, Eddie. He said some really hurtful things, and I’m really sorry. And, uh, I would totally understand if you, I don’t know, didn’t want to be with me anymore because, well, who wants to deal with a dad like mine.”

“Do you-” Eddie leaned forward, resting his arms on the steering wheel. “You don’t actually think I want that… right?”

You shrugged, toying with a stray thread on the hem of your shirt. “I would understand if you did.”

“Okay, let’s correct that, yeah? I definitely don’t want to break up. I wasn’t lying when I said all that to your dad.”

You stammered, trying to list all the possibilities why Eddie not wanting to be with you was reasonable. All of which included your dad. 

“I thought it was pretty hot, honestly.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally directing your gaze to him. He smiled sheepishly again, embarrassed. “Your dad is… he’s a work of art, but that has nothing to do with you. And I mean, the way you stood up to him - highly doubt anyone in their right mind would do that - I don’t know, it was interesting seeing you riled up over little ole me.”

“Pretty hot or interesting? Gotta pick, Munson.” You cracked a grin at the red tint that rose to his cheeks

“Hot,” he nodded, certain of his answer. “Definitely hot.”

Then the air was back to normal, and it felt good to breathe it in. You tutted and shook your head, “Who’s obsessed with who, now?”

“Oh, I’ve always been obsessed with you, sweetheart. You’re just in denial about being obsessed with me.”

You could only roll your eyes, turning to face the door so he wouldn’t see the smile on display. The two of you sat in comfortable silence, watching the night settle over Hawkins until Eddie spoke.

“What about you?” You acknowledged his question with a hum. “You sure you still want to be with me? I mean, I know you’re completely infatuated with me." That made you chuckle. “And you’re also pretty close with your dad. Believe me, I don’t want to stop what we have, but I also don’t want to mess that up.”

“I don't want that either.” Eddie frowned slightly, and you realized how your words sounded, so you corrected them. “What I mean is, I don’t want us to end. My dad means a lot to me, and I love him, but I also love you. And I really don’t want to lose you. I meant what I said before. It would take so much more than my crazy dad to make me not want you. Screw this whole goddamn town. I could care less what they think.”

You finished your rant with a huff. You felt relieved, finally having said everything you’ve been holding in since this whole fiasco with your dad and Eddie began.

You don’t know what you were expecting Eddie’s expression to be after your winded rant, but you certainly weren’t expecting to be met with a budding grin. Raising your eyebrow, you questioned why he looked so amused.

“You love me, huh?” You were confused until it hit you. You accidentally told Eddie, of all people, that you were in love with him. 

You’re never going to live this one down.

“Shut up.”

Eddie dramatically splayed himself across your lap. He threw his arm over his head, fanning himself with his hand as if he was but a distressed maiden. 

The brunet opened one eye, keeping the other squeezed shut. He held his hand up to his ear, “I’m sorry. I don’t think I quite heard you the first time. Could you repeat that again?” You rolled your eyes, looking away from his simpering grin before you gave in and wore one yourself.

“I said I hated you.”

“I can’t believe that you, Y/N Hopper, love me, Eddie the freak Munson.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately, you’re my freak.”

Eddie smiled up at you, and this time, you mimicked him. “I guess it’s time to tell you that I’m in love with the daughter of a cop.”

——

🏷 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @this--is--music , @riotkayla , @lili-pond , @murnsondock , @ecikilljoy , @salembridger , @boomhauer , @under-the-clouds , @insssanemind , @reidstea , @th0rswh0res , @graywrites20 , @tracymbcm , @chrisevansangel , @lizziesfirstwife , @wiieiei , @iloveeddiemunsonnnn

——

[technaart]

Hello~ Could I request cuddling headcanons for Kazuha, please? And if requesting for more than one character is allowed, maybe Yoimiya, Shenhe, and Sara as well?

Cuddling with them♡

Characters: Kazuha (Best boy), Yoimiya, Shenhe, Sara GN reader Genre: Fluff/Comfort A/N: none

The wind blows around the two of you like a cool blanket on a warm spring day. It was late in the evening when you two decided it was time to rest after exploring Liyue for so long. It really was such a beautiful place to wonder.

You lay in a field of green grass, bag under your head as a pillow for the night. You watch as the sky fills with a multitude of colors while the sun goes down, sparkles of stars starting to shine through as the night begins to arise, and you wouldn't dream to be anywhere but here in this moment.

Kazuha hums happily, content with his head resting on your chest and hearing the sound of your heartbeat in his ear. A soothing lullaby that had him slowly drifting to sleep. it was comforting, his arms wrapped around you, your hand combing through his hair taking out small tangles that formed from the days traveling.

This, he thinks, is what I look forward to the most.

These are her favorite moments. The fireworks lit up the night sky in bright, colorful sparks. You sit with her, arms around her waist with your head resting on top of her shoulder. Your eyes were not on the fireworks but on her own beautiful expression of awe as she watched her work being used in the way it should be.

She held your hands to her stomach, not daring to let go. The final firework goes up, her own special message she has made for you. Yoimiya glances back at you, forcing herself to see your reaction but your eyes were already on her, full of adoration for her that made her cheeks go red.

Yoimiya nuzzled her head into yours. No words were needed at this perfect moment. The fireworks spoke for you both.

She is not a cuddler. Physical touch just wasn't her love language, yet, she also craved it like no other when she got a taste of it with you. All Shenhe had to do was open her arms wide and that was all the invite you needed to run into her arms.

They wrapped around you like a cool blanket, it was comforting and you couldn't imagine doing this with anyone at a higher temperature. Shenhe holds you close. Close to her heart where she held all her l love for you but couldn't get into words, only through her actions.

Head resting on top of your arm, she closes her eyes as the usual wave of contentment washes over her when she is with you.

This was the only time she could relax. There is no one to prove herself to, no work to be done. Just to lay here with you in your arms. She loved hearing your heartbeat, the rhythm such a calming sound compared to her hectic and busy days.

Your arms felt safe to her, a hand playing with her hair as you soothe her to sleep. Sara closes her eyes with all her emotions pouring out of her in waves, letting you know just how much she loved these moments with you.

Her home.

[atlasdoe]

I have been thinking many thoughts about the love of my life Hope Lupin so here’s a little piece of my brain surrounding her

also for context this is part of my cannon-compliant series where Hope and Lyall separated and Hope got together with Paris who is Dorcas Meadowes mother making Dorcas and Remus step siblings (Dorcas and Remus also have an older sibling each. Dorcas has an older sister called Dawn and Remus has an older brother called Romulus)

I imagine this happened around the Prank just after Hope was a little rude to Poppy because she’s jealous of how Poppy is able to take care of Remus Once Poppy had left, Paris turned to Hope, her voice was firm as she spoke. “Hope, that was rude. She’s one of the biggest factors for Remus’ health. She should be praised not dismissed!”

Hopes face didn’t change. She paced up and down the room with her arms crossed. “I don’t care what she's done. She can’t talk about my boy as if he’s hers. I won’t allow it.”

“She’s not taking him away,” Paris argued. “I know that you sometimes get insecure-”

“Insecure?”

“Yes, Hope. You get insecure over the fact that you’re new to this world. But it’s no excuse to treat Poppy like that. You wouldn’t treat a Muggle doctor like that.”

“A Muggle doctor wouldn’t treat my son as if he’s her own,” Hope said, taking a break from her pacing as tears formed in her eyes. “A Muggle doctor wouldn’t see my son more than I do.”

Paris sighed at the sight. Her face dropped slightly, her eyes becoming softer. It was a look that she often got when the subject of the wizarding world came into play.

Hope had read many fantasy books when she was a young girl. She had selves upon selves of different worlds and being and adventures that she could explore at the tip of her finger. When she would speak to her friends about books they would speak of how jealous they were of the characters that got to live in those worlds. They wished that they were Dorothy or Alice or Wendy. They wanted to be taken on their own journeys and live in those nonsense worlds. 

Hope didn’t.  She didn’t want to be the main character of any of those stories because each of those characters all had one thing in common and that was the act that they were new to the world.

Dorothy, Alice and Wendy had never stepped foot in Oz, Wonderland or Neverland before the first chapter had begun. They were finding everything out as the reader was and throughout their time in the made-up worlds, their oddness and lack of familiarity were known by every other character in the books. Hope never wanted to be the odd one out. She didn’t want Peter Pan to take her somewhere she had never been before. If she was going to have magic in her life she wanted it from birth. She wanted to be one of the lucky few that got to know things that others didn’t. She didn’t want to be the fish out of water.

When Lyall told her about the Wizarding World her heart sank. So there was a secret world; she just was never part of it.

When Hope asked Lyall about what would happen if they were to ever break up he was honest.

“He said that he would have to erase my memory! So not only am I not fully a part of this fantasy but my involvement in it all together is limited to who I’m dating!” she ranted to Paris mere hours after Lyall had confessed.

Paris watched as Hope paced, sipping her cup of tea quietly. “Well considering your first reaction to this was to tell me everything I wouldn’t be trusting you to keep any of that secret either.”

Hope rolled her eyes, “Well I had to tell you, he should’ve known that,” she said. “If we ever do breakup then I’ll let him know that he’ll have to erase your memory too. I’m not letting you remember all of this while I’ll forget.”

Paris’ face went funny as she slowly lowered her mug. “Yeah… That won’t be necessary,” she said in a shaky voice. 

Hope stopped. “What do you mean?”

“Remember how I told you that Lyall and I went to school together?”

“Yes,” Hope answered, feeling her heart rate pick up as Paris spoke.

Paris let out a shaky laugh. “It wasn’t exactly a normal school.”

And that’s how Hope found out that not only was her best friend also magic and keeping secrets from her but that there was an entire school filled with witches and wizards. It was how Hope found out that unknowingly coming across someone from this world wasn’t as uncommon as she thought it might’ve been. 

“No. I don’t believe you. There is no way that the woman who works in the chippy is a witch!”

“She is!” Paris laughed. “She was three years above me and Lyall in school.”

“Were all of your school friends wizards?”

Paris nodded. “Every wizard in the UK and Ireland go to the same school pretty much. It’s called Hogwarts.”

Hope, who at this point in the conversation was now sat down, rested her chin in her palms. “So every wizard in Wales, England, Scotland, Northan Ireland and the Republic of Ireland all went to the same school?” 

“Yep. It’s in Scotland.”

Hope sighed. “That sounds fucking awful.”

Paris laughed. “You have no idea.”

Hope lowered her arms and folded them into herself. “Is magic genetic?” she asked.

Paris shrugged. “Depends. It’s pretty political but there are certain types of blood you can be,” she said, making quotation marks with her hands as she said types of blood. “But in general the answer is yes. Though Muggles can give birth to wizards and wizards can give birth to Muggles, or Squibs. That’s what we call people who don't have magic when their relatives do.”

Hope listened to all of this carefully. “What’s the possibility of mine and Lyall’s children being magic?”

“Pretty big,” Paris told her. “More likely than them not being magic I reckon.”

“Will they-” she hesitated. “If we do have kids and we then break up. Will they be taken away from me? Will my memory still get wiped?”

“No,” Paris answered immediately. “Once you have kids with magic that's it, you're in for life.”

“Oh,” Hope replied dryly. “Is that all?”

When she allowed herself to look back at Paris she was wearing that look on her face for the first time ever. “Hope it’s just luck. It has nothing to do with anything else. And besides,” she took her hand from across the table, “If you and Lyall do break up, I won’t let him obliviate you. You’re important to me and that’s enough.”

There was no doubt in Hope's mind that Paris was telling the truth, yet Hope could never let herself feel comfortable in the Wizarding World. While Paris and Lyall freely started using magic in front of her Hope realised that they didn’t quite know how to live without their wands in their hands. Neither of them even knew how to use basic cleaning supplies, and every time Hope had insisted on doing things the normal way they had laughed with amusement and told her that magic was much easier.

Easier it might be; but Hope refused to allow herself to become reliant on it. Magic would always be in their lives, but one simple spell could take it away from her forever. 

Luckily, the time for Hope to be obliviated never came. Only two months later Lyall proposed and Hope accepted with the added news that she was pregnant. Nine months after that and they had Romulus, then Remus came seven years later on their ten-month wedding anniversary. By this point, Paris had married Dominick and Dawn and Dorcas had also been born. All four of the children showed early signs of magic and sixteen years later Hope still couldn’t figure out if she was happy about it or not.

“Hope,” Paris breathed, taking her hand and leading her into the seat next to her, “This has nothing to do with you. If you were a witch you wouldn’t be any closer to understanding this. Look at Lyall; Look at me. We both grew up with magic and yet we were prejudiced against werewolves. None of us are above Poppy’s help, but we’re trying our hardest and we’re all loving him and taking care of him the best way that we can. That’s all Remus and Romulus and Dawn and Dorcas need from us. No different to any Muggle parents.”

Hope sighed. “I know. I just feel so helpless sometimes. They keep going places where I can’t follow them and now it’s getting in the way of protecting them.” 

“Hope…”

“I’ve never been able to protect them. Children are supposed to think of their mothers as magic. They’re supposed to think that our kisses really make their injuries better and that we can find anything that they lose in a heartbeat. But I’m so obviously normal to them. After the moons, it's Lyall who heals Remus while all I can do is just watch and wait until I can hold him without hurting him any worse.”

Paris squeezed her hand, “I know it's hard.” 

“I can’t even see the school that they go to. I don’t know what Quidditch is or how hard certain spells are or anything. Their teachers see them more than I do, they’re all going to marry wizards and have wizarding careers and I will always be just… this.”

Paris’ voice was firm. “Hope you are the best mother I have ever known. You don’t understand this world as much as the rest of us but the boys know that and yet Romulus will still invite you to every one of his Quidditch games even if you don’t understand the rules.”

“Remus spends the full moons with his friends-”

“Remus comes straight home afterwards and lets Lyall go over any injuries and lets you smother him until he can’t breathe. That’s just as important.” When Hope rolled her eyes slightly (lovingly) Paris pulled her in closer, until their faces were inches apart. “We are surrounded by wizards every day, that’s normal for us. But you? You manage to do everything we can do and more without a stick in your hand. You don’t have magic, you are magic. That’s why we’re all so attached to you.” 

Hope curled her lips as Paris talked. “You’re such a sap,” she teased. “But you're right. I’ll apologise to Poppy in a bit I just need a moment.”

Paris’ smile was soft. “Take as long as you need. We have all the time in the world.”

[shellshocklove]

Right, I can see why some people are confused by the ending, but making joel quit his job that he is very successful at and when reader knew from the beginning who he was, would be a tad silly in my opinion. I guess we all acknowledged that he was thinking about reader during the screen test with Cheryl, but still reading it I was like “awww he was picturing her 🥹”. This and all of his reactions to reader distancing themselves just proved he really was whipped from the beginning he stated that a few times himself dummy. To be honest, you can see clearly that they really love each other and there’s no relationship without trust. If reader works on her mindset and get used to the thought that joel loves only her, i think it’s all gonna be good.

yeah, i no no wanna strangle joel after part 3, I’m not mad anymore 😗<3

i think it just depends on people's own perception on sexwork? i talked with a friend about this after i posted the first part. just like about the reader as a character and if it were us if we'd be ok or not with being in a relationship with a pornstar. there has to be a level of trust in the relationship for it to work obviously. but to me i think i would be fine with it as long as there was set boundaries in place and good communication. and obviously that's not everyone's view and that's fine!

for our reader i think since she worked for him at first- she knows what it all entails. deep down she knows it's all fake, and that there's no feelings involved. it's work- it's just that it's an unusual job. to me the reason why she reacted the way she did is a mixture of her being insecure and inexperienced (as this is her first real relationship). that they went from a friends/working relationship to lovers/significant others without talking about it- it was just implied. she had a bad day, and the cheryl thing hit too close to home. and then all of that cumulated into her spiraling and distancing herself.

i also think it's important to think about the fact that these two parts plays out over like a week. they have know each other for a long time as friends/coworkers, but this new relationship is super fresh. they love each other bc they've been infatuated with each other since they met, but they haven't figured out who they are as a couple.

joel's been whipped since the start, but held back, and now he's bursting with all the things he wants to do with her- while she's trying to figure out what being in love actually is and to let go of her shame and guilt etc. i think he'll be good for her in turning her mindset around. he has some experience in dealing with that stuff (i have thoughts about his life before LA lmao), and would be supportive and patient in her unlearning her past.

again i'm open to write more, but i think it would be fun to explore them in shorter (or at least try to keep it under 10k words 😭) blurbs every once in a while. like it's not a continuous story but like snippets of where they are here and there. idk lol

[hexblooddruid]

BrynXWyll: 8, 11, 20; BrynXAstarion: 5, 24 for the OTP asks

OTP Asks

Bryll

8) What were their first impressions of each other?

Bryn as as Baldurian and an avid reader of lore and legend absolutely knew of The Blade of Frontiers. She was completely starstruck when she met him, especially combined with his introduction. But her first thought the moment she had time to collect herself was that she could not believe how young he is, barely a man with the weight of the coast on his shoulders. She at the same time admired and pitied him.

Wyll had a mixed reaction. It was a familiar sight to him, the birth of a young adventurer, a young person thrust into the problems much larger than themselves. He admired her leadership and desire to help the Tieflings. He was also wary of some of her decision making and judgement. He saw a combination of naivete and recklessness (especially when it came to her own safety) that could be dangerous.

11) What causes them to fight?

Their own bullheadedness. In my Bryn redo, they are still pretty early on in their relationship and at the beginning they clash simply because they don't want to talk about how much they mean to each other. They end up getting frustrated with each other and thinking that the other doesn't care.

Bryn later on in their relationship also gets frustrated with Wyll's tendency to view her care as transactional. She tries to tell him that he doesn't owe her for every kindness she shows him but that's simply what he's used to.

20) What is a promise they make to each other?

To make time for each other. It starts at the Tiefling Party. When Wyll tells Bryn "there will be another time for us", she makes him promise and he swears. The morning after, since Bryn still ended up sleeping with Astarion that night, Wyll tries to shrug it off saying "they've made no oaths to each other" but Bryn won't let him. She makes her own oath to focus on them from then on.

They carry this into the rest of their relationship. These two continue adventuring for a long time. They are always going to want to travel and dedicate themselves to helping people but they remember to take time for themselves by making time for each other.

Brynstarion

5) What activities do they enjoy together?

After Act 2 they settle into a two cats sharing the same space type of relationship in their downtime. They spend a lot of time just being together while reading, writing, or doing other work. Bryn likes to do research and read with Astarion around because he's smart and blunt. She finds him good to bounce ideas off.

They also talk A LOT. Bryn is not especially chatty but she's a good listener and Astarion will go on. Bryn's also opinionated and snarky (with him especially) and will not let him get that last word so they talk about everything and anything. I imagine that they get immediately recognized as a couple in Act 3 because Bryn is constantly on her tippy toes and Astarion is constantly leaning over, the both of them just in each other's ears.

Bryn also coerces him to be her morning hiking and foraging buddy. Before Halsin joins the camp, they are usually the only ones up at sunrise and she convinces Astarion that he should explore nature in a way that he couldn't before, while he still has the chance.

24) What is something they have each had to forgive each other for?

The whole second half of their relationship is them trying to forgive each other for the first half. Both of them went into the physical part of their relationship not thinking of the other person at all. Astarion obviously using Bryn's attraction to him to manipulate her into staying by his side (unnecessarily since she already agreed to that a few days into meeting him), and Bryn pointedly ignoring the red flags and playing along just so she can feel wanted and let off steam. After Act 2 they are so careful with each other and talk everything out, just so they don't make the same mistake again. Well, they try to. They end up struggling with honesty again in Act 3.

[blueywrites]

⭐ for any scene or line of your preference from new skin. I don't see enough love for that series

oh, new skin (says bluey with a fond sigh). there are some really lovely parts of that first chapter, I haven't revisited it for awhile!

I appreciate your kindness about it 💙 when I first posted it, some people went on anon and were pretty nasty to me as a person regarding the religious content (even though it was tagged and warned up the wazoo). that kinda killed the momentum for me, truthfully. below I'll explain the part where it all goes wrong in Eddie's first meeting with her - foreshadowing each of their traumas that had yet to be revealed and some of the major themes of the series.

The sudden violence of your reaction clearly shocks him. Instantly, Eddie’s spine straightens, and his face falls. Those dark eyes go wide to match yours, confusion sinking into ruefulness as your back begins to bow— feet planted but spine arching, upper body inching back as if your only desire is to get away from him. All the warm brashness in his voice has deflated as he stutters, “Look, I– I was just— I’m—” Had he gotten it out, would it have been an apology? An explanation? Would it have put you at ease, unclenched that feeling inside? Who’s to say. Because desperate to repair, to stop your backward flight, Eddie reaches out a hand toward you again. Soft, palm upturned, fingers slack. An entreaty to stay and let him fix things. Suddenly and acutely, your wrist aches at the approach of his palm; with that shock of pain, your freeze finally turns to flight. In a burst of white and yellow, you skitter and spin toward the swinging doors, leaving your predator behind.

Eddie's trauma stems not just from his encounter in the Upside Down with the demobats, but also from the assumptions everyone make around him about what type of person he is. That only got worse after 1986 when everyone thought he murdered Chrissy, Fred, and Patrick; even when he was cleared, they still looked at him a certain way. Having her react like that to him when he didn't really do anything tore open that wound again.

Reader's trauma stems from the past she's running from - a mentally and physically abusive husband whom she is still married to. Eddie's unpredictable energy makes her feel unsafe (even though he himself is not an unsafe person, it's just his personality that triggers her, as well as the recency of her trauma). I'd also say that he feels unsafe because he intrigues or interests her, at least subconsciously. Her wrist aches because when he reaches out for her, it reminds her body of her husband's abuse. The ache comes from him, not Eddie.

In the course of the story, they would help each other heal, and her religion would play a big part in her internal conflicts (developing feelings for Eddie, feeling helpless and trapped in her hometown because of that religious culture). But it was also a source of comfort to her, so her relationship with it was complex and would have grown and changed, just like she would change. The story would have explored grief, healing, and empowerment as major themes.

aaaand that's the director's cut of new skin! 😊

[annarellix]

The Sister Effect : A Novel  by Susan Mallery

Susan Mallery’s newest hardcover is an emotional, witty, and heartfelt story of Finley who is raising her niece because her long-addicted sister, Sloane, abandoned her. When Sloane reappears, eager to build a relationship with her daughter, Finley will struggle with forgiveness, the ties that bind a family together, and the fragility of trust.

Finley McGowan is determined that the niece she’s raising will always feel loved and wanted. Unlike she felt after her mom left to pursue a dream of stardom and her grandfather abandoned her and her sister Sloane when they needed him most. Finley reacted to her chaotic childhood by walking the straight and narrow—nose down, work hard, follow the rules. Sloane went the other way. Now Sloane is back, as beautiful and damaged as ever, and wants a relationship with her daughter. She says she’s changed, but Finley’s heart has been bruised once too often for her to trust easily. With the help of a man who knows all too well how messy families can be, Finley will learn there’s joy in surrendering and peace in letting go.

Mallery, with wisdom, compassion and her trademark humor, explores the nuances of a broken family’s complex emotions as they strive to become whole, in this uplifting story of human frailty and resilience.

The Author: SUSAN MALLERY is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of novels about the relationships that define women's lives—family, friendship and romance. Library Journal says, “Mallery is the master of blending emotionally believable characters in realistic situations," and readers seem to agree—forty million copies of her books have been sold worldwide. Her warm, humorous stories make the world a happier place to live.

Susan grew up in California and now lives in Seattle with her husband. She's passionate about animal welfare, especially that of the Ragdoll cat and adorable poodle who think of her as Mom.

SOCIAL LINKS: Twitter: @susanmallery Facebook: @susanmallery Instagram: @susanmallery Author website: https://www.susanmallery.com/

BUY LINKS: Bookshop.org: https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-sister-effect-susan-mallery/18611717?ean=9781335448644 B&N: https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-sister-effect-susan-mallery/1141741087?ean=9781335448644 Books a Million: https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Sister-Effect/Susan-Mallery/9781335448644?id=8318065423495 Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1335448640?ie=UTF8&tag=wwwsusanmalle-20&linkCode=as2&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=1335448640

EXCERPT:

Chapter One

Finley McGowan loved her niece Aubrey with all her heart, but there was no avoiding the truth—Aubrey had not been born with tap dance talent. While the other eight-year-olds moved in perfect rhythm, Aubrey was just a half beat behind. Every time. Like a sharp, staccato echo as the song “Counting Stars” by OneRepublic played over the dance studio’s sound system.

Finley felt a few of the moms glance at her, as if gauging her reaction to Aubrey’s performance, but Finley only smiled and nodded along, filled with a fierce pride that Aubrey danced with enthusiasm and joy. If tap was going to be her life, then the rhythm thing would matter more, but Aubrey was still a kid and trying new things. So she wasn’t great at dance, or archery, or swimming—she was a sweet girl who had a big heart and a positive outlook on life. That was enough of a win for Finley. She could survive the jarring half-beat echo until her niece moved on to another activity.

The song ended and the adults gathered for the monthly update performance clapped. Aubrey rushed toward her aunt, arms outstretched for a big hug. Finley caught her and pulled her close.

“Excellent performance,” she said, smoothing the top of her head. “You weren’t nervous.”

“I know. I don’t get scared anymore. I really liked the song and the routine was fun to learn. Thank you for helping me practice.”

“Anytime.”

When Aubrey had first wanted to study tap, Finley had gone online to find instructions to build a small, homemade tap floor. They’d put it out in the garage, and hooked up a Bluetooth speaker. Every afternoon, before dinner, Finley had played “Counting Stars” and called out the steps so Aubrey could memorize her routine. Next week the dance students would get a new routine and new song, and the process would start all over again. Finley really hoped the new music wouldn’t be annoying—given that she was going to have to listen to it three or four hundred times over the next few weeks.

They walked to the cubbies, where Aubrey pulled a sweatshirt over her leotard, then traded tap shoes for rain boots. April in the Pacific Northwest meant gray, wet skies and cool temperatures. Finley made sure her niece had her backpack from school, then waved goodbye to the instructor before ushering Aubrey to her Subaru.

While her niece settled in the passenger side back seat, Finley put the backpack within arm’s reach. Inevitably, despite the short drive home, Aubrey would remember something she had to share and would go scrambling for it. Finley didn’t want a repeat of the time her niece had unfastened her seat belt and gone shimmying into the cargo area to dig out her perfect spelling test. Going sixty miles an hour down the freeway with an eight-year-old as a potential projectile had aged Finley twenty years.

“We got our history project,” Aubrey announced as Finley started the car. “We’re going to be working in teams to make a diorama of a local Native American tribe. There’s four of us in our group.” She paused dramatically. “Including Zoe!”

“Zoe red hair or Zoe black hair?”

Aubrey laughed. “Zoe black hair. If it had been Zoe red hair, my life would have been ruined forever.”

“Over a diorama? Shouldn’t your life be ruined over running out of ice cream or a rip in your favorite jacket?”

“Dioramas are important.” She paused. “And hard to spell. We’re going to pick our tribe tomorrow, then research them and decide on the diorama. I want to do totem poles. The different animals tell a story and I think that would be nice. Oliver wants a bear attacking a village, but Zoe is vegetarian and doesn’t want to see any blood.” Aubrey wrinkled her nose. “I eat meat and I wouldn’t want to see blood either. Harry agrees with me on the totems, but Zoe isn’t sure.”

“So much going on,” Finley said, not sure she could keep up with the third-grade diorama drama.

“I know. Could we stop at the cake store on the way home? For Grandma? She’s been sad.” Aubrey leaned forward as far as her seat belt would let her. “I don’t understand, though. I thought being on Broadway was a good thing.”

“It is.”

“So Grandma was a good teacher for her student. Why isn’t she happy?”

Finley wondered how to distill the emotional complexity that was her mother in a few easy-to-understand concepts. No way she was getting into the fact that her mother had once wanted to be on Broadway herself, only to end up broke and the mother of two little girls. The best Molly had managed for her theater career was a few minor roles in traveling companies. Eventually motherhood and the need to be practical had whittled away her dream until it was only a distant memory. These days she taught theater at the local community college and gave intensive acting classes in her basement. It was the latter that had been the cause of her current depression.

“Her student wasn’t grateful for all Grandma did for her. When she got the big role, she didn’t call or text and she didn’t say thank you for all of Grandma’s hard work.”

Molly had not only found her student a place to stay, she’d worked her contacts to get the audition in the first place. Finley might not understand the drive to stand in front of an audience, pretending to be someone else, but if it was your thing, then at least act human when someone gave you a break.

Finley glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Aubrey’s eyes widen.

“You’re always supposed to say thank you.”

“I know.”

“Poor Grandma. We have to buy her cake. The little one with the sprinkles she likes.”

Finley held in a grin. “And maybe a chocolate one for you and me to share?”

“Oh, that would be very nice, but we could just get one for Grandma if you think that’s better.”

Finley was sure that Aubrey almost meant those last words. At least in the moment. Should she follow through and not buy a second small cake, her niece would be crushed. Brave, but crushed.

Nothing Bundt Cakes wasn’t on the way home, but it wasn’t that far out of the way. Finley headed along Bothell-Everett Highway until she reached Central Market, across from the library. She turned left and parked in front of the bakery. She and Aubrey walked inside.

Her niece rushed to the display. “Look, they have the confetti ones Grandma likes. They’re so pretty.”

The clerk smiled. “Can I help you?”

“A couple of the little cakes,” Finley told her. “A confetti and a chocolate, please.”

Aubrey shot her a grateful look, then tapped on the case. “Could we get a vanilla one? I see Mom on Saturday afternoon. I could take her a cake.”

The unpleasant reminder of Aubrey’s upcoming visitation had Finley clenching her jaw. She consciously relaxed as she said, “It’s only Wednesday. I don’t know if the cake will still be fresh.”

“Just keep it in the refrigerator,” the clerk told her. “They’re good for five days after purchase.”

Aubrey jumped in place, her enthusiasm making her clap loudly. “That’s enough time.” She counted off the days. “Thursday, Friday, Saturday. That’s only three days. Mom will love her little cake so much.” She pressed her hands together. “Vanilla is her favorite.”

Finley told herself that of course Aubrey cared about her mother. Most kids loved their parents, regardless of how irresponsible those parents might be. It was a biological thing. Sloane was doing better these days. Maybe this time she would stay sober and out of prison. Something Finley could wish for, but didn’t actual believe.

Finley nodded at the clerk. “We’ll take all three, please.”

Aubrey rushed toward her and wrapped her arms around her waist. “Thank you, Finley. For the cake and coming to my performance and helping me practice.”

“I seem to be stuck loving you, kid. I try not to, but you’re just so adorable. I can’t help myself.”

Aubrey laughed, looking up at her. Finley ignored how much her niece looked like Sloane—they had the same big blue eyes and full mouth, the same long curly hair. Aubrey was a pretty girl but like her mother, she would mature into a stunning woman one day, as had her grandmother Molly before her. Only Finley was ordinary—a simple seagull in a flock of exotic parrots.

Probably for the best, she told herself as she paid for the cakes. In her experience beautiful women were easily distracted by the attention they received. Little mattered more than adulation. Relationships were ignored or lost or damaged, a casualty of the greatness that was the beautiful woman. Finley, on the other hand, could totally focus on what was important—like raising her niece and making sure no one threatened her safety. Not even her own mother.

*

“What is it?” Jericho Ford stared at the picture on the tablet screen. The swirling tubes of metal twisted together in some kind of shape, but he had no idea what it was.

“The artist describes this creation as the manifestation of his idea of happiness,” Antonio offered helpfully.

“It looks like a warthog.”

“It’s art.”

“So a fancy warthog.”

“It’s on sale.”

“I don’t care if it’s left on the side of the road with a sign reading ‘free.’ It’s ugly and no.” Jericho looked at his friend. “Why would you show that to me?”

“You said you needed some pieces for your family room.”

“I meant a sofa and maybe a bigger television.”

“You could put this on the coffee table.”

“That’s where I put my beer and popcorn.” Jericho pointed to the tablet. “If you like it so much, you get it.”

Antonio’s brows rose. “Absolutely not. My house is all about midcentury modern these days.”

“The warthog isn’t midcentury enough?”

“No.” Antonio slapped the tablet closed and put it in his backpack before removing two gray subway tiles and setting them on Jericho’s desk. “I want to make a change in the kitchen backsplash for number eleven.”

Antonio pointed to the tile on the right. “This was the original choice. I like the shine and the texture, but I’ve been thinking it’s too blue.” He tapped the tile on the right. “This has more green and goes better with the darker cabinets in the island.”

Jericho loved his job. He built houses in the Seattle area, good-quality houses with high-end finishes and smart designs. They sourced local when possible, had a great reputation and frequently a waiting list for their new-construction builds. Castwell Park—the five-plus acres he’d bought in Kirkland, Washington—had been subdivided into twenty oversized lots where Ford Construction was in the process of building luxury houses.

Jericho enjoyed the entire building process—from clearing the land to handing over the keys to the new owners. While he’d rather be doing something physical with his days, he was the site manager and owner, and all decisions flowed through him. Including tile changes suggested by his best friend and the project’s interior designer.

“Those tiles are the same color,” Jericho said flatly.

Antonio grimaced. “They’re not. This one—”

“Has more blue. Yes, you said.”

He grabbed the tiles and walked out of the large construction trailer set up across the street from the entrance to Castwell Park. He’d made a deal with the owners of the empty lot to rent the space while construction was underway. When his crew finished the twentieth home, he was going to build one for the lot’s owner. Jericho didn’t, as a rule, build one-offs, but it had been the price of getting a perfect location for the construction trailer, so he’d made an exception.

Once out in the natural light, he rocked the two tiles back and forth, looking for a color difference. Okay, sure, one was a little bluer, but he doubted five people in a hundred would notice. Still, Antonio’s design ideas were a big reason for the company’s success. He had a way of taking a hot trend and making it timeless.

“Email me the change authorization and I’ll okay it,” Jericho said, handing back the tiles.

“I knew you’d agree. These will make all the difference.”

“No more changes on house eleven or twelve,” he said, leading the way back inside the trailer. “The designs are locked in and we’ve placed all our orders.”

“I know. This is the last one.” Antonio smiled. “Besides, I’ve already checked with the distributor and she said it was no problem to substitute one for the other.” He settled in the chair by Jericho’s desk. “Dennis and I were talking about you last night.”

“That never means good things for me.”

Antonio dismissed the comment with a wave. “We’re inviting a woman to our next party.”

Jericho knew exactly what his friend meant but decided to pretend he didn’t. “You usually have women at your parties.”

“A woman for you.”

“No.”

Antonio leaned toward him. “It’s time. You and Lauren split up nearly seven months ago. I know you’re still pissed at your brother, but that’s separate from getting over your ex-wife. They cheated, they’re hideous people and we hate them, but it’s time for you to move on.”

Antonio had always had a gift for the quick recap, Jericho thought, appreciating his ability to distill the shock of finding out his wife and his younger brother were having an affair and the subsequent divorce into a single sentence.

“I’ve moved on,” Jericho told him.

“You’re not dating. Worse, you’re not picking up women in bars and sleeping with them.”

Jericho grinned. “When have I ever done that?”

“You’re a straight guy. Isn’t it a thing?”

“I hate it when you generalize about me because I’m straight.”

Antonio grinned. “Poor you.” His humor faded. “It’s time to stop pouting and move on with your life.”

“Hey, I don’t pout.”

“Fine, call it whatever you want. Lauren was a total bitch and I honestly don’t have words to describe what a shit Gil is for doing what he did. But you’re divorced, you claim to have moved on, so let’s see a little proof.” His mouth turned down. “I worry about you.”

“Thanks. I’m okay.”

Mostly. He hadn’t seen his brother in six months, which had made the holidays awkward. His family was small—just his mom, him and his brother, with Antonio as an adopted member. Gil’s affair with Lauren had rocked their family dynamics nearly as much as his father’s death eight years ago, shattering their small world. Their mother had taken Jericho’s side—at least at first. Lately she’d been making noises about a reconciliation. As Gil and Lauren were still a thing, he wasn’t ready to pull that particular trigger just yet.

“Dennis is a really good matchmaker,” Antonio murmured.

“Did I say no? I’m kind of sure I said no. I can get my own women.”

“Yes, but you won’t.”

“Now who’s pouting?”

The first five notes of “La Cucaracha” played outside, announcing the arrival of the food truck. Antonio’s face brightened.

“Lunchtime. You’re buying.”

“Somehow I’m always buying.”

“You’re the rich developer. I’m a struggling artist. It’s only fair.”

“You have a successful design business. And if that wasn’t enough, your husband is a partner at a fancy, high-priced law firm. You married money.”

Antonio laughed. “Wasn’t that smart of me?”

Jericho followed him out of the trailer. “You would have married him if he was broke and homeless. You love him.”

“I do and now we need to find someone for you to love. Not another redhead. That last one was a total disaster.”

“I’m not sure the failure of our marriage had anything to do with the color of her hair.”

“Maybe not, but why take the chance?”

Excerpted from The Sister Effect  by Susan Mallery, Copyright © 2023 by Susan Mallery, Inc.. Published by Canary Street Press.

[from-the-clouds]

Kiss Me More - Zemo/Reader

Masterlist | Part Two 

Summary: Reader works with Sam & Bucky and has a moment alone with Zemo upon their arrival in Riga. Loosely inspired by this song. 

Words: 2.5k

Warnings: Kissing, heavy petting, minor TFATWS spoilers.

A/N: As if you couldn’t tell already when it comes to what characters I love to write for, I love a bad boy. This was meant to be a short, sweet fic and then I had to get all existential and invent an entire storyline around these two. I think there’s definitely room here for a multiple parts, if you’re interested. Let me know what you think!

----

“I’m going for a walk.”

Y/N didn’t argue with Bucky as he walked away stiffly. With anyone else, she would’ve been suspicious, but she knew Bucky well enough to know it was in her best interest to ignore any of his cryptic behavior. At the end of the day, she knew she could trust him. 

Zemo’s flat was spacious and beautiful, and she wasn’t surprised by the ostentatious but minimalist decorating. Zemo excused himself into the bathroom to shower and freshen up. Sam eyed him wearily, but didn’t seem too concerned. Y/N sat down on a couch she guessed cost thrice as much as she paid monthly in rent.

“I’m going to grab some grub, want anything?” Sam asked after only a few moments of pacing around the apartment, seemingly checking to see if they were being set up. 

Y/N shook her head no, the constant traveling over the past few days hadn’t been great for her appetite. 

“Will you keep an eye on him?” Sam said, flicking his eyes in the direction of the bathroom, where she heard the patter of the shower running steadily.

“Of course,” she answered. Zemo had a reputation, she’d seen it herself. But she didn’t know him to the same extent that Bucky and Sam did. So far, he’d only been polite to her so she wasn’t exactly scared or intimidated about any sort of confrontation.

Plus, she was only here as a favor to her friends. She was hardly talented or important enough to be an Avenger. Bucky and Sam knew they could call her if they were in a pinch. And right now, they were definitely in a pinch. 

Picking up a book of photography from the coffee table in front of her, she flipped through it absentmindedly, admiring the photos of ornate architecture and crowded city streets before the click of a doorknob caught her attention. Zemo emerged from the bathroom with damp hair in a bathrobe, slinging a towel over his shoulder and immediately making his way towards the kitchen.

Y/N heard the clink of glasses and ice, and she returned her attention to the book. All the traveling was catching up to her, as her eyelids began to feel heavy, and the quiet in the room allowed her body to finally settle.

“Have a drink with me,” she was startled when she realized Zemo was standing over her, a cocktail extended in her direction. Not a question, a command. 

“I’m alright, thank you,” she said flatly. 

“I have to celebrate.”

Sighing, and abandoning the book altogether she closed it, sitting it on the table and crossing her arms, looking up at him.

“Come on, It’s one drink,” he winked, and pressed the cocktail into her hands. Up close, she felt like she was seeing him for the first time, rather than just another means to an end for one of Bucky’s missions. Zemo was good-looking, there was no doubt there. Tall, Dark hair, handsome enough to turn heads, but not so chiseled to be unapproachable. She guessed he was maybe ten years her senior, and while she thought being locked up for so long might’ve taken a toll on anyone, there was no trace of it in his features.

Taking it reluctantly, but still not entirely sold, she raised an eyebrow as he slowly sat down next to her. “All right, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

He lifted his drink, and she sighed, shifting her weight so she was facing him, meeting his eyes and lifting her cocktail so it was level with his. “To being a free man.”

They clinked glasses and she took a sip, the bite of the liquor concealed by a sweet and smooth aftertaste. Whatever he’d made her, it was good. 

“Temporarily,” she added after a moment, watching him take another sip of his drink.

“What?” he asked, turning to face her. 

“You’re only a free man temporarily,” she said. 

“Touche,” he answered, one arm stretching over the back of the couch, his hand nearly touching her shoulder. He gave her a devilish grin. 

A surprising warmth fluttered in her stomach, and she turned away from him to sip her cocktail. She wasn’t ignorant. After all, she was the only woman in the group, she hadn’t missed his lingering glances and once-overs while they were partying in Madripoor. It would’ve been flattering, but she was probably the first woman he’d seen in years. 

They sat in silence for a moment as Zemo leaned back to survey the room. She supposed she hadn’t done a good enough job of appreciating it the first time around, high ceilings, natural light, but just enough privacy to feel cozy and inviting. Another steely sip of liquor passed her lips. She hadn’t had a drink in god only knew how long. 

“Tell me, doesn’t this work get exhausting?” his smooth, accented voice cut through the quiet. “Traveling all the time, getting beat up, the lack of sleep, or a routine, following orders…”

She shrugged, pondering a moment. “It’s not so bad. Plus, it’s not like I know anything else.” When she glanced over at him, his eyes were fixated intently on her, but he was unreadable. “I know you think I’m a monster, but I’m just doing what’s right.”

“What you think is right,” he corrected, and before she could bite back, finished his thought. “My people, my family. All gone because of what someone with too much power thought was right.” A sadness flickered across his visage, but disappeared as soon as she could register it. 

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, earnest. 

“And I don’t think you’re a monster,” Zemo said, shifting his weight so he was facing her dead on, tilting his head to the side and studying her. Something about his gaze felt sharp, like he could see through her. “You aren’t entirely sold on all this, I can see it in your eyes.”

His words cut deep, deeper than she was willing to admit to anyone, even herself. But what was normal? And could she ever be? “What makes you think that?”

“How often do you get to be selfish?” he asked. His robe gaped open a little at the top, revealing a dainty silver chain necklace clasped around his neck with a small charm dangling from it, pale skin and a smattering of chest hair. “When was the last time you got to sit down, relax, enjoy yourself?”

Glancing down at the drink in her hand, feeling slightly vulnerable, she felt a smiling playing at the edges of her lips. “I could ask you the same question.”

“I’m enjoying myself right now,” he said, and she raised her eyebrows. “What, can you blame me? Good whiskey, a beautiful woman by my side.”

Her jaw dropped slightly, holding back a smile. Warmth crept like vines up her neck, pooling in her cheeks. “You should be careful,” she warned. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He leaned closer and she could smell the scent of his aftershave, smoke and musk, heat from the shower still radiating off his body. Maybe the whiskey was getting to her. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly as he lifted the drink to meet his lips, pitching his head back to finish off the liquor before discarding the empty glass on the table in front of them. 

“Would it be so bad if I was?”

Outside, the sun passed behind a cloud, and the room dimmed ever so slightly, casting shadows that caught along Zemo’s cheekbones, his jawline. The waning light made her all the more aware of how the energy in the room had shifted. 

“It’d be unprofessional,” she said, voice low, and he seemed much closer than he’d been before. But he wasn’t the only one closing the gap, she realized she was definitely, inadvertently, meeting him halfway. 

“Oh well,” he said, softly. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?” Her eyes adjusted to the light, and up close, he was mesmerizing, deep brown eyes filled with longing. His gaze made her stomach turn, and she knew she should be disgusted but she just couldn’t bring herself to feel anything other than intrigue.

Shaking her head no, she couldn’t find the words to speak. Maybe because she wouldn’t believe any last attempts at protest. Better to save her breath.

The Baron’s hand, cool from the icy glass, rose to cup her cheek, so gentle and tender, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip. Frozen, all she could do was breathe slowly as her heart raced. “Zemo-” she began weakly.

“Helmut,” he corrected. “Call me Helmut.”

Y/N gave no answer, unable to remember what she had been protesting when he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. 

Goosebumps rose along her arms, ears ringing, as he kissed her. The arm he’d been resting on the couch behind her pulled her closer, and her own free hand rose to his neck, letting him take control. 

Her lips parted and his tongue traced her bottom lip, deepening the kiss. He groaned into her mouth, the vibration raising every hair on her body. Oh, she knew it was bad, but she hadn’t felt so desired, so wanted in years. Wandering hands lazily slid down his neck, to his shoulders where her fingers pushed underneath the loose neckline of his robe, palms exploring the broad expanse of his chest. 

Her skin tingled, every exposed surface aching to be touched, explored by him, and maybe he could tell as his hand left her jaw to coast down her torso, all the way to hook behind her knee and pull her leg across his lap, an invitation to straddle him that didn’t go unnoticed, but she’d need time to decide whether or not she was willing to go that far. 

As for exploring, he wasted no time bringing his hand back up her stomach, to hover lightly over the curve of her breast, squeezing gently as to gauge her reaction, a request to continue, and her breath caught in her mouth, her body instinctively pressing against him. His thumb found the peak of her nipple even through the padding of her bra and thin t-shirt. 

Her lips parted from his to let out a breathless moan, and his mouth trailed down her neck as her fingers tangled in his hair. His tongue and teeth passed over a particularly sensitive spot, which he discovered when she let out a strangled gasp, and doubled down, sucking and grazing over and over until she finally couldn’t bare it any longer and she pulled away. 

Zemo’s face hovered inches from hers, and she wanted to give him some sort of excuse. That this was wrong, they shouldn’t be doing this, but she took in his equally unfastidious appearance and decided not to waste her words on something so cliche. He looked utterly breathtaking.

He didn’t move away, just smiled gently. “How does it feel...to do the bad thing?” he teased.

Y/N couldn’t help the giggle that passed her lips, feeling lightheaded and giddy. “Not so bad at all,” She should’ve been enraged, she should’ve wretched herself out of his arms, but she was engulfed in his scent and his comforting presence, unwilling to leave. It wasn’t so terrible to be selfish. It was her who closed the gap between them again.

He smiled against her lips, hand returning to hook behind her knee once more, and this time she obliged, shifting her weight so she could straddle his lap and his hands met both sides of her hips as she cupped his face, fingers in his hair on his shoulders, kissing him with unbridled passion. 

She could feel his excitement through the fabric of the robe, and knew she was getting carried away, but every nerve in her body smarted for contact. He was impossibly warm and she couldn’t get enough of it. Rolling her hips forward to tease him, he let out a groan and arched upward. “Oh, liebling, I wish we had more time.”

As if on cue, she heard the scratching of the key in the front doorway, and was immediately jolted from her reverie. Before she knew it she was off the couch and halfway across the room, just as Bucky entered, looking perturbed as always. 

“Hey,” she said, turning her back to him and pretending to look out the window, voice unsteady. She heard Helmut clear his throat and shift his weight on the couch. 

Busying herself in the kitchen, she let the curtain of her hair fall over the side of her face, hiding her clearly flustered appearance, her face was still impossibly warm, her skin sensitive, lips swollen. “How was your walk?” 

“Fine,” Bucky said, and she heard him walking towards her as she absentmindedly pretended to wipe down the countertops. When he brushed past her to use the sink she jumped, finally looking him in the eyes. Bucky frowned. “Are you all right?” he asked. 

Staring back at him for a moment she nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You just seem a little jumpy.”

“There was a spider,” the lie came out so easily, so quickly, that she was actually ashamed of it. “It was big and I….I don’t know where it went.”

Bucky snorted, and whether he believed her or not, didn’t respond. “Where’s Sam?” he asked. 

“Out getting dinner,” she said, feeling her heart rate begin to turn back to normal. Bucky washed his hands and shook the excess water off in the basin.

“If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to lie down,” she said after a moment. “The jetlag is catching up to me.”

She turned around and left Bucky in the kitchen, returning to the lounge area where Zemo turned to look over his shoulder. “Allow me to show you to the guest bedroom,” he said, an ornery sparkle in his eyes. 

“Fine,” she said flatly, wondering what exactly he was planning and just intrigued enough to resist an argument.

The bedroom was just out of Bucky’s earshot, down a short hallway. As she stepped over the threshold to the awaiting large, inviting bed, a hand on her waist halted her in her tracks. 

“I’m not finished with you,” she could feel his breath on the back of her neck, the scent of his cologne overwhelming her senses once more. It took a great deal of control to pull herself away from him, as she turned around and grabbed the doorknob, dragging it towards her. “We’ll see about that,” she said quietly, shutting the door in his face and letting out an exhausted breath. She’d awakened a monster, and now she had no idea what to do about it.

---

PART II out now!

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts, please let me know!

[cjsinkythoughts]

Suits, Dresses, and Heels

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, More Mentions of PTSD, Gun Violence, Slight Mentions of Drinking, Club Dancing (You’re all gonna hate me for that part, but I’m not sorry)

A/N: Here’s Part 4.2 - The Second Part to Episode 3 - as requested. This is a little more scene-by-scene, but there are some off-screen moments. I’ll be posting Part 4.3 (which will have the rest of the episode) later tonight.

There’s a bit more information on Reader, but not as much as the last chapter. Sharon comes in during this part, so you get to see her and Reader’s relationship.

Also, I have mixed feelings about Zemo at this point. Not in the story, the Reader’s not a fan as you learned previously, but for me personally, he’s surprised me a couple times by coming back and helping.

Anyways! Thank you so much for reading! This isn’t beta’d so excuse any mistakes! Check out my other parts before you read! Thank you again! Stay tuned, loves!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The dress was far too tight for your liking, and showed way too much skin. Not that you didn’t like being a tease every once in a while, but for this mission, you’d rather have more cover and movement.

You had to admit though; Zemo had nice taste. The dress fit deliciously - which made you wonder how he got your size. The color and cut was devastatingly flattering. Plus, he let you do your own makeup.

Being the only female, you were in a separate area of the jet getting ready. Once you were done, you made sure to knock, even though you’d walked in on Sam changing too many times to count while on the run and had seen Bucky answer the door in nothing but a towel. It was mainly for Zemo’s sake, just a warning that you were walking in whether or not they were ready.

“Damn, girl! You clean up nice!”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, painted lips quirking up as you studied him, shooting him a wink. “You should try a mirror, Sammy.” You turned to Bucky to find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at you. “What do you think, Buck?”

His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat, eyes exploring the dips and curves your body. “You…” He blinked once. Twice. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his intense eyes making you heat up, before he shook his head. “You look good.” He rushed out, before spinning on his heel shoving past Sam who was snickering.

“Where’s Zemo?” You noticed he wasn’t in the main area of the plane when you walked in.

“Rearranging our ride once we get there.”

You huffed, fixing your hair. “Oh God. We’re really doing this.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” You looked down at yourself before looking up at the boys. “Something’s gonna go wrong, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“No doubt.”

Giving a slight groan at their simultaneous answers, you nodded. “Let’s try not to screw up too badly, boys, alright? I at least want to live long enough to see Peter graduate.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. “That kid’s a punk.”

“You’re a punk.” You shot back.

Bucky raised his hand. “I second that punk thing.”

“For which one?”

“Both of them.”

You chuckled as Sam gaped at Bucky, who shrugged innocently. The former assassin tilted his head in your direction to shoot you a grin and a wink, making you laugh more. Shaking your head, you go to make a joke when Zemo walked in.

“It’s time. We’re landing now.”

And just like that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, leaving you anxious and regretful.

*******************

You walked by Bucky, arm linked with his metal one, listening as Zemo told Sam about his “character” he was to play.

“He’s a known womanizer - always has a gorgeous lady on his arm.” Zemo gestured towards you. “It’s the only way they’d let in a woman.”

“Aren’t we going to see a woman?” You questioned, gently patting Bucky’s metallic bicep when his hold on you tightened.

“Which makes it more imperative that you don’t act threatening. Women don’t make the same mistake men do; they don’t underestimate other women.”

You nodded. He had a point there. Bucky faced you, a frown on those pretty lips. “I don’t like this.” He mumbled.

“You think I do?” You whispered back. “With you being him again? Even if it’s just pretend? And need I remind you whose idea this was?”

“I know, I know. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t get hurt on purpose.”

Your forehead creased. “Why would I-?”

“To protect people. You always do. And I get it, I do. It’s why you started this in the first place, but…save yourself first, this time, okay?”

“Buck-”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t often you could see the fear in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but you could then. Unable to do anything else you nodded, a soft, “okay” falling from your lips. He nodded back, pressing a kiss to your head, before letting you go as a car approached.

Bucky helped you in - the heels you were wearing were no joke - before sliding in himself, Sam getting in on the other side of you. “And you two can’t be…” Zemo gestured to the two of you as the car started moving, eyeing your still connected hands. “Doing that.”

“This isn’t my first theater production.” You snapped at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He raised his hands in surrender, turning back to look out the windshield. Once you arrived, you gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze, before accepting Sam’s hand to get out on his side, linking your arm with his like you were doing with Bucky earlier.

“I finally get to see one of your performances, baby.” Sam grinned at you.

You smirked back. “Best seats in the house, too, Smiling Tiger.” He groaned at your jest, nudging you playfully with his elbow as you giggled.

“This way.” Zemo cut in, jerking his head in the direction you’d be going. You took a breath, steeling yourself, before the three of you nodded at each other and followed his lead.

You found the fellas reactions amusing, their heads turning to study and scan everything they could see. You were more subtle in the way you analyzed your surroundings, feeling a bit more at home in this situation than, say, fighting super soldiers on top of semi trucks.

Your jaw tightened, as did your grip on Sam’s arm, when Zemo started speaking Russian, the four of you pushing through a crowded bar. Sam ran his fingers over your arms, giving your hand a little squeeze, silently reassuring you.

It was a bit obvious Sam hadn’t done much undercover work, put he stayed in character and you were impressed. Especially when the bartender started cutting up the snake, which you had to look away for because if there was one thing you couldn’t do…it was snakes. You nearly gagged when Sam reluctantly downed the drink. 

Bucky eyed you, lips pursed in a way you recognized as him trying to hold in a smile. That made you feel a little better, hiding your own smile by turning into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Not. Funny.” He growled through clenched teeth, lips not moving.

“Kinda is.”

He grumbled under his breath, before the two of you tuned into the conversation between Zemo and a thug that came up, learning about the apparent power broker of Madripoor, which you a bit of from your time undercover there.

Sam held you tightly when Zemo turned to Bucky, knowing what was about to happen.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how easily aggressive he became. You didn’t like the little smirk Zemo gave as Bucky attacked. You didn’t like the cellphones being pointed in his direction. You didn’t like it.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” You gave Zemo a warning glare, a shaky breath leaving you.

He’d been doing so well. At least, for someone who had been through what he had. Especially considering it’d only been a few months since he’d been pardoned - half a year since everyone came back. You knew bringing Zemo on board had been a bad idea, but-

A squeeze to your hand pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out an inaudible sigh of relief as Zemo allowed Bucky to let the man he was choking go.

“Selby will see you now.”

One step down. You hoped that would be the hardest part, but you knew it most definitely wouldn’t be.

“You good?”

Bucky sniffed, giving you two a curt nod, before following Zemo. You bit your lip. “That wasn’t really an answer, was it?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No it wasn’t.”

Selby wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but you’d come to expect that. You stayed on Sam’s arm, giving the guards coy smiles and playing with the fake nails you had on in faux-boredom.

When she purred at the man besides you, you and Bucky glanced at each other, with you resisting the urge to scrunch up your nose. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

Your eyes snapped back to Selby, giving her a slightly bashful smile. “Celeste Addams. Pleasure.”

“Trust me, dear. The pleasure is all mine.” Alright, you thought as she scanned you with a smirk. She was swinging for both teams. You could work with that. “What’s the offer?” She looked back to Zemo.

Zemo gave her the offer - information about the super soldier serum for the Winter Soldier and the code words to control him. Your blood boiled as Zemo touched Bucky, fingers grabbing his chin. You swore, once this whole thing was over, you would kick Zemo’s ass. You should make a list, just to keep track of all the things he’d done, and no doubt would do, to piss you off. That way he’d know why exactly you were beating his ass.

A name came up, Dr. Wilfred Nagel, along with the knowledge that the super soldier serum was, in fact, in Madripoor. You and Sam met eyes. Second step down.

But before they could get anything else, Sam’s phone buzzed. You ducked your head, closing your eyes, mumbling “fuck” when you saw it was Sarah. Sam’s responses just made you inwardly cringe even more.

“The bank, yeah. We laundered so much mo-” He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. They’ll come around.”

Is he fucking serious? For the love of God, Sammy…

And then she called him Sam. Next thing you knew, Selby was shot and you, Bucky, and Sam were taking out a guard each, you growling at the fact that you couldn’t use your legs because the dress was too damn tight.

You had no choice but to trust Zemo’s lead, but word traveled very quickly here, and less than a minute after walking outside, you were getting shot at.

“C’mon!” Bucky grabbed your arm, pulling you besides him.

“Can you not right now?!”

“I can’t run in these heels!”

You glared at Sam, the killer six inchers on your feet feeling like hell. “Hell no! You did not just say that in front of me!”

“You started it!” You scowled at him, following Bucky into an alley, only to duck as shots rang out. Chest heaving, you looked around for the source of the bullets that killed the men chasing you.  Your “guardian angel” as Zemo put it.

She soon appeared in all her stunning, blonde badass glory. “Sharon?”

Sam quickly explained the situation, trying to get her not to shoot Zemo who she had a gun pointed at.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” she pointed the gun at Sam, then Bucky, “so that you could save his ass, from his ass.” And the gun was back on Zemo. She shot you a smile. “And your ass is looking beautiful as always.”

You grinned back. “Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As she spoke, your lips turned down. You had tried calling her after Germany, but it always went to voicemail. First thing you did when you got back was try to get everyone pardoned, but it was a process. And then you found out about Wanda and ever since…

Sharon was your first real friend. She was only a couple years younger than you and had been one of your first partners during your time with SHIELD. And the fact that she’d been on the run for years now, even with the Blip, her family not having seen or talked to her since…that was exactly why you couldn’t take a break. She was family and you found there was nothing more important than family. But when she needed you, you were out searching for someone who didn’t want to be found.

How were you supposed to choose between two sisters? How could you cope with the fact that you chose the wrong one?

“Sharon, we need your help.” She laughed at Bucky’s statement. “Please,”

She glanced at you and you nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Share.”

She gave a sigh before nodding. “This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while.”

She turned and started walking, and you were about to follow, when you remembered something.

Spinning around, your fist connected with Zemo’s cheek, Sam and Bucky shouting in surprise while the man stumbled back. “Don’t you fucking dare touch him like that ever again, or I will break every bone in your body.” You threatened, your expression twisting into a scowl as you grab his hand and bend it awkwardly. He grunted but didn’t move, knowing one wrong turn would break his wrist. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” He ground out.

You pushed a little more, making him wince, before letting go and rounding back to Sharon, who was smirking at you. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder to where a car was waiting, leading them over.

You quickly followed after her with Bucky on your heels and Sam dragging Zemo along. Speaking of heels, as soon as you got in the car - getting shotgun for the first time ever at Sharon’s insistence - you prodded the stupid shoes off your feet.

“Nice kicks.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Unless you’re trying to kick.”

“Did you rip the dress?”

“I was tempted to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you in something more comfortable. And you’ll look just as good. Not that you wouldn’t look good in literally anything.”

You chuckled, giving her a look. “Let’s not test that theory.”

She smiled back, nodding. “Fine. I’ll let you pick something out.”

Sam huffed, crossing his arms best he could, being squished with the two other fully grown men in the back seat. “Women.”

The two of you exchanged looks, rolling your eyes at the three pouting guys. “Men.”

*****************

“I’m gonna go check on the boys. But I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looking through her closet. No dresses. And absolutely no heels. Flats, if you had to, but you’d definitely prefer sneakers right now. You decided on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, grateful for the looser clothing.

“They’re idiots.”

You laughed and looked over at the door as Sharon entered. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cute.” She commented on your outfit, sitting on her bed. “They explained the situation. Sam said if I help, he’d clear my name-”

“Sharon.” You sighed, biting your lip. “I tried. I really did. I-”

She shook her head, smiling at you reassuringly. “No, I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you. Sorry I didn’t call back. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Even with the whole ‘Cap is back’ thing.”

“Walker’s the government’s pet. He’s not Captain America. He’s not…”

“Steve?”

Looking up at her from the ground, you nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?”

You smirked, wagging your eyebrows at her. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at you. “It’s kinda weird now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little. But I can’t blame you. Have you seen him shirtless? Good God.”

Sharon laughed, shaking her head as you joined her on the bed. “How come it’s always you getting wrapped up in these things?”

“I have no clue.” You chuckled, crossing your legs underneath you. “First I’m answering a phone call from Bucky at five in the morning and next thing I know, I’m being kicked off of semi trucks, breaking criminals out of prisons and running in six inch heels.”

“You answer Bucky’s calls at five in the morning?”

You gave her a look. “Sharon-”

“No, no. Hey. That’s cool. Some girls like bad boys, some like jocks, others like nerds. You like super soldiers from the 40’s. Everyone’s got a thing.”

A playful shove turned into a pillow fight, which turned into a sparring session, during which you pin her on her back. “You’re getting better.” You complimented, getting up.

She glared at you, taking your outstretched hand and letting you pull her up. “I guess that’s why you’re an Avenger.”

“That’s still weird to say.”

“Why? You’ve been an Avenger since, what? Ultron?”

You nodded, straightening your clothes. “Officially, anyways.”

“Right. Because you were there for the Battle of Manhattan as the secret seventh superhero.”

“Yeah…I miss it. The anonymity. I’m pretty sure I’m one half the Senators’ speed dials.”

Sharon frowned, brows pinching together. “What about the other half of the OG? Where are they?”

“Thor’s in space, Bruce is MIA - which I can’t really blame him for - and Clint’s retired with his family.”

“You think he’s gonna stay retired?”

You shrugged. “I hope he does. He’s been trying to retire for years. He deserves it. Knowing him, though…probably not.”

Sharon crossed her arms, nodding at you. “So that leaves you.”

“Yes it does.”

“Do you ever think of taking a break?”

You gave a half-sigh, half-groan, making her smirk in amusement. “It’s…come up a lot recently. I dunno. I think I’m burning out, anyways.”

“What makes you say that? I was watching you guys with Selby. You’re still one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I’ve been having…problems.”

Her eyes narrowed, her hands setting on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “What kind of problems?”

“Just flashbacks. Of different things. It happens at random times. Certain triggers; something someone says or does, or something I smell or hear.”

“PTSD?”

“Something like that.”

“Has it affected you in the field?” Hesitating to answer was answer enough and she nodded. “Then…maybe it’s time you do start considering retiring.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “At 36? There’s no way.”

“C’mon. It’s not too late for you to settle down. Go one a few dates. Meet someone. Maybe have a couple kids-”

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll.” Your features scrunched up in incredulity. “Pump your breaks. No one said anything about marriage or kids.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…think about it. I heard even Bucky’s been on a few dates.”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice and seeing the eyebrow raise. “Yeah. He has. A few. I told him to. Told him it might be good for him to, I dunno, get back out there.

“Or, you could just…go out there with him.”

“Not you too! Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Is it Steve? Is that what’s stopping you? Because you know he’d just want you to be hap-” She stopped as he phone vibrated, grabbing it and reading the text. “Company’s arriving.” She pointed a finger at you. “You got very very lucky. This conversation isn’t over. I’m not dropping this.”

You bit your cheek and nodded. “Alright, mom. Can we go party now?”

She breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go party.”

**********************

“Hey, gorgeous! There you are!”

You smirked at the boys as they met you near the top of the stairs, eyeing Sam and Bucky appreciatively. Damn, could Sam pull off a turtleneck. And Bucky in black and skinny jeans? Sharon sure had good taste. “Today’s the day for attractive outfits, huh, gentlemen?”

“I’ll say.” Bucky hummed, glancing at your own outfit. “You look beautiful, doll.”

“You look very dashing yourself, Barnes.” You grin, pulling at the lapels of his black blazer and fixing the collar. You smoothed your hand down the front of his shirt, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised when he caught your wrist, keeping your palm over his heart.

He clenched his jaw, taking a breath, before letting it out, almost dejectedly, and letting your hand go. “Um,” He cleared his throat, hand falling down by his side. “Did, uh, did Sharon say anything more about these friends of hers to you?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just told me to enjoy the party.”

“I guess we should go enjoy the party, then.” Sam nodded towards the stairs, where the music was floating up, her guests already pouring in.

You made your way downstairs, looking around the room. Sharon sure did know how to throw one, that’s for sure.

People were pushed together, dancing to the beat of the music, drinking, with colored lights flashing every which way. Bucky’s hand found yours almost instantly, and you smiled at him. “C’mon.”

“What?” His eyes were wide as you dragged him towards the groups of people dancing. 

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head violently. “I-I can’t.”

“I thought you used to be a dancer?”

“Used to. And I was a swing-dancer. Not…” He gestured around to the people bobbing up and down, moving their bodies with each other.

You waved dismissively, pulling him closer. “All you need to do is feel the beat. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Tough and Scary Assassin?”

He licked his lips, looking around nervously. You brought his hands to your hips, making his eyes snap back to yours, your own arms winding around his neck. You started moving rhythmically, nodding your head to the music, smiling up at him and giggling at the adorable concentration on his face.

“You, uh, you go to parties like this a lot?”

“I specialized in undercover operations, remember? I practically lived at these places for some of them.” He licked his lips, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Loosen up a little.” You laughed, catching his jaw between your fingers and making him look at you instead of the crowd surrounding him. You scratched at the scruff, speaking softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and, slowly, a bit hesitant, started moving his body with yours, relaxing his tense muscles the longer you two danced.

“Nice hit, by the way. With Zemo earlier.”

You shrugged, turning in his arms, biting your lip when he pulled you closer, your back to his chest. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. It was unnecessary. I was thinking of making a list, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your arms wound around his neck again, your head falling back to his shoulder. “Of things he’s done so far that warrant’s me beating his ass once this is done.”

He chuckled, warm breath tickling your cheek, thumbs tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistline of your shorts. Your own fingers had found home in his hair holding his head where it was, his lips centimeters away from your ear. “Share it with Sam. I’m sure he has a few things to add.”

Your breath hitched as his metal fingers danced along your bare navel, arm tightening around your waist. “I’m sure he does…I thought you said you can’t dance.”

“I guess I just needed to warm up. I’m a bit rusty after eighty years.”

“Don’t seem that rusty to me.” You breathed out, turning your head to look at him. His tongue ran across his lips again, his eyes glancing to your own.

“Hey, guys!” The world and your situation came crashing down on you, the music you didn’t realize you’d been tuning out, along with the crowd’s boisterous laughter and cheers, rushed back to yours ears. The little bubble with just you and Bucky shattered. You both stepped away from each other; you cleared your throat and pushed down the heat that had nothing to do with the hundred bodies in the one room, while Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red with no help from the colored lights. Both of you were panting lightly, avoiding eye contact with the other three staring knowingly at you. Sharon nodded her head, gesturing behind her. “I found him.”

Sam nudged Bucky - who was staring at you, his jaw ticking and his throat tightening as he swallowed thickly - before jabbing his thumb in Sharon’s direction. “Here we go.”

You nodded, eyeing Bucky with a small smile. “Here we go, Buckaroo.”