#I literally felt nothing when it was over!

[no-144444]

When are we getting more sky interviewer x oscar? ahhh that cliffhanger!! I can’t wait for more!

reconcile -o.piastri

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! Skyf1interviewer! reader

summary: you're reminded of a promise you made...

part six masterlist

All things considered, you were kind of happy to be leaving F1. Somehow, the last half of this season had you burning bridges, ones you didn’t even want to burn. Your comments filled with various driver ships, various hate messages, but everyday, the same damn message popped up in your instagram comments. 

Omg FIA awards are soon! You and Oscar are going to be so cute! 

Can’t wait for the hard launch at the FIA awards 

Oscar and Y/n forever fr 

The way he looks at her! OMG they’re too cute

You hadn’t spoken to Oscar since that night in your hotel room. You ignored his messages . You got Crofty and the others to do his interviews. Abu Dhabi hadn’t been great for you so far, nothing really had. No one seemed to grasp the concept that moving to Indycar wasn’t your choice, but something you had to do for your job. People ignored you. People shunned you. Oscar kept his eyes on you all weekend, and you wanted the Earth to swallow you up. It was awkward. It was the soft glances he used to give you, there was something behind his eyes, a hunger. A fire. Something that made you walk the other way. But Lando grabbed you before you could flee the scene.

“Y/n!” Lando pulled you in for a hug. “How are you?” he asked. Oscar crossed his arms beside him, his body tensing. He watched as Lando hugged you, jealousy flooding his chest. Why was it that you were close with literally everyone but him? Oh yeah, he ruined his chances in that stupid hotel room. 

“I’m good thanks,” you nodded, pulling back and looking at the two of them. “How are you two?” you asked, taking a step back. 

Lando waited for Oscar to respond, but he didn’t. Lando cleared his throat and smiled. “We’re good, thanks. Ready for this race to be over.” 

“Same, I’m so excited to go home after this-”

“We have the FIA awards,” Oscar interjected, hsi tone curt. He knew he was being rude and he knew it was shitty to hold you to a dumb promise, but what else did he have of you to hold onto? You were with an Indycar driver. You were leaving F1. He wouldn’t see you anymore, and he wanted one night where he could pretend he had a chance with you. “Like you promised.”

You swallowed, then nodded. One last night with Oscar, you could do that right?  “Course. What colour is your suit?”

“Black,” he was a man of few words, you could give him that. “White shirt. Black bowtie.”

“Thanks for the direction,” you mumbled under your breath. “Text me about it, yeah?” “Will you actually respond?” he questioned, and even he saw the way you flinched at that. He was being mean, but he felt so fucking uncontrollable with you, he didn’t know what to do with himself. “I’m sorry I’m being a-”

“Yeah, you are,” you nodded, your eyes down. “But I guess it wasn’t super mature of me to not respond to your other messages,” you nodded, awkward tension between the two of you as Lando watched the exchange. “Sorry.”

“I just wanted to apologise for what I said back in-”

“What did you say?” Lando gasped. Oscar seemed to forget that you’d been Lando’s friend longer than he had, and Lando would most-likely take your side. Oscar’s mouth opened, then closed again. Lando frowned and turned to you, but you held a hand up to stop him talking. 

“It’s between us,” you answered diplomatically. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“I am worried about it,” he shot back. “What did he fucking say?”

You sent him one of your looks and he backed down. “The hotel is forgotten,” you turned back to Oscar. “Let’s just all enjoy the awards as a last hurrah, and we’ll go from there, yeah?” 

Oscar nodded, feeling a bit better about the way he treated you, and simultaneously worse about the fact that you were leaving.

“So you’re going with him?” Lewis asked. You sat beside him, sighing and leaning your head on his shoulder. He chuckled. You hid in the Ferrari garage a lot and Lewis always seemed to have the best advice, maybe it was something to do with his various failed relationships. “You’re being dramatic. He’s not that bad.” 

You huffed again. “He’s nice to literally anyone but me. I swear to god, Carlos got better treatment than me.”

He chuckled. “You’re being extra dramatic today then.” 

“Maybe you’re not being dramatic enough,” you shot him a dirty look. You enjoyed this. Moments like this. Moments where your life didn’t not feel yours. You’d always struggled with imposter syndrome, but you’d carved yourself out a nice spot in F1. People liked you, people listened to you, and you knew people. Indaycar was new. Your confusing feelings for Oscar were new. You cuddled closer to Lewis, trying to stay in the line of the aircon.

“You could just fake sick,” he shrugged. You’d already thought about that, but you felt it was rude to Oscar (even if he definitely deserved it). “Or you could just go and tell the Indycar boy to fuck off and run into the sun with Oscar-”

“Lewis!” you hissed. “Shut up!”

He laughed, nudging you. “Just tell him you like him!”

“I don’t!” you stressed, rolling your eyes. “And anyway, he deserves someone who actually can be here for him, not on an entirely different schedule, working insane hours, plus he doesn’t like me anyway!”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Y/n, don’t play with me,” he scoffed. “That boy is in love with you.” “That boy doesn’t know me!” you argued. “And if he did, I think he’d have a very good reason to walk away.”

Lewis frowned, his voice lowering. “What does that mean?”

You sighed. “I mean… I don’t think we’d work out. He’s a fucking F1 driver for god’s sake. This is insane-”

“You’re one of the most beautiful women in the world,” he shrugged. “You’re so smart. You’re kind. He’d be more than lucky to have you.”

You sighed against his shoulder, mulling it over in your head. Maybe Lewis was right. Maybe you should give it a shot with Oscar. 

“So go to the awards with him. See how you feel. You don’t have to make a decision now.”

Maybe he was right. Enjoy the awards with Oscar and go public with Pato the next day...

Great idea.

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[biggianteggplant]

Clean Enough?

(Sakusa Kiyoomi x Reader | Hurt/Comfort | Soft Angst with Fluff Ending) 6 months into dating. Reader knows Sakusa’s boundaries—but lately, she’s starting to worry… maybe he doesn’t want heranymore.

You weren’t mad. Not even a little.

Sakusa had always been clear from the start—sanitizing before meals, disinfecting after coming home, no sharing drinks, a healthy stash of alcohol sprays in every bag. It was never cruel. Never mean. It was just… him.

And you loved him. Genuinely. You even made it a point to carry extra sanitizing wipes in case he forgot. He liked that. He once called you thoughtful for it.

So no. You weren’t mad.

But somewhere between month five and six… something shifted.

Maybe it was the way his brows furrowed—not at you, but just in general—when you touched your face then reached for his hand.

Or maybe it was the one time you hugged him after a long commute, and he didn’t hug back until after a quick “Did you sanitize already?”

You had, by the way. You always did. But you didn’t say anything that time. You just smiled. Said “Sorry, forgot” and backed off.

That’s when it started.

You began sanitizing more.

Like, way more.

After you touched your phone. After you handed him something. After brushing your bangs away. After literally touching a pillow. The scent of alcohol clung to your fingertips like second skin. You kept a mini bottle in your pocket and a backup in your purse. Your hands started to sting sometimes—dry and a little red—but it was worth it.

Because you weren’t dirty. You weren’t gross. And maybe if you kept proving that, he wouldn’t get tired of you.

Right?

Sakusa noticed the shift on a Thursday.

He came over after practice, sweaty and tired, expecting to crash on your couch like usual. But instead, you were standing by the door with a cloth, wiping down the doorknob after he touched it—twice.

He blinked.

“Didn’t I already sanitize before coming in?”

You flinched a little. “I just thought—I mean, better safe than sorry, right?”

He hummed, walked past, and figured maybe it was nothing. You liked cleaning sometimes.

Until dinner.

You had already sanitized your hands once. Then twice. Then again after touching your water glass. Your wrist twitched every time you reached for something, as if some invisible voice whispered “He’s watching. Don’t mess up.”

By the time he reached across the table to touch your hand, you instinctively pulled back, grabbing your alcohol spray and rubbing your palms like your life depended on it.

“Y/N.”

You froze.

Slowly, you looked up. He wasn’t frowning. He wasn’t upset. But he was concerned.

“…Are you okay?”

Your chest squeezed tight.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” you replied, too quickly.

He didn’t push. But he kept looking at you like he wanted to. Like he already knew something was unraveling.

Later, after you changed into your pajamas and curled up on the couch beside him—just close enough to be near, but not enough to touch—he spoke.

Softly.

“You’ve been acting different lately.”

You blinked.

“I haven’t.”

“You have.”

Silence.

His hand hovered above your knee, hesitant. “Talk to me.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, staring at your hands.

“They’re dry,” you said quietly. “From the alcohol.”

He waited.

And you hated that you were tearing up already. Because it felt so silly. Because you didn’t even know when the thought started—but now it was all-consuming.

“I just…” Your voice cracked. “I don’t want to be gross to you.”

Sakusa stilled.

“I know you have your reasons,” you rushed to say. “I’m not judging that—I respect it, I really do. But sometimes when you pause before touching me, or when you double check if I’ve sanitized, I can’t help but think maybe it’s me. Maybe I’m not clean enough. And if I’m not clean enough, you’ll… get tired of me. Or disgusted. Or—”

“Y/N.”

His voice cut through the spiral.

You looked up, teary-eyed. Like a small, cornered animal. Heart thudding.

Then his hand gently cupped your cheek, and for the first time in days, you didn’t flinch. You leaned in, barely breathing.

“You are not dirty. You are not gross. And I would never leave you over something like that.”

“But—”

“I pause because I’m anxious, not because of you. I double check because it’s a habit—not because I doubt you.” His voice was calm, firm, but gentle. “I know you take care. I know you try. And I hate that I made you feel like you weren’t enough.”

You blinked hard, a tear slipping down.

“I just don’t want to be someone you’re tolerating,” you whispered. “I want to be someone you want.”

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, slow and deliberate. Then he pulled your alcohol bottle from the table and gently set it aside.

“I don’t want you bathing in sanitizer to earn my love. You already have it.”

You buried your face in his chest.

And for the first time all week, you didn’t reach for the alcohol first. You reached for him.

(Sorry I haven’t been that active lately—university’s been on my back like a 30-pound backpack, and I’ve still got two more weeks to carry it before I can finally taste freedom 😭😭😭.)

[mythtakens]

it's really the way I can have optimism and have fun even when it's stupid, except for killing Bobby. like for the most part I can enjoy myself watching what can be a very silly show and after some complaining shelve whatever frustrations I have for later when character threads appear and disappear or get rushed for the sake of spending a bunch of screen time on a no stakes emergency or season long storylines end up having no point. and those things ARE deeply frustrating but it's like. fuck whatever these are still the characters I love better luck on that cohesion next time kiddo. I can complain and then eventually move onto looking forward to what's next. uh except for killing Bobby. and like don't get me wrong I personally me myself will continue to do all of that next season and enjoy what I love about the show. but the cloud over everything is Bobby died and THAT wasn't done well and there's no reset or do over?? and the crazy thing is killing a main character is not even weird. you can do that and do it well, if it works with the tone of your show and your stories and you have a real plan. something like that could have felt designed to work with what was already happening with every character and fit into the things already being done in the overall season and have all of that emotionally pay off together and be a good choice for the story and tie into everyone's personal journey. instead it comes across like an idea Tim Minear had in a dream because he wanted to do Something Crazy and couldn't wait to do it and literally everyone hated it and told him it was bad but he was convinced it was gonna rock anyway. and then it feels like everything in the season became somewhat of an afterthought, including in a large part the story of it HAPPENING?

and like yeah of course there is some great acting and a handful of great moments of grief being portrayed and major kudos to the cast for delivering that. but it... not even derailed. just straight up interrupted? every personal storyline. without necessarily replacing a lot of it with anything BESIDES grief. and we're still being like. almost rushed past a lot of those moments to... get to the next B plot that is supposed to meaningfully parallel what we haven't been allowed to process yet? so we can get to the next big emergency that is fun but also kind of nothing? where it's back to the status quo of yay the team and miracles are real? and well it's like. I can enjoy that, sure! but if you didn't want this to truly reverberate or change the tone of the show even temporarily, then choosing something that alters the core of things in a way the audience will not ever move on from is a mistake? and if you did want it to do that, then it's strange to treat it like it doesn't need space to breathe, and you can give it a few minutes and then just jump back to toilet snorkeling and thong jokes in the next episode as long as people are still sad in separate scenes. it will just forever be a really weird way to execute what should have logically had much more care taken with it than anything thus far (not to mention. a really weird way to execute that guy.) and they did not do that. so if you tell me I should get over Bobby or it's "disrespectful" to not want him dead because of the work people put in portraying it I do feel compelled to swing. sad. oh well. there's always the Government Lab.

[heartsforkatsuki]

it’ll be okay. ｡°✩ k.bakugo

pov ; your ex boyfriend gets you out of a depressive episode

mirror fic to LOSER MONOLOGUE

pairings ; ex bf!katsuki bakugo x reader

tags ; angst, hurt/comfort, angst to fluff, happy ending.

your alarm went off, again. you keep forgetting to turn it off, knowing full well you’re not getting out of bed any time soon.

you’re huddled up under atleast 3 layers of thick blankets, and wearing pajamas from who knows how long ago, but no underwear. you ran out of clean pairs a long time ago, and haven’t bothered to do laundry since. you haven’t been sleeping this whole time, just laying. anything felt better than getting up and facing the world right now. it’s so quiet you can’t even hear your own thoughts, just the sheets rustling when you slowly shift your laying positon. nothing really mattered at this point.

well, you don’t atleast. you still care about izuku, and ochaco, and eijiro. they matter to you, your closest friends. he matters too though, your heart whispers but you push it back down. everyone matters, not you though. you’re just there, and nothing would change if you ever weren’t.

that settles in your head for a couple minutes, lingering as you stare at your nightstand.

this is nice.

however, your nice moment is ruined when you’re blinded by the light coming through your bedroom door, so you squeeze your eyes shut and cover your face with blankets. it hurts your head so bad you can’t even process unless it’s slowly closed, and you feel a presence over you.

“izuku, i said i’m okay, go.” you can’t even recognize your own voice anymore, it’s so bitter and mean, and cracked at the edges. you dont mean to snap at him, but you can’t help it.

“fuck you, im not deku. don’t talk to me like that.”

that voice. your eyes bust wide open under the covers, and your heart drops, but your body doesn’t tense. no, it’s too tired to.

“leave, bakugo.” your voice is more hushed now, hurt. “im fine, i didnt ask for you to come.”

“you didnt have to ask me, idiot. deku said he hasn’t seen you in four days. he doesn’t think you’ve been eating, so i came anyways.” he’s quieter too, now. there’s no disgust, or a condescending tone like everyone else has been talking to you lately. bakugo isn’t like that.

“fuck izuku..” you groan, turning your head into your pillow, still hidden by covers. “you’re my ex, bakugo, not my caretaker. please leave, im fine.”

“we agreed to stay friends, so i’m here as one.”

yep. thats true. the breakup was mutual, you were in school, he was climbing up the hero ranks. both of you were too busy to keep it up.

fuck izuku

“what do you want”

“to check on you. make sure youre okay.”

you finally peel the covers off your head, cracking your eyes open slightly, though your vision is blurry. he looks so .. unbothered. brows furrowed, like always. his usual black tee, grey sweats, and messy blond hair. if you were capable, you’re sure you would have thrown up at the familiarity of his presence.

“yeah? well, im fine.”

“you’re an awful liar, [name].”

“then leave.” you snap, turning back under your covers.

“i think imma do what i want, [name]” he snaps back, snatching all the blankets off in one layer and throwing you over his shoulder.

“katsuki!! put me down, now!!”

your struggle literally only makes him chuckle as he turns the living room light on.

that damn light makes your headache resurface, and you groan as you cover your eyes by burying your face into his neck.

oof!

you’re dropped onto the couch, and katsuki sits on the coffee table, facing you.

you curl your legs, laying sideways, not meeting his eyes.

“have you been missing therapy?” your eyes shoot to his.

he always knew you went to therapy, but you never talked about it.

you shake your head.

“how about class? or work?”

you shake your head, again.

“you haven’t done any school work at all?”

your voice quiets again, “i dropped out.”

and of course, his reaction was inevitable.

“dropped OUT?!” he bursts, standing from the table, looming over you as you close your eyes, your lower lip trembling.

“you’ve been obsessed with school for.. for forever, [name]! that was your dream! to graduate, to be.. accomplished! why the fuck would you drop out?!”

“i just did, okay?! i was.. i was tired!” your voice only grows softer, and you can’t stop the tears that follow your words. “don’t scream, please.”

“shit, [name]…” he walks around the table, looking up at the ceiling as he runs his hand over his mouth. “fuck.”

you open your tear-blurred eyes to see him back on the coffee table, still staring up as you wipe your face.

“okay, ill go easy on you.” he lays a hand over yours, pressing ever so lightly. “have you eaten?”

“no” you meet his gaze.

“yesterday?”

“…no.”

“okay, let’s get you fed and then cleaned up. you look and smell rancid.” he stands, patting his hands on his thighs.

“katsuki..”

“hush. im doing this for you, so hush.”

you dont need this. but maybe its not so bad.

“come on, cheer me on while i cook.” he reaches out a hand, pulling you to stand for the first time in god knows how long. you almost fall right back onto the floor, but he stabilizes you with his hand. “jeez..”

he guides you into the kitchen, seating you onto a stool facing the stove on the other side of the kitchen island. he grabs a blanket from the basket behind the table chairs, wrapping it around your body.

not even a minute later he was whipping around your kitchen, grabbing tupperware and materials you forgot you owned.

while you were zoned out staring at the stove, he sets a glass of water infront of you, and then you notice the open, empty fridge.

“you don’t have shit to eat in here, [name].”

then you looked over to the countertop next to the stove. a ramen packet, and butter.

when was the last time you went grocery shopping?

no point, you couldn’t cook and he wasn’t here to help you with it. takeout it was.

“ill just go rob deku, be right back. dont move.” he points at you.

a couple minutes later, the door opens again, and you see flashes on blond and green hair, breezing into your kitchen, arms filled with food. bakugo walks past you and gets to work, but izuku stands staring, like if he was surprised to see you in your own apartment.

“[name]. how are you?” it sounded a little, panicked. but you knew he meant well.

“awful.” his eyes widen and he blinks. “you knew that, though.”

“ah.. okay..” he shifts his weight, “well, ill leave you to it!”

“izuku” you gesture for him to move close, and he complies. you wrap your arms around him, “thank you.”

“yeah, anytime [name]. i love you.”

“however, next time you call any of my exes again, consider yourself a dead man.”

“bu-” he knew it was pointless to argue. “okay, wont happen again..”

“thanks for the food.”

“anytime.” he leaves and shuts the door.

you’re not who you were even half a year ago, and definitely not the same person he fell for back at ua. you used to be sharp, full of energy, sometimes sarcastic or even confrontational. in college, when he finally asked you out, you were still full of life—maybe a bit more cynical, but still passionate and curious. when did that change? when did you become so withdrawn, quiet, and sad? if he’d just looked a little closer, made more of an effort, could he have seen the signs earlier? if he’d stayed in touch as a friend after things ended, would he have still needed deku to point out that you were struggling?

4 minutes later, katsuki sets a bowl infront of you and hands you chopsticks.

“nothing fancy, just dumplings and noodles. eat, please.”

he eats his own bowl aswell, you sit in silence. then, the conversation shifts and he ends up telling you how he started taking night shifts, hence why he’s here and not working, but that he also called a day off to check on you.

“i was worried for you.”

“you dont get worried, katsuki.”

"tch. you idiot. i’m constantly worried, especially when it comes to you. when deku told me he hadn’t seen you and that you weren’t eating, i panicked," he admits, his usual confidence slipping. "i was scared something terrible had happened... that i might walk in and—" he cuts himself off, unable to say it. instead, he wipes at his eyes with both hands and curses under his breath. "i wouldn’t have been able to deal with that," he says, your name falling from his lips, rough and full of emotion.

you don’t know how to respond, so you don’t.

he stands to your side, staring down at you, then suddenly pulls you into his chest. you stumble into him with a quiet “oof” as his arms wrap tightly around you. it’s comforting, familiar—so natural that you sink into it without thinking, hands clutching at his shirt as your body goes slack. he holds you steady, resting his chin on top of your head. the hug is a bit intense, a bit possessive, but after feeling so empty for so long, it’s a relief. your chest starts to ease, and before you even realize it, you’re crying—not out of pain, but just to let it all out. to finally feel something.

“it’s gonna be okay. i got you.”

a couple minutes later, he convinces you to get cleaned up, to which you tell him you want a bath.

in the bathroom, he gently sits you on the closed toilet lid and turns on the water. he even digs through the cabinet to find your favorite hibiscus bath salts, adding a generous scoop to the tub. then he starts undressing down to just his boxers, and you quickly look away, suddenly very focused on the dirt on the floor tiles.

"lift your arms," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts. you lift your arms and he pulls off your sweatshirt and t-shirt in one smooth motion, tossing them into the already full laundry basket. you don’t bother trying to cover yourself—it’s not like he hasn’t seen it all before. his gaze lingers for a second before he kneels to pull off one of your fuzzy socks.

he can’t help noticing how much you’ve changed beneath your clothes. you look softer now, maybe haven’t worked out since he left, and there’s a tired slump to your shoulders he doesn’t remember. but to him, you’re still beautiful—every familiar curve still there. it takes effort not to grab your waist the way he used to. he peels off your other sock, tosses them both toward the laundry with perfect aim, then helps you stand. the sweatpants are the last thing to go, sliding easily down over your hips.

you feel fully immersed in the quiet comfort of it all as he lathers up a washcloth and gently moves it across your skin in slow, soothing circles. you let him guide the moment, tilting your head as he rinses your hair and works shampoo and conditioner through it with careful fingers. you let out a soft laugh when he cleans between your toes, and finally, when he decides you’re all rinsed and done, you lean back against him, fully at ease.

"why’d you break up with me?" his voice is quiet, spoken into the hollow of your shoulder.

"we both chose to," you answer without thinking, the same rehearsed line you’ve repeated to friends and family to keep their concern at bay. mutual, mutual, mutual—it’s what you’ve clung to.

"yeah, but you’re the one who brought it up."

you’re relieved he can’t see your face right now. it gives you a small shred of composure. you trail your fingers through the water, watching the ripples spread as you try to find the right words.

"we were both so busy. and i thought— i didn’t want you to give up anything for me. your career means so much to you, and i couldn’t ask you to pull back, not even a little." he inhales sharply like he’s about to speak, but you keep going. "and i guess i started falling back into that mindset i had in high school. i never told you—didn’t tell anyone back then—but i used to get stuck in these spirals for days. i’d get so focused on one thing that i stopped taking care of myself. and sometimes... that thing was dying. i thought about it so much, it felt like i already had."

you told him about an incident that happened in your senior year, where you went into a spiral and almost succeeded in taking your life.

"anyway," you press on, like you haven’t just shattered something inside of him, "i could feel myself slipping back into that place, and i was too ashamed to go back to therapy, like i’d failed. i didn’t want to put that on you, didn’t want to drag you into my mess, and honestly, it just felt easier to run from it all.”

he falls silent for a beat.

“does anyone else know?”

“just izuku. he’d bring me food and notes.”

“you cou- no, should’ve told me.”

"no, i couldn’t have."

he lets out a frustrated breath. "yes, you could’ve—"

"no, you don’t understand. i couldn’t even face it myself for years. yaomomo only knew because aizawa told her—she was my closest friend and top of the class. i didn’t want anyone else to find out," you lower your voice to a whisper. "it wasn’t about you, katsuki."

he presses his forehead against your shoulder, growling in frustration before trying a different angle. "then what about when we were together? isn’t that what being in a relationship is for, to rely on each other?"

"for me, it was about loving you. not about making you carry my weight."

loving—you still love him, but it would feel too harsh to say it now.

"idiot. i loved you, too. i didn’t want you to go through this alone. you never let me handle anything by myself. remember the workouts for moral support? when you’d hold my hand and stay with me in the hospital after the war? you dumbass, why didn’t you think i’d do the same for you?"

you feel the heat of his tears on your collarbone, trailing down your chest. it startles you; bakugou hardly ever cries. carefully, you turn in his arms to face him, gently placing your hands on his face. he’s really crying—tears streaking down his cheeks, dripping off his chin. he still has that scowl, but you softly smooth the furrow between his brows until it relaxes.

"i’m sorry," you whisper, your voice full of meaning, putting everything you feel, "i’m still in love with you," into those words. you kiss his forehead lightly, then wipe his cheeks dry with your thumbs.

he lets out a long, heavy sigh, his tone more serious than you’ve ever heard, his hands resting on your hips as he gently rubs circles with his thumbs. "will you let me now? now that i know, will you let me help and care for you? even if it’s just as a friend?”

your heart skips a beat.

this is why you fell in love with him. after everything, he still stays. nothing can scare the way this man loves you.

like instinct, you lower your head and kiss him, pouring your soul into it.

you pull back, stabling yourself with your hands on his shoulders.

“im so-”

“stop apologizing.” he rests his forehead on yours.

“move in with me.”

“okay.”

and maybe he’s right, it’ll all be okay.

LMFAO i hurt a lot of people with the last angst fic so here’s a happier ending … LMAO. @jealousmartini @sofiathehobo @wildberry-101 @intimidaid

[vivalas-vega]

like real people do / bucky barnes x reader

yay first bucky one shot !! this literally started as me wanting to write some quick and dirty one-bed trope nonsense... and then it got real lol. i just love him your honor, i got angsty and fluffy real fast. as always, please let me know what you think!!

like real people do / bucky barnes x reader

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summary: a brush with death on a mission leads to you and bucky confronting your feelings.

word count: 5.6k

warnings: canon level violence/scary situations, language, angst, minor suggestiveness (this takes place in some reality where bucky & reader work for fury lmao & a very minor reference to this happening after endgame but none of that really matters it was just the vibe that ended up happening)

The air felt hot and sticky around you, laced with danger and the edge of fear you were keeping at arm's length… but it was harder to do so as you went crashing down a full flight of stairs… assailant in tow and doing nothing to break your fall.

“Princess? Could use a little help out here,” you heard Bucky grunt in your ear and the familiar surge of worry filled your chest as you rolled to your feet, not wasting a second in launching an attack on the man in front of you.

“Little busy, Buck,” you managed to get out, dodging a hit before landing one of your own, but your thoughts weren’t here. Each step you took backwards was goading your attacker, but it was also leading you closer to Bucky. “How bad?” you followed up, a kick sharp to your ribs knocking the breath out of you but the feeling was secondary to everything else going on in your mind.

“Don’t worry about me,” he replied. The words eased your anxiety–marginally–and let you be more present in the fight at your feet, not the one down the hall.

Everything in your body ached, and you didn’t know if the blood sliding down your temple was from where you’d collided with every sharp edge of the staircase, or from one of the hits your opponent had managed to land.

If you had to wager, you’d probably say it was from both.

You tasted blood against your teeth, and you finally landed a combo that brought the man to his knees… but before you could finish the job he was back on his feet, grabbing you by the throat and pinning you to the wall. Your legs kicked several feet off the ground as he lifted you, the force cutting off your airflow.

He knocked your head against the concrete hard enough to make your ears ring, and you brought your fists down with everything you had against his elbows–trying to break them down, give you some kind of opening, but they were locked and rigid.

“Bucky!” you choked out, praying to a god you didn’t really believe in that he heard you. When the gloved hand tightened around the column of your throat you felt the lack of oxygen clouding your brain, vision darkening around the edges.

You fell to the floor suddenly, knees colliding painfully with the concrete as you sucked in a desperate breath. Your lungs burned as you coughed, trying to force the air down around the panic that had begun to settle deep in your bones.

A gunshot fell on your muffled ears, but you didn’t flinch. Somewhere in the back of your mind you instinctively knew it was Bucky, and you pressed your palms flat against the cool floor to try and ground yourself… but Bucky’s slid over them, gripping and trying to get you to focus on him.

“Hey,” he said softly, reaching out and tilting your chin up. As soon as you looked into those stormy blue eyes you felt some of the anxiety ease, and he made quick work looking you over. “Talk to me, are you okay?” His gaze was holding yours with a little too much weight and you swore he might have flinched when he saw the outline of the man’s hands already appearing around your neck… but maybe you’d been deprived of air for too long.

You nodded, trying to hide your wince as he helped you to your feet. “Never better,” you replied, taking a step back and trying to put some distance between you. “Did you get it?”

He gave you a slightly deadpan look, holding a flash drive between his thumb and index finger that you quickly snatched to zip safely into a pocket inside your suit.

“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” you sighed.

You slid Bucky’s spare helmet on your head with practiced ease and took your spot behind him on the bike… a routine done so many times neither of you even thought as your limbs moved.

He reached back and tapped twice against your calf, you tapped twice against his chest, and his bike roared into action.

You let yourself relax, just slightly, as you held onto Bucky and weaved through the busy streets of the foreign city. The cool night air felt like pure relief as it kissed your skin, and if you knew he wouldn’t yell at you, you’d have taken the helmet off to let it wash over you fully.

Your chin rested lightly on his shoulder, watching the way the streetlights blurred around you, as the weight of the night crashed heavy over your frame. His arm moved down to your leg, metal stretching down the length of it and gripping your calf, holding you firm as he took a tight turn, bike tilting closer to the pavement. He let it linger for a moment as it straightened out, knowing you were momentarily rattled by the mission even if you wouldn’t say it, and he gave you a soft squeeze that said more than he could in that moment.

You shifted, cheek pressing against his back, eyes fluttering closed and arms still tight around his torso. You thought to yourself that you loved these moments with Bucky maybe more than anything. Just you and him, the stretch of road, and the air whipping around you. You both were always outrunning danger, outrunning death, but on this bike it felt like it couldn’t catch you. Like nothing could… and Bucky was thinking the same thing.

He didn’t need to look back at you to know you’d shut your eyes, and his grip on the handlebars tightened. The feeling of you wrapped around him, placing your trust right in the palm of his hands did something to him that he didn’t want to think about too much. You shot through the night, barely a blur to stationary eyes, and you had relaxed into him and closed your eyes. The weight of that had clawed its way into Bucky’s chest, made a home somewhere under his ribs, and he hated how much he liked it.

You hopped off the bike with ease, looking up at the motel that would have been unappealing on its best day like it was a beacon of comfort and sanctuary, and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly at the way your heavy footsteps trudged all the way to the door.

You stood there for a moment, staring at it like it might open itself… and so did he.

“Aren’t you gonna open it?” you asked, brow furrowing.

“Was gonna ask you the same thing, princess.”

You just looked at each other for a moment, trying to process.

“I don’t have the key,” you said and his eyes widened.

“Well, I don’t have it either,” he replied and you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“I saw Fury give you the key.”

“Then you took it after we dropped our shit off.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered. “World’s best assassin.” You patted along your suit, trying to feel for a key you knew you didn’t have. “Can’t keep track of a fucking motel key.”

“You talking about me or you?” He wasn’t able to keep the smirk off his face, despite his exhaustion.

“You know what?” you asked and he raised his eyebrows expectantly, but his expression dropped almost as fast as you did to your knees right in front of him.

“What the hell are you-” he stopped short, watching you pull a bobby pin from your hair to stick into the door handle.

“Oh,” he murmured, a sheepish hand landing on the back of his neck, and you huffed a soft laugh, turning back to give him an amused glance as you jimmied the door open. He was grateful you couldn’t see the heat in his cheeks under the cover of night, or the way he locked his gaze on the door rather than you beneath him.

You took his hand when he offered it, and pushed into the sparse room with a sigh. You were ready to sink into your post-mission routine when you caught a glimpse of the key resting on the dresser, just beside his things, and you turned to look at him triumphantly.

“Aha!” you said, pointing. “I knew I didn’t take it.”

“You can be so petulant sometimes,” he muttered. “At least you’re consistent. Like a common criminal.”

You scoffed. “And thank god for it.”

“You want first shower?” He was already pulling a change of clothes out and you shook your head, busying yourself with propping your tablet up beside him.

“Go ahead, gonna get this to Fury.”

His gaze on you lingered for a moment, but you didn’t notice, and he disappeared into the bathroom like it hadn’t happened.

Your fingers traced the spot where your opponent had grabbed you, wincing at how tender it felt. You waited for the intel to load, mind drifting to what could have happened if Bucky hadn’t made it in time.

You shook off the thought.

Bucky always got to you. 

It wasn’t just your easy dynamic, or deep-seated feelings you refused to acknowledge that kept you from asking Fury to reassign you… it was that he never left you behind.

There were moments where he could have, where you nor anyone else would have blamed him. When it was too dangerous to go back for you, when it would have compromised him as much as you were… he always showed up.

And you did the same for him.

Countless missions, countless brushes with death. You’d both die before leaving the other behind.

You walked out together, or you didn’t walk out at all.

The tablet dinged and you pulled out the flash drive, tucking into your bag and pulling out your pajamas just as Bucky opened the bathroom door.

He was towel drying his hair, white tee and low-slung grey sweats hugging him in a way you tried really hard not to focus on.

“Don’t get mad that there’s no hot water,” he said, almost sheepishly. “There wasn’t any when I got in.”

You huffed an unamused laugh, meeting his eye for just a moment. “Only the best for Fury’s top agents,” you joked before shutting the door behind you.

You didn’t linger under the icy stream, not wanting to spend any more time than you had to. Each movement tugged and pulled at your muscles in a way that made you fight a groan–you didn’t want to make a peep. Not with Bucky and his super soldier hearing on the other side of the door. It’d only make him worry, and all you wanted was sleep.

When you re-emerged he was already laying on his side of the bed, closest to the door like always, and you finally noticed the fact that there was in fact only one–and you breathed a light sigh of relief. You should have been annoyed, you had a suspicion Fury actually kept doing this to you both for his own amusement, but you didn’t care. Even with the firm boundary of six inches between you, you always slept better beside Bucky. You felt safe, and you were more rested after a long mission than you were on a normal night in the compound.

He watched you carefully as you tucked your suit into your bag and went through your usual routine of getting ready for bed. Each new bruise he spotted made him shift upright, concern darkening his expression, and he was quickly in motion when he saw the cut above your eyebrow he’d missed before.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered and your eyebrow pinched at his sudden movement.

“What are you doing?” you asked, hovering in the center of the room, and you almost thought he looked mad for a second.

“Would you sit down?” he huffed, grabbing the med kit from his bag and you followed his orders despite your resigned sigh.

“It’s fine, Bucky.”

“No,” he said, voice firm as he moved in between your legs. “It’s really not.” He tilted your chin up to get a better look at it, disapproval settling deep in his features.

“It’s just a scratch.”

He gave you a deadpan look, running an alcohol swab across it. You hissed, hand shooting out to grab the hem of his shirt. You bunched it in your fist, fingers grazing the skin just above the waistband of his sweats and you felt him tense under your touch. You dropped your hand like he’d burned you, keeping your eyes on your own lap to avoid his gaze.

“Should have called for me sooner,” he muttered, carefully applying butterfly bandages like he was scared you’d shatter if he pressed too hard.

“Was a little preoccupied,” you replied and you could see just how unamused he was with you. “I had him,” you added. “Until he decided choking me out was a good plan.”

He was quiet as his hand settled on the side of your neck, thumb lightly tracing along the bruise that was growing angrier as it settled deep in your skin. You hated the warmth that flooded through you at the small contact, and the way his concerned eyes seemed to be burning right into your soul. 

“You could have died.”

“But I didn’t,” you whispered, voice barely audible through the silence. “You always show up.”

“Almost didn’t,” he muttered. “I was pinned. Thought I wouldn’t make it in time…” he trailed off, giving you another once over to make sure he didn’t miss anything. 

“He had you-” he hesitated, jaw tight. “By the throat, doll.” His voice was tight, stretching like it was about to break and your expression softened.

“I know.” You gave him your best reassuring look. “But I’m alright. Always am.”

He nodded once, unconvinced, and you sank back into the mattress as he put the kit away.

Something tense had settled over the room as you pulled the covers higher, but you didn’t know how to address it. Bucky always worried, you joked it was his inner old man coming out, but something in the way he’d held your gaze felt different. Something churned beneath the surface of his gaze, something you couldn’t name. You didn’t want to read into it–to let your mind wander into forbidden territory but the more the silence lingered the harder it was.

This wasn’t the first time you’d nearly died, wasn’t even the worst brush with it. You wanted to ask why this time had seemingly lodged itself under his skin but you couldn’t force the words past your lips.

The bed dipped under his weight as he slid in beside you, leaving a few inches of space like he always did but it didn’t matter. You could feel the warmth of him immediately, the pull to sink into it was almost gravitational but you resisted and leaned over to turn off the lamp.

You both laid silently, staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, waiting to see if the other would say something but neither of you seemed willing to break.

His vibranium hand twitched on his chest and he exhaled softly, the weight finally pressing down hard enough.

“I’m going to say something.”

Your head tilted slightly towards him, but you didn’t move your eyes from the ceiling.

“Okay.”

“I didn’t have to kill that guy.” He paused, considering his next words. “I wanted to, because he was trying to kill you.”

Your breath caught somewhere in your throat. You knew the relationship he had with taking a life. No matter how justified, it always stirred old feelings and you never wanted him to do that for you unless he had to. “Bucky-”

“That doesn’t bother me,” he cut you off. “Maybe it should, but it doesn’t. What bothers me is how indifferent you are to dying.”

You sighed softly. “I’m not indifferent to dying.”

“Could have fooled me.” The words were sharp, but there was no edge to them.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, voice quiet.

“You always scare me,” he exhaled. “Everything you do scares the hell out of me.”

You didn’t respond, couldn’t find any words to say as your heart started to thump unevenly in your chest.

“I try not to worry because I know you can handle yourself,” he continued. “But in those moments when you can’t…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence.

You finally turned to look at him, eyes settling on his profile and you felt something clench deep behind your ribs at the emotion he was trying to keep off his face. 

“You’re important to me,” he said after a few moments, and this caught you off guard. You knew that… at least in theory. He’d never said it so explicitly, but he never had to. He said it through actions, in his own way.

“I know,” you whispered.

“No, I don’t think you do, doll.” he replied, erring on a sigh. You rolled over onto your side to face him fully, delicately, like if you moved too fast you’d break the moment. “I tried not to care about you, thought it would be too hard. You almost remind me of Steve, if he had a mouth like yours and a habit of driving me crazy.”

You breathed a short laugh.

“I didn’t want to care because I knew if I did, it’d be too much when you left.”

“I haven’t gone anywhere, have I?” You hadn’t been able to find any words until now, but those ones flowed out easily.

“Not yet,” he said, turning his head towards you and you felt your breath catch when he finally met your eyes.

You hesitated, just long enough for the silence to stretch. “Not ever.”

“You can’t say things like that,” he muttered and your brows pinched together.

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t mean it.”

You fixed him with a firm look, something close to irritation tugging in your chest. “I do mean it.”

He looked back at the ceiling. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve… changed since we started working together. You’re harsher, quicker to the trigger. I don’t want to rub off on you more than I already have.” You could see it clearly even if he was fighting to hide it–guilt. “You’re too good for me to be dragging you down, doll.”

You let out a sigh, not annoyed, just hurt. “You think you’re the big bad wolf corrupting little red riding hood?” 

“Well-”

“Fury paired you with me because my heart got in the way too much. I gave second chances to people that used them to try and kill me, and I almost fucked up missions looking for good in people that wasn’t there.”

He didn’t respond.

“I was a great agent before I met you, but I made bad calls because I thought I could give people the same second chance that was given to me. I found a balance… because of you. I’m alive because of you, Bucky.”

You could see the confusion flicker behind his eyes, like he knew he’d said something wrong but wasn’t sure what. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Of course you didn’t.” You rolled back over and stared at the ceiling, feeling the crack of your heart as you did. “You just said you’re not good enough to be around. How is that not upsetting?”

“I’m not. And I don’t care if you think being my partner has helped you–all I can see is you becoming more like me and I can’t stand it.”

“Because being like you is such a bad thing?” Your eyes darted back to him again, but he wasn’t looking at you anymore. He was worrying his cheek between his teeth, gaze hard as he stared above him.

“Yes.”

That hit low and stayed there, stubborn and sore. You could feel something dancing on your tongue that you wanted to bury… so you did.

“You’re a fucking idiot,” you huffed, shuffling out from under the covers and standing.

He propped himself up on his elbows, shocked by your sudden movement, and watched as you grabbed a pair of pants from your bag.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“I don’t–” you stopped, searching for the answer yourself. “I don’t know.” He sighed when your shorts hit the floor, then quickly crossed the room, catching your wrist. Not rough, but firm–enough to make you pause.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

“What happened to knowing I could handle myself?” Your hands were shaking and Bucky was having a hard time figuring out what had made you snap like this, why you were refusing to look him in the eye.

“That’s not–fuck,” he muttered. “You’re not going anywhere because you’re angry and I can’t let you walk away like this. Can we just-” he stopped himself and ran a hand through his hair. “Can we just rewind? Go back and start this conversation over?”

“I don’t know how to pretend this conversation never happened.”

He looked lost, like he was searching for what he’d said wrong… and you weren’t stopping, so he grabbed the pants you were trying to step into and threw them somewhere behind you.

You stared at him, exasperation evident, the heat rising in your chest.

“Are you serious?”

“What the hell just happened?” He stared down at you but you wouldn’t look up. “One minute we’re having a conversation and the next you’re trying to storm out into a bad part of town in the middle of the night.”

You finally tilted your head up, and his face softened. Your eyes burned, throat tightening as you fought to keep your face blank, but he noticed… he always did. 

“Talk to me,” he pleaded, voice gentler than it had just been. “Please just tell me what I said wrong.”

“You know, I was actually proud of myself for the way I’ve learned from you?” you asked, not really expecting an answer. You turned around and bent over to pick up your pants, and Bucky’s eyes darted away, jaw tight.

“Then I find out you actually think less of me for-”

“I do not think less of you-”

“That’s not even why I’m mad!” you yelled, throwing your jeans back onto the floor with a frustrated huff after stumbling trying to pull them on.

“Why are you mad? Make me understand here, sweetheart, because I’m having a real hard time figuring out how to fix this.”

Hearing him say sweetheart in that low tone made you falter, and he caught it.

He took a step closer and hooked your chin to keep your eyes on him when you tried to look away. 

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, voice dropping to nearly a whisper, trying to coax it out of you. “Please just talk to me.”

“Don’t,” you warned, pushing his arm away and taking a step back. “You don’t get to say you’re not good enough and then use the fact that I care to make me talk.”

“Is that really what this is about?”

“Of course it is!” you snapped. “I fucking love you, Bucky. And I am so tired of you acting like you’re unlovable. Like you don’t deserve something good.”

“I’m not,” he shot back, not even registering what you’d just said. “Not from you. Do you really think I could let myself–let you–get closer to me than you already are?”

“You don’t get to decide how I feel!” You were at the end of your rope, hands still shaking. “I love you, and you’re just going to have to figure out how to deal with that.”

The first time hadn’t sunk in, but the second made Bucky’s heart stop in his chest with a painful clench that nearly winded him. You loved him… but you weren’t done.

“I thought- fuck,” you shook your head, trying to organize your thoughts. “I have never expected you to feel the same way about me, but I can’t take you acting like I’m some delicate flower you’re bound to poison. I can’t listen to it and not tell you that I’m unbearably fucking in love with you.”

He didn’t say anything. He just stared at you with a look that you couldn’t read and you felt like you’d ripped your heart out and handed it to him just to watch him step on it.

The more the silence dragged, the more you itched to run… so you did.

You managed to tug your jeans up your legs as you said, “so to answer your question, yeah. I’m trying to storm out in the middle of the night because I can’t do whatever this is anymore. I’ll ask Fury to reassign me.”

You walked past him, each step laced with uncertainty and heartbreak, but you never made it to the door.

He caught your wrist and spun you around. You stumbled, colliding with his chest, hands braced on the firm muscle. You lifted your head to look up at him, eyes wide and scared of what he might say, but his mouth was on yours before you could even get a word out.

His lips were hungry, demanding and possessive as if he could etch his response into your skin… and then they were gone as soon as they’d appeared, leaving you reeling and breathless as he stepped back with a huff.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough with conflict. “I can’t–I’m only going to hurt you. You deserve better. Better than me.”

You just blinked for a moment, one hand coming up to touch your lips like you were trying to convince yourself it was real.

“Are you being serious right now?” you asked, and his head snapped up.

“What?” 

“Do you need me to lay it all out? Is that it?”

“I don’t-”

“You never let me walk on the outside of the sidewalk. You’ve seen me kill people with my bare hands, but god forbid I walk too close to the street,” you started, letting out an unamused chuckle. “You keep an extra knife in your boot just for me, because you know I like to throw mine and then get mad when I don’t have it. Sometimes in the middle of the night you jolt awake, just to look at me. To make sure I’m still there. You think I don’t notice, but I do… it’s the only way I can sleep, and I sleep like shit at the compound because I don’t feel safe unless you’re near me.”

“Sweetheart-” he tried, but you just cut him off again, unable to stop now that you’d started.

“When I manage to make you laugh in the middle of a mission it actually feels like my heart is glowing and it’s disgusting,” you huffed, laughing despite yourself. You weren’t even making an effort to hide the tears that managed to slip down your cheeks. “I could listen to you laugh for the rest of my life and it still probably wouldn’t be enough. I’ve never cared about impressing anyone in the gym, but god–when you give me that infuriating little smirk of yours when I manage to catch you off guard, it makes me feel like I can do anything. You make me feel like I can do anything.”

You took a step forward and closed the distance. “You’re scared of hurting me. But I don’t think you realize–this, right now, is hurting me. You thinking you’re not good enough. That you’re not deserving of something good.”

His hands twitched at his sides, desperately wanting to reach out and grab you, but he held himself back.

“You deserve it more than anyone. And I’m not scared of you, Bucky. You’re not broken, not some ruined thing that needs fixed. I don’t even care if it’s not me, if you don’t want this or if you don’t feel the same, I just need you to stop acting like you don’t deserve it.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he sighed, small and broken, finally reaching out to grab your waist and pull you closer.

He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb brushing along your cheek as he looked down at you like you were something holy–sent to save and curse him all at once.

“I take the outside of the sidewalk, and bring an extra knife, and wake up just to check up on you because I love you.” he said, letting it hang for a moment as his hand on your waist tightened. “I love you so much, it scares the hell out of me… and I didn’t know how else to show you that. It didn’t feel fair to give it to you straight because this isn’t normal or easy, and I didn’t want to drag you into it.”

He took a deep breath. “You think I’m not damaged, but I am. I’ve got some serious shit I’m still working through, and I didn’t want to put you through that.”

“You’re putting me through it anyway,” you said. “Might as well let me hold your hand because I hate watching you do it alone.”

He just looked you over for a moment, searching for any trace of uncertainty in your eyes but all he found was an unwavering love that rattled him to his core.

He leaned down and kissed you–not fiery and desperate like the first time. Properly, slowly, like it should have been.

“Our lives were never meant to be normal and easy, Bucky,” you said when he pulled back, a hint of your usual mischief in your eyes that he loved so much. “I met you fighting weird alien robots that looked like bugs.”

He laughed, handing you that favorite sound of yours that made you flush, before giving you another slow, deep kiss.

“I wanna take you out,” he mumbled against your lips. “Something normal, like real people do.”

The ghost of a smirk tugged at your features. “You gonna ask me to go steady at the end of it, Sergeant Barnes?”

He fought a groan at hearing you pull out his long-forgotten rank. “Don’t call me that before date three–and I might.”

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, nose brushing his.

“You think you’re making it to date three?” you teased and a slow, satisfied grin tugged at his lips.

“You did just scream at me over the fact that you’re in love with me,” he said, bringing his hands down to the top button of your jeans, slowly undoing it without breaking eye contact. “I think I can get a lot more out of you than three dates.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t deny it.

He caught the way your eyes tracked him as he sank onto the floor, tugging your jeans down your legs and holding your calves to help you step out of them. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, mildly scolding.

His hands slid up to the backs of your thighs and you couldn’t help but thread your fingers through his hair when he gently kissed below the hem of your shirt, a soft breath escaping… but he was back at your lips before you could even blink.

“Come on, off to bed,” he ordered, and you huffed a small laugh of disbelief.

“You’re a tease, Sergeant.”

“Shouldn’t have told you I liked that,” he muttered, sliding in beside you. “Call me old-fashioned, but I want to do this right–earn the privilege to have you like that.”

Your cheeks flushed and you bit back a smile as you settled beneath the covers.

“You’re very old fashioned,” you teased and he gave you a deadpan look. “But I think it’s perfect.” You leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek, lingering for just a moment. “I’d wait as long as you wanted.”

You eyed the space between you. “Is the invisible boundary still in effect until date three?”

He chuckled and reached out, pulling you flush against him and you laid your head against his chest, listening to the steady thud of his heart as you wrapped an arm around his torso.

You lay like that for a few minutes, letting what had just happened wash over you as your eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of his arms holding you so securely, and the way he kept pressing kisses to the top of your head.

He reached down, gently tilting your chin towards him and your breath stalled when you caught those blue eyes you loved so much, holding yours just as intensely as they always did, but with something else in them now–completely unguarded.

“I need you to know I’ll never do anything to intentionally hurt you.”

You nodded, “I already knew that, Bucky.”

He leaned down to press his lips to yours, short and sweet before either of you let it turn into something heated.

“And I sleep better next to you, too,” he said, letting his thumb trail along your bottom lip. “Never have nightmares when you’re next to me.”

You smiled softly, cupping his cheek and tracing your thumb across his cheekbone. “I’ll be here if you ever do.”

He kissed you again, like he was trying to tell you something he didn’t have the words for, and you felt every one deep in your chest.

You chased his lips when he pulled away and he smirked against you, giving you one, then two, then three more quick kisses that made you giggle.

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, Sergeant.”

[mcondance]

Smoke with barely legal virgin reader who he makes ride them for their first time since they “wanted to be grown” and “was talking all that slick shit at the juke joint”

don’t hate me but i feel like this is more elias than elijah sorry friend tw big ass age gap, reader is quite literally freshly 18 so talks of that, elias is a nasty man, reader is a virgin, uses of “girl”, written in a southern accent

oh my god yeah.

just turned 18 a little less than 3 months ago, can still smell the milk on your breath when he’s close enough. can still see that sparkle in your eyes, the same sparkle you look at him with when you’re talking shit that gets his dick hard and so obviously trying to make yourself look older than you are.

elias can see through it all. with those wild eyes, he can see straight through that silky little dress and right on through to your body underneath it, the body you slink over the counter top in a vain attempt to gain his attention.

unfortunately, fortunately, for you, elias has never been the twin to make the rational decisions.

“she a baby,” smoke tells him, ducked off in the corner the day elias starts to give in, but elias is chewing on a toothpick imagining what he could do to you.

“shit,” he starts, “that girl know what she wan’. can’t give her nothin’ she ain’ been askin’ fa’.”

“gon’ give that girl what she askin’ for and see how that work ou’.”

elias ain’t never listened to his brother when it came to women, and he don’t plan on starting now. not when you ‘bout the easiest lil’ thing he’s seen in a long time.

he don’t know how it happened and you don’t either, but someway you end up at the little place he bought with straight cash, that little green dress he’s had the eyes for decorating the body he’s soon to have his way with.

he isn’t your first kiss, but he’s your first kiss like this. he don’t care that you haven’t been touched, he don’t care that the way he’s kissing you and licking into your mouth is definitely too much for a virgin like you, he don’t even care that you’re obviously overwhelmed and biting off more than you can chew.

he loves this shit.

he don’t respect you enough to take your clothes off, and he damn sure don’t respect you enough to even lead you to his bed. right on the couch is how he’s gonna take it from you, thighs spread under you while you grind on him and think to yourself about just how you’re gonna take all of it.

“ay, girl, get this up,” he slurs against your lips, pulling at your dress before he reaches for his belt buckle. desperate and willing, you meet him there and help him loosen his belt and then you’re reaching into his pants and pulling him out of his boxers. overzealous little thing, excited, eyes bigger than your cunt.

“you grown, girl?” he asks, rubbing himself through your oh-so abundant wetness, his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, golds shinin’ like his blown eyes. you nod, whining as you feel his tip glide against you like cold whiskey down your throat. “yeah?”

you feel grown right now. grown as hell. growner than you’ve ever felt before.

“lemme see how grown you is, then. baby talkin’ all tha’ slick shit at the joint, lemme put that money where that mouth is.”

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared. but stack’s so fine and it’s now or never, you can’t go back on your word after all you said and done. you wouldn’t go back even if you wanted to. you ain’t letting this go.

elias fucks you like you’ve been takin’ dick for years. hands wrapped around you, big hand pressed to the middle of your back, he stuffs you full and has you choking on your words, has your thoughts jumbling and folding in on each other. green fabric slips down your shoulders and leaves your whole chest bare for his disgusting eyes.

elias feels powerful, and vile all the same. goddamn cradle robber and he don’t feel nothing but pride and power.

“you just a baby, girl, don’ know nothing. but i’ll teach ya’. i’ll teach you good, girl. learn you everythang you wanna know.”

[p1astr81]

second dad zone - op81

synopsis: you have to go into work unexpectedly on a Saturday. The only person who could watch your daughter on short notice is your boyfriend, Oscar, and your little girl almost kills him (not literally).

an: sorry ik I have a lot of reqs I’m just in a bit of a block so I was hoping this would help me out of that😭

It was mid morning. The birds were chirping and light poured into the flat. Isla emerged from the hallway. Her tiny fist rubbed at her eye, trying to wipe the sleep away with unmatched ferocity.

She skipped the stretching this morning, hopping right out of bed when she smelt bacon and eggs. Her favorite.

But she paused when she entered the kitchen. Her mum wasn’t the one cooking, but her mum’s good friend. “Oscah?” Her little voice called, breaking from the remnants of sleep. “Where’s my mummy?” Her beady eyes searched the flat, but couldn’t find what she was looking for.

Oscar turned to respond, but the words died on his tongue as his eyes focused on what she was wearing.

Too many sizes too large, her little feet tripped over the hem of his home race hoodie.

His heart wanted to burst. He knew she probably thought nothing of it, but it meant everything to him.

He agreed with you when you suggested that your relationship be kept from Isla. ‘She’s young and her dad still visits sometimes, I just don’t want to confuse her or make her feel like I’m trying to… i don’t know.’ He recalled you explaining. It made sense, but that didn’t mean he didn’t see her as his daughter. He’d known her since before she could walk, and now she can tell stories with incredible details. It was only natural that he developed such a connection.

So when he saw her wearing his name, he felt loved by her. Like it was her way of accepting him into her life.

It was silly, but that didn’t change how he felt.

“She’s at work, but I made you breakfast if you want to eat.” He offered.

She took a couple steps towards him before she paused again. “But she said she didn’t have work today.”

“Something came up. It’s okay, it happens. She shouldn’t be long.”

Her big brown eyes blinked up at him. “Mummy usually takes me to daycare.”

He frowned. “I know, but you can’t go to daycare today.”

“Why?” She asked.

He shrugged. “It’s not open.”

“Why?”

“Well, many parents don’t work on Saturdays, so they don’t need to be open.”

“Why?”

“Do you want breakfast?” He interjected before it got out of hand. She could ask ‘why?’ all day if you’d let her.

She nodded pointedly, then wrapped her arms around herself, the excess sleeves hanging off her hands. “I’m cold.” Her little feet stepped closer to Oscar.

“Okay, I can-“ he stopped short seeing her little hands reach up for him, asking to be picked up. So he did, setting her on his hip—or at least trying to. She eased into him, her head on his shoulder while she watched him cook.

“You’re warm.” She muttered, her arms wrapping around his neck.

Oscar swore he could cry, or die, or spontaneously combust right there on the spot. Genuinely, he didn’t know what to do with himself.

And after breakfast, when she voluntarily joined him on the couch and curled into his side saying, “you’re a good dad.” He thought he actually felt his heart stop beating.

Because he was making his way out of the ‘Oscar, just mum’s friend’ zone to ‘Oscar, Isla’s second dad’ zone.

[kanescrochet]

Between stitches and silence

Simon 'ghost' riley x reader

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

The kettle whistled in the kitchen, but you didn’t rush to it. You knew he’d turn it off. He always did when he stayed over—slipped in quietly from the night like a ghost (literally), made his rounds through the flat, checked windows and locks, then turned off the kettle before it annoyed either of you. You sat curled on the couch, legs tucked beneath a chunky cardigan you’d been working on all month. The hook lay in your lap, caught mid-stitch. Across from you, Simon Riley stood in your hallway, slowly peeling off layers of war. The jacket hit the wall hook. Vest on the floor, neatly folded. Then came the gloves and the mask—always last.

His face was tired, stubble thicker than usual, shadows deeper under his eyes.

“Long week?” you asked softly.

“Something like that.”

He didn’t offer details. You never asked for them. That was the rhythm of this strange thing between you. He came when he could. You gave him peace. He left again, and you waited.

You patted the couch beside you, shifting your cardigan and picking up your hook again. “Sit. Let me finish this row or it’ll drive me mad.”

Simon obliged, sinking onto the couch with the slow, careful movements of someone who’d spent too long under fire. He glanced down at the cardigan as you worked. It was soft, thick, in a heather gray-blue that matched the color of early morning fog.

“Is this the one you started last time I was here?” he asked.

“Yeah. Figured I should actually finish something instead of hoarding yarn like a cryptid.”

A quiet grunt of amusement. He leaned back, letting his head rest against the cushion, eyes drifting shut—not sleep, not yet.

You paused. “Take your goggles off.”

“I did.”

“The ones inside your head, Riley.”

That earned a real chuckle. He shifted, stretched out more fully along the couch, and before you could say anything, his head gently came to rest in your lap. You blinked, hands still full of yarn.

He looked up at you, one brow raised slightly. “Don’t stop.”

A lump formed in your throat that had nothing to do with emotion and everything to do with how careful he was being. Like the touch might break.

You resumed crocheting slowly, the yarn looping through your fingers as your hands moved rhythmically above him. He closed his eyes, his breathing slow and steady against your leg.

The room filled with quiet: the ticking of the old radiator, the faint rustle of your cardigan-in-progress, the safe hush of a home untouched by war.

“Why a cardigan?” he mumbled after a while, barely audible.

“Because it wraps around people. Like a hug you can wear.”

You felt his breath hitch, then settle again.

“I’ll pretend I don’t want one,” he muttered, voice already halfway into sleep.

You smiled down at him, brushing a piece of his hair back. “That’s alright. I’ll just ‘accidentally’ make one in your size next.”

Outside, the city murmured, but inside, the ghost had found his shelter.

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

[ibrithir-was-here]

While You Were Sleeping (Beauty)

Yes, I was the one who cursed Princess Rosamund to die.

And yes, it was because they didn't send me an invitation to her christening.

And because there was no gold plate for me when I showed up anyway.

And also because I was seven, and a spoiled brat, and I expected to be treated with the dignity my title as the Elder Fairy deserved, despite having held it for only a week.

Granny was the Elder Fairy before me, and she'd been the Elder Fairy for as long as anyone could remember. Longer even than the current Oak Fairy had been in her title, and she was at least as old as the kingdom. 

I don't know if she was my real Granny. She never talked about who my parents were, though I knew she'd had a daughter at one point. A prince had carried her off long ago, and Granny rarely ever spoke of her, though sometimes I'd catch her crying over an old cracked hairbrush. 

I'd lived my whole life in Granny's tower, just her and me. Oh there'd been various cats of all shapes,sizes, and temperaments, assorted birds, some enchanted, some not. Occasionally a toad or two. But Granny overall kept to herself, in the old stone tower with no door nor ladder, in the deepest part of the Deep Dark Woods.

I admit, this choice of location likely made it extremely difficult for any messenger carrying said invitation to ever reach her. 

But then again, if the wandering prince had managed to find his way there and make it back out while literally blind, then a professionally trained courier certainly could at least have tried. 

As it was, she died the week before the Christening even happened. 

So you can imagine,  I wasn't in the best state of mind to begin with when I finally got to the party.

Which isn't really an excuse for wishing death upon a baby, especially one who hadn't even so much as spit up on me. She didn't even cry, with all that hustle and bustle and noise and nerve going on. 

I would have cried. I wanted to cry. I wanted to cry about the noise, and having to fly so far, and how there wasn't even a place for me when I did get there, and how all the other fairies from Yew to Apple kept raising their eyebrows and whispering over me, and how much I missed missed missed my Granny, who was never coming back because she was literally dust now.

One minute, she'd been spinning at her spinning wheel, she'd pricked her finger, said “oh”---and the next she was gone. No rhyme or reason to it. She just finally got so Old that even Magic couldn't keep the candle of her life lit anymore.

She went the way of all fairies. There one moment, and in a blink of an eye, gone. Nothing but dust in the wind. Drifting out open window, out over the tops of the trees. Over the hills and far far away.

Leaving me the new Elder Tree Fairy--and  all alone. 

But I couldn't cry,  I couldn't. Because I was the Elder Fairy now, and I was supposed to give a Gift to the newborn baby princess.

The princess who was cooing so sweetly in her little bassinet. All golden and warm and loved.

I don't think I ever felt real Hate until that moment. Looking down at a baby, knowing she was alive and loved and so happy, while my Granny was dead and gone I was so miserable. 

So. I cursed her.

I didn't really mean it mean it, of course. I didn't want her to actually die. I just said it in the heat of a moment. I only meant it a little. 

But of course, Meaning anything in any amount when you're a Fairy still counts.

That's Magic.

I avoided being thrown into a dungeon or worse purely due to my age, and the quick thinking of the Yew fairy, who managed to twist my ill-wish into something less lethal, though certainly more complicated.

Needless to say, the party was ruined.

The Princess and I were both whisked away. She went to some safe location far away from spinning wheels--though after the king’s decree that was really anywhere within a five mile radius of the kingdom-- and I was taken to someplace far away from her.

From then on I was kept under close watch by all the Fairies of the Circle, to ensure that nothing like this ever happened again. The  Alder Fairy was to take over my duties until it was determined I could actually handle them. 

They were all very sorry about Granny of course, and understood I was overwhelmed when I'd done what I did, but they couldn't have the Thirteenth Fairy of the Sacred Circle going around accidentally cursing the heirs of the royal families. 

They needn't have worried. After I came to myself and realized the full magnitude of what I'd almost done, I made a vow to myself to never use my Magic ever ever ever again. 

And I managed to keep that vow too. For sixteen years afterwards I managed to keep it. Not an easy thing to do when surrounded by other fairies and while technically being part of the magical counsel dedicated to watching over the kingdoms.

But I did it. I kept my head down,and rolled up my sleeves. I did whatever I could to help people of the town I'd been paroled to without the use of Magic. 

Cooking, mending, midwifing, herb craft. Anything and everything in daily life that didn't involve aiding third sons on impossible quests or giving deserving merchants' daughters fabulous gowns. I even got to where I would shod horse shoes, despite the sting of the iron.

I was determined to keep to my vow. Determined to show I was Good.

And I tried not to flinch too much whenever the story of the poor princess who was cursed by The Wicked Fairy came up.

I didn't have friends, I kept to myself outside of my works of penance. Better that way, safer. I couldn't hurt anyone if I didn't get close enough to care enough to Mean anything. 

I was lonely yes.

But I was also almost happy.

As happy as I had any right to be.

And then, wherever she was hidden away, the princess somehow got her hands--or rather finger--on a spinning wheel.

I felt it in my bones the moment the Curse took.

I ended up hunched over right  in the high street, and was sick all over my shoes. 

Even as far away as I was, I could feel the rush of my ill-wish as it stung, caught hold, and began to tangle itself all about the Princess and everyone near her. 

And me.

Oh I didn't fall asleep for the next one hundred years.

But I did start to dream.

It took a few years, time enough for me to think that, despite the fact the kingdom was now trying to find it's footing under a regency council, perhaps all would go as the Yew fairy had said, and I could again sink back into my day to day life knowing all would be well.

But one night, the night that marked 20 years since the day of the Worst Thing I Ever Did, I dreamed of her. 

I started out wandering about the courtyard. It was strewn with bodies, like there'd been a huge battle, only none of them were bleeding out, just softly breathing, softer than the hum of a dragonfly.  Then I was wandering into a hallway, past more sleepers, up a set of stairs hidden behind a rather terrible tapestry, and around and around the curves of a lofty tower. 

And there, at the very top, sitting on a bed, looking out the window, long golden hair waving in a wind that stirred nothing else, was Princess Rosamund.

“Oh!” She cried, starting up from her seat and gazing at me with eyes as blue as a robin's egg.  “You-you're awake!”

“Er--” I began, utterly baffled at the proper thing to say to someone who's life you've basically ruined. Perhaps “Please please please forgive me I know I don't deserve it--”

But I didn't have the chance to get as far as the first ‘Please’ before suddenly her arms were around me and my arms were full of her.

I thought for a moment she was attempting to strangle me, and had truthfully very little intention of stopping her, I felt she was rather owed the attempt. But this presumption of attempted revenge was shattered by her next words:

“Oh I am so so glad not to be alone anymore! Its been horrid being the only one awake. I mean, I know I'm asleep out there but I didn't think I'd be alone in the dream and--oh it's good to have someone to talk to!  Did the Yew fairy send you to me? I've been praying and praying to have someone here with me. What's your name?”

I blinked. Stared at the beaming woman who still had her arms wrapped up around my neck in an embrace, as if I were a trusted friend, as if I were a savior there to sweep her away from her loneliness and isolation.

And not the very cause of it all. 

She looked at me as if I were Good. 

I blinked again. Swallowed. 

“My name…” I started, stopped. She would not know my name from her past. Fairies names are tightly guarded, even among themselves. Her father’s court only knew me as The Elder Fairy. The stories as The Wicked Fairy. 

To know a fairy's name was to have power over them.

Well, if anyone was owed that, it was Princess Rosamund.

“My name is Carabosse”, I said, telling her one of my deepest truths.

And then, looking at her looking at me, those robin egg eyes so bright and hopeful and happy, happy to see me-- I told her one of my greatest lies.

“And…yes, the Yew Fairy sent me to you, to keep you company in these long years, until your True Love comes to wake you”

And that was were all the trouble started

[cheolieji]

Palace boyfriend - kwon soonyoung

wc: 722

pairings: Idol!hoshi x Royal!reader

royal au, idol au

fluff

guide on requesting on my page [17] pls check before requesting

Scarlet's Masterlist

A/N1: I felt like we had to get into how they got to know one another first before going to engagements/events together yk?

A/N2: This was a request but I accidentally deleted the ask: [Hiiiii this is a very random request lol i saw some royals in my fyp lol and i thought of something lol SO RANDOM LIKE could you write idol (any member) x royal reader lol like she's part of the royal family in japan or any royal families, they would have attended some engagements, and also the members would be like how did you bagged a royal 🤨🤨🤨⁉️⁉️ yeah people would be crazy seeing them (i hope this is not too weird lol) ]

No one quite knows how you ended up here. Least of all, Hoshi's own members.

They’re scattered around the practice room, towels around their necks, breath still heavy from rehearsal. When you walk in, flanked by two palace guards dressed in navy and silver, the room falls into stunned silence. You’re not supposed to be here. Not in Seoul. Not in an idol dance studio. You’re supposed to be in Arvenhall, attending diplomatic meetings, sipping tea from porcelain cups that cost more than most cars. But here you are. In sneakers. Hair loose. And when Hoshi sees you, his grin nearly splits his face.

"You're early!" he laughs, jogging over like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re not a literal princess.

Jeonghan is the first to break. He nudges Seungkwan so hard the younger stumbles.

"Tell me I'm hallucinating," Jeonghan whispers, eyes wide. "Is that Princess you-know-who?"

Seungkwan just gapes. "Bro. That’s not even a princess. That’s the princess."

Joshua, ever the gentleman, gives you a polite bow, though his eyes flick to Hoshi with thinly veiled confusion. "We didn’t know you’d be visiting today, Your Highness."

You offer him a smile, the kind you’ve been trained to perfect. But then Hoshi takes your hand, fingers lacing through yours with such casual ease it sends the room into chaos.

Mingyu chokes on his water.

"Hyung. What. Since when?" Dino blurts.

Hoshi just laughs again. Carefree. Unbothered. Proud. "Since always. She's my girlfriend."

It’s said so simply. Like it’s the most obvious fact in the universe. Like the headlines didn’t just scream with speculation for weeks when you were first spotted together at the Seoul Arts Center. Like the diplomatic nightmare your security team had to manage wasn’t a thing. Like you’re not royalty and he’s not the tiger-eyed performance team leader of Seventeen.

When the company officially confirmed the relationship this morning, chaos was an understatement.

Your country’s palace press room nearly crashed from the overload of inquiries.

Social media exploded.

#HoshiPrincess was the number one trend worldwide within fifteen minutes.

Most of the fans were still reeling. There were edits of you wearing his concert merch. Fan art of Hoshi bowing like a courtier while you pretend not to smile. Videos of your brief public appearances were dissected frame by frame.

One particular clip of you watching Seventeen perform at a charity gala, eyes gleaming as Hoshi dances, went viral. The caption was simple. "This is how you look at someone you’re proud of."

Hoshi squeezes your hand gently. You glance up at him, and just like always, his eyes soften. Not a prince. Not an idol. Just Soonyoung.

"She said she liked my choreography the first time we met," he says, turning back to the members like it explains everything. "And then I asked her out."

"You asked a princess out," Seungkwan repeats, somewhere between horrified and impressed. "Like it was nothing."

"It wasn’t nothing," Hoshi says, serious now. "It was everything."

The room goes quiet again.

You feel the weight of their stares. Not hostile. Just curious. Like they’re trying to understand how this even happened.

The truth is, you liked that he didn’t treat you like porcelain. Like you were allowed to laugh loudly around him. Like you could sneak away from suffocating duties and find freedom in a boy who danced like his soul was on fire.

"She deserves someone who’s not afraid of who she is," Hoshi continues, smiling at you in that soft, devastating way, "And I'm not afraid."

You squeeze his hand back.

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Seungcheol groans, throwing his head back dramatically. "I feel like I need to sit down. Our Hoshi? Our loud, tiger-obsessed Hoshi bagged a princess? What timeline is this?"

Jun snickers. "Clearly, the best one."

And just like that, the room eases. Jokes start flying. Jeonghan casually mentions royal bodyguards in group chat. Dino asks if you’ll teach them palace etiquette. Mingyu wonders if palace chefs can cook as well as he does.

Outside the practice room, the world keeps spinning. Fans keep screaming. Articles keep being written.

But in here, you’re just his.

And Hoshi?

He looks at you like you hung the stars.

[phighter-kisser]

YANDERE GRIEFER AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!!

anon i love you /p

you didnt specify what you wanted so,, i sort of bullshitted my way through this mb

i tried to make it yandere, but i think i ended up being more like 'sadistic griefer' than anything else. i do want to try this again sometime though!! it was surprisingly fun to think about.

player/reader/you is not very nice in this me thinks

throughout all your days travelling; fighting your way through mutliple enemies to defeating a half-frozen king only for him to turn into literal snow and bone, you never thought this would happen.

so much for trying to find and save builderman.

it started off fine enough, but things only seemed to have downgraded when you hit bigfoot by accident with your jeep.

the mayor was kidnapped by his own son and his pet monkey (seriously, who the hell names their kid 'brad'? no wonder this guy turned to evil.) - it seemed.. fine, nothing you couldn't handle.

your wooden sword was replaced with an iron one (even if you had to go through a pissed off bigfoot to get it.) you could defeat enemies more easily now. it felt like some sort of upgrade in a video game, if that made any sense. you doubt it didn't.

but then, brad.. or, fuck.. wait, what did he call himself? griefer? thats a dumb name also. but moving on.

griefer, especially when you first met him, was incredibly pissed off just by you being here, trying to 'save' his father. talking about these 'voices' of his. they wanted him to kill you.

huh, that sounds rather familiar.

not the first time someone wanted you dead, or-- at least, heavily injured.

then came the 'final' battle; right as you struck your sword, knocking him down, pointing your weapon at him-- he laughed, loudly, slowly getting up on weak legs despite your threats of harming him more.

he talked about forgetting this 'plan of his', raising the venomshank once more, only to stab himself in the leg while shouting.

"4LL 1 W4NT 1S Y0U"

fuck him, fuck this, you weren't even getting paid for this. you would've bolted straight out his disastrous bedroom if not for being stuck in place by the sight of him screaming curses, plantlife taking most of his body over starting from the leg.

colorful flowers blooming across the vines, a stark contrast to his personality.

he became more of a monster than he already was.

but, well, thats how you ended up here, lost in the middle of a jungle, running away from your current 'problem'.

when you first took off, he only cackled, spouting something about 'mouses and their fears.'

asshole. comparing you to a mouse.

just as you saw an opening, an exit, freedom-- a FUCKING VINE DRAGGED UP FROM THE GROUND AND GRABBED YOUR LEG.

welp, guess you're gonna die today.

dragging your (now rather limp) body back to him, clasping his hands together, a smirk on his lips, exposing teeth that seemed much sharper than before.

"T1MES UP M0US3."

his voice was like nails on a chalkboard. not a pleasant thing to listen to. especially now with you handing upside down by the leg,.

"why.. do you call me that?" your words only made him laugh more, his visible eye crinkling in delight. you wanted to punch him. hard.

"M0US3?"

"yeah, that. why mouse of all things?"

he paused for a moment, grinning wider, slowly walking towards you like a predator sizing up prey. (gee, hurry up grandpa, we don't have all day here.)

he reached forward and tapped your cheek, a satisfied noise leaving him.

"D3L1C4T3.. PL14NT. E4G3R T0 R0LL 0V3R 4ND D13. L1K3 4 PUPPET."

he frowned when you didn't react, brushing his (now much sharper) nails against the skin of your cheek, looking for any kind of reaction. any fear. any worry. any anger. but he saw none. yet.

with a small huff, he sharply dragged his claws against your cheek, making you writhe in pain, eyes widening when you felt the first droplets of blood on your skin.

"you fuckin' sicko!"

you shouted, reaching out to try and grab him, only for him to step back, amused, a sadistic glee in his eye.

"D0N'T F0RG3T WH0'S 1N C0NTR0L H3R3. 1 C4N K1LL Y0U 4NYT1M3 1 W4NT."

your lips curled back into a mild snarl. you'd much prefer him that over this.

"W3'R3 G0NNA H4V3 SUCH FUN T0G3TH3R."

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Silver Vanrouge: Blessed Be

Why is bro kabedonning in the Groovy— What's with the May Twst birthdays this year inducing appetite in me??? I think it's the cotton candy colors of the sweater and how Aurora's shape reminds me of a marshmallow? The headband he’s wearing in his Groovy also reminds me of Aurora’s “peasant” dress. Although I guess anyone can slap on a plain black headband and call it a day 😂

adjbalsbdasd Silver's such an angel in his vignettes; he feels bad for falling asleep in Trein's class + thinks school life is so comfortable he literally has NO complaints or feedback for the QoL survey. (P.S. Shoutout to Silver's roommate; that mob student wakes him up multiple times when he dozes off! There are other mobs that help by pointing out his hair is messy.)

This one-shot is tangentially inspired by my Silver’s flaws analysis.

Rise and Shine!

He’s too pretty for this world.

The thought crossed your mind more often than you would like to admit. The mundane, the inconsequential—Silver made even breathing and blinking seem beautiful, like a candid photograph taken at just the right moment. Dandelion seeds sent scattering, rain perfectly rebounding off the shield of one’s umbrella, the sky at dawn.

With one hand on the columned mirror frame, Silver loomed over a mirror. His stream of silver hair was pushed back by a plain black headband. His tresses caught the morning sunlight and sparkled.

The plush knit sweater he had slept in embraced his muscular frame, sweetly beckoning him back into a warm, lavender-laced dreamland. His lids, still heavy, drooped over his auroral eyes.

He had just washed his face—well, not washed, not really. There had been no cleanser involved, no lathering or gentle massaging into the skin. Only a messy splash of ice cold water, a momentary shock to his senses. (Vil would have shrieked, then lecture him.)

Silver blinked slowly. If he had grimaced, you hadn’t noticed it.

A finger absentmindedly trailed to the rim of one ear. It was bright red and oozing slightly.

You gasped. “That’s…”

“An injury from Equestrian Club practice.” Silver offered the explanation as easily as one might discuss the weather.

“Will you be okay?” you asked warily, peering at him in his reflection. “It won’t get infected, will it?”

“It’s fine. I know how to treat it.” He was already rummaging in a drawer for a tube. “Father taught me first aid training. It comes in handy for times like this.”

Silver dabbed a blob of an antibacterial cream on his nick. There was barely a wince upon contact, no indication of pain upon his placid features. But he frowned, and suddenly worry welled up in his soulful gaze. Watery pink and blue and purple, as if you were staring at a sad puppy instead of a young man.

His hand found yours and squeezed it gently. You felt as though he was squeezing your heart too. Frenzied beating, rushing blood.

“You were concerned about me, right? I was being clumsy and careless. There is still much I have yet to learn in the ways of horse handling. Because I was lacking, you fretted for my sake. I’m sorry for causing you trouble.”

The squeeze came again. Tighter, harder, until a pang of pain bloomed in you. And still, your heart pushed back against it.

“No,” you insisted. Don’t apologize. You did nothing wrong. “Don’t talk about yourself like that. Please—it makes me sad.”

The corners of his mouth twitched. “I did that?”

“It’s not you, it’s me. When I hear you talking yourself down like that, it…” You shook your head. “It doesn’t feel good. Can we… Can we maybe try some positive affirmations instead? To start off your day on the right foot.”

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “I would never want to make you sad.”

A pause. Then his brows knitted together.

“… What should I say?”

His expression had barely changed, but you knew that he spoke every word with the utmost sincerity. He was simple, like his namesake.

“Here, I’ll start,” you offered with a laugh.

Closing your eyes, you reached deep inside yourself, dredging up bright memories coated in wisps of sugar. Happy times, shared experiences. The Silver in them shined, ringed by woodland critters, a crown of sunlight as his halo.

“You are loved. You’re deserving of love. And you will always be loved,” you recited cheerily, “because you are enough.”

Silver’s eyes widened. “What…?”

Ah-hah.

An opening, a chink in his armor. The X over his chest, a place for you to strike.

It happened and it was over in an instant.

You seized the opportunity and leaned in, planting peck his exposed forehead. Silver’s hand moved with a lighting reflex, grazing the spot where your lips had been mere seconds ago. You saw yourself reflected back in the dreamy colors of his irises.

“… Why?” Silver, at last, asked. He was so quiet, he could have been mistaken for a lazy wind. “That was…”

“A blessing, from me to you—so you can be extra lucky today,” you explained sheepishly, “and even stay awake for all of Trein’s lecture!”

“I see, so that was your intention.” The stiff muscles in his face shifted, seemingly relaxing You could never know for sure. “I appreciate it, but I feel the blessing is not necessary for me.”

“It’s not?” You shot him a queer look.

Silver smiled—and it was like the sun had come out after a long storm. His existence was effortlessly pretty, a human-shaped mosaic set into multiple colors when the light hit him.

A slow, gradual warmth climbed from your toes to your cheeks. Too pretty for this world, you think again.

“Why would it be? Being here at Night Raven College with Malleus-sama, father, my friends, and you… Blessing or not, I’m already the luckiest person on campus.”

[terraswallows]

Diary of an Awkward trans-girl : Day 27 - The wizard and the cardboard box.

Dear Diary,

Today has felt like something straight out of a fairytale—or maybe just the kind of story that only happens to dreamy little nerds like me.

So first, my Magic: The Gathering cards finally arrived—something I don’t often splurge on anymore, but I’d made an exception for this silly, chaotic little deck I’ve been tinkering with. While updating my decklist at the store (cards scattered everywhere like a beautiful mess), an older man walked in with a weathered cardboard box in his arms.

He came over, smiled at my half-built deck in pieces, and said, “Hey, I’ve had these cards for over 20 years—I used to play back around 4th Edition. But now they’re just collecting dust in my cupboard. I can see you’re really into this stuff, so... they’re yours. Enjoy.”

And with that, he just left. No names. No fanfare. Just vanished like a wizard who finished casting his last spell.

I was stunned. Like, old cards. And if you know me, you know I’m an absolute goblin for vintage cardboard. I set the box aside like a precious little secret to go through later and returned to finishing my deck. Then I ran D&D that evening, buzzed with excitement, went home, plopped the box on my bed like it was the Holy Grail... and passed out.

Then this morning?

He came back.

Walks in, hands me a smaller box like it’s nothing, says, “This is the rest—I forgot to give it to you. Enjoy.”

And disappears again.

I finally got a moment to peek inside, and… it’s a full deck, still in its old, scuffed sleeves. The dividers were literal scraps of plastic and cardboard. This man was a player, not a collector. And that makes it feel all the more personal. Like I inherited a little piece of his story.

And then I saw it.

A Strip Mine.

A full set of Urza lands.

And an unsleeved Force of Will first edition printing just… sitting there.

I am screaming internally. No—eternally. This is the kind of thing that would awaken something nerdy and witchy in any trans girl.

This world is wild and weird and sometimes it just gives you gifts when you least expect it. And gods, does it feel good to be alive and full of gay little joys today.

[lazysoulwriter]

same brain cell, same trip - chris sturniolo.

warnings: shroom use (recreational, not glorified), kissing, stupid jokes, mild swearing, two idiots in love

---

You’d both done shrooms before.

Separately.

Which is why you thought you were prepared. You weren’t.

“I feel like a toaster strudel,” Chris said an hour in, lying sideways on the floor, staring at absolutely nothing.

You were on the couch, half upside-down, watching the ceiling breathe. “Because you’re warm and gooey inside?”

“No,” he frowned. “Because I’m flaky and confused.”

You absolutely lost it.

Laughed so hard you nearly slid off the couch. Your face hurt. Your chest hurt. Your teeth felt funny.

Chris looked at you and burst into laughter too, completely unprovoked.

“Wait—wait—” he wheezed, dragging himself over to where your legs dangled off the edge. “Are we laughing at the same thing?”

“I think so,” you gasped, “but I also might just be vibing with your soul right now.”

He crawled up, grabbing your cheeks in his hands, and squished your face. “We have one brain cell and it’s high as fuck.”

��

The kissing started out cute.

Like, sweet pecks and “I love your face” and “your mouth feels like jelly” type of cute.

But then it got sloopy.

Like. Wet. Sloppy. Absolutely no coordination.

“Wait,” you whispered between kisses, holding his face. “Do I have lips? Like. Still?”

Chris blinked at you like you just said the meaning of life. “I was just wondering the SAME thing.”

And for a solid five minutes, you both sat in complete silence, staring at each other’s mouths like scientists.

Then Chris goes, “Wait. Are we… kissing each other from the inside?”

You: “Excuse me what the fuck.”

—

You went outside because Chris was convinced the couch was trying to “eat his knees.”

(“I swear it moved when I sat down.”)

The backyard was peaceful. A little chilly. The grass felt amazing.

“Take your shoes off,” Chris told you, wide-eyed. “The earth is horny.”

“…what?”

“You’ll see.”

You did. The grass felt like fuzzy seaweed. You wiggled your toes and gasped. “Oh my god. You’re right.”

Chris nodded solemnly, like a wizard. “Told you.”

You laid down in the grass, heads close, looking up at the stars. At some point you both pointed at the same patch of sky and shouted, “HE LOOKS LIKE A PANCAKE.”

“No way we saw the same cloud,” Chris said, sitting up dramatically. “No way. We’re literally telepathic.”

You stared at him in awe. “Wait. Are we soulmates?”

Chris grabbed your hand. “I would literally marry you right now if the trees weren’t watching.”

“Yeah they’re judgmental as fuck.”

“Especially that one,” he whispered, pointing to a bush.

“That’s a bush.”

“Don’t label him.”

You apologized to the bush.

—

You spent an hour inside just looking at your hands.

Chris kept flexing his fingers like he was in The Matrix. You kept giggling because your fingernails looked like tiny jellybeans.

At one point, Chris gasped and stared at your face like you’d just spoken fluent dolphin.

“Your eyelashes,” he whispered. “They’re doing choreography.”

“They’re probably talking shit,” you replied.

He leaned forward, deadly serious. “Tell them I said hi.”

You couldn’t even kiss him after that because your face was too smiley and your lips didn’t know how to form a direction.

You just smooshed foreheads for a while, giggling.

—

Coming down was slow. Soft. Your limbs felt like jello, but the happy kind. You curled up on the couch together under a blanket, eating goldfish crackers like they were gourmet cuisine.

Chris, deadpan: “These taste like math.”

You nodded. “Like fourth grade. But make it spicy.”

Then he kissed your temple and whispered, “I had so much fun being weird with you.”

Your heart exploded. You turned to him, eyes sleepy. “We should be weird together forever.”

Chris smiled, big and crooked. “We already are.”

—

The next day, you both woke up tangled and confused.

“Did I cry because of a mushroom?”

“Yes.”

“And apologize to a bush?”

“Twice.”

“And did we… try to get engaged using a ring pop?”

Chris pulled the sticky wrapper from under the blanket. “I still stand by that decision.”

You grinned. “You’re insane.”

“You love it.”

“I really, really do.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

[wistericall]

k. | theodore nott

theodore nott x reader | fluff | wc: 1000

summary: rockstar!theo + k. by cigarettes

“Did you enjoy your pasta?” he asked you curiously. 

Theodore’s eyebrows were furrowed in mild confusion and concern, having noticed how out of it you seemed to be ever since you had gotten to the restaurant. Quiet didn’t seem to even cover how you were acting—mostly focused on your pasta that he had to order for you. He had noticed that you were cold halfway through and wrapped his jacket around you, something that you seemed to be clinging onto for the entire dinner date. 

The waiter came over then and dropped the check off, Theodore’s hands going to grab it before you could reach out to it. He smiled fondly at the memories—all of the times that the two of you would argue about who would be paying for the next check.

“I’m fine.” you nodded quietly, looking up at him.

His eyes were looking down at the check before over at you again. There was something in your eyes when they looked at him—something beautiful and raw that he had never felt on his skin before. Not even the moments that the both of you shared before could even begin to compare to whatever look that you were giving him. So warm and loving he felt himself coming undone. 

“I love you.” you murmured quietly.

He blinked once and twice at that. His mouth had opened and closed three times before you spoke again—lips sealing themselves shut again to give you time to talk.

“You don’t have to say it back.” you murmured quietly, clinging onto his jacket like a lifeline. “I just realized it earlier. I know we said no strings attached, but I can’t help it.” you whispered quietly. Your eyes looked at him before down at your empty plate of pasta. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” he asked you confusedly. 

“For falling in love!” you whined out. “We said no strings attached, and I made strings.”

Theo chuckled quietly before signing the check, moving his plate to the side and leaning over the table just a bit. “Who said that I was mad about that, love?” he asked you, fingers tilting your chin up so you would look up at him. “I was worried that you wouldn’t love me after that too.”

You blinked once and twice at that. “You did?”

“I love you too.” he whispered quietly, his lips lingering on yours for an intense moment before he pulled away and began to clean up the table again. 

“How long does your self-care routine even take?” he murmured out—his voice a low whine as he laid his arm over the edge of the bed. “I want cuddles.”

You chuckled quietly at that as you continued to rub the cleanser into your skin, a small line of products in front of you to follow in order. “I started literally two minutes ago.” you said to him, looking over at him. “And I gave you kisses not ten minutes again.”

“But that was so long ago,” he murmured quietly, reaching one of his hands out dramatically towards you. “I want you here, giving me cuddles.’

You rolled your eyes playfully before washing the cleanser off of your face. “You can watch.”

He sighed quietly before looking over at where you were standing inside of the bathroom. The bathroom light had a small buzzing sound that he had yet to fix, though you had mentioned that it added to the small charm of the Muggle apartment you had convinced him to buy. A two-bedroom flat in an older Muggle town—one that had a vintage-like charm that you seemed to admire quite a bit. The bathroom had a green tiling with a yellow-ish wallpaper laid in the middle—green and white diamond tiles resting on the floor with vintage bell-like lights above the mirror. 

The lighting was a yellow-like color, making your skin glow like he would imagine the sun too, his eyes following your fingers as they rubbed product after product into your skin. Your nighttime routine was a bit different than your morning routine, a bit longer to help calm you down from the day's events. 

The most alluring part out of it all was the outfit you were wearing, nothing more than a pair of underwear and one of his collared shirts. It was unbuttoned slightly—showing off the hickeys and the bite marks that he had given you over the past week. He was going to miss you when he went on tour, already feeling the aching pain in his heart. 

“Can you light the candle when you’re done?” he asked you quietly. 

You looked over at him when you noticed his tone. “Course I can.” you murmured quietly, finishing your routine and going to light the night time candle you had both bought together. 

“I love you.” he murmured quietly.

“I love you too.” you whispered back, gasping and holding up some polaroid photos he had taken of you. “Oh Theo, look at these.”

He looked up at what you were holding. “Hm?”

The photos were you on the east side of town—wearing a white dress and pressed against a wall of flowers. He had taken the photos with you holding a small bouquet of dandelions that the two of you had picked up together from the ground, replanting them in small pots by your kitchen window.

“I like you better in black.” he murmured tiredly, hands reaching out to the black shirt you were wearing. “Sitting with me.”

You giggled quietly as you crawled into the bed after, wrapping your arms around him and pressing his head into your neck.His lips found their way onto your skin as he kissed you quietly, wrapping his arms tighter around your body. He never truly got to rest without the sound of your heartbeat in his ear—something that had gotten so bad he almost fainted on tour once. 

But for right now he had you in his arms. And for right now, that was enough.

thank you so much for reading! guess who's continuing rockstar!theo x cigarettes after sex propaganda? me, of course! this one was inspired by k. from the 'cigarettes after sex' album, the first track. i read that it was about how the main singer guy misses his partner when he's on tours and stuff, so i, the reasonable writer i am, had to give our lovely theo exsistental dread about leaving reader for his tour <3

© wistericall 2025. do not copy, translate or claim any of my works as your own. reblogs + comments are so very appreciated! have a lovely day, love!

[cloudcountry]

SUMMARY: coffee shop date with alan

COMMENTS: a late birthday present for @inthekitschen !!!! i hope u like this as much as i loved your aubritsu birthday gift <333 thank u for being so sweet to me T0T youre literally the best i would put in a little glass jar and poke holes in the top so u could breathe. anyway

Your heart does a little dance in your chest when you see Alan through the window, hunched over one of the cafe’s small white tables. You throw the door open with gusto, rushing inside. A few people turn your way when you enter, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary.  Making your way over to where Alan sits, you can see him puzzling over the menu.

When you’re close enough, you reach out and place your hand on his shoulder. It’s so broad and muscular, you almost give it a light squeeze. Alan turns towards you, looking a bit embarrassed, a soft pink flush on his cheeks.

“Hey,” you breathe, grinning like a fool, “This seat taken?”

“It’s not,” he says, pushing his seat away from the table, “Let me get it for you.”

You nearly grab him and kiss him right then when he pulls out the chair across from him. You’re not sure who taught him all these manners, but you’re praising them nonstop in your head. Sitting down after shooting him a thankful smile, you're hyper-aware of Alan’s every movement as he takes his seat again.

“Did you have a good day at work?” he asks, his tone softer than when you entered.

“It was alright. The usual,” you shrug, “That is to say, I’m exhausted. It’s rewarding, though! I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alan nods. You’re about to ask about his day in return before he passes the menu to you.

“I was going to order you a mocha,” he points to the mocha on the menu, “But I wanted to make sure that was the right one.”

You laugh, cheeks burning from the tension from your smile. When’s the last time you felt this excited to go on a  date with someone? Alan must have been the exception to every first date rule—you were totally going to call him later tonight.

“Yes, that’s the right one. Thank you for checking,” you stifle your laughter, biting your lip, “You’re so sweet, Alan.”

You swear his blush flares a bit as he turns his head to the side, mumbling something that looks a lot like don’t mention it. You insist on mentioning it, however—how else is he going to understand that you think he’s the sweetest man alive and that you feel undoubtedly safe with him?

If he doesn’t think he is, then it’s your job to tell him over and over until he accepts it.

Alan insists on ordering for you, ever the gentleman. You watch his back as he talks to the cashier and picks up your drinks, his brow furrowed in concentration as he carries them.

He really doesn't want to drop them. It's cute.

He sets your drink down first before sitting down with his own, his hands engulfing the cup entirely. You thank him softly—Alan mumbles something to the effect of it’s no big deal, as long as you’re happy.

“I want you to have a good time too,” you protest, lips quirking up at the sides.

“I’m with you,” he states, blunt as ever despite the new territory, “Of course I’m having a good time. You shouldn’t worry about me.”

“Alan...” you reach over across the table and place your hand on his, “It’s the same for me. You don’t have to act different, you’re already so kind. I agreed to this date because of you.”

Alan’s lips twitch, just the slightest bit.

He looks a little more sure of himself, and it soothes your heart.