#vaguing me in the tags like I’m not gonna see

[sarahowritesostucky]

Art: @hopelessartgeek

📖 "Medically Necessitated" Ch 10

Rated: Explicit Pairing: Bucky x Steve Tags: a/b/o, age gap, past rape, rape recovery, trauma recovery, pregnancy, medical trauma, hurt/comfort, mentions of CSA, religious fundamentalism, first time, gender dysphoria, male omegas having all the bits (peen & vagine) Summary: After a medical emergency brings him into the ER, Bucky escapes the religious cult he's been raised in. It's up to Steve, nurse practitioner and omega sex & repro specialist, to see him through a medically supervised heat.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter! Story masterlist

10. Bea

Bucky and Steve negotiate what kind of relationship they're going to have.

Over the course of the following week, Bucky makes good use of the purchases from Twig ‘n’ Tuft. He arranges his new things in an obviously good mood, humming happily as he works. A few things get set aside for later use in the closet, but most of his efforts go towards Steve’s bed, changing out the sheets (they’re silkier now) and blankets (puffier), fluffing the pillows (there are a lot more now), and arranging everything just how he likes.

He’s nesting.

Steve stands in the doorway and watches for a bit, heart bursting with emotions that he knows are directly related to the bond. No way could he feel this utterly content and pleased just from watching a simple act of nesting, otherwise. His omega is feeling safe and comfortable in his home. Steve is providing for him and taking care of him, and it’s making Bucky happy. That’s all Steve wants.

“Need any help?” he asks, not surprised when Bucky says no. Omegas like to nest on their own. Steve is sure he’d mess up whatever Bucky’s nonsensical system is and wind up getting his head bitten off. “Okay then,” he says. “I’m gonna get ready for bed, so …” He grabs some pajamas from the dresser and heads in the direction of the bathroom, intending to brush his teeth and change. “You’re sure you want me in here?” he double checks. “I’m more than happy to take the couch again.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at him. “No Steve. That was pathetic. Six-foot man on a five-foot couch. Stop asking or you’re gonna give me a complex. I want you in here with me.”

Steve smiles gently. “Okay, Buck. Okay.” He goes into the bathroom and shuts the door behind himself. When he comes back out and climbs into the now-nested bed, he has a moment of indecision, unsure how close he should be, if Bucky wants his space, or if maybe Steve should try to touch—

Bucky scoots back to spoon directly against him, his back to Steve’s chest and a large pillow hugged in front of himself. “Mmm.”

Cautiously, Steve lets his arm drape over Bucky’s waist. “This okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. He wiggles in place a little, settling. “Steve?”

“Mm?”

“... Thanks.” Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s where it rests just over his waist and gives a small squeeze. “For helping me. For everything. I’m glad I’m here with you.”

Steve’s heart melts into something useless and gooey, and he lets go of whatever awkwardness he’d still been holding onto. He pulls Bucky more securely against him and nuzzles into the back of his hair. “You’re welcome, Honey. I want you here. It’s gonna be okay.”

Bucky hums and cuddles further back against him. Later, once he’s dozed off, he purrs.

The next morning, Steve is still half-asleep when he’s suffused by the scent of happy, pregnant omega. He hums, vaguely aware that he’s surrounded by soft, good things. With his eyes still closed, he pulls the softness closer, smiling and nosing into that inherently pleasant scent. He feels so good, turned on and warm and safe. Mate, he thinks dreamily, rolling his hips once, and then again because it feels so pleasurable. Soft and good omega, mmm …

“Steve?” Bucky’s sleep-slurred voice. “Mm, whuddryadoin’?”

Steve wakes and his eyes fly open. He freezes in place, mortified as he realizes that he’s been rubbing his morning erection against Bucky’s boxer-clad ass for God only knows how long. “Oh, shit.” He hears Bucky’s low chuckle, but is still horrified at himself. “Sorry!” he hurries, removing his hands. “Sorry, sorry.”

He’s pulling away, but Bucky turns over in the bed and follows after him. He looks barely awake himself, his hair a mess and his eyes opened to puffy slits. He burrows in against Steve’s chest, rubbing his face on his tee shirt. “S’okay,” he mumbles. “You smell good.” He’s silent after that, and a minute later, his quiet snoring lets Steve know that he’s fallen back to sleep.

Steve untenses and allows himself to hold Bucky again—at first hesitantly, and then with more confidence. He lets his head fall back onto the pillow, his nose near Bucky’s hair. He closes his eyes and falls asleep.

The next time he wakes, it’s to Bucky kissing him on the mouth. Steve inhales and pulls back. “Buck, what’re you doing?”

Bucky blinks. “Kissing you.”

Well yeah, Steve wants to say. He feels bad for his lack of reaction when he sees Bucky’s expression begin to shutter.

“Am I not allowed to?” he asks. “Do you … do you not want that with me?”

Steve exhales. “No, Buck. It’s not that. I just don’t want you to feel like—”

“Like I have to,” Bucky says. “I know.” He moves closer, until their chests are touching. “I know you don’t want me to feel forced or … or coerced or whatever. But I don’t.” Carefully, watching Steve’s reactions, he leans in to kiss him again. When their lips meet, Steve’s stomach flutters with nerves. Bucky kisses him gently, and it’s so sweet and tender that it almost aches. Steve forces himself not to wrap his arms around Bucky’s waist again, not to press his leg in between Bucky’s legs and turn into him, push him down into the sheets like he wants to.

But he does kiss back.

They talk about it over breakfast. Steve is in the kitchen making eggs and sausage, and Bucky’s curled up in a corner of the couch with one of his nesting blankets. The tv is set to low volume on a local morning news program. Bucky’s the one who initiates the conversation.

“So, I’m your registered omega now.”

Steve tenses where he’s standing by the stove. “Oh. Yeah. Um …sorry.”

Bucky makes a face. “I’m the one who signed off on it. Why should you be sorry?”

“I dunno,” Steve mumbles. He looks down and focuses on shuffling the sausages around with the spatula he’s holding. Really, there’s a whole lot he’s sorry about. Bucky was a trauma survivor in need of help, and in very short order he’s been impregnated, bonded, and legally bound to an alpha he barely knows. Steve doesn’t know how to explain to Bucky what an injustice that is. “This all just happened so fast,” he says. “I don’t want you to feel like you don’t have choices.”

The tv clicks off, and the next thing Steve knows, Bucky is standing on the other side of the kitchen island, giving him a stern look. “Steve, stop.”

“Stop?” He glances down at the sausages. Stop…cooking?

“Stop feeling guilty about this," Bucky says, crossing his arms and leveling Steve with a look. “It makes me sad and I don’t like it.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Look, I’ve been given choices out the wazoo, lately. Everybody back at the hospital made it perfectly clear to me that I didn’t have to go with you. But that’s what I wanted. I like you and I trust you, and you’re the father of my baby.”

Steve’s heart stutters in his chest at hearing it said aloud like that. Holy shit, he really is going to be a father, isn’t he? Holy shit, how the hell is he going to do that? He clears his throat and opens his mouth to say something, but Bucky says,

“And we’re bonded, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” Steve remembers the eggs and hurries to give them a swirl in their pan. “Ah, yeah. We are.”

Bucky nods decisively. “So, I want to be in a relationship with you. A real one, including sex.”

Steve stops, spatula held midair in surprise. “You … what?”

“You, me, living here,” Bucky gestures around the apartment. “I know you’re not going to make me be physical with you, but I want to be.”

Steve’s heart is beating fast inside his chest now. He licks his lips. “Buck, you … you’re a minor. You're eighteen.” That seems like the most obvious problem to him, but Bucky just rolls his eyes.

“Almost nineteen. My birthday’s soon.”

Steve doesn’t know how to break it to him that this doesn’t exactly erase the massive age difference between them. “I’m thirty-one, Honey.” He struggles for what to say next, and of course Bucky mistakes his awkwardness for rejection.

He visibly draws back into himself. “If you don’t like me like that,” he hedges, “or if you aren’t really attracted to me, I wish you’d just say so. I can handle it, but I just need to know what we—”

“No, no. I do. I like you, Buck.” Steve hurriedly covers the pans with their respective lids and flicks both burners off, stepping around the island to pull Bucky into his arms. “And you’re beautiful, Honey. You’ve got to know that.” He hugs him, and Bucky all but melts against him, resting his cheek on Steve’s shoulder. The closeness instantly feels right. Steve can feel the omega relaxing at his words, his scent lightening back to something pleasant. He sighs. All his overthinking things has just left Bucky feeling unwanted, and that couldn’t be further from the truth. “I guess you can tell that I have some hang-ups,” he mutters.

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah. You worry too much.”

Yeah, he does. But Steve shrugs. He can’t help the second guessing and caution that comes so naturally to him at this point. He’s been trained ad-nauseam to be a victim’s advocate, to never take advantage. “I just want to make you happy,” he admits, giving Bucky a gentle squeeze. “I guess I need to start trusting you to be able to tell me how to do that.”

Bucky hums happily. “Yeah. Good.” He pulls back just enough to meet Steve’s eyes, and he smiles. Then, pointedly, he leans in and kisses him. It’s only a brief kiss, more a brush of lips than anything else, but it makes Steve’s skin tingle with pleasure. Bucky pulls back check, “So now I can kiss you any time I want, right?”

Steve forces a smile. “Yeah Buck. You can kiss me.”

Bucky kisses him once more, then lets him go. “And do other stuff,” he says happily, just as Steve is reaching up to grab plates out of the cabinet.

He freezes. “Oh. Um ...”

“Oh come on, Steve. You’ve fucked me six ways to Sunday already!”

Steve busts out in a surprised laugh, but he can feel his face heating at the intense visual memory that hits him: Bucky, in the heat suite, naked and moaning and coming undone. Steve shakes his head and grabs the spatula back up. “Jesus Buck. Come on over here and get your food.”

Bucky obeys with a smirk, and they heap their plates high with scrambled eggs and sausage links and sit at opposite ends of the couch. Their feet tangle in the middle as they eat. Bucky chews thoughtfully for a while and then says, out of the blue and with determination, “I should learn to cook.”

Steve grimaces down at his plate. “That bad, huh?”

“What? Oh, no!” Bucky laughs and eats more sausage. “No, this is great. I was just thinking how I could make you breakfast. Pancakes and stuff. Omelets. I mean, since you probably don’t have time to do it yourself when you have to get to work in the mornings. Right?"

Steve blinks, taken aback. “Wow that’s … that’s really sweet, Buck.” Bucky smiles and looks back down at his plate, and Steve says, “I still have the next few days off from work. We could try to get your school situation figured out, if you want?”

Bucky looks wary of this idea. “I dunno, Steve. I was always homeschooled. I don't …” He shifts uncomfortably. “I don’t know if I’m very smart.”

Steve tuts in disapproval. “Of course you’re smart. Just because you might not know certain facts doesn’t make you unintelligent. Remember what I told you?”

“Yeah I know. Bees pollinate flowers,” Bucky mumbles, his discomfort obvious. He’s still embarrassed about his past.

"Hey," Steve offers gently. He nudges Bucky’s socked foot with his own. “That’s what we’re gonna do. We’ll spend the last few days of my leave figuring out a schedule for you, okay? I’ll help you.” The past few days have gone quickly, eaten up by tv marathons, snuggle sessions, and walks around the neighborhood to familiarize Bucky with the immediate area where Steve lives. “We can map out where your sister’s new place is, where you’re going to go for therapy. I’ll even investigate how you might go about taking the GED, if you want. They have study materials. Shouldn’t be hard to figure out.” He keeps nudging Bucky’s foot with his until he gets a little smile from the kid. “You’ll get a transit pass for the train and the bus. You can be totally independent, scoot all over the city if you want.”

Bucky hums and tucks back into his food, but Steve can tell that he’s pleased by the prospect.

Steve still has the next few days off from work, the tail-end of what is officially titled as his “Registered New Mate Leave.”

Steve is forced to explain to—an understandably confused—Bucky, that even though “mates” really is just a social construct and not a true physical thing, the government in New York still uses the term in some of its policies and legislation. “I know it’s contradictory,” he apologizes, when Bucky first perks up at hearing him say the words ‘mate leave’. “It’s stupid, I know. But the important thing is that I have time off where I can help you get settled, yeah?”

Bucky agrees with a tiny nod (and later, a quietly-murmured: “It’s not stupid. I don’t mind being your mate,” which makes Steve fluster but which Bucky also says quietly enough and standing far away enough that Steve can pretend he didn’t hear him say it).

He buys Bucky a transit card and helps him learn how to use the app for the city bus system and the train on his phone, then they decide to take a practice trip together, riding the orange and then the purple line out to the address in Queens where Rebecca's new apartment complex is.

Steve sits next to Bucky on the train and watches as he spends the ride downloading various apps for things like GrubHub and Candy Crush onto his phone. It’s a little hard for Steve to remember that Bucky grew up in a restrictive and backwards cult, when he’s sitting there witnessing the kid take to the modern world like a fish takes to water.

Rebecca’s apartment is all the way out in Flushing. Steve makes a reference to The Nanny, which Bucky of course doesn’t get, because he didn’t grow up watching 90’s cable TV. So Steve promises to add it to their already massive streaming watchlist.

Rebecca has them stay for lunch, and Steve feels kind of bad when they leave her in her lonely apartment with stark walls and hardly any furniture or possessions. She’s still adjusting to the outside world, the same as Bucky is, and Steve is once again very, very glad that he’s been able to bring Bucky straight into a lived-in home with lots of warm things and Steve himself to help. He’d hate to think of Bucky struggling all on his own.

“We should have her over for dinner sometime,” he offers, when he and Bucky are back in Brooklyn and walking towards the OmCare social services building where Bucky’s scheduled for his afternoon intake and assessment. “Your sister, that is.”

“Ooh, yeah. We could do that?” Bucky looks hopeful. “I could make something.”

“Sure, why not?” They walk inside the building and Steve accompanies Bucky up to the check-in desk. He gives him a little side hug, which Bucky turns into a full-on hug, and then leans up and kisses him. It’s just a quick peck, but it makes Steve flush halfway down his neck.

Bucky smiles when he notices and holds Steve’s hand while they wait in line behind one other person. “You’re nice,” he mumbles.

“It’s your apartment, too. You’re allowed to have guests and go in and out and cook whenever you want. And I’m glad you’ve got your sister, and that she’s got you.” Steve squeezes his hand. “You’ve both overcome something huge. It’s not easy. I’m proud of you.”

Bucky beams and looks like he’ll say something else, but before he can, the receptionist calls him forward and he signs himself in. They take their seats in the waiting room, and before long Bucky is called back by a kind looking beta counselor, who introduces herself as Beatrice—"just Bea is fine"—Collins, and informs Steve that if he plans to stick around for the entire appointment, he’s got quite the wait ahead of him. Steve says he doesn’t mind. His phone has a full charge.

When Bucky comes out of the appointment—three hours later —Steve’s butt is numb from the waiting room chairs, and Bucky’s holding a folder stuffed full of papers. Steve can immediately tell that he’s in a very good mood. He looks ten times brighter than when he'd gone in. “How’d it go?” Steve asks.

“Great!"

"Yeah?"

"Uh huh. My counselor's nice.” Bucky recounts all of the different assessments that Bea had him complete during their session together. “I think she was expecting me to be super screwed up or something,” he jokes. “I don’t know what the heck the hospital told her.”

That you’re a gang rape trauma victim with culture shock and gender dysphoria, Steve thinks, but doesn’t say. He’s been relieved and surprised so far, at how well Bucky’s taken to accepting himself and his body, this bond and the news of an unplanned pregnancy. Steve doesn’t know how that’ll change as the pregnancy progresses, but he’s hopeful that him being there and being accepting of Bucky can help make a positive difference. “Did you get a schedule for therapy?” he asks, when they’re on the bus ride home.

“Mondays and Wednesdays at four,” Bucky says. “There’s a queer youth group that meets after. Bea said she thinks I’ll like it. I told her I’d give it a try.”

Steve blinks in surprise. “Oh. Okay. So ... do you feel like you’re, um, queer?”

Bucky smirks and shakes his head. “No. But I dunno, I might make friends there.”

“Oh yeah. Right, of course.”

His hand migrates to his stomach and he looks down at it. “I still feel really weird about it all. Being pregnant.”

Steve’s heart sinks and he fights not to let it show on his face. “Do you feel like you’re changing your mind? About keeping it?”

Bucky shakes his head but he won’t meet Steve’s eyes. “No, it’s not that. I don’t mean the baby. It’s more about how I’m, like …” He chews his lip as he thinks about it. “How I'm being like this so openly.”

“‘Like this’?”

He nods. “I know people can smell it. And eventually I’ll get big and people’ll see.”

“Yeah.” Steve’s hand creeps over the seat between them, cautious. He personally can’t wait to see Bucky get bigger, but of course he’d never say that. “Is ... that a bad thing?” he asks cautiously.

“No. Not bad. It just makes it so obvious about how I’m, um, you know.” Bucky hesitates for so long that Steve half expects him to throw out an obscene word. “How I'm … omega." He plucks at the front of his sweater, which they bought in the men’s omega clothing section at Target just the other day.

It isn’t much different in style from a typical men’s A/B sweater. Perhaps a bit tighter in the fit—slightly different seams, a more graceful neckline that’s indicative of the gender it’s meant for. Steve thinks it looks good on him, but now he starts to get self conscious and wonders if Bucky truly liked any of the clothes they bought for him the other day. Steve had tried to make it clear that Bucky could pick out anything he wanted. He doesn’t think he’d been the one to steer them in the direction of the men’s O department, rather than men's A/B, but he’ll be damned if he can convince himself of it now.

He opens his mouth to ask, but Bucky’s already speaking, “It wasn’t like that back home. Guys like me were … Well, people knew, of course, but we didn’t talk about it. You hid it, you didn’t go around openly acting all—” he cuts himself off and shakes his head. “Anyways, it’s just weird to be out in public, knowing everybody can tell. Seeing people act like it’s normal.”

Steve frowns and takes his hand. “It is normal, Buck.”

“I know. I know that. It’s just gonna take some getting used to." Bucky twists his lips and grumbles, "Bea says I’ve got ‘dysphoria’.”

“You do,” Steve says solemnly, thinking about how the kid had refused to even consider the men’s O style underwear at Target. They’d purchased a pack of A/B style briefs instead, which Steve had been happy to do for him. “It’s gonna take time,” he agrees kindly. “And that’s okay. It'll get easier, you'll become more comfortable about a lot of stuff. And for the things that don't feel right, well you know you can express your gender any way you want, right? You don't have to force yourself into some box. Not anymore." He gives Bucky's hand a comforting squeeze. "I think the queer group’s a great idea, Buck. You should go.”

Bucky’s scent gradually lightens, and he leans in against Steve’s side, allowing him to wrap an arm around his shoulders and hold him close for the remainder of the bus ride home.

“—and said she thinks I’ll do just fine on the GED,” Bucky tells Steve brightly the next night, when they’re fixing their dinners. “I can study for it online, and take it any time I want. She had this whole indicator test that said my scores were pretty good. Better than what she’s seen from uneducated people in the past.”

“You not uneducated, Buck,” Steve chides. “You were homeschooled.”

“Better than nothing,” Bucky mutters, but says nothing else, and they leave it at that.

They compromise and make little side salads to eat with the frozen dinners that Bucky picked out (the kid has atrocious taste in foods, and Steve has already purchased and paid for overnight shipping on the best prenatal vitamins that money can buy). They settle in to watch a few more episodes of The Nanny, which Bucky has decided that he loves. After that, he picks out a movie to watch, and they sit snuggled on the couch together, some of the new nesting blankets tucked around both of their shoulders.

It becomes apparent that Bucky has taken their previous discussion about physicality to heart. He’s very bold with how close he wants to be with Steve, sitting right up against him as soon as the movie starts and leaning more and more of his weight on him as time goes on. He purrs happily when Steve finally wraps an arm around his shoulders, gives him an affectionate tug against his body, and holds him close. They spend the rest of the movie that way.

By the time the credits roll, Bucky’s hand has been steadily creeping higher up Steve’s thigh for the better part of twenty minutes. They’ve snuggled the entire movie, but Bucky started touching with intent somewhere around the three-quarter mark, and Steve’s done nothing to stop him. He grunts softly when Bucky finally reaches the top of his thigh, and again when he boldly moves his hand and cups the front of his jeans. Steve’s been perked up for a while, and it feels good to finally be touched. “Buck,” he says softly.

Bucky turns into him, putting their faces close together. “Kiss me?” he murmurs, those two quiet words making his lips move in the barest, most enticing way. They look so soft.

Steve’s belly flutters with nerves in a way that it hasn’t done in a long time. Bucky’s so young and sweet, so innocent, and that really gets to Steve more than he wants to admit. He’s never had a virginity kink, but knowing that he’s the only one who’s ever made love to Bucky’s body, the only one who’s ever laid him down in soft spaces and shown him pleasure, God, it makes Steve weak to think about.

It makes him want so much, makes him want to show Bucky every single way there is in the world to feel good. Steve just wants to keep him and teach him and make him happy. And to feel all of that for someone he’s barely known is … It’s a lot. Steve knows they’re bonded, and that he should allow himself a little leeway, allow himself to indulge. Especially since Bucky’s all but in his lap now, having made his wishes crystal clear, lips hovering scant centimeters away from Steve’s own.

Steve closes the distance, pressing their mouths together in a gentle kiss. Bucky is soft, just as devastatingly sweet and soft as he looks, and Steve feels his blood run hotter at the sheer lust that courses through him. Fuck, he thinks despairingly. How is he ever going to control himself with this boy?

Bucky makes a tiny noise of pleasure as soon as they’re kissing, a sound that goes straight to Steve’s cock. He’s so eager, pressing closer, his hand between Steve’s legs molding to the shape of his erection and rubbing. Steve grunts and kisses him harder, and Bucky looses the sweetest little whimper. He abandons all pretense of restraint, turning fully into Steve, climbing into his lap and straddling him. His hands come up to cradle Steve’s face as they make out.

Steve groans at the first, hot swipe of Bucky’s tongue. He opens up to it and follows, his hands curling in hard at Bucky’s waist as they get more and more heated, more urgent. Bucky’s hips start grinding down in tight little circles, and when they break away from the kiss momentarily, Steve's slightly out of breath. “Buck,” he pants, and Bucky nods shakily in response.

“Yeah. Oh God, Steve. You feel so … I just wanna … nngh.”

Jesus, Steve thinks. It doesn’t even take a complete sentence from the boy to make heat pulse harder through his veins. He knows that part of it’s from the bond. Logically, he knows. He can feel Bucky’s arousal like an echo of his own, amplifying everything. His cock is throbbing against the seam of his jeans. Bucky’s been rocking needily against it as they kiss, and Steve can smell the omega’s arousal now, honey-sweet and tempting underneath the layers of his clothes. He’s getting wet.

It calls out to Steve’s instincts, makes him want to grab Bucky and tackle him to the floor, make him feel so good that he cries and comes apart for him within minutes. It’s not like it would be hard to do. Steve knows how an omega's body works, knows that he could have Bucky creaming on his fingers before the movie’s end credits are finished rolling. But he forces himself to hold back, because that’s not what he wants, not really. Not for Bucky’s first time in their home. Their home. Christ.

“Sweetheart,” he gasps, when Bucky switches to sucking on his neck and rubbing forwards instead of down, his clothed little cock grinding against Steve’s abs, giving off these needy little whines as he moves. Fuck, it’s sexy. And he’s got his mouth right over Steve’s glands, bringing blood to the surface of skin that’s still tender and sensitive from the recent bondmark. It’s healed by now, but the skin is still pink and thin, delicate from injury. It wouldn’t take much to get it to break all over again, and Steve feels saliva pool in his mouth as he imagines that the same must be true of Bucky’s mark. He grits his teeth and digs his fingers in hard at Bucky’s waist, trying to control himself. “Oh, Honey … okay wait. Wait wait wait.” He pulls back, panting, and after a moment Bucky does, too. His eyes open and flick over Steve’s face. He’s got such fantastic eyes. Irises that flare into a stormy cobalt, and then gray; his pupils blown huge with desire. Steve is fucking helpless under those eyes.

“Alpha,” Bucky breathes, saying it like it might as well be Steve’s name. “Can we? Please? I want it, I do. Please Steve, please take me back to our room.”

It’s such pretty begging. Steve’s hit hard in that instant by how utterly beautiful Bucky is. His dark lashes and plush lips, the wanting pinch between his brows, and the sweet, aroused, pregnant smell of him. Steve wonders how he ever thought he was going to be able to remain respectable, here. “Yeah?” he asks, pushing his hands under Bucky’s sweater to feel his skin. He digs his fingers into the soft give of his waist and feels him shudder. “You sure?”

Bucky grabs his face to kiss him forcefully, his hips jolting down again as he does. “Yes!” he laughs, kissing Steve hard, shoving his tongue inside his mouth with almost no skill. “Fuck, Steve. Come on. Pleease. You’re my Alpha, aren’t you?” He’s only asking lightheartedly, but Steve’s balls still clench and throb as if he’s been issued a challenge, and his growl still intensifies to something rich and possessive, rolling deep in his chest. Bucky makes a delighted sound at hearing it, and his scent spikes. He clings to Steve and tucks his face in his neck, humping him harder and moaning, “C’mon Alpha. Take me back there and hold me down. Make it feel better. Aren’t I your omega? Don’t you want to breed me up in our nest?”

“Fuck,” Steve says tightly. This kid’s too clever. He figures things out. “Bucky,” he growls.

“Yeah." Bucky drags his teeth over Steve’s bondmark and sucks, hard, on the glands. He releases with a 'pop' and a harshly whispered, “So make me feel good like you’re supposed to,” against the shell of Steve’s ear. And Steve breaks. He shoves up to standing with Bucky hoisted in his arms. The coffee table scrapes loudly across the floor when his shins hit it. Bucky squeaks at the sudden movement and grabs onto him, laughing delightedly. "Steve!"

Steve carries him back to the bedroom. He dumps him on the bed and Bucky scoots back and starts yanking off his clothes with haste. Steve stays standing and undresses, growling at him. “You’re a manipulative little shit, you know that?”

Bucky laughs. “If it gets me what I want," he preens, voice muffled by his tee shirt and sweater twisted halfway over his face.

Steve is naked first, and he helps Bucky by pulling off the briefs that he's trying to kick off his foot, tossing them away with a grin as he crawls over him on the bed. “And what is that, huh?” he asks, settling in the cradle of his hips, pleased when Bucky's legs part instinctively to make a place for him. Finally, their bodies finally pressed fully together, nothing between them anymore. It feels right. Bucky’s eyes are bright and joyful, his cheeks beautifully flushed as Steve settles on his forearms above him. Bucky whines and draws his knees up, humping against Steve's stomach, smearing his slick there. Steve traces the edge of one dark brow with his thumb. “Pretty boy. What do you want so bad, hm?”

“Thought that’d be obvious by now,” Bucky jokes, though some of the bravado has leached from his voice, replaced by a breathiness that betrays his nerves.

Steve glances down between them and sees Bucky’s cocklet, half hard and fattened up against his belly. And lower down, all that slick. It’s mind-bendingly hot, and Steve shoves a hand down between them, smearing through the mess and getting it all over his fingers. “So wet, Sweetheart,” he praises.

Bucky chokes out the prettiest little noise when Steve's fingers graze his soaked lips, and then wrap around his cocklet and start giving it light, coaxing strokes. “S-shit,” he whimpers, shoving up against Steve’s hand. “Ohn, sh-shit, Steve …”

“Mmhm.” Steve kisses him as he strokes, stopping frequently to pull back and watch the pleasure play out over his face. Bucky's little cock is almost fully hard in his hand. Steve looks down between their bodies to watch as he thumbs over the head again and again. He takes gentle hold of his foreskin and uses it to jerk him off right at the tip. The sight of it is enough to make him want to pop a knot. And lower down? Jesus wept, it’s pretty. Bucky’s slick is everywhere and his cunt is pink and swollen, the lips puffy and darkened from arousal. Jesus fucking Christ. Steve's overcome with the need to seal his mouth right over it.

He gets back on his knees, intending to do just that, pulling Bucky where he wants him in the sheets. He pushes Bucky’s knees apart and looks his fill. Bucky starts to whine and squirm at the close attention, but Steve hushes him and plays with his cock some more to distract him. “Shh, Honey. You’re so pretty down here.” He’s staring, can’t help but stare at the gorgeous spread of Bucky’s sex. He trails his fingers over it in the barest ghost of a touch, near reverent in how he plays with this delicate part of him. “Oh, Sweetheart. Look at you, so perfect.”

Bucky’s scent gets even more aroused, but with a growing hint of embarrassment to it that Steve doesn’t like. His nose wrinkles as he scents a twinge of humiliation, and realizes how bothered Bucky is. This isn’t going to be like at the hospital. Bucky no longer has the mental fog or the fevered drive of his heat to guide him through any of this.

Steve looks up and tries to convey what he feels for Bucky through his expression, through the bond that they share. He reaches out and cups his cheek. “What are you thinking, Sweet boy?” he asks sadly, knowingly. Because he can already see it: the self-deprecating thoughts that Bucky's having about his body, about what he’s been told all his life is wrong with it. Steve makes a miserable noise of contention, and Bucky’s lips quiver and his eyes slip closed. He’s shaking his head just the barest bit. Steve whines sadly. “Honey,”

“Nothing,” Bucky whispers, squirming unhappily and pressing his cheek into Steve’s palm. His sad little smile is heart wrenching. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

For the first time, Steve wishes that he’d gone in to speak privately with Bucky’s OmCare counselor the other day, so that he could’ve asked questions. Steve’s never been with someone with issues like Bucky has, at least not any longer than a few hectic days spent fucking in a heat suite. His job involves acute care, the during. He’s never been there to deal with the after. Bucky’s so beautiful laid out before him now, but Steve is keenly aware of how fragile he is, too. He doesn’t want to mess this up.

Slowly, he moves his hand from Bucky’s face and fits it around the front of his throat instead. He presses up and in under his jaw, and watches as Bucky’s eyes shoot open again. Steve levels him with a tender look. “Buck,” he tells him gently. “I want to lay down on my stomach, here.” He nods at the bed. “Right here, between your pretty legs.” Bucky swallows thickly beneath his palm, a hurt little pinch forming between his brows. One of his hands has come up to grip onto Steve’s wrist at his throat, but he isn’t pushing him away, and Steve keeps his hand there. “I think you’re so beautiful, Sweetheart. And I want to show you. I want to make you feel good.” Carefully, he leans down over him, so close that their lips brush together. But he keeps his eyes open, and so does Bucky, and he doesn’t kiss him. He stays like that, sharing breath with him and looking right into his eyes as he holds his neck with gentle dominance. … And with his other hand, he reaches down between his legs.

Bucky’s breath catches and trips at the first touch of Steve’s fingers, his face slipping between desire and shame and a whole host of other, vulnerable emotions. “S-steve,” he breathes.

“Mmhm.” He lets the pads of his fingers stroke softly along the lips of Bucky’s cunt, again and again, up and down, just barely touching. He’s soaked. “I want you to tell me,” Steve murmurs, and then he finally does kiss him—just once, just a tiny peck on the lips. Bucky tries to kiss back, but he denies him, maintaining that scant distance between their faces and waiting until Bucky opens his eyes again. Steve smiles. “Tell me, Bucky. Tell me to put my face down between your legs. Tell me to kiss you, to lick you.”

The whine Bucky makes is as bothered as the blush that stains his cheeks. He writhes underneath Steve, and Steve tightens his hand on his neck. He fits his thumb over his bonding glands and presses firmly. “I love every part of your body Buck, and I want you to see that. I want you to see what I see.” He gives him another kiss, and this time speaks directly against Bucky’s mouth. “Now give me permission to eat you out.”

“Fuck,” Bucky whimpers, but the shame in his scent has already peaked and is dissipating. It’s still there, but Steve can feel through the bond how his words have helped. Bucky squirms under him, a new gush of slick pooling around Steve’s fingers right after. “... E-eat me out, Steve.”

“Good boy. Oh, Bucky, Sweetheart,”

“Please … your mouth, your … please.”

Steve growls, more than satisfied. He mashes his mouth down hard on Bucky’s, kissing him fiercely to let him know he’s been so, so good for him. Then he shoves himself down the bed, dragging his cock against the sheets as he goes to get some relief. Bucky’s legs spread apart and Steve coaxes him with gentle murmurs to rest them over his shoulders. “There you go. Just like that, Beautiful.” He kisses the back of one calf as it moves and Bucky settles. He flicks his eyes up to Bucky, who’s staring down at him with parted lips and heavy-lidded eyes.

“Oh, Steve. Are you gonna?”

He moves instead of answering, shoulders pushing under Bucky’s thighs and arms wrapping around, tugging him closer. Bucky squeaks and Steve rumbles in satisfaction. “Goddamn,” he curses, rolling his hips down against the mattress some more. It’s barely a relief. “Baby,” he breathes, staring at Bucky’s pink folds, so wet and delicate, his little hole clenching on nothing. “Baby, you got no idea how good this pussy looks. Fuck.”

Bucky groans at the words, but he doesn’t get much chance to protest further because in the next second Steve is diving in. He seals his mouth over most of Bucky’s entire sex, just because he can, giving a big, indulgent suck and making absolutely filthy noises in the process. He laves the flat of his tongue, wide and firm and focused, up the pink cleft of his cunt, again and again, before setting in to a few moments of truly tongue fucking him—first with tiny little jabs that barely breach him and make him whine high and needy, then a series of longer, deeper pushes, going as far into Bucky’s body as he possibly can. Bucky downright wails after a moment of that, and Steve can hear the frustration in it, can hear how he wants more but doesn’t have the words to ask. That’s alright, though. Steve has given plenty of head in his life, and he knows what male omegas respond to best. He gets himself in gear and does what he knows will have Bucky coming in minutes.

“Jesus Chr-uh—” Bucky grunts, his hips shoving up hard against Steve’s face.

Steve hums around the cocklet in his mouth and tongues the underside, flicking over and over it like he would do to a woman’s clit. He’s got one hand holding Bucky’s hip down, and he uses the other to tease at the wet entrance of his slit, pressing with the tips of two fingers. It’s so tight that, for a long second, it doesn’t feel as if he’ll be able to get in. He hums his mouth on Buck’s cock and pushes harder … and slips in.

Bucky cries out sharply and both of his hands are suddenly in Steve’s hair, pulling him closer. His legs hook over his back, heels digging in. “Fuck, oh fuck, Steve yeah… yeahyeah … that … oh, ohplease, jus’likethat.”

Steve hums happily and curls his fingers, rubbing the right spots, letting his knuckles bump Bucky’s mound while he suckles with purpose at the head of his dick. He’s determined to get at least this first orgasm out of the way before he fucks him.

Bucky’s hands pull his head and his hips shove against Steve’s face as he arches and comes, the sweet, desperate sounds he makes as he reaches his climax music to Steve’s ears. His body contracts rhythmically as he releases, a hot gush of slick between his legs and Steve’s palm. Steve groans with his cocklet still held in his mouth. He pulls off, lifting his head to gaze up Bucky’s body but leaving his fingers buried inside his cunt. Bucky’s head is tossed back in the pillows, panting, his face lax from the trailing bliss of his orgasm.

Steve smiles and strokes his fingers inside a few more times, prolonging it for him as much as he can. When Bucky inhales hugely then sighs, his entire body going boneless, Steve pulls out. He dips down for one more, indulgent taste, then kisses his way back up Bucky’s stomach, up across his chest and neck. Bucky’s waiting for him with half-lidded eyes and a sated smile when he arrives to lie over top of him again. Steve hums, settling between his legs and kissing him lightly. He rocks his hips minutely, moving his cock through all that slick. “Feel good?” he asks, bending down to nose at his neck.

Bucky shivers in his arms and nods. “Mmm. Mmhm.”

Steve’s lips find Bucky’s bondmark and kiss it. “Good,” he murmurs. He flicks his tongue out against the delicate skin of the mark, imagining how good it would feel to bite him now, to sink his teeth in all over again, feel the skin break so tenderly and the blood welling out rich with pheromones, how much the sound of Bucky’s cries would turn him on. I want to claim you again, he thinks. I want you. His chest aches with how badly he wants to say those things, but he forces himself not to.

It’s not his place to scar Bucky up any worse than he already has, not when they aren’t mates. Bucky’s with him until the baby comes, maybe not long after. Steve has to let him have that choice, he can't be selfish and box him in, no matter how badly his instincts might make him want to. He rubs his lips over the bondmark instead, then just his nose, when the urge to bite won’t go away.

Beneath him, Bucky’s hips cant up further, receptive. His knees notch up higher about Steve’s waist. But after a moment of lazy writhing and making little seeking, wanting mewls, he freezes. “Oh. Um … Steve?”

“Mm?” Steve is rubbing his cock through the wet cleft of his sex, ready to be inside his omega, ready to feel that heaven again. He wedges a hand down to line himself up. “You ready, Honey?”

“Wait, no.” Steve pulls back, and Bucky winces in apology. “Ah, maybe I have to pee. Sorry.”

Steve laughs, relieved, and kisses him quickly. He rolls off of him and onto his back. “Don’t apologize. It happens.” He pats him on the hip affectionately and tells him to go. Bucky does, and Steve watches his naked backside as it disappears into the ensuite. He sighs heavily once he’s alone, scrubbing the heels of his hands over his eyes and resisting the urge to touch himself in Bucky’s absence. God, he’d really wanted to bite him again. That’s going to be a problem. He hears the toilet flush, then water running at the sink, then Bucky’s footsteps as he returns. Steve uncovers his face and smiles as Bucky climbs back on the bed. “Better?”

“Mmhm.”

Bucky's a typical omega, in that he responds very well to his orgasms. He’s loose and happy after his first, all the tension and insecurities from before gone for the moment. Steve knows his brain has just dumped a shit-ton of chemicals to tell him that he’s loved and safe and beautiful and cared for. He moves to pull him in close again, intending to get right back between his spread legs like he’d been before, but Bucky stops him with another hesitant,

“Wait.”

Steve pauses, and when Bucky pushes against his shoulder he takes the hint and returns to lying on his back, probably with a quizzical expression on his face. Bucky’s kneeling on the bedcovers beside him, looking shy but eager. Steve’s knot throbs at that look. “Buck?”

Bucky’s eyes rove over his body with interest plain on his face. At his sides, his hands make an aborted gesture towards Steve. “Um. I wanted to try …” He bites his lip, eyes trailing down to Steve’s erection where it lies wet and heavy against his belly, the shine of Bucky’s slick on it catching the room’s light. Bucky visibly trembles and reaches out with his hand again. This time, his fingers brush over the skin of Steve’s hip. He shifts in place on his knees. “Can I …”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, instantly harder just at the thought of Bucky touching him in that way—with his hands, his mouth, it doesn’t matter. Whatever it is that Bucky wants, Steve wants him to have it. The idea of his omega wanting him like this, wanting to explore his body, makes Steve hotter than anything he can imagine. “Anything you want,” he manages to croak out, forcing himself to remain still and let Bucky set the pace. “Go ahead.”

Bucky’s timid for another moment, leaning forward. His hands land lightly on Steve’s chest at first, then drag down, feeling his body. He takes a deep breath and seems to decide on something, his expression growing resolute. He straddles Steve’s thighs and leans forward to touch his chest again, taking more time to explore his pecs, ghost fingers over his nipples. It’s endearing how fascinated he still is. Steve supposes that they didn’t do much of this in the heat suite. Bucky had been too far into his cycle then, too needy and traumatized to even contemplate exploring Steve’s body when what he really needed was an alpha taking care of him. Now though, now he can explore. And the heat in his eyes as they rove Steve’s body shows that he very much wants to.

Steve swallows thickly and watches as his omega becomes familiar with him in this new way. His hands flow over Steve’s abs, fingertips tracing the lines of muscle, and then the hair that starts on his belly. He smooths his hands down over those flat planes, out to his hips, to the tops of his thighs and back up. But his eyes remain glued to Steve’s cock the entire time. It’s fully hard now, darkened in color from his arousal and the knot plumped at the base. Bucky’s eyes flick up once, just to check, and Steve gives him a shaky smile. “Go ahead, Sweetheart.”

Bucky touches his cock, wrapping his hand around the shaft like he’s afraid he’ll hurt Steve. “What should I do?” he whispers, fingers tightening the barest fraction and giving a cautious stroke. “I’ve never …”

Steve’s hips jerk up and he fights to keep himself still. “It’s okay,” he says. “You touch yourself, right? Just do that. It’s the same.”

Bucky’s eyes flick up, and Steve’s surprised to see humor there. Bucky twists his lips wryly. “It’s not the same,” he teases, looking back down pointedly at Steve’s humongous cock, and then his.

Steve chuckles. “Well, general idea.” He reaches down and puts his hand over Bucky’s hand where it’s holding his cock. Bucky inhales sharply and looks at him. Steve nods. “Anything you do is gonna feel so good for me, Buck,” he tells him honestly. “Go ahead. I just want to watch you have fun.” Bucky looks shocked at that for the barest of seconds, but then that look slips away, replaced by eagerness. He looks back down, licks his lips, and starts jerking Steve off in slow, exploring strokes. Steve groans and lets his head flop back into the pillow, closing his eyes after a moment. Bucky’s other hand appears at the top of his thigh. It slides inwards, squeezing the muscle, and Steve groans and spreads his legs a little for him, flexing his pelvis up. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Bucky.” Bucky’s touches grow bolder. He squeezes Steve’s cock harder and starts twisting his hand experimentally on the upstroke. His other hand migrates from Steve’s thigh to his balls, eliciting a grunt from Steve. “Oh,” he breathes, wanting Bucky to hear it in his voice, how good it is. “Honey, yeah. That’s just right.”

Bucky rolls his balls in his palm lightly, and when Steve tells him that he can tug on them a little, he obeys. “Touch my knot,” Steve whispers, when he can feel it swelling further. He moans unexpectedly loudly when Bucky’s hand closes around it though, and he’s opening his eyes and reaching down to grab Bucky’s wrists in alarm. “Nope, nope nope. No more of that,” he pants, wide-eyed.

Bucky laughs, looking proud. “Why not?”

Steve growls and tugs on Bucky's waist, making him fall down on top of him. “You know why not,” he rumbles, then kisses him firmly on the mouth.

It’s possessive, and Bucky moans into it, his hands curling over Steve’s shoulders and hips grinding down against his abs. They part from the kiss and Bucky sits up, his eyes sparkling. “I liked it though,” he says. He rocks down at a different angle, rubbing his cunt on Steve's belly and smearing his slick all over the place. He giggles when Steve groans and grabs his hips to stop him. “What if that’s what I wanted?” he asks. “What if I want to make you cum with my hands? Or my mouth?”

“Fuck.”

“I want to see it,” he says, eyes hot on Steve and his hips rocking lewdly against him. “One day. I wanna see it happen. In my hands. I want to hold it and see it get big.”

Steve really, really has to close his eyes for a second with that one. He bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to hurt. Because he simply cannot with Bucky and his virginal little attempts at dirty talk right now. “You better watch your mouth,” he warns, his voice sounding like he’s swallowed rocks. “Or you will see it.” Bucky’s grin is magnificent, but Steve raises an eyebrow and reminds him, “Alphas only cum once, Sweetheart. Up to you to decide where my knot is, when that happens.”

It’s adorable, how fast Bucky’s eyes widen at that, and then how he frowns and pouts about not getting to have his cake and eat it, too. Steve waits him out patiently, grateful to have a few seconds’ reprieve (and also fairly certain that he knows which way Bucky’s going to steer things).

“Fine,” Bucky eventually says, sighing dramatically as if he’s making the world’s most difficult choice. Steve grins and digs his fingers firmly into the fleshiness of his hips, preparing to flip them back over. But Bucky grunts in protest, and then he puts his hands on Steve's chest and shoves him back down to the bed with an adorable little omega growl. Steve feels his surge of confidence and playful dominance through the bond, and he grins up at him, understanding what he wants. “Yeah?”

Bucky pulls his bottom lip into his mouth and bites it, a little bit of self-consciousness slipping back in, even as he nods. “Uh huh. Can I?”

Steve groans. He sits up and yanks Bucky against him, one hand threaded into his hair just so he can kiss him, hard, one single time. He falls back down to the bed. “Of course you can,” he tells him, grabbing his hips again and kneading his fingers in. “Go on.”

His enthusiastic response seems to wipe away any remaining traces of Bucky’s doubt. The boy's scent is pure again, unpolluted by shame or uncertainty, and he licks his lips and focuses intently on kneeling up, reaching around behind himself for Steve’s cock, and lining it up with his entrance.

Steve helps him along, holding his dick steady at the base so that Bucky can focus on relaxing and taking him inside his body. “Hey,” he whispers, getting Bucky’s attention back on him. “Keep your eyes on me, okay?” Bucky flushes and exhales shakily at the command. He nods, eyes fixed on Steve’s face even as he lowers himself down and they touch. Steve’s cockhead presses, breaches Bucky’s body, and he sees Bucky’s lips part and his brow pinch.

"Oh."

“Just like that,” Steve soothes, petting his flank with one hand, guiding his hip down with the other. Bucky groans quietly as he sinks down and bottoms out, and Steve rewards him with a deep rumble of approval. “Thaat’s it, Honey. Oh, good boy.”

Bucky mewls and falls forward, bracing both hands on Steve’s chest. His eyes are clamped shut tightly and he starts moving, rocking forwards and back, hard and fast. But Steve only lets him have a moment of that frantic grinding before he’s shushing him and coaxing him to sit back, slow down, and open his eyes. “Yeah,” he says, stroking up to his waist and back down in praise. He tugs and pulls his hips, guiding him into the right motions. “Slow and easy. That’s right. Keep those pretty eyes open so Alpha can see, yeah?” Bucky nods, his pleasure-pained face and desperation for Steve's guidance just about the sweetest, most erotic thing Steve’s ever seen. He nods along encouragingly with Bucky. “Good boy. That's it. Look right at me while you make us feel so good.”

Bucky does, sitting back the way that Steve’s positioned him and learning to roll his hips in that slow, luxurious grind that feels absolutely exquisite. He’s able to keep at it that way for a long while, too, before his breathing eventually starts to pick up, getting heavier and faster, his face and chest gorgeously flushed. The wet sounds of all his slick are more intense, and Steve can tell from the scent of him, from the feeling of his cunt tightening and rippling around his dick, that he’s close to his second orgasm. Steve clenches his jaw and digs his heels into the sheets so he can fuck up against Bucky's grinding. He can feel his knot pulsing, about to swell. “Baby,” he grits out. “M’close.”

“Steve.”

“I’m gonna knot you,” he gasps. “Buck, oh, I’m gonna.”

It’s the first time he’s ever not asked it as a question, but he doesn’t have to worry about consent, because Bucky makes it immediately clear that Steve’s knot is exactly what he wants. “Fuck yeah,” he whines, face crumpling and both of his hands shooting forward to brace on Steve’s chest again. He grinds harder, faster, more desperately like he’d done in the beginning, and this time Steve lets him. He curses and wraps his arms around Bucky’s back when the boy collapses onto him. His knot pops, and Bucky wails and comes.

Steve shouts as he starts to come, too, his balls pulling up tight and his focus narrowing down to nothing but the point where their bodies are joined. God, it feels so good, so good, sofuckinggood. His hips rut mindlessly against their tie and he clutches onto Bucky, muffling his moans in the omega’s neck. He gasps and has to force his mouth away from Bucky’s bonding glands at the last second, when he realizes what he’s aiming for. He pants into the top of his shoulder instead as he comes. He loses track of space and time for that first, excruciating minute of his orgasm, and then flows back into himself for the heavenly three or four minutes of languorous pleasure that follow.

Meanwhile, Bucky pants and grinds himself out to at least one more climax, then collapses on Steve’s chest in sweaty exhaustion. "Oh. Oh, god."

Steve moans and wraps his arms fully around Bucky's waist, hugging their bodies tightly together while his balls keep emptying. "Hmmm," he sighs blissfully, eyes closed and nose buried in Bucky's hair. "'Mega."

Bucky whimpers a little and squirms on his knot, repeating his name in a tired, whispered slur, again and again, right against Steve’s left pec: “Steve, Ssteve … mmm, Ssteeve.”

Steve kisses the top of Bucky’s head and hums some more. He thinks he mumbles something in the general vicinity of, “Luv you,” before he drifts off to sleep, his cock still buried deep and his omega’s adoring, sated whispers still ringing in his ears.

Art: @hopelessartgeek

Story Masterlist

Masterlist

💖Join one of my tag lists by filling out this form

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

🎨Art in banner by the incredibly talented @hopelessartgeek, who makes a ton of amazing Stucky art. Check her out! (The piece in the banner, used with permission, was not made for this fic.)

Tag List: Join tag list

@scottishrosefury

@not-that-syndrigast

@lolitsbuckybarnes

@kathy-2005

@stuckysgal

@thenewmissescullen

@sapphirebarnes

@Yoruse

@autumnrose40

@alexakeyloveloki

@gretasimp

@kandismom

@ivoryangel1290

@mrs-rogers-barnes1

@iloveshawnieboi

@m0k0k0

@sousydive

@sapphirebarnes

@kandis-mom

@juicyfruit-22

@bloodrosefuryao3

@laylamikaelsonbarnes

@leighta

@drfellow

@era

@smlmsworld

@mrsstuckyboo

@banneriscarried

@saltyllamakidwombat

@blackhawkfanatic

@scarlettmischief

@chibijusstuff

@caplanbuckybarnes

@downriverfellow

@kitasownworld

@skel-skell

@onecoolbroad

[courfeyracs-swordcane]

[pointing towards you emoji] favorite blaseball team. go

(if you want to practice drawing in another style, then draw yourself as a transformer OR as a human character)

WE ARE FROM CHICAGO

[blupengu]

Oh how naive I was…

[loverboydotcom]

nobody asked except my autism and i always answer that but since this was my first year actually consistently watching film and figuring out what genres and ideas and eras i want to explore these are my ten favourite first watches of the year <3

honourable mentions: blue (derek jarman), sex lies and videotape, the rest of the teenage apocalypse trilogy, an american werewolf in london, my bloody valentine, alien, near dark, re-animator, anatomy of a fall

[waspcup]

google dot com how to stop making posts show up on your dash

[hasarjunadoneanythingwrong]

Jesus Christ there really are freaks in the world

[halfvalid]

pretty in that

ABOUT

rating: general audiences

characters: live action!roronoa zoro | fem!reader | live action!monkey d. luffy | live action!nami

pairing: live action!roronoa zoro x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k

description: you have a hard time picking a dress for dinner whilst in kaya's mansion. zoro (sort of) helps!

tags: strawhat!reader, female reader, fluff, kissing, confessions, no use of "y/n", special straw hat appearances (nami & luffy), soft zoro

author's note: i'm a sucker for dress-up scenes so i KNEW i was gonna write smth like this once that ep3 scene started playing. reader chooses a dress at the end; dress is non-described so you can imagine your ideal dress!

You were on Nami and Zoro’s side when it came to whatever was going on in Syrup Village. Kaya’s mansion made you feel vaguely unsettled, and stepping into the building made your heart pound quicker than you would like to admit. But if there was one thing that piqued your interest, it was the order of changing clothes for dinner. You’d been stuck in the same few outfits for weeks now, and the promise of something new—and formal—was nearly exciting, although you’d never admit it in front of Nami and her disapproving gaze. 

Kaya’s kindness combined with the private guest room and bath you were treated to helped soothe your nerves. Soon you found yourself being led to the giant closet the rest of the Straw Hats were already in—Nami was trying on various different pieces, and Zoro seemed to have something in hand too. 

“Ah, there you are!” Luffy said, swiveling on his heel and giving you a big grin as you entered the room. You stared in disbelief at all of the racks around you. Hell, there were even clothes hanging from the ceiling. 

“Well, we certainly have a lot of options,” you said, skimming a hand over a nearby rack. There were a variety of different fabrics, but they all felt expensive: silk and velvet, damasks and brocades. “I don’t even know where to start.” 

“I’m just trying on anything,” Nami called from where she was, before stepping out from the room divider she’d been changing behind. She wore an emerald dress with a plunging neckline, the patterned silk clinging to her curves, and did a little spin. “What do you think?” 

Luffy shrugged. Zoro wrinkled his nose, barely glancing up from the armchair he was lounging on. “I think it looks nice,” you offered, but Nami still seemed dissuaded. 

“Ugh, these two are impossible. What are you going to wear?” 

“Uh, I’m getting there,” you said with a little laugh. “It’s a bit overwhelming; I’d rather help you guys pick first. Luffy, have you found something yet?” You turned towards the man in the center of the room, who nodded enthusiastically. 

“Yeah, I found this!” He raised up a black waistcoat. You frowned at it. 

“Um, Luffy, waistcoats are supposed to be worn with a suit,” you said, then paused, seeing his blank look. “...Never mind.” 

“And I’m wearing black,” Zoro added, despite the piece of clothing slung along his lap definitely not being black. You exchanged a glance with Nami, who just rolled her eyes. They’re stupid, she mouthed, then returned to the rack she was glancing through. She worked quickly, pulling out various numbers that she scrutinized before either setting on the couch beside her or putting back. 

“Okay,” you said slowly. “Need me to find you some pants with that, Cap?” Nami and Zoro let out identical groans as you spoke the pet name, both turning to give you exasperated looks. You suppressed your laugh. 

“Stop calling him that,” Zoro said with a tired sigh. “You’re encouraging him.” 

“Kind of the point, yeah,” you said cheerfully. While Zoro and Nami were both still largely unconvinced about the whole pirate crew thing, you’d joined the bandwagon rather quickly. Zoro rolled his eyes, and you turned towards the racks to find Luffy some slacks. “Assumedly you need something other than that shirt too?” 

“I’ll look later,” Zoro said passively. You watched him out of your peripheral vision. He was outfitted in a patterned kimono, his three swords slung along his lap. He didn’t seem too interested in his surroundings, though what he was doing, you weren’t sure. You let him be, turning to page through the racks of clothes again. Finally you found a pair of slacks that seemed like they’d fit Luffy. 

“Here,” you said, passing them over to him. “And find some shoes while you’re at it.” 

“Why does she even have clothes that don’t fit her?” Zoro murmured, sounding as baffled as he could get. “What, she just casually has clothes in all four of our sizes hanging around?” 

“Rich people own things just to own them,” Nami called. She’d changed again; this dress had a halter neckline and was blush pink. Zoro motioned with a hand at it, and Nami frowned, glancing down at the dress. “You don’t like it?” 

“Eh,” Zoro said. Nami made a face. 

“At this point I think you’re hating just to hate.” She pulled up a few more options, narrowing her eyes as she surveyed them. Luffy was seemingly satisfied with what you’d given him, because he took the pieces off of their hangers and slung them over his shoulder. 

“I’m off,” he announced. “Gonna go change in my room and do some exploring before dinner. Have fun!” With that, he left, and Nami sighed, turning towards you. She held up her final two options—a red cheongsam with delicate gold embroidery and a pastel blue dress with an a-line skirt. You gnawed on your bottom lip as you studied the two.

“I think the blue one might wash you out a bit,” you said eventually; it’d clash with her hair no doubt, and make her skin look even paler. The shade wasn’t a right match with her eyes, either. “I like the cheongsam; I think you should go with that one. It contrasts nicely with your hair.” 

Nami raised up the dress again, inspecting it. “You’re right,” she said, ducking back behind the room divider to change. You started pursuing the racks again; Nami stepped out a few moments later, successfully outfitted in her new dress. “Okay, I’m going to go do my hair in my guest room. Good luck.” 

“Bye,” you called, watching as she left the room. You clicked your tongue, almost alone now and with absolutely zero options of clothing. As much as you liked the idea of new clothes, the abundance of options was starting to seem a little daunting. “Okay, now that Nami’s done, it’s my turn to play dress-up.” 

Zoro laughed from where he sat, and you startled, almost having forgotten he was there. He was watching you attentively, his attention having diverted from whatever it was he’d been thinking about earlier. “You like this kind of thing?” 

“Well, I mean.” You shrugged, peering at a few of the pieces on the rack in front of you. You pulled out a deep green dress, eyeing the lace by the neckline before setting it back. “It’s kind of fun, isn’t it?” 

“Not really what I’m into.” 

“You wear jewelry, so clearly you have some fashionable instinct,” you pointed out, bending over to glance at the clothes hiding by your knees. These were all skirts or unreasonably short dresses, with so little fabric you were uncertain they would cover anything at all. “Unless the earrings are for another reason…?”

“Three swords, three earrings.” 

“Makes sense. What are you wearing with your shirt?” You glanced back to see Zoro’s answer, but he merely shrugged. “Do you want me to find you some trousers? A suit?” 

“You don’t need to find clothes for me. I can do that myself.” Still, Zoro made absolutely no move to do so. You rolled your eyes, but turned your attention back on what you’d be wearing for the dinner. Vaguely you wondered how Zoro would look wearing a suit. You flushed almost as soon as the thought popped into your head, shoving it into the very back of your skull and banishing it from seeing the light of day. 

“If you say so,” you said instead, mostly to distract yourself from the beyond inappropriate thoughts starting to run through your head. Honestly, you barely knew your crew mates—the four of you were close to tearing each other’s throats out before you ran into Buggy, after all. And the fact that Zoro was, well, conventionally attractive—and you tried to keep your thoughts on that and that alone, anything emotional was strictly out of the question—shouldn’t be something your mind lingered on. 

You picked out the first dress that looked to be your size. It was dark purple, backless with a tight trumpet skirt. Ducking behind the room divider Nami had used, you stripped off your clothes, donning the dress. There was a mirror along the other side of the divider, and you turned, trying to appraise the dress on your figure. The color didn’t look entirely right, and you were uneasy about the lack of mobility the skirt might have—Kaya’s staff were still extremely suspicious, after all, and you’d rather be safe than sorry. 

“Let me see,” Zoro called from outside. You tugged at the dress, suddenly nervous, but stepped out after you couldn’t find a good enough excuse not to. Zoro’s eyes ran up and down your figure, and you did a slow circle, showing off the dress. The bare skin of your back prickled. 

“You’re not going to be able to move in it,” he eventually said. 

You huffed out a breath, the nervous energy that had accumulated in your chest leaving with the action. Something in your belly stirred; disappointment, maybe, that Zoro had only commented on the practicality of the dress, not how you looked in it. But you pushed those thoughts away with an angry shove. Not the time, and definitely not the person to be thinking those sorts of things about. “Yeah, that’s what I was worried about. Let me find something else.” 

Zoro’s gaze didn’t flicker from your body as you started across the room, ducking between more racks to find something. “You dead-set on a dress?” 

“I haven’t worn a dress in a while,” you answered, picking out a red one before remembering Nami’s choice and setting it back. “Might as well take the opportunity.” The next one you pulled was blue, all shiny and soft. The material looked like some kind of tender silk. You set it aside to try on. “Why?” 

“Haven’t seen either you or Nami in a dress before.” 

“Actually, you have. I’m wearing one right now and Nami tried like five on earlier,” you said, glancing over your shoulder to shoot Zoro an unimpressed look. He scoffed, though there was a smile at the edges of his mouth as he turned his head away. Your next choice was soft pink, and made of tulle that vaguely resembled a puff pastry. You pulled it up. “Think I should try it?” 

“I mean, pick whatever,” Zoro said, though he seemed mildly disgusted by the amount of fabric the skirt had, all bunched up with layers like something a ballerina might wear. “What are you trying to achieve with the dress?” 

“What am I—I’m trying to look nice, Zoro,” you said, stifling your laughter. You set the pink dress back, replacing it with a sage green number instead. “Not everything has ulterior motives.” 

“You always look nice.” 

You froze, a soft chill curling around the back of your neck. Carefully, you straightened up from where’d you been bent over yet another rack of clothes, turning to look Zoro in the eye. His eyes hadn’t moved. “Oh,” you managed out, throat all dry and tongue like sandpaper in your mouth. “Well, thank you.” 

Zoro cleared his throat, a dull noise he made in the hollow of his throat without even parting his lips. His gaze flickered away. “Yeah. Go try those on.” 

Wordlessly, you stepped back behind the room divider and slipped on the blue dress. It had a texture like water—it was some kind of high-end silk, flexible enough that it was near liquid in movement. The dress itself fell to your ankles, and had a simple square neckline. You stepped outside, doing another slow twirl. “Better,” Zoro said. 

“Better how?” 

“You can probably run in it.” 

You twisted your lips, trying to suppress the urge to turn them down into a frown. “Okay. It’s not doing it for me.” You ducked back behind the divider to change yet again; the sage green one was satin, with long sleeves and a neckline you hadn’t anticipated would be that deep. 

Still, upon exiting the divider and turning for Zoro again, he didn’t have any worthwhile feedback. “It’s kind of plain,” he said eventually, not meeting your eyes. 

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest; you had to almost resist stomping over to the racks to find something more, and spent another few minutes gathering dresses and trying them on. 

To your immense disappointment, each one garnered little to no reaction from Zoro. You even shoved on one of the tiny, too-little fabric dresses you’d disapproved of earlier, but all Zoro did was scan you from head to toe and say, rather flatly, “you’d get stabbed pretty easily in that.” 

Frustration bled into your nerves as you hid behind the divider again. You glared at yourself in the mirror—your skin had started flushing with how annoyed you were getting, which might’ve been funny had you not been so ticked off. Men, you thought, irritated. Was it really so hard to tell you that you looked pretty? 

He’s a bounty hunter, you had to remind yourself. He doesn’t care about this kind of thing. Besides, he was the last person you should be setting your sights on anyway. You tugged at the short dress, the hem just barely grazing the tops of your thighs. 

You heard footsteps approaching from outside the divider, suddenly too close as you snapped yourself out of the reverie of thoughts you’d been lost in. Zoro turned the corner, arm propped up against the divider edge as he peered in, brows furrowed. “You stopped coming out,” he said. He was still in his kimono, swords tossed over one shoulder. The shirt he had was, assumedly, left on the couch he’d finally stood up from. 

“I’m frustrated,” you told him blandly. His frown deepened. 

“Because of… clothing?” 

You suppressed the sigh that threatened to escape your lungs. “Never mind. I’m fresh out of ideas.” You pushed past Zoro, opting to stand in the center of the room as if analyzing it from a different view would magically give you more options. Zoro turned to stare, still looking perplexed. “With so many options, it’s hard to make up my mind, that’s all.” 

“Uh huh.” Zoro was still studying you. “Did I do something?” 

“What? No,” you said hastily. Too hastily. The words had ripped out of your throat like a hiccup, and you seriously needed to learn how to lie a bit better because now Zoro’s expression was even more confused. “No. Why would I be mad at you?” 

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.” 

“It’s nothing,” you insisted, turning away from Zoro to stare at some of the clothes hanging on the wall above his head. These were too high up to properly look at, and as you stepped back, you glanced through the dresses hanging off the arch of the ceiling. You perused them without too much interest, eyes glancing over the various colors and fabrics until— 

Zoro stepped next to you. “Hey,” he said, and you jolted, head snapping down to look at him. You let out a noise of irritation, then turned your focus back on the ceiling. 

Your gaze flickered through the racks until finally falling on one particular dress hanging by the mouth of the room. It was somewhat hidden, tucked in a little corner beside a few other pieces, but from your vantage point it seemed about your size. 

You took a step closer to it, surveying it with your neck craned. The material looked soft and comfortable but it still retained shape, and the color—even in the dim lighting of the closet—was one of your favorites. The undertone would suit your skin perfectly. And, well, you didn’t want to put all your bets on one dress you hadn’t even touched, but it was certainly promising. 

Zoro stepped past you, barely exerting any effort to reach up and bring the dress down from where it hung up high. “This one, right?” he asked, and you swallowed, some of the annoyances you had towards him dissolving as he extended the dress hanger towards you. You nodded wordlessly, taking it. You stood there for a second before Zoro gestured with his head towards the divider. “Go try it on.” 

You did so, retreating safely behind your wall and stepping out of the little dress. You surveyed the one Zoro had grabbed for you again, heart lodged in your throat. It really was beautiful, and exactly your style; now that you saw it up close, you could safely affirm it was your size too, but nervousness still pulsed through your veins at it. 

Carefully, you slipped it on, adjusting the fabric around your hips and fixing up the neckline to rest evenly on your skin.

Zoro spoke out from the rest of the room. “So why are you mad at me?” 

“I’m not—” you sighed, dropping your arms before returning to fiddle with the dress. “I’m not mad at you.” 

“Is it because I wasn’t being helpful with the clothes? Because I already said that’s not exactly my area of expertise—” 

“It’s not because of the clothes, Zoro,” you said sharply, cutting him off. Zoro clicked his tongue, the sound reverberating around the room and thudding in time with your heartbeat. You turned your attention back onto your reflection. “It’s just me being silly. Don’t worry about it.” 

‘I’m worrying about it,” Zoro deadpanned. You sighed, adjusting the dress one final time before arranging your hair and staring at yourself in the mirror. It fit you perfectly, emphasizing all the right places and hiding all the parts of your body you were more insecure about. “Changed yet?” 

“Yeah,” you said, voice limp. 

“Let me see.” 

You bit your lip, suddenly nervous about how he’d react. Knowing him, it’d be something like it’s okay or the color’s fine; perhaps can you even walk in that? or weird shape if he was feeling a little more critical. Still, you stepped out anyway, not meeting Zoro’s eyes as you spun for him, letting him look at the dress from all angles. When you’d finished posing you glanced up, eyes meeting him tentatively. 

“It’s…” Zoro cleared his throat, ripping his gaze away from the dress on your figure to flicker up to your face. His gaze dropped again nearly as fast, like he couldn’t bear to keep eye contact. “Uh.” 

“It’s what?” you prompted, turning to face the nearest mirror. Your lips twisted into a worried frown, turning to glance at the dress again. Was it really not as perfect as you’d thought originally? “Do you like it? It’s my favorite so far, I think, but if you don’t like it—” 

“You look pretty in that,” Zoro blurted, cutting your rambles off with the strident, too-loud sentence. You froze, eyes flickering to meet him in the mirror. Carefully, he glanced up at you, and you could see his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed hard. 

“Oh.” 

Zoro coughed, averting his gaze as you slowly turned around to face him. You couldn’t see properly with the less-than-ideal lighting of the room, but his face seemed to have taken on a ruddier complexion. “I like it,” he said, words softer than they’d been before. “It’s the one.” 

There was a little rush of something through your veins, and you felt vaguely lightheaded. “Okay,” you barely managed to squeak out. “Thanks.” You stumbled back behind the divider, sucking in a deep breath and trying to regulate your breathing. God, this was actually shameful at this point. 

You composed yourself quickly, gathering all the dresses you’d tried on and abandoned to return to their proper places. Zoro was still watching you attentively, and you glanced over your shoulder at him. Sparks prickled along your skin as your eyes met. “What?” you asked. 

“You’re acting weird.” 

“Am not.” 

Zoro stood up, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his head from side to side. He glanced through the racks and, without even a minute’s hesitation, plucked a suit jacket and matching pants out from beside him. “Yeah, you are. What’s up?”

“You’re just grabbing those without thinking about it?” you demanded, eager to change the subject. Zoro rolled his eyes.

“I picked them like fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “Just didn’t grab them until you were done your whole… thing. Now spill it. You’re all red again.” 

You swiveled towards the closest mirror, unable to suppress your gape as you saw that your skin had indeed turned a distinctive shade of scarlet, flushed undertones creeping their way up your skin. It was entirely recognizable even in the terrible lighting. Even your skin was treacherous, now. “Nothing,” you muttered, unable to meet Zoro’s eyes as you spit it out. “I was annoyed because you weren’t telling me what you thought of the dresses.” 

“I… did, though?” Zoro said, perplexed. You let out a grating sigh, cheeks flaring even hotter now that he was forcing you to confess the entire extent of your sins. 

“Yeah, like, practically,” you said, wrapping your arms defensively over your chest. “You’ll get stabbed in that so easily. You won’t be able to walk. I just wanted you to tell me that—” you cut yourself off with another groan. “Don’t make me say it.”

Zoro blinked. “I have no idea what you’re edging towards, so you’re going to have to say it.”

“I just wanted you to tell me I looked nice!” you finally burst out, turning so you wouldn’t have to look at Zoro’s face. God, you were going to have to quit the Straw Hats after this. It was so entirely stupid. 

“But—” There was a laugh in Zoro’s voice, and you glared down at the floor, all of your dignity having left you by this point. You had no shame left to feel anymore. “I said ‘you always look nice’. Doesn’t that insinuate—” 

“That’s not the point,” you said hotly, tone almost argumentative now. “I wanted you to think I looked pretty in a dress, Zoro.” 

Zoro didn’t respond for a moment, brows creasing and face taking on a baffled expression. “But why—” Zoro cut himself off, and you turned even redder, holding your breath as he finally connected the dots. A single word fell from his lips, like a soft breath of air as he spoke. “Oh.” 

“Oh,” you muttered under your breath, unable to stop the almost whining tone your voice took on. Zoro stepped closer to you, a hand wrapping around your wrist and forcing you to look up at him. 

“I said you looked pretty in this one.” 

“I know,” you insisted, still all red, “which is why I’m not totally mad at you, but—” 

“You looked pretty in all of them,” Zoro said. He didn’t look bashful, per se—you didn’t think Zoro could get shy—but his voice was low, all hoarse in a more tentative way rather than one of his grating remarks this time. “For the record.” 

Your breath caught. 

“This one’s my favorite, though,” Zoro muttered. And then he was leaning down to kiss you, the ghost of his lips just on the corner of your mouth. You gaped up at him in shock as he averted his gaze, staring at some spot about your head. “Was that—” he started, before clearing his throat and trying again with a little more of his dignity this time. “Was that okay?” 

“Yes,” you blurted fervently, and before you could fix up the moment with something more, well, suitable, your big mouth ruined it for you. “But I think we’re holding up dinner. You should get changed, and I still need to find shoes.” 

You bit your tongue immediately after the words had been said, but it was too late—Zoro coughed, turning away from you. You panicked, and now it was your turn to grab his arm and tug you towards him. “Wait!” 

Zoro glanced down at you, perplexed, and then you leaned up to kiss him square on the mouth. He stumbled back, surprised, but adjusted quickly, hand going to cradle the back of your neck and pressing you right to him before you finally broke apart. 

“You should steal it,” he started. You stared up at him in question. “The dress, I mean. You should steal it.” 

“When am I ever going to need to wear this again?” you asked, perplexed. Zoro shrugged, fingers tugging at the edge of the dress's neckline. 

“Dunno. Just take it. She probably won’t even notice.” 

“You’re adorable,” you teased; Zoro wrinkled his nose but didn’t complain, opting instead to move away and pick up the clothes he still hadn’t changed into. “Go change. See you at dinner.” 

“Yeah,” Zoro said, his eyes not straying from your figure as you ducked out of the room. Before you could fully leave, though, Zoro grabbed your wrist, spinning you around towards him.

You didn’t have enough time to ask what he was doing when he leaned around to kiss you one final time, his hands cradling your face as your lips moved against each other. It was only a moment later that he stepped away, looking rather sheepish but not very apologetic as he finally let you go. 

“You look more than pretty,” he murmured, eyes sinking into yours, and your throat dried, any words you might’ve formed dying away within seconds. “You always look more than pretty. You look gorgeous.” 

“Thank you,” you whispered, and then he ducked back inside the closet to change. 

© halfvalid 2023

[sttoru]

toji taking care of newborn megumi while reader sleeps?

⟣ tags. dad!toji x female reader. fluff. gumi isnt rlly a newborn but we ball. use of curse words teehee

“tch—i’m really regretting buyin’ this thing.” toji was running out of patience as he reads the instructions on the piece of paper in his hands. it was all so vague; he’s questioning himself for even trying to figure this stuff out in the first place.

the small coos and babbles coming from megumi sound throughout the living room, the baby sitting in the pillow fort that his dad made him. the correct name would actually be ‘pillow jail’, since the fort wasn’t built for megumi’s entertainment—it was mainly to keep the little boy confined so toji could peacefully work on setting up the playhouse.

your husband was so intensly focused on putting the playhouse together to the point that he didn’t even notice the little thief escaping his self-made jail.

megumi was crawling on his hands and knees, his palms making soft ‘pat’ sounds as they came in contact with the cold floor, pouty lips forming a smile as he crawled his way over to his dad. toji had his back facing megumi, giving the kid a good opportunity to sneak up on him.

“fuck.” toji curses idly as his hand slipped and his finger bumped against his own face. not thinking much about that slip-up, the man continues to put the parts together, until he feels something tugging at his shirt from behind.

toji glances down and spots his son trying to climb up on his back—the journey up to toji’s broad shoulders was like climbing a mountain for such a little thing.

“phack!” the cute voice from below repeats what it has heard with confidence. megumi used all of his strength to reach up to his dad’s shoulders, repeating the used swear word proudly, a series of ‘phack! phack! phack!’ echoing louder in toji’s ears with each movement upwards.

the kid eventually reaches his destination, head placed right next to toji’s, chubby arms circling around his dad’s neck—basically hanging on for dear life.

toji wasn’t even concerned about megumi repeating that bad word over and over. how his son had managed to break free from his confinement was of more importance. his green eyes land on the destroyed pillow fort behind his back and your husband couldn’t help but chuckle. almost proudly.

“i see y’re already outsmarting your dad, kiddo.” toji grins, one hand coming up to stabilise megumi on his back. the baby looks over his father’s shoulder, seemingly inspecting what he was building. toji sighs as his free hand holds onto the piece of paper that included the instructions; “maybe ya could’ve even helped me build this shitty thing if ya knew how to read.”

“sjiddy!”

it was as if megumi was purposely only picking out the curse words. toji chuckles at this and—unlike any other parent—encourages his child to continue for his own entertainment.

“mhm—tha’s right. repeat after me, son.” the dark-haired man nods with a smug grin and points at the half-built playhouse, making sure megumi knew what he was talking about, “that thing is shitty.”

“sjiddy! sjiddy!” the kid repeats loudly and giggles as his father ruffles his hair afterwards in a ‘job-well-done’ manner.

“good boy.” toji laughs softly, moving megumi over to his lap so it’d be more comfortable for the both of them, “y’r momma is gonna kill me if she hears you say such things, though.”

megumi tilts his head up until it rested against toji’s torso, big eyes glancing at the face hovering on top of his; “mama? mama ‘eepy.”

“no, mama isn’t.”

toji freezes in place, megumi gasps in delight. you had awoken from your nap and decided to check in on your husband and son whom you had left alone for a few hours.

and, apparently, you couldn’t leave toji and megumi alone without it ending in your kid picking up on his dad’s bad habits.

you put your hands on your hips and glared at toji. he knew what time it was and he was not about to sit through another lecture. the last time you gave him an earful, he had to sit and listen to you scold him for almost an hour.

“shit.. gotta run.” toji immediately grabs tightly onto megumi, gets up and prepares to flee—not even realising that he cursed. again.

“sjit!” megumi giggles happily, the boy just having fun as his dad runs around with him, unaware of the reason nor of the meaning behind the words he was repeating.

“mama shit!” toji’s eyes widened as he heard megumi combine the two words; mama—megumi’s favourite word—and shit, the bad word your son had just learnt.

your husband knew that that would only increase your fury more and thus shushes his kid while running around the house—your quick footsteps just meters behind them;

“crap. shut it, megumi.”

“crap! dada crap!”

“…”

guess he had it coming.

[runninriot]

keep your pretty face out of trouble

written for @steddieangstyaugust day 20

prompt: "I didn't know where else to go." | rated: T | wc: 2.596 | cw: mentions of blood, injuries, homophobia | tags: Steve Harrington is a mess, and so is his face, Eddie Munson has a crush on Steve Harrington, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Friends to Lovers | also on ao3

Eddie didn’t really know what to expect when he entered the Henderson’s home. Dustin had been quite vague on the phone, didn’t say much at all to be honest, nothing of substance at least. Nothing that could’ve prepared Eddie for what he finds when he steps into the living room where, next to his little pal, he finds none other than Steve Harrington sitting on the couch.

And as if that isn’t confusing enough, what’s really concerning is the way he looks.

His face is fucked. Beaten, bruised, mush. There is blood on his lower lip and dripping out from his nose into a tissue that’s already soaked.

Dustin is sitting by his side, holding what seems to be a bag of frozen peas against the older boy’s neck.

   “Dustin, what the fu-“

He doesn’t get to finish his question because Steve suddenly looks up, eyes wide in shock like he’s just now becoming aware of Eddie’s presence, before turning to Dustin with an expression that isn’t at all hard to read.

    What’s he doing here?

Dustin lets go of the frozen goods in order to hold both hands up defensively.

   “Hey, don’t look at me like that! I didn’t know what to do, so I called Eddie.”

   “You shouldn’t have done that. I’m fine.”

   “You are very clearly not fine, Steve!”

They’re doing this weird but kinda adorable staring competition they often do when they’re arguing and it would be amusing to watch if it weren’t for whatever the fuck is going on with Steve’s face.

Dustin doesn’t waver, holds Steve’s disapproving gaze seemingly unimpressed but Eddie could hear the tremble in his voice, knows Dustin is only barely keeping it together.

Always trying to keep up a brave face, Dustin is, but Eddie knows his vulnerable side, too. Maybe that’s why Dustin called him instead of Wheeler or any of the other Gremlins when Steve- what? Appeared on his doorstep all beat-up? Or where they out together when it happened? Is Dustin hurt, too?

Eddie shakes himself out of his thoughts, lets his eyes wander between the two, both hands on his hips like he’s seen Steve do whenever he’s trying to make a point.

   “Alright, enough! Can someone please tell me what happened?” Eddie asks as he steps closer, watching Steve’s shoulders tense immediately.

   “I told you, I’m fine. I just- I didn’t know where else to go! Robin’s not home and-”

Okay, ouch! Eddie feels slightly offended. Steve could’ve come to him instead of-

Nevermind. There are bigger problems at hand.

   “It was stupid, I’m sorry. I’ll be out of your hair.”

Steve makes an attempt to stand up but his body betrays him as soon as he’s on his feet, swaying slightly into Eddie’s direction, who catches him instinctively, steadies him with a hand on his arm.

   “Woah there, big boy! You’re gonna sit your ass back down for me, okay?”

Eddie can sense that Steve wants to put up a fight but thankfully, he doesn’t. Instead, he lets Eddie guide him back down.

   “Some assholes did this to him,” Dustin finally says. “I don’t know who but Steve said he got into a fight.”

   “I only came here because it was closer than my place,” Steve grumbles, obviously regretting his decision now.

   “You scared the shit out of me, Steve! So I called Eddie because- well, I don’t know. I thought maybe he could help talk some sense into you. You need to go to the hospital! Or a doctor, I don’t care but someone’s gotta take care of that.” Dustin says, pointing at the mess that is Steve’s face.

   “I don’t need a doctor. I’m fine, really. See, it already stopped bleeding.”

Steve retrieves the once-white-now-red tissue to prove that the bleeding has stopped, which it has. But Eddie can see in Dustin’s eyes that the boy is still not convinced enough to let him off the hook.

   “Let me have a look?” Eddie gently takes hold of Steve’s chin to tilt his head up, feels his courage falter for a split-second when Steve’s pupils suddenly dilate and he can see by the bob of his Adam’s apple, that he has to swallow down hard.

    God, even with his face bloody and bruised Steve is fucking gorgeous. It’s really not fair, if you asked Eddie. That guy is beyond anything he could ever wish to-

    No, no. Focus, Munson.

   “Let’s see if we gotta be worried about your pretty face being blemished by a broken nose, ey?” Eddie jokes just to cover his own nervousness.

   “How would you know if it’s broken? You’re not a doctor.” Dustin protests, rightfully sceptical about Eddie’s ability to come up with a valid diagnosis.

   “Ah, see, when you’ve had your nose broken several times, you kinda know what to look for,” Eddie replies nonchalantly as he examines the swelling around Steve’s nose, ignoring the sad, kind of pitying look in Steve’s eyes at his statement.

   “I think you’re good, Harrington. Still straight and beautiful as ever. It’ll hurt for a few days but you’ll live,” Eddie says with a wink, hesitating to let go of his face even if there’s no need to hold him still anymore.

For a moment, their eyes are locked in on each other, both staring wide-eyed and kind of lost in some spellbound haze that makes it impossible for either of them to look away.

Unfortunately – or rather, lucky for him – Dustin’s voice breaks through the static crackling in Eddie’s ears and brings him back to reality.

   “I don’t know Eddie. Are you sure it’s not broken?”

Eddie finally lets go of Steve, not without an instant feeling of regret at the loss of contact, and turns to the younger boy.

   “I’m sure, Dusty. Believe me, when you’ve been beat up as often as I have, you quickly learn to know the difference between injuries that’ll hurt like a bitch but are otherwise harmless, and injuries that need medical attention.”

It does look worse than it is, thankfully. And with a bit of ice and some rest, Steve will be back on his feet in no time.

This, however, brings Eddie back to wondering what even got Steve in the state he’s currently in.

   “Wanna tell me who did this? What happened?”

Steve looks down at his hands, fumbling with an invisible thread on his neat jeans.

   “I, uh- got into a fight with some guys because they were talking shit about, uh-“

His eyes dart up to Eddie, just for the flicker of a moment, looking almost ashamed with that light blush creeping up from his cheeks to his ears, before he finds his voice again.

“About someone I care a lot about. They were being mean, called them some disgusting shit, made assumptions about them without knowing them. They-“ Steve looks at Dustin, obviously contemplating whether to say out loud what’s on his mind.

   “They said these things like, how someone should teach them a lesson. To, uh, to set them straight.”

Steve swallows thickly, and the shuddering inhale tells Eddie that he’s trying his best not to break. That whatever it is he’s trying to say really gets to him.

Eddie is confused; he has a feeling that there’s more to Steve’s words. Like, maybe he doesn’t want to alert Dustin with the harsh reality of what they really meant.

    ‘Teach them a lesson’, the words echo in Eddie’s mind, ‘Set them straight.’

And suddenly, it dawns on him.

Suddenly, he understands what Steve is trying to say.

Did they- this is about Robin, right? Steve said they were talking shit about someone he cares a lot about.

Did these fuckers, whoever they might be, threaten to harm her for being... a lesbian? Is that it? It must be, right? It’s the only thing that makes sense, would explain why he’s all choked-up about it because everyone knows how deep their friendship is. How much Steve cares for Robin.

Fucking small-minded small-town dickheads and their outdated view on how things should be. God, Eddie hates it. Hates everything about them being stuck in a town where people still have to be afraid of openly showing who they are and who they love.

It’s why he never had a relationship. Why he flees to Indy and beyond on the weekends, whenever he’s desperate enough. He’ll never find love as long as he’s stuck here – for multiple reasons.

Robin is so much braver than him. Said fuck it a few weeks ago when she finally found the courage to ask out that girl she’s had a crush on forever. It was the talk of town the next day – ‘Did you hear that? Someone saw that Buckley girl kiss another girl! Can you believe that? What a disgrace. Displaying this filthy behaviour without any shame.’

Fucking assholes.

Thankfully, like with most gossip, people eventually lost interest and moved on to whatever next thing it was they found to deflect from their own miserable lives. But the damage had already been done. Ever since, Robin has been walking around with a big, fat, neon sign on her forehead, saying ‘I’m queer and proud’ – which should be liberating, a cause for celebration, but it’s not.

Not here, anyway.

   “Eddie?”

The warmth of Steve’s palm on his arm brings him back.

   “Huh? What? What is it?”

   “You, uh... kinda zoned out there for a moment. Are you okay?”

This startles a laugh out of him. Of course, Steve would ask him if he’s okay, when he’s the one with a swollen face. Typical.

   “Yeah, sorry. It’s just- tell me who.”

   “What?”

   “Who where those guys. I’m feeling petty and I haven’t been in a fight for a while.”

Eddie wiggles his brows at Steve and grins, makes it sound like a joke. But Steve must see the rage in his eyes, must sense that he means it because there’s suddenly so much worry in his eyes, the kind of honest concern that makes Eddie’s heart melt.

   “I don’t- No, Eddie. I won’t tell you. You need to stay away from those guys! That’s what they’d want and I don’t want anything to happen to you!”

Steve seems frantic, like the mere thought of Eddie getting into a fight with them is making him panic.

But why would he-

      “They’re a bunch of assholes! And I told them, if they ever dare to lay a hand on you, they’ll wish they’d finish what they started today. I will not let some intolerant bigots hurt you!”

    Oh.

This has never been about Robin, has it?

They’ve been talking shit about Eddie.

And Steve-

   “Why would you get into a fight over me?!”

Eddie jumps off the sofa, both hands in his hair, tugging roughly at his own curls.

   “What do you mean? Why wouldn’t I?” Steve replies sounding perplexed. “I care about you, Eddie! And it’s not okay that these- these fuckers think that only because you’re- only because you are who you are, it’s okay to treat you like that. Doesn’t matter if it’s behind your back or to your face!”

Steve takes a deep breath trying to calm his voice.

“To say shit like they’re going to do- bad things to you? How can I stand there and listen to that and do nothing?”

This is too much for Eddie. It’s too much for so many reasons, most of which he’s not ready to explain.

The worst and most important one, though, is that Steve’s face is covered in bruises because he was protecting Eddie. Steve got into a fight because someone threatened to hurt Eddie and in return, got hurt because of him.

   “Well, look where that got you! You don’t have to always be the hero, Steve.” It’s not meant as an insult, although it must sound like one.

“I’m used to people talking shit about me. I can live with that.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something but Eddie beats him to it.

   “What I can’t live with, is knowing that you could’ve gotten seriously injured because you were trying to defend me.”

Dustin stays uncharacteristically quiet the whole time, just alternates his gaze between Steve and Eddie, stunned into silence by whatever weird scene it is that’s unravelling before his eyes.

Eddie can’t blame him, can’t really wrap his head around any of it himself.

Why are they shouting? What are they even arguing about? And why the fuck is Steve suddenly so close? Why is he holding his hands? And why does he look at him like he-

   “Steve, I really appreciate you looking out for me, okay? But I can’t take it to see you get hurt. You’re face is too pretty to be covered in blood.”

Eddie huffs out a tentative laugh and to his relief, Steve does too, but not without rolling his eyes in fake annoyance at Eddie’s cheesy line.

   “Are you guys gonna make out now?”

They both turn around only to find Dustin standing there with a shit-eating grin on his face.

   “Because as much I love you, I think there are some things my innocent eyes do not have to see.”

   “Shut up you little shit!” Eddie scolds him but does so with a smile on his lips because-

Because Dustin might be onto something here. Or at least that’s what it feels like. Because Steve still hasn’t let go of his hands. And while Eddie is trying his best not to completely drown in Steve’s eyes by looking at Dustin instead, he can still feel Steve’s eyes on him.

And when he turns back, Steve has this fond, almost loving look on his face; an expression so soft not even the swollen nose or the dried blood can take away from the beauty of it.

Just for a moment, Eddie allows himself to dream. To wonder if maybe he can find love in this godforsaken town after all. Thinks, foolishly, that if Robin can have her happy ending, maybe he can, too.

   “For real, guys. The tension is killing me. Can you either speed this up or take it somewhere else because I can’t take it.”

   “Get used to it, shithead,” Steve says without looking at him, eyes still trained on Eddie.

   “Yeah, Dusty. Get used to it because I’m gonna be so annoying once your babysitter’s face is all healed up,” Eddie teasingly agrees, ignoring Dustin’s defeated sigh.

   “Does that mean you want to kiss me?” Steve asks a little breathless.

Eddie leans closer to him and whispers “Want nothing more. But I wouldn’t want our first kiss to hurt so it’s gotta wait. And you need to keep your pretty face out of trouble. Understood?”

He doesn’t know where this sudden rush of bravery is coming from but he takes it, needs it because-

   “I might be a little bit in love with you, Stevie. So I need you take better care of yourself, okay? I can’t let you get hurt.”

Somewhere in the room, Dustin is making fake gagging noises but Eddie’s focus is set on Steve who looks like he’s in trance, like he can’t believe what Eddie just told him.

   “I will, promise,” he finally says and sure, Eddie might have hoped for a little love confession in return for his own but he doesn’t need Steve to say it to know that this isn’t a one-sided crush.

And he’ll make damn sure Steve keeps his promise because he really wants that kiss as soon as possible.

[r0semultiverse]

tfw you want to ask if someone is secretly a mutual following from a different blog so you can give them the cuteuals tag (affectionate), but you don’t wanna make things weird so you don’t ask and you just kinda smile like oh that lovely person is interacting with me again how nice ^w^ 💜

[berry-potchy]

Dad's Best Friend!Miguel part 2

Summary: Your dad shows up unannounced, interrupting your romantic dinner with Miguel. He plants seeds of doubt in your pretty little head that Miguel is more than happy to snip off

Tags: DBF!Miguel x F!Reader, age gap, college age reader, P in V sex, size difference (smaller reader), brief under the table footjob, spanking, insecurities, vague mention of Miguel’s past relationships, uncomfortable relationship talk with your dad who means well but ends up making you feel like shit anyway

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! The second part actually exists. It’s been almost a year since part one and I kept teasing part 2 but I couldn’t think of a way to end it. I considered just abruptly cutting it off and post it but I just couldn’t do it. BUT HERE IT IS NOW. Hope you guys still enjoy it!

Part 1

It has been a week since Miguel has caught you masturbating to the thought of him. A week since you found out that he wanted you just as much as you wanted him. A week of absolute depravity that you thought only happened in porn. He fucked you all over the house; no room, furniture, or surface was left untouched during your vigorous lovemaking.

Unfortunately, his “sick leave” had to come to an end and so did your self-imposed break from uni. He’s going back to work the next day so you decided you were going to do something special and make the most of the last evening of his leave. Of course, there’ll be more times to fuck but you feel the need to give him something special before he goes back to his workaholic mode. Maybe it’ll encourage him to start coming home earlier.

You had everything planned. You and Miguel had a lovely early dinner that he helped you prepare. The way it was so easy to fall into a domestic routine made your heart flutter. You’d have to ask him if you can do this with him more often when he’s not so busy with work. You also had wine that Miguel picked out for both of you. You trusted his mature tastes even though you knew he preferred hard liquor. And for dessert, well…

“That’s it, gatita,” Miguel grunted in your ear, a deep growl rumbles from his chest as he rams his fat cock relentlessly into your greedy cunt. “Taking my cock so well. I’m gonna miss this when I’m at work tomorrow. Gonna think about your tight little pussy while I’m in a boring meeting.”

You can’t form any coherent words from how aggressive his thrusts were. Each thrust drove his cock deeper into you, his tip kissing your cervix, knocking the air out of your lungs and the words out of your little cock drunk brain. Your legs were wrapped around his waist and your arms holding his broad shoulders for support, hands desperately clawing at his back. You clung to him tightly as he fucked you standing up in the middle of the kitchen. He took full control of your body, his large hands on your waist, moving you up and down his cock as he pleased, like you’re his personal living cocksleeve.

“My little slut can’t even talk anymore,” he laughs at your pathetic whimpers and whines “Taking my cock like a good girl. Going to make sure you feel it until tomorrow.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck panting, mumbling “please” over and over again against his skin. Your tits are pressed against him, sensitive nipples rubbing against the dusting of dark hair on his chest with every movement. The burning knot in your stomach is threatening to come undone.

“You’re gonna cum for me, princesa?” he said as his thrusts grow frantic. “Wanna feel your pussy milk my cock dry. She’s so greedy for my cum. Sucking me in so good I can’t even try to pull out.”

You arch your back as you feel your orgasm rip through you, making you see white for a second. Miguel catches you, an arm around your waist and the other around your shoulders to keep you from falling over as he keeps on rutting into you to chase after his own climax. He pulls you closer to him to capture your mouth into a kiss as you feel his hot cum coat your velvety walls. You moan against his lips, giving his tongue access to your mouth, making you melt in his arms.

You reluctantly pull away to catch your breath, resting your sweaty forehead against his. He coos at how absolutely wrecked you looked, the pretty makeup you did for him all smeared and messed up. The red of your lipstick is no longer on your lips but all over Miguel – on his lips, cheeks, neck, chest, trailing all the way down to the red ring near the base of his cock.

Miguel sets you down on the dining table, hands keeping your knees apart to watch his cum dripping out of your sloppy hole. Your hands grab your breasts, squeezing them together for his viewing pleasure. Miguel moans at the sight. You are so perfect to him.

“I’m going to see your dad again in the office tomorrow,” he says, kneeling in front of your spread legs, ready to eat his dessert. He licks his lips and rubs his large hands up and down your thighs “I’m sure he’s going to have questions. I’ll make sure to tell him how good you were, taking care of me and making me feel so much better.”

He was about to dive in when the doorbell rang. You hear him growl a string of Spanish curse words under his breath as he reluctantly stands up from where he was kneeling. He tries to calm down and you sit up to wipe the sweat and lipstick off his face. You help him put on his shirt, straightening it out as much as you can with your hands as he tucks away his half-hard cock in his sweatpants. You brush his messy hair back away from his forehead, trying to make him look presentable for when he answers the door.

“I’ll be quick,” he sighs, kissing you on your temple as he pulls away and walks out the room. You can’t help but be a little curious as to who is looking for Miguel this late in the evening. You try to stand up, snatching the silk robe you were wearing earlier to peek at the visitor when you hear an all too familiar voice echo in the halls.

“Miguel! You look like shit!” The loud booming voice of your father makes you stop dead in your tracks.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming over?” Miguel said, trying to act normal as you hear him letting your dad in. “You should’ve called.”

“Well I did try to but neither you nor my daughter were answering,” he said “Anyway where is she? I brought you guys your favorites for dinner. I’ll even set up the dinner table for you.”

That got you to snap back to reality. Shit, shit, shit!

You start running to your room, careful not to leave a trail of Miguel’s cum on the floor. You try to wash off any traces of sex with a quick shower and change into a simple shirt and unfortunately with a bra and shorts on this time. Can’t have your dad know you parade around the house half-naked for a man twice your age.

Downstairs, Miguel’s boner is fully killed. He didn’t even get to clean you up with his tongue. Shame. Your dad is talking about work stuff but he’s only half-listening. He helps him set the table for your second dinner of the evening, not able to turn down his best friend lest he gets suspicious. He eyes a few white drops on the table and reluctantly wipes it with the hem of his shirt. His eyes meet yours as you enter the room, drying your hair with a towel. You give him a tight-lipped smile before going in to greet your dad.

You have an okay dinner together: Your dad did most of the talking, which is usually what happens between him and Miguel anyway. He also is still under the impression that Miguel was actually sick so he got a pass. You however have to pretend you aren’t annoyed that the night you planned is ruined as you answer his questions about uni.

“No boys? Partners? I told Miguel not to let you bring any around,” he says smugly to which Miguel smirks, taking a sip of the whisky your dad brought over.

“Dad, please,” you groan, sliding down on your chair, which makes him laugh out loud. You steal a glance at Miguel, pouting, and he’s laughing along. Traitor.

“I just wanted to be sure my baby’s focusing on her studies,” he says, putting his hands up in surrender before adding “and that I don’t end up a grandpa too soon.”

They keep laughing but thankfully, Miguel changes the topic. You give him a look of relief and rub your foot on his leg as a silent thank you. He keeps talking to your dad, pretending not to feel your foot stray further up until it rests on his inner thigh, the tip of your toe toying with the outline of his cock. He grabs your ankle but doesn’t stop you. He instead moves to sit a little closer to the table so you can rub the sole of your foot against his clothed length.

You’re playing a dangerous game. Your dad is right there he could look under the table and find his precious daughter giving his best friend a footjob in front of the dinner and alcohol he so graciously brought over. But you were feeling petty about your ruined plans and Miguel doesn’t seem to mind the attention to his cock.

You bite your lip, feeling his cock harden under your touch. He must feel sticky and uncomfortable under his sweatpants after not being able to wipe his dick of your combined fluids when your dad barged in. You wish your dad decides to leave early so you could get on your knees for Miguel and lick him clean.

Miguel eventually excuses himself, coughing that he needs to go to the bathroom, probably to jerk off and shower. You start clearing up the table and your dad offers to help.

“So,” he starts wiping the table “I see the way you look at Miguel.”

You freeze, trying not to drop the stack of plates you’re holding.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You start loading the dishwasher, trying not to make it obvious that your hands are shaking.

“Hey, no need to get defensive. I know what I saw,” he says “And I mean, you’re a young single lady and Miguel is this handsome, cool, older guy that’s a constant in your day-to-day. It’s not wild to have a crush on him. I’m just…”

Silence.

“Sweetie, I’m worried about you. I don’t want you to get hurt when he doesn’t return your feelings,” he sighs as he leans his hip on the counter next to you. He’s trying to look you in the eyes, trying to let you know that he’s being sincere. “Believe me that man has no time for romance. He’s all busy with his work. Plus I’ve seen the women he slept with before. All supermodel looking and yet… well they never last long.”

“Thanks for the confidence boost, dad,” you roll your eyes at him, trying hard to ignore the feeling of wanting to throw up. You don’t want to think about that. About the specifics of what you and Miguel have going on. You’re just trying to enjoy Miguel’s attention right now. For the longest time, you didn’t even think you had the chance. Is it really that bad to just accept what he’s willing to give right now?

“I’m not saying you’re not beautiful, honey! Of course, you’re beautiful! You’re my daughter,” he tries to lighten the mood but turns serious when you don’t laugh. “Just might not be his type. Besides, he’s twice your age. He's too close to your old man’s age. Are you sure that’s something you’d like? In a few years, he’d be just as uncool as me while you’re still young and should be enjoying your life.”

He puts a hand on your shoulder and pulls you into a side hug. You both stay silent for a few moments. You think about Miguel and try to look for signs. Signs that say he just wants sex or that he wants something more. All you can think about is how sweet he always was with you even before you had sex. Even more now. You blush remembering how Miguel peppered your face with kisses this morning to wake you up because he wanted to cook breakfast but didn’t want to leave you in bed.

“Okay, but what if he does?” you countered, suddenly gaining a bit of confidence. “Would you be okay with that? If we get into a relationship?”

A painful few seconds of silence that felt like forever.

“I know that look in your eyes,” he finally says, shaking his head, and sighing. “It’s your “I’m going to get what I want” look you got from your mom. You’re gonna get hurt.”

You cross your arms and pout, never one to back down.

“And if he does end up liking you,” he starts again and you side-eye him “well… good thing he doesn't.”

You groan as your dad messes up your hair, laughing as he sees Miguel come back, fresh from his shower. Your dad finally decides it’s time to head out and let the sick man rest. He gives you a tight hug and a kiss on your forehead before leaving.

You’re left alone with Miguel again in the kitchen. The earlier conversation with your dad soured your mood and left you zoning out. Miguel slips himself between your parted legs as you sit on the kitchen counter, large, warm hands kneading your thighs, fingers slipping under the hem of your shorts.

“What’s on your mind, princesa?” He leans in to press his forehead against yours. “Tell me.”

You try to turn away but he brings a curled finger under your chin to make you face him. His brows are furrowed, worried. You try to look at him and your heart stutters. You don’t want whatever you have with him to end. You’re not sure if you actually want something serious with Miguel but the thought of just being a bedwarmer to Miguel is upsetting.

“Just thinking,” you start, trying to get the words out without sounding jealous or spiteful “My dad said you used to date? Sleep around with? Whatever. The girls you were with before were all… supermodel looking. They’re probably tall and skinny and drop-dead gorgeous huh? Is that your type?”

“And where is this going, nena?” Miguel whispers, pulling away and giving you a stern look.

“Well, I’m just not like that?” you say sheepishly, pursing your lips and shying away from his gaze. “I don’t know why you gave me the chance. I’m just-”

Miguel’s gentle touch on your chin turns into him gripping your cheeks, making you shut up. You nervously look at him, a deep frown on his face.

“Don’t you ever put yourself down, cariño,” he says, his eyes sharp. He makes you keep your eyes on him while he uses his other hand to pull you closer, making you wrap your legs around his waist. “You know, at the start, I offered to let you stay here just because I wanted to mentor you when I had the time. I know you’re a brilliant girl, so intelligent, following in your dad’s footsteps. What I didn’t expect is for you to consume my thoughts day and night for the past few months. You’ve grown into such a beautiful lady, cariño. You are such a temptation, making me think about your pretty eyes looking up so innocently at me. Those lips tempt me every single time you pout at me to get your way.”

He growls, finally letting go of your face to move his hands to your ass. He suddenly bucks his hips against yours making you gasp out loud, your clothed cunt rubbing against his growing bulge. You try to move your hips to gain friction on your throbbing cunt but he keeps you still.

“Don’t even get me started on this body of yours,” he buries his face at the crook of your neck, kissing, licking, nipping at the sensitive flesh making your head roll to the side to give him more access “So perfect for me. Made for me to grab, to fuck, to worship. Dios mio, nena, I can’t get enough of you.”

He sounds drunk from your scent and taste, mouthing at your neck, hands kneading your flesh. He grabs handfuls of the soft fat of your thighs, your ass, your tummy rolls, your plump tits, and back down, committing each curve to memory. You wrap your arms around his neck, eyes rolling to the back of your head in pleasure when he laps at your pulse with his skillful tongue.

“So I don’t wanna hear any of that nonsense comparing yourself to women I didn’t care about then and I sure don’t care about now,” he growls as he picks you up and flips you around. He bends you over the counter, stomach against the cold marble top and the rounded edges digging at the tops of your thighs. Your feet can’t quite reach the floor so you settle for trying to wrap your legs around Miguel’s own. He yanks your shorts and panties down to your knees in one aggressive motion.

“My silly beautiful girl getting jealous over old flings and exes,” he hummed, his large hands massaging your ass, kneading the cheeks, spreading them with his thumbs. “They’re not here anymore, are they? Didn’t work out with them and they’re not in my life anymore. And I prefer it that way.”

You feel him spit on your hole, dripping down to mix with your own wetness. You drop your head onto the countertop, the heated skin on your face making the marble feel icy. He takes your wrists, securing your hands behind your back with his own large hand while his other still massages your ass. Your eyes flutter, enjoying the sensation when you hear a loud smack cut through the momentary silence.

“Mig-” you yelp as you feel a sharp sting on your right ass cheek. His hand goes back to massaging, trying to soothe your reddened skin. You whine as he gives your other cheek the same treatment. Two matching red handprints bloom on both your cheeks.

“You shouldn’t be listening to your dad about my type when I was much younger,” he says, his voice low and serious as he leans down to press his sculpted chest on your back “Because right now there’s nothing I want more than this pequeña prinscesa whose toes can't even reach the floor when I bend her over the kitchen counter. You love that too don't you? How I’m much bigger than you? How easily I can carry you around, bend you over, and fuck you whenever I want? Love folding you in half and using your pretty pussy- no, my pretty pussy. This is mine. Mine to fuck. Mine to breed. Isn’t that right?

You nod enthusiastically not trusting your voice to speak. the words he growls at your ear going straight to your cunt. You feel another hard smack go down your ass, the impact making you slide a bit on the counter. His hands pull you back by the waist to press his erection against your dripping cunt, your wetness soaking through his sweatpants.

“Use your words when you answer me, nena,” he growls, grinding himself against your folds. The friction from the fabric of his sweatpants feels heavenly against your puffy folds.

“Yessss,” you whine, pushing your ass back against him “all yours. Need you to fuck this pussy please, please, please!”

“How can I say no when my baby girl is begging so nicely?” he coos, pulling down his sweatpants to free his cock. He takes it in his hand and presses the tip in. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull as your velvety walls welcome him back, still stretched out from your earlier activities.

“Perfect,” Miguel groans as he wastes no time to fuck into your slutty little hole that’s sucking him in so lewdly. “Made for me. Mi princesa needs to learn that no one can compare to her. She’s so perfect. And she’s mine. Only mine. And I am hers.”

“Yo-urs– M-ah, Miguel,” you whimper as he keeps hitting all the right places, his tip hitting your sweet spot with each hard thrust until you’re once again pushed over the edge of sweet release. Your gummy walls contract, milking Miguel’s cock as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm. He follows shortly after with a deep moan, his cock coating your insides with his warm seed.

Miguel makes no move to pull out. Instead he peppers your shoulders and neck with kisses, humming in contentment, whispering sweet endearments. Your heart fills with warmth and before you could even think about it, the words just leave your mouth.

“I love you, Miguel”

Silence. Anxiety starts to bubble in your chest as you start to think that you’ve read all the signs wrong. But before you could take it back, Miguel turns you to lie on your back, facing him. He leans down to capture your lips in his, his hands pulling you closer as if he was afraid you’d leave if he lets go. He mumbles “I love you” against your lips over and over again for the rest of the night making sure you never doubt his feelings for you ever again.

[adverbally]

Whenever This World Is Cruel to Me

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “Missing Scene” | wc: 1,609 | rated: T | cw: mildly graphic description of injuries | tags: set during 4x08, platonic Stobin, surprisingly calm and competent Eddie, it takes a village to take care of Steve | title from “You’re My Best Friend” by Queen

———

When they arrive at Weathertop, Steve is dangerously close to running out of steam. Robin can see it in the way he slumps back in the driver’s seat after putting the RV in park. Everyone else starts filing out of the vehicle, hauling weapons and supplies with them, but Steve doesn’t move.

Robin quietly hangs back until everyone else is outside, then she creeps forward to slip into the copilot seat. She sits sideways so she can see him better, with her knees tucked to her chest and her shoes staining the seat.

He looks worse up close, she thinks. Where he would normally look tanned and healthy, his face is shiny and scabbed and dirty. At least he finally got a shirt when they stopped at the War Zone so Robin doesn’t have to keep seeing the bloody fabric around his waist, reliving the fear that he wasn’t going to make it out with them. The feeling still hasn’t left her.

Steve’s eyes don’t open, but he must sense her. “Hey,” he croaks. His voice is still strained from being strangled by the demobat, though his head is leaned back so far that the added pressure on his throat probably isn’t helping.

“Hey,” she says back, leaning forward to rest her arms on top of her knees. “You look like shit.”

He coughs out a humorless laugh. “I feel like it.” When he opens his eyes and lolls his head sideways to look at her, his gaze is bleary. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, I wasn’t the one who got road rash over half their body and got used as a chew toy by a bunch of demobats,” she gestures at him vaguely. “Have you even gotten cleaned up?”

“Not really. Splashed some water on my face at Max’s but probably shoulda used some soap.”

Alarm bells start screaming in Robin’s head. “What about your wounds, did you wash and rebandage those?”

His guilty face tells her everything she needs to hear.

“C’mon, get up, right now,” she tells him, clambering out of her seat and dragging him upright. “Oh my god, I can’t believe you didn’t– I should’ve checked when we were at Max’s, she probably had more stuff there–”

Steve stumbles along behind her down the center aisle. “Rob, I’m okay–”

“No, actually, you probably have some crazy Upside Down infection on top of the demobat rabies, so we can see what kills you first. Sit down.”

Obediently, he collapses on the seat across from the kitchenette. Robin digs through the bags that were left on board until she pulls out bandages and rubbing alcohol. Thankfully they also stocked up on gallons of water, not knowing how much water was in the RV’s freshwater tank or how to use it.

When she turns around, Steve is gingerly pulling off his jacket and shirt, already anticipating her next orders. Jesus, he’s still wearing the scrap of Nancy’s blouse across his body, and it looks like there’s more blood seeping through than there was earlier. He could really be in danger here.

“Don’t freak out,” he tells her as he unknots the makeshift bandage and pulls it away. She immediately understands why when she sees how the fabric pulls at the wounds where drying blood stuck it to his skin. The disturbance makes it start to ooze again.

“Steve, oh my god,” she breathes, hands over her mouth in horror even as she leans down for a closer look. Is that pus? Holy shit.

“Nope, don’t start that.” Steve’s head is tilted back again, staring determinedly at the ceiling so he doesn’t have to see his own injuries. “If you freak out, then I’m gonna freak out.”

Robin’s voice is shrill when she says, “I guess we’re both freaking out then! How am I supposed to not freak out over this?!” She links her fingers and rests her connected hands on top of her head like she’s trying to hold herself together, elbows sticking out as she does a panicked little spin. “I can’t fix you if you’re already septic!”

“Well, calling me names isn’t helping!” Steve shrieks back nonsensically.

They both startle when the door opens. Eddie’s head peeks in cautiously. “Hey, everything okay in here?”

Robin whirls to face him, hands still locked on her head. After a long moment of deciding whether to lie, she settles on, “Not really.”

Steve chimes in, “Been better,” still not looking away from the ceiling.

“Okay.” Eddie gently shuts the door behind him and comes to join them in the middle of the aisle. He keeps his voice low and soft, like he’s approaching a frightened animal. “That’s kind of what we figured, with all the yelling we could hear from outside.”

Robin drops her arms. “Just a little disagreement over whether I was allowed to freak out about this.” She points accusingly at Steve’s belly. “I think yes, obviously,” she declares, volume already rising again.

“Look, Buckley, I’m not sure you’re the one we want doing first aid right now. Nothing personal,” Eddie rushes to reassure her, “just, I think your weird mind link with Harrington is making it hard for you to be objective.”

Steve snorts.

“No, we don’t need any commentary from the patient, okay?” Eddie raises his eyebrows, daring Steve to argue. When he doesn’t, Eddie guides Robin to sit beside Steve with a hand on her shoulder. “Okay. You’re on moral support duty now.”

“Only if you stop yelling at me,” Steve warns with a sidelong glance.

Robin watches Eddie dampen a towel to begin wiping away the grime and blood, then looks back up at Steve. “Sorry I yelled. And freaked out,” she mutters, finding Steve’s hand with hers.

He squeezes back, then hisses when Eddie makes contact with his wound.

“Sorry,” Eddie says absently, not looking away from where he’s daubing determinedly at Steve’s skin.

They’re quiet for several minutes while Eddie works, Robin wincing whenever Steve’s grip gets too tight but never complaining. It’s when Eddie switches to the rubbing alcohol that they have a problem.

“Shit!” Steve swears with feeling, twisting his torso away from Eddie’s hands.

“You gotta stay still, man,” Eddie sighs from where he’s kneeling between Steve’s legs.

“It hurts!” he snaps.

Robin’s other hand rubs at Steve’s nearest shoulder. “We have to clean it, Steve.” Even to her own ear, it sounds melodramatic, like they might as well be amputating a limb and giving him a belt to bite down on.

“I’m gonna do this as quick as I can, but I have to be thorough.”

Robin marvels at Eddie’s bedside manner, the mix of efficiency and apology, but mostly she’s stunned by the soft expression on Eddie’s face as he looks up at Steve. Something about it goes beyond concern for an acquaintance, maybe the way his eyes are so big and wet and earnest.

Oh my god. Does Eddie have a crush on Steve?

It makes sense, the way he had ogled Steve’s shirtless chest and gave him his clothes and stood so close to him and don’tcha, big boy?…

She comes back to reality as Steve crushes her hand again. “Hey, you’re doing great,” she tells him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’ll be done in no time.”

Steve doesn’t respond but leans his head against Robin’s. With multiple points of contact between them, she can feel how hard he’s trying to keep still, every muscle tense like he could break any minute. By the time Eddie finishes, Robin's eyes are welling up with sympathetic tears.

“There you go.” Eddie claps his hands on his thighs as he stands up. “Buckley, help me with the bandages?”

It goes fast as they pass the roll between them, wrapping around Steve’s torso like a garland on a Christmas tree. They build up several layers, hoping the cushion and added stability will help prevent further injury. Robin watches Eddie’s hands just barely grazing Steve’s skin with his rings, his throat bobbing every time his touch lingers.

“All done. You can get a sticker and a lollipop from the nurse on your way out,” Eddie announces cheerfully.

As he turns to head back outside, Steve stops him with a hand on his wrist. “Thank you,” he says with such gravity that it almost sounds like I love you.

Eddie’s gaze jumps from Steve to Robin and then back to Steve…’s lips, holy shit. “Yeah, no problem.”

And is Robin hallucinating?? She could’ve sworn Steve had his eyes glued to Eddie’s tongue as it darts out to lick his lips. And then watching his scrawny ass walk away? They are so talking about this if they get out of this fight alive.

For now, Robin gives Steve a jug of water. “Drink lots, you’re probably dehydrated as hell. And I want you to stay in here and rest for at least an hour, okay? I’ll come wake you up if we need you.”

“Robin,” Steve sighs, but she’s already bulldozing over his protests.

“Sorry, doctor’s orders!” she tells him cheerfully before stooping down to press a kiss to his forehead. It’s killing two birds with one stone: showing Steve the physical affection he craves while also gauging if he has a fever. He’s a little warm and clammy, but not alarmingly so. She takes the deepest breath she’s been able to since Steve first got dragged through the gate at Lover’s Lake.

“Fine,” Steve huffs, already getting comfortable on the bench seat. “Love you.”

Robin smiles at the fond annoyance in his tone. “Love you, too, dingus. Try not to die in your sleep.”

[idkfitememate]

What about otter!creator joining neuvilette in a meeting with wriothesley and sigewinne (I think that how you spell that) and sneaking back with them to the fortress of meropide. Cue fun times with sigewinne, tasting otter safe teas with wriothesley, and a very freaked out neuvilette and furina

The Otter Chronicles Pt. 2

⋘ Previous Part » ♡︎ « Next Part ⋙

૮꒰˶ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ˶꒱ა Pairings : GN! Otter Reader x Fontaine

૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა W.K. : 2k

໒꒰ྀིᵔ ᵕ ᵔ ꒱ྀི১ Tags/CW&TW : Angst, everyone has meltdown

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I’m gonna write this as a Pt. 2 to the last Otter!Creator request, they just fit so perfectly! ૮꒰⸝⸝> ̫ <⸝⸝꒱ა

As you and Wriothesley only continued to stare at each other, Neuvillette and Furina suddenly walk back in. Both of their faces were stern as they looked at the both of you. But mostly you.

“Monsieur Wriothesley? We apologize, but me and Monsieur Neuvillette have some… pressing matter to discuss. Treats, toys and pillows are inside their pack. Please care for our ˈbābē in this sudden absence. We will retrieve them in a matter of hours. Thank you.” And with that, Furina and Neuvillette left, leaving no time for objection.

You watched as your three friends dissipated, and the duo walked out. Wriothesley was only able to open his mouth before the door shut again. He closed his mouth and turned to you, who shrugged.

His eyebrows raised at you before he blinked once.

Then twice.

Then three times.

“Do you… do you like tea?”

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍭🍯🍮୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

When Sigewinne entered Wriothesley’s office she was not expecting to see around thirty teacups (all empty) around The Creator in the form of an otter with Wriothesley sitting beside them with a wide grin of his face.

“Sigewinne! Meet Neuvillette’s and Lady Furina’s new little Otter friend! Did you hear of them?”

Oh yeah. Sigewinne had heard all about them. From all the melusine. Constant reminders of how cute they were compared to that fake on the throne. Constant stories of how adorable they acted compared to the awful actions of that monster who acted as their God.

To see them in the flesh was… a visceral feeling honestly. And being a melusine herself, she could feel the ethereal aura surrounding them. Shaking her head, she smiled at the older man and nodded.

“Oh I’ve heard some things here and there… have you been testing teas with them?” She mused, a joking smile on her face.

“… I didn’t know what else to do,” he admitted, “I didn’t want to make them do my paperwork..”

She giggled before getting an idea, and idea that had her face scrunched up in an even wider grin.

“What if… we try milkshakes?~”

“Sigewinne.” Was all he said.

As they began a small back and forth about the logistics of given an Otter a milkshake (Wriothesley was losing), you got up from your seat, took a small toy that looked vaguely like a melusine with the same colors are your fur, and just… waked out the office. Ready to explore.

“Uhm… Sigewinne?”

“It could very beneficial to their health for all we know-“

“Sigewinne?”

“I mean, have you even see an Otter consume a milkshake? I doubt their lactose intolerant-“

“Sigewinne.”

“And I… yeah?”

“Where did they go?”

“…. Uh oh.”

And you, at that exact moment, realized why you probably needed a map. Wondering around, you hadn’t realized how many levels you were going down.

You had been trying to get to the Coupon Cafeteria. How in the actually fuck had you ended up in the forbidden zone, in front of the gate that held the Primordial Sea.

What the fuck.

You hugged your melusine plushy closer as you stared at the plug.

And then an alarm sounded off.

God fucking damn it.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍩🍬🍦୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Chlorinde had been having a nice, slow day.

Why did the fucking sea just have to choose to be angry today.

Why?

Today was a good day.

TodAY WAS A GOOD DAY-

She sighed and removed herself from the room she was currently in, speed walking towards the room where her Archon and Chief Justice were.

After knocking curtly and hearing a quiet “Come in”, she gently pressed open the door, yet spoke with urgency.

“My apologies for interrupting, but the Primordial Sea. It’s causing issues again.” Chlorinde stated.

The hydro duo looked at each other, they had been no where near done with the conversation, but their darling was in the Fortress of Meropide, where the ocean was being.. dealt with.

“Let us begin on your way then.” Neuvillette sighed.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍮🍧🎂୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

“Damnit damnit damnit damnit…” Thats all that was going through Wriothesley’s head at the moment. He had sent Sigewinne away to ensure her safety, all while running through the Fortress, all the while making sure to keep an eye out for a stray otter.

His mind flew through the possibilities: you could’ve been caught in machinery, you could’ve fallen off a ledge, you could’ve been snatched up by a criminal on a walk…

There were to many all to possibilities that would lead to him finding your body over you alive.

And if things were going the way they were with the Primordial Sea, then Furina and Neuvillette were going to be back a lot sooner than any of them expected.

And he was not ready for what the punishment would be.

But when he finally got down to the correct level?

He knew his punishment was going to be even worse than whatever they were initially going to do to him.

Because your little body sat in front of the loudly beeping seal before the Primordial Sea.

Fuck.

૮꒰づ˶• ༝ •˶꒱づ ˚ʚ ꒰⁐⁐⁐⁐୨🍪🍯🍬୧⁐⁐⁐⁐꒱ ɞ˚

Honest to god when you saw Wriothesley just appear out of thin air, you weren’t shocked. To be entirely honest you hoped that you’d get to see the whole fight against the Sea with Neuvillette! It was gonna be so cool!

You snuggled against your melusine plushy again as you watched Wriothesley rush towards you, gently pick you up, and move you out of the way.

“Alright, here you go… just have to make sure you don’t get in trouble…” He muttered as he at you down, out of the way. You mentally groaned at this but stayed put. You’d still be able to watch from here, you supposed…

And as soon as Wriothesley walked but over to the seal, Neuvillette, Furina and Chlorinde all deceased from you forgot where. You began clapping quietly and lied on top of your plush, snuggled up and ready for action.

You couldn’t really hear their voices, but then…

The seal exploded!

You watched with bated breath as they fought against the raging Sea, and your little tail began to wag at the sight.

Perhaps you had picked up a love for the show from Furina…

You watched the moves they pulled, the fights they put up, everything was glorious!

That was…

…Untill Neuvillette faltered.

You were confused.

Wasn’t he the one who stopped it in the cutscene? Why wasn’t he able to do it now? What was happening? Was the fear on his face? Why was there fear on his face? Why was everyone stepping back? Was…

Was Furina crying?

You jumped up from your hiding spot, rushing across the floor to the shock and fear of everyone.

Your top hat flew off and your melusine plush fell out of your mouth.

You heard shouts your way but you didn’t give a shit.

This stupid water wasn’t gonna hurt your new family.

Not on your watch.

…

You jumped into the water.

…

Over the rushing waves you could hear Furina scream.

…

It was…

Almost soothing…

As Furina screamed and cried the only thing on Neuvillette’s mind was if you were going to melt away.

If you were going to dissolve in those star studded waters.

‘It would be fitting.’ His mind mused. ‘For the brightest star in his life to flicker out surrounded by stars as well.’

Furina fell to her knees. Why?

Why?!

WHY?!

WHY DID EVERYTHING SHE WANT HAVE TO SLIP FROM HER FINGERS LIKE SAND ON THE OCEAN FLOOR?! SWEPT AWAY BY THE TIDE SHE COULDN’T CONTROL?! WHY WAS SHE FORCED WITH THE MISFORTUNE OF NEVER BEING ABLE TO HOLD ON TO ANYTHING OR ANYONE WHO MENT ANYTHING TO HER?! THIS WASN’T FAIR!

IT WAS NEVER FAIR!

HOW COULD THIS EVER POSSIBLY BE FAIR!?!?

And as Furina cried, Wriothesley looked on with a blank face on.

But his mind was a whirlpool of emotion.

Your sudden sacrifice… it reminded him slightly of his past. Of his teenage years.

Of the murder of his foster parents.

How he put his life on the line, knowing full well that it could be the end of him, as long as his siblings would be fine in the end. That he saved everyone he could.

That’s what you had just done, wasn’t it?

But Chlorinde…

She was shocked.

She watched as her Archon screamed and cried, as she slammed her fists into the ground below, as Neuvillette allowed a tear to fall from his eye (she had never seen him cry before now), as Wriothesley stared on, grief and longing in his eyes.

Just…

Just what had you meant to them?

What had you meant..?

What… could you have meant to her..?

…

The water was cold. Cool. And the stars shimmered in a way where they were bright, but not enough to hurt your eyes.

You couldn’t see outside the water. But it seemed bioluminescent. The brilliant blue lighting up your vision with the stars.

You swam gently. The current was slow.

You placed a paw on your bow tie. It swayed with the movement of your body.

You felt something deep inside you.

…

The Primordial Sea.

She called to you.

She cried that her creations feared her.

She just wanted to be whole again. While with her children.

But you told her that she couldn’t.

They were scared because they were their own people now.

They had become their own.

If she were to become whole again…

They would die.

She wept.

She did not want them to die.

But she had to become whole. They were still apart of her.

You told her that soon she would understand. Her tears would no longer be wept out of sorrow, but out of delight.

She didn’t understand. You told her she soon would.

Where you swam, she followed, like a duckling to her mother.

When you went up, she followed. When you went down, she followed. You went left, so did she. You go right, so does she.

You tell her she must go back.

She understands. But she warns that soon her sorrow will consume her once more and she will come again, wishing to have her children rejoin her.

and you tell her that you will be there to comfort her once more. And you will be there until she understands.

She understands.

…

Furina’s cry’s stop. She looks to the water, which has ceased its movement.

It begins to swirls around them, breaking off into pieces that form diffrent creatures of the sea.

From creatures of today, to long lost beasts of times forgotten. They swirl around and around the room, playing and tumbling over each other. The grin and make the happiest noises with one another.

Before diving back into the seal.

Only an Otter of starry water remained, and it dropped between the teary eyed Dragon Sovereign and the crying Archon, chittering and chirping. Picking up the top hat, it places it in hydro god’s hands.

It’s form splits. Duplicates perhaps..

And there you stood.

Their ˈbābē.

Her raison d’être, her preux chevalier, her ange.

His moitié, his raison de vivre, his trésor.

The only difference being your once wide black eyes,

We’re now filled with all the stars in the sky.

Furina gently placed the hat on your head as you walked up and nuzzled her face, licking away her tears.

You then walked back to the Primordial Sea Otter, missing Furina’s out reached hand.

You both nuzzled against each other, making chittering and chirping noises, rubbing up and down each other. After saying your goodbyes, the Primordial Otter waved, running and jumping into the seal, it closing up after her.

You rushed back to them, picking up your plush on the way, and got picked up by a still teary Neuvillette, whose breath was shaky and broken.

You gave him kisses as well, chirping up at him.

All those in the vault - after Furina had stood - crowded around Neuvillette.

Hands were ran through your fur and you took it all lovingly, understanding the scare you had just given them.

Looking towards his Lady, they had a mental conversation, before Neuvillette sighed.

“Chlorinde, Wriothesley. Me and Lady Furina have something to tell you.”

໒꒰ྀི˶˙Ⱉ˙˶꒱ྀིა Author’s note : I think I went a wee bit overboard… but meh ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა! Hehe, I hope you guys enjoyed!~ And honestly, the Primordial Sea I have envisioned (personified) and she’s… kinda hot ngl-૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა

[its-time-to-write]

how about a Jamie x reader fic when they go away to Amsterdam they sit together on bus and they wake up cuddling and then there’s an issue w hotel booking and there’s a one bed trope and they end up waking up cuddled together and then they admit feelings and reader goes to game with a tartt jersey on <3

I’ve been thinking about this forever, and I’m terribly sorry it took so long!! I do enjoy being an adult, but I’m at a point in life where I don’t have much free time and if I do, I use it to sleep😂

I really miss the days when Ted Lasso was still airing and the x reader tags had new content every day. I feel like that one meme of Thanos when he’s like “Fine. I’ll do it myself.” Shoutout to all y’all who are still here and reading my stuff! Love you!!

smile at me

It’s straight-up fucked. It really, really is. But also maybe it’s good, as Keeley pointed out, because not having a boyfriend anymore means you can focus on yourself?

Or something. 

Of course he had to break up with you right before leaving for Amsterdam. Hell, he broke up with you because you were leaving for Amsterdam. 

“I don’t want you going to another country with a bunch of other guys,” he had said. “It’s them or me.”

“It’s literally my job,” you told him. 

Apparently, that didn’t matter. 

But what-fucking-ever, you’re at Keeley’s waiting for a car to take you to the airport, and she’s promised to make sure you don’t think about your stupid ex even once. 

It’s times like these you wish Ted were still here with a spot-on pun and some dad-type advice. All you ever get from Beard is a weird anecdote and a vaguely threatening look. 

Keeley chatters on for the entirety of the ride to the airport, through customs, and all the way to the lounge. 

“You’re gonna get loads of great content for the socials, babe. Candids, action shots, behind-the-scenes. Friendlies are fucking amazing!”

Last time Richmond were in Amsterdam, they had lost horribly. They’re hoping to make up for it this time around. 

The plane is full of Greyhounds, both footballers and coaches alike, with Rebecca at the very front. Keeley plops done in the seat next to her as Dani waves at you from the middle. 

“I saved you a seat!” he calls. You smile as Sam takes your bag to put it in the overhead. “Thanks, Dani. You excited?”

Dani grins. “I think this time I am ready to see a whole field of tulips!”

You laugh as the lads roll their eyes. Jamie leans across the aisle toward you and says, “Oi, what’s the twat doing while you’re away?” 

You press your lips into a thin line. “Not a clue.”

He raises an eyebrow and says, “You break up with him?”

“He broke up with me.”

Jamie twists his face into a scoff. “And you wonder why I call him the fucking twat. Prick. Bet it was so he could finally fuck his coworker.”

You shrug. Jamie’s never liked your boyfriend. It’s not like you were together long, only a few months. And sure, he was a little bit of a twat, but sue you. You had a special place in your heart for pricks with a heart of gold, only he didn’t even have a heart at all. 

“You should date someone better,” Jamie continues. 

You glare at him and retort, “Oh yeah, because it’s just that easy. You got some one in mind?”

Jamie gives you his most angelic look and says, “What about me?” which makes half the plane dissolve into laughter, yourself included. 

“Cheers, Jamie,” you say as you wipe your eyes. “I needed that.”

A strange look crosses his face, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression. “Anytime, love,” he replies as you turn to start a conversation with Dani. 

As much as you’d like that, Jamie would never date you. His joke stings a little but you brush it off. Maybe you’ll find another twat in Amsterdam to distract yourself from the fact that you’re half in love with Jamie Tartt.

—

“I’m sorry, we don’t have a booking under you name,” the hotel concierge says.

You tap your nails to your wrist. “Are you positive? I’m with AFC Richmond, they should’ve had one.”

The concierge taps on his computer for a moment before shaking his head. “No, I’m afraid we don’t have anything. And all of our rooms are booked this weekend. Might I recommend the hotel down the road?”

Damn it. There’s no way this is happening. Everyone else has gotten to their rooms without a hitch and here you are, alone in the lobby as you pull out your phone to call Keeley. There’s no way this is fucking happening. 

“Everything alright?” asks a voice behind you, and you jump. 

“They don’t have a room for me, and they’re fully booked,” you explain. 

Jamie looks at the concierge, who shrugs apologetically, then back to you. He asks, “Why don’t you share with me?” and you frown. 

“I thought you were rooming with Declan,” you say. 

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “Yeah, but he switched with Richard because O’Brien fucking snores and he don’t give a shit.”

You say, “So you’re with Richard, then,�� and he shakes his head. 

“Nah, Richard’s with Jan.”

“I thought Dani was with Jan,” you say. These fucking footballers. What’s the point in having set rooms if they’re just going to switch it all up.

“Dani is with Jan,” Jamie says patiently, as if this all the most obvious thing in the world. “But Dani’s a cuddler, so he’s probably going to fucking end up with, I don’t know, Isaac or someone. Which means I get a room all to meself.”

“Right,” you say slowly. “Alright, I can do that. As long as you don’t mind.”

Jamie winks. “Sharing a room with a pretty girl for four days? Ain’t a problem, love.”

You laugh and follow him to the elevator.

—

It feels a bit like playing with fire, agreeing to room with Jamie. Especially since you’re freshly single and definitely open to a rebound. But there will be two beds and a lot of space and anyway, you’ll be busy with the match and social media, respectively. 

Except as soon as you walk through the door, you realize there’s a tiny little hitch.

“There’s one bed,” you blurt out, so surprised you’re unable to filter your words. Jamie blushes a little bit as he says, “Yeah, um, Cockburn and I hate sleeping alone, so we asked for one. He grew up sharing a bed with his brothers and I just fucking hate being alone. I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

“No,” you say firmly, “you need good rest. It’s not a problem.”

It’s not a problem. 

Or at least it wouldn’t have been if Isaac had been a shittier captain. 

But as it is he’s great, so he’s got the whole team going out to dinner at a pre-determined location complete with a dress code of no t-shirts and apparently you count as part of the team, so you have to go too. You’re in your massive bathroom trying to curl your disgusting travel hair when Jamie walks in wearing one of those white hotel bathrobes.

He asks, “You mind if I’m in here?” so you shake your head, struck temporarily mute by his bare clavicle. Fucking hell, you feel like a repressed Victorian woman. 

Jamie says, “Mint,” and goes about his alarmingly detailed skincare routine. You’re pretty sure you’re done with your hair so you crane your neck in an attempt to check the back. 

“Missed a spot,” Jamie says. “Want me to get it for you?”

You shoot him a dubious look but hand him the curler. He runs a hand through your hair, picking up the offending strand and it’s all you can do not to shiver. 

“Mum taught me,” he explains and you nod ever so slightly, not wanting him to accidentally burn your neck. Jamie says, “All good,” and runs his whole hand through your hair this time, making the curls bounce. 

You choke out, “Thanks,” and hurriedly put away your things, desperate to leave before Jamie can pick up on the fact that you can barely handle being in the same room as him, and that you have great concerns about what the night will bring. 

—

“You look fucking hot,” is the first thing Rebecca says when you meet her in the lobby. Keeley looks mildly offended that Rebecca took the words out of her mouth, but she just laughs and taps your arm. 

“Gonna break a few hearts tonight, yeah?” she grins.

You’re not sure about that, especially since dinner turns out to be a very domestic affair. It’s loud, sure, but it’s definitely toned down since it’s a pre-match celebration instead of a post-match one. You’re with Sam, Keeley, and Roy with Jamie far, far away. You push all thoughts of him from your brain only for memories of your ex to surface. You frown. 

“The fuck’s wrong with you?” Roy says and for a moment, you think he’s talking to you. But he’s actually talking to Jamie who has moved from his place across the restaurant to right behind your chair. 

“Fuck off grandad,” Jamie says good-naturedly. “Wanted to tell this one that some of the lads are going out dancing after this. Not too late,” he hastily adds at Roy’s burning scowl, “just for two hours and we’re only allowed one drink.”

You’re pretty sure that’s a bit more liberal than Roy likes, but he nods his head slightly so he must be in a good mood.

“So, you coming?” Jamie asks and before you can reply Sam and Keeley chorus, “Yes she is.”

You give Keeley a Look before turning back to Jamie. “Guess I am,” you reply.

The smile Jamie gives you does more to make your head spin than any amount of alcohol you’ve had in your lifetime.

—

Jamie has taken it upon himself to wipe that frown off your face. He might have been watching you over dinner and that might have been why he chose that exact moment to invite you out, but he’ll never fucking admit it to anyone except Sam. And Keeley. And maybe Cockburn when it was the off-season and they were a little tipsy. (But not drunk, never drunk.) 

So yeah, sue him if he’s spinning you around on the crowded dance floor just because it makes you laugh. It’s not his fault that he’s been wildly in love with you since the day Higgins hired you. It’s not his fault that you’re easy to be around and have the most beautiful smile he’s seen in his life. 

And fuck, it certainly isn’t his fault you can’t see in yourself what others do. Why you settled for a piece of shit like your ex, he’ll never know. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do his best to show you how special you are. He knows you’ll never feel the same about him, but maybe he can help you level up your standards. Maybe if you’re with someone good, it’ll hurt less that it’s not him. 

So he lets you hold his hand for the entirety of the two hours that the team is out and doesn’t say a word when you don’t let go in the cab back to the hotel. 

You’ve gotten that closed-off look in your eyes again, the one that means you’re thinking about your ex, so Jamie knocks his shoulder into yours and asks why he can’t have the password to the team’s Instagram account, which is a sure fire way to get you to lecture him on irresponsibility and aesthetics and the best way to get your eyes to come back to life.

—

Honestly, it’s easier to fall asleep than you might have expected. It’s a big bed and you’re fucking tired. 

You just didn’t expect to wake up in the middle of the night crying, but it’s always fucking like this when you go through a breakup. You go to sleep fine and wake up sad, so you do your best not to wake up Jamie except you’ve both ended up entangled in each other’s arms, so he can feel you shaking. 

“Hey,” Jamie says in a soft voice, “You’re okay, love.”

You half expect him to push you away once he realizes you’re so close, but he only pulls you closer and presses a kiss to your forehead. Maybe it’s because you’re both half-asleep, but it feels like the most natural thing in the world. 

You sigh and settle into him, drifting off in a matter of moments. 

—

You wake up to a pair of blue eyes watching you. 

“How you feeling?” Jamie asks, voice gravelly with sleep. 

You just blink at him. It’s hard to form coherent sentences within the first ten seconds of waking up, and even harder with the memory of Jamie’s arms around you last night. 

Wait. Not just the memory. The present reality because neither of you have moved. 

Jamie misinterprets your silence and begins to extricate his arms.

“Sorry,” he says, “I’m not to trying to like, cross and fucking boundary or something. Should’ve left you alone.”

You’re still not awake enough to talk so you grab him to stop him from moving away. He gives you a questioning look so you say, “I wouldn’t have agreed to share a bed if I thought you were a creep.”

Jamie grins. “So like, if Jan had offered to share a room you’d’ve said no.”

You wrinkle your nose as you say, “Jan’s not a creep.”

“He’s the fucking worst,” Jamie grumbles, “And anyway, can we not talk about Jan fucking Maas this early in the morning?”

“Sure,” you say, “let’s talk about something else.”

Despite your comment, you both lapse into silence. You’re enraptured by Jamie’s blue eyes. You’ve never been able to study them this close before, and you want to take this opportunity to memorize every fleck of green. 

Jamie seems to have a similar thought, except his gaze flicks to your lips. 

“I have morning breath,” you tell him and he says, “Real men don’t give a shit, babe,” before leaning forward.

It’s softer than you’d expected, sweeter. 

It’s also strange to think that you’re making out with Jamie in bed, and that he’s the one who initiated it.

The thought is so absurd that you giggle, mid-kiss. Jamie breaks away and says, “Oi, there’s no way that was a shit kiss.”

“No,” you say between giggles, “it’s just weird that we’re doing this. Like, how are we supposed to look each other in the eye after?”

Jamie moves so he can look at you better, and you roll from your side to your back. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“Oh come on, we share a room and a bed, we kiss because I have all these sad feelings and you’re feeling a lot of emotions about the match, and then we have to work together after. It’s silly.”

Jamie cocks his head. “That’s what you think is happening?”

“Yes?” you say. None of this is going how it’s supposed to. “What do you think is happening?”

“I like you,” he says, and there is absolutely no mistaking his meaning. 

“Oh,” you reply in a small voice. “Since when?”

“Since before you started dating the twat. When Higgins introduced ya to the team.”

“That’s a fucking long time ago!” you exclaim. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

Jamie rubs his face. “Yeah, ‘cept you showed up to work tellin’ everyone how you started dating the twat. And I ain’t a home wrecker.”

You groan. “Fuuuck. I literally only dated him to try to get over you.”

Jamie shoots up. “What?!”

“Yeah,” you say, “I’ve been like a little bit in love with you ever since you winked at me during that first promo I did.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “Okay. Think that’s enough talking. C’mere. We’re making out proper, like, then we’re going to breakfast.”

You grin as you climb onto his lap. 

[fortheloveofpiggy]

TW this is a rant about proship and comship! Tags will have more in-depth trigger warnings

Edit: OMG PROSHIPPERS STOP MAKING THIS POST ABOUT DEFENDING IF SHIPPING CHILD X ADULT OR INCEST IS OKAY OR NOT THE POST IS ABOUT THE LABLE I DONT WANT TO ARGUE WITH YALL ABOUT THAT ANYMORE.

This is my one post where all people on all sides of the proship debate can interact. Including proshippers. If that makes you uncomfortable then don’t interact. I hate echo chambers and I want to hear all sides.

Also sorry for cross tagging just want the opinions from all sides

Actual post:

I hate the terms proship, neutral ship, and antiship. They’re all extremes and I hate them. From what I understand the meanings are

Proship: support all ships no matter what even if they’re comships

Neutral ship: doesn’t have an opinion at all

Antiship: is anti any comship which is outrageous

If y’all don’t know comship just means complex ship or they enjoy more morally grey or imperfect ships. This can include things like human X different intelligent species (like aliens, furries, monsters) which most rational people don’t think is bad. But this can also mean kid X adult, family x family, or victim X abuser

I actually don’t identify as pro, neu, or anti because I think some comships are good and healthy. I think morally grey ships are important in media when done correctly. Especially since a lot of relationships are rocky and not always healthy and it’s good to show that in media. My own ocs personally aren’t in a perfectly healthy relationship because of their own issues. But this should be done respectfully and with care. Abuse shouldn’t be romanticized but people can be romantic outside of the abuse going on just like in real life relationships

But in a pedophilic fan fiction or art or an incest fanfic or art there is no such thing as a loving part of it. The relationship in itself is abuse because a minor being with a child is abuse and family members being together is abuse. It’s not healthy for anyone involved to romanticize relationships like that and frankly can effect reality no matter how you spin it because it’s representing something as normal to kids.

Right now a lot of neutrals, antis, and probably a lot of pro shippers are agreeing but that’s where my point really starts

The term “proship” and “anti ship” are too vague. If you say you’re proship you sound like you defend media where children are harmed. I understand the meaning is being proshipping and minding your business but that’s still what you look like and frankly that’s what the term does. If you’re pro everything then that means you’re pro the harmful stuff too

And the term “antiship” suggest that you’re anti shipping in general or anti any complex ship which is also unhealthy for us all because morally grey topics need brought up. Antis also are very very commonly okay with harassment when it comes to proshippers

And neutral ship is basically just saying you don’t have a opinion at all which is harmful because you’re suggesting you’re okay with the harm done on both sides. And I understand some people who are neutral ship agree with me and don’t just not care but I feel like majority is the former not the latter (based on what I’ve seen)

Also disclaimer if you’re neutral because of mental health or because you have better things to deal with that’s valid but identifying as neutral ship does put you in it and i instead suggest staying out of it entirely

So idk maybe we should make a term for the middle. I had a few ideas maybe something like middleship or intentship (intentship meaning enjoying or allowing all ships as long as the intentions are good and are not to romanticize trauma or abuse)

Idk everyone can share their opinions but if I see another proshipper say fiction doesn’t effect reality I’m gonna scream and if I see another anti shipper call all morally grey ships bad as if they done killed their grandma I’ll go insane

[mlm-writer]

Daddy/Dearest (Wade Wilson x M!Reader)

Pairing: Wade Wilson/Deadpool x Alien!Cis!M!Reader  Rating: Mature (lowest I can go with a Deadpool fic) Words: 1048 POV: Third Summary: You matched with Deadpool on the intergalactic dating app Starcrossed. After exchanging many dick pics, you decided to visit Earth for your first date... and blow the planet up if the date sucked. Note: Inspired by the song Party Tonight by Joe Hedourix and this prompt. Tags: first date, fluff, idk who Nick Fury really is tbh, 4th wall breaks, romcom and reader’s appearance is a little vague but at some point I started imagining Megamind

“Deadpool! Open up!” Wade groaned at the insistent knocking on his door. He tried to rub his eyes, only to find out that he was still wearing his mask. A quick look down revealed he had fallen asleep on the couch in his PJs. The knocking at his door stopped, so he rested his body on the couch. He had barely closed his eyes, when the door was knocked down. 

He raised his head with a groan, only to be incredibly surprised by his guest. “Wow, Nick Fury, I am not sure if I am even supposed to know who you are, because the writer has seen exactly one movie in which you had a cat, but he supposes you’re an important dude or whatever.” 

“Shut it, motherfucker,” the man wearing a black trenchcoat barked back at Wade. He clearly took note of the dirty white shirt with a butt on it and the blue chequered underwear Wade was wearing, but he did not comment on it. “Do you know the app Starcrossed?” 

Wade laughed, not reading the room that had been filled with armoured men and women because we are inclusive here and women can and will kick your ass if provoked. 

“That app with all the metas on it? Why? Did we match? I’m sorry if I did not reply, but you’re not really my type and you must have been an accidental swipe.” 

“Stop yapping! Does this guy look familiar to you?” From his pocket he unfolded a picture printed on an A4 paper. Wade leaned in and squinted at the picture. He did recognise the person on it. 

“Oh yes that’s my daddy - not my father - but like a sexual daddy you know. You should see his dick.” Nick looked like he was gonna lose it. Wade could tell, but he frankly did not give a shit. 

“Well, your ‘daddy’ is the leader of an alien race, whose armada is in orbit right now to drop him off for a ‘date’ with you. So get dressed, because whether we get blown up or not today is apparently up to you.” That was a lot to take in, but Wade was used to weird days and this was simply just another one of them. 

Now it was common to be nervous for a first date, but the fully armed SWAT team dropping Wade off was not helping. He tried making conversation with them, but they seemed to blame him for possible annihilation before dinner time. 

When he stepped out of the chopper, there was a masculine figure waiting in front of the former military base. He held a large bouquet of iridescent flowers. They seemed either fake or from an alien planet. “Wadey!” The figure called out, waving frantically with all hands that were not holding the bouquet. The inhuman coloured skin seemed to change colour wherever the late morning sun was directly shining on it. 

“Hi daddy,” Wade called back in the same cooing tone. He skipped over to his date. “Are those for me?” He mused, knowing the answer as his date handed them to him. 

“I heard flowers are quite common to bring to a Terran date, so I brought some rare flowers from my planet for you. I am afraid they will not survive as long as they would on my planet though. The sun here is weak.” Wade smelled the flowers. They smelled like butt. Could be worse. At least Wade was familiar with the smell of butt. Wade held the flowers close as he thanked the other for them. “Well then, shall we? Your government was so kind to help me set up an Earth-date.” 

The atmosphere was… weird. There was a very extensive brunch on a beautifully decorated table, but they were surrounded by people keeping them at gunpoint. “You don’t seem bothered by being held at gunpoint,” Wade noted as he rolled up his mask just far enough to shove a croissant into his mouth. 

“Likewise,” his date smirked back at him. He reached out and touched the edges of the mask. “Come on, I already know your dick and ass are covered in scars. Your face cannot possibly scare me.” Wade thought about it. Well, his identity was not really a secret right now anyway. They already knew where he lived. Wade lifted his mask off his face, trying to not show how insecure he was about his fucked up face. However, when he looked at the alien before him, he swore he could see a hunger in his eyes. “If these people were not around, I would fuck your face right now,” the man sighed dreamily, before continuing to clumsily trying to spread butter on a piece of toast. 

Wade reached out and decided to help him. Their fingers briefly touched and Wade saw the other man smile at the contact. It set his body on fire with desire. “I frankly don’t care about the audience, but after writing all those kinktober fics the writer can really use a break from blowjob scenes, so let’s keep this from being E-rated.”

Wade sat back down after buttering his date’s toast. He watched as the alien’s facial features reacted to the taste of Earth food. “Fascinating,” he spoke softly. Wade chatted with his date and those mesmerising eyes and charming smile kept drawing him in. At some point he was sure even Nick Fury could smell his arousal from wherever he was keeping an eye on the situation. There was no more food left, when his date rose from his seat and offered one of his hands. “Let’s get out of here.” 

Wade grabbed his mask and put it back on. “We’ll have to fight our way out of here if we want to do that.” A corona of blue light started surrounding the alien, a devilish smile appearing on his face. The sudden display of power got people loading their guns and Wade’s gun filling up with blood really quickly. 

“Do not worry, dearest, that can be arranged,” the most powerful being that had ever held him spoke, before he blasted a hole in the line of armed people, lighting the way to their future in a flurry of blue. “Let’s have a good time, dearest.”