#I know I don’t have to apologize but I will anyway

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 11

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension, arguements, mentions of alcohol, being intoxicated

Matt’s gaze locks onto the envelope in my hand, his jaw tightening. “Oh, this again” he mutters, dropping his phone onto the bed. He leans back against the headboard, crossing his arms over his chest like he’s gearing up for a fight.

“I didn’t realize this was your jumper” I say quickly, gesturing to the yellow Ralph Lauren sweater I’m wearing. “Nick gave it to me yesterday. I didn’t know-”

“Convenient” he says, his lips curving into a bitter smirk. “Nick’s just handing out my stuff now, huh? Real generous of him. Not that it matters. Keep it.”

“Are you done?” I snap, holding up the envelope in my hand. “Because this is what I’m here to talk about.”

Matt’s smirk fades. He shifted himself up, his arms still crossed. “What about it? You’re upset I didn’t send it with chocolates or something?”

I glare at him. “You sent me flowers. Then threw them in the trash. And this-” I wave the card slightly. “This apology? I don’t get it, Matt. Why would you even do that? What’s the point if you’re not going to own it?”

He looks away, jaw tight, as though he’s trying to figure out how to answer. After a long pause, he finally speaks. “I don’t know. Maybe I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have” I say sharply, before I can stop myself. “Because now I’m here, and you clearly don’t want to explain yourself.”

“You’re right” he says, his voice colder now. “I shouldn’t have sent them. It was a mistake. I should’ve just let Nate get you flowers instead. That’s his job anyway.”

I freeze, staring at him. “What?”

“You heard me” he says, his tone bitter now. “If anyone should be sending you flowers, it’s Nate. Not me. But let me save you some trouble, he runs through girls like it’s a sport. You’re just a number to him, Y/n. That’s all you’d ever be.”

The words made no sense to me, knowing that there was nothing going on between me and Nate. But I know he’s trying to get under my skin, and that just makes me angrier.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about first of all” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “And even if that was true, why do you care? You’re acting like this is about Nate, but it’s not, is it?”

Matt doesn’t respond immediately. He just looks at me, his eyes flickering with something I can’t quite place, frustration, maybe. Or something deeper.

“I don’t care” he says finally, but the way he says it is unconvincing, like he’s trying to convince himself more than me.

“Right” I mutter, taking a step back. “Well, if you don’t care, then stop acting like this. Stop sending flowers and writing cards and then throwing them away. And stop dragging Nate into it like this is about him, because it’s not.” 

The room remained silent as I let out a frustrated sigh, “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Matt, or what I ever did to make you hate me so much, but I don’t want it to ruin Hawaii. Nick and Chris did something really thoughtful by inviting me, and I don’t want it to be awkward between us while we’re there.”

He exhales sharply, looking away. “Yeah, well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before busting in here and accusing me of playing games.”

I clench my jaw, trying to keep calm. “I didn’t accuse you of anything. I’m asking you to stop.. whatever this is. If you don’t care, fine. But don’t drag Nate into it, and don’t make me feel like some kind of idiot for trying to understand.”

His gaze softens slightly, and for a moment, I think he might actually say something that makes sense. But instead, he shrugs, his expression hardening again. “Fine. I’ll back off. Happy?”

I study him for a moment, trying to figure out what’s really going on behind that mask he always wears. But I don’t have the energy to keep pushing, so I just shake my head and turn to leave. I step out of his room, closing the door behind me, shutting it with more force than I intended.

I head straight to my room, practically flying up the stairs. My chest feels tight, my thoughts racing in every direction. That conversation with Matt was supposed to give me clarity, but instead, it’s only made everything worse. Why does he have to be so infuriating? Why does he have to say things that don’t make sense, like some cryptic puzzle he’s tempting me to solve?

I throw myself on top of my bed, burying my face in my pillow as all of my feelings boil to the surface, and before I know it, tears start falling. I don’t even try to stop them. I let them flow, hoping they’ll wash away some of the tension clawing at my chest. The tears aren’t just for Matt and his mixed signals, they’re for everything. For how lost I feel, for the way nothing goes right or feels straightforward anymore.

My mind replays the conversation over and over, dissecting every word, every glance, every pause. Why did he say it should’ve been Nate who gave me the flowers? Why did he warn me about Nate like that? And why did he throw the flowers away in the first place? None of it makes sense, and it’s driving me insane. I wipe at my cheeks, but the tears keep coming, hot and relentless.

Part of me wishes I could just forget the whole thing, shove it into a mental box, lock it away, and never think about it again. But another part of me knows I won’t. Not when Matt has this way of getting under my skin, and especially when we're going to spend every waking minute with each other for the next few weeks. Hawaii was supposed to be a break, an escape. But now, I can’t help but feel like it’s going to be anything but relaxing if things with Matt keep going like this. 

The next morning, I wake up feeling groggy and emotionally drained. My eyes are puffy from crying, and the frustration of yesterday’s conversation still lingers throughout my body. I take a deep breath and remind myself to focus on the day ahead, before starting to get ready. There’s no time to dwell on Matt or his cryptic actions.

Nick is already up and at it when I make my way downstairs. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, typing furiously on his laptop, a cup of coffee in one hand. He looks up when he hears me enter, flashing his usual enthusiastic grin.

“There she issss!” he says, closing the laptop dramatically. “You ready for a day of last minute prep?”

I give him a half smile and nod. “Yeah what do you need to do?”

Nick looks at me for a moment, his eyes narrowing like he’s trying to figure out if something’s wrong. But to my relief, he doesn’t press.

“Okay, so first things first, we’re getting your nails done. Non negotiable. If we’re going to Hawaii, you need to have vacation ready nails.”

“Nick, my nails are fine” I protest, holding up my hands.

He raises an eyebrow. “No offense, but ‘fine’ isn’t good enough. You’re coming with me, and we’re going all out.”

I rolled my eyes but let him drag me out the door. Honestly, a little pampering doesn’t sound so bad right now.

The day flew by as we rushed through last minute preparations. Nick and I spent the morning at the nail salon, where I settled with a classic french tip. Afterward, we hit a few shops to grab more shorts for Nick. Back at home, I double checked my suitcase, making sure I had everything I’d need for the trip, though my mind wandered more than I’d like to admit.

By the evening, I felt physically tired but mentally restless. I tried to focus on the excitement of Hawaii and the break I desperately needed, but thoughts of yesterday’s conversation with Matt kept creeping in. I forced myself to push it to the side and take myself to bed. We had an early flight the next day, so I set my alarm before climbing in. As I lay there, staring at the ceiling, I made a silent promise to myself. This trip would be about relaxing, having fun, and leaving all the confusion and tension back at home, even if it wasn’t exactly easy to do.

My alarm went off at 5 am, dragging me out of a light, restless sleep. I groaned, hitting snooze once before forcing myself to get up. I could hear quiet movement around the house already, doors creaking, the sound of someone wheeling suitcases, and the bang of cups in the kitchen. I quickly got dressed, grabbed my suitcase, and made my way to the living area.

Nick was already there, suitcase next to him. “Ready for paradise?” he asked with a sleepy grin.

I nodded. "As ready as I’ll ever be."

Chris and Nate came up a moment later, both looking slightly disheveled but ready to help. Chris grabbed Nick’s suitcase while Nate reached for mine. I thanked him quietly, and he just nodded.

The silence was heavy, but oddly enough, it was comforting. The silence just wasn’t between Matt and I now, it seemed like everyone was too tired to make conversation this early, which made it less obvious that Matt and I hadn’t said a word to each other.

I glanced over and saw Matt standing near the door, his phone in his hand as he scrolled through it. He looked up briefly when Nate passed by him with my suitcase, but he didn’t say anything before following them down.The three of them loaded everything into the car while Nick and I lingered inside, waiting for the signal to head out. 

Matt took responsibility of driving all of us to the airport. The drive was quiet, not that there would be much conversation out of five people in the early hours of the morning. We arrived at LAX just as the sky began to lighten. After paying for long stay parking, we unloaded the suitcases from the trunk. Everyone grabbed their bags, and we walked toward the departures section, the chill of the early morning air still lingering.

The airport was busy, but not chaotic, the flow of people moving fast. We made our way to the American Airlines desk, where a sign displayed our flight to Kahului. “There it is” Nick said, pointing ahead as he led the way.

We joined the line to check in and offload our bags. Nate and Chris joked quietly ahead of us, their energy picking up as we got closer to the counter. I couldn’t help but take a glimpse at Matt, who was standing slightly apart, looking at his phone. The awkwardness between us lingered, but thankfully, the chaos of the airport didn’t make it obvious.

When it was finally our turn, we handed over our passports and tickets. The airline agent smiled and tagged our bags before sending them down the conveyor belt. “Enjoy your trip!” she said cheerfully, handing us back our boarding passes and passports.

“Thanks!” Nick replied, grinning. “We plan to.”

With our bags checked in and our hands free, we regrouped in a free area away from the check in desks. The trip was officially underway, and for the first time since waking up, I felt a small buzz of excitement. Hawaii was actually happening.

After getting through the long security line, we gathered our belongings and headed toward the food court. It was close to 6.30am now, and my stomach was screaming at me. I needed food and I needed it quick. We ended up at a cafe, where everyone ordered breakfast before finding a table to sit at while we ate.

Nick sipped his iced coffee, clearly wide awake now, and leaned back in his chair. “Alright” he said, “So what seats is everyone in on the plane? I wanna know who I have to sit next to for six hours.”

Chris pulled out his boarding pass first, looking over it. “I’m in 27A” he said.

“I’m 27B” Nate chimed in, smirking.

“27C” Nick added with a grin. “Perfect, we’re all together.”

I took a sip of my coffee, nearly choking on it as I glanced down at my boarding pass. “I’m in 22E. I’m not even in the same row as yous.”

Matt pulled out his pass, frowning slightly before reading it aloud. “22D.”

I froze for a second, my stomach flipping. Of course. Of course, out of everyone, I’d end up sitting next to Matt.

Nate burst out laughing. “Oh man, you two are gonna have such a fun time crammed next to each other for the whole flight.”

I glared at him, but he just smirked and took an obnoxiously loud sip of his drink.

“It’s fine” I said, more to convince myself than anyone else. “It’s just a flight. We’ll survive.”

Matt shrugged, slipping his boarding pass back into his passport. “Whatever. As long as you don’t steal the armrest.”

The tension was obvious, but no one said anything else about it. We finished eating, the mood shifting back to excitement about the trip. But I couldn’t shake the swirling feeling in my stomach. Six hours next to Matt sounded like the longest flight of my life.

It was nearly time to board so we made our way toward the terminal, following the signs for our gate. Our flight was due to take off at 9am, so we had time to get there. When they called our group to board, we lined up, handed over our boarding passes, and shuffled down the bridge toward the plane. I could feel my nerves creeping in as we got closer to our seats. I was a nervous flier anyway, but now the seating situation made the nerves feel worse. Matt walked ahead of me, casually scanning the seat numbers as if he wasn’t dreading this as much as I was.

Finally, we reached our row, 22D and 22E. Matt slid into the aisle seat without a word, and I plopped down next to him, setting my bag under the seat in front of me. I hated the middle seat.

I took a deep breath, glancing around as people continued boarding. The guys were a few rows behind us, already joking loudly about something. God how I wish I was one of them.

I leaned back into the seat, already planning to just sleep this entire flight. If Matt and I weren’t going to talk, and let’s be honest, we weren’t, then maybe I’d at least get some rest. The flight attendants made their announcements, and soon we were in the air.

Once the seatbelt sign turned off, curiosity got the better of me and I leaned forward to sift through the entertainment options on the little screen in front of me. Scrolling through the endless movie titles, I couldn’t find anything that caught my attention.

Beside me, Matt sighed, his screen already on. 

I glanced over just in time to see him click on 10 Things I Hate About You. For a second, I was surprised, out of all the movies, this was the one he picked?

“You like that movie?” I asked before I could stop myself.

He turned his head slightly, raising an eyebrow. “Who doesn’t? It’s a classic.”

I smiled, unable to help it. “Fair point.”

He settled back into his seat, his arms crossing loosely over his chest as the opening credits started rolling. I found myself sneaking glances at the screen, my own selection forgotten.

“You’re just gonna watch mine, aren’t you?” he teased, catching me mid glance.

“Maybe..” I shot back, smirking. “It’s a good movie.”

For the first time, Matt giggled, a real, genuine laugh at something I said. “Fine, but don’t hog my screen.”

We ended up sharing the movie in a way I hadn’t expected, making quiet comments about our favorite scenes and quoting the lines we both knew by heart. I felt weird.. it felt... easy, like the tension between us didn’t exist.

When the scene with the marching band playing on the bleachers came up, I felt my lips moving before I even realized it.

"You're just too good to be true, can't take my eyes off of youuuu"

To my surprise, Matt’s voice joined mine, quietly singing the line in unison. We both stopped, catching each other mid verse, and immediately burst into laughter.

"Seriously?" I said, grinning.

“What?” Matt replied, smirking. “You’re the one who started it.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t expect you to sing along” I shot back, shaking my head.

As the movie went on, it only got worse.. or better, depending on how you looked at it. It felt strange, but in a good way, like we were finally on the same wavelength, even if it was just over a movie. By the time the poem scene rolled around, Matt tilted his head toward me.

“Bet you’re one of those people who cries during this part” he teased.

I raised an eyebrow. “Bet you are too.”

He didn’t deny it, just smirked and went back to watching.

By the end of the movie, we were both smiling, the tension replaced by a shared sense of ease. It was probably the first time we’d genuinely laughed together without any sarcasm or snark.

Soon after, the flight attendants started coming down the aisle with the food cart, Matt stirred slightly, rubbing his eyes and sitting up straighter.

"You getting something?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"Yeah" he muttered, squinting as if even the dim cabin lights were too bright. "But I swear, I can't even keep my eyes open right now."

"Then why are you bothering?" I teased, but when he shot me a half hearted glare, I rolled my eyes. "Fine. Just give it here when it comes. I'll keep it on my tray until you're ready for it."

His expression softened into something that almost resembled gratitude. "Thanks" he mumbled.

When the food finally arrived, he lazily reached for his tray table but paused, blinking sluggishly.

"Don't bother" I said, pulling his tray of food over to mine. "I got it."

"Yeah, yeah, you're a saint" he grumbled, but there was the faintest smirk tugging at his lips before he leaned back in his seat.

Matt tilted his head against the small headrest attached to his seat and shut his eyes, clearly giving in to his exhaustion. I felt more awake than anything now so I decided to sift through the in flight entertainment menu again, settling on another rom com to pass the time.

Not long after, I felt a shift in the weight beside me. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Matt's head drop forward before it slowly tilted to the side, right onto my shoulder.

I froze for a second, unsure of what to do. His face was relaxed, his breathing slow, completely unaware of the situation.

I thought about waking him, but.. he looked peaceful. And, honestly, I didn’t mind.

With a small sigh, I adjusted slightly to make it more comfortable for both of us and went back to watching my movie.

By the time I finished my second movie, his head was still resting on my shoulder, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. For someone who could be so infuriating, moments like these reminded me that maybe there was more to Matt than he let on.

The captain's voice crackled through the intercom, announcing our descent into Kahului, Matt woke beside me. He blinked slowly, rubbing his face with one hand, and then turned to look at me.

His gaze dropped to where my shoulder was, and his brows furrowed slightly. “Wait.. was I.. was I asleep on you the whole time?”

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but the corner of my mouth twitched in amusement. “Yep. Dead to the world. Snoring and everything.”

His eyes widened slightly, and I could see a faint hint of color rise to his cheeks. “I don’t snore.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure, whatever helps you sleep at night. Literally.”

He let out a soft groan, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back in his seat. “Well.. uh, thanks for not shoving me off, I guess.”

I shrugged casually. “Figured you needed the sleep. Plus, you didn’t drool all over me, so I let it slide.”

That comment earned me a small laugh, though he still looked a bit awkward. He glanced out the window on our side, clearly trying to play it cool, but the way he kept fidgeting with his seatbelt betrayed him.

Not too long after, we landed and began to disembark the plane, into the warm Maui air, the energy buzzing between all of us even though we were still shaking off the stiffness from the flight. After collecting our bags, we stood near the exit where our transfer driver was holding a sign with Nick’s name on it.

The drive to the villa was surreal, with palm trees lining the roads and the scent of salt water from ocean wafting through the open windows. Nate and Chris were hyper, pointing out every little thing as if they’d never been here before. Nick was quieter, scrolling through his phone, and Matt sat silently in the back, his sunglasses shielding his expression.

It was 2pm Hawaii time when we finally arrived at the villa, and the place looked like it was something out of a movie, white walls, large windows, and a gorgeous pool overlooking the ocean. Five bedrooms, one for each of us.

“All right” Nick declared, dropping his suitcase in the entryway. “First come, first serve. Claim your rooms!”

Chris bolted upstairs with Nate right behind him, their voices echoing through the house as they bickered over who got the room with the best view. Nick wandered off down the hall, humming to himself as he inspected the options. That left me and Matt still standing near the doorway.

“You’re not gonna fight for the best room?” he asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

I shrugged, rolling my suitcase forward. “Nah, I’ll just take whatever’s left. As long as there’s a bed, I’m good.”

“Suit yourself” he said, grabbing his own bag and heading upstairs.

Once everyone had claimed their spots, I found myself left with a room on the far end of the villa, tucked away from everyone else. It was smaller than the others, but it had an ensuite and a private balcony with a view of the ocean, so I wasn’t complaining. Honestly, the distance from the chaos of being with boys was kind of a bonus. I knew I’d want some peace and quiet at some point. I let the reality of being here sink in. It felt like a fresh start, and the dynamics between everyone were already proving to be.. interesting.

By the time I had unpacked, showered, and finally settled into my room, the exhaustion from the early morning and long flight floored me. I decided to lie down for just a moment, but the comfort of the bed dragged me into a deep nap.

When I woke up, the time on my phone read 5pm, and the sounds of loud, off key singing drifted through the villa. Disorientated but curious, I got up and made my way downstairs into the main foyer.

The sight that greeted me was something straight out of a comedy. Chris, Nate, and Matt were standing in a loose huddle, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, belting out some song at the top of their lungs. Their words were slurred, their movements uncoordinated, and the sight in front of me was nothing short of chaotic.

Nick stood off to the side, arms crossed and wearing an expression of sheer disbelief. His eyes flicked to me as I entered, and I raised an eyebrow at him.

“What the hell happened while I was asleep?” I asked, pointing toward the impromptu concert happening in the middle of the villa.

Nick sighed, rubbing a hand over his face like he couldn’t believe it either. “Well, they decided to go for a walk to ‘explore the area’” he said, air quoting the last part. “Somehow, that walk turned into them stumbling into a few bars. Fast forward a couple of hours, and this is what we’ve got. They’re completely pissed.”

I glanced back at the trio, who were now attempting to harmonize but failing miserably. Chris had climbed onto one of the couches, using a long decorative pillow as a makeshift microphone, while Matt leaned against the back of a chair, swaying slightly. Nate, the ringleader of this circus, was conducting them like an offbeat orchestra.

“And dinner’s in, what, two hours?” I asked Nick, already knowing the answer.

“Yep” he said flatly. “No way they’re sobering up in time.”

I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Great. So now what? Do we just let them embarrass us in public, or do we try to get them somewhat presentable?”

Nick shrugged. “Honestly, at this point, I’m tempted to just let them crash and burn. They brought this on themselves.”

I glanced back at the drunken trio, my frustration tainted with the faintest hint of amusement. As ridiculous as they were, it was hard not to laugh at the scene. Still, this wasn’t exactly the way I envisioned the first night of the trip going.

“More importantly, what are you planning on wearing tonight?” he asked, trying to ignore the drunken escapade happening in front of us.

“I was thinking my green crochet two piece, you know the  halter top and shorts” I said.

Nick nodded approvingly. “That's a nice first night outfit. I still need to figure mine out, so I’m going to do that now.”

Just as we were about to separate and retreat to our rooms, Matt, swaying but still coordinated enough to grab my arm, pulled me toward the three of them.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he slurred, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “You’re part of this now.”

Before I could protest, he dragged me into their little circle. Nate and Chris immediately followed his lead, throwing their arms around both of us to complete the huddle.

“Y/N! Y/N! Y/N!” they all started chanting in unison, their voices loud and slurred but surprisingly synchronized.

I couldn’t help it, the absurdity of it all made me laugh, the kind of genuine laugh that comes out before you can even think about holding it back. They all looked so ridiculous, swaying and cheering like they were at some sporting event instead of just drunk in the middle of a villa.

“Okay, okay!” I said between laughs, holding up my hands in mock surrender. “You win! But if you’re not at least halfway sober by the time we leave for dinner, don’t expect me to sit anywhere near you!”

They all laughed too, Nate patting my shoulder like I’d just joined some exclusive club.

I stepped back from the chaotic huddle, still smiling as I shook my head. “Alright, that’s enough bonding for now. I’m going to head up and start getting ready” I said, brushing a strand of hair out of my face.

As I turned to leave, Matt called after me. “Wait!” He stumbled forward a step, catching his balance against the wall before straightening up. “I’ll bring you a drink to your room. You can’t start getting ready without a little buzz. It’s, like.. a vacation rule or something.”

I gave him a skeptical look, though I couldn’t help the smirk creeping onto my lips. “Matt, I don’t need you enabling my alcohol consumption. I can manage that all on my own, thanks.”

He smirked back, raising a finger in the air as if he’d just come up with a brilliant idea. “Nope. You’re part of the group now. And the group drinks together. I’ll bring you something good.. you won’t even taste the alcohol.”

“Somehow, that makes me even more nervous” I shot back, but I didn’t fight him on it. “But fine. Just don’t spill it on the way up, alright?”

Matt chuckled, placing a hand on his chest in mock seriousness. “I would never dishonor a drink like that.”

Shaking my head, I turned and made my way up the stairs, already mentally planning out how I’d do my makeup. If Matt was serious about bringing me a drink, maybe a little buzz wouldn’t be the worst thing while I got ready. After all, if I was going to spend the evening immersed in this group of chaos, I might as well have a head start.

a/n: things are.. changing...???

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[slvt4buffw0men1111]

Assistance

Pt. 4, Pt. 3, Pt. 2, Pt. 1

This is the last part. I will probably make headcanons though.

Sorry it took so long I had writers block.

Smut under cut.

18+

Cw: degradation and semi public sex (I have a problem:))

It was the following Monday and you haven't talked to Sevika since. You slipped out her bed without a word and have been ignoring her text, too embarrassed to face her. When she greeted you this morning you refereed to her as “Ms. Verma”. She didn't like that. You doing your usual task up at the front desk and that's when you received an email from Sevika.  

“Please meet me in my office immediately. 

Signed, Verma” 

*Shit I'm gonna get fired* 

You made your back to her office stopping just outside preparing yourself to see her. You knocked gently at the door. 

“Come in”, she said through the other side. 

She was sat in her chair looking nervous.  

“Please have a seat and lock the door please.”, you do as she said and sat down in the chair in front of her desk ready to get fired. 

“Look, if I made you uncomfortable because of the other night I apologize. I don't want you to avoid me though so we can just act like the other night never happened if that’s what you want.” 

Oh? You weren’t expecting that. 

“No, no I'm sorry. I just don't know how to act to around you.", you said avoiding eye contact with her.  

“So, you don’t regret what happened?”, she asked. 

“No, I don't regret it at all, I just don’t do stuff like that often and I didn't want you getting the wrong idea about me.”She smiled at your words.  

“Come ‘er” she said. You made your way around her desk. She leaned back in her chair spreading her legs, patting her thigh. You sat down on her lap straddling her thigh. 

“Are you sure we can do this here?”, you ask your faces centimeters apart. 

“I own the place baby.”, she said before kissing your lips gently. You kissed her back wrapping your arms around her neck. The kiss getting heated quickly. You both can barely contain yourself when you get started. Only the sound of your lips smacking and heavy breathing heard in her office.  

“Ride my thigh for me show me you don’t regret the other night.”. She didn't have to ask you twice. Your skirt riding up and bunched around your waist, her large hands found their place on your hips guiding your movements. Her touch felt electric, your body immediately reacting to her. Her muscular thighs made the perfect surface, perfectly grinding your clit.  

Your hips moved at a slow pace, yet Sevika was grinding you down harder on her thigh. You started to kiss her neck to silence the dirty sounds from coming out of your mouth, it was still the afternoon and there were people just next door.  

“God you're such a little slut, grinding on your boss's thigh in her office. If I knew you were such a whore, I would've made a move on you sooner”, she mocked you. Her words when straight to her pussy making you grind faster on her thigh. Your skirt now hiked up around your waist left your lacey panties out for her to see.  

She couldn't help but grin at you, you were using her body like al toy to get off. Your hands desperately grabbing at her body to somewhat control yourself. She was in awe of you.  

“Up”, she demanded tapping your thigh.  

You whined at her demand not wanting to stop but listened to her anyways. Standing up she pushed you back onto her desk your legs wrapped around her hips. She bent down and caught your lips in a feverish kiss. Her tongue slipping into your mouth, teeth grazing each other's. Moans muffled in your mouths. It was making you dizzy. You could feel her hand traveling up your legs until she reached the waistband of your panties. 

“Can I take these off baby?”, she asked. It was so sexy when she asked for consent, like you would ever say no to her. You nod grabbing her face and bringing her back down to kiss you. She slipped the panties off you before standing up above you, taking in the look of you splayed out on her desk, lip stick smeared. 

“I'm gonna need you to be very quiet for me, can you do that?”, you nodded head.  

“Good girl”, she kissed you once more before getting down on her knees her head getting closer and closer to you pussy. She licked up your thigh until she reached your lips, teasing you. She repeated the same movements on the other side her hands fondling your breast. 

“Stop teasing me Sevi~”, you whined. 

“Be quiet” she growled, her fingers pinched your nipples making you let out a quiet yelp. She continued to kiss up your thigh surely leaving some hickeys in her path.  

“Sevi please touch me” 

“I told you to be quiet slut!”, she stood up grabbing your panties off her office chair before stuffing them in your mouth.  

“Now you have no choice”, she said. She went back down to you dripping pussy. Her index and middle spreading you open so she can take a better look at the arousal dripping out of you. She started to lightly and gently rub your clit with her thumb. Quiet and muffled whines came out your mouth wanting her to touch you more. 

She licked up your slit and back down to your hole, her tongue so gentle making you squirm. She then wasted no more time, wrapping her arms around your hips she brought you down onto your mouth. Her tongue flicking your clit. She sucked on your clit making your eyes and thighs clench shut. She didn’t stop; she instead went faster. Her tongue making shapes and patterns on your pussy. She grunted into you while sucking back down on your clit.  

“I fucking love your slutty pussy”, you could barely hear her, your thighs muffling her voice. Her hand started to massage your thighs and hips to help you loosen your grip in her head. You were lost in the clouds, her mouth feeling heavenly on you.  she brought her flesh hand down to you pussy and stuck two of her fingers in you with no warning making you scream out. She curled her fingers up into you while attacking your clit with her mouth.  

“Ms. Verma is everything alright in there?”, a voice, most likely Silco, said through the door.  

“Yea I just spilled some of my food.", she lied. 

“You on your lunch break this early?” 

“Not yet just a light snack”, she said smirking at you, her fingers still pumping in and out of you.  

“Oh alright, um, have you seen the receptionist, I need her to make copies of something for me.” 

“I think she’s on her lunch break; leave a note on her desk she’ll take care of it when she gets back.” 

God she was torturing you. 

“Ok thanks.”, he finally walked away and you let out your breath that you didn't even realize you were holding.  

She brought her mouth back down on you sucking harshly on your clit, your legs starting to shake letting her know you were almost to you breaking point. Her fingers curling and pumping in you impossibly faster, her tongue not stopping. You looked down at her with pleading eyes like were asking for permission to cum. She gave a slight nod and that's all you need to fall off the edge. Your legs snapped around Sevika's head, almost suffocating and borderline drowning her with your pussy. Brining your hands to your mouth to keep your moans muffled.

Sevika was looking at you the whole time you came, it was her favorite sight to see. A pretty girl shaking and moaning for her, but it was even better cause you were now the pretty girl. You came down from your orgasm, chest heaving up and down, hair and makeup now a mess. The prettiest sight.  

Sevika stood up and help you of the table. She took you panties out of your mouth and secretly pocketed them.  

“You always do so good for me baby”, she said her thumbs cleaning up your drool. All you could do was smile at her. She gave you another kiss this time gentler as her hand massaged you're ass.  

She helped you get cleaned up and looking presentable again before you left her office. You didn’t even notice your panties were missing until a couple minutes later, you were sat down at your chair and heard your phone vibrate. 

Sexy Boss Lady 

‘You can get these back after our date Friday’ 

Attached was an image of your bunched up panties in her lap. And yes, you could very faintly see her bulge.  

[oraltraditionfiction]

Us | QH43

Quinn Hughes x f! reader (angst)

Summary: Snippets of you and Quinn's secret relationship, and the aftermath.

Warnings: angst, hurt with no comfort, ambiguous ending, sad Quinn, anxious reader etc

WC: 1.8k

Author's Note: !!! This is fully inspired by us by Gracie Abrams (which has been on repeat for like. 4 days now. absolute banger.) This is pretty angsty 😭 I apologize in advance I think I was just really in the mood for some pain.

This has an ambiguous ending (for the most part) but I do have an idea for a part 2 if anyone is interested! Anyways, enjoy! - 🐇

(I'd also like to note that the italicized poetry is taken from Crush by Richard Siken, and Leaping Poetry by Robert Bly!)

I know your ghost, I see her through the smoke, She'll play her show

And you'll be watchin'

He caught himself watching you again. It had been habit for so long now. Checking on her from the corner of his eye. He had learned to act in such a way that it was hard to tell he was stealing a glance at her. Her. He needed to snap out of it. 

He looked straight ahead, steadfast in his resolution to break old patterns. He could hear her from the end of the hall. She was briefing one of his teammates on the video they were about to film.

“I know this is hard but please try not to swear, at least not too much. The timbre of her laugh, echoing down the hall. Quinn  knew without looking at her that she was checking her phone. Her disorganized notes app, full of spare ideas for videos and poems that came to her during the twilight hours. “Oh! I know this is obvious but, try not to talk about anything personal that you or a teammate wouldn’t want 400 teenagers online to know.”  He watched from lowered lids as she brushed past him, a slight hesitation in her steps as her shoulder brushed against him. “That stuff’s just hard to edit out-“ her voice trailed off as they turned a corner. The reverb of her warm murmur echoing back to him, taunting him. He just knew she was reminding Brock not to talk about anything personal because of him. 

He scuffed his covered skate against the worn floor. Tilting his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes, and imagined that he was waiting for her to walk with him, instead of someone else.

Wonder if you regret the secret

Of us, us

He could remember the first wrong turn.

“What do you mean you don’t want to tell anyone?” He had asked, confused, thumb stroking against her pulse point soothingly as she cradled his face. 

“Quinn…” she had sighed, suddenly looking so small and vulnerable sitting on her old patterned couch. He kissed her palm, a small comfort.

“I mean, you’ve seen the weird shit people can comment about the wags.” He nodded. “Imagine just seeing that all day. All that negativity. And it’s just your job to navigate that and delete it. I’ve seen awful things about some of these women.” She swallowed, slipping her hand away from his cheek. He missed the warmth immediately, absently leaning into her orbit to make up for it. “I just,.. I don’t know what I would do. Knowing that people were saying those things about me.”

Quinn understood. Honestly the thought of seeing those kinds of things said about her…

Yeah. He could keep a secret for a few more months.

“Sure, sweetheart,” Quinn said, folding her into his arms. “We can keep it quiet for a little bit longer. Just until you’re comfortable.” He could feel her melt into him, relaxing at his agreement. Once she was more comfortable with the idea of them, he thought she wouldn’t mind what people would say.

It felt like what I've known

You're twenty-nine years old

So how can you be cold when I open my home?

Quinn  placed the last box on the bedroom floor, lovingly labeled “poetry <3”. As he gingerly cut through the packing tape, he heard a gentle knock on the door. 

“You don’t need to knock,” he laughed, turning his head so he could look at her. 

“I mean, it’s your house still-“ she said, anxiously shifting her weight from side to side. Quinn stood, fondly shaking his head as he approached her.

“Your house too now, sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his arms around his girl, and swaying from side to side. 

“I just don’t want it to be too soon Quinn. It’s only been like, a year.” Shesaid, tense in his arms. 

“Mi casa es tu casa, right?” he said jokingly, trying to get the woman in his arms to relax. 

She laughed, encapsulating the room in warmth again. They melted into each other, the tension evaporating. “I don’t ever want to make you uncomfortable, Quinny.” Murmured softly into his shoulder.

Quinn hugged her tighter, trying to forge them together, “you could never make me uncomfortable,” he said as he placed his cheek atop her head. “I feel like I’ve known you forever.” And as he said that to her, he knew it to be true. This love was different, quiet— almost sacred.

And if history's clear, the flames always end up in ashes

And what seemed like fate

Give it ten months and you'll be past it (you'll be past it)

He knew it had to move at some point. Every morning it confronted him, like a ghoul living in his sock drawer. Quinn reached for the intruder, thumb brushing against delicate blue velvet as he withdrew the small ring box from its hiding place. The man sighed as he flipped it open once again. The light reflecting off of the diamond and shining small, nebulous glimmers of light across his tired face. 

A click as he closed the box, the sound of a sharp thump. The little blue box landed somewhere amongst the debris on your abandoned side of the closet. It had been nearly 10 months. Out of sight, out of mind.

That night you were talkin'

False prophets and profits

They make in the margins

Of poetry sonnets

Quinn watched, transfixed as you read aloud to him. His head sat heavily on her thighs, savoring the feeling of her hand touching his hair absentmindedly. The words nearly escaped him, too immersed in the way her sweet lips shaped the words. Nectar falling from her mouth as she kept the meter.

“I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want.

You said Tell me about your books, your visions made of flesh and light and I said This is the Moon. This is the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube... We were in the gold room where everyone finally gets what they want, so I said What do you want, sweetheart? and you said-“

“Marry me.”

It was spoken on the breath of a sigh. Nearly inaudible. Still, the room seemed to lose some of its color. 

“What?” You whispered, hand withdrawing from his hair, leaving an inexplicable dread lingering around his heart.

Quinn sat up, nose brushing hers. “I meant it.” He reached for her hand, shaking and limp in her lap. “Marry me. It’s all I’ve ever wanted.” He breathed out as he looked into her eyes earnestly. 

“I-“

“I know you’re scared. And I know you don’t want anyone to know about us.” The man said, placing her hand on his heart, cradling it gently. “But I don’t care! I would marry you right this second if I could.” He leaned his forehead against her temple, murmuring “just you and me, baby. No one has to know. I would marry you in secret, as long as it means you’re  mine.” Quinn was rambling now, but he’d do anything to convince her. “I already have a ring and-“

His hand landed unceremoniously in his lap. 

Before he could reach out, before he could even breathe, she slipped out of his grasp.

“I’m sorry.”

And Quinn felt like he would never breathe again, staring across the room at his sock drawer and the now open door to what was once their bedroom.

Robert Bly on my nightstand

Gifts from you, how ironic

Three drinks in, and Quinn was conquering his fears. There was 11 months of dust buildup on the slim book, still clinging to the paperback cover. He thumbed it open, nearly caving in and going back for another drink as he glimpsed the tail end of the note you had left for him underneath the title page. 

“- hoping these poems will remind you of me when we’re apart.

Love you lots,

Yours-“

He flipped to another page, hoping to find something he hated enough that he could find the strength to finally throw this book out.

“Longing to find her in a phrase, and be close-“

Quinn closed the book.

Mistaken for strangers, the way it

Was, was

The moment he was  dreading was here. You approached him after practice, quietly waiting for the rest of the team to file past. You toyed with your phone anxiously, “Is it alright if I grab you for a quick video?” She looked as tired as he felt these days. He just stood, gazing at her, responding with a  slow nod. She smiled, relieved. Quinn had almost forgotten what it looked like in person. Still a such a sweet sight. 

He leaned in slightly, irresistant to the gravity of your presence. As you opened your mouth to speak, lips quirked up into a private grin, a voice came from behind him.

One of the new girls on the social media team. She smiled as she approached. “I didn't realise you two were close! Guess it’s something to look forward to, huh?”

You forced a laugh saying, “Well, when you work with someone for two years, you get about as close as coworkers can get.”

Quinn’s spine straightened, in no mood for media duties now. He thought of the ring box, and all the photos he still had yet to delete. The stolen kisses in supply closets, the notes you left him in the margins of your favorite poetry books, highlighting secret code in between the stanzas 

(“O love,  where are you leading me now?”). The words of her favorite poem echoed in his head, “As close as coworkers can get” 

He mumbled something about putting his gear away as he brushed past you, no longer recognizing the foreign way your shoulder bumped against his.

Do you miss us, us? (Us, us, us)

The best kind, well, sometimes

Do you miss us?

He stood, leaning against his counter, trying to decide the best way to respond to this text. 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see the cardboard box full of miscellaneous objects to donate, the creased cover of a poetry book peaking out.

He made his decision.

A blind date sounds great! Is she free Friday?

[thecloudsaremyhome]

I had wanted to request what would happen after the batfamily used the lazarus pit the reader would just go insane the family would bring them back to life but at what cost

Okay good question you see the family is desperate to get you back no matter the cost. But if the reader does go insane it can be a possibility because in the Lazarus pit once you bring them back it takes time to full get control of your limbs you see so the reader would have to rely on the family for help and support for the first few weeks and they still haven’t processed that their back from the dead. they are in a dream like state so when they do process it let’s just say they go through a mental break down but no need to worry! Your loving family will help you! Always

But let’s just say you do go insane and try to hurt/end yourself of course the family has surveillance cameras in your room to keep an eye on you for safety measures. Well once they see you on the monitor for example like Tim or Barbara trying to hurt yourself they rush to inform the family which the family quickly rushes to your room and apprehends you and pins you down let’s just say after that security is double and your going to be sleeping in Bruce’s room for the time being but don’t worry your siblings will be with you as well to coddle you and love you like you deserve! Because I’m their eyes you are just a baby a small baby infant that needs to be coddled and protected.

Authors note: But this is how I perceive your request! If I didn’t exactly get you question right I apologize! Anyway this is my thoughts on it you can send in more asks if you’d like! Especially about the pity party series and I need you all to let me know if you’d like want me to start the dead by daylight series please because I barley see any of it especially platonic yandere dead by daylight

[dollesung]

WASTELAND, BABY .ᐟ

PAIRING. sunghoon x fem reader. GENRE. fluff. REQUESTED? yes. WORD COUNT. 2.9k SYNOPSIS. you get cheated on by your piece-of-shit boyfriend and run to your best friend, sunghoon's rescue. after letting him pick up the pieces of your broken heart, the two of you get more than you bargained for. WARNINGS. cheating (by a third party character), use of profanities, brief mentions of sex (no actual nsfw), alcohol.

NOTE. got carried away a lil bit and ended up liking this more than i expected to, im a sucker for domestic shit. hope u like it!

Love was a fucking bitch.

You once thought love was a beautiful thing, all sunshines and rainbows with clear skies and no end in sight. A forever sort of thing, that nothing could take away or destroy for you.

But all good things come to an end.

If you could even call your relationship with your (now ex) boyfriend good, anyway.

But even if it wasn’t perfect, you still mourned the end of it. You’d been together long, almost three years, but what made the entire ordeal much more painful, was that you caught the fucker cheating on you in your very own apartment.

So much for love, right?

And now, here you were, stood in front of your best friend, Sunghoon’s apartment door, with nothing but your phone and wallet in hand.

You knock at the door, trying to contain your emotions as you wait for a response. You stormed out of your apartment so fast, you didn’t even bother to wait and listen to whatever explanation your ex, or the woman in his bed had to offer.

Everything was starting to get overwhelming, thankfully, the door finally swung open, revealing your best friend, clad in his pajamas, hair messy and eyes squinting against the light in the hallway.

“[name]?” He called out. “What are you doing here?”

MORE UNDER THE CUT.

Sunghoon hadn’t even done or said anything else, but it’s like a dam just burst inside you. You felt your emotions explode, and you started sobbing, running into Sunghoon’s arms as the boy confusingly, but without hesitation, took you in his embrace.

“What happened?” He asked, pulling you inside and closing the door, locking it shut.

“It’s Drew,” you muttered between sobs. “He cheated on me!”

Sunghoon frowned, tightening his embrace. “Oh, I’m so sorry, [name].”

“He was fucking another woman in our bed!” You exclaimed, hiding your face into your hands. “What kind of bullshit is that?!”

Sunghoon sighed, but said nothing else, and only led you to the couch. The two of you sat in silence, with nothing but your sobs echoing throughout the room.

Sunghoon had leant against the arm of the couch, allowing you to lay against his chest, still crying your eyes out as your best friend rubbed your arm in comfort.

Minutes pass, and your cries begin to die down. You still felt miserable, but the exhaustion was taking a toll on you. Sunghoon must’ve noticed.

“You need anything?” Sunghoon asked as you sat up to catch your breath. “Water? Food? Need me to come over there and beat the hell out of him?”

You chuckled at his joke, knowing Sunghoon, he could never hurt a fly, even if he tried. “He’ll kill you.”

“Not if I get to him first,” he jokes, and you smile a little.

“Sorry I barged in like this,” you apologized. “Just didn’t know where else to go.”

“Hey,” he called out, and you look at the genuine expression on his face. “You can always barge in here. Especially if something like this happens.”

You sighed. “I feel so stupid.”

“Don’t,” Sunghoon warns. “Don’t say that. You have nothing to feel stupid about. He should be the one feeling stupid.”

“Still, I should’ve known better, y’know? You guys have always told me how bad Drew was. Should’ve listened a long time ago.” You berated yourself.

“Beating yourself up about it won’t help,” Sunghoon says, crossing his arms.

“I know,” you replied. “Don’t know where to go from here.”

“Only way to go is up,” your best friend says.

In the end, you nod. “Can I stay here for a bit? If it’s okay with you?”

Sunghoon offers a reassuring smile. “Stay as long as you like.”

You end up taking Sunghoon on that offer, as you spend a few weeks living under the same roof. You had nowhere else to go, anyway, as you used to live with your ex, and your parents live states away, and you couldn’t move back in since your job required you to live nearby.

Thankfully, Sunghoon was more than happy to keep you around. Of course, you felt guilty about staying and wanted to pay him back in a way, so you ended up taking care of most of the housework.

When you weren’t preoccupied with work or stuck in the office, you busied yourself with chores. You knew Sunghoon was a neat freak, but since the boy worked a 9 to 5 job, you took it upon yourself to ensure that the house was in tip top shape whenever he got home.

You also tackled grocery-shopping, laundry, and even utilized your basic knowledge in plumbing by fixing the leaky pipe in his sink.

But the number one thing you always made sure, was that Sunghoon would never come home to a house with no dinner.

It was a trait you picked up from your mother, where she always made sure food was on the table whenever your father came home from work. You would’ve done this with your ex-boyfriend, too. If only he wasn’t freeloader.

It was already 5 minutes past 6 PM when you finished cooking dinner. The table was already set, and in a few minutes, Sunghoon would arrive. You already memorized his schedule; 5 PM he’d clock out of work, by 5:15, he’d be at the subway, and 45 minutes later, he’ll make it home.

Right on time, you hear the lock by the front door and in comes Sunghoon, carrying his book bag. He immediately notices the scent of dinner wafting through the entire apartment.

“[name], I’m home!” He calls out, shrugging his coat off and leaving his shoes by the door.

“Dinner’s ready!” You announced.

He walks in the dining room, pleased to see you setting tonight’s dinner on the table. “Another delicious meal, I see.”

You beam at the praise, glad that Sunghoon appreciated your efforts. Sunghoon excuses himself to go wash his hands first, and you sit in the chair and wait for him to come back.

The two of you eat dinner in remote silence. Words are shared here and there, but you let Sunghoon enjoy a little peace as you know he’s had a long day. He doesn’t let up on praising your work, however.

“This is delicious,” he says. “Is this beef?”

“Mhm,” you nod, swallowing a mouthful of food. “I swung by the farmer’s market yesterday and got a good price for it. Just thought you’d enjoy a good roast beef.”

“I do,” he hums. Then, he lets out a short chuckle.

“What’s so funny?” You ask.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon shakes his head first. “We just kinda.. sound like a married couple.”

The fork makes a loud clang! as you accidentally drop it against your ceramic plate. You nearly choke on a piece of beef as you try to cough it out. Sunghoon’s statement rendered you a little shocked, but you try to pass it as nothing.

“S-Sorry,” you apologize, composing yourself.

“No, no, I’m sorry,” Sunghoon utters. “I made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you defended. “Just.. shocked at what you said.”

Sunghoon clears his throat, and you swear you can make out just the tiniest hint of rosiness in his cheeks. “Well, I didn’t mean it in a negative way.”

“I know, I know,” you say. “It’s fine, just forget about it.”

A little disheartened, Sunghoon drops the subject and returns to his meal. The two of you go back to eating in silence, except this time, there’s a slight tension in the room.

A few minutes pass and you pick up conversation, “By the way, I’m going back to my apartment tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Sunghoon vocalizes. “Why?”

“Just gonna pick up the rest of my stuff,” you inform him.

“Will Drew be there?” He asks, worriedly.

“He might be,” you say. “But I’ll be fine. I won’t stay there long.”

“Maybe I should go with you,” Sunghoon states.

You shake your head. “You’ve got work, I’ll be fine.”

Perturbed by your icy tone, Sunghoon once again drops the subject. He’s worried about your safety, but more importantly, he’s worried about you not coming back, that you might end up with Drew again and leave him here.

Sunghoon finished his food, and prays a silent prayer that that won’t happen.

Sunghoon is in the middle of work when he receives your text.

[name] <3 omw to the apt. might be home late, get urself some dinner and don’t wait up!

If he’s being honest, he’s worried about what will happen when you come home. He overthinks if you might end up getting back together with Drew, which is his current biggest fear, not only because he knows how bad that man is for you, but because…

Well, Sunghoon has liked you for a while now.

Like a long, long while.

A good nine years, maybe? Since the two of you met in high school. But he could never act upon it or confess because he has been, and always was a shy man.

So, he settled for being your best friend, even if he had to watch as countless men continued to treat you wrong, and even if he was always the one wiping your tears at the end of every failed relationship.

It was better than not having you, anyway.

He goes home after his shift, and ends up forgetting about dinner. Before you started staying with him, Sunghoon always ate either cheap convenience store ramen or street food for dinner, as those were the easiest food to come by on his way home.

But ever since you started preparing dinners, he found himself looking forward to going home every night, wondering what food you had prepared.

More importantly, knowing you were home, waiting for him, made his heart so, so happy.

He knew it probably meant nothing to you, but to him, it meant everything. That’s why he had that slip up last night, because he genuinely felt like you two were a married couple.

But then again, good things come to an end, don’t they?

Sunghoon ends up waiting for you. It’s past midnight, he’s sat in his couch watching some late night show he doesn’t care about. He periodically takes a look at his phone to check if you’ve messaged or called. By 1:21 AM, he’s starting to think if you spent the nigh in your apartment. His heart sinks at the thought.

Thankfully, he hears the lock click and the front door swing open. You enter, with a bag on your shoulder and a cardboard box in your hands. Immediately, you spot him by the couch.

“I told you not to wait up,” you scold. “You have work in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, which was true. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep knowing you weren’t home. “What happened? Did you talk to Drew?”

“Kind of,” you utter, placing the box on the floor by the couch, while taking off your shoes. You plop next to Sunghoon just as he shuts the TV off. “We fought.”

“About?” Part of him feels guilty that he’s relieved you guys fought and didn’t make up, but he pushes that feeling down.

“‘Bout us,” Sunghoon notices your speech is a little slurred, and there’s a slight stench of alcohol from your breath. “He complained about me leaving, ‘bout how I haven’t been responding to any of his messages.”

“And?” He pries. “What’d you say?”

“Told him to fuck off,” you laughed. “Then I went to a bar and drank my ass off.”

“You should’ve called me,” Sunghoon scolded. “I could’ve picked you up or booked you an uber.”

“It’s fine,” you say, leaning your head on Sunghoon’s shoulder. “Don’t wanna bother you more, anyway.”

“You’re not a bother,” Sunghoon says. “Never.”

Then, filled with alcohol-induced bravery, you look up at Sunghoon and asked him a question. “Why’re you doin’ all this, anyway?”

Sunghoon shrugs. “‘Cause you’re my best friend and you need a place to live?”

“No, no, not that,” it was more than evident that you were drunk now. “I mean, you keeping up with my shit. I always end up pickin’ the wrong guys but you never blamed me! You never leave. Whyyyy?”

Unsure of what to say, Sunghoon gives himself a minute to respond. Then, he shrugs again. “I-I don’t know. I just do.”

You laugh due to drunken stupor, then, the liquid courage urges you to say something you’d have never said to Sunghoon sober:

“You like me, don’t ‘ya?”

Sunghoon freezes, eyes widening at your statement. “What?”

“I knew it!” You exclaim, smiling. “I always knew ‘ya liked me but I didn’t wan’ assume—!”

“[name], you’re drunk—“

You cut him off. “I may be drunk buuut I know what ‘m sayin’!”

Trying to prove a point, you stood up, but the sudden movement caused you to be dizzy, and you nearly fall over, if it weren’t for Sunghoon who caught you.

“Let’s just go to bed and talk tomorrow, hm?” He suggests, and you find yourself agreeing.

He leads you towards his bedroom, where you usually sleep. He tries his best to rid you of your extra layers, leather jacket, accessories, socks.

He’s halfway through sliding off your other sock when you speak up, still in a drunken haze.

“I like ‘ya too, y’know?” You say, and Sunghoon swears his heart just started beating a thousand times per minute.

“You do?” He implores himself to ask.

You nod. “Mhm. I-I never thought you’d like me back, soooo, I dated other guys buuuut they weren’t you.”

Sunghoon flushes at your statement. Perhaps some of what you were saying were true, considering that alcohol always made you honest.

“Let’s talk tomorrow, m’kay?” You nod at Sunghoon, and in a second you were already half asleep. Sunghoon grabs the blanket and tucks you in, leaving the room to crash in the couch.

If you remember any of this in the morning, he’ll worry about it then.

Your head was pounding.

You definitely regretted drinking all those shots at the bar last night, but they seemed like a good idea at the time.

Glancing at your clothes, you were still dressed in what you went out with yesterday. Fortunately you didn’t wake up in some stranger’s apartment, and found yourself in Sunghoon’s be—

Sunghoon.

Memories of last night came back flooding your head, and you cringe at them all. You never meant to interrogate Sunghoon, let alone confess to him, but alcohol came with poor judgement.

After a few minutes of hitting yourself in the head, you managed to get out of bed and into the living room. A quick look at the clock states that it was already 2:41 in the afternoon, and that you should probably make yourself a late lunch.

“You hungry?” The voice makes you jump, and you turn around to see Sunghoon sat on the couch.

“You scared me,” you said. “Don’t you have work?”

“Took a day off,” he informs you. “Needed to make sure you’ll be okay.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” you frowned.

“Can we talk? Before you eat?” Sunghoon says, and even though you dreaded it, you nodded anyway.

You sat beside your best friend as you thought of every possible scenario that could play out next. You had half the mind to think if he was gonna kick you out, but you knew Sunghoon was better than that.

Thankfully, he saved you from your own paranoia.

“Do you remember what you said last night?” He asked.

“Yeah,” you responded, looking apologetic. “Look, I’m sor—“

“You’re right,” Sunghoon cut you off before you could finish.

“Huh?” You ask. “About what?”

“About me, liking you,” he responded. “I do, like you, that is.”

“Oh,” you felt a wave of emotions crash over you at once. Relief, joy, contentment, you’re not sure which ones.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asked you this time, and it took you a moment to respond.

“Yeah,” you nodded. “I-I mean it. I liked you for a while but I didn’t wanna say anything ‘cause I thought you didn’t like me. But then we started living together and I started to notice things.”

Sunghoon hummed. “Okay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “‘Okay’?”

Sunghoon shrugged. “What did you want me to say?”

“I dunno,” you admitted. Granted you had no idea what to do next, but this whole thing was just so odd. “What happens next? I mean what are we now? Are we still best friends?”

Sunghoon merely offered a reassuring smile. “[name], you just got out of a relationship, a bad one, yes, but you still need to heal from that. I like you, but I don’t want you to just end up settling with me because I’m all you have.”

“I woul never just ‘settle’ for you,” you replied, feeling a little flustered. “I just feel.. confused, I guess?”

“Yes, I do like you, yes, you’re the one I want to be in a relationship with, and yes— we are still best friends.” Sunghoon reassures.

You smiled, feeling relief take over your entire body. “Good.”

“And when you are ready, I’ll be here, I can wait a bit more,” he states. “As long as you keep making dinner.”

You rolled your eyes, and playfully hit the boy in his chest.

Love might be a fucking bitch at times.

But occasionally, it gets some things right.

NOTE. i like and hate this one at the same time, RAAAAH. i finished this at 5 in the morning and i have a 10 am class later. fuck it, worth it.

© dollesung 2025

[ladiestbug]

Diana Gordon’s life might as well have ended when that loser in the bathroom’s did. As she and her mother heal from their — Lawrence’s �� Jigsaw attack, she can’t help but notice that daddy is gone even more than before. He starts coming home smelling like rot, like coins and decay rather than the flowery perfume of his coworkers that she’d grown so used to during her second bedtime, after Alison had put her down and her father had returned from his late shift to put her to sleep for real, she always was a daddy’s girl at heart. She complains about the smell, and Larry starts showering before he puts her to sleep but he doesn’t explain it, he gives her a hearty chuckle and a pat on her back and insists that getting old just makes you stinkier. Diana knows that her grandparents don’t stink like that, she knows her friends’ parents don’t, and she knows that whatever the smell is must be worse than Larry’s infidelity because this new rotten smell never, ever makes it back to mommy’s room.

Diana doesn’t mention it to Alison, she doesn’t mention it to the nice counselors and therapists that’ve become part of her life, most of the time she’s able to forget about the awful smell. When Alison and Lawrence sit her down to teach her the word “divorce”, Diana finds little time to worry about something so trivial as her dad stinking anymore. She moves into her grandmother’s house with Alison, they live out of a guest room and Diana sleeps funny because her mom starts working nights and grandma doesn’t quite know how to put her to sleep. By her 11th birthday, Diana and Alison live in their own place — it’s shitty, she knows it’s shitty because Alison says it every time Larry comes to get Diana for his week with her. “You’re a fucking oncologist and the mother of your child can barely afford her one bedroom rental, Lawrence, what kind of person does that make you!?” Is her favorite, Diana hears it weekly and mouths along with her mother’s crying, taps her feet along to the banging of her mother’s fists against her father’s car, then they’re driving away and Larry is apologizing, trying to explain how hard being an adult gets.

It’s living out of this shitty one bedroom rental where her mother sleeps on a pull out in the living room that she discovers — well, her friend discovers — a dead body. They love to play by the train tracks and this man must’ve loved to too but now two lower middle class white girls are picking flowers from their neighbor’s flower box and tossing them on him and saying a little prayer. Diana leaves quickly and says she’s grossed out and scared, in truth she’s just scared because that rotten smell is back, because that poor man who’s been sitting dead by the train tracks in the hot sun smells just like her daddy. She doesn’t want to return home, she wants to walk across town and pound on Lawrence’s door and make him explain but she can’t and he only dropped her off two days ago. She goes home anyway, her mom is asleep in the living room so she goes to her room quietly to cry while her anger simmers.

When Lawrence picks her up at the beginning of the next week, Diana isn’t sure how to express her feelings. She climbs into the back seat and sits there quietly, eyes burning into the back of Larry’s head as he tries to settle the tension between them. He’s bullshitting — his favorite thing to do, and a word she learned from her mother — about school and her friends when she decides to speak up, “I saw a dead body this week.” She starts with, watching Larry’s eyebrows raise in the rear view mirror. “Did you?” He asks, his throat sounding a little dry, “how’re… how’s that making you feel?” He tries to mimic the same sweet tone that her therapists use when they ask about Zep. “It smelled like you.” Diana deadpans in response, Larry chuckles dryly and feigns offense until he realizes she isn’t being silly, not teasing. “When you work in a hospital-“ “I thought you just ran tests on people and gave them results.” Diana isn’t even sure it’s true, she can see how a cancer doctor would end up responsible for dead bodies but Larry’s face twists up and tells Diana everything she needs to know. “Dad.” She murmurs when he doesn’t say anything, her eyes are getting wet and her heart is pounding but Larry just turns the radio up and doesn’t look back at her again until they’re home.

[centrally-unplanned]

In news from a different world, last December J-pop idol Miho Nakayama passed away, quite shockingly so at the age of 54. I have no connection to her music or acting, but of course I do appreciate her role in the very early history of video game development and dating sims via the 1987 Famicom game Nakayama Miho no Tokimeki High School, which I have discussed before. I decided to play the game "in memoriam", as it were - it does in fact have an English patch, and you can see a playthrough of said patch on YouTube here. It was time to experience my very own 80's high school idol love story <3.

To the surprise of no one, this game sucks. It essentially had to, no real fault on the developers, but that doesn't change the facts. It is working with incredibly limited graphical capabilities of course, with the average scene looking like this:

Which just isn’t enough for “ambiance” immersion to work, every setting is generic by definition. That can of course be saved by a good plot or gameplay, but neither shows up here; there is barely any story to speak of. Main Guy goes to new school, meets “Mizuho”, realizes she is secretly pop idol Miho trying to live a normal life, they start dating, and paparazzi-types and the pressures of her career get in the way such that eventually (based on your route progression) she breaks up with you or you stay a couple and ride off into the sunset together. Literally by the way, a friend loans you a motorcycle so you can escape the press:

You might be saying “surely you are skipping some things” but I assure you it is nothing important. Neither Miho nor the main character have any personality to speak of, and your time is filled generally by comedic hijinks or just the mechanics of progressing the relationship. There is a fat-faced friend who gossips about school, you have a family that ~exists, there is a stuck-up rich girl you speak to about twice before she kidnaps you in order to serve you drugged food so you will date her (as was typical for 1980’s courtship norms) which happens solely to make you late for a date with Miho to create drama, and so on - it is all as tiresome as it is irrelevant. You can even poke your head into the girl’s locker room at some point, the crown jewel of filler content:

This isn’t even arcade-cabinet-strip-mahjong levels of hot, I know video games of the era could do better than this! Though for all the extraneous plot beats and side characters, I did like “The Trio”, a group of cackling girls who follow you around like a Greek chorus taunting you for your desires:

In another game these fey spirits would devour your organs at the right moment, mad respect. 

Anyway, all of this plot filler is used to stretch out the non-story but in that task it gets a helping hand from the game mechanics, which are a classic example of arbitrary progression gatekeeping. Half the dialogue options are just variants of the same core emotion, and the right answer is inscrutable. You get moments like this one, where Miho is apologizing to you for a misunderstanding:

And all of these answers are pretty dismissive? But the right answer is A, the meanest of them! Guess she has a type, but since you as a player haven’t negotiated her safe words yet you don’t know that and are just gonna facecheck your way through these.

As the cherry on top the advertised “facial expression” system is actually a letdown - it is very rarely used, most dialogue options don’t ask for it, and when they do you have six options:

But you actually never use half of these, and 90% of the time the correct answer is “normal”. At least this was bad in a “too easy” way, so it doesn’t waste your time, but you could just remove it as a mechanic and miss nothing. All of the “interactive” elements could be replaced by linear narrative, actually, and nothing would be lost.

Besides the competitive media mix aspects of the game, obviously. Which is what it is all about, right? This ain’t some random 8-bit idol, this is Miho Nakayama! And even in-game she is pretty cute, I do like the design for the close-up convos:

The glasses-for-disguise are nice with her moe eyes, the details of the shading really pop in an 8-bit context, and really the whole framework of the UI as this sort of flip picture book is adding value here (as opposed to being irrelevant in the location shots). They even give her a bunch of different outfits on your dates because as the heroine she deserves it:

“Ash, those first two are literally just palette swaps” “No man, look, the red one is using dithering to create a fade effect on the colors, implying a more complicated pattern like plaid thatching, while the blue one uses bold lines to imply a striped coat”. It was impressive in 1987, alright! This girl has no textual personality but there is life in this design that stands out from its peers.

But of course it isn’t the in-game graphics doing the heavy lifting here. As mentioned before, this was a “Telephone Game”, where players would be prompted at times to call phone numbers Nintendo had rented out to hear voicemails Nakayama had recorded. These voicemails are, to the best I can tell, lost to us - I have not found an existing recording online. They were only up briefly actually, for a few months after the game was released - this was not an era where longevity for games was considered important. We do have transcripts of them though, and I can imagine that picking up your house phone, calling a phone number, and getting the actual voice of the “character” in the game talking to you - making your heart go doki doki if you will - must have been pretty cool.

(Miho even travels throughout the game, and the phone numbers - according to this blogger - actually use location-appropriate area codes so it feels like you are really calling Osaka or Hokkaido! Very cool…unless - according to another blogger - you got hit with long distance calling charges for your pursuit of troubled love, as was reported in the media at the time. Now that’s authenticity?)

This mechanic is essentially a ludomantic experience that is impossible to capture today, because voice acting in video games is incredibly common; so much so that it would come off as gimmicky to make someone go through such a multi-device process. But since the Famicom couldn’t make vocal sounds, it had to make you use your phone, which created the simulacrum of actually calling a real human outside of the game to talk to. That is pretty neat!

As mentioned, the media mix came bundled with a competition - the winners were the first 16,000 players to submit a “Best Ending” record via the barely-used Famicom Disk Fax system. As helpfully explained in the instruction manual alongside photos of the IRL Nakayama:

And the big prize of a VHS tape of behind-the-scenes Nakayama stuff has been preserved, and is easily available if you want to watch it. Don’t though, it isn’t worth it; it is primarily b-roll footage of her doing typical day-to-day tasks and softball interview questions about “what is her type” with generic answers, stuff like that. Solid C- for the genre. But still, you didn’t know that when competing, right? The pressure to get your game file in was fierce.

I mentioned how the game essentially “had to be bad” at the start, and I want to dig into why that is. In my initial post I linked, I actually made a false statement - I said the development time for the game was “2 weeks”. I said that because the game’s Wikipedia page in English says it and so it is common trivia on the net, but I don’t think that it is true. Even when I typed it in that original post, the back of my mind was going “wait, that can’t be literally true, it is very hard to make a game that fast in that era - these guys are coding in Assembly!”, but I sort of hand-waived it away as, oh something like they were harvesting an existing game prototype or somesuch. But I believe this fact comes from a mistranslation of interviews like this one:

岩田: 坂口さんは『ファイナルファンタジー』の開発を終えて、『トキメキハイスクール』に合流されたんですか？ 坂口: ええ。チームの何名かが合流して、３カ月間くらいでしょうか。で、最後は１０名くらいのメンバーといっしょに京都にやって来て、２週間くらいカンヅメになって、なんとか開発を終えることができたんです。

Or:

Iwata: Sakaguchi, did you join the "Tokimeki High School" project after finishing development on "Final Fantasy"? Sakaguchi: Yes, that’s right. Several team members joined the project for about 3 months, I think. And then near the end of development, about 10 of us came down to Kyoto and we holed up for around 2 weeks until we somehow managed to finish the game.

So what is going on here is the game’s development was a joint production between Nintendo - in Kyoto at this time - and up-and-coming game company Square in Tokyo. And yes, they were literally working on Final Fantasy right before this game, and switched gears to tackle this new project. Or at least some of them did, for 3 months, and then famed-director-of-Final-Fantasy Sakaguchi came down to Kyoto and lived out of a hotel for two weeks doing crunch to finish it off. That fact, probably because Sakaguchi is the famous person reporters would care about, got transformed into the idea that the whole game took 2 weeks to make. 

In this same interview they talk about how, at the end of that crunch, they all went out for drinks to celebrate…until they got a phone call about how the motorcycle in the ending credits is glitching out and flying off the screen, which they thought was a hilarious, beautifully fitting bug for their time together. And that is hilarious, the primary reason I am recounting it, but I also think it goes to show that this was a hot mess of a game dev process. 2 weeks or ~3 months, both of those are not enough time. And with two companies in different cities, doing crunch out of a hotel, wrangling with a record label for a pop idol’s permission, setting up phone line recordings and VHS tapes and a bonus competition using experimental fax machines, all aligned with a media blitz? All for a game genre that honestly hadn’t been done before? I have checked, and you can authentically argue this is the first ever dating sim, at least on a console. People overstate what it is inventing - it is pulling tropes from romance anime and manga, of course - but even that process of transference is tough. This wasn’t a genre yet, and in a way they weren’t even trying to make a dating sim. They were trying to make an event.

One that today you just can’t experience. Very few people care about Nakayama Miho “like that” anymore, we aren’t seeing the commercials or the magazine ads or buying the discount unofficial strategy guide that invented a fake protagonist and never used Miho’s name because they didn’t have the rights. Today you play the game just because it is a game, and when you hit the phone numbers you tab over to a transcript of the voicemails…or maybe don’t even bother. The game was just a vessel for the hype. That doesn’t make the game good, by the way, I don’t want to go that far. The game was a not-very-good vessel for the hype, and an anachronistically better team could have made a better game. It isn’t really worth playing, in the end. But it is worth researching! As an event, it is really cool. As a piece of history, it is probably unique. And I respect the team behind it for that.

[sugarcubeindulgent]

I desire josh x male reader so bad I love how you’ve characterized Bill and Pete so far

it's only sex | josh levy x m!reader

synopsis. another explosive fight between josh and bill leaves the club picking sides. you go with the side you always do and what results has never happened before.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ contents. established relationship. internalized homophobia. swearing. angst if you squint. comfort. suggestive content. homophobic language.

a/n: i need that fat man, thank you and thank you for the request anon! ^^

Rain patters against everything its salty-wetness can touch. You grimace a bit at the sensation of the water soaking through your sneakers and licking up the hems of your pant legs. A deep frown is etched into your face as you walk down the pathway to the small and cozy home, a near replica of the rest along the block. Beneath the safety of the porch, you close the black umbrella and shove off the hood of the ridiculous big jacket your mom made you wear before you left the house. Ringing the doorbell once so you aren’t cussed out the moment the door opens, you wait a bit impatiently as the winds blowing droplets nip at any exposed skin.

When the door does open, you look up with a smile at the heavyset woman who seems relieved when she recognizes you, a smile spreading on her round and flawless face. But then she frowns and you already know what she’s going to say as she moves aside and ushers for you to come inside.

“It’s colder than the Arctic out there! What’re you doing walking in this rain? Are you trying to catch your death!”,Mrs.Levy scolds, already rubbing her manicured hands along your face with a deep frown. You scrunch up your face under her attempts to warm up your icy face with her cold hands that smell like artificial cucumbers. “Puh-lease, sweetheart, if you catch your death, who’s gonna calm down my Joshie? Love him to death but when he gets like this–” And she finally pulls her hands away with a heavy scoff and toss up of her french-manicured hands.

Smiling at her, always happy beneath her overbearing attitude, you nod and laugh lightly. “Right, sorry, Mrs.Levy. My mom’s working and my dad’s at his poker game.”,you apologize as you tug off your jacket and straighten up your hoodie and shirt beneath it when she takes the puffy jacket from you. You wipe at your face when she hangs it up to try and get rid of that feminine, artificial cucumber scent. Quickly, you drop your hands when she looks back at you. “Where is he anyway?”

“Oh, you know.” She rolls her eyes and steps forward in the entryway. “In his room playing one ‘a his Mario Bandicoot’s or something. Good luck! I’ll make you boys something to eat – I mean you might blow away in the wind if I don’t!,she exclaims with a swat to your shoulder. And she gives you a nasally laugh you can’t help but find infectious.

Giving her a word of gratitude as she walks off to make a meal that’ll no doubt be able to feed an entire family, you make your way down the corridor you’re familiar enough with.

When you reach Josh’s door, you knock three times before his voice comes through. “Ma I don’t want any food!”,he shouts angrily amidst the noises of lasers and video game grunts. You bite back the fat joke on the tip of your tongue and simply decide to enter while silently snickering to yourself. You’d rather not have whatever controller is in his hands thrown like a fastball at your face.

“It’s not your mom. Though I probably smell like her now.”,you greet Josh, shutting the door. Both your voice and the click of the door makes him pause the game. Josh looks over his shoulder, sitting in front of the television in his clean and organized room cluttered with memorabilia, collectables, comics, and various other things that simply show off his interests. Immediately, his angry expression softens beneath his glasses but he angrily turns away with a sharp exhale. You roll your eyes and walk over. “I just walked a mile in the rain, you can give me a greeting, jackass.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”,replies Josh in a snappy way but he doesn’t protest or move away when you sit down next to him. You look at him, his ponytail a bit wet and his clothes the same from what you assume to be him storming into his mom’s car and off when he left Bill’s house. But his glasses are clean, low on his big nose wrinkling a bit in his deep scowl. “I’m not apologizing to that bastard. Or “compromising” like you and Jerry try to push constantly.” He mocks a girly voice in the word “compromising”.

Rolling your eyes, you shake your head and expel a sigh. “I’m not gonna say any of that.”,you say with annoyance at his anger. Though you’re unsure what you expected after the explosive fight he and Bill had. Josh seems relieved when you say this at least, you shake your head and shrug. “For once I think it’s not both of your faults. Bill was being a complete dickhead about the campaign.” Josh’s eyes snap to you and he fixes his frames on his nose with a sharp scoff.

“Exactly! What the fuck kind of person thinks the Winter season is better than a firey hellscape?”,shouts Josh so loudly you scoot away from him a bit. You swear you may go deaf the longer you stay friends with everyone in this damn club. Josh then drops his hands onto his heavy thighs that strain abit in his khaki pants with his legs criss-crossed. Breathing a bit unevenly at the shouting, he then tosses a hand away. “But you assholes wanted to compromise instead of telling Bill to kill himself! Ridiculous! Everyone’s always against me!”,he shouts again slamming his fists into his knees.

Simply letting him punch himself out in his anger for a moment, you hesitate before you look at him. “I’m not.” His eyebrows furrow tightly, his brown eyes sliding to you as you smile a bit in amusement. “Not this time at least.” Josh’s eyes flicker between your eyes then down to you smile, despite his slightly heavy breathing he smiles a bit and you continue. “Fuck Bill and fuck everything. Tomorrow during our meeting I’ll side with you and I’m sure Jerry will too.” You speak while you lean forward and grab a second controller from beneath the television unit.

When you sit back down and hold the main controller while handing the second one to Josh, he tilts his head and furrows his eyebrows at you with doubtful eyes. “Really? You know that jackass is just gonna start another fight.”,reasons Josh with an immediate dark scowl as he takes the remote from you.

You wet your lips before you grin. “Then we can tell him to go kill himself.” Immediately Josh laughs and smacks your shoulder.

“Yes! We can!” You laugh and you turn to the game he had been playing against the algorithm. Exiting out to the main menu, you hear Josh clear his throat and you turn to look at him while criss-crossing your legs. He’s looking at the T.V but he’s wearing a bit of an annoyed expression with some red dusting his cheeks. That familiar fluttering in your stomach you’ve been ignoring for the past few months returns. “Thanks. For taking my side. And for coming here.”,he says sincerely even if it sounds like he’s pulling teeth.

Smiling, you shove his knee with yours. “Don’t be such a fag.”,you laugh a bit more tense than you mean to,”Now let me wipe the floor with you.”

The pixel-y Streetfighter starts up and you feel the tense and angry, buzzing atmosphere that once took the room is gone with a lighter and competitive air. You think that’s why you’ve always liked Josh the most out of the group. Aside from reasons you refuse to acknowledge, despite his explosive personality he’s never that way with you unless provoked. Pete and Bill can be jackasses and Jerry is always too impartial; it makes it difficult to be around them. Josh is always so himself and it’s not always a bad thing.

You suddenly realize you’re getting distracted in your thoughts during the fourth round of playing. The food Mrs.Levy made for you and Josh half-eaten on plates on either side of you guys.

“Oh you’re done!”,exclaims Josh. And you straighten up, looking at your lowering health bar then to Josh, an idea sparks in your head. A grin splits across your lips and you don’t tear your eyes from the screen when your hand reaches out and slaps over Josh’s glasses lens’. “Hey! What the fuck! Cheater!”,he’s shouting but laughing between words.

When his heavy hand suddenly starts shoving at the side of your head, you laugh and sit up. “Hey! Not fair, your hand is the size of the screen!”,you shout while sitting up on your knees.

Josh’s health bar is lowering with your button-smashing hits while yours begins to steadily decline again. Laughter fills the room as you both try to shove the other’s face away from the screen. Josh’s hands smell of the sandwiches you two just had and you’re sure yours smell like the chips. Before either of you die, you suddenly smack away Josh’s remote. It glides across the shag carpet and you laugh while quickly mashing your buttons. “That’s a dirty move, dick!”,Josh yells and you move your remote as he tries to snatch it.

Just as his character is killed by yours, your elbow knocks into your empty glass that once held orange soda. Looking down, you swear softly. “Oh shit.” Then you feel Josh’s hand slip past the controller and it shoves your chest hard. With a grunt, your back hits the carpet and you feel Josh’s heavy presence above you. “Fuck!”,you swear hotly when the remote hits you in the face before it falls to the side. Scowling, your eyes look to Josh who is grinning as if he’s won. You laugh and rub your stinging forehead. “Why are you laughing? I still…”

Sat up, Josh positioned between your legs, you look to the screen he points at and you immediately go slack jawed. He paused the game before his character’s death. Your eyes snap to him and you laugh, punching him in the chest. “You’re such a pussy when it comes to losing, man!”,you say without shouting yet your voice is still loud.

Laughing, Josh punches you in the front of your shoulder. “And you always try to cheat! Don’t think I haven’t seen your card slips since Jerry taught you his fucking magic bullshit.”

You grin and lean forward with a raise of your eyebrows. “Prove it, butterball. I know what your trick dice look like.”,you challenge him in return. Josh scoffs hotly and yet his smile suddenly falls as he looks along your features then down at the position you’re both in. He’s positioned between your legs while sitting on his own behind him, you’re sat up and right in his face.

That uncomfortable feeling in your stomach returns when you realize the same thing. You blink and your lips part to say something, to make some joke involving the word “fag” or some variation of it but Josh is suddenly leaning forward. Unable to even internally light the fuse in your stomach before his mouth is on yours. The fuse lights and your shock runs for as long as it burns. You can feel how hot his face is in the closed mouth kiss that feels awkward at first. But then the firework goes off and you lean in.

Cupping his cheeks that burn your palms, you lean in and kiss him back. Josh immediately sighs through his nose and you feel the edge of his glasses press into your cheek when you pull him in harder. Inexperienced, knowing damn well that Josh is, you cautiously open your mouth. His sweaty and clammy hands grab your hips, the way his thumbs unintentionally touch the band of your boxers makes your body shudder. You suddenly feel his tongue, your tongue pushing into his mouth with each smacking of lips as you both tilt your head in alternating opposite directions.

Your face must be burning as hot as his, a hard-on starting to press painfully against the inside of your jeans as you explore the inside of his warm and wet mouth. You can taste what you had both just eaten along with his rootbeer of choice and something uniquely him. Josh suddenly moans against your mouth when you whine and you feel that firework suddenly drowned in water. Ice cold water that makes you pull away from Josh, your hands falling to grip the carpet behind you for support when his hands pull from your boxers waistband.

You’re both panting, Josh’s face as red as yours feels. Licking your lips, your wide eyes dart between his wide eyes behind his glasses slowly fading the fogginess beneath the lens. Your heart is pounding in your chest, stomach a mess of butterflies and veins feeling thickened with disgust in yourself and him. But your lips are tingling with the rest of your body, your head almost dizzy.

Josh is the first to pull away entirely, he chokes out a laugh and he scowls while shaking his head. “I’m not a–”

Quickly, you force a laugh and shake your head with a wave while you pull back to sit up on your ass. “No, no I mean I’m not–not a–” You’re unable to say the word. Fag. Faggot. You’ve said it more times than you’ve said your own name and you suddenly can’t say it? You blink hard and you shrug loosely, you’re unsure what to do – what to say. “Uh – my mom’s probably expecting me back home. I-just told her I’d be here to–”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead.”,Josh quickly sputters, fixing his glasses and looking away when you stand up.

You don’t even offer him a farewell when you leave his room. Your footsteps move quickly down the corridor as you wipe your mouth and let the spit gather in your mouth. Unable to even look at Mrs.Levy you leave the house with your coat in hand. The rain falls and hits you, soaking your hoodie and shirt until it catches your scalp and rolls down your face. Spitting on the sidewalk, you begin to hyperventilate.

A kiss. You kissed Josh. You kissed a guy. Your first kiss was Josh, who’s a guy.

Whatever. It isn’t as if he’s a real guy, maybe it could’ve been practice for the real thing. Like when you use a pillow or something. Your mind tries to rationalize what happened.

You still have to shower for two hours when you get home and another hour after your most shameful jerk-off session ever.

[howdoyouknowaboutgandalf]

I knew her once.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 2k-3k ish

Disclaimer! Apologies for any grammatical errors or repetitive verbiage.

Background (NOT CANON): Bucky is brought back to the Avengers compound after the events of CATWS

Plot summary: Bucky is slowing coming too again, remembering himself, remembering Steve. He feels a strange, magnetic connection to a woman who recently joined the Avengers, Y/n, a super soldier, like Steve and himself. Unbeknownst to him, Steve and the woman know exactly why Bucky feels connected to her.

Based on this anon:

Written in both readers and Bucky’s pov.

*Thoughts are in italics*

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Y/n’s POV

March 1st, 1945

Two months. Two months since Bucky was killed in action. Two months a widow. Two months since I asked Erksine to make me like Steve, to make me useful. What good am I if I let Bucky’s death be for nothing? That's how I ended up on this bomber. Steve is on the radio with a woman, but I only caught a snippet, of Steve saying, “There isn’t going to be a landing.”, and “I’ve gotta put her in the water.”. This is it. This is the end of Schmidt’s plan. If only Bucky could know. Floating in my mind, are Bucky’s last words to me, “I will see you soon, I love you.”. Now I know he was right, I will see him soon. I see the water now. See you soon my love.

———————————————————————

Fall 2014

It has been three years since Steve and Y/n were found in the ice. In the time since then, they have found adjustment to modern times. Both have been recruited to the Avengers, and are living in the compound. Bucky, who Steve found as the Winter soldier, has been brought to the compound is well. When the news was broken to Y/n, she refused to believe it. It took a while, a lot of convincing that it was him, for her to finally accept that it was Bucky. He has been in quarantine while doctors work with him to remember who he is, and it’s established that he is safe to be around. They have decided on a day for him to be integrated with the group, for him to start adjusting; tomorrow.

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Y/n’s pov

After a meeting about Bucky, how to address him, talk to him, and make him feel comfortable, I went to find Steve.

“Steve? Can I talk to you?” He turned around to face me, “Of course. Are you alright?”, he responded. “I’m… okay. I was going to mention something to you, about Bucky.” Steve nodded for me to continue. “I think we should keep me and Bucky’s past from him until he adjusts, and maybe never at all. I think it should be up to him to remember, and if he doesn’t, then we can start over. I know he has seen you, and remembers you, but he doesn’t know me. And truthfully, I don’t know him anymore either. I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring it up.” Steve pauses for a moment, taking in what I said before asking, “Are you sure you can handle that? Pretending you don’t know him?”. It’s not about me, it’s about Bucky. I reminded myself. “Yes. I can.” I say it more to myself than to Steve. “I won’t mention it.”, he seems upset to say it. “Thank you, Steve.”

The next day…

I saw Bucky in passing, on the way to his newly established quarters. I couldn’t bring my eye to really look at him. Steve wants to bring him to us individually, to introduce us to him. I don’t know if I can handle it. Steve told me a few hours ago, so I can only assume my turn is coming. Maybe if I hide out in my room, Steve won’t bring him here, I thought moments before two gentle knocks on my door. “Y/n? May we come in?” Damn it Steve. I said yes anyway. “Stay out here for a minute, okay?”, I hear Steve say quietly. Steve came in the room, pushing the door behind him, “I want you to know what to expect. He hasn’t really spoken to anyone but me today. He mostly nods, but I think he is making progress. Can I go get him now?” I could only nod. Steve turned to the door and stepped outside for a second. I stood up, smoothing my hair, which got a little messy from me pulling on it in my prior stressed state. Soon, they both entered. Steve began to introduce me, “Bucky, this is Y/n. She is enhanced, like we are. But what’s really enhanced is her baking skills”, he chuckled. Bucky’s face remained the same, lips not even twitching. Steve continued talking, but I stopped paying attention to examine the man standing in front of me. He looked like himself, but there was so much about his appearance that was odd to me. The bags under his eyes, is outgrown hair, he was taller than I remember, broader. His demeanor was the most off-putting, unmoving, almost frightened appearance, shy even. That’s not my Bucky, I remember thinking. After Steve had finished his rant, I let out a small, “It’s nice to meet you.”, to which Bucky barely nodded. Then they left the room. All I could do was break down. They had broken him. That wasn’t my husband, my charismatic, confident, happy husband.

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Bucky’s pov

Steve led me away from the woman, Y/n’s, door. There was something about her that was comforting to me, familiar. Steve said it was late, and took me to my room. I lied down in my bed, too soft, I couldn’t sleep. I thought about the woman, how she reminded me of someone.

———————————————————————

A few weeks later

Bucky has started opening up to Steve more, remembering. Natasha has even gotten him to speak to her a little, and she would even call them friends. Y/n has kept her distance. Afraid to be alone with him, to be upset. Bucky still thinks about her often, still perplexed by her.

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Bucky’s pov

It’s evening, and I headed to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Entering the hallway, I hear humming, a pleasant sound, but a tune I didn’t recognize. I turned the corner, and Y/n was there, leaning over the stove.

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Y/n’s pov

I was in the kitchen, making myself a grilled cheese, bland, I know, but it reminds me of simpler times. I heard footsteps, so I looked over my shoulder. It was Bucky. This is the first time I will have been in a room alone with him since he came to live here, since ‘45 even. I couldn’t bring myself to just ignore him. I turned to find him by the sink, filling a glass of water. He was dressed simply, comfortably, in an era of clothes I had never seen him in. It was surreal, and strange. “Hi.”, I said softly. Bucky turned to face me, and I could tell he tried to smile at me, but all he managed was a twitch on the left side of his mouth. “I was making myself some dinner.”, I spoke, and Bucky nodded once in response. “Are you hungry?”, I asked him. Why am I still talking? I thought. Bucky shrugged. Again, I couldn’t stop myself from talking, “Can I make you a sandwich?”. I figured if I asked if he wanted one, he would say no. To my surprise, he shook his head yes. I smiled, “I’ll get to it.” It only took a minute to make, and he just stood quietly by the sink. After I had finished making them, I plated his, and handed it to him. He let out a “thank you” so small I thought I just imagined it. This time, it was my turn to only nod in response. He took his sandwich down the hall, back to his room. I’m making progress.

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Bucky’s pov

I sat on my bed, looking at the empty plate. I still can’t get her out of my head. Who is she? She was kind to me. Something about her is drawing me in. I want to be around her. She makes me feel human.

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Y/n’s pov

It’s been a week since I was in the kitchen with him. Every day since, Bucky has been around. He’s still silent. Sometimes I go to common area, and he just appears. I’m working on interacting with him, treating him normally. I try to only ask him yes or no questions, I don’t want to push him. Today is my day to go downstairs and train with Steve. Maybe I can talk to him about all this, ask about Bucky’s progress.

“Hey Steve.”, I said as I bounded into the gym. I look forward to my days in the gym with Steve. “Good morning.”, he seemed happy to see me too. We started with sparring, which went fine, as usual. Then we moved to the bags, Steve was using one while I took sips from my water. I felt all my questions about Bucky sitting on my tongue. “How is Bucky doing?”, I blurted out. Steve smiled faintly before responding, “He’s doing well. I can see a little bit of his old self slipping through. He seems to have taken well to you.”. What does he mean? I only looked at Steve with a bewildered expression. “He’s been looking for you recently, trying to be around you.”. I asked him if Bucky had told him that. “No,” he replied, “but I know him. Even after everything, he’s still Bucky.”. Tears filled my waterline. He may be Bucky, but he isn’t my husband anymore. Steve noticed I was upset, and came to sit next to on the bench. “He is starting to remember small things from our childhoods. Little details. Not the whole picture, but I think he is getting there. He will remember you. I know he will. And it doesn’t hurt that you look the same as you did 70 years ago.”, Steve finished with a chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. I wiped the few tears that had run down my face. I need Steve to be right.

I headed up to my room to clean up, maybe grab a book afterwards. On the way, I passed Bucky. And he smiled at me. That beautiful smile I missed so much. I almost stopped in my tracks. But I powered on and I continued to my room.

After showering, I realized how hungry I was, so I headed to the kitchen to scour the pantry. I had been looking for a few minutes. I heard footsteps, familiar ones. Bucky and I were in the kitchen again. “Hey Bucky.”, I said without turning around. He still didn’t say anything. I looked over my shoulder. “Am I in your way?” I asked. He shook his head no. He just kind of stood there by the counter next to the sink. Why is he in here then?

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Bucky’s pov

I don’t know why I’m in here. I heard her humming on the way from her room to the kitchen, and I followed her. I watched her grab a snack. She spoke to me again, “I think I’m going to go to the media room and watch a movie… you are welcome to come and join me.” I smiled at her and nodded. She walked away, to go to were she said. I waited a few minutes, and then I went to find her.

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Y/n’s pov

I was scrolling through movies after I made myself comfortable on the couch. Within a few minutes of me being in the media room, Bucky walked in. I really hadn’t expected him to, but he walked over and sat on a chair near the couch I was on. “Is this movie okay with you?” I asked after I settled on one. He showed a small smile and a nod. He stayed the whole movie.

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The silent charade of Y/n going about her business and Bucky always being near went on for a few weeks. The others in the compound were starting to notice, but no one mentioned it. Today the team had a weekly meeting, which led to a disagreement between Y/n and Tony. A small dispute, really not a big deal, but both ended up frustrated and quite loud. At some point, they had ended up standing across from each other, pointing and arguing. The whole thing was stupid, and Steve and Nat had just decided to let them duke it out.

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Y/n’s pov

“That whole thing is a terrible idea!” I yelled. Tony had unsurprisingly pissed me off earlier. I will however admit, that I got a little intense today. Tony yelled back at me, “You aren’t in charge! I am!”. This whole interaction had been going on for probably 20 minutes, but with this yell, Tony stepped closer to me to emphasize his point, not aggressively, but Bucky must have seen it differently. After Tony had walked closer to me and waved his hands in frustration, Bucky strode over and stood in between us with his back to me. He said nothing, but naturally, the fight fizzled out. Why did he do that? I was fine. Me and Tony were just taking, really. “You okay Bucky?”, I heard Steve say from across the room. Bucky nodded, and then walked out of the room. After I watched him leave, I said “Um, Steve? Can I talk to you in a bit?”. Steve looked equally confused to me, “Uh, sure.”.

Steve and I walked to my room. “Do you have any idea what that was?” Steve only shrugged. He opened his mouth and promptly closed it. “Can you go check on him maybe?” I was worried about him. “Yeah, I’ll go talk to him.” Steve replied.

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Bucky’s pov

“Buck? You okay?” I heard Steve say from outside my door. Before I responded, Steve opened the door and came in, and sat next to me. “I’m fine.” I replied. “What was that about?”he asked. I thought about it for a minute. “I don’t know. I thought he got to close.” Steve looked at me, “Too close to Y/n?” I nodded. “You wanted to protect her?” Steve started. I shrugged. “She seems so familiar.” I said. “Well of course she does Buck, we all live together.” Steve said, but he sounded almost uncomfortable. “Thats not what I meant. I feel like I’ve met her before this.” He said nothing back. I tried again, “Steve?”. “I don’t know what to tell you Buck.” he finally responded, but he wouldn’t meet my eye line as he said it. “Can you tell me more about her?” I questioned. “Why don’t you ask her?” Steve seemed dismissive. “Maybe I will.”

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A few days had passed, and though he still was always around, he didn’t inquire further about Y/n.

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Y/n’s pov

Bucky sat a few seats down in the media room. It was around dinner time. I was about to get up to make myself something to eat, when I decided to extend an invitation. “Hey, Bucky?” He looked up at me when I said it. “Wanna come eat dinner with me? I feel like cooking for two tonight.” I tried to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal, even though to me, it was. Bucky looked at me for a moment, “Okay.” he said. This is only the second time he’s ever uttered a word to me. “Is pasta okay?” I asked him, that was what I had been planning to make anyway. “That sounds good.” he sounded shy. I buffered for a moment, because I couldn’t believe he said a full sentence. I just turned and headed toward the kitchen.

I was close to done with the pasta, and I heard a soft clank behind me. I turned to see Bucky setting down two plates next to each other. I offered to make him dinner, and he set the table. Maybe he is still my Bucky. My mind flashed back to all those years ago, when he set the table while I made dinner.

I plated the meal, and sat down next to him. “Thank you for setting the table.” I told him. “Thank you for dinner.” He replied, quietly. We began eating quietly. After a few minutes. I heard him clear his throat lightly. I looked over at him just before he asked, “Can I ask you a question?”. Shocked, I only nodded for him to go ahead. “How old are you?” What a strange question. “That’s a tricky question actually.”, I replied. He looked at me, and said nothing, like he was waiting for me to continue. So I did, “I was born in 1920. I went down in the bomber with Steve in ‘45. They found me in 2011. So I guess that makes me around 28.” Bucky’s fork hit his plate. He looked deep in thought. “What’s your last name?” Another weird question. I decided to be honest, try to introduce him to the whole truth. “My maiden name? Or my married name?”, I asked back. He looked at me before quickly replying, “Both.”. Here we go. “My maiden name is Y/l/n,” I paused, “and my married name was Barnes.” With that, I felt my face flush and tears burn my eyes. I got up to clear my plate, and walked quietly to my room.

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Bucky’s pov

I was right. I did know her once. It all came to me then. The pieces I was seeing of her, why she seemed familiar. She was my wife.

I needed to talk to Steve.

I was at his door. “Steve. I need to talk to you.”. Steve opened the door. He seemed nervous. “You knew.” I accused him, “why didn’t you tell me?”. Steve didn’t answer the question, he moved on to ask one of his own, “Did you remember?”. I felt my emotions bubbling. Tears started falling from eyes. I nodded at Steve, and he stepped over to allow me into the room. “I remember her. I remember our first date. I remember proposing. I remember the little wedding. But why didn’t you tell me?”, my voice cracked a l little towards the end. Steve looked near tears as well, “She wanted you to remember on your own. She wanted to give you a chance to start over.”

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Y/n’s pov

Why did I tell him that? That is the opposite of what I wanted to happen, how I wanted him to find out. I bawled on my bed for a while after dinner. I lost my husband years ago, only to find out he is alive, but he’s changed. He isn’t mine. Played like a mantra in my head, trying to remind myself and subsequently making me more upset. I was standing over my sink, splashing my face with cold water in attempts to calm down when I head a knock on my door. I went to open it without thinking about how much of a wreck I looked. It was Bucky. I couldn’t open my mouth to speak. He did in my stead, “I remember you.”. The tears started again. Looking at his tear stained cheeks, I resumed crying, hard. I stepped aside to sit on the edge of my bed, leaving the door open. I felt the bed dip beside me before I heard his voice again, “I remember missing you.”. I glanced over at him to see him crying again too. “I remember loving you.”. After he said that, a broken sob fell from my lips. I had nothing to say. I reached over, and gently took his right hand. We sat for a while, sniffling, tears still falling. Bucky was the first to speak, “I don’t want to start over.”. I smiled, wide, an ugly thing, all teeth and red cheeks and watery eyes. I finally had words. “I want to be your wife. And whatever that means for us now.” I leaned over and placed soft kiss on his cheek. He turned to me after that, taking his hand out of mine. His flesh hand cradled my jaw, a featherlight touch, his thumb lightly caressing my skin. He leaned in, and pressed his lips to mine, soft, a peck. He leaned back only an inch to say, “I want to be your husband.”.

He is my Bucky.

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Thank you to anyone who read the full fic!!!

@daughterofapollo-7 @seabasscevans

Please request more!!!

[asheepinfrance]

i felt like trying out angst and decided on this. art was second on the poll so he was my victim oops. but also so are you! double homicide. anyways, like usual, please feel free to let me know any comments, critiques, concerns and/or silly little anecdotes. If you have any tips on how to properly express pain without sounding as goofy as this does, drop. that. shit. I'll be needing it. Thanks :)

He did this just about every time this happened, and it happened quite a bit. The routine has become well-worn the way a childhood stuffed animal does, fading what-used-to-be pinks and pastels now spattered brown with age. You’ve both got it down to the finest details: Art meets girl, he does his usual courtship strategy (following her around like a lost puppy), they go on a date that’s never followed up with a second one, and he cries into your lap about it. He claims he loves them, not that he knows exactly what that means. He certainly loves things, it’s not that that’s the issue. He loves tennis, Patrick, his grandma, you, and that’s all fine. He can never seem to pinpoint what being in love was, he just assumed he was smart enough to know. Most things came naturally to him, so why shouldn’t this?

He always apologizes when his breaths are no longer heaving, when he’s stopped wetting the cotton of your shorts with his tears and probably just a bit of snot. You always tell him not to worry, it’s not a problem, you love taking care of him and that’s all true. There is a problem, though, and it’s that this routine is about two seconds from driving you mental. You and Art have one key difference when it comes to this little dance: Art thinks he knows what love is and doesn’t, you know exactly what it is and you know he’ll never feel it back. So when he leaves, like he always does, with a mumbled ‘thank you’ and a kiss to the cheek, you have to close your eyes and pretend. Pretend to be this month’s object of affection. The latest Emily, Jessica, or whatever it may be that catches his attention.

For all your life, you can’t understand how Art doesn’t see what you do. Not necessarily in yourself, but in the two of you. After all, you two were always matching each other in some way. He found your dry humor hilarious, you found yourself giggling at just about every other word he said. He sought you out for comfort like you were a lifeline, you held him like it was a gift to have that privilege. And he knows this, because it’s what, in his head, makes you such a great friend.

When Art starts telling you about some girl named Tashi, you assume that the case will be a similar one. You prepare yourself to suit the name of Tashi, the way you’ve prepared yourself to suit all these other names. All these girls who don’t quite understand that his awkwardness is charming, and his sometimes poorly timed jokes are endearing. It almost kills you when he comes back from that stupid date and he wasn’t crying. He was beaming like he’d just seen the most gorgeous thing in the world. According to him, he had. When he sat himself on the edge of your bed, rambling on and on with moving hands and gleaming eyes, about how wonderful his stupid, saccharine life was, you pretended to listen. You gave him courtesy nods and little ‘Wow, she sounds great’s because that’s what a good, normal-feeling friend does, and he doesn’t seem to care that there’s no sign of you actually paying attention. You sit and stare at your full-length mirror, and observe. You grab your hair into a ponytail, turn side to side, observe the curve of your jaw, and decide that you’d never suit the name Tashi.

Tashi lasted months. Tashi never spoke to you outside of greetings. Tashi never laughed at him the way you did, and you could see it deflate his spirit just a little, though he’d regain it if she just looked his way. You wanted to hate her so badly, but you couldn’t. She’d done nothing wrong, technically, besides take from you what was never yours to keep. But it was yours to hold and covet during late-night movie watches, extra meal credit binge lunches, nights spent stargazing when the sky was just clear enough. He claimed to have never really noticed the stars until you made him look their way. He felt like he was yours to have in those moments of visible breaths in cold air. The worst part of it was that you understood where he was coming from, as much as you didn’t want to. She had something intangible to her, and everyone could feel it the second she walked into a room. He told you he loved her and you finally thought he was right. He told you, later that week, that they had gone stargazing when he told her so and you didn’t get a wink of sleep.

You stopped waiting on dreams that eluded you. You stopped waiting on Art to come to his senses, or maybe he had. Maybe that epiphany had been Tashi. For your own sake, you hope it was. At least she seemed worth the pain it’d cause you. Still, Tashi and Art fizzled out on their own time, not that you stayed to watch that fire burn out. Art texted you, as he always did, when they ended things, amicably and painfully bittersweet. ‘Out with friends sorry :))’ was your response, sent from the corner booth of some bar that you didn’t really want to be in. He finally started caring that night.

You and Art always matched, and he’d always noticed. He supported you in everything you did, you were front row to each and every one of his matches, screaming your head off. You bring him the pencils he always forgets to grab for notes, he brings you that spearmint gum you always snag a piece of from his room. You’d been in love with him, and he’d only just found that capacity to love you back.

You and Art always matched, even at the worst of times, because he saw the way you look at him lose that softness he’d always felt so protected by. He saw the way that mystery guy took the seat across from you at the table you both used to eat in every night, and you didn’t seem to fight him off. He saw that he got the permission to lean over and press a less-than-satisfying looking kiss to your lips, and he didn’t feel hungry anymore. You and Art always matched, because you had been left hanging in your love for him, and he was now stranded in his love for you.

[energ00n]

Okay so I scrolled through all the asks so I’m hoping on hope this isn’t a repeat question, but I was wondering about Elita’s feelings about D calling Orion insignificant. Like, is this the kind of defensive response she’s used to from D? Has she picked up on the fact Orion overheard based on his behavior? If so, would she confront D about it or want him to figure it out and apologize on his own?

Sorry if that’s a lot, I just saw so many focused on her in the beginning of the interaction and I got curious about how she felt at the end of it. Your interpretations of these characters are fascinating (and deadly accurate to the movie, but that’s a whole other thing shdjsheuh). I know we’re onto Jazz and Orion but there’s still so much to think about and it’s wonderful.

PS; Thank you for sharing this AU with us! It can’t be easy having people misinterpret stuff or ignore answers already given. But you keep sharing it anyways and I really appreciate that! It’s a joy seeing your beautiful art come up on my dash :)

Elita is aware of many of D’s behaviors, hence “I didn’t need to bring that up, sorry”, she knew he was going to react strongly at that. She’s not aware that Orion knew and honestly she doesn’t know him, she couldn’t/wouldn’t do anything with Orion directly; she’ll say a thing or two then mostly leave D to his own devices

D and Elita have a friendship where they don’t really talk or pry about each other’s feelings, they’ll physically be there for each other and give space when asked.

Now that I think about it, Megatronous is somewhat like that too. D’s circle loves like an Asian household lol

[jadeshifting]

i'm not sure if you already answered this buuuut i saw that you have a twd dr so i was wondering if you had ANY ideas (scenarios, advices, stuff to script) of how to make an apocalyptic dr (twd or not, it doesn't matter!) safe YET still interesting?

like i'm thinking about making a original one but idk if i'm keeping zombies/infected in (and maybe script that they're pretty much chill?? like they're there just for the vibe or something idk LMAOOO) or if i'm going with a "last persons on earth" kind of plot without any real danger (kinda boring maybe idk but at least it's pretty much 100% safe) and i'm/we're just exploring the now abandoned world, doing whatever we want kinda? aaaaa idk sorry i'm rambling!!! and maybe i'm not even making any sense omg

ANYWAY!!! LONG STORY SHORT: how to make a safe yet interesting apocalyptic dr? (and thx for your help<3)

hi !! happy to have another apocalypse shifter on my blog, i love a good apocalypse DR i think about them constantly

zombies there for the vibe & being chill made me laugh not them being background props LMAOOO but i get what u mean !! u could always script little things like they always walk, they’re not particularly fast or strong, or get rid of the concept of herds completely and script that they always travel alone or in small clusters.. maybe that their bite force isn’t all that strong and they have a hard time biting through jeans or other tough materials, so people wouldn’t be getting bitten through clothes as often. those are pretty basic ways to make them a lot less dangerous i think?

i vibe with the end-of-the-world exploring everything concept soooo much, i literally ramble about it in this post where i talk about the things i’m looking forward to in my walking dead DR, its a concept i love and one that i think could be so much fun with the right group of people, or intensely therapeutic and interesting if you did it alone !! don’t apologize babe i was born to understand your visions 🧘‍♀️

okay, so i’ve actually cracked the code to the apocalyptic multiverse… my secret weapon… to achieve an interesting but safe DR… the answer to it all… is under the cut… if u dare………

— LUCK :^) ( aka the secret weapon to surviving the apocalypse without getting rid of the plot )

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶

“I AM CONSISTENTLY AND PRETERNATURALLY LUCKY.”

cause that’s what makes things happen at the end of the day, right? you can be the most prepared, stocked up, and ready to handle the world, and still die at the hands of a creaky floorboard or an unlucky maneuver. that’s kind of what the apocalypse is all about—it treats everyone equally

being an uncannily lucky person influences things in a variety of seemingly tiny ways, ranging from small conveniences to life-saving occurrences :

⋆˙♱ a walker bites you, but it’s teeth don’t manage to get through your pants—so you’re fine

⋆˙♱ bullets miss you by a fraction of an inch, so close you can feel them pass you by—but they don’t hit you

⋆˙♱ you go through every pump at some abandoned ripped-through gas station, and the last pump somehow has a little bit left—just enough for you to get where you’re going

⋆˙♱ trekking through the woods and a rainstorm that kind of irritates you manages to wash away your tracks in the mud—no one can follow you now, and you didn’t even know they were

⋆˙♱ a vending machine you stumble across has one bag of chips still teetering at the edge, tucked towards the corner where no one saw it

⋆˙♱ you drop your knife fighting a walker, but it tumbles into the stream and you find it in the water a mile up the river—you’d already given up on getting it back

⋆˙♱ someone sneaking up on you happens to step on a loose floorboard, which groans loudly—it alerts you with just enough time to run or fight

⋆˙♱ your backpack rips, and you stumble across a mostly-used roll of duct tape not an hour later—there's just enough left to seal the rip

⋆˙♱ your group dismissed the old, rusty revolver you stumbled across because it looks so beaten-up there's no way it works—it fires clean on your first try

⋆˙♱ the rickety ladder you come across, one that groans and is horribly splintered, holds just long enough for you to climb it—it falls apart the moment you no longer need it

⋆˙♱ as a herd surrounds your hideout, a horrific storm rolls through and you think things could not get any worse—the pelting rain and roaring noise confuses and scatters the herd away from you

⋆˙♱ sometimes when walkers are chasing you, they trip over roots or rocks and they faceplant into the ground. ( maybe this one isn't even luck, walkers are fucking stupid )

this is a scripting tool i use in tons of my dangerous DRs, to circumvent getting busted up all the time

the important thing here is that the LUCK aspect doesn’t take away from the plot or anything interesting happening. you still get attacked or fight, get into sticky situations, have crazy things happen or follow the events of any show/movie you may be scripting for, but you’re lucky enough to walk out unscathed without it being some magical or unrealistic thing !! it makes it more interesting to find yourself consistently pretty successful, in my opinion. you stumble across cool things, escape bad situations and live to tell the tale.

sisyphus suffers for a reason, and it’d be the same thing in the apocalypse if you were constantly pushing forward and surviving, only for something awful to happen, and you to suffer a grievous injury or loss, over and over and over again. trying to make the best of things but taking hit after hit would be miserable, you know? that’s the biggest change i made to my DR that differentiates it from the source media (the walking dead for me) is that things do get better, and we do have good days, and we are working towards a peaceful future that we will eventually reach. a lot of that is luck, in my opinion !!

thank u for the message and happy shifting !! i’ll probs post some scenario ideas for apocalypse DRs soon, but in the meantime i hope u got something helpful from this in terms of danger prevention, mwah :^)

　.   　　˚　　 　　*　　 　　✦　　　.　　.　　　✦　˚ 　　　　 ˚　.˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　 　　 　　　　 ੈ✧̣̇˳·˖✶

[adumbratrapedme]

Gaara x ftm!reader | a wonderful date

anyways, daily reminder that my requests are always open here! and check out my ruleees here!

This is a pt.2 to this.

The Sand siblings had lingered in the Leaf Village a little longer than expected after the Chūnin Exams, assisting with diplomatic discussions and finalizing alliances. Gaara hadn’t minded—especially since it meant he might have a chance to see Y/N again. The apology had gone better than he expected, and while Y/N’s words still replayed in his mind (Just think before you speak next time), Gaara couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more he wanted to say.

That’s how he found himself standing outside the training grounds where Y/N was sparring with Naruto. Temari and Kankurō had told him to “stop moping and do something,” so here he was, awkwardly watching from a distance as Y/N dodged one of Naruto’s clumsy attacks.

“You’re staring again,” Temari muttered from behind him, startling him slightly. She smirked, crossing her arms. “Just go talk to him already. You look ridiculous.”

Gaara frowned but didn’t respond. Instead, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, his presence immediately noticed by Naruto, who dropped his fighting stance and pointed dramatically.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” Naruto shouted, his voice echoing across the training grounds. He moved to block you from hom again, arms stretched out protectively. “Didn’t we already settle this?”

You turned around, confused at first, but when you saw Gaara, your expression softened. “Calm down, I don't think he’s here to fight.”

Naruto narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know that! He could—”

“Naruto,” you cut him off with a sigh. “Go practice your Rasengan or something.”

Naruto grumbled but eventually walked off, muttering something about “sand freaks” and “bad vibes.” You turned back to Gaara, raising an eyebrow. “Is there anything i could help you with?”

Gaara shifted awkwardly, his hands tucked into his pockets. He didn’t know why this was so hard. He had faced enemies in life-or-death battles without flinching, but standing here in front of you, he felt somehow… vulnerable.

“I wanted to ask you something,” Gaara said finally, his voice quieter than usual.

You tilted your head in confussion. “Okay. What is it?”

Gaara hesitated for a moment, then spoke quickly, like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. “Would you want to spend some time with me? Alone. Outside the training grounds.”

You blinked, completely caught off guard. “Are you… asking me on a date?”

Gaara felt heat creep up his neck, but he forced himself to nod. “Yes.”

There was a beat of silence before your lips twitched into a small smile. “You’re… surprisingly straightforward, huh?”

“It seemed like the most efficient way to ask,” Gaara replied honestly, though there was a faint hint of nervousness in his tone. “If you’re not interested, I’ll—”

“Wait, I didn’t say no,” You interrupted, raising your hands. “You just caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Gaara stared at you, hope flickering in his eyes. “Then…?”

You crossed your arms, pretending to think it over and over. “Hmm… Well, I guess you did apologize. And you’ve been less scary lately. So yeah, sure. Why not?”

Gaara blinked. “You’re agreeing?”

You chuckled. “Yeah, I’m agreeing. But I’m picking where we go. You don’t seem like the type who knows what a fun date looks like.”

Gaara frowned slightly, but he nodded. “That’s acceptable.”

Your smile widened, and he clapped Gaara on the shoulder. “Alright, it’s a deal then. Tomorrow afternoon?”

“Tomorrow,” Gaara agreed, his voice firm despite the slight nervousness he felt.

As you walked back to rejoin Naruto, Gaara turned on his heel and started walking back toward his siblings. He didn’t need to look to know that Temari and Kankurō were grinning like idiots from their hiding spot nearby.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kankurō said as Gaara approached. “You actually did it.”

Temari smirked. “Looks like our little brother is growing up.”

Gaara ignored them, but he couldn’t stop the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his lips. Tomorrow couldn’t come soon enough.

The next afternoon, Gaara stood at the entrance to a quiet park in the Leaf Village, his heart racing in a way it never had before. He had fought in life-or-death battles, faced unimaginable threats, and survived, but waiting for Y/N to arrive had him on edge. He adjusted the strap of his gourd on his back for the tenth time, though he had already decided he wouldn’t need it today.

When you finally appeared, wearing a simple but relaxed outfit, Gaara felt his chest tighten. You looked casual and confident, the same as ever, though Gaara thought there was something particularly captivating about the way your smile lit up his face as he approached.

“Yo,” You greeted, waving a hand. “Hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long.”

“You’re on time,” Gaara said, his voice calm but softer than usual.

“Good,” you replied, grinning. “I’ve got the whole day planned out. I figured we’d start with some snacks, then check out the market, and maybe end with watching the sunset. Sound good?”

Gaara nodded. “That sounds… nice.”

“Alright then, let’s go.”

The first stop was a small street vendor selling dango. You ordered two sticks and handed one to Gaara, who stared at it for a moment before cautiously taking a bite.

“It’s sweet,” Gaara said after a moment, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s one of my favorites,” you said, watching him closely. “Not bad, right?”

Gaara nodded. “It’s… pleasant.”

You laughed. “I’ll take that as a win. Come on, let’s keep going.”

Both of you wandered through the market next, the bustling atmosphere a stark contrast to Gaara’s usual environment. For Gaara you seemed to know everyone, greeting vendors and cracking jokes as they passed. Gaara stayed quiet, but he found himself watching you closely, drawn to the way you carried yourself with such ease.

At one point, you stopped at a stall selling small trinkets and accessories. You picked up a simple bracelet made of polished wood beads.

“This looks cool,” you said, slipping it on your wrist. You glanced back at Gaara. “What do you think?”

Gaara stared at the bracelet for a moment before reaching into his pocket. “I’ll buy it for you.”

You blinked, surprised. “Wait, what? You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Gaara interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument. He handed the vendor the payment and turned back to you. “It suits you.”

Your felt your cheeks getting heated slightly, but you smiled. “Thanks, Gaara.”

By the time the sun began to set, both of you had made your way to a quiet hill overlooking the village. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the perfect backdrop for the end of your day.

You flopped onto the grass, leaning back on your hands as Gaara looked out at the view. “This was a good idea,” he said, glancing at you. “I’m glad we did this.”

Gaara sat beside you, his hands resting on his knees. “So am I.” you answered back, a soft smile plastered in your face.

You sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of the village fading into the background.

Eventually, you decided to break the silence. “You know, I wasn’t sure how today would go. You’re not exactly the… ‘dating type.’”

Gaara tilted his head. “Was I that bad?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, you were great. A little quiet, but that’s just you. It was… nice. Really nice.”

Gaara looked down at his hands, his expression thoughtful. “I didn’t know what to expect either. But I enjoyed spending time with you.”

You smiled, leaning back to look up at the sky. “We should do this again sometime.”

Gaara’s heart skipped a beat. “I would like that.”

As the last rays of sunlight disappeared, you glanced at Gaara, your smile soft. “Thanks for today, Gaara. It meant a lot.”

Gaara turned to meet your gaze, his teal eyes sincere. “Thank you… for giving me the chance.”

You chuckled, leaning back again. “You’re not so scary once people get to know you, huh?”

Gaara didn’t respond, but for the first time in a long while, he felt at peace.

@sirenofthesand Hope you enjoy this part as much as you did with the first one! (┐「ε:)

[rist-ix]

Heyyy rist!

I hope you are doing alright and I can't wait to read what you write next, even if it isn't tbhtbh. But speaking of tbhtbh do you think Valtor would ever resort to using a love potion or at least something of that nature? I can't remember if you've answered this question or not but i thought it was a fun ask, this could also be for sparked too. I feel like Valtor thinks he's above that cause of his natural charm🔥tm but maybe he might grow some self awareness and get desperate 🤔

These next few years are gonna be hell in America but at least I know I can always turn towards sparked for some joy 😊 and of course tbhtbh. Have a wonderful day ✨

Hi!!!! As always these days, big apologies for not giving more updates, I swear I’m gonna finish this chapter one day haha

My internship is going to continue until end of march, and after that I’m pretty much entering straight into my bachelor semester without break. So I can’t even offer an optimistic prediction rn. If you’re rereading Sparked, pls know that so am I. (Looking back I have NO IDEA how I could write like 9000 words every 1-2 weeks, WHERE has that energy gone oh my god.)

Talking about current political events: don’t worry, it’s gonna get MUCH worse here in Germany too! 🙃

But! What really helped me is going to my local town hall meetings, and joining up with the tiny offshoot of the Green Party that runs my town. The medium age there is like, sixty, but it’s honestly so healing for the soul to be surrounded by ppl who care so much, and have the know-how to make changes in our immediate environment. Even if the world goes to shit on a national level, the people who run things closest to us are always gonna do the best with what they have. It’s also so funny to watch two dozen 60-year-olds discuss how to best bully the one local AfD politician. Or plan Instagram reels with them. The seniors are alright is what I’m saying

Anyway, to get to your question!!! As always my answer is going to be kind of “it depends”, but leaning towards a pretty strong No.

Main reason for that is that we only have 2 canonical examples for a love potion, and both are, um. Not what Valtor would be into. The more recent example would be Diaspro's potion for Sky, which seems to take effect almost immediately and comes with a near mindless suggestibility, total obedience, and some pretty egregious mood swings and personality changes. She could tell Sky what to believe, what to do, and how to feel, with Sky falling into really atypical, bloodthirsty rages when faced with the Winx. Keep in mind, he's faced way worse threats to both himself and his friends before, and has always been pretty blasé about it.

While we do know that Valtor has no qualms about using mind control, and has always pursued control over others as his end goal, in any fic I've written so far his obsession with Bloom depends highly on the challenge/threat she poses to him, and the unexpectedness of her actions. In Sparked especially, Bloom's unpredictability plays a huge part in Valtor's escalating fascination with her, and I cannot see him willing to throw that away for a subjugated love-potion version of her. Plus, as you mentioned, Valtor prides himself on his charm and persuasiveness. Using a love potion would be akin to admitting defeat, and he would NEVER do that!

Similarly, in tbhtbh, Valtor doesn’t dare to try and use his mark on her, for fear of turning Bloom into a mindless puppet as a consequence. Here is where it gets tricky, though, because I CAN see this version of Valtor being way more ready to use drastic measures to get his way. Tbhtbh!Valtor is motivated largely by his desire for control, and the love potion would give him that with way less obvious side effects than his mark. Additionally, the love potion wouldn’t require any active input from him. It's a one-time-usage kinda deal, not a constant supervision of her mind. And the idea of Bloom being in love with — or even merely affectionate towards— him, might seriously pull his resolve into question. After those infamous three years, tbhtbh!Valtor is pretty unhinged already, and could convince himself of almost anything if the situation is dire enough. Though even then, I can’t see it being his first choice — if only because it would hurt his ego.

Now, outside of any specific story, I'm gonna be honest: there is nothing a love potion would do that would go against Valtor's canon principles. In a really dark fic, love-potioning Bloom would just be mind control, with the added insult-to-injury benefit of her applying all that blind faith, loyalty and affection to him instead of her friends. In a scenario where he does not yet have that begrudging respect for her as an opponent, he would absolutely pull that stunt. Or hell, even with that respect, if he was just a little more vindictive and pragmatic.

In any case, whether he would use one or not, I think Valtor would clearly see a love potion as mind control. There would be no convincing himself that Bloom's feelings for him were real; wether he'd do it out of revenge, need for control, or plain wish for her affection, he'd be very clear-eyed about the reality of it.

Notable mentions to the only other example we get or love potions being used in Winx Club: season 2! That would be Amore's spell on Améntia, the princess of the Downlands. It’s been a while since I've watched that episode, but I vaguely remember that Améntia IMMEDIATELY switched her obsession with Brandon over to Sponsus, who she had pretty much ignored up to that point. Leaving aside how the show glossed over the pretty mind-controlly implications of that, Améntia seemed to be pretty much unchanged personality wise, afterwards. While that might be a version of love-potioning that would appeal to Valtor's very unique honor code, the logistics of that would probably be a no-go for him. I just can’t see him stooping to using pixie magic, or even allying himself with one. Just wanted to mention it, for completions' sake. (There is a love-potion-esque spell Amore displays in s3 too, during the pixie’s “battle” against the Trix. She claims that it would be able to make Valtor fall in love with any of the Trix, but we never see that spell put into effect, so I’m not counting it here.)

[ice-man-goes-bwoah]

Hellloooo first time requested with yourself. I hope you're having a good week so far. I'm just bored at work and scrolling through tumblr when I came across your Peter Sunderland tiktok. Ahhh, I'm in love. I don't even have a specific request, just something fluffy, tooth rottingly sweet, I'm in my feels right now

Anyways I'm glad to have discovered you, and I look forward to getting acquainted 😊

Hello welcome I hope you enjoyed your stay! Hopefully this will cure your feels! Peter Sutherland is the standard for boyfriends I said what I said also everyone should check out the night agent on Netflix.

Home is in your arms|| Peter Sutherland x gender neutral!Reader

Summary — Peter comes home from a mission and you take care of him.

Word count — 1161

Warnings — tooth rotting fluff non sexual nudity

The soft click of the door opening echoes through the quiet apartment, and Peter Sutherland steps inside, dragging his duffel bag behind him. The air smells faintly of lavender, a calming contrast to the tang of sweat,blood and dirt that’s clung to him for the past week.

His body moves on autopilot—locking the door, setting his bag down, shrugging off his jacket. The weight of the mission hangs heavy on his shoulders, pressing down like lead. Days spent chasing leads, navigating threats, and never truly resting have left his nerves frayed and his heart yearning for one thing: you.

Before he can call out, your voice reaches him from the kitchen, soft and sweet like a balm to his battered spirit. “Peter? Is that you?”

You appear in the doorway, dressed in one of his oversized sweaters, your expression shifting from curiosity to relief the moment your eyes meet his.

“You’re home,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I’m home,” Peter replies, his voice low and rough, but there’s something tender in the way his lips curve into a faint smile.

You close the distance between you in an instant, wrapping your arms around him tightly. He sags against you, his face finding its way to the crook of your neck. For a moment, there’s nothing but the steady rhythm of your breathing and the way your hands move soothingly over his back.

“You didn’t call,” you murmur, your fingers brushing through the damp strands of his hair. “I was worried.”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” he says, his words muffled against your shoulder. There’s a quiet apology in his tone, as though he knows it wasn’t the right choice but couldn’t bring himself to add to your worry.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your hands cradling his face. His skin feels cool under your palms, his stubble rough against your fingertips. “Peter, you could call me at three in the morning, and I’d still want to hear your voice. You know that, right?”

He nods, leaning into your touch, his eyes glassy with exhaustion. “I know. I just—”

“You just need to sit down,” you interrupt gently, cutting off his protest before it can begin. “Come on.”

You guide him to the couch, tugging his hand as he follows obediently. Once he’s seated, you grab the softest blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over his lap before kneeling in front of him.

His boots are caked with dirt, a reminder of how far he’s run and fought. You begin unlacing them, your movements careful and deliberate. Peter watches you, his heart swelling with something unnameable as you tend to him with such quiet care.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly, though he makes no move to stop you.

“Of course I do,” you counter, sliding one boot off and then the other. “Taking care of you is my job, remember?”

“You didn’t sign up for this kind of job,” Peter murmurs, his voice tinged with guilt.

You pause, looking up at him with a warm smile. “Peter, I signed up for you. That includes everything that comes with it.”

His hand reaches out instinctively, brushing a strand of hair from your face. The look in his eyes is so tender it nearly takes your breath away.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“Too bad,” you reply with a grin, standing to your feet. “You’re stuck with me.”

He chuckles softly, the sound low and hoarse but genuine. It’s a sound you haven’t heard in far too long, and it makes your chest ache with gratitude.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing a kiss to his forehead before disappearing into the kitchen.

When you return, you’re carrying a tray with a steaming cup of tea and a plate of his favorite cookies. Peter raises an eyebrow, but the faintest smile tugs at his lips.

“When did you make these?” he asks as you set the tray down on the coffee table.

“Last night,” you admit, settling beside him. “I had a feeling you’d be home soon.”

He picks up a cookie, taking a bite and humming softly in approval. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Stop sweet-talking me and drink your tea,” you tease, handing him the mug.

After the tea is gone and the cookies are picked over, Peter shifts beside you, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I should shower,” he murmurs.

You glance at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the tension still lingering in his shoulders. He looks exhausted, yes, but he also looks like he needs someone to pull him back from the edge of his own thoughts.

“Come on,” you say, standing and holding out your hand.

He hesitates, looking up at you. “I can—”

“I know you can,” you interrupt, your voice soft but firm. “But let me help, Peter.”

This time, he takes your hand. You lead him to the bathroom, flipping on the light. The warm glow bounces off the tiles, and you start the shower, letting the water heat up as steam begins to fill the small space.

“Sit,” you tell him, nodding toward the closed toilet lid. He complies, watching you as you grab a towel and set it within reach.

You kneel in front of him again, reaching for the hem of his shirt. Your fingers brush his stomach as you lift the fabric, and he shivers—not from the cold but from the intimacy of the moment.

“You don’t have to—”

“Peter,” you say softly, meeting his gaze. “Let me.”

He nods, and you slide the shirt over his head, revealing the bruises that scatter across his ribs and shoulders. Your lips press into a thin line as your fingers ghost over the marks.

“I’m okay,” he says quietly, reading your expression.

“I know,” you reply, though your voice wavers. “But it still hurts to see.”

You help him with the rest of his clothes, and once he’s undressed, you guide him into the shower. The water cascades over his shoulders, washing away the grime and tension of the past week.

“Feel good?” you ask, stepping closer to rinse his hair.

He hums in response, leaning into your touch as you work the shampoo through his strands. The rhythmic motion is grounding, and he finds himself relaxing under your care in a way he hasn’t in weeks.

By the time you’ve rinsed the soap from his hair and body, Peter looks lighter, his features softened with gratitude and love.

When he steps out, you’re there with the towel, wrapping it around him before drying his hair gently. He pulls you into a hug, the warmth of his skin and the weight of his arms around you filling the room with a sense of calm.

“Thank you,” he whispers against your hair.

You pull back just enough to smile up at him. “Always.”

[wutheringvibe]

jan 28 - i dreamt of you. you sat close, but your gaze wasn’t on me. i could feel it anyway, the weight of your anger, the sting of your hurt, branding itself on my skin. they don’t tell you this, but the heartbreak of losing your first friend cuts deeper than most loves. if i called you today, would you answer? would you let me speak, let me stammer through my apology? if i showed up at your door, would you pull me into your arms like you used to? you probably would. you’re you. you’d forgive me, even through the hurt. that’s who you are, always so steady, always doing the right thing, even when you don’t have to. maybe that’s why i don’t call. maybe that’s why i don’t knock. your goodness terrifies me. it holds up a mirror to my own failings, to the ways i’ve let you down. i’m too far gone in my mistakes, drowning in them, and i don’t know how to ask you to pull me out. how could i ask your pure, clean hands to reach into the mud with me?