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winterarmyy · 10 months

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Welcome home... Soldat? | Part I

That time when Bucky accidentally relapsed into the Winter Soldier.

Summary: Y/N had make a habit of greeting Bucky a warm 'welcome home' everytime he came back from his missions, but there was one particular day when she unknowingly greeted someone else.

Navigation: Part I || Part II* || Part III (end) || Extra

Words: 2.9k++

Pairing: winter soldier!bucky x female!reader

Warnings: implied 18+ content, implied smut, dubious con on groping reader's body, dark(?) possessive behaviour, google translated russian, our soldat is kinda cute(?) in his own twisted way, and well, basically fluffy times with the soldat.

P/S: Guys, I never planned this at all. I mean, who am I kidding? All of my fics are not planned and I clearly write things out of impulse. Therefore, this one don't have much of a story building/plot because it was born out of one scene that flashed in my head and has been replayed way to many times that I need to let it out. Anyway, I still hope you enjoy it, somehow.

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N didn't know when exactly she started this habit but she swore to herself to never grow out of it.

It's been nearly 2 years since the fall of Hydra and the avenger has accepted the winter soldier under their wing. Begrudgingly by Tony, but the rest of them seemed like they're not against it.

Y/N used to be an agent from SHIELD but since the fall, she had been recruited under the avenger's programme and had been living in the tower since.

She remembered the day when Bucky first came in, he was quiet and weary all the time. Like an abandoned cat, picked up by a stranger to come to their home. And it took the whole team months before he slowly adapted.

Who knew he would morphed into a sassy, grumpy little shit, right?

Since the first day, Y/N had been making an effort to make him feel welcomed. Helped him to adjust to modern times. Though it was not regular but she's glad he came to her from time to time to ask about things.

Y/N only meant it to be casual when she greeted him back from his missions. Usually, it'll be something like,

"Oh you're back?"

"How's the team?"

"Good to see you well put together from such horrendous mission."

"God, you look like you fell from 5 flight of stairs."

"Are you even trying to fight back, Bucky?"

But one time, Bucky came back in the morning around breakfast, she wasn't feeling sassy or clever. So, instead of greeting him with playful remarks, in the glory of her messy bed hair and iron man pyjamas, she greeted him with a sleepy smile, "Welcome home, Bucky."

And that surely made the 6 foot, bulky hunk of a soldier paralysed in his spot. His ocean blues slightly widen, and his cheeks deepen in blush.

For a moment, he wondered if this is how he would feel if he had a wife waiting for him to come back from war back in the 40's. But, then again nothing can be compared to the sight he was seeing as he is now.

And Y/N didn't want to ever lose that memory of him.

Cute and flustered Bucky is a very rare sight to see. Perhaps, this was the only time she could witness it and she want to cherish it for the rest of her life.

Though Bucky never replied to Y/N's greeting, it didn't stop them from starting a whole new routine.

Y/N always knew that she had a thing for the sargent, but about 2 months from that moment, Y/N realized she was in love.

And she waited for him, every single chance she had for arrival of the team to come back. Just like she is now, at 03:45 in the morning, while scavenging for something sweet she can eat as she waits for Bucky's return.

When, she turned around she was not expecting to have her face into clashed into something, "Oww!" Y/N shuts her eyes close as she rubbed her aching nose to ease the sharp strike of pain.

For a moment there, she seriously thought she might have just bumped into some kind of a solid air that appeared out of nowhere, but when she opened her eyes, it was just Bucky who was standing rather ominously still.

"My god, you scared the shit out of me. I know you used to be an assassin but, you gotta announce yourself sometimes, man." She joked. Although she did find it impressive that he managed to silently sneak up on her with those thick, heavy combat boots he was wearing.

"Woah, someone's been having a field day kicking your ass, huh?" Y/N's eyes lingered a little longer on the wounds at the side of his temple that she didn't notice the void in his eyes.

"Anyway..." she continued as she shook of the thoughts of caressing the cut on the corner of Bucky's lip, before greeting him with a gentle smile, "Welcome home."

Bucky's unresponsiveness was nothing new to her. With the amount of silent glares and gruff eye-rolls that he had shot at her these past few months, she's used to it by now.

But, when she finally had the guts to look him in the eye, only then she noticed the underlying shift. Albeit, his signature frown was still as present as ever but, those eyes had made her questioned of the slight difference from what she recognized.

Bucky wordlessly step forward and cornered her until her back meets the side of the kitchen isle. He took his time assessing her, almost admiring the way her iris wavered in confusion.

Something is wrong.

Her guts were screaming at her to notice it but her body wasn't reacting accordingly. That's when the voice of the AI, Jarvis echoed through the walls.

"Emergency alert: Code Winter. Initiated by Captain Steve Rogers. All agent is advised..." The announcement went on based on protocol while the cogs in Y/N's brain finally moved, "Code Winter? That means..."

"...to be cautious of Sargent James Barnes; reprimand on sight however try not to engage alone. Agents is..." Jarvis voice in the background interwoven with Y/N's internal deduction, "...This is not Bucky?"

As she tried to put her own mind into perspective, trying to make herself believe that this man in front of her is not Bucky Barnes who she had been adoring over for these past few months, the soldat's hands reached the side of her neck, squeezing the softness of her flesh while his thumbs grazed the shape of her jawline.

His heavy gaze remained on hers, willing her to stay as still possible.

"Bucky...?" She called his name in hopes of triggering something, anything for within his controlled mind.

At end of the corridor leading towards the kitchen, Steve could see how the soldat had already gotten his hands on Y/N and panic strike him like lightning, he sprinted towards her as he despretely shouted, "Y/N! Stay away from--"

But Y/N was not able to render anything she heard from Steve, especially after a long silence, the soldat finally spoke, "Yes, I'm home..."

He carefully pulled her face closer to his as his lips planted on her soft cheek, "...мое cолнышко (my sunshine)" he lifted for a second just to kiss her again on her temple as he whispered lowly, "...мое Родная (my darling)"

Y/N's heart was beating madly for several different reasons. Parts of her was terrified that the soldat might break her neck within an instance, but it gradually changes into something much more confusing, a conflicted joy, when he keep on trailing his lips all over her face.

What is happening?

Both her and Steve was practically frozen in pure confusion.

Steve's mouth hanged open as words failed to form, while Y/N was unable to comprehend any sort of thoughts, let alone counter movements; when the soldat continue to whisper Russian endearments against her skin, littering sweet kisses on every part of her face, except for her lips as if he wanted to tease her.

His hands slowly travel down her back and stopped on the side of her waist, pulling her body closer until there was no space in between them anymore, before he wrapped his arms around her.

The drag of his stubble on her skin burned but it felt so good when he kissed it after.

Seconds later, Sam managed to catch up with Steve and his cautious approach fell as he witnessed the soldat's rather domestic actions towards Y/N.

Sam foolishly let his guard down as he approached with a question directed to Steve, "Is the tin man back?" That was when a bullet barely grazed the tip of his ear that then buried through the wall behind him.

Both Steve and Sam forced to stop any sort of movement as the soldat's aim was still locked towards their direction; his cold blue eyes pierced with a menacing warning, all the while posessively holding Y/N in his arms as his kisses trailed the side of her neck.

"Nope, not yet." Sam answered his own question as he waited for Steve's order.

Y/N felt like she have to do something to de-escalate the situation. After a quick deduction, and based on the soldat attitude towards her, she took the risk of believing that he would not do anything to hurt her, so she decided to play along.

Will it work though?

Well, she got to have to try for it work.

She gulped nervously before softly calls for him, "Soldat?" she looked up towards him.

When the soldat gave her his attention, she watched the loose strand of his hair fall down to his face. Her hand went up and reached for it, "How about we go back to your room and let me tend these wounds, hmm?" She cooed while tucking his behind his ear and briefly caressing his cheek with the back of her fingers.

The soldat didn't reply but instead silently process her proposition.

However, the hesitation only worried her more, so she continued to persuade, as she cautiously slide her hand, following his arm that was holding her teammates at gun point, "It'll be just the two of us. How's that sound?" She smiled warmly at him as she managed to lower it enough to grab the gun away from his grasp.

There was a glint of indecipherable emotion in his eyes when she mentioned that, which then he nodded in agreement.

"Okay then, let's go." She put the gun on the kitchen isle behind her and replaced her hand in his, pulling him towards his bedroom. The soldat did not protest to her lead, in fact her followed her obediently.

But before Y/N makes an exit, she looked back towards Steve and mouthed a reassuring message, "I got this."

The captain had all the rights to be weary but at this point, he just had to believe in Y/N's action plan. He nodded and replied, "Be safe. We'll be outside."

Along the walk towards Bucky's room, all she could think was that she can handle it and she got this under control.

But, does she?

Well, Y/N did have it under control, in terms of keeping the soldat from going on a berserk rampage but what she didn't think through was how the fuck she should handle his behaviour towards her.

After they arrived to Bucky's room, she had instructed him to strip off his tactical suit and leave him sitting at the edge of the bed, only in his short to avoid him reaching for any hidden weapons he had, all the while she went to grab the first aid from his bathroom.

Now that she almost done tending the small injuries on his face, it finally dawned to her that the soldat had her immobilized in between his legs as his hands rubbed the back of her thighs, occasionally squeezing the softness of her body in his tender grip.

His intent gaze waited patiently for her to finish and as soon as she did, he pulled her on his lap, making her to straddle on top him as he smushed his face on her chest, "Oh, Родная (darling)... I have missed you."

Her hands found her balance on his shoulders while the soldat roaming hands held her body still by the back of her waist.

It will be a lie if she said her heart didn't skipped when he confessed; even if it was still the soldat's thoughts and words but it was Bucky's voice.

The soldat pulled his other hand to play with the buttons of her pyjamas shirt, specifically around her chest area.

Part of him wanted to just rip her clothes off from her body but another part of him didn't want to. He didn't want scare her; and his precious little darling deserved to be pampered.

He had her buttons popped off; one by one, slow and almost sensual while Y/N was still in a heated debate with herself on what she should to next. She wanted the soldat to stop but god the temptation of wanting more was beyond her will power.

This is not Bucky.

She knew that. But, she had been bewitched by the look in those familiar blue eyes. So enthralled and so keen to unwrap her.

Y/N let out a low yet sharp gasp as her chest was finally revealed, "Soldat, what..." The soldat take a quick glance into her eyes, "...are you doing?" before trailing back down to the curve of her breasts, cupped so beautifully with a simple black bra.

His hands went back to grabbed her thighs as he replied, "Just wanna hold you." He leaned closer and left a lingering kiss in between her breasts, mumbling deep, " Wanna feel you, мое Родная (my darling)"

Fuck, it feels so good.

"Wanna feel you..." Y/N's grip on his bare shoulder tightened as he lips warmed the top of her right breast, "...here." An unexpected moan slipped out of her lips as the soldat latched his wet mouth on her skin, bruising it with his mark.

He groaned to the taste of her, so sweet and soft, he wanted to pull the bra off her and suckle on her nipple. He bet that they're perky and so sensitive. Bet he could make her cum just by playing with them.

He wanted to leave his bite mark around them, make them look much more prettier. But, he needed to be patient.

He brought his left hand up to hold the other side of her chest; pulling another pretty noise as the cold metal of his thumb gently stroked the exposed skin of her breast.

"Wanna feel you..." His flesh hand made its way lower and cupped her clothed sex, unexpectedly making her grind down to his hold, "...here."

She couldn't help to find shelter in the crook of his neck when he began to stroke her sensually.

This is getting out of hand.

Y/N doesn't mind to entertain him if the soldat only asked for him to hold her but it was clear that he wanted so much more than just innocent touches. Especially when he languidly rubbed his middle finger in between the slit of her pussy.

She hates how easy it was for Bucky's touch turned her on, his hands and his lips; regardless if his actions was someone else's.

This is wrong.

This has to stop.

"No... soldat." She whimpered in his ears as his finger drew slow circles on her clit, his mouth latched on her shoulder.

"I can't touch you here?" He murmured softly as he pressed harder. Even with the barrier of the cotton panties, she was so sensitive to his touch; he loves that about her.

"N-no. You can't." She choked back a moan as she replied.

God, what if he doesn't care?

What if he'll get mad and force it on her?

She can't imagine the guilt Bucky had to experience if the soldat take her right now. And all because her stupid little brain cannot comprehend a plan to stop him, all because she let the soldat touch her as freely, as willingly.

Salty tears started to blur her vision when she sniffled them back.

Much to his deperateness, the soldat pulled her away and watched as her tears spilled out, "Oh darling, don't cry." He leaned in and kiss the corners of her eyes, murmuring his words of comfort, "I hate to see you cry, мое cолнышко (my sunshine)." His metal hand slithered to her back and his palm stroked her lovingly.

"Okay, okay. I won't touch your sweet princess part, okay?" He patted her pussy one last time before reaching to swipe her tears away. "I promise." He whispered.

As much as he wanted to fuck her stupid, fill her hole full with his load; however the soldat does hold her very dear to his heart and hates to see her sad.

"Just let me hold you close, darling?" He cooed as he kissed the edge of her lips.

Y/N didn't know why but she trusted his words. Maybe it was because he was so gentle with her, that she was tricked into believing him.

She watched the soldat waited patiently for her response and when she nodded softly, he swiftly lifted her in his arms and lay her down on the bed.

He tucked himself in under the sheets with her and naturally rested his face on her chest. His fleshed arms wrapped securely around her waist and his metal one around her thighs, as he pulled her closer; almost suffocating himself in between her warm breasts.

It was like an instinct for Y/N to encircle her arms around his neck while her hands run through the thick of his hair, absentmindedly playing with the softness of it.

She almost giggle when the soldat let out a deep-throated sound of relieved sighs as she continued to massage his scalp.

As the soldat started to sail deeper into dreamland, Y/N thought that maybe this will be the only and the last time she had the chance to hold Bucky like this and she knew it was wrong to feel grateful to the soldat because had done nothing but terrible, despicable things in the past.

But when she thought about it, none of those sins was his choice to make. He was created to kill and nothing else.

But what if he had something to hold on to?

A hope to look forward to?

A person to protect?

Or a home to go back to?

Would he still be the same monster he had been before?

She have not a slightest clue.

But, what she does know that this soldat who's clinging in her arms, deserves something kind.

And she hoped that she managed to give him a sense of peace for once in his life.

Y/N nuzzled to the side of his tired-looking face and placed a sweet kiss on his temple as she whispered ever-so-softly, "Welcome home, soldat."

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: This is possibly part 1? I'm not sure either. Feel free to share your thoughts in the comments! And reblogs is much appreciated!

#winterarmyyfics #welcome home soldat au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #winter soldier × reader #winter soldier x you #winter soldier!bucky #bucky fluff

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ladadiida · 8 months

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𝐩𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐩 𝐨𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐣𝐢 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 (𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐤)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 as much as you wanted to stay by his side, you couldn't bear the thought of watching him fall in love with other women while you're stuck at the kitchen washing dishes and measuring ingredients. so you dreamt of leaving, of traveling to different islands to share your lovely songs and tunes; but the more your desire to leave grows, the more sanji finds himself drowning in your warmth. or, you and sanji over the years, wherein five times you tried to leave him and the one time you finally did, despite his refusal to let you go.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 musician reader, 5 + 1 things, pining, unrequited love, not actually unrequited love, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 i swear i cannot escape a brainrot whenever i watch a new show. this automatically wrote itself, i don't even remember how i came up with this idea. anyway, i'm surprised there aren't many sanji fics that involves the unrequited love trope, seeing that it suits him. or maybe that's just me. this is only a SNEAK PEEK though.

𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭 full version now published here!

You accepted it years ago.

You accepted the fact that you somehow fell in love with Sanji Vinsmoke along your weird journey of working in a sea restaurant full of former pirates and making music while at it. How the pesky feelings grew and wrapped themselves around your aching heart, you didn't know. Maybe it was when he learned to cook your favorite food and gave it to you afterwards, or the way his crystal blue eyes reminded you of snowflakes every winter.

Or maybe it was when he pulled your hair out of jealousy the moment he learned that Zeff would be taking in another child in his care, but brushed it and even braided it after the latter cleared the misunderstanding. Maybe it was when he supported you in your dreams and told you they weren't silly, maybe it was when he fought off drunk men that were trying to hit on you. Or maybe it was the way his voice would drop an octave lower whenever he asks you for a favor. The list could go on and on and you still wouldn't know the reason why. It doesn't matter anyway. You tripped, you fell, and now you're pining.

Drying off the last of the plates, you washed your own hands after and patted them dry on your skirt. You were the last one to leave the kitchen, the other staff already back in their quarters after a long, exhausting day of cooking. You fixed the signature blue bandana tied in your hair then went on your way towards the upper deck.

You weren't blessed with a talent in cooking, so you offered to do chores instead. Washing the dishes, cleaning the restaurant, and doing the laundry were few of the things you do in the Baratie. You can't say that you enjoy it, but you were beyond grateful that Zeff gave you a chance despite his opposition to let a woman work inside his restaurant.

As you were about to go to the newly laundered clothes you hung on a thin wire earlier that morning, you heard two voices speaking. You also smelled cigarette smoke wafting through the air, and you only knew one person who could be smoking at this hour. Your breath hitched in anticipation.

"You bringing a woman to your bed again, Sanji?" The other person asked playfully, but there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. You carefully took a peek so you won't accidentally reveal yourself and be accused of eavesdropping. Two people came into view with their backs facing you.

"Now, what are you talking about, Patty? I am a gentleman. I only had a nice chat with the lovely lady and escorted her back to her ship." Sanji interjected, a cigarette hanging on his lips.

Patty huffed. "I didn't know that chatting included kiss marks on jawlines."

This caused Sanji to laugh and say, "Not my fault she was charmed by my food."

"The boss man ain't gonna like it when he finds out about this."

"He's not gonna find out." Sanji assured him, wiping off the said kiss mark on his jaw. You stared at him as he did so, and you pitied the woman who planted that kiss, knowing she was just one of the many beautiful ladies Sanji had flirted with before. However, a tinge of pain in your chest said otherwise, taunting you that it was not pity you're feeling, but foul jealousy.

"Why don't you look for more decent women, eh? How about 'little lass' for a change?" Patty suddenly suggested.

It was like someone had hit your stomach with one of the metal pans in the kitchen with the way it lurched in surprise and nervousness. Your heartbeat started to quicken the longer you waited for his response, making your grip on your skirt tighter. In moments like these, you allowed yourself to hope, to wish that he saw something in you and that he finds you beautiful and lovely enough to be the person standing by his side.

But his answer made all that hope crumble down into nothing but dust.

"I don't see her that way." Sanji said after a long stretch of silence, taking a long drag from the cigarette then releasing the smoke in a single breath.

Ah.

You blinked repeatedly, trying to keep the tears from forming. It's always been like this, so why can't you get used to it? Taking a deep breath, you gulped away the knot forming in your throat and decided to leave. You can grab the clothes later.

"You're too kind for him." Someone behind you spoke, making you jump and tense up. Turning around, you saw Zeff looking at you with an unreadable emotion in his eyes and his hands on his hips, almost like he knew your secret. Of course he does. He always sees everything.

You stumbled on your words. "Sir?"

"That boy is always up to something." He began, switching his attention to Sanji. "One minute he's stubbornly immature in the kitchen, and the next he'll be a thirsty man staring at women like they're liquid booze."

Clearing your throat, you forced a smile.

"Well, he can be a lot sometimes." You agreed, remembering the days when the two of you would fight over irrelevant matters. Then you chuckled and continued, "But he's kind. He's gentle, and lovely, like a freshly made poem you keep repeating in your head. But then he's also confusing, hot-headed, and reckless. He's like the sea, isn't he? Calm yet wrapped with mystery, dangerous yet beautiful..."

You trailed off, an unbearable heat rising up your cheeks and neck once you slowly began to realize that you just ranted out your feelings to the head chef. You glanced at him with wide eyes, preparing to see a disgusted look on his face; however, Zeff didn't appear to be repulsed by your little speech. In fact, the corners of his lips were slightly quirked up.

"But I cannot swim. If I were to drown, he wouldn't save me." You quickly added, hoping to shut down the topic.

He sighed. "You will meet someone who deserves you as much as you deserve them, little lass." He simply said. He then laid his hand out, and on his palm was a little box poorly tied with a ribbon. "Here, for you."

Altnough you were a bit confused at the random gift, you accepted it and cradled the box to your chest. "I'll be okay, Zeff." You insisted, grinning cheekily. "When I become famous, I'll sing my songs here in Baratie, and people would flood the restaurant to hear my singing. And to eat your food too, of course."

The head chef nodded, relief flooding his expression. "I look forward to that." He said while awkwardly returning your smile.

That night, when you were sure that everyone in the Baratie was asleep, you opened the loose floorboard on the floors of your bedroom and grabbed the wooden box you kept hidden for a long time now. You opened the lid and began counting the Berry you saved for the past few months.

Tomorrow was the perfect day to leave.

You just can't stay here. Yes, you had a roof over your head, delicious food to eat everyday, and clean clothes to wear but you were so miserable. This wasn't the life you wanted. You wish to go out there, sing your heart out, and fall in love with someone who actually loves you back.

A knock on your door made you freeze. You held your breath as the person on the other side continued to knock a few more times. "You awake?"

Pain surged through your veins, your chest twisting in agony. Sanji.

"You didn't come down for dinner. I guess you're too tired, hmm?" He said, his muffled voice gentle, and the sound almost prompted you to stand up and open the door for him. But you dug your fingernails in your palms and resisted, because you can't just let this opportunity pass by.

You heard a brief clinking sound before Sanji spoke again, "Sweet dreams, ange."

Once his footsteps faded away, you cautiously moved towards your door and opened it as quietly as you can. There, on the floor, was a small plate with a slice of your favorite dessert: angel's food cake, topped with fresh cream and strawberries.

You bent down and saw a note beside the plate. And when you got to read the contents of the note, you burst into tears and sobs that wracked down your entire body.

Happy Birthday

— S.

You ate the cake with tears silently falling down your cheeks, and that was the first time you failed to leave Sanji Vinsmoke.

again, this is only a sneak peek of the actual fic, i'm currently halfway in completing it. please let me know if you want to read it, because i might publish it next week. if not, i'll just drown in sorrow and self-pity.

#opla #opla x reader #opla x y/n #one piece #one piece live action #opla sanji #one piece sanji #sanji #vinsmoke sanji #sanji live action #sanji x reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #opla sanji x reader #angst #one piece sanji x reader #ਏਓ ladadiida

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miserycanary · 1 month

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TAKE IT OR LEAVE HIM ᡣ𐭩 ⤷ next

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & reader

synopsis: Ghost forgets your birthday

tag: slight slight angst

Hectic doesn’t begin to describe Ghost’s schedule, yet you accepted him with open arms. He needs to cut your dinner short because he’s needed back at the base? You nod with a smile full of understanding. He forgets a few chores and groceries because he’s piled up with tasks? You kiss his forehead and tell him it’s fine, and you just work around it and rush during your office breaks to do those tasks on your own. You’re exhausted from being held back at the office because the client changed their mind during the finalization, but you come home to a pile of dirty dishes and no dinner? You say you understand, washing up and going to bed while feeling your stomach grumble and waking up to wash the previous night’s dishes just to lessen Ghost’s worries.

You had no problem bending backwards just to accommodate him. You entered the relationship knowing about his schedule, so… were you really in any position to complain?

A few insignificant tasks and miniscule adjustments to your schedule were nothing; never once uttered a complaint because you understood. Why? Because Ghost always finds a way to make it up to you. Sending bouquets when you close a big deal, treating you to a fancy restaurant during your birthday (though he’s mostly never there to celebrate until the end), and gifting you branded things during your anniversaries… so, it was all okay….. ?

Yes, it’s fine if he never shows up for your dinner date because of work.

Yes, it’s fine that you spend most nights alone.

Yes, you can clean the house, shop for groceries, do the laundry, and cook for the both of you.

It was all okay. You were okay with it. You accepted it. You understood. You can do it. You’re fine. It’s all worth it. It’s not worth any trouble. It’s fine—

You snap back and all thoughts stop rushing into your head. Your phone blares an alarm with the words, ‘DATE NIGHT’, flashing on the screen. Right, it’s your birthday and Ghost promised he’d finally make it this time. So, you wore the prettiest dress, applied the most gorgeous (and time-consuming) makeup, and put on the cutest heels (your feet are getting blisters) because you wanted to spend this night with the man you love most on your Earth… who wasn’t by your side right now, but it’s fine.

The waiter approaches the table, asking you for what seems to be the 6th time that night if your company is coming because they’re about to close. Giving up, you offer an apologetic smile and gather your things. The walk out the restaurant was embarrassing to say the least. Harsh winter air greets your face, your legs and arms trembling as you try to seek warmth from the take-out bag. You didn’t bring a jacket because, well, you thought Ghost would be there with you, but it’s fine.

The apartment door clicks open and a dark hallway awaits you. ‘Ah, he’s not here yet,’ you think to yourself, a pang of disappointment piercing your heart that raised its hope for one night. With a wince and a pained gasp, your heels come undone. Muted footsteps along the wooden floorboards as you strip out your clothes and wash up. You resign the night with your lover nowhere to be found— once again, but it’s fine.

Morning dawn cracks through your curtains with a familiar arm around your waist and familiar dip on the mattress. You blink your sleepiness away, taking in every detail of your Simon’s face in the morning. Like he has a third sense, he wakes and stares back at you. First smiles of the day are shared between you two but you expected more. Nothing too grand. Maybe an apology and a greeting? Yet the day goes by with receiving neither, but it’s fine. Maybe the next day’s the charm?

Nothing.

Irritation towards your lover is a rare occurrence with your endless patience and never-ending understanding of his situation. You still held hopes that maybe he’d finally realize his slip-up, but what did you come home to? Dirty dishes. A pile of them.

“Ah, sweetheart. You’re home,” he kisses your cheek and presses your waist close to him like usual. The scent of whiskey and cigar lingers on his clothes— a scent you usually adore but now only fuels your anger. “Si, what’s this?” you ask, trying to keep your frustration at bay as you point to the sink. “What? Oh, noticed ‘ya didn’t make dinner so I ate what’s ever left,” he answers cooly like there’s nothing wrong.

“... do you mean you ate my lunch for tomorrow?”

“That yours? Sorry, baby. ‘Ya can jus’ make another one, and one for me.”

You pull away, slapping his face with tears rushing down your face. Ghost looks at you with shock and confusion which angers you further. How can he not realize why you’re mad?

“Woah, woah. What’s wrong, doll?”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT. Oh, my fucking God, Simon. You’re really asking me that?” you run your fingers through your hair, screaming at his face and throwing your purse at him. “What’s wrong?? You tell me! I slave away at this goddamn house. I go to bed with my bones feeling like weights because I keep cleaning after your mess, but it’s fine! Because you were busy, I understood.”

Tension builds in the air as everything you’ve held back poured out of you. “I never complained because I told you I was fine with your schedule when we first started dating. I fucking bend my body backwards and did everything for you LIKE A MAID. And you have the audacity to ask me what’s wrong? You don’t even ask me how my day went. Asking me to cook for you like I’m just a housekeeper? YOU DON’T EVEN DO ANYTHING FOR ME.” You stomp over to his face, glaring with hatred as you spat out your next words. “Just a fucking reminder that I am your girlfriend. I am not here to clean up after you.”

“Did I ask you to?” he snaps back, returning the same vile stare. “You’re whining about working around the house like I asked you to. Let’s be clear that I never forced you to do these shits around the house.”

“You didn’t have to! You just kept piling up dishes and clothes, leaving a messy trail behind you because you know you expect me to do it for you!”

“And did those come for free? I buy you everything you want on anniversaries and birthdays. You act as if you come for cheap,” he scoffs.

"WELL, GUESS WHAT? YOU FUCKING FORGOT IT THIS YEAR,” you finally confess through sobs. Realization dawns upon your lover, evident on the way his face drops. He tries to approach you but you step back.

“I waited for you like a fool because you promised. I-.. I.. had to tell the waiter 5 times that you were coming because they were on the verge of throwing me out. Did you know how embarrassing it was for me? I… I know I shouldn’t have kept my hopes up but I wanted to believe in you, but.. I’m tired.”

Silence blankets you both as every emotion rushes through your heart. Your throat felt raw and your head was getting heavy from all the crying.

“I’m done, Ghost. I’m tired," you whisper. Those words were simple but Ghost knew what lies underneath. You weren't tired of what you did for him. You were tired of him.

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱: woah, angst again? Anyone surprised? This request has been sitting on my inbox for a while but I have enough free time to answer them, so here we are. I will make a König version if this gets attention. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 5 months

Text

come rest your bones next to me ; satoru gojo, suguru geto

synopsis; satoru shares the first snowfall of the year with the two people he loves most.

word count; 4.6k

contents; satoru gojo/reader/suguru geto (poly relationship!!), gn!reader, you're all whipped, reader referred to as spouse, fluff fluff fluff!!, sickeningly domestic, just comfy vibes all around, mostly from satoru’s pov, suguru has a favorite (its you) (but also not really he just likes bullying toru <3), satoru gojo may or may not have unresolved mommy issues

a/n; happy satosugu holidays to those who celebrate <33 geto died today isnt that crazy. dont u think its fucked up how love figuratively and literally killed him. anyway! help urself to two very whipped husbands <33

”holy shit!”

the raspy tilt of satoru’s voice echoes throughout the bedroom, stirring you from your comfortable slumber. a soft groan spills from suguru’s lips, deep and husky, as he pulls you closer into his embrace — smoothing a warm palm down the back of your head. trying to soothe you back to sleep, muttering under his breath.

”satoru, it’s too early for this...”

”it’s snowing!” said man continues, unperturbed. unmistakably giddy. he’s standing by the window, hands pressed flush against the cold glass; entirely entranced by the sight in front of his cerulean eyes.

your eyelids begin to flutter. a tiny tug of your subconscious, a pang of something excited flowing through your veins, an alert to your sleepy brain.

(snowing.)

with groggy movements, you wriggle out of suguru’s grasp — a displeased grumble leaves his throat, almost a whine — allowing you to scramble out of bed. ”really?” you chirp, rubbing the sleep from beneath your eyes. a raspy, meek little voice spilling into the air.

satoru grins, watching you move closer, watching as a tiny gasp pushes past your lips. watching as your droopy eyes widen — brightening, glittering, starlight and snowflakes painted on the interior of your iris. a breathtaking sight, he thinks.

maybe even more breathtaking than the winter wonderland reflected in it; beyond the pure opaque frosting of the window’s glass, out into your backyard, buried beneath a thick layer of snow. soft and fluffy, covering the city, suguru’s long-frozen tulip garden, the bare branches of your apricot tree. every roof in sight. all of it dyed a pure white, glittering in the light of a morning sun yet to fully rise, tiny snowflakes descending down to earth.

it’s beautiful.

satoru loves winter. he always has, he thinks. it comes to him as a memory — blurred at the edges, gleaming even still, the first time he saw those snowflakes up close. someone held him in their arms, he recalls. a warmth long faded.

all he can properly remember is that sight. one that knocked the breath from out his tiny lungs, all glitter and something almost other-worldly, something frightening in its majesty. like it broke through a rift in the stratosphere.

the first snow of the year.

and he’s loved it ever since; the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet, an air heavy with the scent of cinnamon and candied apples, bouts of laughter to be heard from faraway apartments. red and green glimmers of artificial light, sweet frosting on the christmas cake he would always gobble up alone in his room. the cold wind, nipping at his bare fingers — a reminder of his capacity for ache.

there are lots of things to love. lots of memories to cherish. and every single year, he gets the chance to make more.

like this; the light in your eyes, the smile on your face, the excitement in how hurriedly you turn to meet his giddy gaze. a nostalgic kind of joy simmering in the space between you.

and before either of you know it, satoru’s pulling you towards the hallway, intent on dragging you outside to see it all up close. almost tripping over his agumon plush, lying unassumingly on the floor, kicked off the bed once again.

(probably by satoru himself, though he’ll always insist it was suguru’s doing. overcome by his jealousy, unable to stand the sight of his cute husband cuddling up to a plushie instead of him. satoru understands, he does — he feels the same when he sees you hug that 3’0 cat plushie of yours.

and, sure, maybe once or twice he’s been lucid enough to register the subconscious kick of his leg and agumon’s subsequent fall to the floor — but he’ll still blame suguru in the morning. if only to see the way said man rolls his eyes, clicks his tongue, maybe flicks his forehead if he’s lucky.)

high on the spirit of christmas, spurred on by childlike elation and sleep-deprivation, you stumble towards the door. satoru pulls one of his jackets over your shoulders, delighting in the way your hands don’t fully reach through the sleeves. wrapping you up in a cozy scarf when suguru shouts at you both to dress warmly, barely awake and already tired of your antics.

and the moment you step through the door, satoru is engulfed by it. that mystical, mystical feeling.

a little lonely, a little too satisfying to pass up. a cold breeze that nips at his fingertips, snowflakes that brush against his cheeks and stick to his white lashes. a warm hand in his, as you cling to his side, shuddering — but smiling, as you look up at the sky, putting a hand out just to feel the snowflakes melt against the skin of your palm.

he feels you let go of him, but doesn’t mention it. a little too mesmerized to tug you back. dipping his toes into the bittersweet nostalgia of it all, staring at the flurry of white all around you, the skeletal branches of your apricot tree. suguru’s poor tulips. humming a jolly tune, subconsciously. a little delighted.

— until something cold and wet hits the exposed skin of his neck.

satoru twitches, a chilling shudder trickling down his spine. the snowball just thrown at him begins to melt, droplets sticking to his nape, and he turns to you with a raise of his brow. a devilish grin on his lips, when he hears your muffled laughter, sees the crinkle of your eyes.

(you’re cute, he thinks. but you need to be humbled.)

”oh, so that’s how you wanna play?” he drawls, eyes gleaming with amusement. taking a step forward, reaching down to gather some snow in his palm. a wide grin on his glossy lips. ”fine by me.”

he's fast, but you act quickly, running towards the apricot tree with laughter in your throat. feeling the pitter patter of your heartbeat resound in your ears, as the snowball misses its mark by just a hair — and you waste no time in making your own.

it’s a hard-fought duel. snowfall blocking your vision, nerves beginning to numb, red cheeks and runny noses as you chase each other with giddy breaths. unfortunately for you, satoru’s arms are unfairly long, fingers unfairly nimble, and his stamina never even seems to falter.

so before long, your energy begins to dwindle. chest heaving, hands too cold to form a proper snowball, while your husband seems like he hasn’t even broken a sweat. they just keep on coming, snowball after snowball colliding with the fabric of your jacket, and when one of them hits your collarbone you squeal — falling backwards, right into a fresh pile of snow.

satoru moves forward, a triumphant smirk on his handsome face. you’re out of breath, and your hands are red, and he’s fairly certain you’re gonna catch a cold. suguru’s going to scold him, but right now all he can think of is you. the frown you’re wearing, the little huff that slips from your lips.

”ready to admit defeat, sweetheart?” he practically purrs, standing above you with his hands on his hips. smug. and you grin right back.

”never.”

a hum. something glimmers in his eyes, a devious little glint, and you come to regret your decision when satoru gathers a heap of snow with his overgrown arms; only to drop it all on top of you. too tired to fight back, all you can do is shield your face, silently accepting your fate.

a shiver wracks through your body, and satoru almost feels bad. just a tiny bit. but then you finally relent, murmuring bitterly under your breath. ”fine, fine…” a soft pout forms on your lips. ”you win.”

and satoru smiles. crouching down to meet you at eye level, on his knees in front of you. there’s a teasing mirth in his eyes, when he reaches out to cup the fat of your cheek. ”that’s all i wanted to hear, sweet pea,” he drawls, trying not to giggle when you exaggeratedly roll your eyes.

his voice curls down an octave when he continues, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours. hot breath against your chilled skin. ”now, for my prize…”

his lips meet yours, sweet and chaste — a little cheeky. you scoff into the kiss, but satoru’s smile only grows. honeyed, a little bit adoring. his tongue flits out to lick at your cold bottom lip.

he lingers, for a bit. like he’s trying to savour the way you taste, faded strawberry chapstick sticking to his lips, smudged against your own. and you sigh, softly, melting a little, comforted by the fleeting warmth that blossoms on your face.

when he's finally satisfied, having dragged his prize out to its completion, satoru helps you up. brushing snowflakes off your jacket, cradling your ice-cold hands in his. they’re not faring much better, but a worried tug of his heartstrings compels him to warm you up. bringing them to his lips, hot breath fanning over your skin, tender little kisses against the knots of your knuckles.

you can’t help but blush, and a raspy chuckle flows from out his lips.

hazy morning sunshine licks at the branches of the apricot tree behind you, illuminating the contours of your face, the shine of his eyes. a blue smudge on a canvas painted white and gray. the air smells of pine cones and something smokey, crisp. it courses through his burning lungs when he inhales, exhales, a breath of vapour that scatters up into the sky.

satoru loves winter. always has. but now, he’s certain he loves it even more.

because now, he has two people to share it with. two people to drag out into the snow, two people whose hands he can tenderly warm up, two people who’ll laugh and sigh at his antics and still indulge him. two people to pelt with snowballs.

what more could a man want?

”hey, idiots!”

the voice that echoes throughout the air is exasperated, a little teasing. yet fond. suguru’s got his hair tied into a messy half done bun, black turtleneck sweater enunciating his broad chest and the curve of his waist. there’s a fatigue in his eyes, the creases of his face, but a lazy smile is playing at his lips.

”i’m making breakfast,” he shouts, voice deep and smokey and soft even still. ”come in and warm up before you catch a cold.”

”is that any way to speak to your husband and spouse?” satoru chimes back, a melodic lilt to his sugarsweet voice. something satisfied. pleased.

suguru shoots him an unimpressed look, but his eyes soften. melting a little, at the words that spill from satoru’s lips, as if they were always meant to be there.

(husband. spouse. suguru wills himself not to smile.)

with matching grins on your faces, the two of you stumble back towards the door. snow crunching beneath your feet, a happy noise pushing past your lips when you collide with the warmth of your husband’s chest.

”look, suguru. isn’t it pretty?” you chirp, smiling brightly. an expression he mirrors — brushing some snow from the top of your head, warm palms caressing your cold skin, setting a mental reminder to scold satoru later. sparing a brief glance at the snowy veil over reality.

then he exhales. a fond hum. ”it is.”

satoru joins you both by the door, stretching out his lanky limbs. tousled hair, wet strands sticking to his skin, reddened cheeks and a signature pout. ”suguru, my hands are cold,” he whines. ”warm ’em up for me?”

a click of his tongue. ”should’ve put some gloves on, satoru.”

a hum buzzes in your throat, and you put your hands out. itchy, a little dry. a sad frown tugs at your lips when you speak. ”my hands are also cold.”

and, like clockwork, suguru’s eyes soften. a coo tiptoeing on his tongue, engulfing your hands in his larger ones. ”aw, c’mere, my love…” his breath fans over your frozen fingertips. ”let’s get you warmed up, hm?”

satoru gasps, a hand on his chest, and you stifle a giggle. he’s acting, you both know, being a little drama queen. he knows you’re just exaggerating suguru’s double standard as a bit, that your husband would probably set himself on fire to warm either of you up.

despite that, his voice comes out thoroughly offended. ”oh, i see how it is,” he huffs, walking past the both of you. pouting deeply. ”you hate me. you hate me, and you want me to die. i understand.”

”satoru,” you coo. he hmphs, but stills, waiting for you to wrap your arms around him. and you do — a little too eager to appease your giant baby of a husband.

”we’re just joking around,” you assure him, holding back a humorous chuckle. squeezing his waist with palpable fondness. ”love you sooo much. you know that.”

satoru stays silent. but he cranes his neck, to meet suguru’s gaze, standing just behind him. narrowing his cobalt eyes — a meaningful look.

suguru sighs.

”yes, yes. we love you oh so much.” he takes a step forward, ruffling the white head of hair by the door. a lazy smile on his lips. ”now behave and go change out of your pyjamas. they’re soaked.”

his voice is teasing. exasperated, more than a little condescending. but it’s suguru, so satoru accepts it — following you both into the warmth of your home. the scent of cinnamon and vanilla hangs heavy in the air, a hint of espresso and firewood, lulling him into a sweet state of tranquility. rich with comfort, safety.

he changes out of his wet clothes, pulling a black hoodie over his head before waltzing into the kitchen. and you do the same, emerging from your bedroom in one of suguru’s cozy sweaters, knitted and smelling of bergamot.

when suguru notices, his gaze shifts into something fond. palpable. a look satoru always finds in the scope of those warm eyes, amber and cedar bleeding into something sweet, only ever directed at the two of you. a look said man assumes goes unnoticed. he’s not as slick as he thinks.

the kitchen simmers with hazy sunlight and gentle movements, something sleepy and kind. satoru is a little bit enamored with it; from bowls of cat food by the corner, to camellias by the windowsill, cookie jars and dried lemon slices, the fading scent of baked goods and wishlists stuck to the fridge.

(yours and satoru’s are filled with scribbles, new ideas popping up daily, while suguru’s is almost entirely blank; mostly necessities, one or two things he’d like for himself.

and then, of course, the same thing he writes at the top of his wishlist every year; some peace and quiet.)

suguru shuffles around the kitchen, long strands of black hair cascading down his back, swaying with his movements. he sends you both an affectionate glance when you step in, already in the process of making satoru his cup of hot chocolate — topped with marshmallows and whipped cream, colorful sprinkles in the shape of tiny stars, a touch of cinnamon. satoru licks his lips.

when it's finished, the cup is promptly handed to him, paired with a tender kiss to his forehead. and suguru starts the meticulous brewing of your coffee, steady hands, finely chosen coffee beans, the low purring of the espresso machine. soothing.

that’s when you attach yourself to his back. wrapping your arms around his waist, a sleepy yawn muffled into the fabric of his turtleneck. he places a big palm on your hand, thumb smoothing over your knuckle, and you nuzzle into him silently. suguru smiles.

”still sleepy, baby?” he questions, a coo on the tip of his tongue. his voice is soft, palpably so, buzzing with warmth and safety and something that makes you want to stay cuddled up to him forever.

satoru senses an opportunity to insert himself into the conversation, and forces out a yawn of his own. stretching his limbs like a big cat, blinking drowsily, eyelashes fluttering. hoping it’ll come off as endearing. ”mhm.”

but suguru shoots him an unimpressed look. ”not you,” he tuts, patting your arm, ”this baby. i wasn’t asking you.”

a pout. ”why are you so mean to me?” he whines, shooting you a doe-eyed look. bottom lip jutting out slightly, a feigned glassiness to his eyes. ”sweetie, tell your husband to stop being so mean to me.”

you smile. indulgent, as always. ”don't be so mean to him, suguru. you know he’s sensitive.”

a sigh. deep, tinged with exhaustion. satoru shares an amused look with you — stifling a shared chuckle at suguru’s exasperation.

and suddenly, he feels something warm flutter in his ribcage. a sunkissed butterfly, wings brushing against his ribs, coaxing his lips into curling up. unmistakable fondness, almost too much to bear. the need to reach out and touch you creeps up on him, a hunger he can’t deny, but he holds back; you look comfy like that, curled up against suguru’s spine. so he only inches closer, without a word.

his husband casts him a glance, but satoru stays silent. lips pursed, waiting for something. patient.

and suguru relents. he reaches a hand out, to tuck a stray strand of white hair behind his ear — an excuse to touch him. a silent apology.

(i'm sorry, you big baby.)

satoru grins.

you shift from foot to foot, leaning over to see what suguru is doing, pressing buttons and taking two ceramic cups out from a wall cabinet. your eyes zero in on a particular shelf, narrowing in suspicion, before flitting over to meet your husband’s gaze.

”satoru, did you use up all my peppermint sweeteners again?”

he stiffens. just a tad, before swallowing a gulp — followed by a silly chuckle, sheepish and performative, eager to wiggle his way out of your cold gaze. ”… which sweeteners do you mean, honey?”

”don’t pull the ’honey’ card.”

”and don’t play dumb, either.”

a pout crosses his lips. betrayed. ”suguru, who’s side are you even on?”

said man gives him a look. that one look, characteristically suguru, the same one he always sends satoru’s way. one so thoroughly unimpressed it makes him feel like the world’s biggest clown.

and satoru plays along. your dutiful, beloved clown, his posture wilting like a sad flower. suguru exhales through his nose.

”don’t steal their sweeteners.” he smooths a thumb over your knuckle, absentminded, meeting the cold metal of the ring on your finger. smiling a little at the sensation. ”buy your own.”

satoru huffs, drawn out and childish. crossing his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter. ”ah, i see how it is. leaving your sweet husband to buy his own sweeteners?” he clicks his tongue. ”chivalry is dead.”

you bite back a little chuckle — satoru recognizes the cute noise you make when you do — and suguru rolls his eyes. fondly, always. ”remind me next time i go to the store and i’ll consider it.”

”hmph.”

suguru is smiling. it’s small, but genuine, worth a thousand words. and you are, too, the vague crinkle of your eyes giving you away. even as you bury your face in the curve of suguru’s back.

and ah, satoru thinks. there it is again.

that sickeningly sweet sense of deja vu; the sensation of a certain something flourishing deep inside his chest. warming him up, trickling through his frost-bitten veins. that one little itch he never manages to satisfy, that never goes away, something that took root inside his heart years ago — watered by the sweet looks on your faces.

this everyday slice of heaven, right in front of him, that he’s been greedily partaking in ever since he moved in with you. since he married you.

(married.)

sometimes he still can’t believe it.

”it’ll be done in a minute,” suguru hums, and satoru blinks. broken out of his syrupy stupor. ”you two go wait by the kotatsu, okay? must be cold, poor babies.”

and, as always, his voice is a little teasing. a tiny bit condescending, if you really strain your ears, in typical suguru fashion. but it’s laced with a touch of sweetness; one that would be too much for either of you to stomach, if it were to drip out of his lips with nothing to water it down. so satoru accepts it. welcomes it, even.

and you follow his suggestion. making your way towards the living room, satoru trailing behind you, continuously enamored by every little thing he sees. every little piece of the home you’ve built for yourselves.

your living room is cozy. several potted plants seated here and there, a thick quilt to cover the kotatsu, a bowl of satsumas on top of it. a sleepy cat on your couch, golden sunshine ruffling her fur. a santa hat lies beside her, and satoru snags it without much thought. pulling it over his head.

his gaze shifts to the christmas tree over in the corner, eyes filling with a childlike kind of wonder. it’s decorated to completion, weighed down by colourful ornaments and lights, a star at the very top. suguru cut it himself, bringing the biggest and prettiest one he could find back home.

(satoru had gone with him. partially to help carry it back, mostly to get a glimpse of suguru's biceps flexing with the swing of the axe. he’s a simple man.)

and beneath it, presents are already beginning to pile up. carefully wrapped, in bows and silken paper, growing more each day. shattering suguru’s hopes of maybe having a more lowkey christmas this year — but satoru couldn’t be more relieved. this is the only time of year you let him get away with pampering you both to his heart’s content.

a smile blooms on his lips. he plops down on the floor, crossing his legs, right as suguru walks in with a coffee pot in hand. their gazes overlapping.

and something mischievous begins to brew within the blue of his eyes, something that makes suguru narrow his own. satoru pats his thigh, twice, a coo on the tip of his tongue. santa hat sitting pointedly on top of his head, fluffing up his hair.

”c’mere, suguru! sit on santa’s lap.”

”— you’re disgusting.”

the words are playful, but a pout still slips into the curve of satoru’s lips, and he huffs out a displeased little breath. his husband pretends not to hear it, so satoru turns to you — sitting so prettily to his right, already anticipating his next move. puppy dog eyes on full display, he gives you a soft tilt of his head, snowy tufts of hair falling over his eyes.

and you sigh, in what he knows is resignation. his faux pout turning into a satisfied grin.

you curl up in satoru’s lap without much of a fuss, letting him circle his arms around you. an indulgent smile rests on your lips, but he knows you love this; his broad chest against your back, the heat of the kotatsu warming your feet. breathing in the fading scent of your shampoo, he leaves a peck on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, and you try not to shudder.

then satoru smiles. squeezing you, lightly, sweetly, eyes rich with honeyed affection. voice dripping with playful endearment. ”there we go,” he coos. ”what does my angel want for christmas, hm?”

”i want you to stop stealing my peppermint sweeteners,” comes your answer. instantaneous.

silence fills the room. a moment passes. outside your frosted windows, a bird takes flight from the branches of your apricot tree. and satoru clicks his tongue.

”… santa can only do so much, baby.”

two deep scoffs fill the air, heavy and bemused. one from you, one from suguru. satoru only giggles.

”just kidding!” he chirps, planting a kiss on the top of your head. ”don’t you worry. santa’ll give you all the peppermint sweeteners you could ever want.”

you raise a brow, exhaling amusedly. craning your head to meet his gaze. ”and he won’t end up using them all himself?”

”of course not! blasphemy.”

a moment passes.

”… maybe one or two. as a treat.”

a string of protests slips from your lips, and satoru tries not to burst into a fit of giggles. suguru just watches, silently, smiling lightly as he pours hot coffee into two ceramic cups. steam wafting up to the ceiling, a cat jumping down from the couch to curl up in his lap. he places one in front of you, not taking a single sip of his own until he hears you hum blissfully at the taste — pink lips against white ceramic. a bitter taste on his tongue, sweetened by your approval.

then he starts peeling three satsumas, absentmindedly, and satoru swallows down the love-ridden honey choking up the back of his throat. pretending the domesticity of such a simple action doesn’t melt his heart down to the marrow.

he turns his attention towards the window. frost sticking to the glass like spider-woven webs, soon to be melted by the glow of the mellow winter sunrays. flitting in through the curtains, cascading over the room, splattering across the floorboards. framing the hue of your hair, the smile on suguru’s lips.

and a memory comes to him. sudden, hazy, faded at the edges. ghosting his subconscious.

he remembers the frost, the biting wind, the frightening majesty of the snow that fell that day. breaking into his world through a rift in the stratosphere. he remembers the contrasting warmth of the person who held him, who cradled him close; the soft lull of a woman’s voice.

for a moment, satoru thinks he can almost, almost see it before him. hear those gentle words, see her tired smile. why was she always so tired?

(look, satoru. isn’t it pretty?)

— he can’t recall how it sounded. if it was melodic and soft, or raspy and broken, happy or sad. but he does recall that it made him feel safe. safe enough to find comfort in a sight so other-worldly, so very foreign.

it should’ve been frightening, but it wasn’t. the first snowfall satoru ever saw knocked the breath from out his lungs, stole his heart with cold hands, left him with a suffocating nostalgia. but the memory is precious.

and now, he feels that sense of other-worldliness in this; a kotatsu for three, a warm house, peeled satsumas and promises of a christmas cake soon to be baked. one lovely spouse in his lap, the other gazing at him with that fond look he always assumes goes unnoticed. a cocoon of safety — a ghost he doesn’t need to chase anymore.

warmth. enough warmth to make up for the snow and frost outside your home, all the experiences he missed out on as a child. warmth, warmth, warmth. funny, how that happens to be satoru’s favorite thing about winter.

he looks at the two of you, hoping you won’t pay any mind to his silence. for once, he hopes you’ll stay wrapped up in your awful, awful coffee, so bitter that just looking at it makes his throat feel dry. just so he can get away with admiring you for a little longer. from the contours of suguru’s face, to the skin of your collarbone, to the rings on your fingers. ones he put there himself.

and ah, satoru thinks, there it is again. again and again, as always, forever. that warm, warm feeling flourishing in the depths of his chest.

he hopes it never goes away.

#genuinely fucked up that suguru geto isnt in my kitchen rn </3 #i just think sugu is such a caretaker. makes u breakfast and peels ur satsumas w/o u even asking. bc it makes him happy :’3 hes so Mother #i think he lowkey gets just a little bit uncomfortable when u or gojo try to do the same for him… he likes doting on u #but obv he deserves to be pampered too!! just gotta ease him into it #and i think gojo has a hole in his heart where love should be. bc he wasnt given enough as a child #im not sure what to think when it comes to his parents (since we know literally nothing abt them) but...#the idea of him finding some comfort in the memory of his mom…. maybe not realizing that he misses her…..… i think its very sad. and good.#listened to ricky montgomery while writing this i think it mightve healed me #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo x reader #geto x reader #geto x reader x gojo #gojo fluff #geto fluff #satosugu x reader #satosugu x you #satosugu x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #……… thats… a lot of tags.

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seungkw1 · 3 months

Text

mine — jww

♡ pairing: boyfriend!wonwoo x afab!reader ♡ theme: fluff, smut [18+ mdni], non-idol au ♡ wc: 2.6k ♡ warnings: swearing, size kink, oral (f. receiving), fingering (f. receiving), unprotected piv sex (stay safe y’all), creampie, dacryphilia, petnames (m. & f. receiving - babe, baby), reader is gender neutral but referred to as girlfriend once, gr8 aftercare ofc ♡ a/n: this is a part two to so fucking pretty but you don’t have to read that one first :)

‧₊˚✩彡 moodboard by @myhimbomingi ‧₊˚✩彡

You wouldn’t consider yourself a very romantic person, but your boyfriend’s Valentine’s Day surprise might just change your mind about that.

You’ve never given a single shit about Valentine’s Day. It’s not so much that you hate it or anything, but rather indifference - you simply couldn’t care less. Just another capitalistic holiday for companies to profit off of, right? Plus, red and pink is simply a godawful color combination. So yeah, you’ve never given a shit.

That is - until you met Wonwoo.

You’ve dated here and there over the years, but nothing ever too serious - all of your partners either turned out to be lousy or the relationships were just bland. So, all of them ended, and you were never too upset about it.

But with Wonwoo, everything is different. You’ve only been dating for three months, but your relationship is the complete opposite of lousy or bland. Wonwoo is warm and loving - squeezing you in his arms and giving you kisses every chance he gets. He is caring and kind - listening to you talk no matter whether you needed to vent or just wanted to infodump about your interests. He is sweet and gentle - leaving you cute notes and surprising you with little gifts just because.

He is also incredibly fucking hot, and an absolute god in the bedroom.

You fucked him on the first date, which is very unlike you, but your chemistry was undeniable and it just happened naturally. That was the best sex you’ve ever had in your life - and every time since then has also been the best sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’d be an absolute fool not to stick around.

And so, Wonwoo became your boyfriend. You’ve always found that term to be a bit juvenile, so historically you’ve just referred to your significant other as your partner. But every time you think about Wonwoo you feel the urge to giggle and kick your feet in the air, so the term boyfriend simply feels right. You’re practically head over heels for the man.

“Ooooo you’re so in love with him,” your best friend teased as you were gushing about your boyfriend for the nth time.

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes as you replied. Maybe you’re a bit jaded from your mediocre past relationships, but the phrase in love is not one you throw around lightly.

But deep down, you know it’s true. You’re in love with Wonwoo.

But you’re not ready to admit that to anybody. So you keep it to yourself. You’ll cross that bridge when you get there.

That day arrives much sooner than you anticipate.

—

February rolls around. It’s the dead of winter, arguably the most boring time of year. Your mind is preoccupied with the job interview you have coming up, and you’ve been a bit stressed about it. Wonwoo has been nothing but supportive and helpful - giving you advice, offering to help you practice, cleaning your apartment for you of his own free will - and you are more than grateful to have him around.

One particularly cold Saturday morning, you wake up to a text from Wonwoo.

Good morning beautiful! Text me when you’re awake 😊

You smile sleepily as you reply.

Good morning babe 💖 I’m awake!

The chat bubble pops up as he begins to reply immediately.

Great! Can you be ready by 11am? I have a surprise for you 😁

A surprise?

Y/N: Oooh, what kind of surprise? WW: It’s a secret 😉 Y/N: Hmm 🤔 Okay... What should I wear though? WW: Wear whatever you want, you look cute in everything! Y/N: Hehe okayyyy WW: Perfect, I’ll pick you up at 11! See you soon 😊

You hop out of bed and start to get ready, practically dancing around your apartment. You open your closet and stare at your clothes, trying to decide what to wear - which proves to be hard when you don’t know where you’re going. You end up grabbing the cozy light blue sweater Wonwoo complimented you on when you wore it a couple weeks ago, and a cute pair of jeans to match. You’re putting on your heeled boots when you hear the knockknockknock of somebody at the door. You open the door to see your boyfriend, looking incredibly handsome in his dark coat and black-rimmed glasses. He extends to you a bouquet of a dozen red roses.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says with a soft smile.

As you take the bouquet Wonwoo pulls you in for a kiss, wrapping his arms around your waist. As your lips part you look at him, an inquisitive look on your face.

“But it’s not Valentine’s Day yet,” you tell him.

“I know,” he replies as he gives you a little kiss on your nose. “But I couldn’t wait.”

You feel a huge smile color your face.

“So, where are we going?”

—

The waitress sets a massive plate of the fanciest waffles you’ve ever seen in front of you. You start to salivate at the sight of the fresh berries and cream heaping on top.

A few weeks ago you had casually mentioned the bougie brunch place you’ve always wanted to try, but it was expensive and the wait was always way too long. Turns out Wonwoo immediately called and made a reservation for you two.

You go to dig into your waffles when you notice your boyfriend holding his phone up, taking photos of you.

“Hey! Stop that,” you say as you playfully try to grab his phone.

“What?” he asks innocently. “You just look so pretty.”

He looks at you adoringly. You pout, feigning annoyance, and he snaps another picture - making you laugh. There’s no way you can be mad at him, he’s simply too sweet.

After the decadent meal Wonwoo walks you back to his car, holding your hand, and insists upon opening the car door for you - even helping you take off your coat. It’s silly, but it still makes you feel warm and fuzzy.

Wonwoo starts driving, but in the opposite direction of your home.

“Where are we going now?” you inquire.

“Remember how you said you’ve never been ice skating?”

“Oh god,” you groan. “Can’t wait to make a complete fool of myself.”

“You won’t,” he insists. “You can hold onto me.”

“But you’ve never been ice skating either,” you point out. “How do you know you’re not gonna fall too?”

Wonwoo smiles. “Then we’ll fall together.”

You scoff playfully, but a grin also appears on your face.

Ice skating ends up being a disaster. Neither one of you can stop falling (it doesn’t help that you refuse to stop holding hands, so when one of you falls both of you go down), but you also can’t stop laughing - to the point where your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. You haven’t had fun like this in ages.

You look over at your boyfriend. He is extraordinarily cute right now, his cheeks rosy from the cold air. Wonwoo catches you looking at him and leans over to plant a kiss on your cheek - he then immediately runs into the wall. You let out a giggle - he looks back at you sheepishly.

“Maybe you should pay attention to where you’re going,” you tease as you nudge him with your elbow.

“Hard to do so when my beautiful girlfriend is right next to me, distracting me.” His tone mirrors your playfulness, but the way he’s looking at you - you can tell he means it.

You roll your eyes, but a huge smile lights up your face as you wrap your arm around his, squeezing him tightly.

On the drive back Wonwoo suggests you go to his place, to which you happily agree. Before you enter, he tells you to close your eyes.

“No peeking!” he insists.

“I won’t!” you swear, placing your hands over your eyes.

You walk through the front door and wait in the entryway, resisting peeking as promised. You hear Wonwoo fiddling with things for a minute, and then you hear the opening notes of your favorite album - the sound emanating from his record player.

“Okay, you can look now,” he tells you as he once again is standing right next to you. You remove your hands, opening your eyes to the sight of Wonwoo’s dim apartment - illuminated only by the dozen of freshly-lit candles placed around the living room. In his hands are the biggest box of chocolates you’ve ever seen, and a cute fuzzy teddy bear that’s holding a heart with Be mine embroidered on it.

“Oh my god, you really went all out,” you remark, smiling from ear to ear as your heart practically flutters in your chest.

“Only the best for you, babe.”

He sets down the chocolates and the bear, stopping to help you out of your coat before drawing you into his embrace, kissing you softly and slowly. He then takes your hands in his, pulling you toward the hallway.

“There’s one more surprise,” he tells you.

Before you can ask him what more he could possibly surprise you with, you see the trail of rose petals down the hallway, leading into his bedroom.

“You did NOT,” you exclaim as you laugh, truly bewildered at the sight of it.

You follow the trail as he pulls you into his room, where even more petals lay on the bed, perfectly forming the shape of a heart.

“It’s so beautiful I almost don’t want to ruin it,” you proclaim.

Wonwoo raises his eyebrow at you.

“Hey, I said almost.”

Without a word he smiles, pulling you in so he can grab the hem of your sweater, gently pulling it over your head to reveal the lacy bra you had chosen to wear today.

“So pretty,” he remarks as he runs his hands over your breasts, before reaching around your back to undo the clasp. “But even prettier without.”

He tosses the bra aside, taking your tits in his hands. You begin to undo his shirt buttons, revealing his incredibly toned body that still turns you on so much every time you see it. His shirt gone, you move to his belt. You unbuckle it and pull it off, throwing it to the floor as you take the bulge in his pants in your palm. He lets out a soft groan as you caress him, his erection quickly growing. You go to unfasten his pants, the taut fabric giving way as you undo the zipper, his cock now bulging through his underwear, begging to escape.

Wonwoo suddenly grabs you by the hips, twirling you around and pushing you onto the bed.

“Get comfy, babe.”

As you recline into the soft pillows, he removes his pants and then begins to take off yours, pulling them off of you in one go. He gently pushes your inner thighs open and situates himself right in between your legs, the only barrier between his face and your cunt being the thin lacy underwear that do nothing to hide how wet you are right now. He softly kisses your clit a few times, then licks a stripe over the sheer fabric. You run your hand through his hair as he starts kissing your clit again, this time more intensely. You begin to squirm slightly against his face - silently begging for more. Wonwoo gazes up at you, giving you a little smirk as his lips hover right above you - so close that you feel breath against your core.

“Stop teasing meeee,” you whine.

You feel his finger slide under the fabric, pulling it aside to reveal your soaked center. You feel the sharpness of the cool air hitting you, followed by the warmth of Wonwoo’s mouth against your cunt. You mewl softly as his tongue traces against your folds, lapping up your juices but only making you wetter in the process. You continue to stroke his hair as he goes down on you, enjoying the view. You love the way his nose brushes against your clit as he alternates between sucking on the bud and fucking you with his tongue.

Eventually you feel his fingers delicately graze your entrance - he inserts only one finger at first, but it still feels so good.

“More,” you beg. “Please.”

Wonwoo slides a second finger into your cunt. He knows how to curve them perfectly, hitting you in just the right spot to drive you insane. He fucks you as he continues licking your clit - you become a moaning mess as your orgasm draws closer and closer. Your hips begin to buck involuntarily, grinding your cunt against his face - overwhelmed with pleasure. Wonwoo wraps his arms around your thighs, holding you down against the bed as he devours you.

“Fuck, baby - I’m cumming,” you cry out. Your legs shake as the incredible sensation takes over your entire body, the white-hot flashes of pleasure flowing through you as your pussy throbs against your boyfriend’s tongue.

As you come down, Wonwoo gives you soft little kitten licks. You sink into the pillows, your whole body relaxed in bliss. He kisses your stomach before crawling up, his body weight laying against you cozily as he presses his nose against yours. He kisses you, his lips and chin covered in your juices. You begin to make out, his tongue moving against yours, his bulge pressing against your core. You reach down, slipping your hand through the band of his underwear, and pull his cock out. You’ve fucked your boyfriend countless times by now, but every time you’re still in awe of his size. You wrap your hand around his thickness and stroke him a few times, causing precum to leak out. You guide his tip to your entrance - you moan as it easily slips in, his size stretching you out so perfectly. He slides his entire length into you, letting out a groan as he bottoms out.

“Your pussy’s so perfect for me, babe,” he says in a low voice. He begins to fuck you, slowly pushing his cock in and out, letting your walls adjust to his size.

“So good baby, fuck,” he says, practically growling. “Your pussy’s all mine.”

You moan as he picks up speed, thrusting his huge cock into you further and further. His lips meet yours again - your mouths and tongues dancing against each other as he fucks you, more passionately than ever before.

“All mine, you’re all mine.”

“Oh my god,” you cry, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

“I’m close baby - wanna cum in you,” he groans.

“Please,” you beg.

Wonwoo’s rhythm picks up speed - tears are fully running down your face as you let out cries of pleasure. You feel his cock pulsate against your walls as he releases, groaning as he thrusts into you, filling you up with his cum.

As he comes down from his high, his warm body melts into yours - he’s squishing you, but you’ve never been more comfortable. His cock still inside you, he plays with your hair as he kisses you slowly.

You lay there together for a while. Eventually, Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you, giving you a kiss on the cheek before he gets up to grab a warm towel. After he cleans you up he plops back into bed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you in, squeezing you so tightly it makes you giggle.

You draw your head back just enough so you can look your boyfriend in the eyes. He’s so hot, so cute, gazing at you so lovingly - you truly don’t think you’ve ever been happier than you are in this moment.

“I love you,” you tell him - for the first time.

You didn’t plan on saying it, it just came out naturally. Because it’s true - you love him, more than you’ve ever loved anyone.

Wonwoo smiles, caressing you softly as he holds you warmly against him.

“I love you too.”

[end]

#ren's fics ੈ♡₊˚•.#jeon wonwoo #wonwoo smut #wonwoo fics #wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo imagines #svt fics #svt smut #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen smut #seventeen fics #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #wonwoo x reader #svt x reader #seventeen x reader

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tteokdoroki · 6 months

Text

☆༉ — SATORU GOJO. a love so cold.

about. as the seasons start to change, satoru gojo figures out a new way to keep you warm on colder mornings.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact. smut, somnophilia, soft morning sex, oral sex (f!receiving), brief mention of gojo and reader being married, lovey lovey lovey dovey dovey dovey stuff !! fem!reader.

gojo waking you up on a cold morning by diving between your thighs.

sure the duvet is long abandoned and your (his) shirt is pushed up to expose your pebbled nipples to the frosty air — but it’s the heat of his tongue salaciously rolling through your puffy folds that keep you nice and warm.

satoru breathes hot air against your pulsing mount, his lips encircling your clit as he sucks it, kisses it and makes out with it as if he’s making out with you. every time he moans into your heat, he draws a shrill sound from deep in your chest that pierces the solace of autumn’s silence. your whines echo along with the sway of rustling tree leaves and gojo’s hungry growls provide the bass of your seasonal tune.

he’s a sight for sore eyes between your shaky thighs that knock the blankets from your king sized bed. his blue eyes blaze bright enough to rival the subtle hue of the morning sky breaking through the curtains of night. it’s always darker this time of year. and his pale white locks, astray and askew, remind you that it might snow once winter comes.

“sa..satoru!” you exclaim though your voice is hoarse from not having been used in hours. the last thing you’d said was that you loved him — you think that you might love him even more right now. mouth on your sluice and syrupy slit, sucking the very juices from their place between your pussy lips. your fingers dance down to grip the roots of his hair, settled against his scalp like snow on sturdy ground. you don’t tug yet, only using his head to ground yourself. “sa…satoru—oh!”

your lips move to form the syllables of his name — though they’re lost on you when the ecstasy he builds up within you, by tacking his tongue to your clit in tight circles, starts a fire in your lower pelvis. that very same fire burns it’s way through your body like a forest fire, effectively warming you up from the inside out. it keeps going, consuming your every nerve ending until it reaches the base of your lungs and all you can breathe is the smoke of satoru gojo.

“good morning to you too, sweetheart,” satoru sings into your cunt in amusement. his voice holds the tenderness of an early morning greeting before he delves back into tasting you — slurping and sucking up and down the length of your slit before slipping his tongue into your quivering hole. his chin juts forward rhythmically, as if to fuck you with the pink appendage like it’s his cock.

he watches your face with adoration as it twists and scrunches and morphs into pure bliss. he loves that about you, how expressive you are — how your body follows his lead even if it’s too cold for you to stop shaking. he’ll warm you up. he always does.

“you don’t have to say it back, i know, baby. you’re just too tired, too close to even speak—“ gojo doesn’t get a chance to finish, not before your fingers twist in his roots as his tongue twists and wiggles against your sloppy, ribbed wall. it travels along your pleasure spots — the ones only he knows about, and maps out even more for next time. but any praise or condescension he has saved for you is lost and muffled against your sex as you rut your hips down on his handsome face.

“‘m close… gonna… haf’ta—!”

finally finding your voice despite the smoke-like aphrodisiac in your lungs — you succumb to the heat. the hotness of satoru’s mouth on you, his fingers sinking into your hips to keep you on his face, the lust that prickles just below the surface of your skin. you cum just as the winter birds break the silence with their own morning calls, as the sun breaks through grey-ish and intimidating clouds. you gush all over satoru, your lover and protector, with a high pitch and whistle tone wail — head thrown back into the pillows and your lips parted ever so slightly.

his white brows knit together in the centre of his forehead, mocking your dazed and needy expression. however, it’s clear he’s just as love and sex and pussy drunk on you as you might be on him. satoru results to gulping down the stormy waves of your orgasm with unbridled greed. as of what you offer him is the finest of wines or the last thing he’ll ever drink.

those pretty blue eyes are overcome with a haze as he drinks you down, dazed and content to just have a taste of you. satoru’s tongue makes its laps through your folds to make sure he doesn’t waist a drop — wolffish grunts and groans and sounds like ‘mph’ or ‘mhm’ reverberate between your thighs until he’s done cleaning you up. only adding to your shakes and shivers.

not from the cold, but from how hard you’ve cum.

“you… mph, taste so— fucking good, baby.” he huffs, breathless from nearly suffocating himself to get a taste of you. gojo dares to dive back in, but you tug on his hair once more and force him to look up into your pleading eyes.

“‘toru,” you whisper, lashes fluttering innocently, voice still shaky and hoarse. “good morning.”

you need him, up there with you.

his face breaks out into a slow and sexy smile — kissing up your body, over your naval and between the valley of your breasts, against your neck and chin until he reaches your lips. he kisses you gently then and his entire body sits between your thighs.

“good morning, beautiful.” he sighs, content. he cups your face gently to keep you looking at him, his wedding band glistening more than what you’ve left on his chin.

you hum, feeling his body heat simmer over you along with what’s left of the arousal in your system while it simmers down. “you’re insatiable, you know that?”

“but you love me.”

“i suppose so.”

“ouch, sweetheart. so cold.” gojo pouts, faux hurt laced with his teasing voice.

and in that moment, you wrap your legs around his unfairly slender waist and flip the man so that you end up on top — straddling the great satoru gojo and planting your hands on his the centre of his blistering hot chest.

there’s a glint in your eye, the flicker of a lustful flame that only serves to set satoru’s heart alight while you press your sticky sex down on him.

“then let me do the honours of warming you back up, my love.”

#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #angelshubnetwork #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki

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sunsetsimon · 7 months

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farmer simon riley ♡

simon 'ghost' riley x reader

this is very self indulgent sorry not sorry! pt 2. boyfriend simon nsfw will be out tomorrow!

─────── ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ───────

☼ he wakes up at the crack of dawn every morning, kissing your forehead before he starts his routine. rinsing his face, shaving if he needs to, brushing his teeth, the usual. simon doesn’t listen to much music when he’s alone, but the silence grounds him, a reminder that this is his life now. he does a lot of reflecting, sitting on the porch and drifting off in his mind.

☼ as the sun comes up he gets to work, feeding the animals one by one. he talks to them and names them. he acts annoyed when the ducks follow him, quacking at him for him to hurry up and give them their feed. “god dammit, fucking ducks back up!” he grunts, kicking his leg out to keep them back as he fills the bucket.

he makes his round to each animal, giving them a pat and checking that they have everything they need before leaving. by the time he makes his way back to the house, he can tell you're up. the curtains are drawn and the front door is propped open, letting in the fresh morning air. he knows he'll find you in the back garden with a wicker basket on your arm, trying to decide what to make for breakfast.

"how about omelettes this morning, love? somethin' simple, wanna spend some time with you," he says, pulling your back against him, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt and caressing your skin.

☼ always drives you into town when you want to go. he’s like your personal body guard, so unless you tell him otherwise, he expects to be next to you the entire time. spoils you so much too, letting you buy whatever you want without a fuss, he has the money for it.

☼ he buys whole cow from one of his cattle friends and learns to cook different recipes with the meat. simon definitely becomes one of those ‘griller guys’ who finds any excuse to grill or smoke meat. he has a lot of fun with it, trying out new recipes and techniques to see which produces the best results. he loves cooking together with you, thinks you look so cute in your “kiss the chef” apron he got you.

☼ having the boys or your friends over for meals. ghost is anything but a socialite, but he does have the boys over a few times a year for a small cookout. you get so excited every time, ready to hear all the stories soap and gaz talk about, even though they definitely shouldn’t be sharing the information. they try to keep it lighthearted, making positive memories with each other outside of work is rare. he never says it, but simon has a good time whenever they come.

☼ indulges in a lot of hobbies. shooting, wood working, gardening and more. he has to do something to occupy his time now. there’s a small building on your property that he renovated into his work room. tools cover the walls, and his projects sit on the tables until he finishes them. he spends the nights he can’t sleep in there, distracting himself with work so that he doesn’t think about the things that haunt him. you wake up to an empty bed in the middle of the night and look out the window, seeing the lights on in the distant building. sighing, you roll out of bed and put on your fuzzy robe that he got you for winter.

you open the large door, revealing simon sitting at one of his tables, his gun taken apart and splayed across it. “si, it’s 2 in the morning, come to bed,” you say, walking over and softly petting the hair on the back of his neck.

“i will soon, just gotta finish this.” you frown at him, giving him a knowing look that he doesn’t actually plan on being done soon. unmoving from your spot, he sighs and wipes off his hands, throwing the towel down. “okay, ‘m coming.” his hand reaches under the table, grabbing a 2nd gun and tucking it into the holster in his pants.

you roll your eyes, “my god.. do you just have those everywhere?”

“yes.”

☼ homegrown flower bouquets during the spring and summer, simon makes it a point to make you a fresh one every week. he cuts the stems and puts it in a vase for you, leaving it on the kitchen counter for you to see when you come down. he does everything he can to make you feel special because you’re the light of his life. sometimes he builds you things too! making mental notes whenever you talk about wanting something, he spends night after night in his workroom to make it perfect for you.

☼ loves sitting on your porch and watching the sun set with you. after dinner, he’ll pull you out onto the porch, sitting next to you with a glass of whiskey. simon doesn’t say anything, just staring off and enjoying your presence. you can feel his eyes on you occasionally, watching as the sun casts it’s oranges, pinks, and reds across your face. you look so beautiful and peaceful here.

☼ never expected this to be his life but he’s happy with the way it is. he can never get too bored though, always needing to do something. the winters can be tough on him mentally as there’s less to do in the cold, so he picks up reading and is constantly finishing projects around the house. he just wants you to be safe and by his side, forever.

#ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x reader #.wbm

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coco-loco-nut · 3 days

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Fortnight

pairing: Lando Norris x Reader

summary: you were never cut out to be a WAG

a/n: guys i really like this one so i hope you love it too 🤍

masterlist ttpd masterlist

_______

“Oh my god, we need to get you help,” your best friend, Logan, gasps, walking in on you, three beers deep. You are sitting on the floor of your bedroom, Lando’s too when he’s actually home, the curtains closed, dirty clothes scattered on the floor. What he doesn’t know is that this is your normal.

“I’m fine,” you don’t even slur. Your phone is discarded to the side, beside the latest apology flowers given -shipped- to you by your supposedly loving boyfriend. You haven’t picked up his last couple calls, so he sent your friend to check in.

“Come on, get up and shower while I clean all this, and you call Lando after,” Logan sighs, pulling you off the floor as you finish the beer.

You begrudgingly walk to the bathroom, your friend setting out a fresh change of clothes. “Just, don’t tell Lando. He’s stressed enough,” you tell him, closing the door once you get a confirmation.

Twenty minutes later, you are sitting on the edge of the sink, phone ringing.

“Babe, are you okay, you haven’t been answering?” Lando asks, his worried voice makes a pit in your stomach.

“Lan, I’ve just been a little busy, that’s all. Sorry for worrying you. Are you okay?” despite him being the reason the reason for your recent state, you don’t want him to be hurt.

You miss breaks, when he would be with you all the time, now it seems like you only see each other in passing, like good neighbors who make that corny comment about the weather.

Lando finds you in a similar position as your friend did, except this time you are crying on the floor, not drunk. He got a couple free days off and is eager to spend them with you.

“Darling, what happened?” he kneels down beside you, his voice making you cry harder. “Baby,” his voice and heart breaks as you look up at him, mascara running down your cheeks.

“I-,” you gas for air. “I love you, Lando. It’s ruining my life,” each sob breaks his heart.

“No, no. Don’t say that,” he pleads, wiping the tears from your eyes.

“Do you know the longest amount of time we’ve spent together? 14 days, a fortnight. I can’t keep doing this. The apology gifts for missed moments, the quick phone calls that are hardly passable for time spent together,” you pause to catch your breath, the tears still flowing. “I can’t do this, Lando. I miss home, I miss America,” your eyes meet his, both of you broken.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize you were struggling this much,” he whispers, sitting down and pulling you into him.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you look away, the feeling of him foreign.

“I’m off the next couple days, let’s work on us,”

“Lando-,”

“And I’ll bring you to more races even though I know you find it hard to get off of work,”

“Lando-,”

“Please don’t say it,” he whispers, kissing you. Another foreign feeling.

“I’m moving back to America, tomorrow,” you tell him, feeling like you’ve hit absolute rock bottom. Lando looks around the bedroom, realizing the only thing of yours left was your packed suitcase in the corner.

“Were you going to tell me?” he asks, your eyes not able to meet his.

“I was going to visit you in Woking tonight,” the silence that falls between you is deafening. You spend the night in separate rooms, and in the morning he insists on driving you to the airport. He gets out of the car, pulling your suitcase out for you.

“Please don’t go,” he asks one last time, the both of you crying.

“I have to, Lando. It’s what’s best for both of us,” you step closer to him.

“Winter break is almost here, please, just a little longer. This isn’t what’s best for me,” Lando says, pulling you into a tight hug.

“I love you, Lan, but you deserve someone who can be with you at each race and support you more than I can,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“You are always enough for me, I love you,” he cries.

“Please, Lan, I have to put myself first,” you grab your luggage handle and take a step back.

“I won’t block your number, if you ever need anything or are in London, call me, I’ll be there at the drop of a hat,” Lando says, his tear stained cheeks glistening in the sun. His offer is a complete change to how your relationship was.

“Goodbye, Lando,” you turn around, walking into the airport. You hand covers your mouth as you sob, refusing to turn back and look at an equally distressed Lando.

You refuse to check social media, only texting your family and Logan when you land in Miami. You knew Logan from karting before you quit, and he became your closest friend. He offered his apartment in Miami to you until you buy your own.

You quickly got a job and moved to Destin, a whole 9 hours away from Miami, 11 from Austin. Florida is treating you a lot nicer, but you feel stuck in an endless February. You took the magic move on pill that is relocating, but it doesn’t seem to be working. You changed your phone number when you got back to the US, and deleted your social media apps. Lando tried calling you and DM-ing you, but never got a reply.

“I will fly you down, please just come and support me. I need you at my home race,” Logan begs, wanting you to take a two week vacation to spend time with him in Miami and Fort Lauderdale. Something deep inside you agreed, so you pack your bags and hit the road, electing to drive.

You arrive the Wednesday before race week, and stay until the Wednesday after race week. It is nice because you can visit your own family too.

“I got you a paddock pass,” Logan says as you both lay on the beach the day you got in.

“Lo, I can’t go back there,” you turn your head to look at him.

“You can stay in Williams, you don’t have to go visit Oscar when I do,” Logan says, referencing the Australian who is also staying with Logan. Oscar promised he wouldn’t tell Lando you were in town.

“You know, I can get you a much nicer car than your Mercedes,” Oscar says, sitting beside you. Logan gets up to grab two waters.

“A McLaren? Not my thing, I hated driving,” you can’t even bring yourself to say his name. “Yeah, but I do love my car, I always wanted it,” you say.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Oscar leans over, bumping you with his shoulder.

“It’s okay, I know you didn’t. It’s still hard. Sometimes I think about calling him, but he won’t pick up. I have a new number and he has a new girl from what Logan said,” you admit.

“He’s miserable, he will never admit it, but he is. He hasn’t been the same since you left, but you seem to be doing a lot better. You have color back in your skin and you aren’t drinking all the time,” Oscar says, knowing what state you were in when Lando called Logan to check in on you. You were a functioning alcoholic, barely functioning at that point.

“Yeah, this was the right decision. Maybe it’s best if I don’t call Lando. Even if he is miserable, it might make things worse. I can’t get back together with him, but I want him to be okay,” you tell Oscar. What you don’t know is that Lando is renting the beach house beside the one you, Logan, and Oscar are staying in for the two weeks. He is jealous about how happy you seem with his teammate and your best friend.

You figure it out when you take a midnight walk, clad in a sweater with your university’s logo on it.

“Lando, hi,” you breathe, taking him in.

“Hey, you look really good. I like the sweater,” he shifts his weight in the sand. You look healthier, happier, and it kills him.

“I, um, changed my phone number and deleted my social media apps,” you say, answering the question he didn’t want to ask.

“I tried dating again, but I broke it off, I couldn’t do it,”

“Sorry, I should’ve thought about how I would hurt you,” you say, looking at your feet in the sand.

“No, you needed to do it. I don’t blame you, I was basically abandoning you,” Lando says, silently inviting you to join him on the walk. It becomes a habit, you join him every night.

“Congrats on the win,” you hug him on night 11. It was a silent agreement that you would go your separate ways again after the two weeks.

“Where are you living now?” Lando asks on night 14, both of you sitting in the sand between the two houses.

“Destin, Florida. I bought an apartment that used to be a timeshare,” you say, watching the waves.

“That’s pretty close, right?”

“Nine hours, Lan. other side of the state,” you smile, trying not to laugh. Lando’s heart flutters at the way you say his nickname, but squashes it.

“Oh, well I’m glad you were able to come down and support Logan,” he says, yawning a little.

“Alright, I have to wake up early to drive home,” you stand up, brushing the sand off of your legs.

“Drive safe,” Lando hugs you, finally feeling healed.

“Goodbye, Lan,” you whisper.

“Goodbye,” he whispers back, capturing the look of you in his mind.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris imagines #logan sargeant #oscar piastri

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xxchumanixx · 11 days

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Uno pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: You're teaching Bucky how to play Uno, but it takes a different turn than expected.

Warnings/Tags: fluff, Bucky being sweet and caring, make out session

Word count: tba

Authors note: Hello my loves! The idea for this came when I looked at my brand new The Mandalorian Uno, as I was watching Falcon and The Winter Soldier for the second time in two days (whupsi).

I'm definitely going to make a part two, we can't let naked action with Bucky slide, can we?

Enjoy!

It had been a while since you and Bucky started having game nights, playing cards and board games, whilst casually chatting.

Since working with Sam, Bucky was more relaxed, spending more time with you, after he started to work on himself.

You couldn't deny that your weekly game night was the highlight of your week, his presence enough to soothe everything that occurred over the days in between.

Of course, your ever growing feelings for him had a say in the matter, too.

"Let's play Uno!" you suggested, holding up the red box in your hand for him to see, when you returned from the drawer that held all the games you owned.

He cocked a brow, the bottle in his hand stopping mid-air, before he sat it back down.

"What's Uno?" he wanted to know, brows furrowing. "It's a card game." you replied, sitting back down in the chair to his right, placing the box on the table in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll teach you how to play."

"Never heard of it." he mumbled, fingers tracing over the letters on the front of the box. "Well, it's old, but not as old as you." you told him, smirking.

He scoffed at your words, playfully rolling his eyes. "I'm 106." he retorted, leaning forward with his arms crossed on the table. "And the game is 55." you retorted, cocking a brow at him with a grin on your lips.

"So you're almost twice as old."

He leaned back in the chair again, shaking his head in amusement, as he sipped his beer.

"Don't worry, you don't look like 106, though." you assured him with a wink, the alcohol loosening your tongue and nerves a bit.

He definitely didn't look like 106, more like so smoking hot you're gonna burn yourself.

He chuckled, wiggling his brows once, heart fluttering in your chest.

Taking the cards out of the box you pushed it aside, gathering the cards in your hands to shuffle them.

They were slightly curved and wrinkled from all the previous games played with them.

"First, you shuffle." you told him, starting to shuffle the cards. He huffed, eyes closely watching you, though.

"Never would have guessed."

Rolling your eyes, you tried to concentrate only on the shuffling, some of the cards spilling, though. His intense gaze made your hands tremble, nerves spilling over.

"Let me." he spoke up, carefully taking the cards from your hands, gathering the spilled ones. Shivers ran down your spine at his touch.

"My hand still hurts, I guess that's why I can't shuffle them as good, you know." you tried to cover it up, hinting at the accident you had when you tried to clean your windows this morning, falling from the small ladder, your hand partly taking the brunt.

It didn't hurt anymore, still you used it as a cover, as it came in handy in that moment.

He simply hummed, starting to shuffle the cards. He didn't want to think about what might have happened, if the ladder had been higher.

It took him a second to get back into it, but when he did, you couldn't help but stare. His hands expertly shuffled the cards, moving so swiftly, you thought he was playing some trick on you.

Though his fingers did a whole another trick on you, goosebumps covering your bare arms.

Swallowing, you tried not to think about what his hands could possibly do, too much.

Clearing your throat, you tore your gaze away.

"Everyone gets seven cards, dealt face down." you continued to explain, waiting for him to deal the cards. "The rest of the cards is placed in a draw pile face down."

He nodded, placing the pile in the middle of the table.

"Then you take the card on top, turn it around and place it beside the pile. This way you know which card to play."

He did what he was told, frowning at the sign on the card.

"Oh." you made, huffing. "Well, this card means that the next player has to skip their turn. Which means that, seeing as I'd be the one to start, I have to skip and you begin."

You gathered the cards he had dealt in your hands, trying not to show any signs of what cards you had on your face.

"I recommend to sort them, so you'll find matching ones more easily." you told him, doing exactly that. "You have four colors: red, blue, yellow and green. They all go from one to nine. When, for example, a yellow eight is on top of the discard pile, you can either play a yellow card with any number, or an eight of any color."

He hummed, sorting his cards as well, frowning at ones he couldn't place yet, showing you that he had at least one action card.

"There are action cards, too." you continued, arms resting on the table, as you looked at him again. "There's the skip card, a reverse card with two arrows, indicating that you switch from clockwise to counterclockwise or vice versa, a draw two card in any color, which means you have to draw two cards if you can't stack it with one of your own draw two card, a wild card that can be placed on any other number card, and let's you pick a color, and the wild draw four, which is the same, but the person following has to draw four in addition."

He sighed, overwhelmed.

You sent him a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of it, old man."

He sent you a pointed look, causing your smile to grow wider. He soon cracked a small smile of his own, though, not able to resist you, with a shake of his head.

Motioning for him to begin, you took a sip of your beer.

He thought for a moment, before he placed a blue one on top of the blue skip card. Humming, you placed a blue seven.

He frowned, sifting through his cards, coming up empty. "I guess I'll have to draw one when I can't play?" he spoke, eyes meeting yours in question.

You nodded, watching as he drew a card.

"Can't." he said, lips pursed. "Then it's my turn again." you returned, playing a red seven. "If you draw one but still can't play, your turn's over. There's a rule that says to draw until you can, but no one really uses that rule."

He nodded, scratching his chin, before playing a red draw two card.

Huffing, you shook your head, drawing two cards. He smirked your way, his dimples deepening.

"Your turn." you told him, after sorting your cards. "Don't you play after drawing the cards?" he asked, confused. Shaking your head, you denied with a smile. "No, the original rules say you don't. Even though most of the time we bend the rules a bit."

He chuckled, placing a red eight.

The game went on for a bit, him having to draw four, taking revenge with a duel of draw two cards, you ending up with six new cards on your hands.

"Oh, I forgot to mention that you have to say Uno! before you play your second to last card." you told him, just as he was about to play said card.

He frowned, but did as he was told, saying Uno!, before he played it.

You didn't have anything to let him draw cards, so when you played a green nine, he topped it with a red one.

Eyes wide, he cheered, grinning at you like a little boy who just received the greatest gift for Christmas.

Chuckling, you collected the cards, sorting them for him to shuffle again.

The game went on for a few rounds, him winning and losing, eager for more.

"I have a suggestion." you spoke up, watching as he shuffled the cards for the fifth time. He hummed, waiting for you to continue. "What about a drinking game?"

He cocked a brow, dealing the cards. "How does it work?"

Clearing your throat, you held up a finger, before getting up to gather two more beers.

When you returned, he had his cards already sorted, patiently waiting for you.

"So, when you are skipped, you have to drink one. When you have to draw cards, you drink the amount of cards you have to draw." you explained, handing him one of the bottles. "Means, if I have to draw four, I drink four as well."

He nodded, opening his bottle and handing it back to you, exchanging it for your unopened one, before he opened it as well.

The thoughtfulness of his actions had you smile to yourself, chest warming.

He was always somehow looking out for you, no matter how small the gesture.

It was one of the aspects that had you falling for him so hard.

You started the round, drinking and laughing.

When he played a draw two card mid-game, you topped it with one of your own, not expecting him to have another one on hand - and especially not to have a third, when you countered it, too.

Mouth agape, you stared at the pile in disbelieve, before your eyes went to his. He sent you a wink, smirking as he slightly leaned forward.

"Drink up, doll."

Swallowing, you did as you were told, drinking ten. Sighing, you drew ten cards afterwards, shaking your head in amusement.

His blue eyes were sparkling, sending shivers down your spine.

As the game continued on, he specified that the loser had to empty his bottle, no matter how much was left inside.

He was the first to do so.

An hour later you were into your sixth bottle, feeling good. The air was getting hotter, though it could have just been Bucky's presence.

Shouting in triumph, you played your last card, winning the current round. He shook his head with a grin, placing down his cards.

Only then did you notice how close he'd gotten during the rounds, legs brushing under the table.

"Drink!" you demanded breathlessly, grinning up at him. His eyes twinkled mischievously, head slightly tilted.

"What if I do this instead?" he asked, voice lowered to almost a whisper, as he leaned closer, breath fanning over your face. Your heart pounded violently in your chest, hands trembling, as your eyes flitted to his lips, when everything suddenly seemed to happen in slow-motion.

His nose brushed yours, as your eyes fluttered closed, before his lips met yours.

They were so soft, not rough.

Soft and sweet.

Your chair scraped over the floor, as he pulled it more towards him, so the table wasn't in the way anymore, your hands finding their way into his hair, tugging him closer.

His hands found your waist, pulling, until you were seated on his lap.

His tongue brushed over your lower lip and you let it in, sighing softly at the sensation. His flesh hand brushed over your back, slipping under your shirt.

Sparks elicited on your skin, wherever his fingers reached.

When you parted, you panted for air, eyes locked with his blue ones. His metal fingers came up to your face, brushing away a few strands of hair, before it cupped your cheek.

Swallowing, you moved on his lap the slightest bit, and he groaned, eyes fluttering closed for a second. His erection was straining his jeans, right between your legs.

Smirking, you did it again, only for his flesh hand to find your waist, stopping you.

"If you keep doing that, I won't be able to stop." he warned, breathing shakily, as his eyes met yours again.

"What if I don't want you to stop?" you whispered back.

Something rumbled deep in his chest, as his hand tightened its grip, moving you over his erection again.

You whimpered, mouth agape. His pupils were blown wide, eyes shining with lust and desire.

But there was something else, too: deep affection.

"Then I won't." he promised, lips attaching back to yours in a searing kiss. Licking into your mouth, his tongue fought with yours, his flesh hand descending, until it gripped your ass, pulling you flush against him.

You moaned into the kiss, not able to contain it, and he smirked against your lips.

"We should play Uno more often."

#bucky barnes masterlist #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes #james barnes #james buchanan barnes #imagine #winter soldier x reader #the winter soldier #marvel imagine #marvel

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withleeknow · 1 month

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seasons of you.

pairing: minho x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, tooth-rotting fluff or at least i hope so lmao, not v edited and literally no one is surprised lol i sound like a broken record atp just adding that into every post word count: 0.7k note: inspired by a highly fucked up thing that @matchannie said to me yesterday lmao it has not left my brain since you said it you absolute monster

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

navigation / masterlist / ko-fi

minho falls in love with you four times a year.

minho falls in love with you in the spring, over blooming cherry blossoms and vibrant daffodils that greet you on your weekly sunset walk. over the feeling of your fingers intertwined with his own without soft fluffy gloves getting in the way, now that it's finally warm enough to retire that extra layer of protection for the season. over the sun coming out of hibernation and filling your days with golden light, falling upon your face and casting you in a magical hue. over the remnants of winter that still leave behind a palpable chill in the air early in the morning or late in the night, that has you reaching out for the comfort of his warmth. over your delighted smile when he brings home a bouquet of tulips after a long day at work. over your glassy eyes, reddened nose and flushed cheeks as he takes care of you when the seasonal allergies kick in.

minho falls in love with you in the summer, over picnics in the park where you both lay on blue gingham picnic blankets, your head on his chest, as you watch the clouds overhead drift peacefully. over watermelon gelatos passed between teasing lips, the confectionary melting too quickly for your liking under the blazing sunlight. over spontaneous drives to the beach even though neither of you can swim, but you go just for fun, just to build sand sculptures in the shape of your cat babies and stand on the edge of the water to splash at each other. over long naps on the couch on days where you're too lazy to venture into the outside heat, preferring to stay cuddled up together under the air conditioner with niki playing in the background.

minho falls in love with you in fall, over shared slices of pumpkin pie as you watch the leaves turn yellow and red right outside your window. over the adorable way you hide your face behind your hands on nights where he puts on a horror movie because he insists on honoring the halloween spirit. over your off-key rendition of taylor swift's all too well (the 10-minute version) for most of the season because you adamantly claim that it's autumn's official anthem. over weekends spent attached at the hip, baking sugar cookies for hours on end. over your crestfallen pout as you take note of how the days keep getting shorter and shorter, already missing warm sunny weeks with all your heart.

minho falls in love with you in winter, over matching scarves and beanies, even though he often has to carry them for you because you have a bad habit of forgetting them before you go out. over the first snow of the season because they say that if you witness the first snowfall with the person you love, then you will stay together for a long, long time. over sweet cuddles in bed as a bad christmas movie plays on tv, and you fall asleep on his shoulder about half an hour into the movie despite being the one to select the movie in the first place. over your return from a shopping spree with your girlfriends with nothing for yourself but everything for soondoongdori, from christmas themed clothes to treats and toys.

but then again, maybe it's not entirely accurate to say that minho falls in love you merely four times a year. if he wants to be precise, then he would say that he falls for you anew every morning he wakes up and sees you asleep in his arms like a delicate miracle granted by a star he once used to wish upon. if he wants to get technical, then he falls in love with you with every smile that you send his way, which is a terribly sappy thing for him to admit but it doesn't make the statement any less true.

minho loves you every day of every week, of every month, of every year. he's loved you before he even met you, when you were just a romanticized idea in his head and hadn't yet walked into his life like the angel he was always meant to find. he loves you every minute of every hour; there isn't a second where you're not on his mind, not a single beat of his heart that doesn't spell out your name. he loves you throughout the seasons and a million times in between.

permanent taglist: @onlyycb97wife @starsandrqindrops @borahae-reads @abbiestearsricochet @cutiespaghetti @anthropologykpopmultistan @moonlinos @mjnhoz @caitlyn98s @piercidh34rts @stayceebs97 @linocz @yaorzu-blog @biribarabiribbaem @kayleefriedchicken @extrhotjne @caitxx1 @palindrome969 @todorokiskitten @azuna-sz @meanergreener @nxzz-skz @jazziwritesthings @poutypoutybin @bookyeom @jisuperboard @wyzminho @amarecerasus @channection @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @judeduartewannabe @chanshyunjin @firelordtsuki @astronomicallyyy @alm334 @lashaemorow

#stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #skz x you #lee know fluff #lee know scenarios #lee know x reader #lee know imagines #lee know x you #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #stray kids #lee know #lee minho

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 29 days

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Winter's King 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: this one came out of no where.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

It’s uncharacteristically grim on the plains of Debray. Rains pelt the tall green grasses, flattening them in a slanted downpour that dims the horizon. Clouds blot out the daylight and lend to atmosphere of unease in the warring lands.

Behind the castle walls, one can forget about the bloodshed staining the counties red, though it is all the dukes and his audience can speak of. The lords that bluster through those gates, sometimes at the toll of morning, some in the black swathes of night. You can’t count them all, you can name even fewer, but they come anon and leave just as brusquely.

A peel of thunder shakes the land and a dark line limns the curve of the horizon. What appears first as a storm cloud advances quickly through the fields, appearing more clearly to the naked eye, distant nonetheless. Men. Another party fast on the approach.

The alarm goes up at a man’s holler. Ethred, man at the gate hollers to the other men in mail. Niam peers out from the vantage of the tower and calls back down. A hush falls and bodies scurry all around, metal clinking and boots crunching. There’s something amiss. Something you can’t quite place.

You turn away from the window, the steam rising from the basin in your hand swirling around your head. You carry on down the corridor, wool skirts around cautious steps as you balance the swaying water in the vessel. You approach the lady’s door and give it a rap with your knee. Merinda, another handmaid, opens it from within.

You enter without a word and place the basin on the vanity table. The duke’s daughter preens herself with a painted fan, fluttering her lashes at her reflection as her curls spill down her long back. She tilts her head this way and that. She snaps the fan shut and puts it down, touching her soft brown cheeks with a devilish grin.

“Do you know what father mentioned last eve?” Jazlene asks with a vain flutter of her lashes.

“What did he mention?” Her mother, Lady Rezlyn prompts lazily as she plucks another cherry from a dish heaped in fruit.

“A husband,” the daughter grins coyly at herself, “it is well due, isn’t it, mother? Who do you think it might be? Lord Gai, perhaps? He is young still.”

“Perhaps the Earl of Mesafin,” her mother taunts back to a disgusted gasp.

“Do not,” Jazlene pouts, “I could never... I am much too pretty for that haggard beast.”

“Well, then, who might you have, precious?” Rezlyn goads.

There is a clamour in the hall that keeps the younger of the woman from answering. She rolls her eyes and darkly glare at the door. You peer back behind your shoulder as a wail goes up carrying her father’s name; ‘Lord Dustan!’

“What is all that?” Jazlene whines, “as if it isn’t enough with the rain and the winds. It is summer!”

“It’s always summer in Debray, darling,” Rezlyn scoffs, “otherwise I’d have never married your father. Pray you don’t hook yourself a winter lord.”

You peek over your shoulder as you stand near the door, in your vigil, awaiting your next order. You face the ladies again as the elder continues to feast and the younger fusses over her thick brows. You scrunch your lips back and forth, a habit that often has your jaw aching.

Jazlene turns to narrow her eyes at you, “what is it then? What has you making faces?”

You bow your head, appeasing her ego, “my lady, there were men coming. A party approaching from the north.”

“There are always men,” she shakes her head, “who was it then? Anyone I should wear silk for?”

Her mother laughs, “I warn you, daughter, that trite tongue will not endear any husband.”

“I do not know, lady,” you answer.

“Ugh, useless, must I work as my own handmaid?” Jazlene tisks, “come, pin my hair. Merinda find me a gown. Mother... wipe the dribble from your chin.”

“Eh, watch yourself,” Lady Rezlyn rises and wipes her lips with her sleeve. She wears muslin in a dark shade of burgundy, embroidered with little copper finches. “Or hope you marry above me before you lash that tongue at me.”

Jazlene merely trills with laughter. You take the pins and work at twisting her fine curls into place. Merinda brings to her a dress of teal satin and is promptly shooed away, “something pink. It brings out my bosom.”

You ignore her bawdy jest as her mother harrumphs. You work in quiet tandem with the other handmaid. You add a touch of paint to the lady’s cheeks and kohl around her eyes. You tint her lips with pigment and she pushes out her lips at the mirror. You help Merinda dress her, pulling the noble daughter’s corset tight enough to leave her lightheaded.

The pair of ladies, elder and younger, leave the chamber with you at their skirt tails. They sweep through the corridors with chins up. They are queens in their own minds. Their fine dresses and sparkling gems are untouched by the disparity of war. The lives lost are squares on a game board, tawdry talk for men in their studies.

“Lord Dustan,” Lady Rezlyn mimics the earlier call for the lord of the castle, “my husband. Dear, dear husband!”

The women go to the banister and look down upon the great hall as the flurry continues below. You and Merinda loom behind, not daring to stand at a level with the pompous nobles. You have never volunteered yourself for their impetuous lashings.

“Woman!” Dustan booms back up, “do not trouble me now.”

“Oh, has another lord come? Perhaps a suitor for our lovely daughter--”

“Cease!” The duke demands hotly, “now is not the time for womanly games.”

“Tell me it true, husband, she will be an old maid before you find a suiting son-in-law--”

“Go away to your chambers. Now. The men who come are not to be trifled with and you lot do trifle overly much!”

“Bah! Oh do not be so uncouth!” Rezlyn decries.

“Father, please, is it a husband?”

“Go before I send my guards up to put you away like thieves in a dungeon. Hear me when I warn you that this does not concern you. Not as yet,” Dustan snarls, “you would spoil this war with your puny concerns.”

“Ugh,” his wife puts her hand to her forehead, “he does tax me. All I ask of him is to take care of us, daughter. As any husband should.”

“I should have your lips sewn shut!” Dustan rebukes hotly, “be gone before I find a tailor.”

The women share an aghast look. The turn back to flutter away in their skirts. You and Merinda follow them to the drawing room, closing them in as they fall onto the velvet cushions. Jazlene reclines dramatically on the chaise as her mouth mopes on a sofa.

“Shall I be alone forever, mother?” Jazlene snivels, “why won’t he let me marry?”

“He only wants to find the right man, that is all, darling,” Rezlyn coaxes. “He is overprotective and that is good for it means he will find a husband for you with a similar bearing.”

“Such sweet words cannot convince me. He punishes me. When all my lady friends have wed and borne a whelp or two, I remain with the dust and stone.”

“Do not be theatrical,” Rezlyn girds, “you are silly.”

“I am not silly, mother. I am afraid. I am twenty and three and I have no suitor. I have only a war butchering any man who might have my hand. Why must this go on? Why must I suffer for the gripes of stubborn kings.”

“We cannot fear. This war will be won and you will have a knight for a husband. Isn’t that better? To have a warrior you can be proud of than some bookish lord in his tower?” Rezlyn stands and moves to sit with her daughter, petting her as she cooes, “oh my beautiful, no man can resist you. You will see.”

⚔️

Some hours pass with the restless women, pacing and chattering, about careless things beyond marriage and war. Like needlework and a banquet that should be had upon the truce. Would that the day would come sooner.

You and Merinda stifle yawns that pass between you. The act is contagious as you stand in the tedium of the wealthy and wait for a duty to be called upon you. The hours you spend watching the women preen and swoon make you envy the stable boys and the shit shovelers.

The noise beyond those walls continues. You heard the moat open and the clopping hooves of horses, even the clatter of carts. The voices had since hushed but footfalls carried back and forth. The wordless activity betrays an air of impatience, almost of nervousness. As the ladies within mirror the sentiment.

Finally, as the windows darken and the candles burn brighter, a knock shakes the door. The ladies snap their heads around. Merinda is asleep on her feet as you move first. You open to a man in grey and black waits on the other side. He is not Lord Dustan’s.

“The duchess and her daughter,” he garbles through a mouth that sounds full of salt.

You dip your head and look to the ladies in question. There is a tension, of unease, of unknowing, of excitement turned to dread. This is not as it has been. There is not call to the dinner table. There is no buoyant introduction of a lord Dustan met as a young scamp. There is silence and fear. Has someone died? Has a battle been lost?

The women emerge and greet the man with niceties and tight-lipped simpers. He does not pay them heed as you and Merinda exchange looks. You trail after the ladies but the man stops. He turns back, a hand on the pommel at his waist, and sneers, a furrow in his brow.

“One of ya,” he grits.

Jazlene says your name. She must’ve noticed Merinda swaying on her feet. If she even cares so much about a maid. You keep your head down and follow as they press on. Down the corridor and around the duke’s study, recently deemed his war room. You’ve never been within. It is not the domain of women.

The grey and black soldier thumps on the door. Mother and daughter clasp hands. Even they can sense the unusual frigidity. The door opens from within. It is Lord Dustan. He wears a serious look on his lined face. The ladies are beckoned in and the soldier nudges you after them as you hesitate.

Lanterns light the space from the desk at the rear of the chamber. The large table draped in maps, wooden horses, and little wooden pucks stands central on a thick rug. A figure stands behind it, head down as his burly and broad silhouette seems to sop up the shadows.

The ladies follow the duke to stand across from the man. His head is down as he slides a horse along a road on the map. He stops it and grips it tight. He looks up and the lantern light dances on his features. You suck in a breath, as the rest do, stunned by his appearance.

His hair is white, his eyes are a goldish yellow, pupils deep pools of black, and his square jaw is just as thick as the rest of him. You have never seen a man like him before, but you have heard of one. Of him. King Geralt of Rivia.

You stand in similar confusion to the ladies. Their silent confoundment is broken by Duke Dustan as he nears the table. He sniffs and presses his fingers to the table top.

“Your highness, my wife, Lady Rezlyn, and my daughter, Lady Jazlene,” he introduces.

The women glance at each other then curtsy to the white king. He watches them dully. You fold your hands, taking it in curiously. It is rather something to witness the scene. You are so unimportant as to not be a part of it.

“Your highness,” the recite, “it is...”

“An honour,” Dustan finishes for them, “of course it is. We fondly welcome you and your allyship. We hope that we will be essential in ending this war. In helping you attain the peace you have so valiantly fought for--”

The king raises his hand to silence the lord. You can’t help but quork your head. Allyship? But King Geralt, he is of Rivia, he is of the hinterland, he is the one who invaded the summer country and bid it his own. He is the foe. That is what they told you.

“Enough...” the king speaks in a silty tone that scrapes in his throat. His eyes wander over the women and narrow. You wince as your own meet his golden irises and you shy away, putting your chin to your chest. That’s a mistake. “...words.” He slaps his hand down, “you do not win wars with words.”

“Yes, your highness, you are correct. I know it well. It is why I invited you here. It is the very reason I made my entreaty. You have my men, they will win this war for you.”

The king is hardly impressed by the fact. He looks back to the table and moves the horse further before turning it back. He knocks it over and stands completely straight.

“And the daughter of Debray, your highness. To have a wife of summer’s blood, men will bend the knee. If you show them you do not mean to eradicate but to join with them,” Dustan moves to stand closer to his daughter, “isn’t she a fine queen for a fine kingdom?”

Jazlene swoons and falls against her father. She’s fainted. Rezlyn grabs onto her other shoulder and you peek up at the chaotic scene. You come forward to help, snatching a pillow from the single couch, and you place it under Jazlene’s head as they lay her down on the floor.

A shadow shifts as Dustan and Rezlyn fuss over their daughter, fanning and calling to her. You look up as darkness clusters over you. You see the king staring down at the scene. No, not them. He staring at you. Before he can reprimand you, you put your head down.

You must quit that lest you find yourself at the wrong end of a switch.

#geralt of rivia #dark geralt of rivia #dark!geralt of rivia #geralt of rivia x reader #the witcher #winter's king #au #medieval au #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #series

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undiscovered-horizon · 7 months

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Hello! Just finished Die Happy, and oh my gosh what a wholesome and sad time!! I love the way you portray Sanji and his inner monologue with himself.

Would it be possible to get a continuation where reader ends up making it a habit of sleeping with Sanji now that’s she’s had a taste. They kind of make a nightly routine and no one really questions it because they just like seeing everyone happy. How would Sanji feel realizing that it’s been weeks since you first started sleeping with him? What if reader is trying to tell Sanji they actually really like him but he just thinks reader is to perfect for him so he’s kind of blind to her advances.

Thank you so much and I hope you have fun writing!!!

All ye who yearned (@federalclassroom @sparkyrosewood14 @zzbloody-animezz @clonaa @number-0-iz) come get y'all juice:

Maelstrom - Sanji x Reader

Part 2 to "Die Happy"

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi

WORDCOUNT: ~ 1.2k

One night turned into two, two turned into a week and a week turned into... well, however long you and Sanji have been sleeping in one bed. He's not keen on keeping track but taking in the moment instead. He doesn't ask why you continue to crawl right back into his bedroom every night. In fact, he doesn't dare make any comment about your new habit out of fear that you might think he's grown tired of it.

Every night he thinks it might be the last, so he forces himself to stay up as long as he can. Although having you sleep soundly against his chest makes his heart rejoice, the new and asinine sleeping schedule he has implemented puts his body into a poor state. Sanji expected someone to say something but he hasn't considered the whole picture and how it looks to the other Straw Hats - he sleeps in one bed with you every night and looks exhausted during the day. It gives... quite a boost to one's imagination. This is why no one so far has made any inquiry about the new sleeping arrangement.

Even if only opportunity made him the person you like to waste your spare time with, Sanji feels as though the universe itself has smiled at him. Some god above him saw his suffering and decided to ease his burden a little. In his mind, this is the most logical explanation.

But that's about to change.

He feels you stir against him. Unknowingly, Sanji freezes, afraid that it's his feathery touches that wake you up from slumber. He holds his fingertips right above your skin, uncertainty hanging in the air.

"You're not sleeping?" you murmur against his chest.

Gently, he sets his hand back on your arm. Your skin is burning his fingers but he welcomes the scorch like frosty cheeks welcome the scarce sunlight in winter months.

"Just thinking about something," he answers with faux disinterest, hoping that you won't inquire further.

To Sanji's horror, you lean away from him and prop your chin up on your head, staring at his face from above. A bright, curious glint shines in your eyes.

"Come on, shoot. What keeps you awake at night?"

Like a deer caught in headlights, he's silently panicking for a moment.

You. All of you. From the way you say "good morning" in a raspy voice to the "goodnight" you separate with a yawn. How I can tell exactly what's on your mind by the expression on your face. The little dances you do when you're having a good day. How adorable your scowl is. The way my chest hurts when I see you frowning.

Sanji gives you a reassuring smile and shakes his head slightly. "Nothing you should worry about, love," he dismissed you. A beautiful liar he is - nothing in his voice indicates the dread that resides inside him.

His heartbeat quickens suddenly when you give him a flash of a smile. In the twilight of a dark night, you look like a faerie, luring a poor, lovesick man to bestow his deepest, darkest secrets upon you.

And Sanji just might.

"Maybe I want to." You shrug your shoulders. With your other hand, you poke his chest playfully. "I'm fine with worrying if it's about you."

Sanji swallows thickly. You're in his bed, snuggled against him and openly admitting you care about him. If he doesn't change the course of the conversation soon, he might act upon his desire, confess feelings he's been unwilling to admit even to himself.

"As much as I appreciate that," he begins nervously, "there's enough in that pretty little head of yours. You just lean on me and I'll do the rest." Sanji forces himself to smile softly at you as he makes a point of leaning through putting his hand on his chest.

You chuckle and bite your lower lip. Sanji's mind tries to slip into his well-known fantasies of kissing you but he manages to keep his thoughts at the present moment.

"Spoken like a true gentleman." Hinging on your forearm, you lean closer to his face. "Maybe it's you I should marry."

He clenches his hand covered by the duvet. Having you so close to him was a daydream until you made it turn into somewhat of a nightmare. Sanji keeps telling himself that whatever happens, he can't let you in on his feelings, fearing that if you learn of his hopeless affliction, you will abandon his intimacy once and for all. And that Sanji doesn't even want to consider as a possibility.

"I thought you wanted to marry a prince," he says in an attempt to divert the conversation.

A scoff leaves your lips and you shake your head in disapproval.

"Fuck princes," you drone out. "I'm not a participation award you can put in your trophy case and show off. I'm more like wild, untamed waters. Like a maelstrom." Your voice hangs for a moment and Sanji holds on to it with more hope than he thought he's capable of. Maybe the universe really did take pity on him. Then, you lean even closer to him, leaving a rather obscene lack of space between your faces. "And you, my lovely Sanji, are a skilled sailor."

His heart stops for a moment.

"Don't do this," he whispers in a weak voice. "Don't give me hope for something I can never have. It's cruel."

"'Can never have?'" you repeat in confusion. "It's your bed I keep crawling back into despite telling myself to stop doing that. You already have me. All of me. I don't care how desperate that makes me look. I want you to have me."

Sanji tries to control his ragged breathing. His iron will is crumbling as he allows himself to look at your lips. Is he dreaming?

"You shouldn't say things you don't mean," he warns you in a distant voice. His mind is too occupied, too busy going haywire, to be rooted in reality. Will you taste as sweet as he imagined? Will you linger on his lips like the reviving kiss of a goddess given to a dying man?

"You shouldn't assume I'm someone who just runs their mouth," you answer.

His lips barely touch yours. There's too much fear in him - fear, that this isn't actually happening. That you're just a dream within a dream, that he imagined this moment to curb his desperation. But then he feels you kissing him back, your lips engulfing his as though you're silently begging him not to go anywhere and stay with you. Sanji can't help himself putting his hand on the nape of your neck and fixing the angle off the kiss to deepen it; to kiss you like princesses deserve to be kissed.

Maybe you are a maelstrom - raging waters twisting into deadly whirlpools. But he's definitely not a sailor. A shipmate would navigate dangerous tides, while Sanji seems to be drowning. The waters of you are filling his lungs and yet he feels like he's breathing for the very first time. He's slowly falling farther away from the light of reason. Soon, darkness engulfs him. But it's not cold. It's not lonely. It's the darkness of a warm, summer night.

And in this darkness, drowned in the untamed waters of a maelstrom, he hears a siren singing in your voice:

The madness of returned devotion.

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ellatoone7 · 8 months

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Long day (Leah Williamson x reader)

It was getting darker earlier now, a sure sign that winter was nearing, that and the goosebumps littering over Leah’s tanned skin as it whipped through her hair, making the blood rush through her ears in the best way possible.

Winter trainings were always tough, the bitter cold stinging the defenders bright eyes making it nearly impossible to see the ball. It was all worth it though as she was enveloped by the warmth of her car and the thoughts of what was waiting for her at home.

Leah didn’t waste any time getting home, her playlist blaring as she hums gently to the lyrics that always reminded her of you. Leah loved football, it was a huge part of her life and she cherished every second of it, but, it didn’t come close to how much she loved you.

In fact Leah loved you so much that as long as she had you in her life, she would be content with never playing another match again. She didn’t fail to remind you of that every day, from waking you up with soft, loving kisses and breathless confessions of love that was so sacred to the both of you, all the way to the lazy evenings full of cuddles on the couch and whispered affections.

Leah craved those dark mornings tangled in linen sheets and soft limbs, so connected that you couldn’t tell where one started and the other finished. This morning for example, a rare day, where Leah didn’t have to get up at an ungodly hour, now that it was winter her trainings had been pushed further up in the evening, leaving the still mornings at her beck and call.

Strong biceps curled around your midsection, holding on as if you were some divine being that would disappear at the slightest loosen of her grip. The gentle breathing, that the defender claims eagerly is not snoring, though you would beg to differ, fans the back of your neck as the serene surrounding of pure adoration consumes the room fully.

That exact same fondness that paints the walls of your house welcomes the tired blonde back into its familiar structure. Leah’s home however isn’t slabs of concrete or treasured pictures littering every inch of the building, but it’s the comforting figure that she just knows is standing in kitchen, waiting for food to magically appear out of thin air.

Leah drops her kit bag next to the homemade shoe shelf Steph had made the both of you after Leah missed a match due to a single shoe and a rolled ankle. The blonde chuckled at the memory as she threw the keys into the designated bowel while heeling the front door shut.

“Babe?” Although knowing exactly where you were, she couldn’t help but be impatient as she hears the soft pattering of your fluffy socked feet. You smoothly slid into the corridor with the most prized worthy grin lighting up every inch of your perfect face.

Just like her previous actions, you did not waste a second, cupping her defined jaw and pulling her into a kiss that could mistaken the fact that Leah had only been gone for a few hours. The gentle tug of her hair pulled her back into the blissful reality that was you, her hands had found the place on your hips that they had been familiarised with for so long, pulling you in until the space between the both of you was nonexistent.

“Hi.” One simple word mumbled against her lips in a humour full manor, a breathless chuckle following from her own mouth as she peppers kisses against your flushed cheeks.

“God, people would think you’ve been gone for months with this greeting.” You chuckled as lips worshipped your neck, “We won’t tell people that it’s only been a few hours then.”

Her deep London accent was muffled as she placed one final kiss against the volume of your throat.

Foreheads met and eyes locked as you found comfort in each others space, “For what it’s worth, I missed you.” You couldn’t help but melt into her, nuzzling your cheek against hers while breathing her in, “I missed you too.” You pulled back slightly before continuing, “You know what else I missed? When you didn’t smell, go take a shower, Lee.”

A laugh bubbled up as you watched the defender scoff in offence, “Rude!” You nodded while wiping her sweaty strand of hair out of her face with a playful grimace. Leah swatted your hands away as she grumbled childishly, “Okay! okay, I get it.” The blonde started towards the stairs before turning backs around with an eyebrow raised, “Wanna join me?”

“As much as I would love to, I have some baking to do, so I will regretfully leave you to it,” Leah chuckled while solemnly nodding, you watched her slightly disappointed expression and decided to meet her halfway, “…but, I can offer you a kiss?”

Her blue eyes lit up again like they always seem to do when she’s near around you, leaning up on your tiptoes you pressed a timid kiss to her eager lips before quickly stepping back much to the tall blondes dismay. Her lips followed yours and you gave into her meeting her in the middle in a melting kiss.

Her sweaty stature was the last thing on your mind as you wrapped your arms around her neck, she slightly lifted you off the ground pressing you against her fully.

After what felt like a too small eternity, you gently stepped back, “That’ll give you something to think about.” She lightly groaned before quickly stealing one more kiss, “Don’t be a tease.” You giggled before pushing at her chest gently, “Go, get cleaned up and then get down here to help me with these stupid cookies.”

Leah smiled before putting her hands up innocently, she made her way upstairs with a satisfied sigh and you watched her go before heading back to the kitchen.

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #engwnt x reader #woso #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson imagines

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cheollipop · 5 months

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☂˚.⋆｡ 𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙚𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣 𝙥𝙞𝙚𝙨

navi | taglist | part of svthub's fall-ing collab

pairing: lee seokmin x afab!reader

w.c.: 5.0k

genre: smut, fluff, established relationship, apple picking and pie baking and some sweet lovemaking <3

a lovers’ retreat—golden rays cast shadows over high, blushing cheekbones, flour-kissed noses and eye smiles as warm as the oven’s embrace, secrets and tender kisses shared with the starry night, and in a wooden cabin fragrant with the aroma of cinnamon and caramel, the love shared was sweeter than the finest apple pie.

☂ warnings: food/eating mentioned, unprotected sex (👎), creampie, praise, edging, some begging, some cockwarming, overstimulation (m), multiple orgasms (f), nicknames (min; baby, babe, love), some aftercare, seokmin is so fucking whipped (so is reader), there's so much love talk in this, I hate myself.

☂ A/N: nobody come for my inconsistent pie recipe, I didn't use one (also idc if you don't knead the dough, i needed it to describe seokmin's bulging muscles tyvm). other than that, this fic means a lot to me and despite struggling for the most part, I really enjoyed writing it. happy reading! :]

nsfw under the cut—minors dni 🔞

Slender fingers rounded the hanging fruit, examining for imperfections with eager eyes and the tip of a tongue held between pearly whites. The crisp air contrasted the solacing warmth of the morning sun under which you basked, strolling between green leaves and bright reds with a near-empty basket dangling at your side. You wanted him to work faster, to disregard whatever negligible bumps lay on the apples’ exterior, but you opted to remain silent, simply watching him from the sidelines while he carried on with his meticulous inspections.

Seokmin was spring. Smiles that could bring a barren land to life, vivid flora and singing birds fluttering around within the glimmers decorating his irises. But spring had long since ended, now treading deeper into the cooling weather of autumn, and yet, Seokmin still offered verve to everything he touched. Even as green turned to yellow then amber, and tanned skin rested beneath thick layers of cashmere and fleece, he still wore his spring smile—a reminder that the season of life will come again. He carried warmth wherever he went, and the biting chill attempting to penetrate thick layers of clothing stood no chance while his towering figure remained by your side.

You watched him throw the fallen end of his scarf over his shoulder, a woven cream he’d worn on your first date. Hoary yarn ends peeked out along its length, and you reminisced the store tag he’d forgotten to remove while he fiddled with his fingers and laughed anxiously before you all those years ago, so young and eager to impress. You’d mused over the giggles shaking his tense shoulders, the pretty pink painting his face and ears when you failed to rip it off in a discreet manner, and though the embarrassment was debilitating in the moment, the worry weighing down on Seokmin’s shoulders faded away as you laughed. It was well into winter when you’d walked alongside the river, steaming cups of hot chocolate resting between your palms—going cold before you had the chance to sip on them, only there to fight off the bleak midwinter breeze numbing your appendages. Young and dumb, you both were, walking by the river on a chilly day, but young and dumb brought upon you years of easy smiles and hearty laughs, unconditional love and unending happiness, all sprouting from sharing arbitrary details about yourselves with that same cream scarf draped around you both.

Dark locks now dyed the colour of changing leaves, the morning rays casting their golden hue over the wavy strands and reflecting off the specs perched over his nose bridge. Seokmin was a few inches taller now, and his shoulders broader, but the smile he wore, the sparkle in his eyes as he laid them on you were no different than those from that day by the river.

Chatter at your side dragged your attention off Seokmin’s profile and onto the family walking past you—two curious children and their parents inspecting the ripe fruit hanging before them. Scripts of late-night conversations you’d had with Seokmin flooded your mind, your face flushing and butterflies swarming your lower belly at the thought of starting a family with the man. Seokmin's fascination with learning how to braid your hair, his whispered comment—’for the future’—did not go unnoticed as he brushed gentle fingers through the stands he’d tangled in his attempts, a hint of a promise in his tone. He also promised to never leave them alone with Hoshi, which you appreciated. For obvious reasons. You were still young, and had much to experience together before taking a step that significant, but part of you was ready to offer Seokmin the world. A man who’d brought nothing bliss and warmth into your life, how could you not?

Turning your head back to the man in question, your eyebrows raised as you watched him eying the passing family alongside you, and you wondered whether the same thoughts were running through his head as well. But then his attention shifted back to you, and the amiable smile while he took you in told you everything you needed to know.

The curve of his lips persisted as he reached a hand to push the stray strands blown by the chilling breeze off your face, pinching the fat of your cheeks between his pointer and thumb before dropping them back to his side. A gentle gesture, but it lit your insides on fire, blinking quickly as you processed an action so natural to him, yet one that set you ablaze. Swallowing nervously, you redirected your gaze to the three apples resting over Seokmin’s palms as he presented the flawless, shiny Honeycrisps with a proud grin.

You giggled, “those look great, Min.”

“Only the best for you,” he leaned forward to plant a kiss onto the cheek he’d just pinched.

Flustered, you watched him throw the apples into the basket you held, his fingers brushing against yours as he swiftly pulled it out of your hand and carried on walking through the orchard. You might have missed a few additions to the small pile while you pondered about a lifetime by Seokmin’s side, and yes, the basket was significantly more weighed down now that he did. But it wasn’t that heavy.

You skipped a few steps to catch up with him, your bottom lip jutting out in protest. “Min. I can carry it myself.”

“Mm, I know,” he hummed, eyes trained on the novel batch of apples swinging gently at his eye level. “Don’t want you to, though.”

You pushed away the fondness warming your chest, capturing his coat’s sleeve between two fingers as you sulked at his side, his attention still set on those damn apples. He moved the basket to his other hand absentmindedly, allowing you more space to come closer to his side, his free arm wrapping around your waist, and head twisting to look over your moping features with tender adoration gracing his own. Leaning down, he pressed soft lips to your forehead, their warmth seeping into your skin and fluttering your eyelids shut.

Placing another one at your temple, playfulness mingled in his tone as he spoke, “Stop complaining, you’re not getting it back.”

And this time, all you could do was laugh.

The hours hurried by while Seokmin’s endless chatter kept you company, and perhaps you wish it hadn’t, wanting to treasure each passing second you shared in the presence of the man with the unwavering smile. You walked between the endless trees with leisure steps, the fingers entangled with yours occasionally dragging you with them to inspect the gradient of red and green. Some apples made the cut, thrown into the pile of spotless fruit he’d gathered over the past few hours, while others remained swaying with the gentle breeze, bruised exterior reflecting the golden rays.

A particular shade of green caught Seokmin’s eye, leaving your hand behind at your side to wrap slender fingers around the glossy circumference, rotating it gently to inspect it, going as far as leaning forward to get a closer look. Nodding to himself, he snapped its stem off and placed the weighted basket down, wrapping the apple in his cream scarf to give it a good wipe. You felt yourself salivate at the satisfying crunch sounding as Seokmin’s teeth breached the unblemished skin, and you watched the pucker of his lips as he chewed with wide, expecting eyes. A breathy chuckle contained within tightly pursed lips echoed in the back of his throat upon viewing the anticipation etched into your expression, and he moved the unbitten side towards your already-parted lips. Too focused on the apple nearing your waiting mouth, you’d missed the sly smile, the giggle he’d nearly failed at suppressing, and bit into the polished green.

A stream of its juice slipped past to flow down your chin, bitterness overwhelming your tastebuds and forcing your eyes firmly shut. A shiver ran down your spine as you struggled to chew on the unripe fruit, tears prickling in your eyes as you willed them open to glare at the man before you, hints of guilt mixed in with amusement on his face. Underneath all the kind smiles and caring gestures, Seokmin loved being an asshole.

He’d watched you persist and push through finishing the bite, too many people around now to spit it out. He even leaned forward to kiss away the tangy juice cooling over your skin, scrunching his nose at the sourness he’d willingly stolen another taste of. At least he was aware enough to take a step back once you’d swallowed the unpleasant bite down, what you thought was fear flashing across his features.

“Hey,” he put his hand up in defence before you could speak, “we share everything, right?” He took another step backward while giggling anxiously, and he nearly tripped over the apple-full basket he had resting over the soft grass. “Why should I make an exception for fruit?”

“Bad fruit,” you corrected, an eyebrow raised.

“Babe,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue, perhaps hoping the sparkling brown of his irises would do the trick.

And it almost did, you admit. But the bitterness lingered over your tongue, and Seokmin found himself scurrying away and out of the fire zone of the incoming apples you’d launched at him, laughing while you entertained the couples and children harvesting their own fruit with your lively act of revenge.

You smoothed your hands down the fresh set of clothes you’d thrown on, the fleece warm against your skin. The ligneous scent of your rented cabin added to its coziness, gentle winds blowing against closed windows and floorboards creaking with every socked footstep guiding you to the small kitchen.

Said footsteps quickened upon spotting bright green reflecting off the sharp metal of the very large knife in Seokmin’s hand, eyebrows furrowed as he focused on dividing the apple into even crescents. The hurried shuffling drew his attention, twisting his head just as you reached for the sharp tool, gently untangling his fingers off its handle to set it down over the cutting board alongside the botched fruit.

“Baby?” Tilting his head to the side, he stared at you in confusion.

You held both his hands in yours, flat over your palms as you inspected the tanned skin. Running your thumbs over polished nailbeds, you followed the protruding veins lining his slender fingers, all the way down each knuckle until you’d made sure he was unharmed. You enclosed his fingers within your palm, bringing them up to press your lips against, finding his pointer to plant an especially tender kiss over the scar stretching across its side.

“I was being careful,” he spoke through a melodramatic pout.

You smiled. “I know you were, Min. But let me handle the chopping this time, okay?”

Averting his eyes to the side, pretending to focus on the yellowing trees past the windowpane, Seokmin nodded, his hands limp in your hold. You lowered them to his side to cradle his jaw, tilting his head down to meet your eyes once again and staring him down in hopes of breaking his composure, but Seokmin’s pout persisted. And so the kisses began, soft and delicate over his cheekbones, forcing his eyes shut as you trailed your lips over the trembling skin. Leaning your head back, you watched his evident struggle against a betraying smile, finally curling the corners of his mouth when you’d dragged his head down with a forceful kiss to his cheek, the skin stretching under your lips while you kept them pressed there for a few more seconds. You moved away with an audible smack, Seokmin’s pout nowhere to be seen as he stared down at you with an uncontainable smile.

“Why don’t you make the dough instead?”

You picked up where Seokmin left off—half an apple chopped sloppily, which you ended up munching on while you worked—going through the washed apples to pick out the greenest, cutting them into even pieces and throwing them in a bowl of cinnamon and sugar. You remembered the nutmeg later on, after the frustrated noise at your side caught your attention, confusion raising your eyebrow when you’d noticed the powdery dough Seokmin was working with. He’d forgotten the eggs. The embarrassment on his face was adorable, rose-tinted cheeks and restrained smile while watching you crack an egg into the crumbly mess he’d been working on for a shameful amount of time. A quick kiss to his jaw and a whispered ‘it’s okay, Min’ seemed to do the trick, though.

Tossing the last of the apples into the seasoning bowl, you sprinkled nutmeg over the shimmering crescents before grabbing a clean spoon from the dishrack, the spices’ aroma wafting in the air around you as you mixed them in with the fruit. Glancing over at Seokmin, you realised he’d begun kneading the dough, flour dusted over the marble counter as he rolled the raw crust in on itself, and as you took in the hard muscle bulging against the sleeve of his t-shirt, your fingers unconsciously loosened around the spoon you held. Your eyes wandered over flexing biceps and defined, broad shoulders, veins protruding from tan skin as he worked the dough under his palm. Bottom lip tucked between a set of pearly whites, his eyebrows furrowed occasionally while the ball gradually smoothened in his hands, growing less crumbly and eventually forming a near-perfect sphere.

Absentmindedly tumbling the apples with a limp grip around the spoon, you followed Seokmin’s movements, lower belly fluttering with every faint, airy grunt sounding in the back of his throat as he worked the dough. Your thoughts strayed as you eyed the distracting flex of his muscles—the smile he wore, so sweet and tender, contrasted broad shoulders and the strength to manhandle you without much thought. You were almost certain Seokmin had no awareness of the fact, going about what he was doing without much regard to the blushing mess he’d left behind, the butterflies violently thrashing around within your stomach. The sparkling orbs with which he gazed at you, with charming innocence, oblivious to the effect he had on you. Perhaps that was for the best; you weren’t sure you’d want to find out what would become of him should he learn of the hidden power he’d been holding this entire time.

Sudden eye contact dragged you out of your daydreams when the man before you turned in your direction, the smooth doughball resting over his palm, and a proud smile on his lips. You held back the one threatening to break out on yours when you’d spotted the white dusting the pointy tip of his nose, some lightly powdering his cheeks as well. Instead, your chest warmed at his wordless flaunting as he slowly moved the undented dough towards you, sparkling eyes fishing for praise. And sure, you basically made the dough for him, and yes, all he did was mix the ingredients together with firm, hard-earned muscle, but the slight falter in his smile the longer you remained silent was enough to sway you.

“It looks great, Min!” You stepped closer, inspecting the roundness with wide eyes for a few seconds before straightening up to meet his eyes, “I’m proud of you, my love.”

Though a simple gesture, Seokmin’s face lit up, all but hurling the dough onto the counter to pull you into his arms, grinning into your shoulder while he squeezed your laughing frame closer to his chest. His arms still around you, he pulled away slightly, stars dancing in his eyes as he gazed at you gleefully, smiling against your lips as you got onto your tiptoes to kiss him lightly. But that didn’t satisfy Seokmin, his arm wrapping across your back to pull you back into him, locking his lips with yours once again, this time with hunger and hints of desire laced into the action. He kissed you once, twice, until he’d had a taste and realized he’d never have enough, needing sweetness and plush lips to forever bless his senses. While you held on to his biceps for balance, Seokmin was everywhere—hands up your back, over your arms and waist, and suddenly he was kissing you harder, deeper, tongue swiping across your bottom lip and teeth digging into it with a fervent want that sent waves of heat soaring through your body.

Pulling away for air, your chests heaved in unison, flush against one another as Seokmin peered down at you with hooded eyes, a spark of lust igniting the dark irises. And suddenly you were back in the present, the forgotten apples browning in their bowl, and the dough witnessing the heated exchange from its place on the counter.

“T-the pie!” you quickly diverted, pushing Seokmin away to shift your focus back to the task at hand, but you could feel his eyes boring into the back of your skull. “Can you preheat the oven please?”

An amused laugh sounded behind you at the shakiness of your voice, “yes, boss.” Just as you were about to sigh in relief, you heard him take a step towards you, his chest bumping into your shoulder and a gentle whisper blowing against the shell of your ear. “You have flour all over your face, by the way.”

And your pants, you thought, as his palm landed a playful slap onto your ass before he made his way to the other side of the kitchen.

The heat coursing through you dwindled as you fixated on the unfinished pie, save for those resulting from the not-so-hidden glances you’d stolen of Seokmin’s defined biceps as he moved the rolling pin over the dough. It was smooth sailing after that, though, missing the heart eyes directed at you as you spooned the filling into the rolled-out crust, perfectly fitted into the baking mould. You attempted to control your expressions as Seokmin tried and failed to cut straight lines out of the leftover dough, begrudgingly allowing him to place the uneven lattice in a questionable pattern, the chipper smile stretching his lips while he worked more than enough to excuse an ugly pie.

Carrying the raw pie over his head like Simba, Seokmin made his way to the oven. You held the door open for him, eyes following the baking mould as he transferred it onto the rack, gasping when his finger met the scorching metal. He placed the pie down and pretended nothing happened, ignoring the forming mark on his knuckle as he swung the oven door shut. And despite the whining and attempts of reassurance, you dragged Seokmin to the sink and ran cold water over his hand, once again kissing his pout away while you stood with barely any space separating your bodies.

His free hand slid across the small of your back, his other leaving its place under the running water to shut it off, wiping the droplets over his sweats before holding onto your hip. Leaning down, he met your lips once more, then again, until short pecks deepened, and a sharp nose nuzzled into the side of yours as he pulled you further into his body.

You pulled away with a gasp, startling Seokmin away from your lips, “the sweet potatoes!”

The initial shock replaced by softening eyes and a breathy laugh, Seokmin squeezed your waist once before releasing you. He stood to the side while you wrapped foil around the sangria exterior, offering to put them in the oven for you, but backing down at the disapproving glare you threw at him. Perhaps Seokmin had unintentionally caused a case of Pavlovian conditioning, one you remained unaware of, because the very second his bottom lip jutted out, yours were pressing consoling kisses over its plushness. Sometimes it took a few tries, but that’s only because you enjoyed watching the man—broad shoulders and all—sulk and whine when he didn’t get his way, only to lighten up and grin once your lips met his. It’s unclear who the winner was in this game, both parties working with a motive and ending with a satisfying result. Peculiar, really.

You settled down on the creaky floorboards across from the oven, your back to Seokmin’s chest and his thighs on either side of yours. His arms rested comfortably around your waist, hands limp at your hips, occasionally squeezing at the clothed flesh. Watching the pie crust brown through the glass, you basked in the cosy aroma circulating the cabin, the heat emanating from Seokmin’s body gentler and more comforting than that caramelising the sugar drizzled over the wonky lattice. Delicate fingers smoothed down your hair, and a silky voice lulled you to a tranquil state of comfort, strong arms holding you within the aura of warmth until a sharp click sounded, with the nostalgic scent of cinnamon and caramel to guide you out of slumber’s enticing grip, and back to toothy smiles and a cordial embrace.

The night’s breeze was crisp against slick skin, the warmth encased within the confines of the thick blankets now infiltrated through a window forgotten open. Seokmin noticed the raised goosebumps over your arms, and lowered his body until your chests laid flush, his forearms on either side of your head keeping his weight off your form.

“Cold?” he asked, lips pressing against your jaw and up to your cheekbone, over the frosty tip of your nose.

You shook your head, “not anymore,” and wrapped your arms around the soft skin of his waist.

Seokmin smiled, gentle features illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the cracked-open blinds—a cool-toned hue casting shadows over his face, moving as he pressed his pelvis closer to yours with an exhaled moan. Moving his weight over to one arm, he slid the other down to your core, splaying his palm out over your lower belly to thumb at your clit.

He’d been teasing you for so long—his cock filling you up the way you wanted, but only barely teasing your g-spot, refusing to move despite your repetitive whines; instead, he occasionally reached two slender fingers between your legs to relieve some of the arousal burning underneath your skin. This time, though, you’d reached your limit, clenching around him as a sudden high rushed through you, shaking your body within his hold.

Despite a day’s worth of lingering touches and heated kisses, a hand placed a little too low on your back, and eyes lit with unconcealed glints of want, the patience Seokmin exhibited as he guided you through your orgasm was not surprising. He’d always enjoyed giving—curling his fingers just right to take in the elegant arch of your back, your sweet taste on his tongue while he nuzzled his nose into your soaked pussy. But most of all, Seokmin savoured the tight squeeze around his cock as he fucked you through an orgasm, his breath heavy and eyes lidded with the pleasure your walls lavished upon him.

Slowly fading back into the present, you peered up at the man atop you, the column of his throat stretched as he took in the violent fluttering of your walls. But you wanted more, pent up and restless with his scent, his warm touch, occupying your every sense. And he still won’t move.

You rolled your hips experimentally, a startled hand rushing to stop you, fingers digging into the flesh to stifle the motion. “Please,” you whined, “Min, please move.”

Groaning at your tone, cock throbbing between your walls, “oh baby,” he breathed out, bumping his forehead with yours and allowing his eyelids to fall shut. “I’ve been thinking about having you like this all day. I wanna last for you, my love, ‘wanna make you feel so good.”

Arousal boiled in your lower belly, eyelashes fluttering and a shaky breath escaping your parted lips at the words whispered in the air between you. “Min-”

“Let me be good for you.”

A kiss to your temple and a few inhales were all it took Seokmin to regain his composure, his forehead still pressed to yours as he tugged you closer by the hips, languidly rolling his own into your heat. The leisure glide wasn’t much, but it sent a shiver through your body. It was as though Seokmin could read the wordless pleads sparkling in your eyes, pulling his face away just enough to adjust the angle before settling back down onto your body. Fingers tangled in your hair to keep your eyes on his, blinking in unison while you breathed the same air, gentle waves of pleasure drawing breathy moans out of the both of you, his cockhead brushing against your sweet spot every time he drove it inside your cunt.

Sliding a hand over his sweat-coated nape, you dragged Seokmin down to your lips, the sweetness of a pie forgotten outside enriching your tastebuds, the single remaining piece left over the picnic blanket alongside crumbled foil—the unintentionally discarded dessert serving as breakfast for the blackbirds to nip at when the morning came.

The hand lost in your hair found its way to your jaw, cradling your face while he devoured you, the kiss growing deeper the farther Seokmin sunk down the blazing pit of lust growing within him. His cock twitched erratically within you, pace picking up until the echo of skin-on-skin danced between the four walls, hips slamming against yours with fervour as his eagerness finally won over him. Unable to focus on anything but the mind-numbing heaviness of his cock pounding into you, your lips parted to release a staccato of ah’s, his own relentless as they peppered wet, open-mouthed kisses all over your face.

“God, you’re perfect,” he grabbed your cheeks with the hand previously on your jaw, squishing them together to lay his lips onto the forced pout on yours, “all mine.”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the repetitive abuse to your cunt, squelching obscenely every time Seokmin fucked his entire length inside. “All—hngh—all yours,” you repeated, exhaling a breath you’d been holding when sudden warmth spread through your abdomen.

“I—hah—‘m sorry,” he stuttered as his rhythm turned sloppy, shuddering when he finally came. Sheathing himself deep withing your heat, he fed ropes of translucent white into your womb while attempting to keep his eyes on you, long eyelashes fluttering while ecstasy flowed through his body. “Felt so good, I couldn’t…” he paused to lower his head, interrupted by a string of airy moans as the last, weak spurts of cum emptied out of his twitching cock. “I couldn’t help it,” he muttered.

The reassurance died on your tongue when the sensitive cock drew out halfway, only to slam back into you as though the arms bracketing your head didn’t continue to tremble with the continuing effects of his orgasm. Lifting his head back up to meet your gaze, he lowered his hand back down to play with your cunt, dipping down to feel around your stretched hole and back up to circle your clit with the slick he’d collected, a silent promise of “I’ll be good” glimmering in his lidded eyes while he watched you fall apart under his touch.

And he was, so good.

You tumbled over the edge unexpectedly, cockhead pounding into your cunt while he rolled your clit underneath his fingertips until your features contorted gracefully, fireworks exploding behind your eyelids as you shut them and tilted your head back to welcome a stupefying orgasm. You tensed for a moment, then began spasming uncontrollably in his arms, hips simultaneously jerking towards and away from his touch as he guided you through your high, languidly gliding his cock along your dripping, clenching walls, both hands now gripping the soft flesh of your hips.

And when the stimulation sent pangs of pain up your body, a whispered repetition of his name paired with limp tugs at his wrist finally broke Seokmin away from you and the bewitching melody he drew out of the perfect circle shaping your mouth. He slid his softening cock out of your heat to allow thick dollops of pearly cum to stream out of your pussy, watching as your hole clenched uselessly until your abashed whine dragged him out of his thoughts.

You found yourself tucked in under layers of thick blankets while running water sounded in the bathroom, bare feet padding over the floorboards until Seokmin—with his boxers on backwards—reached under the covers to blindly drag a warm washcloth over your skin, hoping it would catch all the sweat and cum without having to expose you to the chill air. You drew your lips into a straight line to avoid laughing at the concentration furrowing his eyebrows, cheeks flushing as he washed your middle. Any other day, Seokmin would make a big deal of cleaning you up properly, but you could see the hair on his arms raising, the autumn night’s chill piercing through his skin.

He didn’t even bother with returning the rag to its place, tossing it over his shoulder to dive under the cosy blankets with you, limbs tangling as soon as he made it there—arms circling your tired frame and legs pushing between and over yours. The momentary frigidity dissipating, his body heat seeped into your very being, and you inhaled the fresh scent of laundry mixed in with remaining hints of his cologne. Nuzzling the pointy tip of his nose into your hair, he planted a kiss onto your crown, the gesture faint as his steady heartbeat lulled you to much-needed slumber, the serene trip to dreamland occupied with solacing thoughts about a forever home within Seokmin’s tender embrace.

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neonovember · 1 year

Note

Hello! I hope you’ve been doing okay! I saw that you had requests open and I also saw that you take requests for Carmen? If it’s totally okay of course to request for him! I got into the bear a few days ago and my brain has been filled with nothing but thoughts of Carmy. Would it be okay just requesting something that’s just Carmen being worried/concerned about the reader? He just always sees whenever there’s that tiredness to them when it looks like it’s a bad day, that slump in their shoulders that all too much reminds him of him a little sometimes, just bringing them into the office and his eyebrows are furrowed with that look of concern and his eyes the same, maybe unexpectedly just wrapping them in a hug (Your writing is so cute btw!) 💕

to carry and to bear

ask, it will be my infinite quest to fulfill! love this request so much and i loved writing is even more. i'm going to be so annoying when s2 comes out, especially since i love carmen's character so much! thank you for your request anon <3

carmen berzatto x reader

warnings: richie (yes he’s a warning), unresolved anxiety, horrible customers, fainting

word count: 5k (short for me lmao)

a/n: you know i love a character when i'm completing fics in under a day..lets pray this momentum keeps going

Wrapping yourself tight against the chilly wind of the unforgivable Chicago weather, you watch the city coming alive in the early morning as you walk down the concrete sidewalk of the Beef’s city corner.

Merchants and gazebo have begun to set up shop, their bright red vendor stands a stark contrast to the grey haze of the windy city. Corner stores and cafes have begun to uncover their blinds, dusting away the sliver of droplets that had long since evaporated after a heavy downpour the night before.

it’s slow though.

The mass of cars and yellow cabbed taxis haven’t yet filled the gravel roads, and the surging rush of traffic and uncontrollable road rage the beef windows have been accustomed to viewing hasn't filled the air.

The pinch of cold begins to itch against the cracks in your outerwear. Your trusted winter jacket and gloves had been left at the bottom of your laundry basket and instead you were forced to throw on a flimsy polyester jacket that provided absolutely no warmth.

Your fingers are stuffed into your pocket, trying to hide them from the cold but it is no use. They shake against the freezing air of wind as you push past huddles of men chain smoking and passing coolers of steaming coffee on street corners.

You’re about to go ask for a cup, despite Carmen's disgruntled comments of their huddled group festering near the restaurant. They were a pack of wolves, and whilst Sydney's sandwiches had fended them off for a while, the hole in the Beef’s window was still fresh. Like a cycle, more and more had begun to trickle in from alleyways, leading to customers steering clear from the nearby streets.

Carmen didn’t even like you walking to work this early, you get it, despite being daylight, Chicago had a way of defying social norms. You had paid some attention to the increase in robbing and attacks that had begun to frequent news reports.

It wouldn't have been a problem, walking was always voluntary for you as you had a perfectly fine working car that would drive you to and from your destination with as little as a rumble from its engine. And yet, that seemingly perfect car decided to break down on you this morning, leading to an overheated engine and a smoke filled hood.

So not only did you have to pay for a towing truck to drag away your car to an auto shop you couldn't afford to afford, but you were late. And you hated being late.

Not to mention your sister had called you late last night, asking to stay for a couple nights after her good for nothing boy-friend you would rather call a child had kicked her out after a fight.

She had rambled for nothing short of 2 hours after you had gotten home from the Beef late last night, and the pull of sleep had begun to weigh on you. The exhaustion and deprivation had written itself in the slug of your limbs and the slump of your shoulders.

You had to come in today, there were no rest days even if the Beef wasn't neck deep in debt and Cicero didn't have you all on a leash. Especially if you wouldn't allow yourself one. You had that in common with Carmen, you frequently ignored your own needs for your craft, the same insatiable passion and need for perfection driving you to exhaustion.

The familiar chime of the Beefs wooden doors hit your ears, and you shake off the cold of the city streets, the Beef is warm and you're grateful, sighing as the heat of prepped ovens and oiled pans defrosts your face.

It takes a second before you walk into the busy kitchen when the sound finally reaches you. The screeching sound of Richie's voice bickers with Tina about the next door convenient store being turned into a “pretentious hipster coffee shop that is legally selling dog water to unassuming Chicagoans”.

Dragging on and on about the invasion of gentrification that will soon take out all the good businesses that had been around since his grandfather had come from Sicily. Richie was not from Siciliy. In which Carmen mirrors your thoughts and yells that he is not Italian, and his obsession with the European country has been bordering on creepy.

Ebra is reciting an article about a culinary student that had gone rogue and murdered their entire class, giving pointers on how he himself had to patch up an entire unit of people stabbed by a bent corkscrew. The loud conversations and untethered yelling across the kitchen combines with the malfunctioning arcade that has begun to re-circuit the same sentence for 20 minutes now, digs a deep burrow into your temple.

You stand at the entrance of the kitchen, watching the commotion of early morning prep with a tight grimace, your head begins to vibrate a little, the start of a headache you won’t be relieved from spreading and you have to swallow down the exhaustion that begins to seep in at the sight.

Sydney brushes past you, greeting you with a hello and one of her charming smiles before muttering about throwing that arcade machine out the back. You giggle and it hurts, but you do it anyway because, fuck, you would help her.

You step into the kitchen, and the crew each turn to greet you good morning as you walk past them into the locker bay stuffing your bag and shoes into the cabinet before quickly changing.

Your phone reads 7am and you stuff it into the pocket of your hung jacket before slamming the locker shut. Carmen peeks his head around the corner, nodding at you as you put on your non-slip shoes, calling your name when you don't notice, you flinch before peering up and Carmen waves trying to get your attention.

“Mornin’ chef, didn’t think you were coming in” Carmen remarks, raising his eyebrows as he leans his shoulder against the wall.

“Morning, yeah, sorry about that, uh- shit happened and I had to deal with it all at once. Won;t happen again” You reply, biting back a yawn, before letting your feet fall to the ground.

“It’s all good,” Carmen replies, nodding, wiping his hand on the white towel hanging on his shoulder that was already smudged with stains.

“Just shoot me a text or call next time, yeah?” Carmen replies

“Will do chef” You reply, smiling, before peering out to see Sydney carrying a basket of ingredients

“New recipe?” You ask, nodding towards Sydney, and Carmen nods, running a hand through his curls as he leans forward.

“Well call it trying something. Not yet finished, just needs some minor tweaks here and there” Carmen replies

“I can help Sydney out if you want?” You reply without a second thought.

You already had prep and a marinade you had to make for Cicero’s function he had conveniently told Carmen about the night before, but helping out was second nature to you, it was a part of this family's culture.

Carmen shakes his head, his eyes falling to your slumped shoulder, and the slow but tight blinks you tended to do when you were exhausted.

The second he had peered his head around the corner and saw the slug of your limbs he knew something was up, but he also knew he couldn't force you to relax, you were worse than him, always taking on so much, filling up your cup until it was overflowing.

“No, no, it’s alright, besides, that marinade isn’t going to be easy, I should be asking if you want me to help out” Carmen replies, chuckling, scratching his neck as you curve your mouth into that smile he loves so much. You could be half-dead and he still stares at you like you were the most gorgeous thing he's ever seen.

“I think I’ve got it handled. I remember having to make something similar back at Le Bleu, you just got to get the temperature right or the entire thing gets spoiled. Having more than one person just makes it more confusing. besides, don't you have that meeting with the vendor today?” You reply, and Carmen sighs, nodding

“Yep, hopefully this place looks stable enough to get him to sign, you know I can’t deal with corporate bullshit. Sydney should’ve met up with them, fuck any one other than me” Carmen replies, shaking his head as he fidgets with the hem of his apron.

Despite his numerous accolades, and world renowned talent, he only ever felt at nature in the kitchen. High function parties and elusive dinner bars were things he despised, feeling out of place despite it being thrown in his name.

“Hey, don’t be so hard on yourself, you're the face of this place Carmen, you’ve transformed it, you oughta show them the Beef is the best investment they’ll make. Hell you’re the best investment they can make” You reply, and Carmen ears perk at your reply, smiling fondly at your comment. He didn't deserve your praise, and he hated the way the sound of your lips curving around his name shoots through him.

“Are y'all going to get to work or continue eye fucking?” Richie calls, as he passes by the locker bay, and Carmen immediately shakes his head muttering a fuck you before nodding to you, and heading back to his station. You get up from your seated position on the bench, dusting and ironing out the creases in your apron before mentally going over the things you had to complete before opening.

Prep vegetables, then start the veal stock for Cicero's marinade. You had to complete it early, since it had to be chilled for at least 5 hours, any less and the fat would congeal and turn into a complete mess you didn’t have time to fix.

You walk towards your station, stepping over sauce that had spilled onto the tile floors, this crew was amazing in their craft, but god were they messy. You bump shoulders with Sydney as you begin to grate and cut root vegetables and herbs, you have to force your eyes open, blinking several times before dipping your hand into an ice water bucket and wiping your face with it.

Sydney converses with you, and it wasn't that she was boring, in fact you both frequently spend time even out of the restaurant as friends. But you can’t even try to decipher what she says, just sounds coming out of her mouth that you pack away in order to get your job done.

Just cut the vegetables, finish the stock, cut the vegetables, finish the stock, you repeat it like a mantra in your head, unaware at Sydney calling your name. She reaches forward, pressing a soft hand to your shoulder to get your attention.

“Hey, did you hear me?” Sydney replies, concern written across her features as she peers at your disoriented state.

“Huh? Sorry, what did you say?” You reply, avoiding her gaze. You feel her penetrate through you, pitying the exhaustion on your face, probably realising you were a shit chef who couldn't even handle a couple responsibilities.

“I was asking if you could grab me some of the sauce I made yesterday from the storage fridge. You alright? You seem a bit..” Sydney starts, before you cut her off quickly

“Just had a long night, didn't get much sleep” You reply, rubbing your eyes with a hand. What has gotten into you? You weren't foreign to a few sleepless nights and a few too many deadlines you had to meet, hell your entire college and culinary life had been exactly that.

“That’ll kill you, you know” Richie butts in, reaching for a crab cake Sydney had prepared before being swatted away with a wooden spoon.

“What?” You ask, already regretting asking Richie to elaborate on what was clearly some elaborated story he had got stored away

“Go without that good old shut eye a few nights too long and you'll start hallucinating shit, not fucking with you you, don’t you know about the Russian sleep experiment-?” Richie rambles

“Ah here we go” Sydney replies, rolling her eyes

“You think because you went to Paris or whatever prestigious tight ass school you know everything? It’s real, happened right after World War 2, Russians got a bunch of people and just made them not sleep for like months, they starting turning into fuckin' aliens and shit-” Richie continues, ignoring Sydney's sly remarks about Richie's facebook usage.

“Richie c’mon, you know that shits made up” You reply

“Don’t matter, didn’t I tell you about my week long bender during college? Starting seeing my great aunt from the corner of my eye, and I swear she is still there-” Richie replies before getting cut off my Carmen calling his name

“Stop distracting my chefs Cousin”

You chuckle, shaking your head as Richie mutters about the fall of democracy and wipe your hands across your towel.

“I’ll go get your sauce Syd” You reply, and she smiles in gratitude as you turn towards the storage room. The cold air of the fridge wakes you up a little, and you rest your head against the door of the storage fridge, sighing in frustration. Talking to Richie was exhausting in itself, and when you were already running only fumes and second hand smoke you felt like it took the last bit of energy you had left.

You grab the container of sauce written with “DO NOT TOUCH” on its front, it's wrapped in cling film, with no lid and you're careful not to drop it everywhere. It wasn’t heavy, per se, just filled to the brim and without careful steps it was close to tipping out. You walk out of the storage room carefully, before turning towards your station.

“Corner!” You yell, twisting around the corner of the kitchen, before you slam straight into a tall body, jerking back and inadvertently spilling the sauce all across the kitchen floor and onto your shoes. You feel it sink into your socks and drip down your apron, eye twitching in frustration as Marcus starts apologising profusely, you ignore him, dropping down to your knees and reaching for paper towels. You start wiping away the sauce, as Marcus drops down to your level and tries to help, you shake our head looking up at him.

“Stop, Marcus, just stop. I can do it” You reply

“But-” Marcus protests

“We don't need two chefs to clean up a one person job, alright? You need to finish prep” You reply, letting the towels soak up the sauce. You grieve for Sydney, not all of it had spilt, but a quarter of a container wasn’t enough to get through the morning rush, let alone the entire day.

You ignore the spilt sauce all over your clothes, you didn’t have time to change now, rushing back to your station before telling Sydney about the spill

“You serious? I thought I could leave early today, got a friend's birthday” Sydney replies, pinching the bridge of her nose.

You instantly feel guilty, you should've been more careful, and now Sydney would have to pay for it.

“Hey, I got it, let me take that new recipe off your plate. That gives you enough time to get to the party?” You reply

Sydney looks up, rising her eyebrows “No, no I couldn’t possibly ask you to”

“Nonsense, I owe you anyway, remember when I had to leave halfway through the morning to get my sister?” You reply, with a tired smile before Sydney wraps her arms around you, you rub a hand across her back. You can’t really feel her arms around you, it’s like all your senses are delayed, you ignore it as you get back to work, now with another task on your plate.

You finish chopping the vegetables after a short while, usually you were the fastest in the house, but today you lagged behind, finally carrying the vegetables to Carmen who looked at you strange, his eyes staring through you, he swallowed like he was going to say something as you walked away, before stopping and continuing stirring the stock on the stove

By the time the Beef opens, you're still elbow deep in work, you've stayed silent most of the time, waving off Marcus’s apology and instead working, not stopping since you started. You skipped breakfast, and you hadn't gotten a chance to eat, and just when you're about to make yourself something, Richie calls your name from the front counter.

You walk towards the front of the Beef, wiping stains on your apron to look a little presentable to the outside world. Richie stands at the register, flicking a pen in his hand, a look of annoyance on his face.

“What's up?” You ask Richie, as a tall man dressed down in a polo sweater and khakis stares down at you in anger. He’s familiar, someone you had served when Richie had to take his smoke break, and he scrutinises you as you smile at him.

That’s the only way you could communicate with these people, any hint of anger and you’d be written of as angry and unable to control your emotions, you lost your last job because you defended yourself anyway.

“This guy said he came in and you made him something he apparently didn't like, but finished anyway” Richie replies, a knowing look passes between you both and you sigh, you don't have time for this.

“Morning Sir, May I ask what’s the problem” You ask politely

“You suggested to me a dish from the menu, alright, YOU, not me, so don't go blaming me for this, and look what I got, not only does it have nuts, which i hate, it's spicy. Way too spicy, I want a refund, NOW” The man replies, seething, his yelling catches the attention of other patrons, and Richie begins to reach under the table for a bat.

“Well, you finished it all so I don’t know what you-” You begin before the man cuts you off loudly

“Do you think I give a shift what you think? Huh? Jesus fucking Christ, see you just need to do what I fucking say, not argue. Give me a refund before I get you fired from this shit hole you dumb stupid-” The man yells, loudly before Carmen's booming voice cuts him off

“I wouldn't finish that sentence if I were you” Carmen replies, clenching his jaw in way that told you he was trying to hold back the rage from spilling out

“Who the fuck are you?” The man asks

“I own this shit hole you piece of shit, and if you don't get the fuck out of my restaurant I'm going to break every single bone in your face with my bare hands".

“Excuse me?”

Carmen laughs, shaking his head before smiling at the man

“I told you”

Carmen drags the man by his collar, throwing him onto the sidewalk and dragging his body to the alleyway, you fear what he is going to do and Richie raises his eyebrows in astonishment.

“Well shit cousin, you ain't a pussy after all” Richie mutters under his breath

You can faintly hear the sound of splitting skin and the crack of bone, before Carmen storms back into the restaurant, eyeing all the patrons who are following his every move.

“Y'all got that? Anyone mess with my people hear and your walk out on a fucking stretcher” Carmen replies still seething with anger, before Richie claps loudly as Carmen walks back behind the desk.

“Call a fucking ambulance” Carmen replies, rolling his eyes at Richie before he walks towards you, the the tension immediately leaving him as he find your safe and away from that man.

“You alright? He didn't hurt you or anything?” Carmen asks in concern, his eyes darting across your body to see any imagined injuries

“It seems you should be asking him that question” You reply, nudging towards the alley of the Bear, chuckling as you shake your head.

“You didn't have to do that you know, iIcould have-” You start

Carmen looks down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places his hand on you shoulder

“Could've what? He was screaming in your face and I wasn't about to let him think that shit was okay, god, how could you not react?” Carmen replies, looking down at you in concern, shaking his head as he places a hand on your shoulder.

“I’m just so busy, I still- Fuck, i still got to get Cicero's marinade in the fridge, and i need to start on Syd’s broth” You mutter pressing your fingertips to your temples.

“What? You’re doing Sydney’s load as well? Hey, you need to sit down a second” Carmen replies, as you begin to walk back towards the kitchen, with Carmen hot on your heels, asking you to stop and turn to him.

You hear him call your name, but the mountain of tasks that were now even later due to that customer had begun to seize your consciousness.

All you could focus on was the dishes you needed to make and the pain in your temples that had begun to spread down, your vision getting fuzzy around the edges as you try and shake yourself awake.

“Dammit, listen to me! Stop cutting fucking vegetables and listen to me” Carmen yells at you for the first time, twisting your body to face him and you spit out in anger

“What?!”

“What’s gotten into you today?” Carmen replies, yelling

And you don't know why, but that question breaks something in you, and you can't help but let out a short chuckle. Carmen looks down at you in horror, trying to reach for you, to catch you when the inevitable happens and you look at him once before it does.

Before your vision begins to blur and the edges begin to burn like a flame, you try and catch yourself, but it’s too late and you fall into Carmen's arms, wrapped up against his chest as you crash.

Carmen gathers you in his arms, his heart breaking beneath his breasts, holding his sweet girl in his arms as the streams of tears dampen his shirt. The rest of the crew watch on in concern, and Carmen shoes them away as he carries your unconscious body to the office.

“What the fuck Cousin?” Richie calls

“Hey, hey, is she alright? What -what happened?” Sydney replies in horror as she watches Carmen carry you from the kitchen.

“What happened was, ya'll did fuck all when she was practically breaking down trying to finish everyone else's fucking mess. What happened? Are you fucking serious? If i wasn't there, she would’ve fainted into a burning skillet of your fucking vegetables Sydney” Carmen replies, shaking his head, the entire crew goes silent, the only sounds coming from the beeps of ovens and stove tops, and the sizzling of burning food.

Carmen goes quiet, as he assesses your state, there is something unwritten in the way he holds you, and he blinks tight, his face twitching a little as if he had to make sure you were in his arms, the only place he wanted you to be.

“Get back to work” Carmen replies, quietly, a stark contrast to his rage from before, the crew has never seen him like this, his eyes and focus on you, as if he has been seized by this responsibility and dying need to protect you. He can hardly breathe, his arms shaking as he stares down at your sullen and tired face.

“We need-” Marcus starts before Carmen shakes his head

“No, no, enough. Sydney will hold down the fort, this is my responsibility. Get. back to work.” Carmen replies

—-

Carmen wastes no time to gently place your body onto the scuffed office couch, pressing a hand to your head, before reaching for an ice cold container of water, dipping a towel into it before gently pressing it to your forehead.

Carmen shakes his head in anger, he should've seen this coming, he should've noticed from the slump of your shoulder and your one word answers that you were stretching yourself too thin.

Carmen tortures himself as he replays the moments before you fainted into his arms. The way your features twisted into a sob, and the lasts shred of resolve snapped, and you had reached for him, you had reached for him.

You had reached for Carmen when you fell, and something in him broke when he had caught you.

Carmen had been used to his own self-destruction, but as he rested his thumb, rubbing circles and wiping away the tears on your face, he wished himself to change, not just for him, but for you. How could he? How could you be such a poor example to you? This was his own fault, and the reality of that conclusion twists like a knife to his gut.

His sweet girl, his Sunshine, who had thought the needs of this goddamn sandwich shop was more important than her own. You begin to stir in his arms, and the tension and shake of his arms begins to release as you wake up, Carmen eases you into consciousness when you begin to panic.

“Hey hey, I’m right here, you're okay, you're okay” Carmen replies softly, and you squeeze your eyes tightly, trying to understand what had happened and why you felt like your body was filled with lead.

"What, what happened” You reply, looking across the location of the office.

“You fainted, and I carried you to the office because you are not going back into that kitchen” Carmen replies, sitting up from his slumped position.

You stay quiet, confusion lacing your features as you shake your head. You fainted? How did that even happen? You had never fainted in your entire life.

Carmen peers at you, his eyes dancing across your face as your silence frightens him, he wouldn't even recognise you, your usual bubbly, and incredibly chirpy self was not replaced by someone who was so exhausted they couldn’t stay conscious.

“You gotta talk to me baby girl, please, look at me, you can tell me, you can tell me anything” Carmen replies, softly, caressing your hand with his thumb when it begins to shake.

You look up at him, his expression of worry and concern causing your features to twist,

“I um, I’m just a little tired” You reply, the beginning of tears choking you, causing your words to rush out as you try to stop yourself but it is fruitless, and Carmen eyebrows kind of pinch, he kind of frowns a little as he looks at you in that way.

It's all it takes before you sob, and sink into the coach. Carmen gathers you once again in his arms, and scoops your legs so that they lay across his thighs, and your head rests against his collarbone.

“I know baby, I know, I’m sorry, Oh honey I am so sorry” Carmen replies, rubbing your back as you let the last of your resolve sink into his chest, the cry of your tears leaving you speechless.

You can’t stop crying, the cup spilling over and making a big whole mess, snot and tears and heartache and exhaustion dirties Carmen's chef whites and you can't help but grip onto him like he is the only thing tethering you to Earth.

You don’t have to tell Carmen then, he knew the second you walked in, and he knows now when you hold him. There's a certain grief Carmen feels when he looks at you and sees himself, and in a way this is for Carmen too.

You sit like this for a while, you and Carmen. Wrapped in his arms as you lay across his lap, long after the tears had run dry, where you are left with hiccups and the soothing touch of Carmen's hand across your back.

It feels like you two are the only people on earth. Everything is Carmen; its all you smell, all you feel against your skin, all you hear as he whispers into you ear. No one dares to step into the office doors, even when an hour ticks by, even when the trickle of customers turns into a downpour and the orders never end, the family knows that you need this, that your health was better than money, or happy customers and fuck all.

Even after you have cried your eyes out, the responsibility of work begins to weigh on your body, you still had so much to do with so little time

“But the marinade, and- and Sydney's” You begin before Carmen cuts you off with a soft squeeze.

“Richie’ll handle it, and if he doesn't Cicero can go fuck himself. You really think I’m going to let that override you right now? Just forget about the kitchen alright, can you do that for me, pretty girl?” Carmen replies

You nod, the burden that had exhausted you to sickness lifted from your shoulders. You look towards the clock and realise the vendors were coming soon to meet with Carmen, something he couldn’t miss.

“The vendors, aren't they-”

“They came in 3 hours early, it's why it took me so long to get to you when that asshole was throwing a fit” Carmen replies, knowing what you were asking for.

You peek at him in question “Well?”

“They signed.” Carmen replies, rolling eyes and smiling at your delighted squeal

“What did I tell you? Carmen Berzatto is more than-” You start before a yawn stretches through you.

“Alright, alright, enough talking from you. When’s the last time you ate?” Carmen asks

You stop and scratch your head, trying to think and you laugh a little when you can’t remember.

“I don't know” You reply

Carmen’s eye twitches, and he smiles down at you before easing you off his thighs and onto the coach.

“What- what are you doing?” You ask, not even trying to hide the sadness in your voice. You already miss the heat of his chest warm against your cheek.

Carmen smiles softly as he looks down at you, threaded a hand through his head as he wipes down the creases on his apron.

“I’m making you something”

“What? No it’s- it’s okay I’ll eat at family” You reply, reaching a hand out to him

Carmen reaches for your palm, pressing a soft kiss on your the skin of your knuckles before reaching down to kiss the top of your head.

“No you need to eat now, alright? You're going to sleep the rest of the day, and then, and then, you're coming back to my place so I can keep an eye on you. You gonna listen to me or protest?” Carmen replies, eyebrow raised as he crosses his arms. His voice drops down an octane, like it was a command, and you have to bite back the desire floating in your stomach at the way he looks down with his eyes all heavy from above.

“Okay, alright, whatever you say Chef” You reply with a smile, and Carmen sinks his teeth into his bottom lip when you say it like that.

“Just wait a sec” Carmen replies, and as he is about to leave you call for him again

“What are you even making, half the ingredients are gone”

“It’s no problem, it’s your recipe anyway” Carmen replies, with a hint of a smile on his face before he leaves the room. It takes you a while, half because you're exhausted and the other half because you're hungry before the realisation hits you that he's made a recipe for you, about you.

You can't help the smile that stretches across your face, goddamnit Carmen Berzatto, and you say you aren't a romantic.

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