#(also if you're interested i made a playlist for the fic too)

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

Perfume Regret

ExBoyfriend!Miguel O'Hara x FemReader

Summary: A fic inspired by Attention by Charlie Puth. Your ex-boyfriend Miguel O'Hara left you heartbroken and no matter how intense the effect he has on you still is, you're determined to use this party to get even.

Warnings: +18 meaning SMUT AND LANGUAGE MINORS DNI OR SO HELP ME GOD. Also there's angst and good old anger-fueled sex. The ending isn't heartbreaking don't worry.

Word count: 4K

I know that dress is karma 

Perfume regret 

Got me thinking 'bout when you were mine 

Nightclubs had never been your scene. 

While you weren't strictly averse to them, you didn't thrive in that element as much as some of your friends did. Yet, whenever you decided to make an appearance, it wasn't the stroboscopic lights, the promise of a few drinks with friends, or the energizing music that made the night worth it. 

It was the hunt. 

And the preparations began long before you even set foot out of your apartment, from the moment you stood in front of the mirror wearing nothing but a fluffy bathrobe, your face a blank canvas. Getting ready with your favorite, emboldening playlist was usually a luxury but not tonight. Judging by the way you struggled to apply eyeliner over your lids with such shaky hands, tonight, you were in dire need of a crushing amount of confidence. 

So much so that a glass with one remaining sip of red wine stood next to your makeup bag, waiting for you to take that last bit of liquid courage. 

Yes, the mere thought of the chase always made your chest swell with excitement. The stolen glances from across the dancefloor until someone gave in and tried to make contact. Loud music left people no choice but to hold conversations in loud whispers that tickled your ear. The desperate attempts to make themselves worthy of your time and the small concessions you made to make them feel like the most special person in that tiny, packed, overpriced club. Flirting was a tango meant for two, and not knowing what kind of partner you'd be dancing with was exhilarating. 

Not this time, however, you thought as you picked up the glass and poured the remaining wine down your throat. Tonight you were after a much too familiar prey that you'd once been dumb enough to let get away. 

As soon as you got the digital invitation to the Alchemax Innovation Department New Year's Eve party, you knew it was time to settle the score. 

A short buzz coming from your phone interrupted your train of thought as the screen lit up with a text from whom you considered to be your work best friend, Liz. 

Heyy :) u coming? 

Yep. Be there in 20, is everybody there already?

O'Hara is missing. Idk if he's coming, though. 

Oh. 

You felt your stomach drop at the thought of all of this being for nothing. Whatever,. Who cared? You weren't doing this for him. You were doing it for yourself because you wanted to go out and have fun. 

A weak smile tugged at your lips when you couldn't even convince yourself with that blatant lie. God, you felt like a terrible feminist at the moment. Screw you, Miguel O'Hara. 

Those had been the last words you said to him before marching out of his apartment and slamming the door after you. Ever since that week during which he’d vanished from work with no explanation, your boyfriend had started to cancel your dates at the last minute or still be out at odd hours, and when he started to simply disappear and not answer your calls or texts several times throughout the day you began to worry.

When he asked if you could talk about something important, you figured you'd be getting an explanation, not dumped. 

The reason, according to him? He was dealing with some personal issues that he could not tell you about, but he'd single-handedly decided it was in your best interest to just move on with your life, so he'd decided to break things off. His face when he said all of that remained engraved in your brain since that day. Cold. Logical. As devoid of any visceral emotion as a doctor would be when recommending you to give up carbs or red meat. 

Two years of your life you'd given to him. You were planning to move in together. You were happy. For what felt like the very first time in your life, you were in love. 

You took a deep breath to keep tears from running down your cheeks and ruining your mascara. 

Even almost six months later, your heart painfully fluttered at the mention of his name.

Carefully, you dried your eyes with a piece of paper and took another deep, slow breath. Your eyes, beautifully framed by a smoky eyeshadow, slowly traced the reflection of your body in the mirror. A sleek, simple dress with a small slit on the side hugged your figure. You loved the color: a nearly black navy blue that matched your chosen makeup palette. 

At the sound of your phone, your eyes drifted down to the lit-up screen. 

Oh, nvm, he just got here. 

The game was afoot. 

As much as it hurt your pride to admit it, you were decidedly nervous as you made your way into the dimly lit nightclub, your eyes discreetly scanning the crowd in search of a particular set of brown eyes. 

Suddenly, a voice made your face in the opposite direction. 

"(Y/N)! Over here!" Liz called from the bar, waving at you with a huge smile that you returned as you walked towards her after wistfully looking at the busy crowd one last time. It wasn't until you reached the bar that you noticed she was sitting next to a man you didn't recognize. 

"So, this is she," she nearly yelled right next to the man's ear when you got close enough to be heard above the deafening electronic beats. 

"Hi, (Y/N), right?" He said, reaching out one hand, "I'm David. Liz has told me a lot about you," 

"Dave here just joined the team," Liz explained, giving his arm a gentle squeeze, "I thought it would be nice to make him feel welcomed. I'll leave you to it. I have to go say hi to a few people," She continued as she left the bar, not before giving you a certain look that made you realize you'd walked straight into a trap. While David was decidedly handsome, and you could've considered him to be your type under different circumstances, right then, your mind was somewhere else. 

"Sure," You replied distractedly, "So why did you choose to work here?" 

That should be enough to keep him talking for a while about his college education and how all he'd ever wanted to do was work for this company and so on while you focused on the matter at hand. 

Where the hell was he? 

Could it be that he'd just popped in to greet a few people and had left before you arrived? Before the countdown? 

Maybe he was celebrating New Year's with somebody else? 

"Sorry, one shot of tequila, please," You loudly called as the bartender walked past you. 

"Make that two, thanks man," David added with a flirtatious smile that you returned out of politeness, mentally praying for Liz to come back soon, knowing damn well that if she'd done this on purpose, there'd be no way out of this conversation. 

You downed the shot as soon as it was placed in front of you. 

David asked you something, but his voice reached your ears as if he was underwater. For a minute, you wondered if such a small amount of alcohol could make you feel so dizzy until you realized it was something else. Your eyes had landed on the back of a familiar head. Brown, scruffy hair and a hearty laugh that had your hands shaking again as you placed the glass back on the wooden bar. 

"God, I'm so sorry. My head's all over the place right now. You were saying?" You said, leaning closer to David. 

"I asked if Alchemax tends to go easy on the new guys or kick them to the curb at the first mistake." 

You laughed as if he'd just told an amazing joke, your eyes covertly going from his face to your target right behind him. At the sound of your laugh, his back stiffened, and you could see he was about to turn around. Right before he did, you quickly tore your eyes off him and glued them to David's face. 

"Oh, don't worry, you'll be just fine. I'll tell you what, I'll look out for you. How's that sound?” You replied, a more relaxed smile plastered on your face. David's eyes lit up. Poor guy. He probably thought that out of nowhere, his luck had shifted. 

Slowly and without losing the amused grin, you peeked over David's shoulder and found Miguel O'Hara's searing eyes staring right into yours. Unlike you, he wasn't smiling. Instead, he let those same calculating eyes unashamedly scrutinize every inch of your body that your gorgeous dress didn't cover and secretly fantasize about what it did. 

Another loud laughter leaving your lips made him snap out of a trance-like state and look into your eyes. Hunting on grounds you were no stranger to had its advantages, such as knowing what to do and when. And so you didn't look away. You held his gaze, undaunted, as you took David's unfinished tequila and brought it up to your lips to take a sip, barely sticking out your tongue to slowly lick the last droplets off your lower lip. You mouthed an apology to the man before you as you walked away from the bar, both for the stolen tequila and for what was about to happen. 

Trying your hardest not to smile or look at him, you made your way through the crowd straight toward Miguel, whose eyes you knew had remained with you since that intense visual exchange back at the bar. You felt them so intensely that you wondered if he could make you burst out in flames just by looking at you. You clenched your jaw as you got close enough for the scent of his enticing cedarwood cologne to fill your nostrils and travel all the way down to your chest, where your heart beat so strongly that it physically hurted. 

You only had one shot. This was it. 

It wasn't until you walked right past him that you finally acknowledged him, gifting him a faint smile as you stepped around him and walked toward the restrooms. 

As soon as the door closed after you, you found the two stalls were empty. After confirming you were alone, a nervous grin took over your features. Biting your lip, you approached the mirror and distractedly began to comb your hair back in place and even retouched your nude lipstick, your eyes set on the reflection of the bathroom door. 

Almost as if you'd timed it, the second you finished applying your makeup and threw it back into your purse, Miguel stealthily slid inside and shut the door after him. 

A minute that felt like an eternity to him transcurred while you kept patiently tucking strands of hair behind your ears, concealing a smug grin. Something had to give. More often, sooner than later. 

"Mind telling me what the fuck was that?" 

His voice bounced off the walls and reached your ears like a once-favorite song you hadn't heard in months. 

"What do you mean?" You calmly asked, never interrupting your task. 

"(Y/N), stop that and look at me." He commanded, his patience wearing thinner by the second. 

"I am looking at you," You nonchalantly replied, your eyes transfixed on his tense shape in the corner of the mirror as you slowly wiped some smudged lipstick off the edge of your bottom lip. 

Outside, the one-minute countdown began. Neither of you could care less. Inside that dimly lit, empty nightclub bathroom, time was irrelevant. 

In less than five steps, Miguel reached your side and, placing his hands on your shoulders, firmly spun you around to face him. 

"Carajo, ¿Tú no entiendes, verdad?" He hissed, his next leaving his mouth after an ominous pause, "Now look at me."

Not happy with the way you were being handled, you shoved him away and shot him a glare with your arms folded before you. 

"There, I'm looking. What do you want?" 

"I want you to tell me who's that asshole and why you seem to think he's so damn funny," 

"I'm sorry, O'Hara, that's none of your business anymore, is it?" You spat out.

"It was none of my business,' He agreed, wincing at the dry use of his last name, "Until you showed up in here looking like that, laughing like a dumb teen at some guy's dumb jokes, making sure I'm watching after you did some pretty extensive research to make sure I was coming."

Wanting to rebuke that argument, you immediately opened your mouth just for him to interrupt you. 

"What? You thought I wouldn't find out, bonita?" 

Miguel started to move towards you without giving you a chance to explain yourself. Still, you weren't sure of what you would've said had you been given the time. Three seconds later, he was standing right before you, trapping you against the cold stone of the sinks.

"Why are you doing this?" He absentmindedly asked, as if he was actually questioning himself or already knew the answer. Before you could react, he suddenly leaned in, burying his face in your neck and taking a deep breath, taking in the scent of your perfume along with something else that you couldn’t perceive but seemed to pull him forward so violently that he had to use both his strong arms on either side of you to hold himself back. Still, he kept babbling against the soft skin of your neck, “I didn’t want to do it…I didn’t…I shouldn’t have…mi amor, I just wanted to protect you,” 

“Protect me from what?” You asked in a breathy whisper, your self-control flaking when you felt him move even closer until your backside was pressed against the sink and your front...

You pressed your lips together to keep a noise that would be much too revealing from leaving your lips. 

Still, you realized your trials and tribulations weren’t over when his hands slowly moved closer to your thighs until his thumbs were tracing faint circles on them. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked in a hoarse voice before burying his nose behind your ear once more. You had to want him to stop. Before you could gather up the courage to tell him off as you should, you leaned forward and feverishly pressed your lips against his in a kiss that was all but sweet. Without breaking the kiss, in a display of both strength and coordination that was new to you, Miguel slid his hands under your thighs and lifted you effortlessly, placing you on top of the sink with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with the way he nudged your legs out of the way so he could grind his lower half into yours. This time there was no way in hell you could contain your moans. 

Pleased with the beautiful sounds he was eliciting from you, Miguel’s hands found their way back up to the thin straps of your dress, which he gently slid off from your shoulders before gripping your chin in his hand and tilting your head to the side so he could devour every inch of skin available, occasionally trapping it between his teeth to make sure it’d leave a mark. Even in your haze, you could notice there was something new to the way he was ravishing you. It was as if he was desperately trying to be gentle, to take things slow, just for something primal to take over and coerce him into taking you for himself. 

Once again, you stopped thinking when he pressed the hard bulge in his pants against you, the friction over your barely clothed clit throwing all logical thoughts out the window. 

“We don’t have much time,” You urged him, not even sure if he’d locked the door after himself. However, deep inside, you knew your motives had less to do with the little privacy and more with the way he unhurriedly worshipped your body and peppered kisses all over it, how his hands gently roamed it as if he was trying to commit every detail to memory. It reminded you of what you two had in a way that was still too painful to remember. You wouldn’t lose yourself to the memories of your past and miss out on how good he was making you feel right now. Tonight you weren’t two people deeply in love with one another trying to fight back the regrets of letting go of what was most precious to you, but two strangers about to fuck in the bathroom of a nightclub. 

As if to reinforce that thought, he swiftly pushed you further back onto the sink and pushed your legs apart even more, your dress ridding up almost all the way to your waist. You shivered as new skin was exposed to both the cold beneath you and the heat from Miguel’s skin as he fumbled with the fly of his pants. Meanwhile, you kept yourself busy trying to unbutton his shirt with shaky hands and silently thanked he wasn’t wearing a jacket in the first place. You needed to get him out of as many clothes as possible in the little time you had, needing to feel more of his skin against yours. 

Your desire wasn’t fulfilled until the shirt slid off his tan, broad shoulders, and you were pressed against his bare chest, his hands resting at the curve of your lower back as his head barely slid over your soaked slit, prying a raspy moan out of his throat that sounds almost painful. Still, even when you slid your hands around his shoulders and intertwined your fingers behind the nape of his head, he didn’t move further. 

“What are you waiting for?” You breathlessly asked, arching your back towards him with a huff just for him to move his hips away, escaping your touch, trying to regain some control over himself. 

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” He muttered. Shit. Not right now. Out of the whole night, he had to choose this precise moment? No. He hurt you. He owed you. And now it was his turn to shut up and take it. 

Taking advantage of his low guard, you hooked your feet behind his back and roughly pulled him towards you, another needy moan escaping your lips as you felt him right at your entrance, whatever remaining reluctance keeping him from sinking into you. It took every ounce of willpower to keep yourself from begging. 

“Alright,” He finally says, his hands sliding under your thighs to hold you firmly in place, “If this is what it takes for you to listen to me, bonita, así le vamos a hacer entonces.” 

He accentuated his words by slamming into you and immediately picking up a maddeningly fast pace, the loud music outside hopefully drowning out your endless string of broken moans. 

“I just…wanted you to be happy,” He spoke in a strained voice in between thrusts. 

“Shut up,” You snapped at him. You were happy. And it did nothing but further enrage you to see he was unaware of how miserable you were now without him. Or maybe he was aware because he reached that spot that always made your legs uncontrollably quiver and focused all his energy on it as if he was trying to make up for everything. 

“I love you,” He blurted out as he felt you clenching around his length, his hips stuttering for a second before the sigh that left your lips made him lift your leg further up his torso and slam into you with renewed fire, “God, (Y/N) I love you so much, I can’t do this anymore,” 

“Shut up,” You sobbed, this time as a plead and not an order. Your heart fluttered as you heard the words you’d waited months to hear, and feeling him roughly stroke your walls at this new angle became too much for you to bear. A string of ‘shut ups’ and sounds that resembled his name left your lips as your hands fell to his stomach, trying to push him away while paradoxically needing him to be closer, needing to feel more of him just in case this was the last time you felt him stretch you out in a way you were hauntingly certain nobody else would ever come close to. 

And he wasn’t doing any better. He wanted to pull your head against his chest and wrap his arms around you. He wanted to get on his knees and spend the rest of the night apologizing using his words or his tongue, whatever you wanted as long as you went home with him that night. He wanted you to live a happy, normal life. He couldn’t give you that anymore. Not after that night. Not after the accident. 

But those bad thoughts melted away in his brain when he saw your eyes pressed shut, your beautiful, furrowed eyebrows arching over them perfectly as you chased that high that Miguel knew only he could give you. Something that sounded like an actual sentence left your lips so quietly that he had to lean closer to get it. 

“What was that, bonita?” 

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to repeat yourself until another perfectly calculated thrust pried the half-coherent words out of your mouth. 

“Need you…inside. Please, Miguel, please,”  

Hearing his name being called out like that for the first time in months was all he needed to come undone, his pace faltering as he pressed himself against you, strong arms gripping your waist as he spilled his load inside you with one last labored moan. 

Nothing but extenuated pants could be heard inside the bathroom for a whole, tense minute before you finally moved, taking a few sheets of paper from the dispenser next to the sinks to clean yourself up. 

“What are you doing?” He asked as you straightened your dress and tried to somehow fix your disheveled hair. 

“You wanted to apologize, you did, and I forgive you,” You categorically answered, “But don’t expect me to come running back into your arms as if what you did was nothing,” 

Still, you needed him to know there was hope left for the both of you. So you pressed a chaste kiss to his lips and then his cheek, granting yourself one moment of vulnerability as you looked into his eyes with a gentle smile. 

“I love you too,” You whispered, giving in to the urge to kiss him again. You basked in his shocked look before turning your back to him and going back to the party, where you bumped into Liz less than five minutes later. 

“There you are! Where the hell were you? You missed the countdown!” 

It wasn’t until you looked around at the confetti-filled floor and the large numbers on a screen that you remembered. 

“I went to the bathroom,” You replied, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear and reaching out to take a glass of champagne from one of the several trays atop the tables, “Where did your friend run off to?” 

“David?” Liz asked, a deep red blush spreading over her cheeks, “He had to go home. I hope you don’t mind, but we’re getting dinner next Friday,” 

“Don’t mind at all,” You replied with a bright smile, eyes already scanning the half-empty club, once again looking for that same face. The one you knew you’d always look for in a crowd for the rest of your life. This time, thanks to the small number of people left, it wasn’t hard to come across his eyes. Amused, you raised your glass at him with a soft, genuine laugh. He did his best to look annoyed, but the minute you tilted your head and gave him your best apologetic look, Miguel rolled his eyes and shook his head with a reluctant smile that made you laugh again before taking a sip of that cheap champagne. 

This was going to be a great year.

[fluffystevefest]

Welcome to Fluffy Steve Fest!

It's a go!! Thank you everyone who filled out the interest check or helped share it! ♡

This is a week-long celebration of Steve's birthday and will run from Monday, July 1, 2024 to Sunday, July 7, 2024.

There will be a new theme and four on-theme prompts every day to jumpstart your ideas, as well as extra challenges on the day of Steve's birthday to inspire you to try something new, but you don't need to use them. As long as you create a work that fits the rules & guidelines and post it during the event, it counts and will be included in the event.

Schedule

May 1: Prompts posted

July 1: First day of Fluffy Steve Fest - AO3 collection opens

July 7: Last day of Fluffy Steve Fest

July 10: Roundup of daily masterlists

July 22: (Optional) Last day to post your personal masterlist to be reblogged

Rules

You must be 18+ to participate because there may be mature/explicit themes and works.

Make Steve proud and be respectful! No hate at any step of the way, including kink-shaming, ship-bashing, bullying, harassment, hate speech, and discriminatory behaviour.

No advertisements or works for profit/commercial purposes.

All works must be pro-Steve and Steve-centric. No Steve-bashing will be tolerated - remember that this is a celebration of Steve and your love for him!

Since this is a fluff fest, there should be more fluff than angst, more comfort than hurt, and a happy Steve! For example, while fluff can feature heavy themes, angst without a happy ending or hurt no comfort would not count. Use your best judgement :)

With that being said, please tag your content and warn appropriately. If you're not sure whether something needs tagging, err on the side of caution so that this can be fun and safe for everyone.

In the same vein, please also keep in mind that this is an open event with a mostly unmoderated AO3 collection and you are the best-equipped to be responsible for your experience. Mind the tags and warnings and click away from works that aren't your thing.

Work Guidelines

All work types are accepted, including fics, art, gifs, meta, videos, manips, moodboards, playlists, rec lists, crafts, polls, poems, comic panel edits, podfics (with permission), etc.

There are no work minimums.

Steves from all universes are welcome!

All pairings are welcome!

Posting Guidelines

Share your work here on Tumblr and/or to the Fluffy Steve Fest AO3 collection.

When posting on Tumblr, make sure to tag @fluffystevefest and use the tag #fluffystevefest so your amazing work can be shared! If your work is posted elsewhere, you can share the link to it on Tumblr.

If you are using a theme or prompt of the day, make sure to specify which one(s) you're using and post it on the day of. If you are not using any themes or prompts, feel free to post at any point during the week.

Cross-posting with other events is allowed as long as the other event allows it too!

FAQ

Can I post art (with credit) that was made using a Picrew image maker? Yes, as long as the creator of the Picrew image maker is okay with it.

Can I post prompt submissions on days after the prompt? How long do I have? Yes, you can post prompt submissions on days after the prompt. For your submission to be included in the daily round-up, you have until it is no longer that day anywhere in the world. For your submission to just be reblogged, you have the entire duration of the event.

If you have any questions that are not answered above, please feel free to DM or send an ask 😊

How long will the AO3 collection stay open? July 22, which is also the day personal masterlists are due.

[ramblingoak]

~~ The Outlaw Brides Masterpost ~~

~ A series of stories set in the Old West...Tragedy befalls the Emeritus family when their abbey is destroyed. Each brother's story will focus on the journey they take to cope with the aftermath and the love they find along the way ~

~ Cardinal Copia x Female Reader ~ After being forced into a marriage with Mr. Saltarian by your father you are sent west to his estate in Nevada.  Along the way you end up meeting one of the cowboys you have always fantasized about… ~ 

Chapters: 1 ~ 2 ~ 3 ~ 4 ~ 5 ~ 6 ~ 7 ~ 8 ~ 9 ~ 10 ~ 11 ~ 12 ~ 13

Ficlets:

Little Thief ~ Secondo x Female Reader ~ You had made a name for yourself robbing the casinos that dotted the Old West but after visiting The Ministry and getting involved in a gun fight the man known as Papa gives you another...

The Cardinal's Bride Prelude ~ Copia takes some time away from the others before he decides to follow through with his plan

A Flower Crown for a Cowboy ~ Copia x Female Reader ~ You enjoy a quiet afternoon in a field of dandelions with your cowboy

Napping With An Outlaw ~ Mary Goore x Reader ~ Mary shows up at your door after being injured

I also made a Spotify playlist and a Pinterest board with outfit inspiration pics so please check those out too if you're interested!

Part One / Two / Three / Napping With A Monster ~ A rewrite of parts of The Cardinal's Bride but now they're vampires!

~~ Future Stories ~~

The Morningstar's Bride

Read The Morningstar for a prequel to Terzo's story!

Terzo x Female Reader

You've been on your own for quite some time and have earned quite the reputation for robbing banks. Your latest job is going according to plan until you find yourself face to face with an old lover. Terzo claims to be there to stop you and bring you to justice, but you can see the same twinkle in his eyes that was there when you first met. Will he turn you in to collect the bounty or is it time for The Morningstar to start terrorizing the Old West once more?

The Gambler's Bride

Secondo x Female Reader

Secondo's tale of romance and adventure in the Old West.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

If you'd like to be added/removed from the tag list (or if I accidentally left your name off) of this fic or any of my others please leave a comment or send me a dm! Thank you 💙

My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar

The Cardinal's Bride and The Vampire's Bride banners are by @ghuleh-recs all other art by @tasty-ribz (thank you guys so much I love you)

[peachymilkandcream]

My Husband, My Monster|Part 3|William Afton x Wife!Reader

(A/N: We're getting a bit more into the Yandere-ish side of things now, I think it's obvious this is going to be a shorter series than something like Break Me Slowly but I still hope you all enjoy! This will be the first smutty chapter so please please please read the warnings before continuing! Also if you're not listening to FNAF songs while reading what are you doing? I'm listening to Stuck Inside while writing this. But hey if anyone wants I'll make my FNAF playlist for this fic. Comment below to be added to the taglist <3)

WARNINGS: noncon, dubcon, power imbalance, age difference, manipulation, mind breaking, yandere themes, yandere behaviours, domestic violence, misogyny, violence, William’s a warning himself, etc.

=============================================

So far everything had been going well, an independence had been suiting her well clearly. It had only been a week since William had found her an apartment of her own but she was thriving. The parents had apparently chewed her out, disowned her, and then left without any more of a fuss. Their move had gone on as planned, but just without their precious daughter. Just as well, the last thing he needed was them poking around, especially since she was college age and didn't need her parents bossing her around like a child. That was his job.

This work really suited her, she was great with kids, a quality that was extremely important to him. However William was more interested with how she would interact with their own children. Something he should probably get started on.

Originally his goal had only been to sleep with the newest employee, but if he was honest, he longed for a family of his own. Everything about Henry made him incredibly jealous, he wanted everything he had, and that included a wife and kids. Although he was realistic and knew he didn't have the time, with a business to run, how could he spend the time trying to find someone, and then dating, followed by the messiness of in-laws, weddings, and legality. The whole affair was a waste of money, surely shortcuts could be made.

Which is what brought her into his office that day.

============================================

"You needed me sir?" She peeks her head in the crack of the door, it was later in the day, it was the just the two of them left in the restaurant.

"Yes yes I did, come in and have a seat why don't you?"

She does as instructed, staring at him curiously.

"I'll cut right to the chase." He leans back in his chair, making his posture seem nonchalant and relaxed. "If I'm being brutally honest, while you're a great worker and an asset to the team your regular hours just don't cover the cost of your pay and your rent."

Worry flashes across her face. "What can I do to make up the rest? I can take on more hours-" She offers.

"No no, don't worry about that. I have better idea for you to make up for the extra."

"Oh right, just tell me and I'll do it."

She was too easy, all of this was too easy. Her friend wasn't kidding when she said she wasn't the smartest person. Better he was the one pushing her around rather than someone else he reasoned.

"Come here and I'll show you.."

============================================

Convincing her to suck his dick had been easy, all it took was telling her that this was common and that she shouldn't question it but also shouldn't tell anyone else about this. The little nymph took the no questions seriously and knelt in front of him, her eyes growing big at the size of him. William figured this was undoubtedly her first encounter with the opposite sex, which benefitted him greatly, the idea of teaching her how to please him and only him made his dick twitch in her eager mouth.

Her gag reflex was terrible, but that could be trained out of her. In his experience, just forcing her down to the base was the easiest way. She'd force her throat to relax or choke, he didn't care much either way. What mattered for him was his own satisfaction, how long it had been since had been with someone he couldn't remember, time was never on his side.

"Watch the teeth." He hissed, grabbing a fistful of hair and dragged her off of him. "Can't you open your jaw any wider?"

"I could try- it's just starting to get sore-"

William bit back a sarcastic retort, the last thing he wanted was to scare her off now after all the effort and money he had put into molding her into a perfect woman. "Don't worry about it, there will be time enough for that in the future." He forced a smile to his face, helping her to her feet. "Just bend over my desk for now."

Nervousness seeps into her expression. "What for-?"

"You don't think just that was enough to pay for your rent do you? Prices have gone up, everything's more expensive. Besides, I'll make it feel good for you."

She bends over the desk, her uniform pants unbuttoned and hastily pushed to the floor. Her panties were lacy, predictable, and pink like her perfect pussy.

A large grin spreads ear to ear on William's face, when was the last time he'd taken a woman's virginity? It had been too long. Way too long. This girl was fresh out of college and naïve to the world, any respectable man would think her consent was too dubious to proceed.

But William wasn't a respectable man.

His fingers slid up and down her folds, making her whole body twitch when he brushed over the clit. Her body was reacting to him, becoming wet with each touch, soon making everything glisten with arousal. Despite everything William was a nice enough man, and didn't want to hurt her too much that she'd refuse to do this again with him, so her comfort was important. He slowly stuck a finger inside her to see how wet she had become. The gasp was audible when he initially pushed it in, no doubt his fingers were bigger and thicker than hers so just this felt better than and pleasure she'd tried to give herself in the past.

A second finger was added, making her writhe and grasp the desk more firmly. She clamped down on his fingers hard, eager and hungry for something more than just his digits.

Who was he to deny her?

The initial contact made him shiver, it had been too long, how he had missed this feeling.

He made sure to take it slow, it would be painful at first, but she would get over it. Besides, even as he broke through her barrier her body continued to suck him in eagerly. She wanted this, all of her screamed with how much she wanted this.

William never really cared about protection, he always figured if a girl ended up pregnant it was their own fault, it couldn't be his, which is why he took no precautions before pounding into her. The pause between the initial stretch and his soon set pace was small, this was about urgency, in case that nosy prick Henry came snooping back around for anything. The last thing he needed was Henry warning the girl to stay away from him, all of this would have been for nothing.

His speedy pace made him climax quicker than normal, however he didn't bother to pull out, merely painting her insides with a smug smile of pride. She hadn't cum, but there was time for that, from the way she had moaned and gripped onto the wood for dear life he knew she enjoyed it.

When he was through with her he straightened his pants and tossed her the key. "When you're through be sure to lock up." With that he left her there, shutting the door behind him after taking another look at her ruined state.

===============================================

Their little arrangement went on for a few months, whispered moments of passion, hiding behind Henry's gaze so nothing would come in to question.

She was getting better at following what he wanted, catering to his whims and desires. Every day he looked forward to being with her, bringing her into his office and leaving the day fucked out of her mind and dripping. He was flying higher than he had ever been, everything was going his way and nothing could bring him down.

"William...? I don't know how to say this...I...I'm late-"

And things were just going to keep going up.

Tags:

============ @fandomreader

[fuckyeahgoodomensfanfic]

Good Omens Fic Rec: Talk about the weather

Television meteorologist Aziraphale Fell and Youtube storm chaser A. J. Crowley have nothing in common aside from a purely professional interest in the weather and a mutually beneficial arrangement to lend a hand when needed. So what if they bicker and flirt more than your typical professional acquaintances, or if their arrangement inevitably veers into more personal territory? It's not as if they're in love or anything. Absolutely not.

Length: 81,582 words

AO3 Rating: Mature / Spice Level 🔥

Best for: Mostly Safe in Public, Human AU, Romance, Pick-me-up

Triggers: None

Read it here, fic by nightbloomingcereus

*Minor Spoilers* This rec has taken me an embarrassingly long time to write, considering I made a meme about this fic and then never gave it its due credit. But I got busy at the time, and when I was finally able to try to write, I was too rusty on the details. However, with a thunderstorm to read to today, I knew I had to take advantage and read this story again.

I'll allow myself one pun: this weather AU is electric. Crowley is a YouTube storm chaser, and Aziraphale a television meteorologist. The chemistry is off the charts, even for an Aziracrow fic, which is already top tier. Their first meeting, caught at the duck pond in a serendipitous rainstorm, will take your breath away. If I were Aziraphale, I think I would have discorporated on the spot. It's still one of my favorite meet-cutes in the whole fandom.

Crowley here is so full of life! I understand the tendency to make him cynical or burdened by life's traumas in fic (and I enjoy that depiction too), but it's also wonderful to have a Crowley who loves what he does and is full of passion and joy. The thrill of the chase, the release of the storm, his outlook is infectious—to Aziraphale and us, the readers. His online persona is fun and flirty, and with all the open shirts, of course Aziraphale couldn't resist.

Aziraphale's characterization is spot on as well. He's sassy and so intelligent, but of course, cannot spare any brain cells to understand his heart. I love his journey here so much, and his "oh, fuck" moment made me laugh but also made my heart swell. Also I need to steal his bedroom. It sounds amazing.

This is an excellent, engaging, and thrilling AU. I love it so much, and while I'm still sorry I didn't recommend it sooner, the rain today was literally perfect to read this one to. I highly recommend listening to rain sounds for this one if you don't have real rain. Here's a playlist of my favorites to read to! This is mostly safe in public; there are 2 intimate scenes, but they are not very explicit. However, if you're craving more, here's a wonderful PWP bonus scene for you called Cloudburst. wink wink

Read it here, fic by nightbloomingcereus

[bp-zb1fics]

hi! I love your stories! <3 do you think you could do a suggestive taerae fic?

Thinking about

pairing: taerae x reader

pronouns: none used

genre: fluff, suggestive themes

tw/tags: not much plot or dialogue sorry, music metaphors, introspection, very sentimental, kisses, making out, non-explicit descriptions, taerae slight demisexual implications (this in no way reflects on the real person, fiction is fiction)

wc: 871

summary: in this game called love, taerae trusts you with his heart

a/n last req done before i focus on checklist reqs! thanks so much anon, i really hope you like it! i got a little poetic with this one and played around with italics so its very soft hours but not much happens, idk if that works or not so feel free to lmk!

Check my pinned for more fics~

“What are you thinking about, Taerae-ah?”

You’re sitting on the couch, his guitar on his lap, your hands in his as he traced over dip, curve and line. Pressing your palms together, skin against skin, stretching his fingers out to see if his hand is larger than yours.

“Hmmm, how your hands look next to mine.”

Being with you is never boring, in Taerae’s opinion. Because even when it seems boring to other people, there’s always something new and interesting for you or him or for both of you. He can spend afternoons with you and his guitar, strumming and singing for you until you join him. And maybe you’re not the best singer but he’ll still listen to your voice like it’s a dream he doesn’t want to wake from. (Sometimes love isn’t just blind but deaf too)

And the best part wasn’t you getting the harmony right or him hitting those impressive vocal riffs, no, it was the silly little songs you made up together, nonsensical lyrics and ridiculous ad libs that you end up laughing over. Because that’s what Taerae thinks about sometimes, when he’s about to go to bed, when he’s too tired to think of anything else. He’ll think about the way you laugh, the sheer joy of that tiny moment. There are some moments that he wished he could save in a time loop and live in.

“I love your songs.”

You tell him the day he gathered enough courage to play you something from the little notebook he keeps, lyrics and chords in his handwriting. He treasures that memory just like he treasures those days when you have enough time to sit down and talk for hours. Long conversations that stretch time so thin that it feels just like seconds ticking away.

“Play something for me, please?”

Play with my heart, Taerae thinks, because I’ve given it to you to take joy in, to keep you company on lonely days, to make you smile and laugh and remember only the innocence of life. I’ve given you my hand to hold in the playground that we call love and I trust you not to let go, not to abandon me, just as I make a promise to never leave you, to play the game of hearts until ours stop beating.

You two have a million playlists together. Each of them are a carefully curated, specifically arranged set of songs that Taerae and you create for every occasion. Birthdays, anniversaries, long drives, short drives, walks by the river, all saved to preserve the moments you spend loving each other.

There are also playlists for moments like this. Soft, sultry, dreamlike beats in the background as he lifts his guitar off his lap, places it carefully to the side and pulls you closer. His hands leave yours only to glide up your neck and cup your cheeks. 

Gentle kisses. His lips fit over yours like a missing puzzle piece. Pulling away only for a force stronger than gravity pulling them back in. Your hands holding the back of his neck. It’s a haze as he presses your back into the couch, his legs bracketing yours in between them. He only pulls away once your lips are swollen, when the need for oxygen overpowers his need to kiss you until you both feel like you're floating. Your eyes meet his and you laugh breathlessly as he smiles at you, so, so enamoured.

If he could write a song about you, it would be about love.

You tug him back down, one hand sliding into his hair, fingers in between strands. He shivers, bending down to press his lips below your ear, mapping out a path down your neck as you get a little more restless. Taerae is almost too warm and so are you. He stops at the base between you neck and shoulder, the press of his mouth a little firmer, teeth scraping over skin, tongue following as if to soothe. Your fingers are laced in his hair, your back arching just a little at the sensation. Then he pulls back, pressing kisses along your collarbones. Your hips jump just a little, brushing against him and he exhales slowly.

Taerae wasn’t really interested in girls. Or boys. Just you.

He’s interested in the way you shakily undo another button of his shirt between kisses, the way you tremble a little when his hands slide under the hem of yours, skin against skin, fingers stroking the sides of your waist. Nothing becomes more interesting than the sounds he can pull from you, the kind of music that sends jolts of heat down his spine. His favourite song is the way you call his name, sweet and wholly addictive.

In the afterglow, he can only look at you. He can only watch the way you watch him, with so much unbridled affection that his heart is bursting, spilling out the seams to show you how he feels about you. To keep showing you everyday until your heart decides to give out. And he hopes that when that day comes, that the way he chose to love you was enough. Because you were more than enough for him.

__________________________________________

“What are you thinking about, Taerae-ah?”

“I don’t know…” 

“...You mostly.”

[dix0nvix3n]

➳જ⁀➴ 𝕯𝖆𝖌𝖌𝖊𝖗'𝖘 𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 ⟡ [𝔏𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔘𝔭𝔡𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔡: 7/25/24]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝔊𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔯𝔞𝔩 ℑ𝔫𝔣𝔬:

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'd rather not reveal my real name here so please call me Dagger.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm genderfluid and my pronouns are they/he/she.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm 22.

𓆩⚝𓆪 Even though I'm genderfluid anything I write the reader will always use she/her pronouns but potentially I may be able to write for a gender-neutral reader.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm a big time rambler/yapper so please dm me any time you wanna talk! (Please know that I'll often forget to respond or go through periods of time I can't talk though.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 I'm autistic and have an ADHD riddled mess of a brain which is the core factor of why I write so slow along with me being new to writing and not grasping it easily so please be patient with me. Trust that I have several wips at all times that I can never finish.

𓆩⚝𓆪 Another part of being neurodivergent makes it so that I have a harder time interacting with people here. I often don't reblog and sometimes I won't even like a post because I feel like I'm bothering the person who made the post somehow. My brain isn't very nice to me. I'm trying to get past this but it's hard.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I currently only write for Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead and Scud Frohmeyer from Blade 2 but I hope to write for other characters Norman has played some day.

𓆩⚝𓆪 My fics will always come with a warning description of some kind and if l ever miss something you think should be in the warning, please let me know!

𓆩⚝𓆪 I post edits @ daryldixonvixen on tiktok, if you're also an editor please tell me and I'll follow you!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝔉𝔲𝔫 𝔉𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔰:

𓆩⚝𓆪 My favorite TWDverse ship isn’t even from TWD, it’s actually John and June from Fear The Walking Dead and my favorite Non Canon TWD ship is RosiTara. I don’t ship Daryl with anyone probably cause of how attatched I am to him so don't expect to see any ship posts. (Your ship opinions are valid though so don't come bringing ship discourse to my page. I hate Bethyl though and if I see you supporting the ship it's an instant block from me.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 I have 10 piercings. Septum, right eyebrow, a daith, a conch, a bridge, four helixes, and a left nostril.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I first watched The Walking Dead at a themed birthday party for it when I was in 7th grade when I was 13, we watched the whole first season and I wanted to continue watching once I got home but I couldn't find any way to watch it so I didn't end up watching again until December of 2022 when I was 20. The only things I could remember from when I first started watching were Glenn and the horse dying lmao. The show forever changed me and has become a major source of comfort for me and became my special interest, I'm just so mad it took me so long to watch more of the show.

𓆩⚝𓆪 I don't understand zodiacs too much but I'm a Cancer Sun, Scorpio Moon, and a Capricorn Rising.

𓆩⚝𓆪 My current hair style was inspired by Scud since I loved his hair so much!

𓆩⚝𓆪 How Daryl would help you on your period

𓆩⚝𓆪 Trimming Daryl's hair blurb

𓆩⚝𓆪 Convincing Daryl to wear reading glasses to help with his squinting

𓆩⚝𓆪 Music Daryl Dixon would listen to but it's accurate spotify playlist

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl running from the cops from a house party blurb/ inspired by Killing In The Name by Rage Against The Machine

𓆩⚝𓆪 Murphy Macmanus speaking multiple languages when dirty talking to you

𓆩⚝𓆪 Piercings that Scud would look good with ramble

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl with a reader who has multiple piercings

𓆩⚝𓆪 My Travis chai bot

𓆩⚝𓆪 The Summer of 1992 and What Came Before and After (Will be putting a link to a new masterlist for the series here instead at some point.)

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl and Norman Lightroom edits 1

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl and Norman Lightroom edits 2

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl, Sandman edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Daryl, Blue Monday edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Murphy, Carnival edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Scud, Can't Get You out of My Head edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 Multiple Norman characters, Hotel Motel edit

𓆩⚝𓆪 To see any of my various shitposts go into my search under the tag ;daggershitposts📣

𓆩⚝𓆪 And here's a Daryl and me face reveal moodboard. This is probably the only place here on my account where I'll show my face. This really shows why I wrote the reader from The Summer Of 1992 and What Came Before and After as alternative cause I myself am alternative!

[anattemptatmeaning]

You're the Only Friend I Need a Trobed fic

Author's Notes: Wow I have been very inactive and I'm also going on vacation so I rushed to finish this, I'll beautify this post along with my BT fanfic later. I saw this beautiful Trobed artwork on Tumblr by @greatredangel and it made me think of the song Ribs by Lorde. Then I visualized them dancing at a bar to the song while Abed is having bittersweet thoughts. It became this. Hope y'all enjoy Troy and Abed in a ba-ar! Again?

Also I just realized really late that Ribs was released three years after Mixology Certification aired but oh well, I love the song and I try meta-referencing my misstep in the fic lmao. Comment and feedback is well-appreciated! This is my first time writing Community fanfic and I hope I didn't screw up, especially with writing Abed. He's the best. They're all just the best, I love this show so much. Comments and feedback are appreciated! This whole thing is just wholesome romantic fluff with very light angst that gets resolved anyway, no trigger warnings! This made me so happy to write!

The Trobed artwork that inspired this: https://www.tumblr.com/greatredangel/751692320042287104/youre-the-only-one-who-understands?source=share

Ribs by Lorde (which I encourage you to listen while reading): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b7pE8AG1jjE

My Trobed companion playlist for this fic: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4IgAlyGazQxVwHcmZyIdah

Someone stormed away.

That’s how it always happened.

Abed didn’t choose to have more interest in dissecting the implications of Farscape being an influence on the Marvel Cinematic Universe, the ragtag character dynamics of the crew of the Moya , or the suspicion that Greendale was headed in a similar direction to the fourth season which, frankly, he might have preferred to get interrupted before speaking about.

Not that he had a choice. One of the few people who understood his references was interested in something more…carnal. 

But Abed knew what he liked, what he thought, what he was good at. And being straightforward with it, absorbing and deconstructing every little detail? 

It was what passion was. At least for him.

The inner workings of bumbling off-duty patrons drowning their daily sorrows into looking to score, on the other hand? Not at all. 

He did see it coming. He was all but waiting for the rejection. But it was fun talking about Farscape .

While it lasted.

Nevertheless, it was Monday. And as expected, he was just fine. It was an odd night.

His thoughts turned to Troy. With the study group more amped up than usual due to the alcohol, he realized Troy got left alone due to the ensuing drama. 

Thus ruining his birthday.

“Hey, Troy?” 

Troy looked at him. Abed felt that rush of energy that always came whenever he did. “Yeah, Abed?” It was cliche, but the birthday surprise trope was still a classic. “There’s something I forgot to give you for your birthday. Happy belated birthday, by the way.”

A surprised smile lit up Troy’s face. “Really? This is too much, man. I’m still losing it over Kickpuncher.”

“I figured. With the abundance of alcohol in the study group, perhaps an easygoing, intimate night out on the town as Troy and Abed should make for a nicer birthday. Shall we?”

Troy clapped his hands. “Let’s roll.”

They did the handshake. Their handshake.

Abed was not a driver.

He legally was, but avoided it unless it was an occasion where he absolutely had, or even more rarely, wanted to.

This was one such occasion.  

“No way, is this the same bar?” Troy gaped slightly, moving forward in his seat as he recognized Flannahan’s Hole.

“The second chance trope is a bit stale, but a well-done redemption arc works wonders,” Abed confirmed as he parked the car.

Troy laughed as he and Abed got out and headed inside. It looked exactly the same as it did on Troy’s birthday: just like any other bar, albeit apparently the least offensive of them if Jeff and Britta’s word was anything to go by.

To Abed’s relief though, the man from earlier wasn’t there.

“Abed?” Troy asked. Abed immediately recognized his hesitating tone, and felt something akin to a pang in his heart.

“Troy?” Abed knew he talked quickly, but his response was a bit faster and more urgent than usual. If Troy was nervous or on edge, Abed might as well have ruined another birthday for him.

“I…don’t really want to drink,” Troy began, taking a breath and looking to the ground, gathering his thoughts. Then Troy locked eyes with him.

Momentarily, nothing existed except Troy.

“When I was ordering my drink, I…I saw how out of it everyone was, staring off into space, not able to feel much of anything, not able to do much of anything…we just didn’t look happy.” Troy’s tone was candid, kind, mournful, his usual cheerful energy replaced by a more careful, concerned tone. 

“So, I didn’t drink. I got everyone and drove us home.”

Abed remembered that as the other members of the study group were drowning figuratively or literally in their personal misery, Troy was the one to bring them back together. 

“Sorry,” Troy said with a bit of uncertainty, embarrassed when he shouldn’t have to feel bad because Abed reminded him of a day he had to hold everyone else together.

When Troy deserved one where the roles were reversed.

Abed swallowed. He wanted to say only the best possible words.

“Me neither, honestly,” he started. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for. It’s your birthday.”

Troy smiled, the previous moment forgotten. “Thanks, Abed.”

A new song started playing overhead in the bar. Abed squinted his eyes slightly. 

The drink you spilt all over me…

He undoubtedly knew movies better than music, but the song felt out of place for some reason. Was it a continuity error? He hadn’t heard it on the radio before. Weird. 

My mom and dad let me stay home…

“Do you want to dance?” Troy’s question shook Abed out of his thoughts, and he looked at Troy, calm yet eager about his suggestion. Abed couldn’t help but oblige, and the song piqued his interest the longer he listened to it.

”Sure.”

How you wish it would be all the time…

There wasn’t a whole lot of space within the bar, so Abed and Troy just moved close to a few empty seats. Unlike some of their choreographed or improvised dance routines which were occasionally elaborate, they kept it simple due to the nature of the event, and the difference this particular song had from their usual background music.

It drives you crazy getting old…

Abed was coolly and steadily hopping up and down, raising his left, then right leg to the beat. Troy took to clapping to the beat as he got into the song. 

Abed didn’t have many great memories as a kid.

This dream isn't feeling sweet, we're reeling through the midnight streets…

But right here, right now, dancing alone with Troy, he knew.

This. This was what childhood was supposed to be.

Doing whatever you felt like doing, not worrying about anything else, just having fun.

So what if he was only truly living it right now, as a film student in the most chaotic community college in the world?

He was living it. And for however long it would last?

It feels so scary, getting old....

He would enjoy it.

Abed hadn’t realized he had his eyes closed the whole time since he started dancing until he opened them to look straight at Troy.

Everything else went still.

Troy had a smile of pure ecstasy and euphoria and was moving completely of his own accord, not trying to impress, not having to try anything , just…dancing, and enjoying it.

We can talk it so good, we can make it so divine…

His hips swayed perfectly as he bounced to the beat, his knees smoothly kicking out as he bobbed up and down, not breaking a sweat. His head twisted from side to side, carefree and peaceful. He moved his elbows and hands up and down rhythmically with ease. And of course, that smile.

Has Abed seen Troy dance before? Many times.

But none so picturesque as this exact moment.

Then Troy opened his eyes. If things were still before, it wasn’t comparable to this.

I want ‘em back, I want ‘em back, the minds we had, the minds we had…

Troy’s eyes were a bit more serious, curious, and earnest. He stepped closer to Abed, still perfectly on beat.

How all the thoughts, how all the thoughts, moved ‘round our heads, moved ‘round our heads…

Abed was still slightly moving his legs to the beat, but he was focused on stepping as close as Troy saw fit.

I want ‘em back, I want ‘em back, the minds we had, the minds we had…

They kept moving closer. They didn’t notice the bar patrons staring.

It’s not enough to feel the lack, I want ‘em back, I want ‘em back, I want ‘em!

And their lips touched. Their eyes closed as they danced more slowly now, their arms now touching each other. Supporting each other.

He’d never let him fall.

You’re the only friend I need, sharing beds like little kids…

They just stayed there, now only slowly moving from side to side once every measure of the song, their grip on each other soft not to overwhelm, but steady, never to let the other go.

And laughing till our ribs get tough, but that will never be enough… “YEAH!” yelled people in the background as applause and cheers were heard, the first time he had focused on the outside world in a bit. Abed rarely ever had applause and cheers for him, neither did he seek it, but in this specific moment, it invigorated him. It did the same for Troy, as they briefly removed their lips to take a breath before diving back in, emboldened.

You’re the only friend I need, sharing beds like little kids…

Troy and Abed released each other, parting with powerful, slow breaths. Troy was staring with him, those same earnest eyes, but with total adoration and awe.

Based on his expression, Abed knew he shared the equivalent facial expression.

And laughing till our ribs get tough, but that will never be enough... “Good enough?” Abed asked Troy at the song’s end. Speaking to him was always comforting, but it felt like it had escalated to a whole new level now.

“Never better,” Troy answered in the most angelic, warmest tone Abed had ever heard.

They basked in the joy of the rest of the bar, all of them happy for them, for Troy and Abed. Troy laughed, equal parts blushing and grateful. Abed nodded at them in equally thankful acknowledgement. 

As they walked out, Abed caught the eye of the guy from earlier. He must have come in after them.

Compared to his more irritable, sour impression upon their first meeting, the bar guy was glad, sincere. He had a gentle, knowing smile. There were a variety of meanings he could derive from his face. First of all, he felt bad for his behavior during the last meeting. Secondly, he was happy for him and Abed. 

“Hey, I see you're going through stuff, and I'm sorry I didn't see that earlier,” the bar guy started a bit awkwardly. Then he seemed to be emboldened himself as well. “But I get it now, and I'm happy for you. For the both of you."

It was validating, to say the least. 

“Thank you,” Abed responded. “It was a better night.”

“I can see,” the bar guy giggled, looking at the two a bit sheepishly. “Okay, okay, we get it,” Troy was trying like mad to calm down, but he was clearly bashful.

As Abed drove the two away from the bar, they were quiet for a long time, processing the moment they just had.

Troy broke the silence first.

“Abed…is it okay if I want more moments like that?”

Abed had never felt so at peace in his life.

“I was going to ask the same thing,” he said in a soft tone he didn’t even know he was capable of.

Troy beamed yet again, and initiated their running gag. Abed immediately caught on. “Troy and Abed to-ge-ther!”

[linnetagain]

I love the versitile music selection in The Season! And I love how Gale talks about them!

By what logic be read, I feel like maybe he would like The Amazing Devil. I think he would appreciate their clever lyric work!

If you don’t know the band, I’m sorry for bothering you with this. But I also give you the recommendation to listen to them, if you like Folk music and crying :)

Oh yes, I do know them, and you're right he absolutely would!! I've made so many playlists for this fic and 'Fair' is the first one on 'Angry Pining' hahaha

There's so much more of his music taste that I haven't got into yet. Waiting for the right moment to drop in The Hu, The Sidh, or SYR and have Astarion be like 'what ARE you listening to' haha

I also think Season Gale would unironically listen to bardcore covers and genre swaps too because he's genuinely interested in everything and he'd love to know how things like that were made

Also I've just discovered you can link music, how about that!!

[cheesybadgers]

Narcos Fic: Old Habits Die Hard (Chap. 24)

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9, Chapter 10, Chapter 11, Chapter 12, Chapter 13, Chapter 14, Chapter 15, Chapter 16, Chapter 17, Chapter 18, Chapter 19, Chapter 20, Chapter 21, Chapter 22, Chapter 23

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Pairing: Javier Peña x Horacio Carrillo

Words: 3,440

Summary: It's been 15 years since Horacio and Javier brought down Gacha in Tolú, and now they're back where their story began.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Brief allusions to period-typical prejudices/politics/legislation, very brief sexual references, smoking, swearing, all the fluff.

Notes: Well....I feel like I should post this with a fanfare or something (just imagine there's one playing), but oh boy, oh man, oh god. I did it. I flipping did it 😭 It's only taken 36 months, copious amounts of blood, sweat and tears, a deranged amount of research, the last shred of my sanity, and probably a fair amount of back/neck pain from sitting at my laptop for too long to get here. But hey, if I don't write a self-indulgent novel-length fix-it fic for a criminally underrated rarepair from a defunct TV show, WHO WILL, I ASK THEE? 😂

I can't fully explain the journey this fic has taken me and my writing on, or the deep love I have in my heart for this ship and the OHDH universe that has lived constantly in my head these last few years. Even when I'm not actively writing, so many things remind me of these two everywhere I go. They got me through the darkest days of the pandemic and somehow became my comfort ship, despite er, certain canon events we don't talk about in this house.

Anyway, I think you've all heard quite enough from me for the time being. So, I will just say thank you so, so, so much to anyone who has read, commented, kudosed, reblogged, liked, sent me messages, made me things, suggested music recs, generally been incredibly supportive and kind ❤️

And thank you to anyone who may stumble across this fic in future. Please never be afraid to leave a comment, even if you're reading several years down the line, I will always love to hear from people about this story.

There will also be some moodboards and playlists posted on my Tumblr at some point (and *maybe* some new - much shorter lol - fics eventually) once I've caught my breath back a bit.

For the final time (unless I randomly think of anything I've forgotten, which is more than likely lol), I’ve also added to my OHDH trivia post to cover this chapter if anyone is interested.

Chapter 24: Suerte (Epilogue)

Early evening rays painted the pastel horizon, their last act of the day transforming the shimmering ocean into an inky palate of fuchsia, violet and saffron, the golden sands at the shore still warm to the touch hours past dusk.

Come the weekend, Colombians would travel far and wide to descend on the many beaches, bars and restaurants that dotted the waterfront. Or if they were feeling adventurous, they would birdwatch, dive off the Islas de San Bernardo, or canoe amongst the mangroves.

But it was mid-week and mid-December – when most locals were at work and school or preparing for Christmas. So, for now, Horacio and Javier had the place to themselves.

There was the added bonus of the coastline turning into a dense forest of palm trees just along from their beach house, civilisation a mile or so away on either side of them, so even at peak times, they remained secluded. It had become a daily ritual to luxuriate in the peace and quiet; a pre-dinner swim with no trunks required followed by entwined limbs and sand in their hair as the sun went down.

Today was no exception, the gentle lapping of the waves around them and their shallow breaths the only sounds to be heard, the taste of salt and scent of sun lotion heavy in the air and on their skin as Horacio rocked into Javier, slow and deep, their chests and foreheads drawn together.

It was almost dark when Javier switched on the shower taps, cascading soothing jets over his head, neck and shoulders. As he soaked his hair, the lights from inside the beach house sprung to life, illuminating the outdoor bathroom with an ambient glow. It was a feature of the premium accommodation they had splashed out on, a rare treat away for a special occasion.

The outside space was a mix of wood, tiles and natural stone for the walls and floors, encased by tall plants and trees for extra privacy. A double shower stood on a platform at the end of a walkway, with a large hot tub branching off in the other direction. On their first night here, they had opted for the tub, surrounding it with candles as a belated ode to Día de las Velitas, lost in each other beneath the bubbles and the stars.

A sturdy embrace enveloped Javier from behind, a position they had found themselves in every morning by the shore before breakfast, looking out to a tranquil sea and a kaleidoscopic sky. The day jobs kept them both on their feet and in good shape, although there was more softness around their stomachs, and Javier was stockier than in his younger years. But his upper body was even broader with muscle now.

He was no gym fiend, but he had accompanied Horacio in some of his strengthening training, wanting to keep his stamina up as much as possible. Not just for the obvious but because he was sometimes required to carry the heavier supplies at work and didn’t want to be shown up in front of his largely youthful team.

It was a welcome development to Horacio, whatever the reason. Not that he ever had any complaints before, but watching Javier blossom as he aged was a wonder to behold. Not to mention, there was more of him to enjoy now.

As for Horacio, aside from the sloping curve of his midriff, he was sheer jaguar strength. Not only in the noticeable places, but his core muscles were in peak condition, the daily horse riding improving his posture and taking him back to the drill commands of his cadet years. His skin was more weathered, and his days of being meticulously cleanly shaven at all times were long gone. But Javier assured him – a lot – the ruggedness was part of the appeal.

Javier wasn’t one to talk either, stubble being a more regular feature alongside his moustache nowadays. But that was mainly due to lack of time in his busy schedule rather than preference, so it wasn’t unheard of for Horacio to do the honours for him. For some reason, Horacio delicately scraping a razor blade across his jaw from the comfort of his lap was far more appealing to Javier than doing it himself in front of the bathroom mirror.

Their hair contained more grey patches, especially around the temples, which was easier to hide when they grew it longer. That wasn’t practical during the sweltering heat of a Texan summer, so they kept it shorter in the hotter months. But in the winter, they could run their fingers through choppy waves and coils of curls to their hearts’ content. And luckily for them, their anniversary fell in December.

“Can you believe it’s been 15 years to the day?” Horacio asked, scattering kisses across Javier’s back.

“This doesn’t even feel like the same fucking place, to be honest.”

“Tell me about it.”

Horacio let out a huff as flashbacks of leading his men on a fleet of raiding crafts towards Gacha’s hideout collided with memories from merely days ago of him and Javier island hopping in a hire boat along the same waters. They had taken a platter of fresh seafood and fruit, exploring the remotest beaches and lagoons, where their only company was the local wildlife.

He could still remember the sensation of the blood at his temple as he lay disorientated on the sand in the aftermath of the explosion, a stark contrast to dozing together under the shade of a palm tree or reading aloud to each other the words of Lorca, Gaitán Durán, Arbeláez, Neruda, Paz, Castellanos and Mistral.

“Although, I did notice signs for the barracks towards Coveñas when we were driving here,” Horacio added with a nostalgic smirk.

“Oh yeah? You didn’t want another night there for old times’ sake?” Javier tilted his head until he found Horacio’s lips with his teeth.

Horacio hummed and put up no resistance, his wet hands sailing with ease down Javier’s body, finding purchase at his hip bones. “It was tempting. But I figured you’d want to make the most of this before Christmas.”

“Damn right.”

They took turns massaging shampoo into each other’s scalps, lathering the suds through thick spirals, tenderly pulling at strands until they purred, thoroughly indulging in the sensation whilst they had the chance. And then they did it all again, rinsing off the soap, floating away on the meditative pressure of the faucet and their fingers.

“We could always see if Alejandra has more spa freebies if it gets too much, though,” Javier suggested through the haze of steam now cocooning them.

“I like your thinking.”

It had been a while since they last used such tickets, their previous visits not dissimilar to how their current vacation was playing out. But despite the chaos that would no doubt ensue, they were looking forward to catching up with Horacio’s side of the family. Between expanding businesses in Texas and Manizales and the oldest half of the brood living and working elsewhere now with the twins staying at home studying, they didn’t get to meet up as much as they would have liked.

However, Elena visited Laredo several times, swapping life stories and recipes with Chucho and joining Horacio and Javier in San Antonio one spring for the Fiesta. Her last holiday outside of Colombia had been before Alejandra and Horacio were born, so she was determined to take advantage of having family abroad before age finally caught up with her. There had even been discussions of a trip to Madrid if Horacio and Javier could arrange cover at work the following year.

“Pops is flying out on the 20th, right?”

“Yes. Marco and Raúl are covering the ranch and animals until your father’s back on the 28th. And Jorge is covering the farm until we’re home from Miami in the New Year.”

No one was keen to leave Luna, Sol and Leo, who had long since retired from ranch duties, but between work and Christmas commitments, Connie taking a full-time job in a different hospital, now Olivia was a teenager going on 30, and the earlier-than-expected arrival of Felipe’s and Juana’s second child – Óscar, a little brother to Claudia – New Year was the only time everyone’s schedules matched up.

These days, Luna, whose main residence was the cottage now, Sol and Leo spent most of their time nestled on furniture or looking for treats in the kitchen whenever food was prepared. However, Luna would sometimes still ride in the back of Horacio’s truck and keep him company in the lower fields.

Kira and Fuego had become old pros, showing their younger siblings, Cielo and Tierra, the ropes, not as replacements to the trio but as a new team with their own quirks and personalities. Thankfully, the dogs and Coco had taken well to the pair of barn cats, Churro and Tamale, who patrolled the outbuildings and dealt with any rodent intruders.

Meanwhile, Chucho showed few signs of slowing down, except one summer when he twisted an ankle, and even that was hard work to get him to rest. But he had been happy to step back from some of his more physically demanding responsibilities in recent years, trusting that the ranch and farm were in capable hands. With their expansion plans a resounding success – plus some new ones up their sleeves – he had become more involved in the business side of the operation alongside Miguel.

And, of course, he was always happy to offer Horacio advice whenever needed. But for the most part, he left him to it since Félix’s retirement, preferring to arrange for the guesthouses to be refurbished or to deliver fresh batches of cooking to aid workers and exhausted arrivals alike on the frontline of the border.

“Bet Jorge was as thrilled about that arrangement as my team.”

“Well, we can always delegate to our deputies whenever necessary. One of the perks of being promoted.”

It had taken Horacio five years under Félix’s watchful eye – and decades of experience – to be granted the title of farm manager. Then, Félix had retired the previous year, satisfied he had picked the right man as his successor and Jorge as deputy.

Horacio still had plenty to learn and likely always would with the constant conveyor belt of change to farming methods and technology that landed on his desk each month. However, there was a sense of familiarity with certain parts of the job, like the meetings, the paperwork, and the budget constraints. Except, this time, it all came without the funerals, the upper echelons of the CNP breathing down his neck, and the crushing weight of a country’s future on his shoulders.

“And a holiday on the Caribbean coast was necessary, was it?” Now that Javier’s hair was free from sand and shampoo, he turned to face Horacio, their lips almost touching.

Horacio nodded sagely and closed the gap. “A critical business need.”

------------------------------------------------------

Once dried off, they lay in a hammock in matching white towel robes under the thatched porch of their beach house with a perfect view of the sea, moon and stars.

“So, you like it here?” Horacio asked after a comfortable silence.

“It’s beautiful. I’m glad we came back – to see it how it’s meant to be.”

“Me too. Although, I fear violence will always be a parasite latched onto Colombia. Just when you think it’s gone from one place, it rears its head again in another. Or even the same place twice if you’re unlucky.”

Horacio remembered the stories he had heard from Trujillo in the last couple of years – particularly about Operation Orion. Officially, the incursion on Comuna 13 had been a success by the Colombian military against the likes of FARC. Unofficially, however, there were rumours of a leaked CIA report, disappeared individuals, and collusion between an Army General and none other than Don Berna’s subordinate. It was hard to keep faith that Medellín would ever be free from its past when history had such a predictable habit of repeating itself.

“I know. It feels like one step forward and two steps back in the States, too. Terrorism might be the new bogeyman, but re-branding to ICE and throwing a shitload of money at the DHS hasn’t stopped the drugs and the people finding their way over the border.”

Javier had heard directly from Steve about the shift in his job role since 9/11. Overnight, Steve’s whole department was removed from their current caseloads and signed up for every counter-terrorism and narco-terrorism course under the sun. It was now customary for DEA agents to be redeployed to the FBI as intelligence analysts if resources required. And if their eyes and ears were pulled away from the drug traffickers, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the consequences.

Meanwhile, in Texas, if anything, people only took graver risks in the wake of a beefed-up Border Patrol. Javier had spent a lot of the past year helping to set up new aid teams in Arizona and New Mexico, the inhospitable conditions of the desert not enough of a deterrent to stop families trying their luck or handing over their life savings to coyotes who didn’t care whether they made it across alive.

“But small things can add up to change. Bit by bit,” Javier added. “And at least they can’t arrest us for fucking in our own home anymore.”

“True. Not that the law stopped us before...” Horacio nuzzled against Javier’s neck before making a move to get up.

They may have joked in the here and now, but it wasn’t a change they took for granted. In fact, Luz and Carla had even persuaded Javier to attend a protest or two and pay bond and legal fees for those who had been arrested. After all, he’d had plenty of experience exchanging money for people’s freedom.

When news of the Supreme Court decision spread, it was another weight off their backs and one less reason to look over their shoulders, a chance to permanently put to bed memories of being spied on during such unguarded sacred moments. It was the final line to be drawn under those dark years, not to erase them because that was impossible. But it was, at least, closure.

Their cigarette was almost done, and Horacio had left the opened pack on the kitchen counter. Once retrieved, he took out another and leaned into Javier across the hammock, pressing the tip of his unlit cigarette against the lit one until it sparked.

“But you’re right,” Horacio continued, holding Javier’s gaze between exhaling a plume of smoke. He balanced on the edge of the hammock, just enough to stop it tipping sideways. “Things can change. But only if we want them to.” He perched their new cigarette between his lips as he reached into the pocket of his robe.

Their first cigarette was little more than a stub, so Javier stooped down to the ashtray on the floor to extinguish it. Once he sat up again, a small cubed box was presented into his spare hand.

Javier stared at the black box and blew out remnants of smoke, eyeing Horacio with an unreadable expression, an unspoken question and answer lingering between them and the mist of tobacco.

He prised open the box to reveal a ring of plain silver. Or, so he thought at first glance. But as he raised it towards the moon, the iridescent light caught on the inner band to reveal an inscription.

Suerte que encontré a mi media naranja.

(Lucky that I found my soulmate.)

“Fuck, Horacio…” Javier’s voice was strained, and his words came out as little more than a whisper. He held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, letting the ethereal reflection from above capture each word.

Horacio watched every shift in Javier’s face with bated breath and a dry throat, his limbs lead and weightless all at once.

“The world’s changing around us,” Horacio said at last; swallowing his nerves and summoning his courage. “But no matter what the law or courts say in any state or country, this can mean whatever we want it to mean.”

Javier’s jaw worked back and forth, his teeth clamping down on the inside of his cheeks. But it was no use, and he let out a trembling scoff, an attempt to distract from the shining pupils he finally confronted Horacio with.

And then a broad smile crept across Javier’s features, his palm connecting with Horacio’s cheek before he plucked the cigarette from his fingers and took a drag. “Pass me my jeans.”

It took Horacio a moment to process Javier’s request. Of all the responses he had prepared for – the good and the bad – that hadn’t been on his list, funnily enough. With narrowed eyes and pursed lips, he complied and fetched the jeans that had been flung over a sun lounger when they stripped off to swim earlier. Apparently, regardless of how humid the climate in Tolú became, denim remained a reliable staple of Javier’s wardrobe.

“Check my left pocket.”

Whatever Javier was up to, Horacio was torn between intrigue and irritation at Javier’s temerity to issue orders despite leaving him hanging. But he did as he was told, and in an instant, everything made sense.

“I can always take it back if you’d prefer…”

But Horacio was already opening the near-identical box, and any teasing faded to white noise as he came face-to-face with the gold equivalent of his own proposal.

“Hold it up to the light.”

The night sky was brighter now, making it easier for the inscription to be revealed.

Mi amor, mi vida, mi hogar, mi vaquero. Siempre tuyo.

(My love, my life, my home, my cowboy. Yours always.)

It was Javier’s turn to observe, and it didn’t take long for Horacio to raise a brow in his direction, shooting him a look of feigned exasperation that only came with the territory of a relationship as enduring as theirs.

“What?” Javier said with disingenuous innocence and a vulpine smile.

It was a contagious kind of smile, one that reminded Horacio they were equals in this and that he shouldn’t have been surprised Javier had the same idea.

“I take it my mother showed you her ring?”

“On my first visit to Manizales. It was beautiful. And so’s this.”

“As is this.”

“I like to think I put my own spin on it.”

“You did.”

They sat side-by-side on the hammock, legs facing towards each other with the rings held in their outstretched hands.

Javier’s thumb slid across Horacio’s left palm, tracing patterns over new callouses born from hard labour rather than war. He circled his wrist, waiting for the familiar rhythm but finding a beat that was, unsurprisingly, drumming quicker than usual.

After subduing with his touch, Javier retrieved the gold band, gliding it carefully onto Horacio’s ring finger, easing it over the knuckle until it rested snugly at the base.

They sat transfixed, marvelling at the light dancing across it as Horacio’s thumb ran back and forth over the curved surface in fascination.

Horacio repeated the ritual of mapping Javier’s left hand, lacing their fingers together as a tangible reminder of their bond. Their devotion. Their vow. Their choice. Whether the law honoured it one day or not.

He picked up the silver to his gold, shimmying it along Javier’s ring finger and passing beyond the slight resistance at his knuckle. Not too much force, but firm enough for it to sink perfectly into place.

With palms connected and fingers interlocked, their foreheads met, chests rising and falling in tandem.

“Te amo tanto, Javier.”

“Yo también te amo. Tanto, Horacio. Tanto.” Javier whispered, over and over in Horacio’s ear like a prayer – their prayer – before brushing his lips above Horacio’s brow, the bridge of his nose, both cheeks and down to his mouth, creating their own sign of the cross with each kiss. A new beginning and a welcome home.

They untied their robes and collapsed onto the hammock in a tangle of limbs, silver and gold melding at their chests and hands; their past, present and future as inseparable as their hearts, bodies and souls.

With one smooth motion, Horacio pinned Javier’s arms down into the netting of the hammock, a dark, hungry gaze passing between them as cool metal fused with hot skin.

15 years and several lifetimes may have gone by. But when Horacio had the man he loved, the man who loved him, his media naranja, underneath him, only one word ran through his head. Mine.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

[sailxrmxrs]

so. it's been a few months. OOPS. the creative juices have not been flowing lately BUT WE ARE SO BACK. and getting festive!! today we're decorating for christmas with our beloved infinite blue boys. this one won't be full fics but more so thoughts strung together. throwing my brain at my computer screen and seeing what sticks type beat. shoutout to itsu for the art that made me go insane abt the boys and desperate to write smth again. also shoutout to ito for listening to me ramble my thoughts aloud. always a pleasure to brainrot with u. determined to try and get back to regular writing but we shall see how that goes LMAO. for now enjoy christmas decorating gamers WOOOO.

♡ leo ♡

Leo gets SO excited for Christmas time. He loves seeing the neighbourhood lit up with strings of lights and bright displays of festivity. He's not one to hold back either with his own decorations. Leo has built up a rather eclectic collection of decorations and baubles for his Christmas tree, most of them being movie references or themed. Stormtrooper wearing a Santa hat, a resin hanging decoration made to look like a stack of Lord of the Rings books, that sort of thing. He excitedly asks what sort of fun decorations you own or want to get because he wants the tree to match both of your interests. Definitely surprises you with a few that he thinks you'll like, barely able to contain himself. Leo is bad at keeping presents a surprise. He just loves seeing how excited you get!! Very much the embodiment of golden retriever boyfriend. Always. I can see Leo also having some decorations with sentimental value too. Like this one bauble he painted as a kid that's definitely not the prettiest mix of colours, but it brings back memories of childhood and excitedly trying to stay up late to see Santa leaving presents behind. He LOVES good christmas tradition too. Every Christmas Eve he's watching the same movie (probably Home Alone) with an array of snacks laid out to enjoy. He loves getting to share it all with you too as well as starting new traditions for future Christmases together. For example, this year he dumped strips of coloured paper on the floor, put his Christmas playlist on, and declared you were both making paper chains and paper snowflakes to hang around the house with the tinsel already on display. There's no such thing as too many decorations in Leo's world so I hope you're prepared for your home to look like a festive spirit exploded in every room. Bonus note he also owns sets of festive pyjamas specifically for December and will only wear these. If it's not Christmas related he isn't touching it. Also owns slippers made to look like reindeer.

♡ milo ♡

Milo might just be the worst one to decorate for Christmas with. He's never really been overly fussed about buying decorations or a tree and has literally nothing of the sort at home. He hadn't even considered the thought that you might want to indulge a little and spend a day or two putting up lights or finding a tree for your shared living room. When you do mention the idea to him, Milo is somewhat surprised, but will nod along that sure you can get a tree. Will suggest you buy one of those pop-up trees that comes with the ornaments already attached because it's easier and will only take a couple minutes to set up and put into place. It takes a lot of convincing to sway him away from that idea. He doesn't seem to realise that half the fun is spending hours fighting the tangled mess of lights, or finding that one specific ornament you bought a few years ago just to hang front and centre on the tree. Will only agree to it if you promise to buy him an early Christmas present too. Bribery is a wonderful tool for convincing Milo to join in all the traditional couple behaviours and outings. He'll enjoy it once he's there and sees how much you're enjoying yourself, but will make a point to complain about the weather, or that he's getting bored looking at different variations of the same lights. His boredom is easily cured by a request to get food before heading home. Once you're home, he offers to reach all the tallest parts you can't reach, but not before making a smug joke about how you only asked him to help because you wanted the extra pair of hands. At the end of it all, he'll be stood behind you, arms enclosed around you and pulling your back against his chest. Will rest his chin atop your head and admit that yes, he had a lot of fun today and yes he will do it again next year. Offers to take you out again next weekend to go ice skating or put together gingerbread houses. Just as long as you don't make him wear one of those awful Christmas jumpers Leo sent a picture of himself wearing the other day. You don't make any promises.

♡ rory ♡

Ever the hopeless romantic, Rory equally adores and despises this time of year. He loves the romanticism of the festive atmosphere, the twinkling fairy lights, the decadence of the food. He's secretly been craving the chance to share it all with someone else. But he would never admit to it. Which is also the cause for his self-proclaimed hatred of the holiday season. He likes to lament about how so much of it is commercialised and specifically catered to couples wanting an excuse to show off how cute they are. He'll acutely ignore the fact that you came home to him watching one of those cheesy Netflix Christmas rom-coms. The type where a prince gets isekaied into the suburbs of New York and falls in love with generic city woman. Will try to hide his face in the neckline of his sweater while you set down boxes of decorations to dress up the room. Claims he wants no part of it and acts all indifferent to your enthusiasm, though it is blatantly evident on his face that he actually means the exact opposite. So you get to hanging baubles from the tree, singing along to Christmas songs as they chime from the speakers. It's when you notice Rory stand up, eyes flickering from you, to the tree, to the floor, that you ask if he would like to give you a hand. Will say no, but you should move that one ornament a bit higher up. It will look better there. Or maybe add a different coloured one there to brighten up that section. Pass a box of ornaments to him and tell him that if he's going to comment on your decorating then he better just do it himself. Rory acts as though this is some large inconvenience but within minutes he's quietly singing along under his breath, a rosy colour staining his cheeks. Pull out some mistletoe and watch him turn an even brighter red. Do it I dare u. And once the room is sufficiently dressed up for Christmas, Rory will collapse back on the sofa, shyly admitting how much he loved spending the time with you as you burrow into the warmth of his side. Will get a little flustered but tries to play it cool until you tease him about finishing the rom-com you caught him watching earlier. Goes to push you away but immediately pulls you back in. Maybe he can be a little more affectionate than usual today. Maybe.

♡ alexei ♡

Alexei doesn't usually decorate a whole lot around the festive season. It's not for a lack of wanting to, nor does he dislike it at all, but rather he just never felt like he had a reason to before. For him, Christmas always felt like a very family-oriented time of year so after he moved out, the thought simply never occurred to him that he could go out and buy a tree and ornaments, even just for his desk at work. When you pose the idea to him to get your home all decorated up for the season, Alexei's interest is piqued. He will scroll for ideas on how to pick a colour theme and will get really into the colour ratio of the baubles too. He lines the tree with golden fairy lights and makes sure the balance of red and green baubles is even. Makes sure to find tinsel that matches the exact shades as well so it doesn't look mismatched at all. It's really rather cute how focused he'll get over it, eyebrows furrowed and this tiny little crease in his forehead. Stands with a look a pure concentration in the way his eyes are surveying the tree from top to bottom, his finger tapping against his lip while you watch from your spot on the sofa sipping a hot chocolate Alexei made for you. You tried to tell him he doesn't need to take it so seriously with the way he's alternating between different coloured baubles but your voice falls on deaf ears. He'll stand back to admire his handiwork, looking to you for excitable approval. Once he deems it good enough, Alexei will lay down, his head just beneath the tree, and he'll gesture for you to join him. He feels all tired out after a day of decorating and has a distinct urge to nap under the tree like a cat. Will sleepily ramble about how he's been looking forward to spending the holiday with you, how he's excited to try all these new things and start ned traditions with you until eventually his eyes betray him and they blink slower and slower and he's falling asleep in your arms.

♡ brooklyn ♡

Brooklyn's home on Christmas is a sight to behold. The man knows how to decorate no matter what the occasion may be. He always loves to make a day of it too. Expect him to wake you up with a cup of tea, already dressed in a cosy Christmas sweater with his hair unstyled and a little messy. Winter Brooklyn is a delight for the eyes. Especially when he's got a hand-knitted scarf bundled around his neck and matching gloves warming his hands. Drives you to a local Christmas tree farm he always visits on the first weekend of December every year without fail. The owners know him by name at this point and are particularly excited to see he has company this year. His hand is entwined in yours as you wander around, talking and musing together over which tree would fit best. If it's snowing, expect Brooklyn to flick a snow-covered branch at you, a dusting of cold powder freckling your cheeks. Will laugh but lets you throw a snowball at him as payment for the attack. Once you pick out the perfect tree, Brooklyn takes you to a local Christmas market to pick out some new decorations. He has a rather rigorous theme he likes to stick to but wants to add something meaningful to signify the two of you—especially with this being your first Christmas together. He tries not to go too overboard and is only stopped by the sight of a stall offering decadent mugs of hot chocolate. Once you're back home and in the warm, Brooklyn is lighting the fireplace, along with a few festive themed candles, and rolling up his sleeves. It's at this point you see just how serious he is about Christmas decorating. And it certainly pays off because once you're both done, the tree looks like someone opened pinterest, found the most visually pleasing tree and managed to extract it and place it directly in your living room. Brooklyn looks very pleased with himself as you praise his well thought out planning. Ends the day with a surprise gift for you because his family always had a tradition of giving a gift on Christmas tree day and he wants to keep that going with you. Is generally just the embodiment of Christmas rom-com love interest with how perfect he makes the day turn out to be.

♡ tobias ♡

Decorating with Tobias is so unbelievably chaotic. There is no rhyme or reason to the scattering of ornaments all over the floor. Decorations are everywhere except where they are supposed to be. He claims he's got a strategy but you're not so certain. He also doesn't really bother with any particular colour theming and just picks out what he thinks looks cool. Loves to have a range of different shapes and colours for the ornaments. Also buys a string of multicoloured flashing lights to drape around the tree because 'regular white lights are boring'. Tobias doesn't care too much about whether you put up a plastic tree or a real one, that is until he sees Brooklyn post a photo of his own Christmas tree on instagram and suddenly Tobias wants to buy a real tree too and make it look as aesthetically pleasing as possible. So he's dragging you out into the cold to go and buy one. Finds his idea of the perfect tree after a good hour of deliberating over which one looks best. Wants one that's got a good shape to it and has plenty of branches. In doing so, however, he very much overestimates how big his car is and how big his apartment is. Drives home with the top of the tree sticking between the seats it's basically sitting on the passenger seat with you. And then there's getting it into his apartment. It's just a little bit too tall so the top of the tree is bent over a little against the ceiling. Tobias rejects your idea to buy a saw and cut the trunk down because surely you can just trim to top, right? No, Tobias, you cannot. Ends up deciding to bend it so the top is angled down a little since you won't let him take the kitchen scissors to it. You're about to attempt to put the star on top until Tobias stops you, claiming he needs to make some adjustments before it goes up. Runs into the bedroom and returns like five minutes later with the star but now it has a picture of his face taped onto the front. Reaches up to put it on the tree but because it's a little too tall, the star is angled down so it looks like star Tobias is watching over like some cursed angelic watchman. Leo is very unsettled when he comes over to visit.

[sloanewashingtonappreciationweek]

We got some lovely entries for Day 1! Tomorrow is Day 2, and our theme for the day will be Written in the Stars!!

In a lot of ways this is a segue from today's theme about women in STEM, as Sloane's clear love for stars is very much rooted in science!! Astronomy and astrophysics are subjects she seems to take great interest in, and stargazing is one of the first few pastimes she and Hayden share together! She is in fact so knowledgeable in this field that she's actually qualified enough to be part of NASA if she chose!

But her interest in stars also lies in the stories people tell of them, and how different cultures look at the same constellations and see different things. She is also a storyteller (and while some of us are not the happiest that they had her be the author of AtV!) and her interest in the mythology made behind astronomical objects is so fascinating too!!

Tomorrow, we celebrate both the astronomy whiz and the storyteller in Sloane!

As always, any form of appreciation is welcome! Fanfic, fanart, meta, edits, moodboards, playlists, headcanons, interactive media, even screenshots of favourite scenes or simple posts about your love for her!! Our only requirement is that you center Sloane in your work, and that the depiction is positive!

We also accept WIPs - we know irl can be hard and you may not always get the time to finish off stuff, so do show us a WIP of what you're working on if you're comfortable! We keep our event open even after the deadline (the deadline is mostly for our thank you video!) so you can send in your work anytime as well.

A friendly reminder that these are merely themes for you to use. It isn't completely necessary for your content for a particular day to be posted on that day only. You can post something you intended for Day 2 when Day 5 is on, as long as you tag the post for the day you meant it for.

Be sure to do the following when you make your SWAW:

1. Use #sloanewashingtonappreciationweek and #SWAW in your tags, along with the day you want to send the content for (SWAW Day 1, SWAW Day 2, etc)

2. Tag @sloanewashingtonappreciationweek, as well as hosts @sazanes and @lizzybeth1986 in your posts, so we don't miss any entries!

Fan content blogs have been a great resource in terms of showcasing fan content, so we'd definitely like to explore some of them and see if you'd like to send your content to any of them. A number of them are also running some amazing Valentine's Day events, which I urge you to take a look at:

@choicesficwriterscreations - Both fic and art welcome! Check out their rules and weekly roster here!

@choicesmonthlychallenge and @choicesfebruary2024 - All types of creative stuff welcome. This month, they're doing an awesome event with the Seven Types of Love in Greek mythology as prompts!

@choicespride - All content related to LGBTQ+ characters and/or themes welcome! Check out their awesome Valentine's Day event here!

@choicesflashfics - Fics under 2500 words welcome! Find this week's prompt list here!!

@choicesholidays - Both fic and art welcome!! Check out their Valentine's Day event!!

@choicesprompts - Mostly fic-centric!! Currently they're running a round robin, for which the deadline to enter is Feb 15th!

Can't wait to see what you all have in store tomorrow for us!! 😍😍

Happy Sloane Washington Appreciation Week, everyone!!

[pleucas]

I just reblogged all your art (sorry if that was weird) but your drawings are AMAZING the composition the expressions and the way you draw backgrounds is amazing!!! you are crazy talented, I wanted to ask, have you read any soukoku fics that you would rec? if not that’s okay, I’m just curious about that.

ALSO. wanted to ask if I could use your art for a soukoku playlist I have on spotify (of course giving you credit in the description), if not it’s okay too:)

hehe hi!

i think i saw the spam happen in real time lmfao. it was truly an honor, made my day lolol <3 i'm glad you like my art, and thank you for taking your time to send in an ask.

you can totally use my art for spotify playlists! it's insane to me that someone would want to, so thank you so much <3 <3 totally send it over if you're open to sharing >;D

as for fic recs, i do indeed have a few...

idk if my taste in fics is similar to yours, but i generally like more introspective works with really good writing. the bsd fandom has a surprisingly (or unsurprisingly, given that the animanga is inspired by literary masters) incredible selection of works, unmatched by any other fanbase i've investigated.

my go-to rec is Three-fold Fate by devilrin (multi-chap, 60k, complete). the writing in this one KILLED ME. you know it's gotta be good when the author literally cites Ocean Vuong as inspiration lmfao. it explores the intricacies of canon-verse and dabbles into other aspects of bsd that aren't even explored (yet) in canon. brilliant writing and good skk shit, also with an interesting premise that really hit hard — i always go back to read parts of it when i want to spiral in my thoughts

the art of growing attached by hydref (one-shot, 6k, complete) is also really nice. soft & intimate, also in character in a very funny way

the choir's gonna sing by intimatopia (one-shot, 8k, complete) was really interesting, and i think abt it a lot. it explores dazai's ability in a super cool way that i haven't thought abt before, and now it's one of my fav interpretations. it also adds a depth to the skk relationship that i kinda adore. the writing is also brilliant, and the other works in the series hold a similarly high standard

StarshipDancer's skk series is also a goldmine of skk fics lol. the writing is solid and often very entertaining, i also love how they're both characterized

all the holes we had to breathe by airiena (one-shot, 18k, complete) is gorjus. it explores the dev of their relationship, and has some wonderfully handled motifs that made me writhe lol. very cathartic.

Always/Never by KhaoticEnby (multi-chap, 27k, complete) is one of my favs to return to. it's the peak of reconciliatory intimacy, and i enjoy how it gently explores skk's relationship. also very very cathartic and healing hehe

those are just 6 that immediately come to mind from my mountain of bookmarks aha. hope you enjoy at least some of em ;0 someday i do want to write for skk as well, they're just so captivating and wonderful... <3

thank you again for sending in an ask. wishing you a wonderful day!!

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @oxygenforthewicked  |  AO3: Oxygenforthewicked

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

10 Reasons Why Rift Hopping Is Probably Hazardous to Your Health (Hint: Cassandra Is One of Them)

Gin and Dema talk process, inspiration, and what to do when a character kicks down your door

Dema: Since this is a Big Bang I'll start there: have you done one before? If you have, what made you want to do it again? If not: what made you wanna give it a go? 

Gin: I've considered being a part of a Big Bang event before but I haven't actually done one yet. However, after seeing all of the fics and artwork that came out of other bangs last year, I got a better feel for it and decided I wanted to give it a try!

Dema: So exciting! Are you finding that this process feels different from how you usually write?

Gin: Not really, honestly. I've done NaNoWriMo in the past, and this feels similar in terms of working towards a set goal. I think the big difference (and better difference, honestly) is that this is much more community-centered, and the goal is to finish the project instead of just reaching a word count minimum. That in and of itself is a really refreshing new challenge.

Dema: When you tackle a project like this, what does that look like for you?

Gin: Usually I like to prepare a concept/vague outline first, write out in more detail the major plot points, create a mood playlist, and just start writing! I do tend to carve out time for writing, too, as that helps me focus better.

Dema: How much time do you feel like you need in a chunk? (Me, interviewing: “So, writing. How Do You Do It. AND WHY??)

Gin: It depends. Sometimes I can write for several consecutive hours, other times my brain can only handle about thirty minutes. Either way, I know that as long as I get words on the page, I'm making progress! But creativity isn't something that can be forced, so if the words just aren't coming out, I'll take a break for a while and refresh my brain by reading a book or watching something. Once my creative battery is full again, I can knock out a huge chunk of the project, and that usually feels so much better than trying to strongarm my brain into getting words out.

Dema: Is there something you are reading or watching right now that is providing particular inspiration? Or if not inspiration, rejuvenation?

Gin: Yes, actually! I'm currently reading A Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss, and it's been giving me all sorts of good inspiration.

Dema: Oh yes! I love that book. Is there anything in particular about it that's scratching the itch?

Gin: The lore and worldbuilding are both so interesting, but I'm also just very invested in the characters. This series so far has done a great job of creating a rich world with fleshed-out characters, an intricate magic system, and I love the complexity of the relationships. (In short, all of it!) 

Dema: Hard agree, I love those complicated characters and dynamics. Speaking of characters, when you're crafting an OC, what's your starting point? What was the spark that birthed Saeris, if you want to be more specific?

Gin: Most of the time, it's a picture or a song that sparks the initial concept. But there are other times when OCs kick down the door in my head and decide that they live there rent-free. Saeris was one of those characters. Admittedly, I did intend on creating Saeris for a specific project after reading The Horror of Hormak, but he was supposed to be a minor character that I was going to write once and never write again after that. (Boy was I wrong.) But what really sparked the inspiration for him was a photo I found while looking up references for gray eyes. The vibe of that photo just seemed like it fit him so well that his entire character quickly started unfolding bit by bit after that. I chose a name for him, a class, and all of it snowballed until he became my most fleshed-out character (and my favorite).

Dema: How long ago was that?

Gin: April 2022

Dema: Awwww! He’s two! 

Gin: LOL! It was when the event I was writing him for took place. 

Dema: I will not ask you if your Bang fic involves Saeris because I do not want to pry any spoilers from you, but thank you for your click-bait title and for your interview! Gin: Sounds good! And thank you!! It was very fun chatting.

[yenn-reads]

Hey, it's me again.

I don't know if you are still interested in my recommendations, but I have a few more series lined up and those I will tell you about.

It's November, days are getting darker and for this reason I chose some darker fics for you, too. Not 'dead dove don't eat'-dark, but we're getting to the angsty bit of fanfiction for sure. So please, take a look at the warnings before you start reading.

Night Moves

Walter Marshall x OFC Alexandra (💕🔥🌩, status: completed)

This story is how I found @deandoesthingstome. And with this fic she made it easy for me to fall for her writing. If you look at the last recommendations or on my blog you'll see that I adore Charlie and her incredible talent for writing unique stories. And Night Moves is just one example.

Here we get to see Walter Marshall in his element. He's the detective we all know, who loses himself in a case. But he loses himself also in this strong and smart woman. But as Walter and Alex fall for each other, things go south fast.

You're going to be thrilled by this! And don't forget to take a look at the playlist and the deleted scene that I got from Charlie for asking for a director's cut.

You've got me hooked

Captain Syverson x OFC Riley (💕🔥🌩, status: completed)

I read this one on AO3 before I got into the addicting chaos of this hellsite, so I never gave @poledancingdinos the reblogs that she deserved for this. I hope I can make up for it now and someday I will find time for a re-read and proper comments.

Sy and Riley might be strangers, but their life paths cross when Riley needs a roommate and Sy needs a room.

Riley tries her best to keep Sy away from her and Sy might be clueless in more than one way. But when Riley needs help, Sy is there for her.

Those characters are so wonderfully drawn and you'll find yourself rooting for Sy and Riley in no time. There's a playlist too, and a very, very sweet bonus chapter

The way to hell

August Walker x OFC Ingvild (🔥🌩, status: completed)

Okay, I guess I won't need to introduce you to @littlefreya but this story was one of the first things I read when I fell into the rabbit hole of Henry Cavill fandom. And it still occupies my mind from time to time.

Ingvild and August are on their way to finally burn this world to ashes and when you follow their path you will want to join them.

If you haven't already read it, go treat yourself with this love story of August and his angel of destruction. Or maybe you've already read it and think you might want to return to it once more.

Anyway, if you found something here that you enjoyed reading, go tell the writer about it. You will make someone's day a lot better.

Monthly Series Appreciation -Masterlist

[astxrwar]

blunt force trauma [3/x]

SYNOPSIS: traumatized!Bucky x Brainwashed!supersoldier!reader.

Rating: M

Word Count: 5k

Content Warnings: Brief mention of a suicide joke made in passing. Bucky has issues, so MH/trauma topics will feature heavily in this work; I will CW for them every time. Canon-typical violence.

Check out the tag "fic; blunt force trauma" for Content (there's a playlist!!) + Ao3 chapter notes for extras if you're interested. <3

Read on AO3

[1] [2] [ 3 ]

That Wednesday, Yori has a cold. 

Bucky spends a few minutes just going back and forth with him through the cracked-open door of the guy’s apartment, asking if he needs tissues or aspirin or fucking— soup, or something, because he’s old, right, properly old, and he’s kind of worried about him. Yori insists it’s just a regular cold and that he’s fine and that Bucky is under no circumstances to buy him anything because he’s fine, and that he’s not going to be going out with him tonight or so much as opening the door all the way. 

“Might get you sick,” is what he says. “Bad manners.”

That’s not physically possible, Bucky wants to tell him, but doesn’t, can’t, for a lot of reasons, most of them— pretty fucking awful.

He tries not to think about it.

“Okay,” Bucky says eventually. “Okay, fine, but we’re still on for next week, right?”

Yori is silent for a beat. “Yes,” he says, from behind the door, and then, gruff and vaguely scolding, “You need to make friends that are-- younger. I am getting too old for this.”

Bucky scoffs. Yori tells him this a lot. “I’m working on it,” he says, which is what he says back every time. 

It’s bullshit. 

He thinks about that piece of paper, folded up and pressed between the pages of Steve’s notebook, heavy in the chest pocket of his jacket like it’s burning a hole right through it.

Mostly. It’s mostly bullshit.

~

Yori goes and— sleeps, or something, or whatever people do when they get sick, and he goes back to his apartment. 

Bucky realizes a lot of things really quickly, after shutting the door and locking it and flipping the lights; things like the fact that he’s not usually here, at this time, that he generally wouldn’t be back for another hour, sometimes more. That she’s probably been watching him, and that she’s probably learned his schedule by now, because it’s exactly what he would have done. That if she were to pick a time to go through his apartment and try to find answers without having to talk to anybody–which is also exactly what he would have done– she’d either be doing it now, or when he’s at therapy.

He realizes after shutting the door– kind of embarrassingly late, all things considered– that he’s not alone.

And then he remembers that being taken by surprise used to be a pretty significant trigger for him, in the early days. 

This time, when she tries to hit him, he doesn’t move out of the way— she’s not putting a fucking hole through his door, that’d be such a pain in the ass, there’d be no way to get out of explaining it to the landlord— and what he does instead of moving is step in past her arm and close the distance and shoulder-check her dead in the sternum. The force of it sends her sliding back across the living room, her foot twisting against the hardwood floor to find purchase and friction enough to counteract it, slow to a stop, and then she lifts her chin and she locks eyes with him and whatever he was going to say—hey, relax, it’s just me, it’s okay— it dies somewhere in the back of his throat.

She’s not there. There wouldn’t be any point. 

Instead, he sets his jaw and jerks his head to one side and then the other, cracking his neck and loosening his shoulders and waiting.

Part of him— it’s not that he enjoys this, he doesn’t think, just that it feels satisfying, like drawing poison out of a wound. That very first time, he kind of expected looking at her when she’s like this to make him uncomfortable, the way that it reminds him of all of that shit he tries not to think about for a lot of different reasons, but it’s kind of the opposite. 

It’s familiar. It’s comforting. Bucky understands this, which is saying something, because it feels like there’s not a whole lot in his life these days that he really understands that much at all. The way she’s looking at him right now— he knows exactly what this is. It doesn’t take him over like it used to, not anymore, but it’s not like it’s completely gone from him, this instinct.

He still feels it too, sometimes. Or— maybe he just wants to. A little of both, probably.

“Yeah, nice to see you, too,” he mutters, mostly to himself, his vision sharpening to a knifepoint and his heart rate solid, steady, ticking like a metronome. The seconds that always kind of feel like they slip from him before he can register them at all— they’re drawn out, now, bleeding into each other, stretching endlessly, and he’s there , inside his own body as the moments pass, present, not floating somewhere outside of it or trapped in his head. He breathes. He listens to the sound of his own blood rushing in his skull. He listens for hers. He can’t hear it, but he thinks if she gets close again, he might be able to.

“What are you waiting for,” he says, not really a question. Kind of a challenge. 

She lunges for him.

He meets her halfway. 

On purpose. By choice.

One thing he’d noticed the last time is that she’s real fucking fast– faster than him, and probably younger, by what he would guess must be a not-significant amount. The serum is about achieving peak human performance, or something like that; it doesn't reverse the effects of time or the reality of age, and it doesn't change how that peak just starts to gradually decline in terms of speed and reaction time at some point in your early-mid-twenties and then never really stops. Bucky doesn’t know how old he is, not concretely, but it’s old enough that the difference between them in terms of that is apparent. But reflexes are one thing, and experience is another, and he has a fucking lot of experience— more than she does, and that, too, is a stark and obvious fact. He’s better than her, and just a little bit stronger, and what she has on him in speed he more than compensates for just in skill and brute force. 

They’re not evenly matched, is what he’s saying, and he’d gotten the feel for that last time, too; had known, kind of, that this wouldn’t be a fair fight. 

The edge she has, though, the one he doesn’t, is that she’s trying to hit him— trying to harm him, trying to physically incapacitate him— and he’s not. He’s countering closed-fist blows open-handed, going for her shoulders and the insides of her arms to redirect and keep the damage to the apartment at a minimum, and that puts him at a massive fucking disadvantage. It means her target is the whole of his body, six-foot and something like a buck-eighty, and not only is she fucking smaller than him already, but the places he can hit and not hurt her are these little slivers of windows only a few inches wide, if that, and–

She clocks him in the jaw. 

It’s not that bad, it’d been her non-dominant hand and he’d moved back, he’d just been a little too slow– but it’s still hard enough to make his teeth fucking rattle in his mouth and his chest reflexively tighten up and the air force out of his lungs in this short, sharp hiss.

“Okay, ow,” he says, putting space between them and feeling the first prickle of irritation start to worry at his patience and trying real fucking hard not to let it as he moves back and away and grimaces, opens his jaw and shifts it to either side and hears it pop, sore and starting to smart and definitely going to be bruised tomorrow.

When he looks at her again she looks a little bit more human. There’s this furrow, just the shadow of it, tightening up between her eyebrows, but the line of her shoulders is tensed and her hands are still up and something in her eyes is trembling, like it’s tearing at itself, guilt, maybe, but also this kind of powerlessness, too. 

Wanting to stop. Not being able to.

Bucky thinks about the dream.

“It’s alright,” he says, “I know. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be fine.”

He exhales, shaky, his heart beating harder and faster from the exertion, sweat starting to prickle at the nape of his neck, the air burning a little, like it’s sinking into somewhere in his lungs that he doesn’t usually breathe deep enough for it to reach.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and he’s not even really surprised by how much he actually means it. “Come on. Just- get it out of your system. It’s okay.”

Her expression doesn’t relax, but it— slackens, and something flashes in her eyes that looks a lot like relief, but it’s gone before he has time to be sure or think much about it.

When she comes to him a second time, the edge is missing and she’s not trying to hurt him— not trying to hurt him as much, he corrects, grunting when her elbow slams into the soft part of his stomach— and it doesn’t take long for him to get her off-balance and on the defensive. She mistimes a punch, finally, gives him the opportunity to reach for her and doesn’t react quick enough to the hand on her arm, and he gets the other flat on her shoulder blade and slams her against the wall.

She doesn’t do anything for a long moment; her chest is heaving, violently and with enough force that he can feel the muscles around her ribs straining up against the pressure of his forearm where it’s braced against the small of her back, and he has one hand— his hand— on her right wrist, and in the absence of any immediate threat Bucky realizes a bunch of things in quick succession.

 He realizes she’s wearing a short-sleeve t-shirt, which is new, and not technically surprising; it’s May and it’s started to get warmer again. He realizes he’s touching her, though, really touching her, without any kind of barrier at all, and that’s new, too, and it’s weird , because her skin is soft and warm and it feels almost fucking– delicate, makes him aware of the callouses on his palm and his fingers and the roughness of them, and contradicts so violently with everything else about her that it’s like his brain just can’t integrate the information at all. He realizes she’s come back— all of her is so human now, even her eyes, the corner of one that he can see with how her face is pressed to the wall, darting back to look at him and then looking away just as fast, fraught and expressive, all of that emptiness just– gone. 

And then he makes a mistake. He keeps fucking doing that. It’s getting annoying.

Bucky calls her by her name, and she freaks the fuck out again. 

He hadn’t grabbed her other hand, because she’d been calm or at the very least not-murderous for all of ten seconds, so she slides it up under herself and pushes and gets the leverage to slip out from where he’s holding her and she elbows him in the fucking diaphragm, hard enough to knock the air out of him and wrench her arm out from his grip.

And then she fucking runs away, again, and he’s left there trying to catch his breath, with a handful of fresh bruises and absolutely no fucking answers at all.

No holes in the apartment this time, though.

~

That night, he can't fall asleep.

The nightmares haven’t come back yet— yet, they’d been gone before, the times that Steve had needed him, and then for a while in the aftermath of the final battle, they always come back, though, it’s only ever a matter of time— but he still has trouble with it, just in general. Sleep. It flips, back and forth like a switch, between extremes; sometimes he has the control to just will himself into unconsciousness, and sometimes it’s like his brain fights back, his thoughts accelerate, defiant, no matter how hard he tries to focus on counting his breathing or relaxing each muscle or picturing the inside of his mind like this sprawling, snow-covered field, white and uniform and empty. 

He’s long since stopped trying all that, just has his eyes open, lying there staring up into the dark. His mind drifts, directionless, and he thinks about a bunch of things, random details connected by some nonsensical thread of logic that's somewhere beyond his conscious awareness. In Romania, he used to wander when he couldn't sleep, and then also when the thought of sleeping terrified him; he'd walk, sometimes for hours, until his body burned and the soles of his shoes wore out and sometimes until the sun came up again. There'd been one night-- multiple nights, multiple days, six or seven, at least-- that he'd gotten so exhausted he'd collapsed outside, leaned against the crumbled plaster facade of a building. One thing about the serum; he does still need sleep. It'd been raining, and he was soaked and shaking and delirious from lack of sleep. The old woman who'd found him when she'd gone out for a cigarette brought him an umbrella and made him a tea and sat there on the stoop nearby for a while, told him stories about her son. He'd moved to Sibiu, had a wife, three kids, called twice a week, but didn't visit enough. They'd just gotten a cat, he'd let the youngest name it; Șosetă. Sock.

"Prost," she'd said; stupid. Made this soft tch sound, ashed her cigarette against the railing. It'd been such a meaningless thing to complain about. It was the most human he'd felt in months.

Bucky thinks about the girl. Her expression, when he'd let her go that first time, again when he'd pinned her to the wall in his living room. It's still weird to think about, wondering if that's what he'd looked like, a long time ago-- wide-eyed and terrified and hopelessly lost.

He fumbles for his jacket at the foot of the bed, takes Steve’s notebook out and unfolds the slip of paper tucked inside and stares at it. There’s splotches where the lines had gone fuzzy, the paper had gotten wet and the ink had spread out; it’d been kind of damp, the morning he found it, dew condensed on the mesh screen and against the glass, so it could be from that. Or it could be that she’d been crying.

He hasn’t seen her cry, or even really look like she's come close to it. He wonders if she’s there yet. In the beginning, it was like his body wouldn’t let him, no matter how tight his chest would get or how much his eyes would burn— it just wouldn’t come. It’d frightened him too much, the thought of succumbing to something as intangible as an emotion. A loss of control that he just couldn’t submit to. Not when control was all he really had left.

In Wakanda, it felt like— relief. He’d been afraid. But they’d helped him.

He thinks about the way that she’d looked at him. Come on, just— get it out of your system. It’s okay. Maybe he should have said something else— that’s probably not what he’s supposed to have said. He was probably supposed to have said stop, or don’t, or something like that, but he’d tried those a bunch already, and he’d kind of known the whole time that it doesn’t really work like that.

Bucky folds the slip of paper, tucks it back in the notebook, and the notebook under his pillow.

If she could just stop any of this, he thinks, she would have done it by now.

~

“Is there another day we can do, next week?” 

Doc had been tapping the end of her pen against the edge of the notebook, the edges of the pages starting to curl, and there’s a millisecond of hesitation that disrupts the rhythm. Close to imperceptible, but not quite.

“Why,” she says, blunt.

Somebody keeps breaking into my apartment when I’m gone. So I’m going to– not be gone.

“That– veteran,” Bucky says. The lie is growing, which can be tricky; he’ll have to keep track of more moving parts, work harder not to contradict himself, but the game of it, he thinks, kind of makes this whole thing suck less. Now that is definitely something he should tell his therapist. “They’re in town, but usually just on Friday, and I wanted to– I was going to ask if they wanted to grab a bite to eat. Or– something.”

Doc raises her eyebrow at him. “In town?”

“She doesn’t live around here,” he says, shrugging. “Just a– friend of somebody in the building, I’m pretty sure. I only see her ‘cause we both– y’know.” He mimes a cigarette. It’d taken him a long fucking time to figure out how he was going to spin this; it’d hit him this morning, during his run, the pieces arranging themselves all real fucking neatly. It’s great when that happens.

Doc’s eyebrow raises further, and she does that lean-in, just a little bit; she thinks it’s a slip, which is what he’d meant for it to seem like. Best to get this over with now, have control of the information, before he actually does let it slip by accident. “She?”

“Yes,” he says, letting the beginnings of an edge sharpen in his voice, like he’s annoyed. 

He’d double-checked, actually figured out how to use Google, just to make sure it wouldn’t be impossible for a woman to have served in armed ground combat. 2013, it turns out. That’s kind of insane, because he’s worked with women– girls, honestly– from the Red Room since he first became active all the way back in the fucking 50s. It took over sixty years; not that there’s been any wars worth fighting in then, but still. That’s a long fucking time. 

Doc stares at him for a while, not saying anything. Just– looking. 

“Are you asking her on a date, James?”

It’s just ridiculous enough that he can’t help the laugh that escapes him, curt and sharp and entirely genuine– because it is laughable, Jesus Christ, it’s not a date, if things work out how he thinks they will it’s going to be a lot more like a fucking ambush than anything else. Bucky laughs, which is fine, good, even, because it makes this more believable, supports the act– but it also blindsides him so thoroughly that what he says next isn’t preplanned. 

“No,” he says, pointed and a little bit mean, like it’s a stupid question– and it is, it’s an extremely stupid question– and then because his mouth moves faster than his brain does, he continues, “No, she’s– she’s having a hard time, you know, adjusting, and I– I’ve been there. I want to-- I thought I could-- help.”

Doc stares at him.

He clenches his teeth. The bruise is gone, and he’s mostly healed up, but his jaw still twinges a little. Another thing the serum doesn’t do; keep his body from getting worse at handling this shit, the older he gets. 

A date, he thinks, not sure if he’s amused or irritated by the thought. Jesus Christ, she’d punched him in the face, and she’s likely to try again if this goes according to plan. That’s about as far from a date as you can get.

“I don’t think you’re prepared for a relationship,” Doc says, and then before he can open his mouth to inform her thanks, that’s great, I’m really not fucking interested, she tells him, “I don’t think that’s what this is, but I wanted to make my opinion clear. As your therapist.”

“Gee, thanks, Doc,” he says, his teeth bared too tight in some deeply irritated caricature of a smile, “Really appreciate the input. Can we do a day besides Friday, or not?”

She studies him for a moment longer, and writes something in the notebook. Sometimes he tries to sit forwards or crane his head to read it, and other times he doesn’t; this time he makes sure not to, because he’s on his best behavior. He wants answers, and he wants that a lot more than he wants to know what she’s putting in that stupid fucking notebook.

“Yes,” she says, when she finishes, snapping the book shut. “How does Thursday sound?”

“Thursday sounds great,” he replies, with as much blatant sarcasm as he can physically inject into the words.

~

He doesn’t even have to wait that long.

It’s Tuesday-- six days since the last time. He’s aware of it now, not on purpose, it’s just one of those details his brain keeps track of without ever really consciously deciding to do so, like loud noises and things moving in his peripheral vision. 

He has groceries, a plastic bag half-full bumping against the side of his leg, the handles held loose with two fingers; there’s nothing immediately perishable, fresh vegetables, mostly, and she’s between him and the fridge. He sets it down by his feet, against the wall where hopefully it won’t be collateral damage if this devolves. Again. Bucky’s never really been a betting kind of guy— never seen the point— but from the way she’s standing, he’d put money on this going south pretty quickly.

“Y’know, you should probably stop breaking into my apartment,” he says, without looking at her directly, in a tone that’s probably way too mild for the circumstances.

There’s a long beat of silence interrupted only by the sound of the door as he presses it closed behind him.

“I thought it was a trap, the first time,” she says back, and he almost startles. She’d been sitting in the one armchair he has in his living room, but she’d gotten up as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. He can feel her, now, standing closer to the kitchen, even with his back turned as he pulls his keys from the door. “I thought— it doesn’t look like you live here.”

“Okay, well,” he says, kind of surprised by the tone of his voice, the degree of familiarity in it. “I did the last time I checked."

It’s strange, because he feels like he knows her, even though he also knows, separately, rationally, that he doesn’t; maybe it’s because he thinks about her a lot, or maybe it’s because they’re the same in a lot of ways, but whatever the reason he knows it’s not really true. The reality is that it’s been months, right, and this— right now, that was the most she’s ever spoken to him. 

It was pretty warm today; he’d started to sweat as soon as he’d shrugged on his leather jacket when he’d left earlier, and he busies himself with taking it off now that he doesn’t have to be concerned with hiding anything.

She seems to relax when his focus isn’t on her, and—

Yeah, he gets that.

“Sorry,” she says abruptly, strangled, “Sorry, about before, I— I hurt you, I didn’t mean to.“

Bucky scoffs, hanging his jacket on a coat hook by the door; he fumbles with the chest pocket, slips that red notebook out and into the front one of his jeans. “You got me once,” he says dismissively. “Don’t worry about it."

He thinks maybe he sees her jaw set, something in her eyes flash; a human something. A stubborn human something. “Twice,” she replies, curt and a little bit testy, like there’s a part of her deeper than the need to apologize that’s maybe a little bit irritated at how easily he shrugged it off.

Bucky laughs at that, just this short, sharp bark of a sound. And maybe he shouldn’t do that, either; maybe he shouldn’t feel so comfortable at the idea that she kinda seems to have a sort of competitive streak with regards to actual physical violence, and maybe the fact that he is comfortable with it should be— a concern. 

It isn’t.

No, that little show of defiance, or whatever it was; it was actually kind of endearing.

“Yeah, all right,” he admits, “Twice. You want to maybe just— talk, this time?” 

She swallows and shifts her weight from foot to foot, clenches her hands into fists at her sides and then releases them, slowly, a little at a time in these jagged, abrupt bursts of movement, like she’s making herself do it. 

“Yeah,” she says, after a while, her voice strangely small. Her hands are forced out flat, now, open as far as they can go, her arms locked, and he watches her fingers twitch, all random and erratic like it’s unintentional, the only part of her body still moving. He wonders if she even knows she’s doing it. “Yeah, I— I want to, I keep trying, but I— “

“But then you keep trying to beat the shit out of me,” he says dryly, mouth pressed into a small, frank line; not really a smile, but not negative. Still entirely too familiar, because he doesn’t know, really, if that kind of gentle jabbing is going to set her off, but he’s decided he doesn’t really care one way or another.

When Bucky looks at her again she’s clenching her jaw so hard he can see a muscle twitching below her ear even from across the room. “I’m sorry,” she says again, through gritted teeth, the words bitten out and sharp-sounding, like she’s forcing them. “I can’t— I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Bucky swallows reflexively, and that not-smile twists into a grimace. “Yeah,” he replies. “Yeah, I know.” 

The silence stretches; he studies her for a while, until he’s pretty sure she’s not going to speak again without a push, before he says, “Think you can tell me something about who you are?”

She flinches, and it’s visceral and immediate and probably out of her control; she screws her eyes shut so hard that her face contorts from the effort, lurches back a step, and when she breathes, it’s so unsteady that he can see that, too, the shuddering rise-and-fall of her chest. 

Bucky takes a step forwards while her eyes are closed, and the stupid traitorous floorboards creak in a spot that he’s never fucking heard them creak in before.

She goes rigid and her eyes snap open wide, the whites stretch out so far it makes her irises look like they’ve physically shrunk, and he knows, he knows he’s fucked it, he knows she’s going to fucking run away again, but--

The thing is– he just doesn’t have a lot of fucking patience.

When Bucky was him, he’d had an overabundance of patience. He had an alarmingly inhuman excess of it– something that allowed him to do things like watch the same mark for hours on end from the grimy window of a building or the crumbling edge of a rooftop or a branch-covered hole in the ground, not moving or eating or sleeping or even thinking at all. There’d been times when he’d waited for over a day straight for a target to come within firing range, and then for hours after until the search parties had dispersed empty-handed and it was safe for him to move again.

If somebody had him try any of that shit now, he thinks he’d probably blow his own brains out. He has trouble just dealing with the train being a few minutes late.

I‘s been almost three months, and what he has to show for it is a first name, a patched-up hole in the wall, a lot of really annoying bruises, and fucking nothing else.

When she makes like she’s going to run again, Bucky moves to stop her.

That goes exactly as well as he thought it would.