#the way you can see him thinking about his expression before he does it | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kenntolog · 2 days

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need to know how does cool boyfriend sukuna met loser!gf reader…. and how did sukuna likes her djbekwbsks

𝝑𝝔 an: this is so corny but i hope u like it!! more about cool bf sukuna x loser gf reader here! cw: a lil blood and a minor injury.

i think before meeting loser reader properly, sukuna was like angrier and more intimidating to his surroundings; a constantly irritated expression on his face and ready to curse everyone and everything. these characteristics didn’t seize with the start of your relationship, but they have died down significantly ever since.

so of course, sukuna getting angry about losing a game(yes, him meeting loser reader on the game he lost lol) and the ball in his hand turns into a weapon as he throws it away blindly, not turning around to see what happened even after registering the sound of a loud thud and a round of gasps.

it’s only when uraume, the team’s manager, calls out to him that sukuna’s angry face turns irritated and he rolls his eyes, cursing under his breath, before looking over in their direction.

the view is so unexpected sukuna can barely keep his laughter intact, eyes lazily scanning through the small crowd of people to find you on the previously squeaky clean floor of the court — the victim of his angry fit — with blood gushing out of your nose and face red from crying. it’s such a pitiful sight(he is such a menace) that he just lifts his arms behind his head, locking them in a relaxed manner, and continues staring.

uraume gives him a cold glare, “take her to the nurse’s office.”

the commanding tone of their voice makes him roll his eyes, “tsk. take her yourself.”

“sukuna.”

coach yaga’s voice contains more warning and sukuna groans, holding his hand out for you to take from the fear of being suspended from trainings, which has happened before because of his anger issues.

you look up at him with surprise and gently place your hand in his, not expecting him to tug you up roughly. the walk to the nurse’s is silent, with you occasionally sending shy glances his way while you’re holding a cloth to your nose.

“where the fuck is the nurse?” he asks impatiently, sitting down on the stool while you settle on the examination table.

he doesn’t really care for the answer, but he still hears your meek voice mumbling, “it’s her break time.”

sukuna is too restless to just sit there and wait for the nurse to come back. he shoots up from his spot, looking around for something before he steps closer to the table you’re seated on. the way your eyes widen, body instinctively moving back to avoid his space makes the corners of his lips curl upwards in a satisfied smirk. he makes a point of standing between your knees.

he tugs the bloody cloth out of your hands, ignoring your little ‘hey!’, and cups your jaw a little too roughly, angling your head a bit higher to inspect your nose.

for a totally bleak loser you have a pretty face, he notes in his head, a sight for sore eyes. eyes looking up at his like he’s from the outer world, a little scared and maybe even mesmerised, lips parted slightly with one side covered in dried blood, hair disheveled and eyes still a bit watery. his interest was piqued maybe a just a little.

sukuna tilts your head forward and pinches the soft part of your nose between his thumb and index finger. you hiss in pain, hands flying up to grip his wrist, which makes him roll his eyes.

“tsk, what a crybaby.”

you pout at him, a small whimper escaping you as he continues scanning your face intensely. you mutter something under your breath, looking away from him.

“… didn’t hit me with a ball—”

“what did you say?”

“nothing!”

his grip on your nose tightens and you whine.

“oww~” you pull away from him, hiding your nose from him with a wary look before you quietly confess, “i said if you didn’t hit me with your ball then i wouldn’t be crying, y’know.”

“i didn’t hit you with my ball.”

“eh? you totally did though…”

“i threw my ball and you just fell under it. your fault, loser.”

you stare at him in bewilderment and sukuna doesn’t hide his great amusement. he steps away, lazily looking through cabins; he finds wet wipes and a pack of bandaids. throwing them at you without looking he once again stands in front of you, watching the way you messily wipe the blood from your face.

but he hates when things aren’t neat so he takes the pack of wet wipes from your lap, pulling out one, and cleans the blood where you missed, his free hand on top of your head. he throws it somewhere behind himself and takes the pack of bandaids, picking out the ugliest one in his opinion to plaster it over the little bruise on the side of your nose.

you say ‘thank you’ with a small bow and stumble out of the nurse’s office, tripping over your own feet, while he just stares at you indifferently.

you bake him little cupcakes, as a sign of your gratitude, not knowing that he isn’t that fond of sweet treats. sukuna still eats them, begrudgingly enjoying their taste.

though he can’t deny that he is amused by you. and that’s how it started, you know, sukuna just being amused with the way you get flustered when making eye contact in the hallways and lecture halls, the way you still always shyly wave at him in greeting, eyes shining a bit brighter when he gives you a little smirk or a nod.

you’re such a loser, sukuna thinks, always so shy around him but also ready to do anything he says. so at first, of course, he thinks of using that obedience for his own benefit, but soon those thoughts leave his mind when sukuna realise how sincere and interesting you are once you really get into the conversation.

what first starts as little jabs(i would say bullying) from him and you getting frustrated with every teasing and insulting word he throws in your address, soon enough transforms into something more; sukuna’s interest only rising along with the adoration that builds up inside his usually unresponsive heart.

#— miya writes!#sukuna x you #sukuna ryomen x you #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk sukuna #ryomen sukuna x reader #sukuna jujutsu kaisen #sukuna ryomen #ryomen sukuna #jujustsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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wifeyoozi · 3 days

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hiii <3 <3 i really love your works by the way. can i request ot13 reaction to in a award show announcer joking or talking about their relationships. also their s/o is an idol and they are there too. thank you soo much. have a good day <3

ot13 seventeen : (the above prompt pls isso long 😭)

seungcheol : is so damn pissed you can literally see that "I am so fucking pissed" painted on his face. Doesn't do something directly on screen but will definitely have "a word" with the announcer later

jeonghan : I think it's clear that he is pissed too and everyone can notice that too but he wouldn't act on it directly. He'll be much quieter and reserved for the rest of the night

joshua : I think on surface he's trying to show that it isn't affecting him but it actually hurts him a lot. Will discretely try to look for you to see if you were ok.

Junhui : he's really embarrassed and tries to give an awkward smile but fails miserably. Really wants to hold your hand at that instant to calm himself down but can't really do anything about it.

Soonyoung : he's caught off-guard and it's obvious he didn't enjoy the joke but doesn't say or do anything about it for the sake of his idol image but would post more and more couple pics that night to show he dgaf

Wonwoo : really pissed too. Folds his hands and keeps to himself to stop himself from acting on his instincts and doing something harsh. Would be really uncomfortable the whole night

Woozi : he's glaring at the announcer for a second and then looking away before getting caught on camera. Would try to search for you to see your reaction. May post an off-handed indirect insult to the announcer on twitter or weverse later.

Seokmin : his smile just drops when the announcer does you two dirty like that. Is more concerned of how you felt about that. Would message you a "sorry :(" because he really thinks it was his fault you were made fun of too.

Mingyu : the way he scoffs at the announcer actually gets caught on the camera and recieves mixed reaction on the fan end. Would mention about how insensitive that was and how someone's relationship is not a joking ground.

Minghao : his expression doesn't distinctly change but you can see the rage in his eyes. Would meet you after the award to console you (and be consoled)

Seungkwan : gets really nervous and embarrassed about it and is suddenly aware of the cameras capturing him. Would try to awkwardly smile about it but anyone could make out the discomfort on his face.

Vernon : that disbelief and shocked expression is visible on his face. So damn pissed. Would shift uncomfortably on his seat and once the cameras were off his face he'll try to get your attention from far and ask if you were fine

Dino : doesn't show how pissed he is but he really is. Would either "joke" back about the announcer if they recieve any award in that show or ask cheol to do something about it.

#svt #ceecee sees #seventeen #svt x reader #scoups x reader #woozi x reader #dk x reader #hoshi x reader #jeonghan x reader #joshua x reader #jun x reader #wonwoo x reader #mingyu x reader #the8 x reader #seungkwan x reader #vernon x reader #dino x reader

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blckbrrybasket · 2 days

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RAHHH i loved the odd!reader piece you posted!! i would love to see more, only if you want to write more, no pressure!! <33

ahh im so happy that you like it!! i love odd!reader so much <3 so so sorry this took a bit to come out

if you or anybody has any ideas for odd!reader plssss send them my way i would love to write more for them!!

have some headcanons and a lil something 💫

- When in public there are times where they’ll never touch their boyfriend or stand so close next to him that their face is in his side.

- It’s become a bit of a one-sided competition for their boyfriend to try and fuck them dumb (quickly mentioned in the blurb but he does take it as a challenge)

- They’re very clumsy. It’s not very noticeable to them anymore. Elbows knocked on door frames, tripping, miscalculating how far away something is, is all common to them.

- Surprisingly not queasy to most things, sees it as a part of life.

- That being said, the most horrendous thing could happen to them and they’d shrug like “:/ what can you do?” While their boyfriend is staring at them in horror.

- Knows way too many random facts. Makes it interesting to watch shows or movies when they randomly drop facts about the filming process or the lore.

- Bounces their leg like nobody’s business. Has spilled things by hitting their knee on the table.

- Egregious sleeper. Why can they fall asleep to the sound of gunshots outside, but if something interrupts their rain sounds they can’t sleep.

- Knows whats best but doesn’t know how to express it so they’ll just say “yes” or “no” and expect everyone to understand why.

The girl on screen pressed herself against the side of the house, panting as she tried to find a good moment to run. You and your boyfriend were watching a horror movie as you squirmed in your seat. Your legs were laid out over his lap, draping over the armrest of the couch.

“She actually called 911.” You muttered, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth. “Well yeah-“ He started. “No like the phone was still connected. When filming she accidentally called 911 multiple times.” You finished the thought.

He raised his eyebrows at you, not questioning, only turning his head back to the screen when a blood curdling screen was ripped from the actor. “Yeah?” You smiled contently. “Mhm!” A few moments passed by quietly, aside from the gore on the TV.

Your eyes trained on the screen as the girl ran around the house only to be met with the slasher. The knife stabbed into her, a small grimace finding itself onto his face at the forced angle of the cut. “Do you think it would be cool if the cloak was white instead of black?” The question pulled him out of watching the movie and he glanced at you. “Huh?”

“Well originally the cloak was going to be white and if it stayed that way it would be covered in all the blood stains. It’d look cool.” He slowly nodded, “But the black looks cooler in the night.” You paused before a smile spread across your lips. “Yeah. You’re right.” His hand wrapped around your ankle and his thumb slid back and forth over your skin, both of your attentions falling back to the film.

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fyorina · 1 day

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ᡣ𐭩 LATE NIGHT DRIVES!

FEATURING: nakahara chuuya

SUMMARY: it's felt like ages since you've last been able to spend time with chuuya with how busy he's been with mafia business. you know he'll make up for it, he always does, but this time, he goes above and beyond even by his standards.

(wordcount: 1k; sfw; fem!reader, not really any other warnings necessary just reckless driving & some hints of sexual undertones at the end but nothing explicit)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: ive actually had this in my notes app for an absurd amount of time idk why i hoarded it for so long

You think that there's nothing more freeing than the feeling of the wind whipping around you and the night sky vast above you as you race down open roads in the countryside west of Yokohama. you laugh wildly, spreading your arms as the speedometer of Nakahara Chuuya's motorcycle continues to edge upward.

“Oi!” You hear him shout over the wind, “How many times do I have to tell you to hold on?”

“Relax, Chuuya,” you complain, unable to keep the glee from your voice. “I know you’ve got me. There’s nothing to be worried about.”

You can hear him scoff loudly, but you know that if you peek over his shoulder you’ll see his pale cheeks tinted pink, as they always are when you proclaim your unwavering trust in him.

“Just hold on, would you?” he snaps, and you can hear how flustered he is just through his tone, so you smile and wrap your arms around his waist, pressing your chest against his back as you lay your cheek on his shoulder blade.

“If you wanted me to hold you so bad, you just had to say so, Chuuya,” you tease, feeling his abdomen tense beneath your touch as he bristles.

“You’re insufferable,” he murmurs. You only kiss the nape of his neck in response.

You'll admit that most people would find it reckless to be in this situation—with the speedometer crossing 150 kp/h and the streets dark and windy, but you swear it’s the safest you’ve felt in a long time. You’ve missed being with Chuuya. You’ve missed the feeling of his body against yours, you’ve missed the faint smell of wine beneath the familiar cologne he always wore, you’ve missed his sharp tongue that only ever lashes at you when you have him scared shitless with your carelessness. But in your defense, you refuse to call it careless because you know Nakahara Chuuya will never let you get hurt.

That doesn’t stop him from getting anxious about it, though.

You smile to yourself as Chuuya finally slows down, pulling off on an unfamiliar side road leading into the woods. You prop your chin on his shoulder, laying the side of your head against his.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask. “Finally had enough of me? Gonna kill me and dump my body in some backwoods?”

“Yep,” he agrees easily, turning his head to the side to press a chaste kiss against your temple.

You laugh, eyes drawing around the dark countryside before you lift one of your arms up to card your fingers through his hair.

“Quit it,” he mutters, with no heat behind the words. “You tryna make me fall asleep or something?”

“Not my fault you’re so pretty,” you sigh, nudging your nose against his shoulder again before burying your face in the crook of his neck, basking in his presence as he slowly comes to a stop and turns off his bike.

“C’mon,” he says, “look.”

You lift your head, squinting as you look up in front of where he had come to a stop to see a small, nice cabin in a clearing within the forest. Brows furrowing, you swing your leg over the side of his motorcycle, getting off to take a few steps in the direction of the cabin, confused.

“What is this place?” you ask, turning back to look at Chuuya as he leans against his bike.

He’s watching you with a fond, affectionate expression that has your face hot because you aren’t used to catching him looking at you like that. He’s always quick to school his expression when you look his way, but he doesn’t this time.

“A place for us,” he says quietly, and you don’t know if you want to throw something at him or kiss him, throat closing up as you stare at him, trying to figure out if he's playing with you. “To get away from everything in the city.”

“… For real?” you ask after a moment of silence, voice a bit more shaky than you intend for it to be. You know that Chuuya isn’t one to make jokes about stuff like this but you still want to be sure.

He raises his eyebrows and then tosses something in your direction. Only barely catching it, your eyes widen when you realize it’s a set of keys.

“For real,” he agrees.

You think you might cry.

“Hey, why the hell are you crying?”

You are crying.

Chuuya makes his way over to you quickly, gloved hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears as his brows furrow in confusion.

“I thought you’d like this.”

“I do,” you say immediately, not wanting him to get the wrong idea. You lean into his touch, eyes fluttering shut as he presses his lips to your forehead.

“Then why the hell are you crying?” he repeats, bemused.

“Because I’m happy, Chuuya,” you say quietly. “Really happy.”

“So you’re crying?” he questions, but then shakes his head, squinting as if to make sure you aren’t lying. Once he’s satisfied, a slow and sensual smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. “What do you say we go christen the bedroom then, yeah?”

You giggle, hand slipping down to intertwine your fingers with his as a giddy feeling spreads through you. As you drag him to the front door the cabin, you toss him a smile over you shoulder and say:

“Just the bedroom, Chuuya?” you tease. "Don't be such a prude."

You let out a shriek when you feel him suddenly grab you by the wrist, pulling you toward him before you can unlock the front door. His hands settle on your hips and you let out a pleased sigh into into his mouth when he presses his lips to yours, walking you backward until your back hits the door.

You feel him smile against your lips as he murmurs, "How about we start right here then, hm?"

#chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya nakahara x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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dunmeshistash · 9 hours

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Okay I think I'm ready to write the second part of this post about Milsiril

To make it easier for me I'll just divide this into her relationship with Kabru, Mithrun and Helki (her ex-canary prisoner teammate)

First about Kabru

This is an extra from the daydream hour 5. The caption says "Something like this might as well have happened" so its probably not canon but could be. I honestly think his reaction to Milsiril visiting and being overbearing says a lot about the type of relantionship they have. This is the fakest bitch in the whole of dungeon meshi, he never says what he trully thinks unless there's an advantage to doing so, he's a people pleaser that does and says anything to make people like/trust him. And yet he immediatly converts into "Mooooooom you're embarassing meeeeee" when he sees it's Milsiril.

This translation used "Mom" but as I understand the original he uses the more formal version so I think it would be closer to "Mother" but still he acknowleges her as his Mother, and he acts like her kid in every interaction we see between them.

I really don't understand where the idea that he learned to be fake from being "forced" to be her adoptive son comes from.

(Continuing under a cut)

The other interaction we see between them is the Kabru extra from the Adventurer's Bible

Kabru comes to her with a deep fear he clearly has had even before she adopted him, he trusted her with this fear and she did not disappoint him, she comforted him and then gave him the information he needed to believe what she was saying

I'd also like to point out in no moment she discouraged him from calling his his bio-mom "Mom". He also says she taught her children everything they asked

I doubt this would only be true for him, it also mirrors something she said in the manga

"You can go ahead and learn all you want about something else." I believe it when Kabru says she made every effort to answer her children's questions. I think this is also the way she expresses the love she has for them. Plus I love the thought bubble with Kabru mirroring what he learned from her. I also love this daydream hour, she sacrifices her own comfort to do something for Kabru.

Milsiril isn't a perfect mother tho, besides the fact she is overprotective she comes from a very different culture from her children. I like to call her Kabru's white mom cause I think that would be the real world equivalent. This extra is the one I think the most about showing this context perfectly

Kabru wants to share Utaya sweets but looks at his mom looking gloomy/rejected so he talks about fruitcake instead. This very rude for Milsiril to do since she's kinda trying to overwrite his actual cultural background, but I think its done more as a "I want you to like the things I like" rather than something nefarious, and once again Kabru doesn't hide at all his distaste for it, he does the bare minimum to please his mom since she's being dramatic but he doesn't lie to her, he shows how displeased he is about fruitcake, something he refuses to do when eating the harpy omelette that is way worse, because he must make a good impression for Laios. Kabru is honest with his overbearing white mom once again.

Now a little about Rin, from Kabru's context, this is her extra in the Adventurer's Bible

(look at Helki he's such a gremlin i love him) anyway, Rin has a trauma about elves, they really mistreated her so she hates them, but when they notice she isn't thriving they go to Milsiril for help (Helki specifically I'll talk more about him next). I think this indicates she really has a better understanding of short lived kids, her kids are thriving differently from the ones the other elves try to care for. I'd also like to remember she lives secluded from other elves so while Kabru probably had lots of interactions with elves during his life, most of it was probably spent with Milsiril and her other adoptive kids. She also asks Kabru if he would do this to help Rin, he isn't being forced or anything, I also think it's good that Milsiril knows she cant take in any more kids, this to me shows she's worried about the quality of life her kids have. That is all to say, Rin is the one with elf trauma, not Kabru, because Kabru had Milsiril to shelter him from them.

Helki

This will be short and sweet since there's barely anything about Helki, he's her prisioner companion from her time in the canaries, but he was pardoned after Utaya, it says so in the Canarie's Structure page in the new adventurer's guide but I cant really find it translated again... so here's google's machine translation (I remember it saying "Retired and pardoned as a reward after Utaya", something like that)

so officially he isn't a prisoner anymore, but I think he still works as a canary, even so he and Milsiril seem quite close, he is the one to go talk to her about Rin, He is there when she's training Kabru (both laughing at Kabru and then participating). I saw people theorizing she stays close to him because he is also someone who she can feel superior to, but I don't believe it at all, he's STILL in contact with her even after they have nothing to with each other, I think they really have a friendship, and there's no point where it seems like she feels like she's better than him or that he's less than her, people seem to interpret Milsiril and her relationships in the worst possible ways every time and I don't understand why.

This segways into Mithrun

I've also seen people assuming she only got close to Mithrun because now he needs her and has no power over her, once again with the theory that Milsiril surrounds herself with people she can feel superior to. But once again, Milsiril had a change of perspective about Mithrun after seeing his Dungeon

Rather than she feeling superior to him I think rather she realized he was just like her. (And I think she's friends with Helki for a similar reason, it's probably easier to see him as an equal than other nobles)

I've also seen this part used as proof of that. "He said that you've got suspicious ulterior motives and that I shouldn't listen to you" as if that's true, but this is past Mithrun, the one that didn't trust anyone and thought ill of all his teammates, ofc he doesn't believe someone would help him without an ulterior motive. This doesn't prove much about her real motivations.

Also before she showed up, Mithrun was being cared for by servants hired by his brother, he isn't someone helpless she has power over, he is still a member of an important Noble family that has a caring brother providing for him, he can do without Milsiril, he had done without her for 20 years before Utaya happened and she quit the Canaries.

This is all to say I think Milsiril is just a white(elf) adoptive mom doing her best, I don't see much of anything nefarious about her or her motivations, she is flawed as all the dunmeshi characters are, she isn't a perfect mom, she isn't an evil mom, she's just a person.

Elves in general also see short lived species as "children" so I imagine this makes her "You'll always be my baby" attitude way worse, she really treats pre-teen/teen Kabru like he's a toddler sometimes. But she also respected him enough to go all out in training him. I think they're a family with everything that entails.

PS: I didn't get much into Interracial adoption since this is something that happens irl too and I don't know much about all the issues that entails, but in the end, in this case, it seems like a net positive for the kids she adopts considering all we see about how she raised Kabru.

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi spoilers #Milsiril #Mithrun #Kabru #The Canaries #part 2 of 2 #longpost #long post #Kabru of Utaya #Helki

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jobean12-blog · 12 hours

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Donut: The Hole Story

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 969

Summary: When you stop at your favorite donut shop to grab some sweets on the way home from work they only have one left of your favorite flavor so you do what any other person would do...even though it's your husband's favorite too.

Author's Note: This is just because. We recently got some donuts from one of my favorite shops nearby and I just love writing about our fave guys with sweet things! If you wanna to check out the donut place you can find their website HERE. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluffy sweetness and fun

*All text messages in italics*

You: I’m on my way home Buck! Going to stop at the bakery, I want something sweet 🥰

Bucky: Ok doll face. And I got somethin’ sweet waiting for ya at home 😉😏

You: I know and I definitely want some…but I also want a Dough donut 🍩I’ve been craving it all day 😁

Bucky: Want me to come and get you on my bike? I can leave now and I’ll take you right to Dough❤️

You: I’m already half way there but I hate to miss a ride with you…take me after we have dinner and donuts? 😍

Bucky: Of course doll, be careful, love you❤️

You: I will love you too, see you soon!❤️

Bucky: AND DONUTS!🍩

You: YAY DONUTS!🍩

Before you even get the door of your apartment open Bucky does it for you, filling the frame with his broad shoulders and even broader smile.

Your greeting is cut off when he grabs you around the waist, tugs you inside, shuts the door- all in one smooth and quick motion- and presses you against it, his body caging you in while his lips cover yours.

“Mm you taste extra sweet,” he murmurs when he pulls away to let you breathe.

“Hi Buck,” you giggle.

He kisses you again, cradling your cheek in his hand and softly grazing just under your eye with the sweep of his thumb.

“Really sweet…” he whispers against your lips.

“Wait a second…” he mutters.

He kisses you again.

“Did you…?”

And another kiss.

“You ate one already didn’t you?!” he grumbles.

He pulls back with wide blue eyes, his mouth hanging open to match.

“Ate one what?” you ask, feigning perfect innocence with a bat of your lashes.

His mouth chases yours and his body keeps you pressed to the door.

“A TOASTED COCONUT TOO!”

“BUCKY!”

“IS THERE ANOTHER?” he asks with an accusatory tone as he frantically pats you down.

“Do you think I’m hiding the donuts in my clothes?” you laugh with a raised brow. “Or are you just trying to cop a feel?”

“I’m always trying to cop a feel,” he winks before his expression morphs back into suspicion.

You bend down and grab the box you unceremoniously dropped to the floor when he pulled you into the apartment.

He takes it from your hand and narrows his eyes, holding the box covetously close to his chest.

With one more kiss to your lips he rushes off to the counter and rips open the top of the box. He stares at the full box of twelve donuts for several seconds before meeting your eyes.

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

“See? A full box of donuts!”

“But…” he starts, grabbing your arm and pulling you under his to bring you around to face him so he can kiss you again. “There’s not toasted coconut!”

You shrug with nonchalance and smile sweetly. “They were all out. It is the end of the day so…”

He studies your face and tightens his grip on your waist.

“No they weren’t. There was one left and you ate it on the way home!”

Your shoulders lift to meet your ears in another act of indifference and you try to turn in his arms so you can grab a donut.

“No,” you answer. “I wouldn’t do that. But I’d like one now.”

You manage to wiggle your way around and look down at the donuts, tapping your cheek as you try to decide on which one to eat first.

Just as your hand reaches out for a blueberry lemon the top of the box shuts.

“BUCK!” you squeak. “What the heck!?”

He pushes the box to the other side of the counter and in another smooth move that’s too fast for you to fight he has you turned around and seated atop the surface, trapped by his body.

You cross your arms over your chest.

“Can I eat my donut please?” you huff.

“Not until you admit you ate the one toasted coconut left on the way home,” he counters with a smirk.

You lift your chin defiantly but you don’t answer.

“I knew it!” he shouts. “I can’t believe you ate it without waiting to share with me!”

You try and scooch off the counter so you can eat another donut but he doesn’t let you move.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he simpers.

“I want a donut.”

“You already had one doll.”

Your lips press together and you scowl.

“I can’t believe you’re denying me donuts Buck!”

“I just wanna hear you say it doll.”

“And if I don’t?” you challenge.

“No donuts.”

“You wouldn’t!”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Try me baby doll.”

You grunt and punch him in the chest.

He just smiles.

“I can’t believe you Barnes!”

He doesn’t budge and just stares with a triumphant grin.

You stare right back and slowly your lips curl into a smirk as an idea forms in your head. Without another word you press your chest to his and wrap your legs around his waist, gently rocking your hips. Your arms circle his neck and you run your fingers through his hair.

His fingers dig into your skin before slipping under your shirt and slowly inching higher.

Your fingers slide from his hair and down over his shoulders then bunch into his shirt to tug his lips closer.

“A distraction?” he hums. “Really?”

“I don’t see you trying to stop me,” you whisper.

Your fingertips dance lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans.

“No,” he murmurs. “Why would I ever want to do that?”

“And I’ll just have my donut after I have you.”

“That’s what you think,” he says right before kissing you, easily distracting you with his hands, lips and everything that's him.

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @lizette50 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @buckysdollforlife

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #donuts

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undercoverpena · 1 day

Text

11. dusky pink

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter eleven of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.7k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a boy!dad, luca appearance. an: this one is called jo kicked her feet mid-writing and editing.

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

“You didn’t have to come to help me.”

Tilting your head, a grin playing at the corners of your lips, you adjust the apron he gave you. “I don’t mind. Plus, you did promise me food after, so.”

A hint of mischief dances in his eyes, tongue sweeping across his lower lip. “So, if I want to persuade you to do something, I should wave a carrot in your face.”

Smirking, biting down on your cheek as you slide the boxed screws onto the shelf. “Oh, you can definitely wave something in front of my face.”

It's instant, the way his mouth falls open, hanging. Frankie's arm pauses, mid-air, on the shelf as he stares, blinks, and eventually clears his throat. “That's… good to know.”

“Your voice cracked there a little bit.”

Glancing at you from the corner of his eye, body beginning to restock again, you watch as he swallows, his forehead crinkling. Did it?”

Laughing, you remove the empty box from the cart—grabbing the Stanley knife attached to the side of it to slice open the next.

Even though you've been here at night before, it's different being down the aisles than when you shared food. There's an eerie stillness that hangs in the air under the low lights, punctuated by the occasional creak of the shelving when the two of you stack something. The strong scent of disinfectant is wavering from its assault on your senses, mingling with the musty odour of warehouse cardboard boxes. A smell that worsens, for a moment, each time one of you empties and flattens it.

But, you wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

Finding yourself charmed by the place. Although, you suspect it's by the man beside you. The one who had been prepared to do all of this himself all evening.

“Frankie?” you ask, hearing him hmm. “You ever thought of owning this place? Maybe, making it your own or something?”

Snorting, he shakes his head as his fingers slide to itch at the back of his forearm. “No. Not… Well, I’ve thought about it, obviously. Not owning this place, but…”

“But...?”

Shrugging, mouth open, all but chewing his response as he stacks the shelf and answers with, “Doesn't matter. Wouldn’t be good at it.”

Scoffing, you lift your head, finding him staring. “Sorry, I’ll scoff quieter next time.”

“It's a lot of work. And, it's risky. The place can barely afford me, never mind someone else.”

Shaking his head, you see that look appear—the disbelieving one—catching it flutter across his face. His attempt at making it unreadable fails, as you spot it written all over his expression, practically in bold, italic, and underlined; all very much screaming he very much believes he couldn’t.

Continuing, he shrugs, nostrils flaring under a sigh. “S’not worth thinking about. Got bills. Luca. I… I failed him once, don’t wanna do it again.”

Dropping the contents back into the box, you don't think when you gently lay a hand on his arm, urging him to look. You're just grateful that he does.

Head tilting, trying to find words you swap easily for the truth. “I know I don’t know the version of you from back then, but I really doubt you failed him. You were trying to do the best you could, with what you had.”

His gaze meets yours, a blend of gratitude and uncertainty shimmering in his eyes. “I… just...I want to do right by him now, you know?”

“I know,” you answer softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze. “And for what it's worth, I think you're doing an amazing job.”

He gives a small, appreciative smile at your words, eyes blinking past you as if trying to process the unexpected validation. Then, when his eyes fall back to you, his smile widens ever so slightly, a gleam of hope seemingly emerging from the shadows of doubt.

“I think you could do something like this.”

Flicking his eyes from yours to your lips, he smiles. “I don’t wanna own this.”

“What do you want then?” Hand sliding back inside the box, pulling out glue—the industrial kind, you imagine—that thankfully is labelled. “Outside of me helping you restock after hours.”

Grinning, he shakes his head. “Haven’t given it much thought.”

Smiling to yourself, turning the labels out, you leave him in silence for a moment. Letting him think, stew. “Not renovating?”

Tipping his head, his eyes meet yours—something twinkling in them. Shimmering. It makes you wonder to yourself if he’s ever been given a chance to think about something that he wants in a while.

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he replies, evidence there of a smile, of something turning, cogs shifting.

“Could get Luca to help—get him a mini tool belt.”

Laughing, he nudges you. “He’d charm them all into giving us free coffee.”

“From the stories you’ve told me, I don’t doubt it.”

It’s then he slides his hand across your back, fingers fanning, spreading warmth through the thin fabric covering your spine. “You still looking forward to meeting him?”

“Only when I don’t overthink it, and worry about the possibility of making the only person who matters in your world cry or something,” you smile, hand gesturing. “Outside of that thought process, very excited.”

Shaking his head, he steps closer, arm sliding around your waist—lips pressing to the top of your head. “Don’t tell him dinosaurs are extinct and you’re good.”

“Noted,” you whisper, staring up at him.

Eyes holding his, lingering. Your throat becomes full with letters, lips rolling as you weigh up whether it’s worth saying them—confessing them.

Instead, you press your mouth to his—hoping he can taste them, and how badly you want to share them.

Did you put that song over your latest Reel for my benefit?

If I did, was it appreciated?

I’m disappointed it’s not the loud-cat-screeching version I gave you in the car, but guess the original would be more well-known.

I want to keep that version, selfishly, to myself.

Just like I want to keep the photo of you with fries in your mouth just for me.

See, we have our things. Thanks for the help putting the Reel together.

I liked being your camerawoman. But next time, could I have a clapboard—maybe one of those chairs that says ‘Director’ on it?

I think I could find something for you to sit on.

Think that movie is something we’d selfishly keep to ourselves.

Be a good movie, though.

[SENDS PHOTO]

Wow, I didn’t even know they did coffees that large.

It was a special request. I told you she’s persuasive.

I wish I wasn’t on my own, otherwise I’d come down and see you both.

You just want her to get you a large coffee. Which I think she would—she likes you.

Rainy, that is the largest coffee I’ve ever seen. I’m glad she does. It matters your friends like me like mine like you.

Yours love me.

I am very aware.

If you’re good, I might drop you one off before I go home.

Have I told you how pretty you are today?

Such a charmer. [SENDS PHOTO]

See I knew you looked pretty.

Waiting, nerves prickling beneath your skin, your fingers interlacing tightly as you flick your eyes from the array of items you've arranged to the still-closed front door.

For the past, so many minutes, you've paced, chewed your cheeks, and endlessly rearranged the items on the table until they blur into a mess of neatness or chaos, you're not quite sure anymore.

Because it matters. Not just to him but to you.

Speaking to Luca (briefly, and on the phone) is so wildly different from meeting him. A thing you're aware of.

It's big. Fucking huge. A thing that you don't take lightly, or ever wish to. Not the permission to meet him, or the fact it's happening. It's why it keeps churning inside of you, bubbling and swimming up your throat; hands wringing out in front of you, thinking over what you'll do when his big eyes draw out the shape of you, standing there, waiting for you, this person who has entered his dad’s life, to say or do something.

You suppose that’s why your fingernail has migrated to scratching at the skin on your index finger, why your stomach is doing somersaults—more so when you hear the sound of Frankie’s vehicle pulling onto his drive.

You’ve got this. You can do this. Just breathe, just breathe, just—

The door finally opens, and there he is. The biggest eyes meet yours, all curious and wide. Even if the shadow of Frankie is behind him, you don’t take your eyes off Luca. Offering a small, reassuring smile, hoping it’ll be enough to show you’re trustworthy as he steps hesitantly into the room.

Not bending over, but crouching down, you let him approach. Watching as Frankie takes his jacket from his son before the soft introduction you've practised over and over again rolls from you—the sweet hello, followed by your name and I’m your dad’s friend.

And you knew it from photos—from the glimpses of the boy in front of you—but he has his eyes. Those soft, expressive eyes twinkle and shimmer at you as he offers his tiny hand for you to shake. One you take happily, with nothing but joy.

“Hey,” you say, voice soft and friendly. “I've heard so much about you.”

He looks at you for a moment longer, taking in your presence. Then, with a shy smile, he mumbles, “Hi.”

Frankie, watching the interaction from the doorway, closes the door, stepping further into the room as he presses his hand to Luca’s shoulder.

"Luca, you remember her from the phone?” He pauses, looking at you for a moment, before finishing, “...the one who struggled to say Aegyptosaurus.”

Narrowing your eyes a little, you smirk playfully at Frankie, the slightest shake of your head as you stare at the boy—warmth spreading through you as Luca begins to grin.

“Speaking of dinosaurs, I wasn’t sure if you wanted to help me with something?” you ask, gaze flicking up to Frankie who gives a supportive nod. “So, I’ve found this colouring book full of dinosaurs inside your Daddy’s coffee table, and I’m not sure what colours to make them.”

Slowly, his face shifts—from a questionable blank one to a slow smile that has the shadow of his dad’s, but breaks into something you assume must be his mom’s.

And god, it’s the most beautiful smile you think you’ve ever seen.

“Sure, I can helps,” Luca says, walking to the coffee table where the book is—before he’s beckoning you, little fingers urging you to come closer.

And you take a breath, a sigh—letting it flow into your lungs, as you reply with a quick ‘coming’ before you glance at the man still giving you both space.

Joining Luca on the floor, you sit cross-legged, the book propped up already on the table as colouring pens, crayons and pencils begin littering the wood not covered by un-coloured pages.

He's eager, flipping through the book, pointing out the different dinosaurs and naming them with an enthusiastic flourish that makes you chuckle. But, when he finds one, he stops. Head tilting from side to side, little finger tapping on the page before he sighs.

“This one!”

Grinning, you take a closer look. “Perfect.”

His smile mirrors yours, before he copies the pitch of your perfect and begins grasping for colours as he hands them to you.

“What’s your favourite dinosaur, Luca?”

Pausing, Luca brings his finger to his lips—dabbing it, scrunching his face before it explodes into a grin so large it almost makes you laugh. “Stegosaurus.”

“Cause of the spikey back?”

Nodding, he grins even wider, doing a little wiggle. “His name means roof lizard, you know that?” Shaking your head, he scrunches his nose as the corner of his lips rises. “And, and it used its back to defend himself.”

“He has a little beak too, right?”

Nodding, Luca begins to scribble his crayon onto the page. "You know him?"

“I’ve been doing my research.”

At Luca’s loud wow, and insistence on you using a colour he doesn’t like—maroon, which looks barely used—you glance towards Frankie, finding him leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, fingers lazily tracing up and down the back of his arm, while sporting a soft smile.

Returning your attention to Luca, you spend the next hour engrossed in colouring (a thing you discover you’re doing wrong), dinosaur facts (you’re not sure how he knows so many) and hilarious stories. Finding, with each passing minute, the anxiety sliding from your bones, it falling from you altogether—slipping away, disappearing completely the more Luca interacts.

The two of you only come to a stop when Frankie mentions that it’s almost dinner time, putting the cap on your pen down.

“Hey, Luca. I have to go now. But, I’ve had the best time.”

“You’re not wanting to stay for dinner?” he asks, eyes full of hope as you spot his fist clenched around the pen he’s pressing to the page—the colour bleeding out.

Leaning forward, you smile. “Next time, promise.”

“Okay.”

“Okay. Thanks so much for letting me colour with you.”

Getting up, suppressing a groan as your body aches from having to unfold itself from sitting cross-legged, you find Frankie waiting, his expression soft and tender.

“Hi handsome,” you whisper, taking the jacket from his hands.

Frankie leans down, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead—all out of view, just like the two of you had agreed. “You did good,” he tells you quietly. “He likes you.”

Heart swelling at his words, you look back at Luca, who is now animatedly talking to his colouring book, and you find yourself unable to stop smiling.

“I like him too,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

And as you listen to Luca's excited chatter, you realise just how much you mean it.

Think you have a new fan.

Stop, do I really?

Apparently, you’re very pretty, and old like me, and so I should kiss you.

Well, not that I love all of those sentiments, I do like the last one.

Do you want me to call when he’s in bed?

You not sick of me?

Not even a little bit.

I’ll wrap up these amends, shower and then I’m all yours.

The image of you covered in soap suds is going to get me through the next half an hour of this show.

It vibrates softly against the bedsheets, your smile spreading—replacing the earlier irksome client and the nervousness from your afternoon.

“He hasn’t shut up about you.”

No hello. Just a continuation, as if the two of you had only paused from the texting to now. Biting your cheek, you smile, knees pulling up as you feel your Lee scrunch.

“Yeah?”

“Baby, he’s pulled out books to show you the next time you come round.”

Grinning, you sigh. “He’s really great, Frankie. He’s so funny? You never told me how funny he was, and how smart. God, when he—”

And you ramble.

For longer than you’re even aware of as you accidentally go into a play-by-play from this morning—as though the man hadn’t been loitering, standing close by or joining in when Luca’s stories got more outrageous. A standout favourite had been Frankie saving the neighbour's lion from a tree, which had turned out to be a cat called Leon.

“—Also, how does he know so much about dinosaurs? And, fuck—Frankie. Did I just ramble to you about your own son?”

You hear his laugh, real and airy, flow down the phone. “I like it, don’t worry. It’s nice hearing you ramble.”

“You’re a filthy liar.”

With a deep, resonant snort, his sigh of contentment drifts through the phone, making your body, in response, relax. Every muscle slowly uncoils, back sinking further into the plush comfort of the bed beneath you. Ear meeting the pillow as it wrinkles gently under the weight of your head.

“Did it… do you think it went as well as you thought?”

“Better,” he confesses, hearing the breath he releases with it.

Biting your lip, you settle yourself further into your duvet—resting your back against the pillows. “Have I told you today that I really like you?”

“Pretty sure that’s my line.”

Smirking, you rest your tongue between your teeth.

“And, really like? That’s a new one.”

“Well,” you grin, unable to fight a smile, “Felt you deserved the extra word.”

Rolling your head, you trace your teeth over your bottom lip—hearing it, absorbing it, the way he repeats it back. I really like you too. The words find a home, rather than sliding in one ear and out the other. Burying themselves, slotting into a place so perfect as they fit so snugly.

A comfortable beat passes, a moment to linger in it before he asks about your work—about the latest thing you’re working on. Even if you always feel you’ll bore him, he always surprises you by reminding you he won’t be. Engaged, asking questions. Listening and recalling back to things you’ve said before, that you suspect most wouldn’t have paid much mind to.

But, then, he’s not anyone.

“I think I left my hoodie at yours.”

Humming, you hear sheets rustling, before rummaging. “Um, the—yes, yeah you have. I’ll hang it up for you.”

“Only if you have the space too.”

“Well, this is… awkward. I wanted to do it in person—”

Even if there’s no indication to do so, your stomach knots. Tangles. Your heart slams into your chest as your throat, all of a sudden, dries.

“I… fuck, if this is too much tell me, but I’ve made you some space—in my wardrobe. And a drawer. And—”

“And, Frankie? How much space are you giving me?”

Swallowing, you hear him click his tongue. “Well... I mean, as much as you want, baby.”

“Frankie…”

“Have I… Is it too much?”

Pulling your knees up, grinning. Quickly wanting to fire a text to your friend and scream HE’S MADE ME A DRAWER, only stopping yourself because, instead, you, all high-pitched and squeaky ask if you can swap to video. Fingers trembling, your face filling the screen before you can eventually push it to the corner when his greets yours.

“You’re so sweet, thank you—it isn’t too much. Not even a little bit. I want—if you want—to give you the same.”

Laughing lowly, you watch him slide back into bed—the freckles on his collarbone illuminated by the bedside lamp. “Baby, you have half my tools at your house—you’ve made plenty of room for me.”

“Yeah, that toolbox is a health hazard—it is very heavy.”

“I’ll make sure to move it next time”

Scrunching your nose. “Oh no, I moved it. Managed to find some strength from somewhere to do so. That’s my workout for the week.”

Shaking his head, you watch him get into bed—arm resting above his head, fingers teasing at his curls as he smiles at you—eyes somehow just as bright even in low light as he begins telling you about his day tomorrow.

You watch, noticing the little lift of his lips when he talks about Benny, when he mentions taking Luca to training—which in turn (he explains) means Luca bosses them around and they all have to listen. Then after they’ll go on a boys’ lunch, where ice cream is usually consumed, the tradition having started when Luca was teething.

“Send me a photo—post-training.”

His tongue slides into his cheek, eyebrow lifting as he stares at you.

“Dripping in sweat do it for you, Rainy?”

“I’m not rewatching your Reels because I want to use a circle-saw, Frankie. Plus, you look so good in sweats—that black pair. Fuck.”

Chuckling to himself, he runs his hand over his face—and you imagine his cheeks are warm, that if the lighting were better, you’d see the beginning of his pink embarrassment crawling up his neck.

Yawning and stretching, you reach for your charger, plugging it in before moving to lie on your side, hearing him ask—as soft, and as sleepily, as he would if you were next to him—you comfy, baby? as your heart does a little flicker as you rest the phone against the pillow.

“Very,” you assure him, pulling the duvet closer around you. “Be more comfy if you were here.”

“Would you, though?”

Hesitating, you hum—hearing the lightest laugh come from him. “You’re very warm—like a furnace. I like it.”

“That all I’m good for, warming your bed?”

Smirking, your eyes heavy, you sigh. “You have some other uses.”

“I’m glad I’m useful.”

Settling further into the bed, hearing him shuffle and rustle from his end, you clear your throat to ask, “Do you think you'd rather have a pineapple for a head or a watermelon?”

Even with your eyes struggling to stay open, you sneak a glance to see his grin break out. “I'd love to live in your head.”

“You sure about that?”

Snorting, he shakes his head, fingers pushing the hair back from his forehead. “Pineapple. Sweeter for you to kiss.”

“You're so thoughtful.”

Giggling, you find a response sitting on your tongue, it just not able to form as you hum again—finding yourself so comfortable and warm under the sheets you’re barely able to hang onto his voice until he whispers ‘baby’. A little noise coming from you that in your head is clearly words, but not to anyone else.

Only realising it isn’t when he says your name. Calls it.

“Frankie…”

“Baby, why don’t we hang—“

“No,” you groan, the O sound stretching out—hardly with any intent. More said with tenderness and pouting than anything as you hear him chuckle. “I’ll wake up.”

“No, don’t… don’t do that. I’ll stay—listen to you snore.”

Flicking your eyes open, glaring at the screen. “I do not snore.”

Chuckling, his voice wraps around you like a warm blanket. “Sure, baby. You just keep telling yourself that.”

“Francisco!”

His laugh roars down the phone, making your cheeks hurt from smiling, shaking your head against the pillow as his laugh turns to an ‘aww’.

“Do you know how pretty you look right now?”

“You can barely see me, Morales. Stop trying to flatter me.”

Somehow, his laugh is even louder than it was before. And somehow, your smile is larger too.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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unluckilyimnot · 2 days

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Yes! Dw abt it :D in fact, I just wanted to see Sae being a daddy. It can be without the divorce though, just wanting to know how he would be as a father 🫶🏻

Sae as a father

m.list | rules

note: hii thank you for your answer <3 here it is finally i hope you like it ! also i made a get to know me, let me know what you think about it hihi i would love to chat a bit more with you guys

He must be awkward at first but he loves it a lot

I see him as a girl daddy he would love his little girl to death

talks about her more than he likes to admit it

but she's so funny

wait until she get to school and he’ll get to listen to all the gossip with a lot of passion

he’s really into it, if he came home late and she’s already to, he asks you what happened today and ask for all the details

loves to pick her from school when he can, but he’s busier than you

“no daddy you don’t get it !” and then she’ll explain the whole thing again (she doesn’t know shit about it but he would always let her think she’s right <3)

he doesn't want to be strict with her but he's still cold when he's upset, it's hard for him to work on that

but he always make sure to make it up for her by talking to her and explaining what was up – he doesn’t want her to think it’s normal to be ignored without explanation

both of you have to work on a lot of things, you’re not perfect, but you really want to show her the best model possible

sometimes he jokes about the fact that she loves him more than you

he loves doing picnic with both of you, that’s his favorite type of family date

when all of you three cook together and then you get to sit in a sun bath to enjoy it – it’s really the best

Not forgetring about the sea !! It's really important for him and he wants her to have a thins kind of feeling/relationship with it as well ♡

she would love to cook with him !

I hc him that he won’t let you cook because of his diet notably but also because it’s his way to show that he loves you and her

he’ll do his best for her to taste a lot of things but still respect when she says she doesn’t like something

he’ll probably get killed if he ever force her to eat something she doesn’t like in fact, ‘cause you hate that behavior

he also want her to be really educated about a lot of things so both of you make sure that she can go to a lot of museums, see temples and be in touch with animals to be aware and take care of them and the planet

he’s love to do sport with her but won’t forced her either if she doesn’t want to

but if she does, damn he’ll make sm time for her (even more than before)

but he’ll be salty if she’s more into the things you like

he’s totally the type to get caught away to watched cartoons or movies with her but ended up SO into the story ?? like hell yeah he needs to know the end of this barbie or pixar movie

play with her a lot even if he’s not the best at it, you’re definitely more expressive than him but you can be tired and he wants to spend time with her that way too

if she ever cry because of someone at school, be sure that his next day is taken and he’s got an appointment with the director without even asking him

he’ll just show up and makes things clear, could also talk directly to the kid if it was bad enough

he loves to walk with her on his shoulders even if she pulls his hair too much sometimes

he’s overly cute and caring with her

i hope you liked it ♡

#blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock hc #blue lock headcanons #bllk x reader #bllk fluff #bllk headcanons #bllk hcs #sae x reader #sae hc #sae headcanons #sae fluff #sae itoshi #sae itoshi x reader #blue lock #bllk

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kimsohn · 2 days

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Ꮺ CUTE

pairing . soobin x gn!reader about . 848 words, fluff note . for @obrigados based on this mb!! congratulations <3

the classroom is empty when you walk in, save for the music blasting through your earphones and the squeaking of your shoes against the floor. the window's left wide open, causing a hint of a breeze to flutter in through the gap, but it does everything but make you happy as you slide it down shut.

you eye the small pile of leaves that have made their way through the window gap. the universe seems to hate you today, you think, as you pick up the broom. cleaning duty on a friday is already miserable enough, but with the way the room has been left in an absolute mess after the end of exam season, you know your job today is tenfold harder.

you tackle the floor first, thankful that there are no annoying food crumbs to deal with, before moving onto the board. the chalkboard is dusty, and it takes several rounds of cleaning solution before the etches of the day have faded away. once a lively board filled with classwork and the small doodles in the corner you hope your teacher doesn't notice, the pristine condition of the green frame seems unfamiliar to you. you think that's a good sign though, because it always means you get to start over again on a blank slate the next day.

your last task of today, arguably the hardest, is sorting the desks. things you find on the floor or on the board are often predictable and easy to deal with. the seating arrangements, practically where the students live, are a different story though. you shudder as you clean out the first row, remembering a particularly horrible time when you found a moldy banana peel in the depths of the desk cubby. gradually, you work your way through each section, praying you won't find anything terrible, and as you reach your last desk, you thank god that the worst thing you've encountered so far is crumpled-up papers of chain messages.

you scan the inside of the desk before moving to the top, noticing the calculator in the corner. its presence is foreign, mainly because calculators are too expensive to be simply forgotten on a tabletop, but what intrigues you the most is the bright screen, indicating that it's clearly on. a device normally filled with math formulas and numbers that make your brain dizzy, it's surprising to see a beautiful flower on the tiny frame, made delicately with the selection of different buttons that produce unexpected, yet astonishing results.

you're too zoned into the tunes floating in your ears to hear the clearing of a throat behind you, once, twice, before it lands you a pat on the shoulder. you whirl around, calculator in hand, to see none other than choi soobin standing behind you, looking at you with an indecipherable expression.

"hey," he starts as you take your earphones out. "i think i forgot my calculator here, but seems like you've already found it."

too busy absorbed in your cleaning, you fail to realize that your crush of seven years sits in the exact seat you're standing in front of. to summarize, this situation is extremely awkward, and you feel yourself shriveling as he stares down at you, the clock ticking by agonizingly.

"i'm sorry!" you exclaim, offering the calculator to him. "i was on cleaning duty, and i happened to stumble upon it."

he accepts it gratefully, and the light brush of your fingers against his is enough to make your heart pound. he looks down at the illuminated screen, tracing the edges with his gaze until he pockets the device in his bag.

"so, you saw the flower, huh?" he says, zipping up his bag.

you want to protest, to remain oblivious, but you think he already seems to know the answer.

"yeah," you voice sheepishly, "i didn't mean to though, i swear. it was just already turned on, so..."

"it's okay. it's just something i do when i'm bored."

he turns to leave, swinging his bag over his shoulder, but your voice blurts out before u can stop it.

"it was cute, you know. the flower. you're crazy talented for being able to make it, even if you were bored."

"thanks," he says, turning his head back as he walks to the door. you watch pitifully as he nears closer to the wooden frame, already accepting another meaningless encounter going to waste with your crush, but his voice makes you reconsider everything you've believed in.

"not as cute as you though."

you meet his gaze as his head turns. he smiles, so softly you think you're imagining it, and just like the wind floating away, he's disappeared in thin air.

as you pick up your headphones, wrapping them around your neck, you notice a piece of paper on the desk next to you. your fingers pull it open subconsciously as if it was meant for you, and as you read its contents, you wonder if cleaning day isn't so bad after all.

i hang out by the park after school on fridays. meet me there :)

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barelylivingscholar · 1 day

Text

Arlecchino with a daughter prt. 2 tw: Dottore (mentioned), gore(?), torture.

I’ve been hearing from Pantalone, that I am being searched for. Interesting. I sipped on tea as Pantalone had given me updates in regarding the new “successor” that had replaced me. Lyney was his name. He has a twin sister, Lynette. I have not met them before. I fiddled with the fur of my cloak, as Pantalone then switches the topic about the Northland Bank… A few weeks had passed after my exit from the House of the Hearth. I have been working alongside Pantalone to establish plans and how to manage each branch. I have learned a lot from him in regards to Mora, and how to use it effectively. In one week, I learned how to negotiate, bargain, and put someone into debt… Then on the second week, I have learned how to use different torture methods to instill fear upon people who are unable to pay their debts… By the third week… I learned how to control people. By using Mora.

So far, Pantalone has been nothing but more of a figure that I have learned to respect… Unlike “Knave”, Pantalone gives me time to explore places, areas that I have not seen before… I am free to do whatever I want to. There is no limit to what I cannot do while I am under his wing. Pantalone is more honest and straight to the point. He is not vague on wording things regarding any type of situation. He feels more familiar than the “Knave.” While I do not have any obligation or whatsoever to call him “Family”, I feel more connected to him rather than what I had with the “Knave”. Pantalone had given me permission to call him by his name, rather than his codename. I like to think that Pantalone grew on me as I grew on him too. He started little, he invites me for tea after finishing missions, gifts me things from other nations, and values my input rather than ignore it. Pantalone was never shy on telling me what life was like back then when he was once someone who had no Mora in his name…

Pantalone had told me stories about his coworker “The Doctor.” Stories that had my bone chilled even until now. He warns me to not wander off far from his radar. “Who knows what Zandik would do to you once he had set his eyes on you as another project of his” Pantalone remarked, as he shakes his head and switched topic. It seemed that he had noticed my discomfort about his coworker. Pantalone mentions that the “Knave” seemed very adamant on not believing that I was dead. My expression had hardened. Pantalone as always, caught onto it. He nods in understanding. “You’re in a better place now.” “Am I really?” “It depends on how you see it.” We then finished our tea and left to go back at his base. I encountered a few children from the House of the Hearth on the way back, their eyes widening as I walked alongside Pantalone. A child who I presumed to be Lyney, as Pantalone had described to me what the boy’s appearance was approached me. “Are you Blanche? The one who has been missing for weeks?” I stiffened at the mention of my former name, but regained my composure. “Surely you are mistaken. I am not Blanche.” I answered, staring at him curiously. Is this the person who is the “successor” of the House of the Heath? “You look exactly the same as the image “Father” had provided.” “I may look the same as the person in that photo but that isn’t me. That person is dead.” I say bluntly, scanning Lyney’s surprised expression. “But-“ I cut him off. “I am not the same person you are looking for. I am a disciple of “Regrator”. As you can see, we are busy. He is a busy man. If you’d excuse us…” I then walked away from Lyney. His twin who I assumed to be “Lynette” had come up to him and exchanged glances. I am not coming back from that place.

Pantalone surveys my expression. “You look pale.” I attempt to calm down, as I answered him in a tight voice, “I am fine.” Pantalone does not buy it. “Are you afraid that the “Knave” will take you back to the House of the Hearth?” He goes straight to the point. I then replied in a harsh tone. “She can try. But I’m not coming back. I’m never stepping foot in that place again.” I looked haunted. “If it helps, I do not intend on surrendering you to the “Knave.” You are now my disciple. Not her orphan anymore.” I attempt to at least smile a little at his attempt of comfort. “Correct. But people like her do not intend to give up easily. There will be consequences.” I sighed. “She has no other choice. I provide the funds for the Hearth. She cannot act rashly.” I then looked away from him, staring at the path ahead. “I know someday I will return to that place eventually, but in a different standing.” Pantalone nods. “You will. But as my disciple this time. You have been well informed of our upcoming schedule.” I stretched my limbs. “Duty is duty. I am bound to it. You have been accommodating enough to me that I see this more as a business opportunity rather than… Revisiting trauma.” I shakily sighed. “Whether I have any negative feelings of that place… It does not apply to the agenda. This is strictly business.” I attempt to convince myself that there is nothing more than that. But thoughts still continued to plague me on the way back to the base. We walked in silence. Pantalone does not further question me anymore.

I was left to my own devices by Pantalone to deal with an unsettled debt by an old man. I subdued the man into torture, as usual. The torture method used is to mark their skin with an iron stamp, as I cast the iron to the stamp and brand their skin with the Fatui logo, I enjoyed the screams of my victims. Before, I was afraid. Now, I am numb to it all. I left the chamber with a bloody bag of mora in hand. I report back to Pantalone that I had collected the debt, and left to write down a report for Pantalone. I then scrubbed the blood off the bag of mora. I tutted as the old man’s blood was spilled on the bag of coins. I hate filth. I hate who I was once. I am now cleared of the filth that I was once covered in. This is me now. Blanche is dead. “Disciple” is who I am now. I emerged out of the washroom as a new person. In a month, I will revisit the House of Hearth under the banner of “Regrator.” If there is anything that Pantalone had taught me best, it is the language of Mora. I am just as obsessed with Mora as well. For now, I must stay in Snezhnaya.

Freminet had been searching for Blanche for a while now. She was a calm girl who only spoke a few words. “Father” had seemed to favor her over the many children of the Hearth, which led to many despising Blanche. All but Freminet. He never hated Blanche. She was the only girl who respects his boundaries and chooses to speak with him in a manner that is comforting. She indulges him in visiting “Penguin Town.” And had once gifted him a penguin plush that is still kept by him in his room. Although their interactions are limited, but he considers her as his only friend. Freminet believes that Blanche hadn’t died. Before her disappearance, he saw Blanche rushing out of the house, seemingly in a hurry. He paid no mind to it until he saw Father asking about Blanche’s whereabouts an hour later. He then went to search for Blanche. Only to come back with a frozen bloody pin. Blanche had disappeared. No one knew where she was.

Until, Lyney had come to him to inform him of Blanche’s reappearance. Freminet was stunned to know that Blanche had chosen to not come back to the House of the Hearth. Freminet believed she will be back after being found. The man she was with had something to do with it. “Regrator”, ninth of the Fatui… Father must know of this. Lyney had said to him. He then leaves Freminet to think about the news. Blanche should have no reason not to return, she was favored, loved by Father, why else would she not return? Surely, she had not been brainwashed by the man she was with. He vows to help Blanche come to her senses so she would return to House of the Hearth, to where she will spend time with Pers and him again. He just had to convince Father to let Blanche play with him. ̶S̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶w̶̶a̶̶s̶ ̶a̶̶l̶̶w̶̶a̶̶y̶̶s̶ ̶u̶̶n̶̶a̶̶v̶̶a̶̶i̶̶l̶̶a̶̶b̶̶l̶̶e̶ ̶t̶̶o̶ ̶p̶̶l̶̶a̶̶y̶ ̶w̶̶i̶̶t̶̶h̶.

Lyney entered Father’s office. To where Father has been waiting for updates in regards to her beloved daughter. ̶H̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶d̶̶a̶̶u̶̶g̶̶h̶̶t̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶w̶̶h̶̶o̶ ̶s̶̶h̶̶e̶ ̶h̶̶a̶̶d̶ ̶d̶̶e̶̶a̶̶r̶̶l̶̶y̶ ̶l̶̶o̶̶v̶̶e̶̶d̶. She had loved them so much that she didn’t want any harm to come upon her daughter… Her daughter had run away from her after what she said to her, to which Arlecchino had come to regret deeply… Perhaps she shouldn’t have said those words. ̶M̶̶a̶̶y̶̶b̶̶e̶ ̶h̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶d̶̶a̶̶u̶̶g̶̶h̶̶t̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶w̶̶o̶̶u̶̶l̶̶d̶'̶v̶̶e̶ ̶s̶̶t̶̶i̶̶l̶̶l̶ ̶b̶̶e̶ ̶h̶̶e̶̶r̶̶e̶ ̶b̶̶y̶ ̶t̶̶h̶̶e̶̶n̶.

Her crossed eyes had seemed to have a dangerous glow at the mention that her daughter was with Pantalone. ̶H̶̶e̶ ̶s̶̶t̶̶o̶̶l̶̶e̶ ̶h̶̶e̶̶r̶ ̶f̶̶r̶̶o̶̶m̶ ̶m̶̶e̶! Silence had engulfed the office… Before she finally spoke up. “Thank you for the report, Lyney. You may now leave…” After Lyney left, Arlecchino angrily digs her nails on her desk, leaving a claw mark. Mɏ đȺᵾǥħŧɇɍ... Ɨ wɨłł ǥɇŧ ɏøᵾ ƀȺȼꝁ...

An: Things will get more confusing once part three rolls out... There is more to it now that there's another pov... Especially "Father's." Feel free to interpret things as there will be more misunderstandings to come in the next following chapters...

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #platonic genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #arlecchino x reader #pantalone x reader

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yutaleks · 1 day

Text

This is targeted towards me myself and I

cw: children and baby talk. You have a son who’s just gone off to uni. 🥲

“Yuuta, quit it, you’re heavy,” you whine, squirming around on the bed.

It’s evening, not yet the time you’d typically sleep, but late enough to crawl into bed. And yet, when Yuuta comes in after you, it’s not to lay beside you, but to wedge himself between your legs and plant his head onto your chest, wrapping himself around you like a koala to a tree.

“Mm, let me stay like this a little longer,” he mumbles, snaking his arms around your middle and squeezing. If he weren’t six feet tall and heavy as hell you would brand him a child, clingier than your son has ever been.

“You’ve been moping for all of three days,” you sigh, patting down his hair. There’s strands of grey peppered through his dark hair that you comb through with your fingers affectionately. “You’ll make yourself go even more grey at this rate.”

You feel him stiffen up. You can’t see his expression, as he has his face turned, but by the little huff you hear he must be pouting.

“Is it bad? Do you want me to dye it?”

“No! It looks good on you,” he’s close enough for you to lean down and kiss his head. Which you do, instantly giving respite to his bones. He relaxes against you again, and once again his entire weight is pressed against your chest. You giggle. “If you dye it, everyone think you’re the student when we go to visit Hiro next week.”

Yuuta chuckles. “You think so?”

“Well maybe that would be better actually,” you muse. “Then all those moms at these parent meetings can stop ogling at you.”

“I never noticed.”

You very clearly remember Yuuta having to politely smile and worm his way out of the clutches of all the other older moms, like some kind of pop idol avoiding his rabid fans. Who knew middle-aged moms were so persistent?

“Too busy trying not to cry, were you?”

“Maybe,” he replies defeatedly as you wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“It’s not like it’s his first time at school. He’s a man now, he’ll be okay,” you tell him, though even for you the thought of your son’s very first day of school brings back a lot of precious memories. Including the one where Yuuta started crying in the car after the drop-off. “He came home that first day with the biggest smile. He’s always been so brave, ya know.”

You hear him sniffle as he laughs. “Much braver than me.”

“I miss him too,” you sigh, your voice less playful and much softer to Yuuta’s ears. “Feels kinda weird now that it’s just us two, huh?”

Yuuta buries his face down onto your chest, and starts mumbling something. All you hear is “we… baby,”

“Okkotsu,” you push on his head, to make him face you. “Did I just hear you say what I think you said?”

He avoids your gaze, though by the tint to his cheeks you’re sure you’ve heard him correctly. “Not sure what you mean,”

“Another baby? That’s crazy talk, Yuu,”

This time he does meet your stare, blue eyes blinking up at you with sincerity. “Is it crazy? It was hard when we were young but, I’d do it all again with you. In a heartbeat.”

This time it’s you who can’t look at him, turning away as he makes you feel flustered. “We’re—we’re too old for that kind of thing,” you sputter, bringing a palm to your warm face.

“We’re not even forty. It’s totally possible,” Yuuta starts to lift himself off of you, adjusting your positions just enough to hover over you. “I’ve just thought about it, is all.”

You feel a hand sneak under your shirt, touching your side. A laugh bubbles out of your lips before you can stop it. “I know what you’re doing, Okkotsu.”

“What do you mean?” He asks, playing innocent as he lands a kiss on your exposed shoulder.

“Trying to butter me up with tears over Hiro… you’re cheeky.”

“Those tears were very real, sweetheart. I miss him terribly.”

You move one of your feet, brushing over his crotch. “Then why are you hard right now?”

“Was thinking about making a baby with you, can you blame me?” he kisses at your throat, the heat of it way too persuasive for what you’d like.

“Mhm,” is the best you can manage, too distracted by him and his kisses and his touch.

“Missing Hiro and this, they are not mutually exclusive,” he adds.

“That’s a lot to ask, Yuuta. Starting all over…”

“There’s only one person I’d do it a hundred times over with,” he says before he finally meets your lips, conveying his feelings to you with a soft, earnest kiss.

“Stop that,” you tell him half heartedly, when he pulls away. When he starts talking about his feelings for you is always when he has you at your weakest point. “If you keep talking like that…”

“You’ll think about it?” He smiles.

“…I’ll take it under consideration.”

#yutaleks #writing tag #cw children #something something women over 35 more likely to have twins something something

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television-overload · 2 days

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 4/34 - phone battery

[Read on AO3]

After a bit of a drought of decent cases, their latest, honest to goodness X-File was a welcome distraction. It hadn’t taken too long to wrap up either, which was a double win for Scully, who could only handle so many nights in a dilapidated motel room in a row. With the case now solved, more or less, all that remained for the morning was a bit of paperwork and a drive to the nearest airport to get back home.

“Your mom called me last night,” Mulder says, sitting in the driver’s seat of their rental car.

“Last night?” Scully asks, furrowing her brows. “What for?”

“It was when we got back to the motel, after your phone battery went dead. I told her to give it a few minutes and try again, give you a chance to get it charged.”

Scully doesn’t respond immediately, and when Mulder turns to look at her, he sees a puzzled look on her face, a crease forming between her brows.

“She didn’t call you?” he asks, matching her expression and turning his attention back to the road.

“No,” Scully answers, concern marring her features. “What did she say?”

“I think she was going to ask you something about Christmas, figuring out plans or something,” he says. “I did mention we were on a case, maybe she decided she’ll just call when you get back and aren’t busy.”

“Probably,” Scully says, then sits back in the passenger seat and gazes out the window at the passing scenery.

He steals another glance at her, thinking about the heavy weight that hung over his brief conversation with his future mother-in-law on the phone the night before. It really had been a short talk, with her asking if he knew where Scully (rather, Dana) was, and then how he’s been doing since his unwitting brain surgery.

He made polite conversation, of course, but keeping such a gigantic secret from a woman like Margaret Scully has a way of making one feel guilty for things they aren’t even guilty of. If the call had gone on much longer, he fears he would have started confessing like a Catholic over the phone, and he couldn’t have that.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “You think we should tell her about us?” then quickly corrects, “I mean– the adoption, eloping…”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. Not yet,” she answers.

He shoots her another glance—only for a moment—but to be honest, that wasn’t the answer he’d been expecting.

“I know you said you don’t want a big wedding or anything, but if you want to tell her, you can. I doubt she’d give you any real trouble for it,” he reasons, having a hard time believing Mrs. Scully would be anything but supportive once everything has been explained to her.

“It’s not that. I just—” she struggles to explain. “With Emily, it was so stressful and confusing for her. I don’t want to put her through more of that unless…”

Ah.

He reaches over and places his hand on top of hers, which rests on her knee.

“Unless you’re absolutely sure this is going to work out,” he finishes, and she nods, grateful she doesn’t have to conjure the words herself.

“There are so many variables at play here, Mulder. Any one of them could go wrong,” she says. He knows she’s mentally making a list, calculating how likely each factor is to throw a wrench in their plans. She’d be here a while if she wanted to plan for every possibility, but that won’t stop her from trying, he knows.

He squeezes her hand once. “I hope you know that whatever happens, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going anywhere.”

That earns a small smile, and she looks down at her lap in that way that she thinks hides her blush from him. Thankfully, it does no such thing.

“No, the Mulder variable is one that I have on good authority is fairly constant,” she says, not quite meeting his eyes.

“Oh? And are those findings available in a peer-reviewed journal article, Dr. Scully?” he teases back. “If you don’t cite your sources, I’m afraid your claims may be dismissed as unsubstantiated by the wider scientific community.”

“I’ll have to get back to you on that,” she says, “I’m still working on gathering all my evidence. Research takes time, you know.”

“Maybe run some more tests,” he suggests.

She reaches out, running a hand through his hair, gently brushing over the place where his head had been drilled into.

“I’ll try to keep it less invasive than your previous experiences,” she teases, a small smile pulling at her lips.

He breathes out a laugh, forcing his focus back on the road instead of on the feeling of her nimble fingers tousling his hair.

-.-.-

Their discussion picks up again on the plane, perhaps serving as a distraction for his partner who isn’t all that fond of flying.

“You agree with me, don’t you?” she asks.

He gives her a look, his best impression of the Skeptical Scully Brow.

“Is that a blanket statement? Because in general, no, I think that would be factually incorrect, Scully, that’s kind of our whole thing.”

“I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes, “that we should wait to tell people. At least my family.”

He turns toward her. That she’s bringing this up again shows that it’s something she’s really worried about. If it’s reassurance she needs, he’s happy to give it to her.

“Sure, Scully. You know them best.” Really it isn’t his place to decide this, but if she’s asking, maybe she wants it to be. They will, in a way, be his family too if all this works out.

She takes a deep breath, her usual flying anxiety momentarily forgotten in favor of whatever new kind of anxiety this was. “I just mean– If we even get approved, and if we get matched with someone… there’s always a chance the birth mother changes her mind at the last minute,” she says, talking through the scenario aloud. “This will be hard enough with just you and I to worry about. I don’t want to have to think about protecting my mother from heartbreak on top of everything else.”

He has to suppress a sigh on hearing her pessimistic view of what he’s hoping will be a very joyous process. But then again, this is what he loves about her. She’s the yin to his yang. The day to his night. Together, they cover all their bases, leaving no stone unturned in their search for the truth. Why should this be any different? He won’t get very far on nothing but blind hope. She’s here to ensure they are prepared for everything, come what may. Unfortunately, that means her taking on an extra burden of worry, one he hopes he might help alleviate.

“We can wait to tell them,” he vows, hoping that will put a stop to her spiraling. “I’m with you on this, don’t forget. We’re a team.”

She leans back, her head resting against the back of her seat, a sign he knows means she’s relaxing a little.

Success.

Still, the idea of telling no one at all feels dangerous. They need to have someone in their corner besides each other, for a whole slew of reasons. Character witness, taking time off work, filing necessary paperwork so that everything looks totally above board when they make it official… Really, there’s only one person he feels they have to tell, and that’s—

“What about Skinner?”

She turns her head to look at him, confusion playing on her face. “What about him?”

“I think we should tell him. Sooner than later.”

Maybe he should have planned out his pitch a little better. He can tell she’s not immediately drawn to the idea. He should have made up a list of reasons why it is a good plan, not just blurted out his half-formed thought before it was ready.

“But Mulder, what if they split us up?”

He turns in his seat, his attention intensifying. “That’s why we only tell Skinner. Ask him to keep it quiet in case things don’t work out.” She’s gonna need more than that. Think! Tap into those persuasive skills! "But, Scully, there’s going to be times we might have to take an afternoon off for a meeting or something. It will be easier if he knows.”

His focused gaze implores her to consider it.

“I won’t let him split us up. It won’t happen.”

He can’t promise that, she knows, but they know Skinner well enough by now, don’t they? Sure, there may have been times when their trust in him wasn’t so strong, but it has been years now. Surely he would keep this to himself if they asked, right?

“Okay. You’re right…” she says tentatively, turning over his proposition in her head. “Just Skinner. No one else?”

His pinkie finger finds its way to hers and nudges it playfully. When she looks up at him, he smiles.

“Just you, me, and our big, bald boss makes three.”

~~~

SURPRISE - that was a short chapter, so here's another to make up for it

Chapter 5/34 - rulebook

“Hold on, go back to the IVF,” the follically challenged Assistant Director says, his hands tented in front of him. His brows furrow in concentration, and he breathes deeply through his nose, looking up at the two agents across the desk from him. “In vitro fertilization, right? So you’re saying—”

“Agent Mulder and I attempted to conceive a child through scientific means last year, yes.”

Scully’s answer is straightforward, perhaps hoping it will be like ripping off a band-aid. Judging by his stoic reaction, his pursed lips, the vein popping out of his forehead… her nonchalance does not really soften the blow.

His gruff voice returns after a moment of staring at them, his expression unreadable. “Right. Okay. Just wanted to make sure I was understanding.”

“It was unsuccessful,” Scully offers, continuing. “The ova that were fertilized unfortunately were not viable, probably due to the inconsistent storage conditions in which Mulder found them.”

“Yes, that– that’s where you lost me. The part about your abduction and then the cancer…” He sets a hand on top of one of the files Mulder had brought him, as if any of the words in that folder made a lick of sense to him.

“Believe me, sir, it’s just about as confusing to us as it is to you,” Mulder says.

Skinner clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Well, I’m very sorry about what happened to you, Agent Scully. I suppose that also explains the existence of… well…”

Emily. A story he never had fully explained.

“Yes, Emily was somehow part of all this. She was an experiment, never meant for me to find.”

Skinner balls his hand into a fist, tamping down the rage he feels bubbling up inside. “These men need to pay. What they’ve done to you– to you both… ”

“With all due respect, sir,” Mulder breaks in, “we’re not here to talk about revenge. We’re just trying to move forward.”

That’s… a surprisingly healthy outlook, coming from Mulder. What had Scully done to him? Whatever it was, the man owed her a heckuva lot more than whatever her last birthday and Christmas gifts had been.

“Of course, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “So, what is it that you were asking for?”

The two basement-dwelling agents glance at each other, words being passed unspoken between them. It’s unnerving, the way they do that. Downright spooky.

Evidently, they come to the decision that it’s Mulder who should say the next part.

“Well, since we’re looking into adoption, sir, we thought it might be easier if we got married.”

Silence fills the room, an inadvertent staredown commencing between all parties.

“Married.”

Mulder nods. “That’s right.”

Scully is sitting bolt upright in her chair, a picture of professionalism on the surface, but in conjunction with the topic of discussion, it feels distinctly forced. Mulder, on the other hand, is bouncing his knee so severely that it’s a wonder he hasn’t worn a hole in the carpet below him yet.

“We just don’t want there to be any issues here on the bureaucratic side of things, if at all possible,” Mulder adds. “In fact, we’d prefer to keep this quiet, at least until we know if this will work.”

Skinner presses his lips together, shifting his gaze between them once again.

“Well, your personal relationship will have to be disclosed to HR at some point. I can pull some strings—”

“Sir—”

“Although it would have been good to know a little earlier on. Say, around the time you were making some pretty serious medical decisions that may have affected your ability to do your jobs…”

“Sir, I—”

Mulder’s attempts to interrupt go unnoticed.

“You know, I have to commend you. You’ve really kept up appearances around here. I had my suspicions, of course, but you continued on like normal, I almost wouldn’t have guessed—”

“Sir, we’re not actually… together.” Finally, Mulder is able to get the words out, leaving an awkward hush in their wake.

Skinner leans forward, turning his ear toward the younger man as if he hadn’t heard him the first time. “What do you mean?”

A pink tinge blooms on Mulder’s cheeks. “We’re not– Sir, this marriage is a formality, to make the application process easier and hopefully give us better chances of getting approved.”

“A formality,” Skinner repeats.

“Yes. We– We’re just trying to do whatever’s best to improve the odds that this works out.”

One of these days he’s just going to disappear to Cancún. Seriously, he’ll do it. This can’t be good for his health. He suppresses a groan, storing up a massive eye roll for whenever these two idiots leave the room. Only they could think up something like getting married and adopting a child platonically . Not to mention everything else they’d evidently been doing when left to their own devices.

“Right. That’s– Okay, sure. So then, the IVF…”

Scully pipes up. “I asked Mulder, and he agreed to help me.”

“As a friend?” He feels like this bears clarification.

“Is there something against that in the rulebook?” Mulder asks challengingly.

The look he gives them in return is withering. “I don’t think there’s a rulebook for all the insane stuff you two get up to, but I might have to make one, after this.” The two of them have the decency to look chastised at this, though he knows from experience it will do no good in the long run. “You know this is not normal, right?”

“Come on, Skinner, when have I ever been referred to as normal?” Mulder laughs.

“ You , I might expect this from,” he says, pointing a finger in his direction. “It’s Agent Scully that surprises me. You’ve really done a number on her, haven’t you?”

He takes a little solace in the fact that all this IVF business happened under Kersh’s watch, not his own. Imagine if it had worked…

“Will you help us or not, sir?” Scully asks, impatience beginning to make her uneasy in her seat.

He waves a hand in the air. “Yeah, yeah. I thought this day might come at some point, but… definitely not like this.” His mind is wandering already, thinking back to any signs he might have missed, things that may have gone wrong in his career to lead him to this exact moment. “You have my blessing, or whatever it is you came to get from me. You need anything, just ask.”

Scully lets out a sigh, and her shoulders visibly relax.

Mulder moves to stand without another moment’s hesitation, bouncing up with far more energy than a man of his age should have. “Thank you, sir. I promise, this is the last time we ask you to cover for us.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Agent Mulder,” Skinner warns, though his words contain no malice. If anything, he’s resigned.

As much as these two make him tear his hair out (what little he has left), he holds a certain fondness for them that is undeniable.

“And, hey– I’m happy for you. Seriously. The things I’ve seen you go through over the years, everything you’ve lost… You deserve this. Even if I don’t understand it.”

Mulder holds out a hand for him to shake. “Skinner. Thank you. Really.”

He nods. “Good luck with everything. And if you need any advice on adoption, my ex-wife’s sister has gone through it before. I can get you in touch, if you want.”

“We’d really appreciate that.”

They’re gone before he knows it, heads bent toward each other in secretive conversation before they’re even out of sight.

Skinner lets out the eye roll from earlier, leaning back in his desk chair in exhaustion.

They’d figure it out sooner or later, of that he is certain. It’s just taking a little longer than he expected, that’s all.

-.-.-

"I want to get married Christmas Eve."

The proposition comes out of nowhere on a Thursday afternoon, and Mulder nearly spills his coffee mug all over his desk instead of setting it down gently like he was trying to do.

"Next week?" he sputters, the burning liquid nearly going down the wrong pipe.

She purses her lips. "...That's when Christmas is, yeah Mulder."

"I knew there was a reason that guy on the street corner with the bell was dressed as Santa Claus," he jokes, wiping a few splattered droplets of coffee from his tie.

"Mulder..."

"Okay, okay,” he says, dropping the jokester act. “But don't you want to spend the day with your family?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Maybe.” Her eyes are locked on the desk in front of her, pointedly avoiding his concerned look. “I'll go for a little while, but they don't... understand me like they used to. Maybe it's just me, but when I'm with them for too long, I get this sense that they're... afraid of me. Or somehow uncomfortable around me. Ever since Emily..."

He stops her. "That's their problem, Scully. I'm sure they don't mean it."

"I know, it's just... hard."

He bites down on his bottom lip to hold back the slew of words he'd like to say to Bill Scully, Jr. He knows that's not what Scully needs right now, as much as it would make him feel better to have a go at him.

"Is that why you went ghostbusting with me last Christmas?" he asks, his heart softening at the thought.

"I don't know, maybe a little,” she shrugs. “It helped get my mind off things." She looks embarrassed to admit such a thing, but it only serves to make his heart twist in his chest.

"Well, too bad we don't have more time to plan. Could have had a Christmas Eve wedding in a haunted house," he deadpans.

This succeeds in getting her to look at him, and she emits a nervous giggle he doesn't often hear. "Absolutely not.”

He grins, leaning back in his chair and twirling a pencil between his fingers. "Come on, don't you think Maurice and Lyda would like to know we’re getting married? I'm sure they'd have a field day with all our issues from the past year."

"Stop it, that didn't really happen."

"Well even if it didn't, I found it enlightening."

"Good for you. No, the courthouse will be fine."

They fall silent, the jovial atmosphere settling.

"And you don't want to invite your family?” he asks, clarifying. "Since they'll be in town?"

She shakes her head. "No, I think it should be just us."

Just us. He likes the sound of that. But still, one problem remains—

"Alright, so let me get this straight... you want to get married—to me—the one day a year your brother is in town? Are you trying to get me killed?"

Her lips quirk up at the corners. "He won't find out, Mulder."

"You like the danger of it, don't you?” he teases, leaning toward her. “You're a rebel at heart. I knew it. Probably snuck out every night in high school to run around with Johnny from the football team."

She stares at him unwaveringly, not dignifying him with a response. "Is it a yes or a no?" she asks, arms crossed in front of her.

He sobers, meeting her eyes with startling honesty. "I'll marry you any day of the year, Scully,” he says, and it's the truth. It has been the truth for years now. “Just remind me to wear a cup in case he figures it out."

"You're ridiculous."

-.-.-

The next week passes in a blur. Arrangements are made, paperwork acquired, work winds down for the holidays, and for once, Mulder isn't bored out of his mind this time of year.

"I was thinking… for tomorrow..." her voice crackles over the phone.

"Not having second thoughts, are you?" Mulder asks, his tone light and teasing despite the tinge of genuine concern he tamps down.

"No, of course not,” she assures him. “I was thinking, I'll need an excuse to leave Christmas at my mom's."

"No problem,” he says with a shrug. “I'll give you a call and make up some case we have to work."

He hears her sigh and gets the distinct impression that his suggestion was somehow wrong. "I can't ask you to do that,” she says. “They already blame you for last year."

"Gee, that's reassuring,” he chuckles, leaning back on his leather sofa. He adjusts the phone cradle on his chest, stretching the power cord to its limits.

"Not all of them, but, you know—"

"Bill."

"Yeah."

He waits for a second, but when she offers no further thoughts, he asks, "Then what do you suggest?"

She waits a moment more before responding.

"Before you say anything, just listen to what I have to say…”

Oh boy.

"Why does that not give me a good feeling?" he muses aloud, his fingers twirling and tangling with the cord on the phone.

"The only way for you to be in the clear is if you're... with me, when we get called away."

"Scully—"

"We can just leave straight from her house, it's closer anyway."

"All excellent points, except for one thing..."

"Skinner can call us in."

Silence. He wants to argue but he can't.

"He already knows what's happening, I'm sure he'd be happy to help us," she reasons.

"I'm not gonna be able to talk myself out of this, am I?" he asks, a wry smile on his face. He's all out of excuses.

"Mulder, if this works out... Well, there's a chance that by this time next year, we'll be a... family... of some sort, anyway. You might have to get used to it."

The word family sends a thrill right through him. He never thought he'd have one of those again. Never in a million years.

"You're right,” he says regretfully, running a hand over his face. “And it's not that I don't like your family, Scully, it's just I'm not sure they like me back."

"My mom loves you,” she says decisively. “And we'll only be there a few hours anyway. The courthouse closes early for the holiday."

He closes his eyes. He can't believe he's about to agree to this.

"Alright, I'll go. Just so you can get your thrill in doing something wildly irresponsible and rebellious right under your mother's nose."

She protests, "That's not why I—"

"I know you, Scully,” he teases. “You're not as strait-laced as you like to pretend."

After they hang up, Mulder stares up at the ceiling, lost in thought. His stomach flutters with nerves, unrelated to his worries about crashing a family gathering in the morning.

‘I am getting married tomorrow,’ he thinks. To Dana Scully.

It's a Christmas miracle.

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @slippinmickeys @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear @whovianderson

#msr #txf #x files #xf fanfic #mulder and scully #my fanfiction #fox mulder #dana scully #of our own making #ooom #msr adoption fic #adoption

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drewsbuzzcut · 1 day

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/drewsbuzzcut/749147223848337408/httpswwwtumblrcomdrewsbuzzcut749144799770263

Need a blurb

Warnings: mentions sex and drinking and I think that’s all

“Maty, baby, please don’t be upset,” you hummed as you’re pulling into the driveway of your parents’ house.

“What, babe? Your brothers and I are cool now,” he says, thinking you’re talking about his relationship with your siblings.

You give him a fake smile and shake your head to let him know it’s not about your brothers. You take in a deep breath of air, because you have no idea how he’s going to take this.

“No. Um… remember that guy my brothers told you about. My brother’s friend who I slept with a few times. Well, it never dawned on me but he’s a close family friend. And he’s inside because he’s literally invited to everything. I just wanted to give you a heads up,” you cringe as you speak, especially once you see your boyfriend’s displeased expression.

“You mean the guy who gave you your first orgasm? That’s just great,” he groans, throwing his head back against the headrest.

With a sigh, you quickly put your car in park and unbuckle your seatbelt. Without hesitation you toss your legs over Mat’s lap and straddle him in the passenger seat.

“He may have given me my first orgasm, but you’re the only guy to ever make me squirt and give me tons of orgasms in one night. Ryan was just a one and done type of guy. You, my sexy hotshot, rock my world every time you touch me,” you reassure him, gathering his hands and guiding them to cup your boobs. He gives them a hearty squeeze and you can feel your core tingle with excitement.

“Damn right I do,” Mat grins and pulls you into a kiss that has the power to make you orgasm on the spot.

“As much as I’d like for you to fuck me in your car, I really don’t want to be caught in my parents’ driveway,” you sigh and pat his chest before moving off of him.

“Hey, Y/n,” Ryan greets you and you can feel Mat tense up next to you.

“Ryan, hey. This is my boyfriend, Mat,” you introduce Mat to the man and watch with weary eyes as they shake hands.

“Nice to meet you man. Sorry about the playoffs this season,” Ryan hums. His eyes linger on your form, not that you even notice. Mat does, though.

“It’s all good. It just means I get to spend more time with my girl,” Mat muses, pulling you in front of him and wrapping his thick arms around your waist.

Ryan’s eyes travel down to where Mat’s hands rest on your abdomen, but they move fast so you don’t even notice. Mat does, though. Your boyfriend’s hands travel to your hips, squeezing your jean clad flesh and making you melt into him.

He captures your lips in a sweltering kiss and his tongue tangles with yours. His smile beaming against your mouth breaks up your lip lock.

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose nudging yours.

“I love you.”

Ryan clears his throat and it snaps you out of your daze. Sometimes you forget where you are when you’re with Mat.

“Sorry,” Mat smirks, his hands still wandering the curves of your body. His attention is solely on you and the way your ass presses into his groin. Every now and then, Mat’s eyes will flit up to see Ryan uncomfortably shift on the heels of his feet.

“We need to go greet everyone else,” you part ways with Ryan, dragging Mat along by his belt loops.

“Come find me if you get bored,” Ryan suggests, making Mat send a glare his way.

With you under his arm and your ears not even picking up on Ryan’s words, Mat places one more wet kiss on your mouth.

“Trust me, dude, she won’t get bored,” Mat gives him a cocky wink. He doesn’t like Ryan.

“He’s in love with you, or he at least has some feelings for you,” Mat whispers in your ear after he pulls you onto his lap.

“Who?” You ask, not quite sure who he’s talking about.

“Ryan,” his words cause you to frown.

You turn your body into his and bring your hands up to cup his cheeks.

“What are you talking about?” You ask against his lips.

“Ryan likes you a lot. He is always staring at you longingly. He’s also been trying to find different ways to talk to you,” Mat explains, pecking your lips and pulling away to look at you.

“He’s even looking at you right now. His eyes are literally glued to your ass. I knew you shouldn’t have worn these jeans, they look too good on you,” Mat huffs, his lips forming the cutest pout you’ve ever seen.

“Good thing you’ll be the one to pull them off of me,” you whisper in his ear, purposely pushing your boobs closer to his face.

You grab one of his hands and place it on your ass, for everyone to see or just for those who were watching. You fix him with a devious smirk and he not so subtly cops a feel.

“So Ryan, do you have a girlfriend?” Mat asks after moments of him ignoring the guy’s existence.

Ryan finishes off his beer before his eyes slide over to you perched on Mat’s lap. You watch him with curious eyes as you notice his intense stare.

“No. There was the one that got away, though. She’s something special, but other than that I haven’t found the right girl yet,” he answers and he can’t help but focus on you as he speaks.

You look away and focus on your man and his darkened eyes. Although his body is typically rock solid, you can still tell when he grows tense. Sensing his jealousy, you press your lips to his jaw and caress at his muscles. You smile against his skin as you feel him fall back into relaxation.

“Aww man that sucks. The wait is worth it, though. When you find the one, they change the whole trajectory of your life,” Mat simpers, his jaw clenched while his eyes are locked on yours. He knew it. Ryan didn’t need to explicitly say your name for Mat to know he was talking about you.

“Maybe true love is overrated,” Ryan blurts out. His stare is hard, almost bruising.

“Nah, true love isn’t overrated. I’m sure you’ll find the right person someday, and you’ll see that true love is special and can’t be messed with,” Mat cocks an eyebrow at the man, letting him know that he can look all he wants but he can’t have you.

#visceral in doses #visceral in doses blurbs

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puddinqinq · 1 day

Note

Could I maybe request a nsfw alphabet for Naruto and Sasuke. <33

Nsfw alphabet ft. Naruto & Sasuke!

A/n: thanks for being my first ask! ♡ sorry if it's a bit short, this is my first time with nsfw 😭🩷

Naruto Uzumaki -

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): He tries his best! He's super full of energy, and sometimes forget you're tired after sex. Let him know what you need and he's got it for you! His favorite part of aftercare is probably holding you and talking.

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): His favorite part of himself is probably his hands! Whether in a sexual context or not, he loves touching you. His favorite part of you is your face, he loves looking at the expressions you make!

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): He loves finishing on your face, or in your mouth!

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): He REALLY wants to fuck you with his shadow clones.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): Moderately? He's had a couple partners since becoming more popular in the village. He has to be told what you like!

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying.): He's often all over you at random times, he likes going at it against the wall.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): He's very silly, it's in his nature!

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): Naruto doesn't shave. He's not a fan. His hair is just a bit darker than the ones on his head!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Naruto can be intimate, but oftentimes can't be serious. That doesn't mean he doesn't find it romantic, he just likes cracking jokes and giggling throughout sex!

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): He masturbates a lot, even with a partner. Very very easily worked up.

K = Kink (one of their kinks): Praise 100%, he lives for your affection and compliments.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): On the wall or over a counter... Often too impatient to make it to bed.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): Praising him about nearly anything! He's immediately all over you.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Naruto refuses to degrade, he'd feel too guilty afterwards.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): Prefers to receive, but is never opposed to giving!

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Fast! He's naturally very hyper, and sometimes will need to be told to slow down.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Loves them! He gets to set a fast pace and get things done before having to head out on a mission, go out, etc.!

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): He'll experiment if you want to! He's plenty happy with his sex life as it is, but would try most things at least once if asked.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Lots of stamina! He lasts pretty long and can go for multiple rounds without needing a break (please...tell him if you need a second).

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Not really, he doesn't see a need for them. He doesn't mind you having any, but won't go out of his way to use them.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): Huge tease! Even if it's stupid icha icha paradise quotes it's his mission to fluster you. Once he discovers edging it's definitely his favorite thing.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): Surprisingly I don't think he'd be very loud, talkative sure. But he's more likely to groan and grunt quietly.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): He goes way, way rougher on you if he feels shown up my Sasuke.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): about 5.5 inches, but pretty thick. Veiny.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): Incredibly high, he's almost always down for anything.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): Doesn't fall asleep for a while, but tries to once you're asleep.

Sasuke Uchiha -

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): So attentive! Constantly asking if you're alright and if he can get anything for you. Has water and a cloth on standby for you!

B = Body part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): He likes his eyes most. Not only as a pride thing but because whenever you compliment them it fills him with so much joy. He says he loves every part of you equally, but I think he's an ass guy in (not so) secret.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): He's absolutely without question into breeding. Restoring the clan and all of that.. If you ask him not to of course he'll comply but other wise he'll ask to finish inside.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): He may or may not steal some of your clothes to bring with him on travels, and jerk off while smelling them.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): I'd say he's pretty experienced, many women find him wildly attractive.

F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): Missionary, he loves looking into your eyes!

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): He's very serious. Naruto's exact opposite, he sometimes makes a sarcastic remark but otherwise he's not one for jokes.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): He trims and sometimes shaves, both hair colors are the same!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Very very romantic! He wants to make it special for you most of the time, even if you've been together long.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): Not too often actually. Only if he really really misses you! Otherwise, it's incredibly rare.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): Breeding, obviously. He loses his control at the thought of you having his children.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): 100% the bed, he's normally going out of his way to take things to the bedroom if you both aren't there already.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): Talks about wanting kids, and smelling you. If you have a perfume you often wear or shampoo you use he's buying you more the moment you run out.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): He hates the idea of causing you any pain, even light slaps make him feel awful.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): He prefers to give! He's okay dying if it's between your thighs. Sometimes you'd have to pry him off of you after he starts, Sasuke is a determined man.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Sasuke is slow and sensual, he may speed up towards the end but is more into the intimate aspect of sex.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Absolutely not a fan. Maybe if he's in a rush and especially worked up, but even then he wouldn't feel as satisfied.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): He's okay trying what you want! He doesn't have many specific things he'd like to try. Maybe temperature play. Not risky at all.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): Pretty high stamina, a lot like Naruto! Lasts pretty long and for a good amount of rounds.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Is out too much to use toys, really. He likes using vibrators on you when he's home, though!

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He's wrapped around your finger, if you want something he won't deny you.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): He's a lot more vocal when he's close, otherwise it's an occasional grunt (sometimes you wonder if he's even enjoying it... He is.)

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): I think he's blunt about what he wants. He's likely to straight up tell you, "I want to have sex". Pretty honest guy!

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): About 7 inches, not very thick. Upward curve.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): I don't actually think it's very high! He likes it, yeah, but his libido is a bit below average. He doesn't mind whenever you want, though. You often may have to take initiative.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): Not very quickly. He holds you until you're asleep but stays up thinking or looking at you before he finally closes his eyes.

#naruto x reader #sasuke x reader #naruto smut #naruto uzumaki x reader #naruto headcanons #x reader #sasuke headcanons #request #im so nervous posting this lol

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xhdream · 17 hours

Text

fuck buddies

pairing: fuckbuddy!yangyang x f!reader x loser!winwin | not threesome

genre: smut wc: 1k

cw: sub!reader, (consensual) angry sex, choking (f), name calling

a/n: @teasteeper and her work made me fall for loser!wayv so this idea came to me all bc of her <3

you’ve always seen winwin as just the loser friend of your fuck buddy yangyang, but surprisingly he turns out to be the one who finally puts you in your place…

yangyang always hangs out with big crowds, throws the best parties and never minds you coming along; he’s extroverted, popular, radiates confidence and winwin, to you, seems to be exactly the opposite. so every time yangyang invites him you wonder why.

one night as you lay under the sheets of yangyang’s bed, you finally bring up the question, wanting to know what exactly keeps them so close. turns out they’re childhood friends and according to yangyang winwin just finds it more difficult to communicate in a bigger circle. he’s not always like that, he says.

“why do you ask?” yangyang turns on his side with lazy motions. your bodies touch once again, sweaty and still overwhelmed from the previous orgasm. he traces a line on your stomach only to sneak his slender fingers into your slickness. he’s already greedy for another round, just like you. “are you thinking of changing your fuck buddy?”

you laugh at his ridiculous comment, but decide to tease him back despite both of you knowing you’d never have a situationship with a guy like his friend.

“can’t i have two?”

yes, winwin has an attractive face and a nice figure; he’s always put together too. but that’s not enough if you ever happen to consider it. you need someone who radiates confidence, lust. someone who smells like sex, and knows how to handle you with a firm confident grip. someone like yangyang.

“you can have twenty if you want, but sweetheart…” yangyang moves his lips away from your marked neck so he can peer into your eyes, “none of them should be a friend of mine.” his fingers pull out of your slick lips and squeeze your jaw, not really satisfied with the playful smile on your face. the corners of his mouth curl up a bit, but his tone is more sharp than light. it rings like a warning. “i’m serious.”

one evening you’re left alone with winwin to prepare snacks for the party while yangyang goes to buy more alcohol before people start arriving at his place. you catch winwin staring at you with expressions you cannot quite understand what they mean; he stands too close to your shoulder as you fill up the bowls and barely keep the small talk alive. in your opinion, winwin can only hold an entertaining conversation with yangyang and no one else.

“i’m not the loser you think i am if you just give me a chance…” he speaks up, taking off his glasses.

you turn to face him, but before you have a chance to respond with anything, he speaks again, this time with bigger assurance.

“i know what you think about me.”

“okay…” you blink at him, capturing the intensity of his gaze which is usually always soft and mellow. “my opinion of you shouldn’t matter to you, we’re not friends,” you reply, and as you try to walk pass him his tall broad figure stops in front of you. “don’t tell me you’re trying to kiss me,” you giggle, leaning back against the kitchen counter.

his dark eyes skim your body up and down that’s wrapped in a tight dress before they stop on your intrigued expression. your face is pretty. sexy. winwin noticed it the first time he saw you; you were in yangyang’s lap when you reached for his hand, stating your name in the seductive voice you so often seem to talk. but it still has that amused look to it that never seems to go away when he’s in your presence. he really wants to erase it from your lips and make you see him in a new light.

“you’re wrong about me,” winwin grunts only for you to grin again.

“prove it.”

so he does. a moment later your body is sprawled over the marble surface as winwin’s cock is all the way inside you; it’s gliding in a rough rapid speed that has you seeing stars by the way it sharply pokes at your cervix. his one palm is glued to your mouth, because this time he wants to do the talking.

“fuckin’ tired of the way you look at me… think you’re too good me? just because you’re yangyang’s little whore? f-fuck.. ‘been dreaming of this for so long… shuttin’ your filthy mouth up…”

he feels your walls squeezing him tighter as his thrusts echo aggressively one after another in the kitchen. in yangyang’s kitchen. his hand leaves your drooling mouth so it can go around your neck, pulling you closer to gush at your ear.

“so hot… you’re so hot, but you’re driving me mad…”

you whine incoherently about being close; about not wanting him to slow down. the thrill from the possibility of yangyang walking in on you brings you to the edge even quicker. everything feels so… forbidden.

winwin frees your throat and presses your head against the countertop while making the last few slams into you as orgasm takes over every part of your body.

you kneel on the floor with trembling legs and winwin swears he hasn’t felt this good in a really long time; this satisfied and proud of himself. your dazed teary eyes catch sight of his flushed cock getting closer, and they remain open while the warm thick cum spills in your mouth. his heart feels close to bursting when your throat gulps it down as if his cum is something you’re already used to. although he’s still frustrated with you, he cannot help but relish this moment of you watching him innocently from below; with weakness and surprise. it’s electrifying.

both of you quickly come back to your senses after you hear yangyang opening the front door. you didn’t even get the chance to exchange any words about the events that just happened. you run to the bathroom while winwin fixes his jeans and puts his glasses back on.

#wayv smut #wayv hard thoughts #wayv hard hours #winwin smut #winwin hard thoughts #yangyang smut #yangyang hard thoughts #winwin x reader #yangyang x reader #wayv x reader #nct smut #nct hard thoughts #nct x reader

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glimmeringtwilight · 4 hours

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Gilded Cage (Part Three)

ok. i'm not going to try to come up with a clever name for this one, this is just. part three. please send an ask or a DM if I missed any CW's! been a while.

Pairing(s): Dottore/Reader, Pantalone/Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

CW: NSFW, drugging (painkillers and other ment), rough sex, biting, threats of mutilation (mild. but it's Dottore), yandere themes, noncon/dubcon, AFAB reader, overstimulation, humiliation

Dottore has been on edge lately.

You can tell. You can see it in his jaw when he’s sedating you as you lie on the operating table, eyes burning and dark as he stares through you at something presumably only he can see. You can see it in the way his hand sometimes twitches slightly– which bodes terribly for you– as he makes a small incision into your thigh, or your stomach, or your arm.

Most of the time, you think he just cuts into you simply because he can. Because he likes to watch the blood welling from the wound, dripping down your skin. He’s been doing it a lot more lately, sometimes forgetting to sedate you, sometimes forgetting to give you something for the pain, sometimes cutting too deep.

It feels like there’s a storm brewing that you can’t see; curtains drawn so you can’t look out the window and see the magnitude, brace yourself for wind or rain.

His clones seem to be affected by it, too; usually it’s only ever the younger clones of his that lash out, but even the supposedly older ones are starting to show signs of agitation. You haven’t seen the same test subject twice in what feels like weeks. All of them seem to enter and leave the lab only once– something that should horrify you more than it does, whenever you watch them wheeling the covered bodies past.

It’s this way for weeks. Dottore stalks around his lab like a harbinger of death, practically oozing poison and malice despite the deceptively calm mask he dons.

You find out what it is that’s been agitating him when he opens the door to your cell one morning. Not a clone. Not the occasional trembling Fatuus. Him. His eyes burn into you. You can’t make out the emotion in them, but the complete coolness in his expression makes your stomach sink. You wonder, briefly, if he’s going to finally kill you– would that be a mercy, at this point? Killing you? Perhaps not. Knowing him, he’d draw it out. Make it hurt.

Still, despite the terror that curls its fingers around your throat, you follow him quietly out of the cell and into the lab, staring at the back of his head as you walk and wishing you could read minds so you could at least brace yourself for whatever this is.

The two of you enter the lab and you finally realize what it is that’s crawled under Dottore’s skin, sat at the desk in the corner as though he’s not terribly out of place in the sterile environment.

Pantalone sits comfortably in one of the chairs near the desk Dottore rarely seems to use, smiling as though he’s received a warm welcome and a parade. Dottore, meanwhile, looks palpably annoyed as he strides past the banker and takes a seat behind the desk, motioning for you to follow.

It’s… Intensely uncomfortable, to say the least. You rarely find yourself sitting at Dottore’s desk, considering the doctor usually prefers to be conducting experiments rather than sitting and compiling data; he usually delegates that to his clones, who bitch and moan about the boring task.

So sitting in a chair, next to the two men who’ve each held you captive at different points, as Dottore practically radiates anger… You don’t know what to do. You fold your hands in your lap, avoiding looking at either one, even as you can feel the two of them just… staring.

You feel like you’re under a microscope, worse than any other time before when you’d been laid out on the operating table under Dottore’s invasive prodding.

Pantalone speaks first, breaking the charged silence.

“I take it you don’t mind if I verify that this one’s real,” He says, rising from his chair and smiling at the way Dottore visibly bristles. “After all, I’m paying for this, aren’t I? I deserve that much.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s talking about you, and the demeaning way in which he’s referring to you as though you’re some object that might be counterfeit is both unnerving and irritating. You’re careful not to let it show on your face as Pantalone approaches you.

“What-” You start to ask, but you’re swiftly interrupted by gloved fingers prying open your mouth, prodding around in search of something that isn’t there. You feel them press down on your tongue, ghost over molars, then press against the back of your throat until you gag.

Somewhat satisfied, the banker pulls his fingers from your mouth and grips your chin firmly with a now-damp glove, turning your head this way and that and ignoring the obvious discomfort painted on your features as the action smears drool on your skin. What is he doing?

You shoot a glance towards Dottore, who is still just watching. He’s obviously pissed– you can see a vein popping in his forehead, belaying his anger on his otherwise blank face.

Pantalone lets go of your chin in favor of grabbing you by the arms, pulling you up from your chair and motioning for you to spin around in a circle. You do, though you’re still confused, unsure of what’s happening as the banker seems to be appraising you like a precious gem. It’s a different type of poking and prodding than Dottore’s usual tests and checkups, but it’s invasive nonetheless. It’s doubly unsettling that this is the first time you’ve seen the banker without his usual smarmy smile.

Hands find your shoulders and stop you again, and you bristle when they trace the curve of your spine, exposed thanks to the open back of the hospital gown. You feel them stop, tap something just to the left of one of your vertebrae, and Pantalone spins you back around to face him, clearly pleased.

You try not to flinch when he takes a lock of your hair in his hands– it’s gotten so long since you’d been brought back to the lab– and brings it closer to his face. His nose crinkles, palpable disgust on his features, and he mutters something about “that vile soap he makes you use”– likely referring to Dottore– before turning around to face the man in question.

“Are you done ogling?” Dottore asks, his tone clipped. You can’t see him around the banker, but you’re sure he still looks as pissed as before.

Pantalone tilts his head slightly, smiling, then glances over his shoulder at you. “Perhaps not yet, but I’m satisfied enough for now. You’ll get the funding for your little… project, and I expect to see this one at my doorstep every other month from now on.”

Every other month? You frown. Is this some sort of… custody arrangement that the two men worked out? You don’t know if you want to laugh or not at the absurdity of it all; like you’re the unfortunate child of two divorced bastards, except this is much, much worse.

“Fine,” Dottore grits out, in a tone that suggests it’s anything but. He gets up to shoo the banker out of his lab, but Pantalone merely tuts and makes his way back over to where you’re standing, confused, and rests one hand heavily on your shoulder.

“One month starting today, of course,” Pantalone continues, “It’s only fair, after all, when you’ve been hoarding my poor pet this whole time. I have to make up for lost time, after all.”

He delivers those words with a smile that only seems to irritate Dottore further, red eyes boring holes into him as Dottore visibly seems to be contemplating murder. Pantalone speaks up again before he does anything, however, offering a hollow consolation: “Of course, I’m not cruel. How about a farewell? A parting gift, to… tide you over while they’re gone?”

You don’t like the sound of that, and Dottore seems to pick up on the banker’s suggestion as you’re spun around once more and ushered towards the exam table you’ve become intimately familiar with for the last several months.

For this supposedly being Dottore’s “parting gift,” Pantalone is awfully remiss to keep his hands– and commentary– to himself.

“Ah, what a cute noise that was,” You hear him coo, a finger tapping your nose with just enough force to startle you so you flinch, “Don’t you think you’re being a bit rough though, Doctor?”

“Quiet.”

You jostle against the table, gripping the edge of it for support as hips snap into yours with bruising force. Dottore’s fingers are gripping your hips so tightly you’re sure they’ll leave bruises– that’s probably the point, honestly; he’s fucking you like he intends for you to feel it for the entire month you’ll be absent.

Pantalone’s comments aren’t helping things either; despite the banker’s comment about roughness, it only seems to have encouraged the doctor to go even harder.

Thankfully, you were given something for the pain, but not from Dottore. Pantalone had pressed a pill into your gasping mouth when Dottore had started, telling you that you were going to need it, and though swallowing was a struggle, you’re glad he did.

Dull pain and sharp pleasure mingle together, and you’ve long since lost track of the orgasms that have been dragged out of you. You’re starting to numb, honestly, overstimulation bleeding into pain, and you gasp into the table with every sharp thrust into you.

“Tsk– don’t pass out now,” Pantalone chides, fingers curling around your jaw and biting into your cheeks when your eyes threaten to flutter shut, and Dottore snarls something about cutting your spinal cord if you do; something you sincerely hope is an empty threat, given the black spots dancing in your vision. “You still have another thirty minutes to go.”

You don’t remember there being a timer set, much less a time limit, but you certainly know you can’t last that much longer. Your knees have already long since given out, and Dottore had to hoist you up further onto the table so he could continue, leaving your feet dangling a few inches above the ground.

You feel weight against your back, heat, smothering you as Dottore leans down to sink his teeth into your shoulder as he spills inside you once more, and you shudder through another weak orgasm in response, your eyes rolling back and your vision blacking out for several long moments.

Pantalone shakes you back awake before you can slip too far, and you sob as Dottore starts to move again. You already know that you won’t be able to walk for the next few days, if not for the next week.

Tears blur your vision, the world spinning around you as a gloved hand comes to rest against your head, petting you in what’s likely intended as a comforting gesture but only seems to frazzle you further, overwhelmed and overstimulated as you are.

It must be Pantalone, because Dottore lets out an irritated noise, sinking his teeth into your skin to leave a new mark as he resumes the harsh pace he’d set earlier. Another hand, this one not gloved, curls around your throat to dig two fingers into your racing pulse as he tries to engrave himself into your flesh through means slightly less violent than cutting you open.

You can barely keep track of who’s doing what– your vision is too blurred and you’re too far gone to fully piece together a coherent thought before it and the breath are knocked out of you by another snap of Dottore’s hips. One of them reaches down to rub circles into sensitive nerves, and you sob as another climax is ripped unwillingly out of you.

You black out for longer this time, shaken awake once more by Pantalone. He’s cooing something at you that you can’t make out, drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears and the sound of Dottore’s ragged breaths mixing in with your own.

It feels like you’re burning up, shivering weakly under Dottore’s crushing weight as the man seems to be pouring every ounce of frustration into his thrusts, and darkness encroaches on the corners of your vision with every movement.

Another shuddering orgasm. You twitch weakly through it, your body registering the sensation more than your mind does.

The world seems to tip, swaying like a vessel rocked by choppy waves before finally capsizing. Your vision goes, and you’re pulled into a sea of static.

It smells like lilacs.

It’s the first thing you notice when you slowly come to, a stark contrast to the smell of bleach and copper that you’ve become accustomed to. You’re also dressed in some proper clothes– or rather, ”proper,” compared to the usual paper-thin hospital gowns you’ve worn since being brought back to the lab.

Opening your eyes, you’re greeted with the familiar luxuries you remember seeing when you were last in Pantalone’s care, and the sight would nearly be a relief if consciousness didn’t bring with it the unbearable ache in every inch of your body. There’s a budding headache building behind your temples, stinging pains from various bites and bruises littering your skin like brands.

It aches most between your legs, but there’s an ache in your thighs and your stomach like you’d pulled every muscle within; you probably did, honestly, but you try to push back the memory invading your thoughts and you sit up in bed.

“You’re awake,” A silky voice drawls from behind you just as you sit up, and you turn around to see Pantalone sitting in an armchair in the corner, one leg folded over the other as he reads a book. He doesn’t look up as he addresses you; he just pats his knee, indicating he expects you to come to him. You’re not sure you can walk…

Climbing out of the soft bed hurts, various muscles protesting the movement, and you’re not surprised when your knees give out on you the second you rest your weight on your feet. Pantalone simpers at you from where he sits, amused, but he makes no move to help you stand up or walk. He just pats his thigh again, smiling at you.

“I can’t walk,” Even talking hurts, evidenced by the crackling of your voice when you speak.

“Then crawl.”

He says it so simply, as though you should have already known the answer. Your ears burn with humiliation. You don’t move.

“Don’t make me punish you on your first day back,” He says, setting his book down so he can properly address you. His tone is disappointed, but you don’t miss the way the bastard’s smile widens at the idea.

Pantalone’s punishments aren’t nearly as severe as Dottore’s are, at least in terms of pain. Rather than physical punishments, he seems to prefer humiliation. You’re tempted to try your luck, but… everything hurts. You don’t want him to decide you haven’t earned the privilege of clothes– or find something equally humiliating and degrading– on top of the pain you’re already in.

Crawling hurts. Every muscle protests the movement, yet again, but you force yourself to ignore the aches, to ignore the humiliation burning beneath your skin at being made to crawl over to him.

When you finally reach him you sit up unsteadily so you can climb into his lap, but you’re surprised when he stops you by pressing a gloved hand firmly against your head to keep you planted on your knees in front of him.

Instead of addressing your confusion, Pantalone merely smiles and takes hold of your wrist, raising your arm to inspect the scars and bruises littering your skin from the months spent under Dottore’s care. His face twists with disgust, shifting into faux sympathy when he addresses you again, “Poor thing. Look what he’s done to you…”

His free hand comes to rest on his knee as he straightens up, uncrossing his legs, and you hear a steady tap tap tap as he drums his index finger against his knee thoughtfully. “Aren’t you glad I’ve brought you back from that wretched place?”

It’s a leading question. You know he expects you to answer correctly, and you get the sense he’s leading into something; a demand. “...Yes.”

“I knew you would be.” He says, dropping your wrist and leaning back comfortably in the armchair. He looks down at you, clearly pleased with the position you’re in. He props one elbow against the arm of the chair, resting his head in his hand as he smiles down at you. “Why don’t you be a good pet and show me just how appreciative you are?”

The implication isn’t lost on you, but whatever hope you’d had that he might mean something else is dashed as he spreads his legs slightly further apart to make room for you between them, and you don’t miss the growing bulge in his dress pants.

Your hands are numb as you reach for his belt, and you barely flinch when his hand rests heavily against the back of your hand as you take him into your mouth.

One cage for another. You’re not even sure you’re relieved, because every part of you still aches from the reminders Dottore had left you with.

His hand presses against the back of your head, guiding you to take him further into your mouth, and you struggle to breathe around his length. You nearly gag as he pushes you down further, pushing back in resistance, and Pantalone clicks his tongue in disappointment but thankfully, lets up. Maybe he doesn’t want to ruin his pants.

“I’ll get you something for the scarring,” He murmurs, fingers curling in your hair as you bob your head up and down his length. “And those garish bruises.”

Whether it’s an insult towards you or Dottore, you’re not sure. You try not to focus on it, instead focusing on the task at hand. You lave your tongue along the base of his shaft, earning a small shiver and a heady sigh from him.

He’s silent for a few minutes as you continue to pleasure him, but you feel him boring holes into the top of your head. You don’t look up at him; you don’t want to. You’re trying to get this over with, and hoping that his silence means you’re doing well.

The hand on the top of your head leaves, and you flinch when you feel him trace his fingers over one of the scabbed over bites left by Dottore, nearly biting down in surprise. You swallow, suppress the urge, resuming your pace even as he traces the outline of every bite left littered along your neck, your collarbone, your shoulders.

Pantalone straightens up a little, pressing his hand against the back of your head again to force you to take more than you already can. This time, he doesn’t relent when you push back, just holding his hand still until you stop whimpering and you manage to swallow back the urge to gag.

“Hush.” He tells you in response to your muffled noises, groaning quietly at the way your throat vibrates around his cock.

You eventually relax, eventually get used to the feeling, and he lets you pull back slightly before he’s pressing down again, repeating until tears are spilling down your cheeks as you struggle not to reflexively bite down each time you gag slightly around his length.

“How would you feel about something… permanent?” He asks, and his fingers are tracing the bites again. You try to pull back to answer, but his other hand stops you and he rocks his hips lazily into your mouth. A rhetorical, then; he doesn’t care for your answer.

You try to blink back your tears as you resume the pace you’d set, sucking lightly on his cock as his hand curls into your hair. It’s hard to focus on what he’s saying as his hand keeps threatening to force you down farther than you can take, and you’re focusing on stamping down the swelling nausea.

“Something- hm-” He hums, and you can tell he’s getting close now, with the way his breathing is starting to deepen, his hand tightening its hold on your hair- “something tasteful. Not like those eyesores he leaves you. A collar is- fuck- too… too easy to remove.”

You don’t like where this is going, but humming your dissent only earns you a pleasured hiss and a rumble of praise spilling from his lips before he’s curling his fingers around the back of your neck.

It’s the only warning you get before he shoves your head down, holding you there as cum spills into your mouth and down your throat. It takes everything in you to relax your jaw, and you pull back gasping and sputtering the second he relents.

By the time your vision clears and you blink back the tears spilling from your eyes, he’s already tucked himself back into his pants and is just watching you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t even comment on the mess of cum and drool that spilled from your lips onto the floor.

It takes you a second to realize he’s not staring at you, but rather at the marks left on your skin.

After a minute of tense silence, he smiles again, patting his lap this time in invitation for you to sit, and you ignore the familiar sting of humiliation as you obey. Again, one of his hands curls around the nape of your neck, tracing some pattern into your skin.

“Right here,” He murmurs, though he doesn’t elaborate when your brows pinch together in confusion.

It takes you a second to realize he’s tracing invisible letters across your nape, then another few to realize it’s his name that he’s tracing into your skin.

Something tells you that Dottore isn't going to be pleased to see you again at the end of the month.

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