#➳ where is the person that i know? they must have left with all my faith. ( musings: aria montgomery. )

[yuujispinkhair]

its time for single dad!kuna and his albino kiddo, uraume x elementary teacher!y/n

OMGGG THAT SOUNDS SO COMFORTING AND SWEET 💗😭 Okay I had to write this! I hope you like it!

Single Dad!Sukuna x Reader (female). Fluff. 800 words. Divider @/chilumitos

When you start your job at the new school, everyone warns you about a certain pink-haired, tattooed dad.

"Oh you have Uraume in your class? Well, good luck then."

"Why?"

"Oh, it's not the child that is the problem. It's the dad!"

Your coworkers tell you about this huge, grumpy man who always barks out orders and complains left and right the whole time because he thinks his child isn't getting treated correctly.

When you first meet Sukuna, you really are intimidated by him. He is tall and muscular, almost filling out the whole doorway and towering over you. A very attractive man, but scary with those tattoos that tell you he must lead a life in crime or at least must have been involved in something like that at some point. He sneers at you while his eyes sparkle threateningly,

"A new teacher, huh? I sure hope you will do a better job than the ones before you. I won't accept any carelessness when it comes to looking after my child!"

Sukuna's voice is harsh, and his gaze is full of anger. But you listen patiently to him and realize that this is just a man who is worried about his child. A child who doesn't really have any friends and is sick all the time and gets bullied for it.

You can understand Sukuna. Can understand the helpless anger you see in those maroon eyes. Like a tiger who is ready to kill for his cub but doesn't know how to handle the everyday tragedy of his child being an outcast in school.

You smile warmly at him and tell him in a soft voice,

"I understand that, Mr Itadori. You are worried about Uraume. I promise you that I will have a close eye on them. I won't look away when someone bullies them. Uraume is a lovely child and amazing the way they are. I will do my best to guide them on their way to becoming a confident and happy person. Thank you for coming to me with your worries."

And you see this big, bad, angry man falter and blink at you in confusion because, apparently, none of the other teachers ever reacted the way you did. But he catches himself after a moment and tells you he will watch you closely before he leaves without a farewell.

You keep your word and look after Uraume, praising the child for the exercises they excel in and sitting the whole class down to discuss with them that it's not okay to make fun of others for the way they look, etc. Teaching them that everyone is different and that this is okay. You even assign group projects, where you pair Uraume up with some kids who you know are sweet and won't be cruel to them.

Three weeks later, you walk out of the school in the afternoon when all the kids have already left, jumping when a low voice speaks up next to you. Sukuna is leaning against the wall of the building, smirking at you, maroon eyes wandering curiously over you,

"I came to thank you, Miss. Uraume told me about how much fun they are having at school now and that they even found two little friends. They told me you are the best teacher in the world."

You break out into a big smile, eyes filled with happiness,

"I am so happy to hear that! Uraume is doing so well! I am so proud of them and so happy that they enjoy coming to school now!"

And Sukuna pushes himself off the wall, taking a step closer to you. So tall and broad, but he doesn't seem all that intimidating anymore. There's a little smile tugging at his lips, and his intelligent eyes are warm when he tells you in a low, velvety voice,

"All the other teachers ignored my complaints or refused to talk to me anymore and sent me to the principal, who was just as incompetent. You are the first one who took my words into account and let actions follow. I thought this school was a hellhole, but you changed my mind."

You chuckle softly, feeling a bit flustered at the intense gaze out of those beautiful maroon eyes and the praise coming from this attractive man.

"Thank you, Mr Itadori. I am glad."

"Sukuna."

"Hm?"

"Call me Sukuna, please. It will sound nicer if you call me by my first name while we have coffee together."

And with that, his grin grows broader, and he jerks his tattooed chin toward the little café down the road, making your heart flutter excitedly as you smile back at him and nod softly,

"Yes, that sounds really nice, Sukuna."

[cheynovak]

Complicated

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N, a young personal assistant to Soldier Boy (Ben) and Crimson Countess, is caught in a whirlwind of events that shatter her sense of stability. After accidentally witnessing an intimate moment between Ben, Crimson, and another woman, she’s left shaken and unsure how to process it. The following day, Crimson casually invites her to join them, which only adds to Y/N's confusion.

Warnings: 18+ Threesome, cheating, smut

English is not my first language 

*This story is my own original story, please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

part 2/?

I drove back to my office, not knowing where else to go. My, our apartment was no longer a refuge—it was tainted, just like everything else. The small couch in my workspace was uncomfortable, but it was better than facing the wreckage of my life back home. I curled up on it, hugging a pillow, tears silently streaming down my face. I had never felt so alone.

Eventually, exhaustion took over, and I drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, crying even in my dreams. Every now and then, I'd wake up to the sound of my own quiet sobs, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

At some point in the night, I felt something, someone, touching my hair. I stirred, disoriented and groggy. For a split second, I thought maybe it was a dream, but then I saw him.

Kevin.

He was standing there, his hand gently stroking my hair as if he had every right to be there, as if nothing had happened. The sight of him sent a surge of anger and panic through me, and I bolted upright, screaming.

"Get out! Leave! Now!"

Kevin looked shocked, he tried to calm me down while I kept yelling, he was telling me all the things he thought I wanted to hear, pretending this was the first time he cheated but that was a lie, I knew it deep down.

Then I heard a deep, calm voice from behind me.

"Is there a problem here?"

I turned, and there he was, Soldier Boy. My screaming must have been so loud he heard it at the top floor where his penthouse was. Or he's just happened to walk by.

His imposing figure stood in the doorway, arms crossed, his expression hard. His eyes shifted between Kevin and me, quickly assessing the situation. He must've noticed my red, tear-streaked face because his gaze darkened, and I could see the tension ripple through him.

Kevin opened his mouth, likely to make some excuse or explanation, but Ben cut him off with a single, cold command.

"Leave."

The word hung in the air like a threat, and Kevin hesitated for only a second before backing down. He gave me one last guilty look before slipping out of the room. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving an eerie silence in its wake.

I was still sitting on the couch, my body tense, my mind reeling from everything that had just happened. Ben stayed standing for a moment, watching me. He wasn’t smiling, his usual cocky, teasing attitude gone. Instead, his expression was unreadable, almost concerned.

After a long pause, he walked over and sat down beside me on the couch. He didn’t say anything right away. The room was so quiet I could hear my own ragged breathing.

For the first time since everything had gone so wrong, I didn’t feel like I was drowning. His presence, solid and calm, was grounding me in a way I didn’t expect.

As I sat there, tears still rolling down my cheeks, Ben shifted slightly beside me. Before I could react, he pulled me into his arms. My body tensed at first, but then I melted into the warmth of his chest, my cheek pressing against the firm muscle beneath his shirt. The quiet hum of his heartbeat was the only thing I could focus on as the sobs came again, uncontrollable and raw.

I didn’t hold back this time. I blurred out everything, the pain, the humiliation, the betrayal. "He cheated on me," I choked out between sobs, "and I was so stupid… I really thought he loved me." My voice cracked on the last word, and fresh tears poured down.

Ben didn’t say a word. He didn’t offer any comforting reassurances or tell me everything would be okay. He just sat there, letting me cry, holding me like he had no idea what to do but felt obligated to be there.

His arms weren’t tight around me, just loosely draped as if he were holding something fragile he didn’t really want to break but didn’t quite know how to handle. It was awkward in a way, like he didn’t want to get too close, but he didn’t want to pull away either.

For some reason, that made it worse. I felt small in his arms, insignificant, like this whole emotional outburst was just another inconvenience for him. I shouldn’t have cared, but it made me feel even more broken. My chest ached, my throat raw from crying, and I didn’t know what to say, so I mumbled the only thing I could think of.

“I’m sorry…”

I pulled back just slightly, enough to look up at him, my face still wet with tears. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark, intense, watching me with something I couldn’t quite place. Before I could process it, before I could even think, his hand gripped my chin firmly, and suddenly, his lips were on mine.

It wasn’t soft, or tender, it was forceful, rough, a kiss that left no room for doubt or hesitation. My body froze in shock, my mind going blank as I registered what was happening. This wasn’t what I needed. This wasn’t what I had asked for.

I almost leaned into it, almost let myself fall into the moment, but something inside me snapped back to reality. My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, pushing him away, breaking the kiss.

I pulled back, wide-eyed, breathless, and completely overwhelmed. I stared at him, my mind racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Ben’s gaze was still locked on me, his breathing steady, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes something dark and unrepentant.

I didn’t know what to say. My mind screamed at me to leave, to run, but I was frozen in place, caught between fear, confusion, and the weight of everything that had happened.

Without thinking twice, my anger toward Kevin surged like a wave, and before I could stop myself, I crashed my lips back against his. The heat between us ignited quickly, our tongues battling for control, the intensity of it all erasing any hesitation I had just moments ago. It wasn’t about passion, it was about drowning out the hurt, the betrayal.

For a minute or two, we were lost in that raw, reckless kiss.

Then Ben pulled back, a glint in his eyes as he grinned, still holding my hand. “Let’s get you some revenge,” he said, his voice low and filled with something dark.

My breath hitched as he tugged me to my feet, leading me toward the elevator. My mind spun, still trying to catch up with what was happening, but part of me—part of me wanted this, needed this.

The idea of payback, of forgetting Kevin, made me follow without question. A night with Soldier boy was something a lot of women would sell their soul for.

When the elevator doors opened into his penthouse, I was hit with a rush of nerves, a gnawing feeling deep in my gut. The space was grand, just as I’d expect from Soldier Boy, but what made my stomach drop was who was waiting for us.

Crimson Countess.

She stood by the window, dressed in something slinky and red, her lips curling into a wicked smile when she saw us enter. "Well, you brought company." The knowing look in her eyes made it clear she knew exactly what was happening, what Ben had brought me here for.

My heart raced as realization hit me like a brick. This wasn’t just about me and Ben. His intentions became clear.

“Oh no, I… I’ve never done anything like this,” I stammered, feeling completely out of my depth, my skin tingling with a mix of fear and something I didn’t want to admit.

Ben didn’t miss a beat. He sat on the bed, leaning back casually, watching me with that same confident, predatory gleam in his eyes. Crimson stepped up behind me, close enough that I could feel her breath on my neck.

“That’s okay,” Ben murmured, his voice low, coaxing. “She’ll teach you anything you want. We can take it slow.”

I swallowed hard, my mind spinning. Everything about this felt wrong and right all at once, the pull of anger and the need to numb my pain warring inside me.

I had never been in a situation like this, never imagined myself here, but the bitterness I felt toward Kevin and the desire to hurt him the way he’d hurt me clouded my judgment.

Crimson’s soft voice whispered behind me. " This will be fun." Ben added “Don’t you want payback on, what’s-his-name?”

“Kevin,” I muttered, my voice shaky. My breath hitched as she lightly ran her fingers down my arm.

Ben smiled, his eyes gleaming as he leaned forward on the bed. “Right. And what better revenge than spending a night with not just one, but two superior beings?”

My pulse raced, my body caught between fear and something I didn’t want to admit. The temptation to get back at Kevin was so strong, the anger still boiling inside me. The words danced in my mind—payback, revenge, forgetting the pain—and I was so close to giving in.

Ben's eyes were locked on me, challenging me. Crimson’s hands lightly brushed my shoulders, her touch warm, inviting.

But was this really the kind of revenge I wanted?

--

The answer was yes.

I gave in to the pull of revenge, the need to drown out the hurt Kevin had caused me. Ben kept his word, taking it slow, easing me into a world I had never imagined I’d be part of. I had a little to drink first, and another, just enough to blur the sharp edges of my anxiety.

Crimson made the first move, her touch soft but confident. Ben just sat there, relaxed, watching me as I explored the sensation of another woman’s body for the first time.

Crimson was clear about what she liked, guiding me with a kind of experienced patience that made it easier for me to follow. I couldn’t say I truly enjoyed it, it was more surreal than anything. But my body responded, either to her touch or to the way Ben’s gaze burned into me as he watched, his eyes following every movement, every reaction I had, playing with himself while smoking a blunt.

I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol, or the way he looked at me, but after a while, I found myself giving in. When Crimson brought me to my first orgasm, my mind clouded with the strange mix of guilt and release. She smiled, satisfied with herself, and then leaned back, her voice sultry as she said, “I want to try something else, I'll be right back."

I was still lying on my back, catching my breath, my mind spinning in ways I couldn’t control. I looked up at Ben, feeling more exposed than ever under his intense stare.

Without hesitation, he grabbed me by the arm and pulled me up, straddling him in a swift motion that made my heart race. His hands slid over my naked form, fingers brushing my skin in a way that made me shiver despite myself.

"I thought you were a little nun," he teased, his voice low and teasing, his lips hovering near my ear. "A virgin waiting till her wedding night."

I bit my lip, my mind a mess of thoughts and emotions. The guilt, the anger, the desire to forget—it all mixed together until I couldn’t tell one feeling from another.

Ben's lips brushed my ear again, his voice even lower this time, dripping with confidence. "You need a man to really enjoy it, don’t you?"

I nodded quickly, too overwhelmed to speak. His grip tightened on my hips, and for a second, I felt like I was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something I couldn’t come back from.

Ben’s hands gripped my hips firmly, guiding me with deliberate slowness until I felt him pressing against me. In his hand he didn't seemed all too big, but brushing against me made me beg to differ.

Just an inch, and I gasped, my head falling back as a rush of sensation overwhelmed me. He was big, too big. My body tensed, trying to adjust to the feeling, but even through the discomfort, there was something undeniably intoxicating about it.

I could feel his eyes on me, the heat of his gaze as he studied my every reaction. His hands never let go of my hips, controlling my movements as he slowly pushed deeper, inch by inch. I tried to stay focused, my breathing ragged as my body started to respond in ways I wasn’t expecting.

My face was close to his now, my hands resting on his broad neck near his hair for balance, finger tugging at his hair. I could hear his breathing, steady but deep, as he helped me move up and down, guiding me to take him deeper, bit by bit.

The sensation was overwhelming, my mind a blur of thoughts and sensations. I couldn’t think about anything else, not Kevin, not the mess my life had become, just the way my body was reacting, the way Ben’s hands felt on me, the way he filled me. It was too much, and not enough all at once.

As I moved on him, Ben’s voice was a low, sultry murmur, sending shivers down my spine. “That’s it, just like that,” he encouraged, his breath warm against my ear. “Feel how good this is? You’re doing amazing.”

He shifted slightly, guiding my hips. “You’re so tight… just let go and let me take you there.”

I could feel his hands tightening on my waist as he thrust deeper. “You like that, don’t you? You were made for me.” His eyes locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that made me blush.

Ben’s voice was low and commanding as he talked, guiding my movements with an intensity that made my heart race. I caught a glimpse of his eyes flicking to something behind me—probably Crimson returning—but his attention remained solely on me. He was in control, and I was swept along for the ride, unable to dictate the speed or the rhythm of his thrusts.

“Just focus on me. Let me show you how good it can feel.”

Each word dripped with a mix of dominance and allure, making it impossible for me to resist. “I want to see you fall apart, to feel every inch of me,” he growled, urging me on as I lost myself in the moment.

As pleasure built, he leaned closer, his lips brushing my ear. “You’re perfect like this. Just let it take over.” And when I finally reached that edge, he whispered, “That’s it… let go for me.”

With each deep thrust, I felt myself teetering on the edge, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me. I lost track of time as pleasure built, wave after wave crashing over me until I finally tipped over the edge, spiraling into a blissful release. It hit me again and again, each pulse sending me higher, until finally, I felt him reach his own climax, his breath ragged against my skin.

As the aftershocks settled, I glanced at Crimson. She wore a look that suggested she wasn’t entirely pleased, but in that moment, I didn’t care. I was too worn out, my body buzzing with the remnants of ecstasy.

Eventually, I found a comfortable position on Ben's left side, feeling the warmth of his body next to me. Crimson settled on his right, and the exhaustion washed over me, pulling me into a deep sleep. In that moment, I let go of everything—the hurt, the betrayal—and surrendered to the darkness.

--

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[hwnglx]

follow-up on my reading on them from last year, since i don't think it was satisfactory, and a sweet anon requested <𝟑

how do they feel about each other? jimin + jeongyeon

based on tarot. i do not know these idols personally. energies are always changing. what i say is NOT straight fact. pls take it with a grain of salt!

did they ever date?

yes, they did. however, it was very brief and ended abruptly.

how does jimin feel about jeongyeon?

he connects nostalgic memories to her. it seems like this “relationship” or moreso just puppy love, happened when he was young, inexperienced and also busy. like he had a lot going on, and didn't put much effort into the connection.. it was more casual and not overly serious to him.

it does seem as though he was overwhelmed by her abundance of energy and fast approaches at some point and broke things off himself. (eight of wands plus four of cups is giving ghosting.. ㅜ)

she was just.. taking things too fast and being too much for him. jeongyeon was very invested, just clinging to him. this overbearing energy didn't match his more easygoing approach at all, so jimin was like “nah i'm out.”

it's kinda funny since i did see that scene of him side-eyeing her at the music show interview in my minds eye, and thinking “또 저렇네” meaning “she's like this again” she just kept rubbing him the wrong way, and he was getting annoyed.

i don't see him putting much thought or consideration into how she felt. he wasn't having it anymore, so he just dipped. seems like it was his more immature era, since i do feel it was a little harsh on his part..

how does jeongyeon feel about jimin?

the page of cups immediately coming out lowkey broke my heart. she definitely did have more of an emotional connection to jimin than he did; it's giving first love. so much dreaminess and idealized views she projected onto him.

a lot of attachment and obsession early on in the connection from her. she also had some issues with trust. she couldn't figure out his signals, felt like he must be hiding something or playing her. she very much was serious about the connection, whereas jimin made her feel as if it was more fun and games for him. this suspicion resulted in her getting overbearing, questioning his every move. i keep seeing her just texting him asking where he is, what he's doing.

jeongyeon thought he was being selfish and inconsiderate. she thinks that jimin essentially used her for however long he felt like entertaining her, and coldly left her hanging once he got bored.

she might still be holding onto a grudge to this day, since i don't see any resolution or moving on here. there seems to be a continuous attachment to him, with the obsessive devil clinging onto the knight of swords (representing jimin as a libra sun) at the end of the spread.

[maidflowery]

The Gratitude of a Fox

𝟷 𝚘𝚏 𝟺

Jiaoqiu x Reader

Ｔａｇ： Ａｎｇｓｔ， Ｈｕｒｔ， Ｄｒａｍａ， Ｃｏｍｆｏｒｔ

At the end of winter, a human saved a wounded fox.

At the beginning of spring, a young man arrived at her doorstep, and they fell in love.

One day, he asked her, “If I’m no longer human, will you still love me?”

Prequels: Pinky Promise; Good Night, Sweet Dream

Spoiler for 2.5

The first time Jiaoqiu met you, the snow was falling relentlessly.

It dyed everything white. The trees, the roofs, the roads, and even his own blood, splattered on the asphalt.

By then, a soft, cold blanket of snow had encased him, growing thicker with every passing second. The icy grip of winter was gently pulling him into a deep, eternal slumber.

Just how... Did it come to this?

Jiaoqiu smiled wryly. At least, he felt sure that he was.

No one knew when they would die; any day could be their last.

He just didn’t expect it to be the day he finally set out on a small trip to the rural countryside. He wanted to see what it had to offer in terms of hotpot. But on the way, he bumped into someone.

‘How is one capable of holding so much resentment?’

When Jiaoqiu turned around and met the man’s eyes, such was his first thought.

Jiaoqiu opened his mouth to apologize, but only a small whimper came out. Then, he fell to his knees. He looked down and saw the hilt of a dagger protruding from his abdomen.

Crouching on the ground, Jiaoqiu instinctively looked up at the man who had stabbed him.

The man was seething, his eyes bloodshot, as if carrying a lifetime of rage.

“You deserve it, you sly fox!” he snarled.

In truth, even before the man uttered those words, Jiaoqiu already had an inkling of who he was.

No, he didn’t know the man personally.

Perhaps, in a distant past, this man’s family, relative, or even ancestor had crossed paths with him. Another life he had failed to save despite being a healer.

Jiaoqiu stared at the crimson pool spreading under his feet. For a moment, he couldn’t register it was his own blood.

Meanwhile, the man’s torrent of hatred continued.

“How dare you show yourself here after sending my father to his death!”

...Ah, I see.

“You hid in a safe place while everyone else laid down their lives in the war!”

That’s one way to see it.

“Then, only you returned, taking all the credit! Some healer you are!”

Certainly... I became a renowned healer after enlisting for some time.

As for why, I also don’t know why.

“—It should’ve been you!!”

Jiaoqiu finally understood. This man was grieving. He had lost someone precious and didn't know where to direct his sorrow. So, the man chose to hate him, the healer who was supposed to save his father.

At the same time, after living for so long, Jiaoqiu knew how easily the truth could be twisted. Some rumors painted him as a cunning fox, maneuvering people like disposable pawns for his own gain.

The man’s words were nothing but fallacies, yet Jiaoqiu agreed with every single one of them.

After all, those were the exact words he used to say to himself.

*

The man left Jiaoqiu to die on the side of the road.

As a healer, Jiaoqiu came prepared. He applied emergency treatment right away. Nevertheless, there was only so much he could do.

He was suffering from blood loss. It took all his strength just to treat his wound, let alone stand. As a result, he lay helplessly on the ground.

The once light snowfall had turned into a full-blown blizzard.

A blizzard...? When winter is nearing its end...?

I’ve stitched the wound, but at this rate, I’m more likely to die from hypothermia...

It was a rare chance for him to enjoy a holiday, and he chose this place whimsically for a solo trip. Everyone else was preoccupied with their own businesses.

He couldn’t help but think that it was karma.

His field of vision was dyed white, with no one in sight. Snow muffled all sound beneath its soft weight. Crying for help was useless.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t scared. But the final moments of those soldiers who perished on the battlefield must have been far scarier. So, what right did he have?

“How dare you show yourself here after sending my father to his death!”

Jiaoqiu couldn’t help but think about the man’s words over and over again.

Sending them to their death.

He couldn’t even deny it.

He had tried his best to cure them, but ultimately, it was their choice to return to the battlefield. If he could, he’d have prevented them. He’d have saved everyone. He wanted everyone to live.

Why? Why did he survive?

Lady Feixiao, I’m so sorry... I promised to cure you, but I think this is it for me...

Despite his best attempt, he couldn’t prevail against fate.

Slowly but surely, everything went dark.

“—u okay...!?”

Just before his consciousness disappeared completely, he heard a voice.

***

The next time Jiaoqiu woke up, he found himself staring at a dull ceiling, marred by slight stains.

It was bright, too bright, and warm.

His wound no longer hurt. In the first place, Foxian had excellent regeneration.

“Where am I...?”

When Jiaoqiu tried to sit up, something heavy fell from on top of him. He soon discovered it to be layer after layer of blankets. Then, he looked around.

The shabby room was warm and full of light. The sky outside the window was a shade of deep blue. From the vibrant and colorful surroundings, it was evident that winter had passed.

Something rapped against the window, stealing his attention.

The once dreary branch, covered in snow, was now adorned with a cascade of delicate blossoms. The flowers clung to the branch in such abundance that the wood beneath was barely visible, as if the tree itself had bloomed into life.

“You’re—hoahm—awake...! Ouch, my back...”

Hearing a voice right beside him, Jiaoqiu turned around.

That was when he first saw you, his benefactor.

Dazzling sunlight streamed in, making your smile even more blinding. Gentle breeze swirled in, carrying petals of cherry blossoms, and one got stuck in your hair. Instinctively, he felt the urge to reach out to you, but he restrained himself.

As he let your smile wash over him, a tinge of warmth crept in his chest.

At that moment, he clearly recalled thinking:

Spring has arrived.

*

Later, you filled him in on everything. You were a university student who happened to past by on the day of the incident.

Thus, Jiaoqiu learned that she had rushed him to the hospital, only to discover that his wound had already begun to close. The doctor even complimented how well the stitches were done.

After disinfecting the wound and bandaging him, they sent him home. Her home, technically. Afterward, she made sure that he stayed cozy and warm with all the blankets she could get. She even surrendered her small mattress to him, sleeping on the floor the whole time.

Then, he slept for three days and nights.

“No words can express my gratitude. I’ll make sure that your kindness is repaid. Also, I’m sorry for the troubles I’ve inadvertently caused you...” Jiaoqiu thanked her courteously.

During the conversation, he also found out she’d snuck him into her apartment without permission. He’d have to leave soon.

He didn’t want to stay indebted with someone, so he began thinking of a way to compensate her. How could he break this off as cleanly as possible? Financial remuneration was one way to do it, but it might be too crude.

Just as he was in deep thought...

“You must be hungry. Here, I made some porridge!”

She returned with a bowl. When he saw the bland white porridge, something inside him fell, but he made sure not to let it show. At the same time, his nose picked up a scent, but it was too subtle for him to decipher.

Probably just my feelings...

Showing his friendliest smile, Jiaoqiu dared to make a request. “Thank you, but may I ask for the spiciest pepper you can fin—”

Before he could finish his words, she shoved a spoonful into his mouth.

“Ahaha! So funny, do you want to wreck your stomach?”

Jiaoqiu glared at her while chewing the porridge. Something had been nagging at him since earlier. At last, he understood what it was.

Those eyes.

Since the beginning, she had been looking at him as if he was a wounded rabbit. As a Foxian, he wasn’t quite sure how to take that. In the end, he decided to just keep chewing his food.

...!

But then, a gentle aftertaste enveloped his mouth. The silky white rice had a hint of natural sweetness to it.

“Is this... coconut milk?” Jiaoqiu remarked in awe.

“Yes, that’s right! This is my favorite way to cook porridge!” she smiled at his guess.

In truth, he wasn’t astonished by the coconut milk itself, but rather by the fact that he had tasted it in the first place. Until now, he could barely taste most food.

He wondered why.

Jiaoqiu turned around, and saw that she was holding another spoonful, smiling eagerly.

“Here, Mr. Pink Fox, aaah~”

...She’s really treating me like a small animal.

A confusing feeling rippled in his chest. He didn’t exactly dislike the look of fondness she gave him, but being treated like a critter, on the other hand...

“My name is Jiaoqiu. Also, I can eat by myself,” he said, no longer smiling and averting his eyes from her.

“Okay, okay.” She readily handed him the spoon.

Frankly, he wasn’t that hungry. He was just curious about the lingering aftertaste.

So, he ate a spoonful, and then another. Before he knew it, he was eating his second bowl.

Something is strange...

“You have quite the appetite! But, eating a white porridge must be boring. Here! Some garnishes!”

“You don’t really need to...”

He politely declined, but that didn’t stop her from adding a fluffy omelet, some chopped greens(?), seaweed flakes, and pickled radish. Immediately, the once white porridge was filled with colors, looking even more appetizing. The greens turned out to be scallions instead of coriander, so all was right with the world.

Jiaoqiu took a bite of the omelet and was pleasantly surprised to find it creamy, with a perfect balance of salt, sweetness, and a hint of pepper. But there was something much deeper than that. A flavor that couldn’t be achieved by simply adding salt, pepper, and sugar.

“Delicious. This is...”

She grinned, as if waiting for that exact question.

“Mushroom bouillon! Another one of my favorites!”

“I really like it. How creative. To think that you can add it to an omelet...”

His cooking style was quite traditional, without any additives. If he wanted to make broth, he’d boil some fresh mushrooms. Now, bouillon powder and stock cubes could be used in dishes beyond just soup. How time had changed!

Then, he tried the pickled radish. It was both crunchy and spicy! Coupled with the porridge, the flavor became irresistible!

*

You stayed by his side as he savored the meal, sharing your cooking knowledge as if you had known each other for a long time.

Before Jiaoqiu knew it, the sun had gone down.

“Hehe. Mr. Pink—Jiaoqiu, you must be starving! You finished the entire pot!”

Yes, that was right. He had finished not one, not two, but the whole pot! He was too ashamed to meet her gaze. His cheeks flushed with heat.

“I-in my defense, I hadn’t eaten for three days. I’m really sorry. I’ll be sure to compensate you for the meal. Oh, and the hospital bills also...”

“Haha, don’t sweat it! You were seriously injured! Now, please rest!”

Under normal circumstances, he would have refused outright. In fact, he would have left long ago. But something was not right with him today. Like she said, it was probably because he was seriously injured.

Jiaoqiu rested his head on the pillow while his benefactor lay on a pile of blankets not far away. He insisted that she took some of them. The room was small, so there was little space to spare.

With his stomach full, sleep naturally came to him. As he drifted to sleep, he glanced at her for one last time. She had dozed off by then.

Came morning, he’d decided how to best repay you.

***

Jiaoqiu had departed at the first light of dawn.

He left without saying goodbye, leaving behind a stack of bills and a seemingly precious piece of jade.

It is what it is.

You had a once-in-a-lifetime chance to encounter a Foxian, so lucky you. Besides, he made sure to properly compensate you. You kept telling yourself this, attempting to disperse the sinking feeling in your chest.

Then, days passed, eventually turning into weeks. Whenever you pass by the row of cherry blossom trees near your apartment, you’d inevitably be reminded of the androgynous beauty with the same hair color.

Then, on that fateful day, you heard a soft knock on your apartment door.

You opened it, revealing a dazzling, familiar fox-eared man carrying an antique wooden lunch box.

By that time, not a single cherry blossom petal remained on the branches outside. Yet, his hair, fluttering in the spring breeze, gave you an illusion that the sakura season had just begun.

The man, Jiaoqiu, smiled at you.

“Hello, I’m a new neighbor that has just moved in next door. It isn’t much, but I made them myself. I hope you enjoy it.”

He took off the lid of the lunchbox, revealing a piping hot meat bun.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude for saving my life. From now on, if you need anything, please don't hesitate to tell me."

"'A-anything'...?"

"Yes, from cooking a simple meal, sharing a conversation, treatment for illness, to getting rid of someone."

The pink Foxian smiled, speaking as if he was talking about how nice the weather was.

"Ooh, how kind—wait, can you repeat the last part?”

"Fufu."

Seeing the innocent, pure smile on his face, you decided you just misheard it.

Of course, like a decent person, you turned it down.

“I saved you because it's the right, munch, thing to do. Mr. Jiaoqiu, I do not, munch, wish for any kind of compensation whatsoever.”

...Except your hand seemed to have a mind of its own. You spoke while stuffing your mouth with a meat bun.

“You seem to be enjoying the meat bun. Oh, look, you ate them all. I'm glad! I have more in my place. Would you like to come by?"

“Munch, okay.”

You followed after him, seeing his fluffy pink tail wagging left and right. He opened the door to his place, exposing you to an onslaught of delicious, meaty fragrances and seasonings.

Afterward, you ate, ate, and ate some more. At some point, dinner and some side dishes were served on the table. Jiaoqiu really went all out.

Then, as you bit onto the crunchy spring roll, you suddenly remembered something.

...Wait! I’m supposed to turn him down!

𝓝𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻

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Thank you for everyone who has read this far! Here's a little quiz for you! Guess the correct answer, and I'll draw the scene of us spoonfeeding (chibi) Jiaoqiu!

[magewritesstories]

[ ᴊᴇꜱꜱ ᴍᴀʀɪᴀɴᴏ ] ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ʟɪᴋᴇꜱ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴘᴇᴀᴛ ɪᴛꜱᴇʟꜰ

summary: jess moves back to stars hollow to open a new branch of truncheon books in his hometown, and tries not to murder the girl living in the apartment above him and the town enjoys watching another grumpy business owner fall in love with a bubbly inn manager. TW: none note: in love with him and not even in a funny way, i need a jess

“Are you sure this is the place you want?” Andrew asked for what felt like the millionth time. The bookstore owner gave the 25-year-old a nervous stare as he signed the last few papers.

“Yes, Andrew, for the millionth time, this is the place.” Jess sighed, he couldn’t blame the man for his hesitance, he hadn’t exactly left a good impression on the people of Stars Hollow while living there.

Out of all the places he’d imagined settling down, Stars Hollow, Connecticut was incredibly low on the list. 

But he couldn’t deny the fact that it was a good commerce town, people passed through on business or on their way to Hartford all the time. So when his friends asked him where they should open a new branch of their bookstore, it was the first place he thought of.

Once all the paperwork was finished, Jess had spent the week driving back-and-forth from Philadelphia to Stars Hollow and everything was finally done. 

Andrew took papers, “Okay, I’ll get these to Kirk—” He moved to grab his bags— “Have you met Y/N yet?”

Jess shook his head, Y/N the mysterious person that lived in the apartment above the bookstore, “Nope, haven’t run into her yet.” Andrew nodded, “Well, I better get going.”

Once the older man had left, Jess turned to the bookstore. There were cardboard boxes everywhere, and all the bookshelves had been emptied along with the walls, where the hanging bookshelves had made place for paintings.

Jess started to unload the first box of books when Luke walked in, with you tailing behind him.

“Oh come on, don’t lie,” You insisted, “It is so a different brand.”

The older man sighed, maneuvering his way through the mounds of boxes. “Y/N, for the last time: I’ve been using the same brand of coffee for the past twenty years.”

You crossed your arms, “Liar, I know you did something different with it.”

“Well fine, you got me, I put drugs in yours hoping they would shut you up,” Luke deadpanned, handing Jess a paper bag, “Here’s your lunch.”

You turned to him as well, “Oh, you must be Jess!” You exclaimed excitedly, “I’m Y/N, I live upstairs.”

You stretched out your hand for him to shake. Jess stared at you, it was 9 in the morning, how were you so upbeat already?

“This is the part where you take my hand and tell me it’s nice to meet me,” You whisper jokingly. “Jess Mariano,” He replied, shaking your hand as you give him a bright smile.

“Don’t you have places to be?” Luke questioned, staring at you. You raise an eyebrow at him, “What’re you talking about?”

The older man sighed exasperatedly, “The Inn.” Your E/C went wide in realisation, “Michel’s going to kill me!”

Without another word, you ran towards the door, almost tripping over a box of paintings on your way out, “Sorry!” You excused, and quite frankly Jess wasn’t sure if you were talking to the box or him.

“Wow,” He breathed as he watched you made your way down the street, only to stop halfway to pet Babette’s cat before resuming your run.

Luke nodded, a small smile on his face, “Yeah, that girl’s a storm with skin,” He replied, “So, you need any help with these boxes?”

Jess groaned as Voulez-Vous played loudly upstairs. He couldn’t say anything about it yet, though, per Stars Hollow rules you were allowed to play music as loud as you wanted to until 10 PM.

When Toxic started playing he had enough. He made his way up the creaky stairs. You’d left your door open, and Jess took it as a sign to go inside. 

You were standing on your couch, singing along to the song, using your spatula as a mic. Jess watched you jump off and spin around, before finally coming to a halt in front of him.

“Oh, Jess, hi!” You grinned, not even slightly flustered, “Can I help you?” 

“Yes, you can, by turning that god awful music down.”

Your eyes went wide, “Shit, is it ten already?” He shook his head, “No, you just have bad taste in music.”

You laughed, “Right, you’re the kind of guy that listens exclusively to Metallica and Iron Maiden,” You teased, “Hey, I’m making cookies, you want some?  They’re almost done.”

“What I want is for you to turn down the music,” He deadpanned, arms crossed over his chest. You shrugged, “‘Kay, Roommate.” You reached for the stereo and turned down the music.

“Are you my roommate, ‘cause you’re not the landlord, you rent the place too, but you don’t sleep here— or your not supposed to, I’ve seen you sleeping on the couch— but your not my neighbour either,” You rambled, smiling at him.

“Just keep the music down,” He grumbled, “And if you have to play it at max volume, play some decent music.”

An hour after your little encounter, you came skipping down the steps, a plate of cookies in hand. “You never told me whether you wanted the cookies or not,” You said, putting the plate down, “So I brought them anyway.”

The black-haired man stared between the plate of cookies and your bright smile in confusion. Finally he rolled his chair away from the desk and grabbed something out of the drawer near him.

“Here,” He said, handing you a CD he’d burned himself, “Some acceptable music I think you’d like.”

You inspected the plastic case and grinned, “Thank you.” With one last sunbeam of a smile you turned around and practically skipped up the steps to you apartement.

[thedinanshiral]

On the choices we make

This week we got the last article in IGN First series for The Veilguard, and many are not happy.

Here's the article, feel free to read it whenever, at your own risk tho

SPOILER WARNING & DISCLAIMER: I'll mention some spoilers for the character creator options for the Inquisitor. And i have not really read the IGN article, just looked through it vaguely but Twitter made sure i knew what it was about. I also got these spoilers earlier when the embargo on the preview event was lifted, so it wasn't really news to me.

In short, the shocking part of the article people are upset about is basically most choices from previous games don't carry into The Veilguard in any significative way. This news caused a lot of people to despair, become disappointed, sad, and even angry. So here's my two cents explaining why the devs decision to trim down the ever growing tree of possible outcomes from all past decisions was a smart and necessary move.

First let's talk about the Warden. It's been fifteen years since DAO, the Warden has served their purpose. Expecting them to still keep on the spotlight forever just isn't realistic. Particularly lore-wise, they're tainted, they're getting their calling eventually, they can even die in DAO. Even if in some worldstates the Hero of Ferelden is alive, searching for a cure, enjoying family bliss with Morrigan somewhere, this is not their game anymore, hasn't been for fifteen years. And it makes absolutely every sense that Rook doesn't get to casually ask Morrigan of all people about her personal life and her partner. Considering the different origins as well it also makes sense if the Warden is simply referred to as the Hero of Ferelden in codices instead of specifying if they're Cousland or Mahariel, that way all origins are contemplated without the need to select which one we chose, yes i'll say it again, fifteen years ago. Please, play DAO again if you must, but just, please, move on. It's time.

Then let's be real here, DA2 is pretty much self-contained. We see the direct consequences of the DA2 events early into DAI. There isn't much to talk about DA2 choices after that.

And now, about DAI...people were left in the Fade, people drank from a well, Divines were chosen. And The Veilguard is not about that. Sorry, but that also makes sense.

The Fade choice: it's pretty much decided that whoever stays in the Fade during Here lies the abyss didn't make it. They're gone. Sad, i know, but it's also been ten years in game as well and Hawke, Alistair, Stroud and Loghain are only human, they can't survive that. The thread many hang on for hope is Flemeth's words to Hawke "We stand upon the precipice of change. The world fears the inevitable plummet into the abyss. Watch for that moment... and when it comes, do not hesitate to leap. It is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly" , is not a hint towards them surviving the Fade, it's precisely about them jumping into it. Which is what happens in that quest. There's nothing in those lines about making it out alive, or out at all. It's "whether you can fly", not "that you can fly". People always want these games to be DARK FANTASY full of DIFFICULT CHOICES and CONSEQUENCES that CARRY OVER, but when they choose a loved character to make a sacrifice and potentially die suddenly they expect them to have plot armor and return like nothing happened and nothing was lost? That loss was a consequence of that choice, and we all have to live with it and move on.

The Well choice: Solas' reaction to the Inquisitor drinking from the well is a strong one, but the consequence of that was already shown in DAI, in worldstates where OG Kieran exists we can see Flemeth control the Inquisitor to restrain Morrigan when she's trying to stop Flemeth. There's no confirmation on this but it's possible this power is gone once Solas petrifies Flemeth in the epilogue scene. From there we can only headcanon what happened with that power to control whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows; did the power vanish once Flemeth died? Did Solas inherit it when he absorbed her powers? Did Solas decided to only absorb her energy but avoided taking that particular ability with him? Remember, he's against slavery, servitude, and controling others. He's more into killing people in their dreams, petrifying his enemies and blowing up dear old friends' favourite stuff with his insane mind powers for extra emotional damage. If Morrigan is who drank from the well, it could also be she found a way to nullify that binding to Mythal; we don't know it yet but seeing as she appears in The Veilguard with a headpiece similar to Flemeth's it could even be she eventually accepted Mythal's deal. Anyway, the protagonist this time is Rook, and whoever drank from the Well of Sorrows is not something that affects them, or the main events of the game surrounding the Veil and a double Blight. The Well was drank, let's move on from that too.

The Divine choice: honestly? Not geopolitically relevant this time. The Veilguard takes place in Northern Thedas where the main power is Tevinter, which has its own Chantry and its own Divine. We're apparently not going south of the Waking Sea, so who rules Orlais or Ferelden and who sits on the Sunburst throne ruling over the southern Chantry is of no consequence to the regions we'll visit and the people we'll meet as Rook in this new game. Also, it's been ten years since all of that went down, whatever we made happen with the Inquisition could easily have been changed with a rebellion or two throughout the years.

The choices from previous games that affect The Veilguard are all from DAI, because that's the one game directly connected to The Veilguard; whatever happened in DAO and DA2 happened then and there and we've already seen the effects of those choices, sometimes in the same games they were made on. And the choices from DAI that carry on are limited to just three: Who the Inquisitor romanced, if the Inquisition remained or was disbanded, if the Inquisitor vowed to save or stop Solas. These are the choices that directly affect and are pertinent to The Veilguard events. DIRECTLY.

Now this has gotten some people bitter, like the game is serving Solavellans and dropping everyone else in the Amaranthine to die like their worldstates don't matter, but that's not it. Those two last choices are there even if your Inquisitor is not Lavellan, even if your Lavellan did not romance Solas. Remember, the Inquisitor and Solas can be friends too. They can even despise each other. I guess some could argue the romance option is there to cater to Solavellans too but i ask -rhethorically-, is it not relevant if the man set on destroying the world to return to a past long gone has a romantic history with the hero advisor of our new protagonist? Is it not relevant that this particular relationship was his only weakness, capable of changing his mind and stopping his hand??? Better yet, try to explain how it's not relevant. Considering who Solas is, what he intends to do, his role in determining the fate of all Thedas in the past as he is about to do now, Solavellan is very much relevant. A friend Inquisitor is also very relevant. An Inquisitor that wants his head on a platter i bet has much to say about Solas' role in this new stage too. As for the fate of the Inquisition i imagine it might affect how the Inquisitor can play their role as advisor to Rook, if they still hold the title and have some support from the Chantry maybe they can offer different resources or intel than if they're acting independently.

Every game so far has had many different options available, worldstates abound, paths can fork in so many ways and places it's insane to pretend it all carries on and on and on in every following game, when each game presents a new protagonist, a new institution, and its own theme and conflicts to deal with and resolve. In The Veilguard we'll be dealing with blighted ancient elvhen gods set on destroying the world. What is Hawke got to do about it? What could a senior, dying Warden do to save the world now? Even the Inquisitor can only contribute from the sidelines, maybe, we don't know yet.

Apocalyptic events will not wait for what was to come back to soothe our nostalgia. This time it's the Veilguard and Rook's time to save the world, and i'd say we let them. And let's give ourselves a new chance to make new, differenct choices, with different stakes and consequences we'll likely see soon enough probably backfiring on us. The devs worked on this game with the intention of giving us a full game, avoiding a repeat of previous questionable moves (like the main story truly ending in a dlc rather than the base game). In order to achieve that they had to focus, a lot, on how to carry the narrative forward and develop all these new characters, and let's be honest 100% now, that's pretty difficult to do if they're permanently looking back and dwelling on old characters and events. We can't move forward by looking over our shoulders to what was.

I strongly suggest everyone we give The Veilguard the opportunity it deserves, to be its own game as all the previous games were. For many players including myself their first Dragon Age was Inquisition so previous choices were not registered, we had no idea and still had a great time playing DAI and got so invested in it many went back to play DAO and DA2, and dive into the novels and comics, even Redemption, and that CGI Cassandra movie. So past choices not carrying over to newer games isn't the catastrophe some people are complaining over. Also please don't be arses to the devs over things like this, they worked hard all these years to give us their best, they deserve respect.

Lastly, i'd like to share a phrase in my language, "quién te quita lo bailado", which translates to something like "who can take away from what you've already enjoyed?" (the answer is nobody btw). If you already played previous games and enjoyed them, loved them, and played them 50 times over, that's yours, your experience, and nobody can take that away from you; the characters you built, your headcanons, that's all yours, for life.

Can't wait for October 31st so we can keep enjoying this world that for many of us feels like home.

[gghostwriter]

Entangled Strings of Fate

Chapter 8. Time heals (almost) all wounds

Spencer Reid x Fem!Original Character

Summary: Caltech, Pasadena - Cleo considers herself a woman of logic. With an IQ of 158 and an eidetic memory, how could she not. But meeting Spencer, the boy genius to hers, had her believing in intangible theories like the invisible string and the fates. Now, if only he would notice the depth of her feelings. Set in Caltech, pre-season 1 and will progress from there. w.c: 1.9k a/n: ngl i had a hard time taking this fic off of hiatus. There were some instances where I just wanted to drop it all together but i persevered so here we are, slowly back in the game. The updates would be irregular since I’m also working on other ideas behind the scenes but hope you all still enjoy and support. Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated! previous chapter || series masterlist || next chapter

”If there is no struggle, there is no progress.” - Frederick Douglass

Change was a peculiar thing.

If Spencer Reid was to describe it from his own experience dealing with his fight with Dilaudid, he’d liken it to the well-known ‘five stages of grief’—denial, anger, depression, bargaining, and acceptance. His progress was never a linear thing, there were days his emotion would swig back and forth within stages like some sort of pendulum. He resented it. It made him feel weak, resentful, and angry. At the world, at the people around him, and most of all at himself.

The first and second stages were denial and anger. Two emotions he regrets to know too well and deflect to others poorly. 

“Reid,” Morgan’s tone coming off harsh from restrained anger. “What was that? I just saw Cleo—” he pointed behind him towards the door. “—rush out and crying.” 

He scoffed. “Nothing. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

“Yeah, well let’s talk about the elephant in the room then. Since when had you had those?” Morgan nodded his head in the direction of the medicine bottles left haphazardly on the coffee table.

“Since Tobias,” he shrugged nonchalantly, opting to go with a half truth and a half lie to try and throw his fellow profiler off his trail. Not that it would ever work with how tenacious Morgan was. “He must have slipped it in my pockets before his murder—”

“Murder?” Morgan picked up on his specific choice of wording. 

“—and its not like I used it.” 

A lie.

“Kid, we both know that was self defense and Cleo told me the truth, don’t like to me.”

Spencer averted his eyes, finding all the scuffles on his floor suddenly interesting. It was indeed self defense, he knew that, but Tobias didn’t deserve to be killed—not really. He wasn’t like the rest of the unsubs that they have hunted down. He was just a victim of bad fate and his own fractured mind. Inside, the real Tobias still saved him and for that he felt grateful and regretful that his way of repayment was made through by a bullet. 

“Reid, I thought you were getting better. What you went through was traumatic but this isn’t the right way to cope—drugs and pushing away probably the person who cares for you the most. This isn’t you, Reid.”

“Yeah well, maybe this is the new me, have you thought about that?” He glared at Morgan. “I don’t even know why you’re here lecturing me about keeping secrets and coping, we all their own demons locked up, don’t we? The members of the BAU aren’t really known to be the most trusting and forthcoming with our pasts. We brush the trauma all under the rug and hope it doesn’t catch up to us.”

Morgan sighed as his shoulder dropped, all the fight in him leaving. “Come talk to me when your anger has passed—” he stepped back until he was almost by the door. “—and Reid, let’s hope this isn’t the new you ‘cause if it is—” he trailed off, shaking his head.

As the soft closing of the door echoed through the apartment, Spencer felt relief. Relief in being free to do what he wanted without judgement and relief to unknowingly hit rock bottom as his trembling fingers reached for the sealed bottle of Dilaudid. 

———

The third stage was bargaining.

Spencer didn’t know how he got here. Here being the present without the two strongest pillars in his life, Cleo and Gideon. One he pushed away and the other, leaving him behind with just a letter to his name. 

The team felt incomplete. He felt incomplete. 

As a man of science, he didn’t believe in higher power or the cosmos but one late night, he found himself on the rooftop of his apartment complex, cursing the stars and bargaining for the past to come back to the present.

If the star placements that night were different, maybe the present would be too. If he had worn a different combination of socks, maybe Cleo would still be by his side. And if he had not separated from JJ, maybe he would be here—at rock bottom.

It was a place he never thought he’d be in. Did he really have 187 IQ for nothing? Was all those knowledge in his expansive brain useless in recognizing wrong decisions made? 

He sighed as he watched the sun break the horizon.

Another day powered with no sleep.

Another day of wishing things had been different.

And another day of missing the one he pushed away.

———

The fourth stage, depression, hit when he least expected it and with it, came an immense regret that threatened to pull him under it’s ravaging tides.

By definition, depression was a general emotional dejection and regret was the act of feeling sorrow. Easy to understand in wording but difficult to explain when both were cruising through his body.

If Spencer was to explain what both were beyond it’s dictionary definition, he would liken regret to a bone injury that was never reset right and depression to deep, self inflicted wound that had been picked on numerous times that caused it to scar permanently. He felt himself riddled with both—fresh and old, reminders of his inactions and wrongful judgement. The optimists would wade through it and wear their progress with pride. These so called life battle scars that lead them to a better future but he wasn’t one of them.

No, he carried his with such shame causing his shoulders to hunch further forward from the accumulated weight of his whole life’s misfortunes. The heavy, heavy weight of sorrow from not being good enough for his father to stay. Remorse from not being strong enough to carry his ailing mother’s load and having her admitted in a facility. Disappointment from choosing the easy way out of his drug addiction—lashing out and using behind closed doors. Heartache from pushing away the only person in his life that cared enough to be angry and concerned, Cleo—his constant, his number one supporter. 

A rhythmic knock on his door pulled him out from under the waves. Blanket draped over his body, Spencer sluggishly made his way to it—ignoring the hunger pains in his empty stomach. It was nothing compared to what his heart was going through.

“Spencer,” Garcia uttered as she took in the boy genius’ form in worry. 

He cleared his throat, rough from the lack of use. “Garcia, what—what are you doing here?” 

“Taking care of you since it’s obvious you’re not going to,” the tech analyst maneuvered her way through with a Tupperware on hand. She headed straight to the kitchen regardless his small protests.

Garcia worked fast in plating him soup and a slice of bread. If this were a normal evening, he’d feel grateful and enticed by the smell but this wasn’t so all he felt was an urge to retch. 

“I don’t want it,” he mumbled, shuffling further away from the source of the stench.

She sighed. “Reid, what day is it today?” 

The question threw him off a loop. What does that have to do with forcing him to eat?

“Friday. It’s just Friday.”

“It’s Sunday,” she walked closer until he was reaching distance. “I’ve been calling you and you haven’t been picking up so I took it upon myself to visit you instead. Now—” dragging him to the dining table. “—I need you to eat. Even a little bit ‘cause I know you haven’t eaten at all.”

He brought a trickle to his drying lips. It was chicken soup and if he didn’t know any better, it tasted familiar. Homemade, even.

“How is it?” Garcia asked.

“Did you make this?”

Her eyes widened before her hand waved in front of her face in jest. “What? No—no, I got it from the restaurant near my apartment.” 

That was a lie.

A lie that Spencer didn’t question. He had lied about worse things and he had no right to question where the soup really came from when he knew the answer.

From Cleo. 

Or at least it was Cleo’s recipe.

The thought of her still being part of his life, no matter how inconsequential, warmed his insides more than the chicken soup had. 

“Do you think I’m bad for taking those drugs?” 

She gave a brief pause, enough to have Spencer worry. “No. I don’t have the right to judge you on your actions but—”

“But?”

“—it’s sad that other people bore brunt of your anger, which wasn’t your fault but wasn’t your greatest moment either.”

“Do you think—” he downed the last few spoonfuls. “—she’d forgive me?” 

It was what kept him awake most nights. The thought of never being part of Cleo’s world any more than a passerby was a living nightmare he hoped to escape from. Losing her felt like he lost his own limb. It threw him off balance. It broke Earth’s gravitational pull to his self. And when he does sleep, he wakes with this fog that he never pushed her away—never hurt her like a phantom limb before he drops back down to reality.

She reached into her glittered purse, rummaging through before she found what she was looking for. “I’ve been keeping this with me since that night and I think it’s time I give it to you.”

The single piece of paper looked worn at the edges and its folds. It looked non-descriptive. It was the contents that mattered. That truly mattered.

Law Enforcement: Narcotics Anonymous

(555) 657-02149

  All hastily written in Cleo’s loopy handwriting

“Oh.”

———

The final stage, acceptance, came with a physical change in the team. A new old member was stepping up to the plate in Gideon’s place.

David Rossi.

He had been feeling like his past self for a while now. All in thanks to the support each member has extended to him. As he started his climb up from the abyss of addiction, he had realized that his team—Hotch, Morgan, JJ, Garcia, and Emily, were there to cushion his fall should be falter and as the warmth of daylight hit his face on the way up, he wondered why he decided to stay in the darkness for so long. 

Why he had to lose two pillars before realizing that this is where he belonged? That this is who Spencer Reid is—a paradox of good and bad, a person who chooses the good no matter his demons.

And although adjusting to a new BAU member would take a while, he felt optimistic that everything would turn out just right. That it was time to finally let go of self loathing and make amends to those he can, no matter what the outcome.

That was how he found himself penning a letter to the one person he hadn’t seen in months.

To the one person who mattered after his mother. 

To Cleo. 

Comments & reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[ropes3amthoughts]

I know people are just joking when they say stuff like “Mithrun is an old grandpa he doesn’t know he can’t say those words anymore he doesn’t know they don’t have any book tokens anymore” because of these extras below:

and whatever but like it honestly drives me kind of crazy. Like can we look at this for a second.

He was the lord of the dungeon for five years. Then he was being rehabilitated for TWENTY YEARS. That’s not super long for elves, that’s like four years for us, but that’s still a long time. And then he was the captain for another fourteen years, but he didn’t have any desire other than getting revenge on the demon.

Mithrun hasn’t really been properly socialized for a total of FORTY YEARS, which is like eight years for elves. He was totally shut off from the world, then he was rehabilitated, and then he was with the Canaries on a onetrack mindset to go after the demon. Mithrun was doing bad, he was recovering, and then he was better enough to be the captain of the Canaries again, but he was still not “better.” In all that time, the world didn’t wait for him when he was at his low point. It didn’t wait for him when he was spending all that time recovering. And by the time it’s near the end of the story where these comics take place he’s just been so far detached from the world. Like he’s most likely never tried to go buy a book token after becoming a dungeon lord. He’s most likely never talked to people and learned the new slang of the time, he’s never been caught up which words are good versus outdated. Mithrun is technically better enough to be captain, he’s better enough to have reintegrated into society, but he’s not quite adjusted yet. He’s been out for so many years suffering under the hands of the demon and scraping his way through recovery and trying to work to get to the demon that by the time he’s stopped and done stuff like gift exchanges or whatever many aspects of the world are vastly different from what he remembers. I think that’s a lot like a lot of people in real life too who have similar experiences. People in mental health centers or hospitals who spends even just months recovering can miss out on so much.

Does this make any sense? It’s kind of late so I don’t really know what I’m saying and I’m probably repeating myself but like Mithrun was at a low point and then he was recovering for so long!!!! And then when he’s reintegrated back into the world it’s changed without him!!!! He’s not some racist old man!!! The world just kept on turning when he was struggling and how is he even supposed to deal with that? Like he doesn’t have much desire but everybody is so upset with him for not knowing things like outdated terms or using cash because he didn’t know there were no more book tokens and he just can’t have known that because he literally wasn’t in a state to keep up with all of the stuff like that and now everything is different and maybe he doesn’t care because he has no desire to but like aghhhhhhhhhhhh sob sob sniffle oughhhhh 😭😭😭😭 Mithrun 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 imagine I’m shaking him back and forth that’s how I feel right now oughhhhh

[katranga]

idk how to tell this guy at work to stop talking ab his diet and "goal weight". like i simply Will Not engage in that kind of conversation and idk how to be any more polite ab stopping it than literally saying that the weight you are is not a personal failing

[vampirepuppygirl]

You know, I grew up catholic and never experienced catholic guilt, and it still kind of confuses me

When I went to mass, the readings and the gospel were always just life lessons or stories to make you think, and what it wanted you to think about was usually humility and piety and loyalty and faith and stuff like that

Faith formation was mostly about learning the history of the church and important stories that you should remember, plus prayer memorization

I don't ever actually remember a time where they were specifically like "you must feel guilty about this" or "everyone by default deserves to go to hell and you must constantly prostrate before god to be deemed worthy"

It was "everyone sins and everyone drifts away from god and that's okay because he will never abandon you"

It was "Jesus died for your sins. To liberate you from them so you're no longer beholden to the old way, so you're no longer beholden to original sin, so you can have a clean slate without ceaseless penance"

The sin forgiveness cycle that Catholics kind of get pulled into was always described to me as a liberating cycle. It gives you the freedom to sin and the freedom to make mistakes as you bumble through the blind chaos of life without worrying about perfection or damnation

Even when I went to confession it wasn't just a blanket "don't do it again" it was "think about why that is a sin and let that experience teach you something."

If I know anything about catholics it's that they love rules and they love the pursuit of knowledge, I once had a very long conversation with a priest about why a certain rule was a rule and why a certain sin was a sin and it was a lot more complicated than just "god said so," even if I can't remember the specifics anymore

I don't know, maybe it was my specific diocese or I've just been around a lot of liberal priests or something, but I even had someone tell me basically word for word "As long as you follow the ten commandments and use the seven virtues as a framework to guide you, you're set. Use confession to scrub away the sins you can't avoid and that's it. Nobody is without sin so just do your best and that's all anyone can ask of you."

Primarily, what growing up catholic taught me was just the importance of love

Love your family, love your neighbor, love a stranger, love the Earth, love nature, and fundamentally love yourself. And forgive yourself. And be patient with yourself. Because I was taught that everyone sins and that's okay.

And that's okay.

I was taught that seeking absolution and forgiveness is meant to steer you in the right direction, yes for the ultimate goal of heaven, which was defined to me as Oneness with God. And hell was defined to me not as a multi-tiered demon filled demiplane of fire and brimstone and ice, but simply the state of separation from god.

But it wasn't just about salvation it was also about making the Earth we live in now a better place and they are rules specifically to facilitate good communication and good relationships with other people and yourself, and obviously God (but whatever.) It was always basically let God absolve you of your guilt but don't force yourself to feel guilty if you make a mistake.

I don't really consider myself catholic anymore, mostly because of other people, catholics and protestants who use their religion as a tool to spread hateful rhetoric and become their own personal left hand of God, instead of using their religion to spread love and patience and understanding and forgiveness and tolerance and all of the things that they actually fucking preach. Why y'all throwing stones huh? Y'all ain't without sin. Literally nobody is. That's the point.

But I like what I was taught. I use what I was taught a lot. Technically even if I don't consider myself catholic I still am. I have been confirmed, I could waltz right into a catholic church confess my sins and my doubts and have a long conversation with a priest and boom blank slate once more. There would be penance hoops I would have to jump through but that's literally what happens with every confession, so still

But that's always what confused me about Catholic guilt like

What were you taught?

[fingertipsmp3]

Not to be one of those people who complains but why are the two library books I reserved 3 weeks ago (as the first person in the queue mind you. And both of them are popular books with multiple copies available) still not ready

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[thevillainswhore]

New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular. 

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them 😌 for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door. 

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time,  when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.  

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck. 

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again. 

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting  internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level.  “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.” 

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck.  Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows. 

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?” 

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind. 

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.” 

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes. 

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.” 

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation. 

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic. 

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?” 

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–” 

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning. 

“What the shit–“ 

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?” 

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!” 

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.” 

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.  

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all. 

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?” 

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids. 

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed. 

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.” 

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone. 

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?” 

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over. 

Had he been listening that whole time? 

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky  may have made was a burden you did not want to bear,  and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.” 

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.  

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.  

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump. 

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose.  “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off. 

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips. 

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door. 

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.  

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.  

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?” 

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.” 

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf. 

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?” 

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom. 

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you. 

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.  

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence. 

Though, it is short lived. 

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand. 

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works. 

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off. 

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before… 

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious. 

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you. 

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats. 

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?” 

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet. 

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.  

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company. 

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence. 

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone. 

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content. 

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets. 

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.  

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself. 

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?” 

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV. 

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.” 

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.” 

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.” 

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.” 

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it. 

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”  

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!” 

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?” 

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.  

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night. 

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus. 

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”  

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing. 

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.” 

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” 

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face. 

Okay, you think privately, so what? 

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt. 

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard. 

Bucky… is a virgin? 

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match. 

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression. 

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind. 

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts. 

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully. 

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him. 

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession. 

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands,  and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty. 

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer. 

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past.  And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket. 

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs. 

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees. 

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.  

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical. 

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.” 

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting. 

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through. 

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek. 

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance. 

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap. 

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth. 

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves. 

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face. 

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek. 

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes. 

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.  

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session. 

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.  

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension. 

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time. 

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.  

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close. 

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard. 

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly. 

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before. 

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another. 

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you. 

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–” 

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.  

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries. 

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss. 

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move. 

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous. 

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.” 

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin. 

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet. 

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt  — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.  

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn. 

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it. 

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release. 

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the  loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle. 

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck. 

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently. 

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him. 

You can’t have that, though. 

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go. 

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in. 

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?” 

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.” 

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.  

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.” 

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him. 

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure. 

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop. 

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!” 

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed. 

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss. 

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat. 

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness. 

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material. 

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries. 

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces. 

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands. 

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair. 

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.” 

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only– 

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala. 

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?” 

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes. 

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away. 

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky. 

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall.  “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive. 

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.” 

That meant only one person was responsible. 

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.  

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night. 

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake. 

Love ya squirt, 

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x 

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again. 

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain. 

Part Two, Part Three

[zzencat]

A Peek Into Your Future Person’s Midnight Thoughts (NSFW) - Timeless ⏳

From left to right. It’s the one you can’t take your eyes off of.

Batman wouldn’t get this info out of ‘em. What are they thinking about when they text you good night? These are the fantasies they’re too shy to share. No spiritual identities were revealed. (Minors DNI)

Note: This does not necessarily have to align with your kinks. This is what your future person wishes they could do to you.

Must do before you choose: Clear your mind. Time is now patient and still. Close your eyes, inhale deeply, fill your chest up to the fullest, feel the soft air brush up against the ridges of your nose. Breathe out. You may now begin.

——————————-

Pile 1. ‘Yeah? Say that again. I dare you.’

straight up strength kink. trapping you between their arms (thank you kim mingyu for the inspo and energy)

you could share a (huge) height difference with this person and it makes them want to protect you

they either have a muscular build or are very much taller than you. a lot of fs in this pile have both. especially working out the arms.

they like to see you feisty so that they have a reason to conquer yo ass

HEAVILY thinks about pushing you against a wall (a beige-colored wall, in particular) in a hotel room and fucking you against it

the type of person to edge you so much that you start crying

this person may have given you hints or will you give signs of their kinks before, so you will get the idea that they have a brat taming kink

will purposefully try to piss you off to get you all hotheaded and feisty. they really want to test your limits so that you “try” and “teach them a lesson” or “intimidate them” with a finger to their chest and everything—like “just bc you’re bigger than me doesn’t mean you can keep pissing me off.” it’s laughable for them bc this is what they wanted. they’ll let this build up for a little more, keep trying to rile you up…UNTIL it explodes and they finally show you who’s really in charge. you may or may not of like this but you’ll be blushing like crazy lmfao

they tend to go for types that are too easy to overpower physically. it’s even cuter if you’re shorter than them and very obviously can’t take them down

fantasizes about holding you down/keeping you stationed while going down on you

this person might be hairy. think of a human to werewolf transformation. a good 50% of you will encounter someone completely clean shaven, sophisticated looking, keeps composure so damn well, but has reallllly freaky desires and fantasies. you wouldn’t be able to tell. the hints are subtle tho and will come up in their everyday actions towards you. (example: cleaning up after you or watching out for you, holding you close when a stranger approaches…i’ll add more in the points of interest 🤧)

holy shit…listen, if this is a sibling of someone you know, they’ll def fantasize abt fucking you with said sibling(s)/family members around, sneaking around the family house, doing it in risky places and times (have mercy!!!) — ex: cupping your mouth while they go down on you or tease you like “you don’t want them to find out, do you? keep quiet for me”

they’d love to hold your jaw in place and make you look at them while they pleasure you

wouldn’t feel ashamed or embarrassed for making you moan too loud. if youre at an event, they get off on people hearing you — doesn’t matter if your parents or the elderly hear it

this person really gets off on the idea of having sex in public. they’re a true exhibitionist :)

(expanding off my previous point) most of the fs in this pile don’t get…jealous?? like very “look but don’t touch” type of person when it comes to you; they know people don’t dare to compete with them. this person is very confident in where they stand in your life. if you ever suggest bringing in someone to watch you guys, they would be okay with the idea. now, a very small percentage are extremely possessive in this pile, but the idea is the same. i’m not ignoring them but only mentioning them slightly bc the small percentage want you to at least be aware that they’re capable of feeling extreme possessiveness (reminder: not the same as jealousy). as long as people know that you guys are together (and it’s been made obvious) and don’t try to cross the line or make passes at you, pile 1 fs is confident enough and typically doesn’t feel the need to prove more

^^ but i will say that some subtle signs of jealousy include trying to look superior to other “threats” to your relationship

stay with me now. they fantasize about you trying your best- whatever that means ?!?! bc of the height difference, if you get sassy with them or even get annoyed at them, all they do is just smirk and make it known that you’re just a doll to them (to keep it very vague w you).

honestly this person would be down to take you anywhere. for some reason, they always want people to know you guys are fucking so they think about doing it in public a lot. this person could work on just simply having nice slow sensual sex in the bedroom tho. i think it’s just cuz they crave the thrill and it’s a fat ego boost. but cmon…it’s nice to just have some chill loving sex once in a while (i’m nudging their spirit abt it)

you guys could be TOTAL opposites and have an enemy-to-lovers trope going on. OR extremely similar feisty, fiery personalities. some people here have a fwb or ewb kind of relationship w them already OR one of you has fantasized abt it

they could honestly give you a whole list of what they like and want to do to you but would rather show you (they’re pretty impatient). they need to know you’re wanting- no- craving the same thing- that you want them as much as they want you

points of interest: teasing to NO end (in bed and out); has a habit of calling you pet names (even when not in a relationship w you) or nicknames; tall; height difference; possible mbti: very VERY estp, entj, a tiny bit of estj vibes; your front or back against the wall; take you down - chris brown; backshots; hands behind head, “try it. i dare you”; “you’re not that strong” (idk who- either you or your person says this in hopes to rile the other up); tickle fights or play fighting that leads to…other things 😏; a friend’s sibling, unexpected or forbidden relationships; going down on you in a closet at a family vacation home (?!?! damn)

——————

Pile 2. ‘Treat me like your doll.’

you or this person could be a switch, but regardless, you will have many chances to take charge

the bondage is too obvious in this pile. they also may have body image issues

this person could be sub-leaning tbh. probably struggles making eye contact with you during the deed or just in general (w/ you or people)

wants to please you and be used by you

masochistic as hell

someone here struggles with very obvious self esteem issues, but through this relationship and learning how to trust and be vulnerable, you will both heal each other on a deeeeeply emotional level. you will make this person feel comfortable in what they fantasize about and this will be reciprocated

for some in this pile, like a good 45% of people, your fs may have dealt with sexual guilt growing up. (for a second, i felt like saying more but it’s safer for me to keep it vague for their sake.) this is reallll vague, so i’ll try to word it more carefully…the guilt can come from a plethora of things…

yk what would be beneficial for them? if you pleasured them while making them look in the mirror

this person is pretty shy with expressing their sexual desires. for many, this could be their first time, or just extremely inexperienced (but they feel embarrassed to admit that)

listen, the emotional sex will be insane. crying, lots of love—if you’re into dacryphilia, this will be your jam

trust is so important for them. also looking at each other’s eyes while going at it

deep long kisses that fade into sloppier, more desperate and needy ones (coming from more of their side)

idk how to explain this kink but it’s like…getting off to something you can’t have? they’d feel guilty about touching themselves to the thought of you (during the time you’re not yet dating each other) and that mental image would spiral into picturing you standing in front of them and just watching them get off to you while they’re on their knees. they see you as someone to be worshipped. they’ll be begging and possibly crying for you to let them cum

yk the deeper i dig into this, the more emotional it gets. i think this person is a huge people pleaser and has found it hard to be loved in this life time. but no worries, bc this relationship will help you both connect and become vulnerable. as long as you’re confident in yourself and carry a normal to high self esteem, you should be great in the relationship

mommy/daddy kink (it doesn’t mention who will be what but it’s def gonna be something they’ll be shy to confess), loves praise, collars (being collared), being your pet

this person would thank you for touching them. they could get pretty poetic in bed when edged for hours and under so much exposure

they def have the ability to be more dominant, but you’d really have to reel it out of them; they’re afraid of messing up

on the other hand, degradation will work wonders on them as long as you soothe those wounds later. praise and degradation will change this person’s life lmfao, as long as your timing is right

they’ll touch themselves thinking about soft and sensual, sensitive and teasing sexual acts, like mutual masturbation or if you use your hand to get them off while peppering their jaw with kisses

very sensitive person so their has to be a lot of trust between you to unlock the…freakier stuff (which is why i’ll cut it short. this is all they’re giving you for now 😎🤚)

points of interest: pinkie promises, very in tune with their feminine energy, “you’ll be here forever, right?”, very soft person with an insane sex drive, shy, doesn’t ask for much- just wants you to be there with them, quietly existing, kinda reminds me of those emo kids who date and kiss in the corner (but you guys will be engaging in no such cringe, esp not in public), shyly clings onto your hand, HOODIES hoodies hoodies, cool toned filters on pictures, matching clothes or accessories- i’m getting one person has a lock and the other with a key, collars with a heart on it, likes when someone gets possessive over them, will unintentionally spill their thoughts and ideas and then apologizes for rambling…i feel like a lot of you in this pile relate to them a lot…like very similar in personality or smth…lot of similarities (even subtle or suppressed parts of your personality), i really don’t think you’d be able to tell they’re a secret freak (maybe thru the way they dress but by personality, prob not), very artistic people- whatever art form they love or seek comfort from, you will find this very attractive and unique

- very small note: i realize that i don’t feel the need to correct the commas and make them semi-colons to show the list. i think it’s their energy being very forgiving and that they don’t care if you mess up (lowkey it’s bc they’re used to being hurt 😞). very unlikely to call out your mistakes. they just want you to be there with them, to love them of their flaws. they will undoubtedly do the same. they just don’t want you to leave them.

———————

Pile 3. If you look at them, you’ll laugh.

ok right of the bat, you guys are unarguably the most “nontoxic”, healthy, but also vanilla relationship out of the piles 😂😂

this person doesn’t have too many crazy ideas or thoughts when they think about sex tbh. they also don’t watch porn or at least are not addicted to it. very vanilla person with a normal sex drive

they prob get off like once or twice a day but sex to them is a bonding activity with you filled with laughter and some jokes (which both of you could work on if you want to ever engage in more kinky and dark stuff, esp since it could be hard for you to get serious and in the mood)

^^ like if you’re being handcuffed and you’re ticklish, this person will tickle you (unless you like this being done, it could mess with the sensual moment a bit 😅)

very gentle person. thinks about caressing your body

very affectionate and wants to tend to your needs. the last thing they want to do is have you in tears after sex (unless it’s happy tears)

they’re mostly serious with sex when they’re touching themselves alone (if you’re not physically there)

if you’re doing long distance, they’ll wait to have sex w you rather than touch themselves

don’t get me wrong yk they’re down to doing the freaky stuff too- but i think you guys are so in the “best friends” laughing with each other all the time, it could get unserious real quick 😂😂 if you’re okay with that, things should be ok for you 👍

open to engaging in all sorts of kinks and sexual fun, but they prefer it to be with you and not with another person involved. not that theyre judgmental of it, they just don’t want to have sex with others watch you guys or having another person/people involved. they prefer it to just be the 2 of you

so much laughing, too many good vibes, they’re completely enamored by you

you could share a similar personality to each other, but weirdly, without disrupting the balance

just touching your skin and cuddling for hours = sex for them

points of interest: EXTREMELY LOYAL; can’t see anyone in this world but you; loves what you think are your flaws; massaging your feet; caressing your body fat; will go wherever you want to go and they’d plan the trip too if you’d like; very kind person—so nice that they could try to help everyone- they don’t look at these as bad things at all; animal person; they’re as warm as they look; it would take a long time to piss this person off bc they’re that understanding; they could come off as too positive and naive tho, if you’re like “don’t you see that person was trying to scam you?” and they’d shrug, pull you close with a grin and be like “it’s okay. they probably needed that money. i don’t mind 🙂‍↔️”, very precious soul, not into polygamous relationships

—————-

Teddy Note: Sorry guys I forgot my little ending speech so I’m going back to add it here- THANK YOU for taking the time to read this. I hope your day is going smoothly and if not, no worries, we got tomorrow. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. I love that saying when any reader says it. Energy can seriously follow you if you dwell on it too much, while thinking about it negatively. Again, thanks for joining me on my readings if you’re new here :)

Have a good one guys. Teddy out 😎👍👍

[vivwritesfics]

Cat Mom 🤝 Cat Dad

Max likes being anonymous on these bengal cat forums. He likes making friends and talking about his cats without his own name attached to it. The Italian princess likes the same thing (jeez I wonder what happens next)

I had to do a special one for the actual day of my birthday lol

Jim&Sass

Help! My cat got stuck in another room!

Jam&Toast

Dude get offline and go help them!

Jim&Sass

What do I do! The door is stuck!

Jam&Toast

Get a hammer!

Max did just that. He didn't knew the person giving him advice, but he knew her cats. Jam and Toast. Her post showing off her pretty cats, two bengals, were how he knew her. There was nothing else about her, just her cats.

It wasn't a lot that he knew about it, but it was enough. He didn't know that she was sitting eagerly by her laptop, waiting for his confirmation that his cat was all right.

Jimmy and Sassy's dad was an enigma. But Jimmy and Sassy looked sweet and the stories he told about them were adorable.

That was what she called him in her head, Jimmy and Sassy's dad. She was sure her name in his head was similar. Jam and Toast's mum.

Jam&Toast

Did you get them out?

There was a moment where he didn't respond, where he must have been getting the cat out of the other room. Her perfectly manicured nail was between her teeth, but she didn't bite down.

Her nail had been perfectly done for when the driver's arrived for Monza.

His icon popped up in the bottom of the screen, three little dots beside it. She leaned forward as his message appeared on her screen.

Jim&Sass

Sassy is safe

Not sure what I'm gonna do about the giant whole in my door

Jam&Toast

Oh, you've got to show me that door

A picture from him came through within seconds. There was his door, with a decent sized hole in the middle of it.

Jam&Toast

Holy shit, dude

Jim&Sass

Trust me, I know

He was easy to talk to. Grabbing her laptop, she sat herself on her bed, placed her laptop on her bed, and settled down for the night. Jam and Toast, her two Bengal cats, were curled around each other at her feet, fast asleep.

She turned her laptop around and awkwardly snapped a picture of her two sleeping cats. The picture wasn't the greatest, and it was kind of hard to see two cats laying there, but she sent it anyway.

He sent pack a picture of Sassy licking a yoghurt treat from his hand.

They could have spent the entire night talking, the conversation branching away from their cats, but Jimmy and Sassy's dad had to go. She didn't ask where he was going, wished him safe travels and shut her laptop for the night.

***

Jimmy and Sassy's dad hadn't been online since Wednesday. She hadn't expected him to message her while he was away, having fun. But she did miss him. She missed talking about Jam and Toast to somebody that wouldn't brush her off, missed hearing about his cats.

It was Sunday, and she was on the grid. It was a bit of fun, going down to the grid. Sometimes Martin Brundle attempted to speak to her on his Grid Walk.

She stood by the Ferrari, talking to her good friend, Charles Leclerc. When Martin Brundle tried to speak to her, her security guard sent him away.

"Did you hear about Max's cats?" Charles asked after she had told him all about the stuff Jam and Toast had been doing that week. At least he wasn't changing the subject completely.

She frowned at him. "Max Verstappen?" She asked and Charles nodded.

"One of his cats got stuck in a storage room, nearly broke his arm trying to get her out."

She glanced from side to side, trying to look for Max on the grid.

***

Max watched as the Italian Princess approached him with the trophy. It wasn't a win, but he was still grinning. Charles had won Monza in a Ferrari, and Max was proud.

The Princess smiled at him. Max didn't want to consider it flirty, but he didn't know how else to interpret it.

After the Italian national anthem, they left the podium. Max grinned down at his trophy before throwing his arm around Charles' shoulder.

He saw the Italian Princess striding towards them. Stepping back, Max watched as she threw her arms around Charles. They spoke in Italian as she looked at the trophy Charles held.

Max went to move around them, but the Princess fixed him with a look. "How are Jimmy and Sassy?" She asked, letting go of Charles.

His cheeks were pink as he answered her. "They're good," he answered. "With the cat sitter, probably being naughty."

It wasn't a terrible response, but he wasn't getting it. "Max," she said and took a step closer. He was trying so hard not to look weirded out, she could tell. Her hand was on her hip, head slightly tipped to the side. "When are you flying back home?"

He answered and she checked the dainty watch on their wrist. "Do you think you have time to come and meet my cats, Jam and Toast?"

The surprise on his face was evident. "No fucking way."

[the-thing-inside-your-closet]

Gala Buddies

Sam Manson glares out across the sea of the rich, snobby ‘elite.’ The people mingling with one another, all fake smiles and false niceties slipping from their lips easily. Every face a mask they put on to hide their true selves from the view of the public. They made Sam sick. She hated Galas, particularly the ones that took her away from Amity.

So of course, her parents had insisted that they simply must attend the gala in Gotham being held by none other than Bruce Wayne. They couldn’t miss out on the opportunity to see their old pal again.

Though Sam thought it was more like they wanted to suck up to the man for some business venture.

Or try to set her up with one of his sons again.

At least she got to see Gotham’s architecture. That was a positive, she concluded. She’d get some cool photos out of the trip to show Danny and Tucker back home. And maybe she’d get to see one of Gotham’s infamous vigilantes up close, she could try to learn anything from gauging the way they handled themselves that might be useful for Danny.

Sam readjusted her stance, the fabric of the obnoxiously pink dress making her legs itch uncomfortably. Her mother had gone through her luggage before they left when Sam hadn’t been looking and slipped in the monstrosity she was currently wearing, and removing the dresses she had selected for this torturous night. She was becoming moodier, and ‘crabbier’ as Tucker and Danny might have put it, by the second.

Maybe she could ‘accidentally’ trip into the chocolate fountain and ruin the dress. At least then she’d be getting some form of retribution for being forced into the frilly cocoon of humiliation. And it’s not like her parents would be able to scold her too much in front of all the other rich schmuks attending the party. As Sam was eyeing the chocolate fountain she noticed in her peripheral vision a person approaching her.

“Not in a party mood I take it?” Asked whoever had walked up to her.

Sam turned to examine the guy in front of her. He looked to be roughly her age, dark skin and a fancy suit that he looked uncomfortable in. A nervous energy permitted off of him, Sam guessed he wasn’t used to these sorts of events and was unashamedly out of his depth.

“Nah, not particularly,” Sam offered with a shrug, “you seem like you want to be here as much as I do.”

“Ah yeah,” the guy rubbed the back of his neck and smiled sheepishly, “I’m kinda only here because my brother didn’t want to be here alone and most of our other siblings were unavailable aside from my sister and I. But now he’s off talking to a friend of his that happened to be here, and my sister’s disappeared to who knows where.”

“That’s rough buddy,” Sam offers him a sympathetic smile.

The guy snorts before asking, “did you just quote Zuko?” And Sam grins. He holds out his hand to her, “Duke Thomas.”

Sam shakes his hand, “Sam Manson. Nice to meet you, Duke.”

Duke visibly appears to relax a little and the air of nervousness around his somewhat dissipates. He shifts of his feet for a moment before deciding on something. “So,” he starts, “if you weren’t stuck here what you normally be doing with your time?”

“Probably playing Doom with my two best friends back home,” Sam doesn’t mention anything about the ghosts. She hopes Danny and Tucker are alright in their own.

“Oh cool,” Duke smiles and Sam would be lying if she said she’d never seen someone so perfectly embody literal sunshine like he did. “I usually play videos games with my siblings. Mario Kart can get super competitive though.”

Sam raised an eyebrow at that, intrigued. “How competitive?”

Duke grimaces slightly but looks amused at the same time, “well, tables have been flipped and expensive things broken. And everyone lost Alfred’s cookie privileges for a week.” He ground out that last part as though it physically pained him.

“Damn. They must be some good cookies if you’re that bummed about it.”

“Your have no idea. Alfred’s cookies are the best thing in the world. Fights have broken out over them.”

“Your family sound insane,” Sam chuckles and quickly adds, “in a good way.”

Duke grins at her, “yeah they’re kinda crazy sometimes, but they’re great. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without them.”

“It must be nice, having siblings like that.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

“Nah,” Sam shakes her head, “only child.”

Before either of them know or Sam and Duke have been talking for nearly the entire gala. They remained glued to one another chatting even as one or both of them wanted to grab something to eat from the buffet table. Their interactions didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce and the others.

Sam couldn’t remember the last time she had such a normal and fun conversation with someone other than Danny or Tucker.

The end of the night came too soon, Sam felt. Things were winding down and people were bidding others farewell. She could see her parents speaking with Bruce Wayne, possibly thanking him for a wonderful night.

“Looks like I’ll probably be leaving soon,” Sam deflated a little.

Duke pondered something for a moment but seemed to reach a decision quickly. He pulled out his phone and offered it to Sam, “here, give me your number. We can keep talking later. If you want that is.”

And Sam couldn’t find any reason to say no, especially when Duke was smiling like that. “Sure,” he took the phone from his hand and added her number into his contacts. She pulled out her own phone and handed it to him to add his number in too.

“Well then,” Duke fighters with the end of his suit jacket.

“Sammikins!” Pamela Manson called out, “it’s time to go sweetie.”

“I’ll talk to you late?” Duke asked with a smile.

“Yeah,” Sam smiled back, “talk to you later Duke.”