#I'm likely going to keep interactions in Asks and not threads

[sins-of-the-sea]

Gasps as he crawls out on the beach from the water-

Only to be dragged back into the sea. Bye, everyone.

[hyckstarz]

drabble · on the vanity ୨୧ l.mk

pairing. idol!mark lee x afab reader

word count. 0.8k

genre. smut

synopsis. mark couldn't keep his hands off of you even with the risks of being walked in on and, what better place to be knuckles deep in you than right here on the vanity?

warnings. 18+ minors do not interact, fingering, voyeurism (getting caught), pet name (baby)

"Mark, what are you doing?" She gasped as her boyfriend's hand trailed along the waistband of her plaid skirt, the pads of his calloused fingers ghosting over her supple skin.

"Relax, baby, no one will come in," he trailed open-mouthed kisses down her neck, lifting her up onto the vanity and slotting between her legs, dropping a few makeup brushes on the floor in the process.

She swallowed hard, eyes flickering to the door where music boomed, counting down to the next stage. He had already performed the first set as part of their award show and had to go back on in twenty minutes. There was no way no one would come in.

Hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him in closer as his sweaty forehead pressed against hers. Despite her inhibitions, the mix of his vanilla and smokey amber cologne was enough to send her into a daze, "You sure?" she asked meekly, her anxiousness clear.

He chuckles, planting a tender kiss to her rosy cheeks, "I'm sure."

With that, his hand slid lower, dragging along her clothed folds, "For someone so nervous, you're enjoying this a little too much," the corner of Mark's lips twitches into a smirk at the feel of her soaked panties.

She smiles shyly, but it's cut short when he pushes her underwear aside and slips two fingers into her without warning, earning a sharp gasp from her which only strokes her boyfriend's ego, "Fuck..."

Her back arches against his fingers as he pumps them into her, curling into that sweet spot that earns him even sweeter sounds. Her head nestles into the crook of his neck as her warm, minty breath fans against his skin, motivating him further to drive her towards the brink.

She feels like she's going insane. His palm rubs against her clit and she can feel the cool rings on his fingers and the bump of his knuckles as they push into her, her walls clenching around them. Her mouth is agape as soft sounds escape her lips before his own crash into hers, parting his lips against her glossy ones while his tongue traces the plush, pink skin. He swallows her breathy moans, teeth grazing and nipping at her. It's messy, needy and passionate.

"Mark.. I'm close-" Just then, the door swung open, causing the couples head to snap towards a wide-eyed, flustered man. He suddenly sends the two a smug smile after realising Mark was knuckles deep into his girlfriend. Startled, she shyly turns away, pulling Mark closer to her in embarrassment - leg riding up his side in a futile attempt to block Haechan's view.

"Whoops, I'll knock next time," Haechan chuckles, shutting the door behind him as he leaves. They could hear his snickering echoing through the corridor, which leads Mark to let out an annoyed huff before continuing his ministrations more eagerly, frustrated at being interrupted.

She grapples at his hand, trying to still his movements as they turn increasingly eager and rough. It didn't help that his restless movements caused more lewd, squelching sounds to echo in the makeup room, her cheeks flushing, "M-Mark, we can't... risk anyone else... seeing us..." the words come out weak and breathy, barely able to get the words out as she felt herself reaching close to her orgasm again.

Mark shook his head, pulling her flush against him as her breasts pressed into his chest. His hand roamed her back, fingers clenching her shirt before threading through her hair, tugging at the brown, wavy locks, "If you don't want anyone to see, come on my fingers now, baby. I won't stop until you do, please."

Mark wasn't one to beg, especially when it wasn't for his own release. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of her stomach, her walls clenching around his fingers at the cute whiny lilt of his voice. She had found herself nodding, rocking her hips against his waiting fingers, wanting to satisfy her boyfriend and finally reach her high after denying and being denied - thanks to the earlier interruption.

His free hand moves from her hair to knead her clothed breast, groaning at how the soft mounds fit perfectly in his hand. It's too much for her; hands grasping at the table for something, anything, to maintain some semblance of sanity. Her frantic movements causes items to topple over, palettes to slide off of the desk and glasses to clink against each other before she finally grabs the edge of the vanity - knuckles turning white.

She bites down on his shoulder, stifling her moans as she comes undone on his fingers. She feels weak against him and Mark continues to hold her close, cooing at her as he helps her ride out her orgasm - a string of praises leaving his mouth that she can't even comprehend.

Once she came down from her high, the only thing she could think of was that Haechan would never let the activity they engaged in on the vanity go.

© hyckstarz

[inconveniently-discorporated]

I think I have a potentially controversial opinion on Aziraphale and the ending.

So one of the things that made me smile so, SO much, was THIS:

That PURE ABSOLUTE UTTER JOY.

We have not seen ANYTHING like that from demon Crowley. We've seen him be drunk and silly, we've seen him be amused, but we've not seen this.

Now, let's consider what we know about Heaven:

It's never fully populated. ALL of the shots are completely devoid of angels, except for a few, who are almost always just getting somewhere and never really talking to each other.

Where I thought the archangels were a tight clan, it really looks like they're super catty and prone to jealousy. No doubt they would stab each other in the back happily if it came down to it. How much of Heaven is like that, if even the archangels all hate each other?

Aziraphale already has a nervous disposition when he meets Crowley. Is he perhaps an angel that NEVER fit in? Is he familiar with being ostracized by his peers? Just how lonely IS Heaven? Crowley seems to be a pretty powerful angel, and HE doesn't even know that it's all getting shut down in 6000 years -- it's like no one talks to anyone.

Aziraphale, during their whole meeting, looks absolutely smitten. At one point, Crowley goes, "Look at you! You're gorgeous!" and Aziraphale looks over with happy surprise, just before realizing he's not looking at him but rather at what he's created. And then, when Crowley starts going on about making suggestions and asking questions, Aziraphale is IMMEDIATELY concerned and doesn't want him to get into trouble.

Aziraphale is hooked on this angel, and I cannot help but think that this is perhaps the first angel who has ever WELCOMED Aziraphale into his company.

He is hooked on this angel, and the way Crowley smiles is with the light of all the stars he's just created, and it's infectious and it brings a smile to Aziraphale's face as well. And then this angel shields him from the oncoming falling stars.

He is hooked on this angel, and then this angel goes and joins the Great Rebellion, and becomes fallen himself.

"You were an angel once," Aziraphale said, softly, at the bandstand. He remembers.

I think it's reasonable to guess that Heaven has never felt so warm as it did in the presence of millions of exploding stars, next to the (arch?)angel that may perhaps be one of the few (only?) to pay him any positive attention.

I think it's reasonable to assume that Heaven was not the same after Crowley fell. I wouldn't be surprised to find out Aziraphale had wondered about the angel, wondered if he was okay. I would imagine that Aziraphale keeps that picture of pure, angelic, unbridled joy somewhere inside of him.

So, really, is it any surprise that threaded throughout EVERY interaction, Aziraphale has this deep-down feeling that Crowley is good? Would it be any surprise that Aziraphale, an angel who goes along with Heaven as far as he can (which isn't always), feels that if HE is still an angel, then what was done to Crowley was a great injustice?

I think it would make sense that we are shown "before the beginning" not just because it is fun, but because THIS is the foundational context for everything Aziraphale thinks Crowley is, everything Crowley enjoys. I think he remembers this moment and wishes he could live there forever. With Crowley. The two of them with this happiness, forever.

But nothing lasts forever, as much as he wishes it did.

I'm not saying Aziraphale was right with what he did to Crowley at the end of s2. There is a lot I think he did wrong. I think he held onto this picture so tightly, he didn't realize that Crowley had long since let it go, and painted a new one with Aziraphale with all the shades of grey he picked up as he sauntered (or plummeted) vaguely downward (into a pool of boiling sulfur).

I don't think he was right, but I do think he is understandable. I think there was a lot of selfishness, but also some misguided selflessness too. I watched that first scene with angelic Crowley and my heart actually broke a little, because I thought, "What a shame this joy was taken away from him."

I think Aziraphale is trying to right the injustice he feels has been done. But I also think Aziraphale doesn't realize that Crowley can never go back. The concept of falling never crossed Crowley's mind when he suggested that he ask a few questions, and he will NEVER get that kind of innocence back. And Aziraphale doesn't understand, because Heaven has clearly always just been that way for him (he is already aware of the danger of asking questions).

Crowley does not want to go back because he can never go back. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could build a universal machine that would crank out stars for eons and eons. He can never be the same angel he was when he thought he could make some suggestions and ask some questions and co-create with THE Creator.

Crowley understands that, and Aziraphale doesn't. But I can understand why Aziraphale would want to try. And I think it's all because of this:

[thy1quitcentral]

K pop demon hunters

Huntrix vs Saja boys

X Honmoon!NB oc

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

.................💗...................

"leave us alone for a second boys" Jinu looked to the other demons.

"aw man" they all whined but went further down the alley way giving them space.

Honey pursed their lips, they shouldn't be talking to demons. At all, all they did was try to take them from the hunters, who have been caring for them for hundreds of years.

"it's.....good to see you again" Jinu smiled looking at honey with a genuine smile. Not a fake one and not a sinister one either.

"look at you" Honey spoke up and smiled weakly "you haven't changed at all huh star boy?" The deity observed him.

"why are you here?" Honey asked looking down the alley where the other boys waited quitely. Demons were probably up to no good at all, honey wasn't bound to let them get any souls.

"we were tired of down there......we escaped" Jinu explains. The other blinked in shock "I wasn't aware that you were able to do that" they admit, who could they be aware, keeping of the surface and keeping demons below was their job, not watching what they were up to in the demon world.

"I wanted to see you again Honey moon" Jinu hummed, lying through his teeth. The deity blinked and smiled softly at that "I did miss you.... unfortunately" they crossed their arms.

"oh ho ho we playing that game now?" Jinu laughs.

"hm?... game? What game?" Honey looked around stupidly but only giggled and broke their lil act.

Felt almost like old times, warm and friendly.

From afar

"damn, Jinu is good at that" Abby comments leaning on romance. Romance hummed "it's whatever, more souls for us if he gets rid of it quickly" he shrugged. "They are so cute, it's disgusting" Baby smiled brightly.

Mystery only watched and observed Jinus interaction. He definitely looked happy with honey, unlike other times in the demon realm.

That just looks like a mixture of pure failure if Jinu got too close.

***

The two wondered

Rumi was still out and not home, it worried Honey.

"hey what's with the frown?" Jinu asked, lifting Honeys chin up gently. "I'm only worrying for my Core voice" they explain but huffs "but I am not to tell you more" they crossed their arms and looked away.

Jinu rolled his eyes "you know you can tell me anything"

"noooo not really, as much as I knew you, you are a demon and I haven't known you in like 400 years? So nope" walking into the air and Jinha jumps from building to building to follow them.

"let me prove it to you, that I am here to follow the passion I once felt like a lost" jinu said in Ernest. "Give you a true connection that no hunter has ever bothered to form with you" Jinu whispers.

One pause and looked to Honey "music?' their eyes sparkled. They frowned "no....I have my core voice with me and we are making a beautiful process, all my past core voices were my dearest friends" they explain and smiled.

"and somewhat, you aren't golden" Jinu counters, that made Honey quiet.

Jinu smiled then glanced at honeys threads, purple to magenta, their eyes glowing that same color for a moment before turning blue.

Honey flinched at the sudden wave and yelps as he falls. The demon boy jumps down and catches Honey "woah what's wrong?"

"I don't know....I have to go" honey spoke urgently.

"wait but-"

Honey was gone.

The demon sighed softly and looked down. So close wasn't he?

******

Honey had gotten home, both Zoey and Mira making some food this time.

"honey!" Zoey gasped "did you find her?" Mira asked in worry. "No, she told me not to follow her" they held their arm and frowned softly.

"I will respect that"

Mira and Zoey frowned for a second "did you sense a disturbance? Your looking at little...purple" Mira spoke as she put her hand on their cheek and checked.

"I am fine, just need a lil lullaby to soothe me" Honey grinned softly. Mira chuckles softly "of course" she rolled her eyes.

"ooooo yes please, it's always so great to hear you sing Mira" Zoey bounced on her heels then took Honeys hand, pushing them into her pile of fluff.

Blankets and pillows placed all together.

Zoey soon joined and sat on Honeys lap. "Oh! Sorry!" She tensed up and got off, bowing slowly and smiled.

There it was again, ya try to make a connection with physical touch and the humans react how they were told to.

'never touch the Honmoon so casually'

They all danced to Mira's song.

"throw it BACK HONEY!" Zoey yelled out.

They all laugh, Honey smiled and felt shy all of a sudden but paused. "Rumi" they turn to the door. Both Zoey and Mira stood up straight, finishing up setting up the table.

Rumi walked in and looked up, seeing the food then her friends...then Honey.

She immediately felt guilty, she was angry....and she lost control. She didn't mean to hurt them.

Honey only smiled "come on the food will get cold.

******

The girls ate and the deity sat and kept them company.

"I'm really sorry about the show" Rumi sighed "hey it's okay....we can reschedule" Mira states. They had called Bobby but it sounded like he had his hands VERY full.

"that human needs a raise" Honey hummed in thought.

"I don't know if that'll be possible...my voice it's..... something is wrong" Rumi admits. Honeys looked at Rumi with concern

"why would you move the single up then Ru" Honey asked gently. "Because we were so close and this is important" Rumi looked at the other two.

"for you too" she turns to Honey. "You'll be your truest you and your destiny would be fulfilled, humans won't have to die anymore from demons. All the demons would be gone" the girl fixed her shoulder sleeve.

The deity pursed their lips and nods "I appreciate that Ru, but all human are fragile, you should've waited."

"but thats the thing, hunters are not meant to show their flaws or fears. Especially not in our Honmoons precences"

Mira and Zoey both joined in at hunters, they both roll their eyes and giggled

Honmoon rolled their eyes with a small huff and crossed their arms. They say up straight, all high and mighty to please their friends.

Rumi giggled gently.

"but yeah we have to fix it"

"definitely"

They conjured up ideas and settled with Zoey's idea.

Later that night

Rumi pursed her lips and looked at Honey "dance with me" she said softly, face pure with determination.

Honey blinked for a moment then nods they walked onto the balcony. Rumi to Honeys hands

Then began to sing, the song of the first, the song Honey was created with. To see, please let hurt voice shine, it had to

They swayed and spun, Honey glowed brightly as it progressed. Their moves perfectly harmonized but it was riddled with panic and desperation.

Honey yelps as they fall, Rumi didn't hit the note again.

"dammit!" Rumi exclaims and sat down and stared at the ground, feeling panicked even more. Honey looked to Rumi then puts their hand on her shoulder and leaned onto her in comfort.

Rumi sighed sadly and closed her eyes.

******

Late at night, Honey doesn't sleep, they didn't need to. They sat on the rail of their balcony. Rumi had gone to sleep so it was just them alone.

"Give you a true connection that no hunter has ever bothered to form with you"

Why did that stick to their mind?

They had connection, they had for many generations.

Rumi and Honey were so close to building it. Honey turned gold ever so slightly

They disappeared, no memories of the rest of the concert, they felt....gone.

Part of Honey

A very small part

Didn't want to turn gold

.................💓...................

[xi4oyan]

Hello, good morning or goodnight?

I have a request for you if it is okay?

Lmk/JTTW (you choose whatever feel better to write) X Isekai'd! Reader. Reader is from our world and whom watched/read multiple times lmk/JTTW, and so when they got Isekai'd, they decided to stay far away from the main cast, as to not disturb the story..., but they get to the shenanigans of the show/book and they become a little 'suspicious' to other, Reader act like a mysterious 'Oracle' seemingly knowing what would happen, they do stay in the back and now this is the story of how things happen??? Maybe have something about 'coming' back to their world? Oh! Could they be a mythology fan? Idk, I let you decide!

Hope you like ♡

You were never supposed to be here.

Not in the middle of lands that only existed in yellowed pages and glowing screens, nor among names that were merely words woven into ancient stories. But when the light shattered and the ground beneath your feet ceased to be solid, you knew that the impossible had torn itself open before your eyes.

And now you were here, in the world you had read and watched countless times. The universe of Journey to the West unfolded before you, along with the unsettling certainty that you should not interfere.

That’s why you stayed away.

The journey of the monk Tang Sanzang and his disciples was not yours to shape. Sun Wukong, Bajie, and Sha Wujing had their paths set, and any interference from you could be a disaster.

But the world is not kind to those who know too much.

Rumors began to spread. A traveler who belonged to no known kingdom, who whispered prophecies into the wind, predicting disasters and twists with impossible accuracy. People called you "Oracle" a name you did not choose, but one that was given to you like a crown of thorns.

You never introduced yourself to the protagonists, yet circumstances seemed to pull you into the threads of the narrative, as if destiny itself refused to be avoided. Small interactions became inevitable—a veiled warning to a merchant about an impending storm, a subtle piece of advice to a soldier about to make a fatal decision. Small deviations, yet enough to draw suspicious eyes.

And then, a pair of golden eyes finally met yours.

Sun Wukong was not one to accept unresolved mysteries. A king wise in his cunning, a warrior impossible to deceive. He watched you from a distance, like a predator studying its prey, trying to decipher what you were.

"Who are you?" he asked when he finally closed the distance between you.

And that was the question you feared the most. You were an echo of a world that did not belong here. A foreigner among legends.

But Sun Wukong was not someone who accepted evasive answers. He stepped closer, tilting his head slightly, his golden eyes glinting with challenge and curiosity.

"Why do you keep running from me?" he asked, his tone a mix of amusement and suspicion. "Always at the margins, always watching. You knew this village would be attacked before the bandits even arrived. How?"

You opened your mouth, but no answer seemed right. How could you explain that you knew this story better than the very land beneath your feet? That every detail, every movement of his, was already familiar to you from another life?

"Maybe I'm just good at noticing patterns" you tried, averting your gaze.

Sun Wukong laughed, a sharp, wild sound. "Patterns, huh? Then tell me... what will my next move be?"

The challenge was set. You knew him too well not to predict his natural impulse to test limits. And despite all the caution you had taken, you couldn't stop the quiet laugh that escaped your lips.

"You’re going to try to catch me off guard," you said, crossing your arms. "You'll move fast, trying to throw me off balance. But I already know that."

For a moment, there was silence. Then, in a blur of movement, Sun Wukong lunged. You felt the wind split around you, but already expecting the attack, you dodged by a hair’s breadth. He stopped just a few steps away, his expression flickering between surprise and satisfaction.

"Interesting," he murmured, a smile forming. "I think I like you, Oracle. Let’s see just how far your 'wisdom' can take you."

You let out a sigh, trying to ignore the sharp gaze studying you with renewed intensity. "It’s not wisdom, it’s observation."

"Ah, but observation is also power." Sun Wukong leaned in closer, his tail lazily swaying behind him. "And you seem to have plenty of that power. Maybe even too much."

The tone was playful, but there was a thread of seriousness behind his words. You weren’t sure if he was provoking you or probing your mind like a swordsman testing his blade against an unknown opponent.

"And what if I don’t want to play your game?" you asked, crossing your arms.

His smile widened, sharp and challenging. "Then you’ve already lost."

Before you could respond, he turned on his heels and started walking, glancing over his shoulder. "Come, Oracle. I have many questions, and you have some answers. Who knows? We might even have some fun in the process."

You hesitated. The wind tugged at your cloak as if urging you forward, whispering that you had already crossed the threshold—that there was no turning back now.

Sun Wukong didn’t wait. His steps were light but deliberate, each one echoing a thousand years of rebellion and triumph. You followed, not because he asked, but because something deeper—older—pulled you in his direction.

He led you through a winding path that skirted the village’s edge, where the trees grew denser and the world seemed to hush. The golden light of late afternoon filtered through the leaves, casting him in warm, shifting patterns of sun and shadow.

"Do you always walk like you carry the weight of fate on your shoulders?" he asked suddenly, glancing sideways without stopping.

You gave him a dry look. "Do you always talk like you're trying to get under someone's skin?"

He grinned. "Only when the skin is worth getting under."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips betrayed you with a faint smile.

As the trees parted, you saw a small clearing ahead, where the grass grew tall and wildflowers leaned lazily toward the sun. Wukong dropped to the ground with all the grace of a falling leaf and gestured for you to sit.

"So," he said, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. "You know things you shouldn't. You speak like a scholar, fight like a shadow, and dodge questions better than demons dodge heaven’s wrath."

You sat opposite him, legs crossed, fingers absently brushing the ground. "And yet here I am, being interrogated by a monkey king in a field of flowers."

His laughter was low and amused. "You’re not what I expected. Most people either revere me or fear me. You look like you’re trying very hard to do neither."

"Respect doesn’t require worship," you replied. "And fear only works when I don’t already know how the story ends."

That silenced him for a moment. His golden eyes narrowed, the playfulness flickering into something more thoughtful.

"You really *do* know how this all ends, don’t you?"

You looked away, letting your gaze rest on a single bloom swaying in the breeze. "I know the shape of it. But stories are like rivers. They follow a path—until something changes the current."

"And you," he said, voice softer now, "are the current."

You met his eyes again. "So are you."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The air between you stretched taut with something unspoken—recognition, maybe. Or understanding.

Then Wukong leaned back on his elbows, smiling like the sun itself had whispered a secret in his ear. "Alright, Oracle. Let’s play this game of yours. Tell me what happens next."

You raised an eyebrow. "You won’t like it."

"Since when have I ever cared about that?" he replied.

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder his request with the weight of a thousand stars.

"Alright," you said slowly. "Next, you try to impress me with some exaggerated tale of your past heroics."

Wukong blinked. "Exaggerated? *Me*? I am the pinnacle of truth and modesty."

You snorted. "Sure. And I’m a silent monk."

"Then this is clearly a miracle," he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. "A monk who talks back? Truly, the heavens must be shifting."

You shook your head, but laughter escaped you before you could stop it. He beamed at the sound.

"There it is," he said. "That laugh. I was beginning to think the Oracle was carved from stone."

"Just trying to maintain the mystery," you replied, smirking.

"You’re doing terribly at it."

The breeze danced around you, the sunlight weaving gold into his hair. For a moment, he looked less like the fabled Monkey King and more like a boy caught mid-mischief, glowing with the satisfaction of making you smile.

"Tell me something, Oracle," he said, voice dipping a little lower. "Do you always hide behind riddles and half-truths? Or is that just for me?"

You hesitated, surprised by the shift in tone.

"Maybe I just like keeping you guessing," you murmured, suddenly aware of how close he’d leaned.

Wukong’s grin turned lopsided, his eyes gleaming. "You’re lucky I like puzzles. Especially the ones that talk back and smell like stardust."

You stared. "...Did you just flirt with me using the phrase smell like stardust?"

"I did," he said proudly. "Was it effective?"

You covered your face with both hands. "This is the exact chaos I was trying to avoid."

"And yet, here we are."

He plucked a flower from the grass and offered it to you with a dramatic bow.

"For you, my mysterious stardust-scented puzzle. May your prophecies remain vague, and your smiles frequent."

You took the flower with a reluctant smile. "You’re impossible."

"I am legend," he corrected with a wink.

You laughed again—louder this time—and in that moment, the world felt lighter. Maybe fate wasn’t something to fear. Maybe it was something you could laugh with. Or at.

Especially if it came wearing a golden crown and a grin too sharp to be trusted.

ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐

"Ah, there you are!"

Bajie’s voice echoed across the field, loud and impatient, like someone who had just lost a bet. The pig-warrior was trudging up the hill with the expression of someone thoroughly unimpressed by the scenery—or the company.

"Sun Wukong, you disappeared again! The master’s getting restless."

"He survived five hundred years without me. He can wait five more minutes," Wukong replied without even turning around. "Besides, I found something interesting."

Bajie’s gaze landed on you. He frowned. Then raised an eyebrow.

"Oh. *This* is the mysterious figure everyone’s whispering about? The one that speaks prophecies to the wind and appears from the shadows?"

You opened your mouth to deny it—but Wukong beat you to it.

"Yes. And she also knows when you’re about to steal Master’s buns again. Spoiler: he’s going to catch you this time."

Bajie paled. "How does she know that?!"

You crossed your arms. "I have ways."

"That’s witchcraft" Bajie declared, taking a half step back and making a protective gesture with his fingers.

"It’s observation," Wukong corrected with a smirk. "Or maybe enchantment. I don’t know anymore. I am enchanted, for sure."

"Here we go…" Sha Wujing muttered, appearing beside Bajie like a calm shadow.

Tang Sanzang followed closely behind, riding Yulong, the white dragon horse who stared with an expression of quiet judgment. When the monk’s gaze settled on you, there was a pause. He dismounted with serene posture and hands folded, as though he had long been pondering this inevitable meeting.

"So you are the Oracle," he said gently. "The one the villages speak of. The one who knows too much."

You felt the weight of the entire group on your shoulders—the inquisitive gaze of Wujing, Bajie’s suspicion, Yulong’s silent curiosity… and Wukong, beside you, watching with the gleam of someone who had already taken your side.

"I’m not a threat," you said firmly. "I just… observe."

Tang Sanzang nodded slowly. "Then observe by our side. But know this: the road we walk does not accept bystanders. All who travel with us are tested."

"Test number one" Wukong said, spinning on his heels, "survive Bajie snoring."

"Hey!"

"Test number two" Sha Wujing added calmly, "accept that nine out of ten stops will not have hot tea."

"Test number three," Yulong said, speaking for the first time and briefly shifting into his dragon form with a cruel smile, "learn to cope with the constant feeling that we’re all about to die."

You blinked. "...This sounds less like a spiritual journey and more like a cursed adventuring party."

"That’s exactly what it is" Bajie grumbled.

Wukong stepped closer again, leaning toward you with a gleam of pure amusement in his eyes.

"And yet, you seem like you want to stay."

You looked up at the sky for a moment, as if you could still see the world you came from hidden behind the clouds. Then your gaze returned to the group… and to him.

"Maybe I really am where I’m meant to be."

"Finally" Wukong said with a victorious smile. "Someone sensible in this group of lunatics."

"You are the worst of us all!" Bajie yelled, but by then you were already walking again—toward whatever chaos fate (or you) had in store next.

[f0ofishies]

You were the little sister of Julian Loki. And you were also deaf, not that it mattered anyway. You've been using a hearing aid to help with that. Being Loki's sibling, you've also grown to love football. He'd teach you how to kick, pass, and even score against him. Notably, you also look similar to him– some may think you're twins.

Being a part of PXG, too, just like your brother came as a surprise. You were the only woman there who could actually keep up with more teenage boys. So, when fans found your interactions with other players, they couldn't help but fantasize if you were at least into some of them.

So when your big brother, Loki, was scrolling through his phone. He sat, watching a ship edit between you and the other guys, others have fantasized. Immediately springing up to action, yelling out your name. "Tell me what's the meaning of this..?!"

Itoshi Rin

You were lazily chatting up with Rin in a call. Occasionally, you two have been decent friends, even with how awkward this man is. Your eyes finally widened, the way your brother was yelling must've been important. Feeling atleast a groan coming up, you've quickly signed to him like you do in sign language.

Loki was immediately a bit fired up, the usual calm brother you know was a bit annoyed. "You're talking with Rin again?" The way he said it felt like it was something personal, and spoken in french too. "Yeah? is that alright?–"

"Not really, I just needed a talk with you." A talk? Now, this was serious, none of you were going to have a siblings quarrel even.. You were just so confused until he pulled out his phone.

"Look at this..!" The phone illuminated to show some tiktok edit going viral– even Rin from the camera could see it if he squinted. As you watched in anticipation– you realized it was an edit with both you and Rin. Then, let out a small gasp, Rin was even more alarmed now.

"Oh my God, bro..??" You let out a small voice after the edit ended, and it started replaying. "So, are you two keeping something from me?" He finally let out the question in English.

"Absolutely not!"

Charles Chevalier

He usually visited you and your brother quite often, considering how him and Loki had been training him to be his own passer. It's a bit weird, but you didn't mind not being at the field much anyway. Charles was a weird guy to, he's lounging on the sofa like a kid.

Loki didn't understand why he was even here, hanging out with them on an off day. But he decided to just scroll his phone. When you finally reached the living room, Loki was already scolding Charles for God knows how long. Charles just hummed closing his ears with his palms.

"Big bro?" His mouth immediately shut up at the sound of your voice. "Oi..! Your brother has been scolding me..!" Charles quickly whipped to your direction as Loki let out a small sigh. Straying past your brother quickly, over to your side.

Loki looked absolutely disappointed at Charles. "Did you know that these people like the edits of you two?" Now that made you confused. You were just grabbing a cup of tea, and now your brother was talking nonsense. "These people are thinking you both are dating!"

Then the phone's brightness casted onto your eyes, even glaring the light on you. Eyes widening infact– as the video played. It's a really lovey dovey song on that too, "Brother what are you on about!"

"Are you sure he's getting too close–" "I'm sure!"

Isagi Yoichi

Now you've only met him through the match between PXG and Bastard Munchen. Exchanging phone numbers, and you've grown to actually appreciate him. So, in a day off, you eventually met up with Isagi. No, what you both didn't know is that some fans recognized you, and it's gone viral.

Loki was just scrolling through his feed for the day, and his thumb stopped on a certain post. It was pictures of you and Isagi displayed on a thread. Investigating further, he found an edit of you two. Even the PXG boys asked Loki on the matter–

Let's just say you came home, with an investigating Loki. Your brother had never usually been this invasive in your space. Not when he's literally right by your shoulder as you had a call session with Isagi.

"Uhm, big bro..?" Your voice low, his head finally tilted downwards to meet your level. You heard his loud voice booming across the house already. "You and that Isagi.. are you guys together?" Certainly, you could hear Isagi coughing.

Even the other voices perked up in Isagi's end. Looks like the Bastard Munchen's dorm was alive and up to hear onto Isagi. "No?–" You were immediately questioned and even showed the evidence on Loki's phone. "Brother, we're just friends?" Loki's mouth pressed to a flat line.

"I swear– we have nothing like that."

[trippiexlove]

Heart of a Woman

Author Note: Based on the song Heart of A Woman by Summer Walker. Y'all chose it! I hope you enjoy. If you want to leave a song request for a one shot please comment on this post. Check out my master list for other one shots / stories.

Warning: Smut, Angst, P in V, Oral (f! receiving), Profanity, Praise, Toxic Relationship

Pairing: Zilla Fatu x Black OC

Word Count: 3,210

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Only thing that saving you...

Is a Heart of a Woman…

Indya leaned over the large island in the kitchen of the house she shared with her boyfriend of three years, Isayah. 

Pissed wasn't even the word. She was livid. 

Moments ago she received a random message from an unknown number. It was a message every woman dreads to get. 

A coming to you as a woman message. 

Normally she would ignore it, majority of the time it was just women trying to ruin their relationship. She knew how popular Isayah has become in the last year. His wrestling career really taking off this past year. She knew groupies came with this lifestyle. She had trusted him. But this was a constant cycle they went through. 

But this message was different. It had actual concrete proof. Pictures, screenshots and screen recordings of multiple messages and FaceTime calls.

She couldn't help but to feel the hurt and betrayal. Most of all she was more upset with herself. Knowing that this wasn't the first time, but continuously keep giving him second chances. 

She was so focused on the messages. Continuously scrolling through them, in denial, trying to find something that didn't make this true. The more she kept looking it the more she became upset. Indya was so focused on the messages until the familiar ringtone, signaling an incoming FaceTime from Isayah, came to her phone.  

When she answered the phone she could see he was outside somewhere. Seem like he was talking to someone beside before his focus turned to the phone. "What's up ma, you good?"

"I'm coo'" she was very short with him. Her attitude evident as he furrowed his brows together. She walked into the living room, propping the phone on the table before sitting on the couch. 

Isayah could sense her energy through the phone. "You sure? Yo' tone says otherwise" concern laced in his voice. 

"Who's Erica?" She didn't waste any time, crossing her arms waiting for an answer. 

Isayah scrunched up his eyebrow, a look of confusion on his face "What'chu talkin' about?"

She rolled her eyes before continuing to speak. "I won't ask again Isayah," she stated pointedly "who is Erica?"

He looked away briefly before looking down into the phone "I don't know what'chu talkin' bout Indy"

"So we're going down the route of acting like we're dumb" she nodded her head. She grabbed her phone off the table, going to the message thread. Once she pulled it up she sent all the messages and screen recordings to him. 

Isayah phone dinged from the other end. She watched his face as he read through the messages. He kissed his teeth, exiting out the thread. "Indya that's someone I used to deal with a long time ago. Haven't seen that girl in years"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Indya frowned. "You must take me as a dumb bitch if you think I'ma just let you sit here and lie to me when there's fucking proof!" she raised her voice. Getting more and more upset. 

"You just gon' believe her over what I'm tellin' you. I'm yo' man right?" Isayah voice rising with every word. 

"Are you my man though?" Indya lifted an eyebrow. She stared right back at him as he shot dagger through the screen. 

"Indya, stop fuckin' playin' with me. I told you I ain't seen that girl in years, the fuck you trippin' for?" Indya was token back from his words, before nodding her head.

"You know what since you wanna play dumb, I'll act fucking stupid. Go be with that bitch and stay the fuck away from me. You're single, fuck you!" Indya hung up before he could get another word in. She threw her phone down, before placing her head in her hands. She felt the tears that have been threatening to fall for a while. The constant ringing of her phone, as Isayah kept calling and texting, sounded throughout the living room. 

After a while, she wiped her eyes before grabbing her phone and blocking his number. Heading upstairs to sleep the night off. 

[Few Days Later]

Indya was out on a girl's day with her best friends, Sabrina and Tara. They got her out the house to take her mind off the fight she had a few days ago with Isayah. Refusing to let their friend to wallow in her feelings. 

They spent the day shopping, getting their nails done, and were currently at their favorite restaurant to have lunch. 

After placing their order with their server, Sabrina looked over at Indya. "We've been avoiding this conversation all day, but I think it's time to address it" Tara nodded knowing what Sabrina was getting into. "How are you feeling Indy?"

Indya sighed, throwing her head back slightly "I think I am just more mad at myself for continuing to keep taking him back."

"You can't be upset with yourself about that," Tara grabbed Indya's hand "It is not your fault that he can't grow up and see what an amazing woman he has and to treat you accordingly"

Sabrina nodded in agreement before adding in her two cents "You have been nothing but great towards him and will literally drop everything just to make sure he's ok. We all make mistakes but it's just how we learn from it"

Indya nodded. Taking in her best friends words. "It's just so hard because I really do love him." she sniffled a bit, wiping the tear that fell. 

"We understand girl," Tara sympathize with her best friend "but sometimes love isn't worth the hurt he's causing you" 

"What do you plan on doing now?" Sabrina asked as she leaned back in her chair. 

Indya sat in silence for a moment, she knew what she had to do. The decision didn't come so lightly "I'm done and forreal this time. I can't keep doing this"

"We your girls, we love you and will support you" Sabrina smiled grabbing her other hand. Tara nodding in agreement.

Indya blinked back more tears smiling at both her best friends. Truly appreciative of them. "Thanks I love y'all"

Soon the server brought over their food and the conversation shifted to something lighter. For the first time in a last few days Indya felt a weight lifted off her shoulders. Forgetting about the drama and enjoying the rest of the time with her best friends.

They paid the bill once they were done. Hopping into Sabrina's car, she started heading towards Indya's house. When the pulled up Indya sighed when she noticed Isayah's car in the driveway. 

He was back after being gone for a week due to having shows and appearances. Sabrina looked over at Indya, a certain look in her eye. "Do you need us to come in with you?"

Indya shook her head as she grabbed her keys out her purse "It's fine"

"You sure?" Tara leaned up from the front seat "We can just go in and beat his ass real quick and get your stuff"

Indya softly laughed at her friends "I promise I'll be fine. I'll text y'all"

"Ok," Sabrina said unsure "you better text us"

Indya promised she would text them as she got out, Tara taking her place in the passenger seat. She waved bye to them before walking up to the front door. She blew out a breathe before unlocking the door going inside. 

When she walked in Isayah was standing in the middle of the living room. She turned to the door locking it. 

"Where you been?" Isayah questioned, watching her every movement. Indya ignored him, throwing her keys in the bowl by the door. Walking right by him. He furrowed his eye brow as he watched her walk towards the stairs.

With quick movements he grabbed upper arm, making her turn towards him. "You hear me talkin' to you" 

"Unless you're here to admit to what the fuck you did, we don't have shit to talk about" she tried ripping her arm away from him. This caused him to grip tighter. 

"I keep telling' yo' ass that ain't shit happen between me and that girl" His frown deepened looking her dead in the eyes. 

"She literally sent me screenshots of y'all messages!" Indya felt her temper slowly increase the longer he held her arm. She was beginning to become frustrated.

"Her ass could've faked those messages and yo' goofy ass sitting here believin' them!" He raised his voice slightly. 

Indya widen her eyes in shock. In disbelief of what he said. She pushed on his chest, finally releasing herself from his grip. "Explain the pictures and videos of y'all on FaceTime then Isayah! Do you think I'm dumb?!"

"Indya tread lightly on how you speakin' to me. This is your warnin'" He squinted his eyes her direction. This only fueled the petty side of her. No longer caring how she was making him feel. 

"I don't give a fuck, you ain't scaring shit over here. You can go be with that bitch and y'all both can be hoes together!" She turned to go up the stairs, but before she could, she was pulled back. 

Isayah wrapped a hand around the based of her throat, pulled her close which made her look up his towering frame. She slightly shuddered at the the look in his eyes. His eyes going completely dark, a mix of anger and lust lingering inside them.

"I done let'chu get fly at the mouth one too many times. Now it's time for you to listen to me" Indya was getting upset with herself for just how quick she submits to him. Knowing that this was the issue in the ever ending cycle of their relationship. 

First their good, then she catches him cheating, he uses his manipulative ways, he dicks her down and then the cycle starts over. 

He could see the wheels turning in her head. Knowing she was going to try to resist he quickly scooped her up, making his way up the stairs to their shared room. 

He plopped her on the bed, hovering over her. Placing both hands on the sides of her head. He leaned down placing kisses along her neck and behind her ear. 

Indya didn't want to fall into the same old pattern again. She took her hands, pushing against his chest. "Isayah we can-" her breathe hitched as he sucked on the spot right below her ear. 

Surely leaving a mark, he took one of his hands trialing down her sides til he reached the hem of the shorts she was wearing. His hands found their way in, brushing against her wet folds. 

Indya softly moaned, arching more into his touch. He entered one finger in her, groaning at how wet and tight she was. He leaned up to look her in the eyes, entering another finger. Indya moaning out as he quickened his movements. 

"What were you sayin' baby?" Indya couldn't make up any coherent sentences, as her core tightened. "You want me to stop?" When he didn't get a response he slowed down "Do you want me to stop?" his voice deepened. Indya eyes popped open looking at him.

She whined as she moved her hips, desperate for any type of friction. Isayah took his other hand, placing them on her hips to still her movements. "No I don't want you to stop" completely submitting to him.

Satisfied with her answer he pulled her shorts and underwear off, leaving her lower half completely bare. He removed his shirt, throwing it across the room.

He left wet kisses trailing down her chest and stomach til he was leveled with her intimate area. 

He skipped all the teasing, quickly latching on to her sensitive bundle on nerves, switching from flicking his tongue across it and slightly sucking on it. His fingers entered her once more. 

Indya loudly moaned at the double stimulation. She grabbed at the sheets on the bed, trying to ground herself. "F-fuck Isayah .. I'm cumming" 

Isayah sped up the strokes of his fingers. Hitting her spot continuously, Indya reaching her climax soon afterwards. 

Isayah sat up, cupping her chin with his hands "open up for me baby" Indya stuck out her tongue, knowing exactly what he wanted. He stuck his fingers in her mouth, letting her lick off all her juices off his fingers. Once she was done he brought her into a searing kiss, tasting her sweet essence. 

He pulled away looking her deep in her eyes. "Face down. Ass up. You better arch how I like it"  he stated in a commanding tone.

Indya wasted time doing exactly what he said. Arching her back just how he liked. Isayah let out a groan of approval, sending a smack to her backside. 

As Indya waiting in anticipation, she heard the soft sound of a zipper, as Isayah shredded the last bit of clothing, coming up right behind her. She felt Isayah glide the tip between her wet folds. 

He slowly pushed in, Indya moaning out as he stretched her out. He stilled for few moments to allow her time to adjust. "Fuck, you're so tight for me ma" 

Craving more, Indya moved her hips back. Isayah taking it as a sign, picking up his rhythm quickly. Indya screamed out as he practically fucked her into the bed. 

She brought her back against his abdomen, trying to slow him down. He quickly grabbed her wrist, pinning it against her back. "Ain't no running. You been talkin' yo' shit, talk it now" 

Indya couldn't think, her brain clouded by the immense pleasure he was giving her. 

"I-Isayah I can't!" she moaned out loud. Feeling that familiar burn in the pit of her stomach. 

"Shut the fuck up and take it. This what'chu wanted right" Indya moaned loudly, Isayah groaned as he felt her clench around his length. He knew she was getting close and stopped all movements causing Indya to whimper. "You don't get to cum til I tell you to"

Isayah grabbed her other arm, holding both in one hand. He rammed back into her, causing Indya to gasp loudly. Isayah's strokes were relentless. 

The only sounds throughout the room were their skin slapping together, "Fuck, look at'chu takin' it for daddy so well" He sent a smack to her backside, Indya moaning at the stinging sensation. 

"Baby I can't hold it," she let out a breathy moan, her climax being so close "I need to cum please" she begged desperately. 

Once again Isayah stopped his strokes abruptly, pulling out of her. He laid down, pulling her on top of him. "You want yo' nut, you gotta earn it" 

Indya straddled his waist, reaching back grabbing a whole of his length. She slowly slid down, both groaning at the contact. He took a hold of her hips, bringing her down more, engulfing all of him.  "S-shit"

Indya placed one hand on his chest as she slowly went up and down. She moaned at the new angle she was in. Isayah hitting a new spot. Indya threw her head back as she picked up the pace. 

"Who pussy is it" Isayah wrapped his hand around her throat "hmm, tell daddy who pussy this is"

Indya gasped, feeling that burn in the stomach "Fuck daddy it's yours"

She rotated her hips, earning a deep guttural groan from Isayah. "Fuck, you ain't leaving' me." He moaned out again, feeling his release brewing "Damn, you feel so good baby keep it right there." 

She smiled inwardly. Feeling a little motivated sped up her movement, the grip he had on her hips tightened. "Isayah I'm cumming" she whined out. 

Isayah felt her movements slow down, he sent another smack to her backside causing her to whimper. "Keep goin' and you better not fuckin' stop, daddy cummin' wit'chu" 

With his hands wrapped around her waist he assisted by moving her faster up and down. Indya let out a drawn out moan as she released.

Her released triggering Isayah's own, pulling her into a searing kiss as they both came down from their euphoric high. 

Indya woke up, feeling extremely groggy and sore from the events earlier. She groaned as she turned over, seeing Isayah still sleep. She heart feeling heavy, remembering everything that happened. 

She reached for her phone seeing she had multiple missed calls and messages from Sabrina and Tara. 

Bri🔥: Indya are you good? Bri🔥: I swear if something happened I will sliced tf out of that big ass Samoan idc Tara❤️: Girl you need to call us back. Tara❤️: Bri is going crazy over here. You better call soon or we're pulling up.

Indya quickly texted them both back, telling them that she was ok and that she would explain in a little bit. She noticed it was a quarter after midnight. She quickly but quietly got up, throwing her clothes from earlier back on. 

When she looked back at Isayah, she felt rage start to build inside of her. Many thoughts were going through her mind. Then an idea clicked. She acted quickly, going into the closet and started grabbing his clothes. 

She moved quietly, not wanting to wake him up. She walked outside going over to Isayah's Mercedes, stuffing the clothes in there. She repeated this process about 3 more times. She grabbed the keys, backing the car away from the house. 

She went back inside grabbing the bags she had already packed, putting them in her car. Turning towards Isaiah's car once more, she took a lighter out of her pocket, flicking it on. 

She hovered the flame over a piece of clothing til it caught the flame. Quickly spreading to other article of clothing. 

Indya stood there for a moment, staring at the flame. Feeling it burn away all the hurt Isayah has cause her, feeling a sense of calm. She was quickly token out of her trance when she heard noise come from the house. Knowing it was Isayah coming, she quickly got in her car, starting it. 

When she started backing up she saw him run out the house with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. 

He saw his car in-flamed, his eyes widening in shock and rage "Indya what the fuck?!"

"Have fun with that bitch!" She quickly pulled off as he tried running towards the car. 

Indya couldn't help but laugh but also cry as she felt the overwhelming feeling of freedom and her shoulders feeling lighter. 

She didn't know how she did it but she found herself pulling in to Sabrina's house. Grabbing her things, she walked up the short walk way, knocking on the door. 

The wait wasn't long, as Sabrina quickly opened up the door, staring at her friend. Eyes drifting to the bags beside her. Without saying a word she grabbed a bag, leading Indya in the house and to the guest bedroom. 

She turned towards Indya, stood in the middle of the room. Silently crying. She brought her into hug as Indya began sobbing on her shoulder. 

"I am here for you. I am so proud of you, finally choosing yourself" She let her cry on her shoulder for a while til she stopped. She pulled out the hug, wiping her friend's tears. "Get some sleep and we'll talk in the morning" leaving the room. 

Indya sighed, going into one of the bags, changing into a pajama set. She crawled in the bed, engulfing herself with the pillows and blankets, sleep finding her quickly. 

[the-resident-vampire]

needle & thread. \\ l. kennedy

summary: sometimes, it can be a little boring in a suitshop but there's always at least the one interaction you won't stop thinking about.

pairing: leon kennedy x reader

dedicated to @ashiemochi <3

also irl, I work in a suit store - currently got promoted to store manager so technically I run one?? anyway, this stemmed from a conversation that I said Leon's dress shirt is waaaay too tight across the chest and anyway -

Time ticks, and ticks, you count down the minutes.

Shift ends in four, maybe five hours - eternity as far as you were concerned. It was a slow afternoon, a few disgruntled grandpas getting ready for weddings that they had no interest in. You had let a few part-timers leave for the day, no sense in keeping them when there was hardly anything to do or anyone passing through the door.

Busying yourself refolding tables, the chime of the door goes off.

"Hi, welcome in!" You say cheerfully, mustering up your customer voice as best you can.

He was gorgeous, you hesitated to almost joke that he must be in the wrong store - he possibly couldn't be wanting to be here. No, your shop catered to an older demographic compared to its sister store down the street.

"Hey, how fast could you get me fitted?" He asks, his voice soft like warm honey, "I got, uh, a flight in three hours."

Sugar plums dancing across your vision melt away and are quickly replaced with your more professional demeanor. You took a good look at him, he was buff. Definitely works out, not in the obnoxious gym bro way - no, he was lean but muscular but a slim fit wouldn't look right. No.

"Uh... you just gonna keep starin' or what, princess?"

You snap out of thought, "Sorry! I, uh - okay, what color, and what fit do you like? Do you know your size? It's totally okay if you don't!"

With shaky hands, you pulled your measuring tape from your cardigan pocket. Bright orange, you were worried it wouldn't exactly go around his chest, he was built like a goddamn greek god for all you knew. Measuring him shouldn't be too much of a problem, truck had just stopped by for the day.

He chuckles, "Uh, navy - and slim fit's too snug but I don't wanna look like I've been digging through my old man's closet. Size wise, can't recall."

You nodded, "Okay! Stand in front of me, and look toward the front, arms out."

He walks toward you, and there was definitely an aura to him that you weren't used to. He was cool, confident. Definitely not like the usual crowd of people you're used to.

He shucks off the biker jacket and lord have mercy, you never really paid much attention to the looks of most customers that come in unless if its the small things like bad breath or if they were the creeps that tried to make a pass at you, once or twice.

"I'm sorry for giving you trouble," He says as he turns to face the front of the store, you swallow thickly, "I have this big meeting and thought I got a suit, it slipped my mind."

You laugh it off, "I've had a best man come in the day of his brother's wedding to rent a suit, he was not happy about being told no. Trust me, you're giving me no trouble."

"Sounds like interesting people." He says as he raises his arms, you step closer and smell vanilla and spice as you take the measuring tape around his chest, "must be fun here, yeah?"

You sighed, "Sometimes, groomzillas scare me at this point."

He laughs, "Groomzillas? Thought it was the bride."

"Not always, no." You said as you paid attention to the tape, making a mental note - chest size is a 48, "Okay, drop your arms."

You take the tape over his bicep, "Measuring your overarm, promise."

"Not the first time I've been tied up."

You about choke, face flushed as you counted seven down or at least tried to - your mind instantly imagining the most smutty scenario that a book couldn't even publish, "Okay, uh, we're gonna try a modern fit - classic, but tapered like a slim. I have a tailor in, she can definitely try to get some minor stuff done to make it look more fitted if you don't mind waiting."

"Sounds good, I'm at your mercy after all, sweetheart." He says, "Name's Leon, by the way."

You nod, "Nice to meet you, Leon, I promise i won't have you looking like a mess when you get out of here. But I am gonna have you try stuff on."

Fishing through for his size in a bright navy color, you feel his eyes burning through your back. Taking a deep breath, you managed to find one coat, "Here, try this on. It should fit your shoulders, we can take the sides in of your coat for a tapered look."

He shrugs on the jacket, it looked great in the shoulders and arm. Just a bit blousey from the back. He turns to face you, "In your expert opinion?"

"We'll take in the sides, and that should help." You guaranteed, "What size in pants do you wear?"

"Couldn't you just measure me?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

You let out a small joke, "You don't know what you wear in jeans?"

He flushed red, "Right, shit, okay - I'm between a 34-36."

He shrugs off the coat, before setting it down on one of the racks. You fish through for pants, guessing that he'd prefer more a 32 length. You hand him the pants, "Fitting rooms are in the back, push open on the door. I'll get the tailor out and we'll get the initial stuff we talked about marked and I'll have her work on them."

"Thanks, you're amazing." He says before he takes off to the fitting rooms.

You took a deep breath before going to the back but making a quick right into the tailor shop, telling the older woman you had someone for her to fit.

Once Leon got in front of the mirror, he caught you staring. You swallowed thickly, "How do the pants fit?"

"Fit great, you're pretty good at this." He says with a grin, "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year."

Helping him with the jacket, the tailor comes out. You look to her and smile, "Hey, is there any way we can get the sides in for him? We'll possibly have to lower the collar, what do you think?"

The older woman studies him, "How soon do you need it?"

"He's got a flight in three hours."

The older woman sighs, "Can be done, I'll mark it and take it with me."

"Thank you," Leon spoke, "You're a lifesaver."

The older woman nods and gets to marking, you can't take your eyes off Leon. He was probably the most interesting part of the day, next was the shirt. You gently wrap the measuring tape to get under the Adam's apple, distracted by the prettiness of his eyes.

"You usually get this nervous?"

You shake your head, "No."

"Seventeen, turn around - face front." You tell him, taking the tape off his neck, he turns and you measure his sleeve, "You could get a thirty four or thirty five."

He pulls shirt over his head, and you felt faint.

"Oh my god," was the first thing that rolled off your tongue once you got a glimpse at him.

Any sense of professionalism, down the drain. Replaced, the giggly crush slowly bubbling to the surface. You busy yourself finding a shirt for him, quickly unpinning it and throwing the pins every which way than the pincushion saved for the tailor.

You were a flustered mess, and it was like he enjoyed it.

You handed him the shirt, "Go to the dressing room, please."

He chuckles and walks off, you took a deep breath. You went to check on the tailor, maybe splash cold water on your face. The tailor looks up from Leon's coat once you enter the tailorshop, "How's it going?"

"It's going," You reply

She chuckles, "He's pretty, that one."

"He is," You agreed, "but he's in a bind, I appreciate you so much for this."

She smiles, "Of course, of course. Get his number, will you?"

You blushed and turned, leaving the tailorshop. Just in time to nearly trip into Leon, you look up - noticing how the shirt pulled across the chest.

"How's the shirt feel?"

"Good." He says, "little snug, but it doesn't matter to me."

You raise a brow, "Button the collar, if you plan on wearing a tie - you gotta breathe."

"Might need help with that."

You shake your head and reach up to button the collar of his shirt, to test, you put two fingers behind the collar - there was room all around.

"Congrats, you can breathe."

He chuckles, "So you didn't take my breath away, damn."

Once done, and all set to ring out. A grandpa comes in through the front, you welcome in just as you were ringing Leon out. He eyes you, "Could I get your number? I'd like to see you when I get back."

"Really?" You asked, almost in disbelief.

"Well, consider you my personal stylist." He says with a wink once the tailor came out with the suit, bagged and ready to travel, "We can talk more over dinner. See you next Friday at 6? You like steak? I know a great place."

A whirlwind of thoughts run through your mind as you scribble out your number on your business card, "S-Sure, I'm off at six."

"Good. See you when I get back." He says as he takes the card from you.

With that, he was gone and your head was in a swirl of feelings -

"You have a date!" Shouted the tailor, "Good! Stop being here so much!"

[pascaloverx]

SHAMELESS

Summary: You are moving into the Leister mansion after tragically losing your father in a plane crash. He worked for William Leister, who immediately offered to take you in. The problem? His son, Nick Leister, who is far from pleased about having a stranger living under his roof.

Author's Note: My slight fixation on Matthew Broome led me to create this fanfic, but I can’t guarantee it will be good. So, dear reader, if you enjoy it, please interact and comment. The fanfic will likely contain strong language, violence, and adult content. Minors should not engage with it.

one three

TWO

You tried to explore the Leister mansion but ended up completely lost. So, you decided that going with Nick might be the better option, even if he had hinted that accompanying him would be dangerous. But really, what kind of trouble could a spoiled rich boy possibly get into?

Another challenge was figuring out what to wear. Certainly, you couldn’t just pick any outfit, but you didn’t have many elegant options. There was one dress—years ago, your father had bought it so you could accompany him to a Leister party, but you had fallen ill and couldn’t attend. Now, you had no other choice but to wear it.

The dress fit your body perfectly, though it was somewhat eye-catching. After taking a shower and getting ready, you kept an eye out for any sign that Nick was about to leave. One of the maids kindly informed you that he was heading out soon. Slipping on a pair of high heels—ones you rarely wore—you hurried down the stairs, nearly stumbling in the process. The moment you spotted Nick at the foot of the staircase, you called out his name.

He turned to you as if you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine descends the stairs in slow motion toward the hero. Your face burned when you realized he was scanning your body from head to toe.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked as you carefully made your way down—not to captivate him, but because with every step, you felt like you were about to fall.

"I'm trying not to smash my face on the floor," you exclaimed, losing focus on your steps and nearly tumbling. You only avoided disaster by throwing yourself into Nick’s arms as he stepped forward to catch you.

"A desperate attempt to get my attention?" he teased, a smug smile curling on his lips.

"In reality, a desperate attempt to feel your muscles holding me tight, or perhaps just to see what it’s like to have your handsome face this close to mine," you countered provocatively, dragging your fingers over his biceps.

For a moment, your lips curled at the thought of where else you might touch him. Giving in to the temptation, you trailed your hand up to the nape of his neck, gently threading your fingers through his hair and tugging—just enough to test his reaction.

"If you keep doing that, we won’t be going anywhere tonight," he murmured, his voice low, the tension between you thick and charged.

"I can't stop, even if it feels wrong," you whispered, your gaze dropping to his lips before locking onto his with a hunger for something more.

"Wrong? Or just daring, little miss perfect?" he mused, closing the space between you, his fingers brushing over your lips as if studying your face.

"I suppose we shall find out in due time. For now, you—" you say, pointing at him before letting your hand glide down his back, slipping into his back pocket to retrieve his car keys.

Nick wets his lips slightly before tilting his head. "We’ll return to this matter later, but for now, we really need to go." With a swift motion, he plucks the keys from your grasp, then takes your hand, leading you toward the garage.

The sight of his car leaves you momentarily speechless. Sleek, polished, and undoubtedly worth more money than you could ever dream of having, it feels almost surreal. You stand frozen, unable to move.

"Did you short-circuit?" Nick teases, holding the door open for you.

"This car looks ridiculously expensive. Are you sure we can’t take something a little less… extravagant?" you ask, still hesitant to step inside.

"Trust me, this is the perfect car for where we’re going. Now get in, or do I have to carry you inside myself?"

He extends his hand toward you, and with his assistance, you step into the car. He follows swiftly, sliding into the driver’s seat with practiced ease before starting the engine. Without hesitation, he speeds off, navigating the streets with the precision of a professional racer. The way he handles the car, smooth yet reckless, leaves you stunned.

"Would you mind telling me where exactly we’re going, Fast and Furious?" you ask, your tone caught somewhere between criticism and surprise.

Nick chuckles but keeps his focus on the road. "A place for street races and some… unconventional fights. Nothing too extreme." Your eyebrows furrow as he turns into a dimly lit area, the atmosphere shifting into something almost electric.

"Should I be worried?" you ask, already sensing that trouble is imminent. Your gaze locks onto Nick's, your concern unmistakable.

"Just stay behind me. I'll protect you," he assures, finally pulling into the crowded lot and parking the car.

The place is buzzing with energy—people gathered in tight clusters, anticipation thick in the air, as if they’ve been waiting for Nick’s arrival.

"I don’t need your protection, pretty boy. I need your common sense," you retort with confidence. And it’s true. You know how to defend yourself. Your father had wanted a son, so instead, he had trained you in combat techniques and self-defense.

"If I lack common sense, you can have it for the both of us," he quips, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping out of the car.

Moments later, he circles around to open your door. "Do you always treat the women you bring here this well?" you ask, convinced that he’s putting in extra effort with you. Perhaps desire is the best motivation for good manners.

"You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here," he admits as you both step into the throng of people.

The revelation catches you off guard, leaving you pleasantly surprised, but before you can respond, a man approaches and, without warning, drags Nick onto the hood of a parked car.

He punches Nick in the face and is about to land another blow when you jump onto his back, wrapping your arm tightly around his neck. You feel his breath hitch as he thrashes wildly, trying to throw you off. It’s only when Nick approaches, blood trickling down his face, that you finally release the man.

"Hey, Y/N, look at me…" Nick says, crouching in front of you as you collapse onto the ground after letting go.

"Your face is a mess," you murmur, almost feeling sorry for him as the blood continues to drip.

"Thanks for the brutal honesty," he says, running a hand over his face, watching the blood drip down.

"I need you to stay out of what's about to happen," Nick says as he pushes himself up from the ground and pulls off his shirt. His body is undeniably toned, momentarily distracting you.

"What are you going to do?" you ask, just as the man from before suddenly charges at Nick, knocking him to the ground.

The two of them trade blows while the crowd roars, chanting Nick’s name along with someone called Ronnie—who must be the guy fighting him. You consider stepping in, but a couple nearby blocks your path.

"Hey, troublemaker, hold on. If you step in now, you'll only make things worse," the guy from the couple says, holding you back.

The girl, however, interjects, "Lion, stop blaming her. Let’s be honest—Ronnie attacked Nick like a coward, she was just trying to defend him." She then turns to you. "I think it was brave of you to stand up for Nick. He usually doesn’t have girlfriends willing to risk that much for him. By the way, I’m Jenna," she introduces herself as you glance at Lion, feeling slightly calmer.

"I’ll let you go, but you can’t attack Ronnie from behind, or Nick won’t make it out of this alive," Lion warns, finally releasing you.

"But we need to put an end to this damn fight," you say, your voice edged with desperation. Through the gathered crowd, you catch glimpses of Nick and Ronnie exchanging brutal blows. Then, in a decisive moment, Ronnie knocks Nick to the ground. His expression is fierce, sending a shiver of fear through you.

"Which one of these cars belongs to Ronnie?" you ask urgently, as if your life depends on your speed.

"The flashy blue one over there," Jenna answers, despite Lion’s clear reluctance. He seems wary of whatever you’re about to do.

"What exactly are you planning, girl?" Lion questions, following you toward Ronnie’s car.

"Turning up the heat a little," you reply, pulling out your lucky lighter.

"Do either of you have any alcohol on you?" you ask, and after a brief pause, both pull out what appear to be hip flasks. You pour the alcohol over the cars, then flick open your lighter, setting the liquid ablaze.

You instruct Lion and Jenna to use your pocketknife to slash the tires of other cars nearby, making sure they remain unnoticed. Soon, the scent of smoke grows stronger, and you step back, watching as the commotion begins. Shouts erupt as people call for Ronnie. The moment he turns toward his car, you seize the opportunity, sprinting toward Nick to get him out of there.

Jenna and Lion help you lift Nick, who is conscious but badly injured. As he leans partially against you for support, he turns to you and says, "You look stunning in the role of a savior, kitten," flashing a brief smile before letting out a pained groan.

"Wow, Leister’s really smitten with her," Lion remarks to Jenna, who smacks his arm in disapproval.

"Where are your car keys?" you ask as you help ease Nick into the passenger seat.

"In my pocket," he replies, causing Lion and Jenna to chuckle. You silently pray it’s not his back pocket, but after searching through the pockets of his jacket, you realize the keys aren’t there. You glance up at him, now so close that you’re practically in his lap.

"Is it okay if I…?" you ask, locking eyes with him. Your proximity borders on dangerously intimate, his slightly parted lips tempting you. He smirks, and despite his pain, he reaches into his own pocket and hands you the keys.

Immediately, you snap back to focus and slide into the driver’s seat. There’s no time to say goodbye to Jenna or Lion—you have to get out of there before anyone catches on. You seize the moment to do something you’ve always wanted—drive a car in the middle of an escape, just like in the movies. The best part? Watching Ronnie’s crew desperately try to follow you, only to fail miserably.

[edwardteachswombtattoo]

The interior of Ed and Stede's relationship is well-tread both in analysis and the show itself. We know why they fall for each other, how they fall for each other, when they fall for each other. We've been inside their heads. We could, if we wanted to, probably compile a rough timeline of events from Point A (Ed hearing of Stede's existence) to Point Z (Ed and Stede retiring from piracy to open an inn). Has anyone done that? Someone should do that. I might do that.

But a thread the show keeps pulling on from their first meeting all the way to the end of Season 2 is the persistent showing that no one else seems to fully understand what Ed and Stede have going on.

There are exceptions to this. Lucius with his emotional intelligence and arguably the whole crew of The Revenge understand that Ed and Stede feel something for each other that is somewhat outside the framework. The Revenge is a safe space where they are allowed to explore and hold feelings like that and their influence (Stede's, but really the whole crew's) outgrows the ship and spills out into the wider culture of piracy. They don't fundamentally change the whole culture of piracy, but their influence forces characters who would otherwise be immovable and rigid in their personal philosophies (Anne and Mary Read, Zheng Yi Sao, Auntie, Ned Low's crew, etc.) to rethink their relationships with each other.

I already made a post about Jack and how he seems to think Stede is just a passing fascination, so I won't repeat myself. But this is not the first nor will it be the last time a character fundamentally misunderstands how much Ed cares about Stede. Izzy in Season 1 legitimately believes that Stede's death will force Ed back to normal, to the extent that he does not even try to comfort or console Ed during Stede's almost-execution. And he is caught totally caught off guard when Ed gives up his life to save Stede's.

Ned Low demonstrates an awareness of something being there, but he dismisses it the same way Jack did: Ed only cares about Stede because he's new and interesting. Ed will move on once that shiny new pirate smell wears off. "Ed only cares because you're interesting" and "Ed only cares because you're inexperienced".

These are easy assumptions to make when you only have one half of the picture. And when you don't understand that Ed exists as a multi-faceted whole thinking person outside of his Blackbeard persona and piracy. The distinction between "Blackbeard" and "Ed" was made very early on (Ed introducing himself as "Ed") and reinforced later with "His name is Ed". When other characters refer to Ed, it's useful to ask: are they talking about Ed or Blackbeard? Ed and Blackbeard are not fundamentally distinct personalities, but Blackbeard is a performance and a mask Ed puts on. His arc at the end of Season 2 deals with reconciling his past, Blackbeard, The Kraken, and all these other facets of himself into one cohesive person who is just called Ed.

Yeah, Ed is fascinated by Stede's things. His fabrics, his wardrobe, the model ship, the secret passages, the books. But even from their first meeting, Ed and Stede are not just connecting over Stede's clothes and his books. Ed is sharing his love of soft things with someone for probably the first time in his life, he's being vulnerable and truthful. He remains guarded through their first interactions, but he's being more open and candid than Blackbeard would be. "Do you fancy a fine fabric?" is not a question Blackbeard would answer honestly. And when Ed casually makes the reveal ("I'm Blackbeard") in the auxiliary wardrobe, Stede does not treat him any differently after the fact. Everyone else is like "big scary pirate Blackbeard!!" but Stede is like "That's Ed :) He's my friend :) He's very cool and he likes fabrics and did I mention he is my friend?? :)"

Ned Low, Izzy Hands, and Jack all ask the question Why does Blackbeard care so much about this fucking muppet? and collectively decide it must be because Stede clearly does not know what he's doing and/or he has a lot of cool stuff and Ed is into that shit. And there is a part of Ed who probably did at one point think it was just Stede's stuff he was into, that he just wanted what Stede had and then realized it was not about the fancy stuff it was about Stede as a person. That is why Ed starts to really fall for Stede at the end of "The Best Revenge is Dressing Well". They have their intimate moment and Ed is like oh fuck I might be in love with this guy for real oh fuccccck I want to kiss him so baddddd oh shit oh fuck. I've always been of the (maybe controversial? idk) opinion that Ed was flirting during their first meeting and making it obvious as possible he was DTF if Stede was into that, which is the maximum amount of physical intimacy and wanting Ed could allow himself to express without getting scared. He wasn't full bright lights in love with Stede at first sight, but he was infatuated at first conversation.

Interestingly, we never see this on the other side. It is always assumed that Stede just doesn't understand Ed, that he doesn't understand how Ed really feels about him and if he only knew The Real Ed (Blackbeard) he wouldn't have so many soft feelings. In Season 2, Stede is continuously confused when people suggest Ed might try to kill him. Because Stede alone knows that the last time Ed tried that, he ended up having a panic attack and hiding in Stede's bathtub. Izzy tries to pull the whole "you don't know him like I do" and Stede rebukes that fucking instantly by describing Ed's entire mindset in a single sentence while Izzy was just last season struggling to understand Ed's sudden shift in behavior. Izzy sees a change in Ed's behavior and is at a loss to understand, while Stede sees a change in Ed's behavior and instantly clocks what is going on.

"You don't actually know him" is how outsiders rationalize Stede's feelings about Ed and "he's just a momentary bit of fun" is how outsiders rationalize Ed's feelings for Stede.

The key to these intimate moments between Ed and Stede is that they really are between Ed and Stede. Ed never shares these memories with anyone. Even when he's talking with Mary Read in "Fun and Games", he brings up the stabbing because it's relevant and then tries to brush it off a little by saying he had to force Stede to do it and calling Stede "fragile". He does not even allude to the intimacy of that moment and his own being vulnerable. Stede and Lucius are the only people Ed reveals those parts of himself to.

[moniquill]

I'm quoting user @shallow-between-stars because this is from a thread with unhelpful and judgemental commentary upthread. This is valid and important information from a person trained in this, vetted by another person (me) who is trained in this. I hold a degree in developmental psychology for clinical work with adolescents, and spent 8 years working at group home for kids removed from their families due to abuse and neglect who needed help to process before either reunifying with family or going into foster care.

Quote begins here:

Okay. I'm trained in this.

You need to be providing age-appropriate sexual education to children from as young as you possibly can.

When kids are really young this looks like "Yes, that's mummy's vagina. Please leave the bathroom because it is rude to be in the bathroom while mummy is using the toilet. Mummy is placing her boundary, sweetheart, and you need to respect that."

"Yes, daddy does have something different to mummy. What daddy has is called a penis. Yes (mummy/daddy's penis/vagina) is the same as you."

You will notice here that I use the anatomical terms for these body parts. That is for a reason. It helps your child if something does happen better be able to disclose, exactly, what has happened to them. You do not want your child trying to disclose using words such as "secret pocket" or "hidden flower" or "willie" as this can obfuscate meaning. Imagine, if you will, Maisie trying to disclose that Coach Asshole touched her sexually by saying "Coach Asshole stuck his stick into my secret pocket," to a teacher or family friend who does not know that those words are euphemisms. Maisie has tried to disclose, but has been unsuccessful because she does not have the language that she needs.

Now, next.

Children, especially girls, can start going through puberty young. Like, really young. I have taught 9 year olds who menstruate. We need to be teaching these children about their bodies. We need to be teaching boys about the bodies of people who menstruate. There is so much misinfomation amongst grown cismen about menstruation because they are not taught it in school.

We also need to teach children about consent and bodily autonomy from as young as possible. This sets them up that even if they do, unfortunately, suffer abuse of this form they are vocal in their protestations and are more likely to disclose than children who have been taught to accept that adults can do whatever they want to a child's body. Granny kissing little Maisie on the cheek doesn't look that different to Coach Asshole calling his girls at gymnastics "Special girls" and kissing/touching them inappropriately, especially to a child (who, usually, have a much less refined emotional radar and both will cause them to shut down and just accept what is happening. You want your kid to be able to say "No, what you are doing/did to my body is wrong.")

So.

How should adults behave around children?

Firstly - my golden rule of interacting with children is If you have nothing to hide, don't hide anything.

This means when you are interacting with children you always do so in an area where you will easily be visible if another adult happens to walk by. No closed doors, try to minimise rooms without windows, have another adult present.

The reason you are doing this is to make it flag as strange and unusual to a child if an adult tries to get them alone. Safe adults do not do that. By making sure you are transparent in your behaviour, the child is more likely to flag something being wrong when someone is not transparent. You are equipping the child with skills to protect themselves.

They will also be more likely to disclose to another adult that an adult was trying to get them alone.

Secondly - No secrets.

(There is a little bit of an exception to this rule but to begin with, no secrets.)

This leads back to transparency. A safe adult will not ask a child to keep a secret from another adult. If Uncle Jeff is telling Nancy to keep "our little secret" when he gives her extra dessert, then Nancy is prone to believe that keeping a secret from another adult is something she's supposed to do when Uncle Scumbucket asks her to keep his inappropriate fondling of her as "our little secret." Children who see secrets as unusual are more likely to disclose that an adult told them to keep something a secret.

This is also important as grooming usually starts as "we need to keep you getting this special treat as our little secret." Uncle Jeff giving Nancy more icecream out of the goodness of his heart looks a lot like Uncle Scumbucket giving Nancy candy and lollies and extra screentime in an effort to get her to like him and Uncle Scumbucket's secrets are going to move on to "Sit on my lap today, honey, but don't tell your mother. Remember, this is our little secret." And eventually to Uncle Scumbucket asking Nancy to keep sexual activities as "our little secret."

You do not want children thinking that safe adults keep secrets.

Thirdly - this ties in a little with secondly but Teach your child the difference between a safe secret and an unsafe secret.

If you are unsure of the difference yourself -

A safe secret:

Does not hurt anybody by the keeping of it, including yourself.

Is usually accompanied by a feeling of excitement

Has an end date where everyone will become aware of the contents of the secret.

A safe secret is a surprise birthday party, a camping trip, a surprise trip to disneyworld, pizza!

An unsafe secret:

Can hurt someone and can hurt to keep

Is accompanied by a feeling of nervousness or dread or shame

does not have an end date. The secret is ongoing.

You can see how Uncle Scumbucket's secret is unsafe, but also how Uncle Jeff's secret is unsafe because Uncle Jeff's secret does not have an end date. Uncle Jeff's secret is unsafe because it is priming Macy to see Uncle Scumbucket's secret as reasonable, which leads back to the grooming discussed above.

Lastly, and this is very important -

'Protecting' children from having access to sexual education actually does them an injustice.

We do not live in a perfect world.

Bad things can and do happen to children, with depressing frequency. Get me drunk sometime and I'll tell you what I'm legally allowed to disclose of the stories where terrible shit has happened to children I have cared for.

Pretending that they don't happen means that if they do happen, children are unable to recognise and respond appropriately. You are making your child less equipped to protect themselves, not more.

Children who are taught age-appropriate sexual education from a young age are so much less likely to be in a situation of sexual violence than those who are not taught age-appropriate sexual education. Children who are taught age-appropriate sexual education are more likely to disclose if something does happen to them, than children who are not.

Protect your kids.

And for God's sake teach them the words 'penis' and 'vagina/vulva'

I am adding a link about the importance of teaching kids about consent (and why it doesn't have anything to do with sex or a loss of innocence - it's about making sure that kids don't get hurt and don't hurt others out of ignorance)

[measuredingold]

coeur d'alene

authors note: i was a minute late posting on the 31st, but i'm still counting this as my noah day present to you all :) here’s part two of heaven sent, and i hope you all enjoy it. it took a long time for me to finish this and idk how i really feel but, i think it’s sweet LOL feedback is always appreciated :)

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

divider: @saradika-graphics

cross-posted on ao3 / part one

word count: 4.1k

cw/tw: friends to lovers, realization of ~feelings~, fluff, ~kissing~, angst, miscommunication trope at its finest, lots of tension, noah is still very much a sweetheart, 18+ minors do not interact

You wake slowly the next morning, the soft light of the sun flooding into your room. You blink once, twice, three times before groaning softly, squeezing your eyes shut to keep out the light. It was bright - way too bright for your poor eyes and your sleepy brain. It takes you a second to come to, flopping onto your back as you rubbed at your eyes. You groaned, arms flopping down beside you, and your brain finally caught up to the realization that you were alone.

Alone. In your bed. That you originally weren’t alone in.

You turn your head to where Noah had once laid beside you and your heart drops to your stomach. The sheets weren't warm, but they weren't cold. If he had left, it was probably in the last 30 minutes or so. 

You try to control your rapidly beating heart, telling yourself he probably went to shower or that he's in the kitchen making breakfast. Your ears strain to try and see if you can hear the running water of the shower, or maybe the playlist he loves to blare when he cooks, but you hear nothing. Your heart rate quickens again, and you reach over to your bedside table to grab your phone. Maybe he sent a text.

You sift through your notifications, hoping to find one from Noah with any indication where he ran off to, but find nothing from him. You go to your guys text thread, heart twisting beneath your chest when the last text was from him a few days prior. 

Fuck.

You sink back into your bed, trying to blink away the burning feeling in your eyes as you stare up at the ceiling. 

He left. Without a word. Didn't even bother waking you up to tell you, just slipped out of your room without a goodbye. Something swirls inside of you, building up in the base of your throat but you swallow it back down.

You should've expected it, you think. He was probably freaked out from the reality of the situation. Seriously, who can sleep with their bestfriend and be normal after? You slap your hand onto your forehead, mentally cursing yourself as your eyes begin to burn more. This time you don't blink away the tears, allowing them to slide down your face freely.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You should have never fucking asked. How could you do this? 

The one relationship in your life that you cherished more than anything down the fucking drain because you... wanted to stop feeling so behind? You could have slept with anyone. Anyone in the world and yet you chose Noah. Your heart twists beneath your chest at just the thought of your friend and you don't stop the quiet sob that slips from your lips, hands coming up to cover your face.

How can you face him after this? Wherever he went off to, he'll have to come back. Because he lives here. In the same apartment. With you. God, how could you be so fucking stupid?

You let yourself cry, rolling over onto your bed to bury your face into your pillow. Your entire body freezes when you realize it was the pillow Noah had used the night prior, and it still smelled like him. More tears fell at that, your stomach twisting so violently that it made you feel physically ill. Your sobs grew, arms circling around the pillow to pull it closer to you, face pressing so hard into the fabric of the pillow case that it almost hurt.

Your mind is racing, images of last night running through your head and it only makes you feel worse. It was almost everything you could've ever wanted, everything you pictured out of your first time. You never felt so cared for in your life, and the way Noah was so gentle with you... under better circumstances, you would have blushed, but instead your stomach just twists again as another sob rips from you.

The reminder of his gaze on you stings much worse than you could have ever thought. Your skin burned where he touched you, which was everywhere, and your lips felt sore at the reminder of the kiss you shared. The only kiss you have ever shared with Noah, and will ever share probably, and that thought alone brings a sour taste into the base of your throat. 

You find yourself wishing that there could be more kisses and moments like last night with your best friend, and that realization is scary all in itself. 

You trusted Noah, that much is true, but maybe somewhere deep down, the reason you had asked him wasn't just on that alone. Maybe... there was something more, lingering in the back of your mind, your heart, and you just hadn't noticed it yet. Or chose not to notice it? You're not sure, but either way it's here now, pushing it's way through and God... it fucking hurts.

You cry until you can't anymore, until it hurts to even blink, and then you're pushing yourself up and out of your bed. You're not sure if it's because of the raging headache you're sporting at the moment, or if it really is a good idea, but you decide on the only thing you can think of at the moment that may salvage your relationship with Noah.

Ignore everything. Act like nothing happened. If you do that, maybe he'll realize it wasn't a big deal and things will go back to normal. That'll work, right?

Something in the pit of your stomach tells you you're completely wrong, but you listen to that loud part in your brain that just won't shut up. You're going to shower and then hole up in your room. Maybe you'll take a drive. Anything to take your mind off of last night and off of Noah entirely. 

Your stomach twists again in that way you hate at the thought of your best friend, and you do your best to shove it to the back for at least a few more hours.

Noah feels lighter when he steps back into your shared apartment, a small smile on his face. The song he and Jolly worked on this morning was coming together and he felt really fucking good about it. So good, in fact, his feet were already dragging him towards your room, excitement filling him to tell you all about his morning endeavor.

He realized he can’t wait to see you, excitement only growing as he inches closer to your door. His mind wanders to last night and his skin buzzes just at the thought, stomach turning in the most delicious way. His face flushes at the thought of you beneath him, and his step slows down.

He never thought in a million years he'd ever been in a position like that with you. Had the thought ever crossed his mind? Sure, but he would never ever even consider making a move on you. You were his best friend - one of the most important people in his life. He wasn't about to ruin that, and maybe that's why he initially declined your offer. Though, the more he thought about it, the more he inched towards yes.

What really sealed the deal was the thought of you being under someone else. It made his skin crawl, and his stomach turned so roughly that he almost made himself sick over it, learning quickly that that feeling was jealousy. 

He feels a bit selfish having agreed to your favor, because he knew deep down it was more than just being a good friend. Maybe those feelings he thought he had pushed back into the deepest parts of his brain had vanished after the many years of being your friend, but he thinks it just grew. Slowly, but surely, and then all at once whenever you looked up at him last night, eyes glossed over and his name on your tongue.

He knocks on your door and waits, but after a solid minute of silence passes by his hand twists the knob, slowly pushing your door open. He expected to find you asleep in bed, growing excited at the thought of crawling back in with you, but his heart drops when he realizes you were nowhere to be found. Your bed was neatly made and your bag you typically kept on your desk was gone, indicating you were probably out.

Which was fine. He reaches for his phone, maybe having missed your text that you wouldn't be home, but finds nothing from you. That's odd.

He frowns, thumbs already moving across his screen as anxiety bubbles slowly in his chest. Usually you'd at least let him know you'd be out or even where you had gone, but giving him nothing was completely out of the norm for you.

where are you?

With a friend! Be home later.

His brows furrow at your message. Relief doesn't wash over him like he thought it would, instead dread fills his stomach.

You have other friends. This isn't anything out of the ordinary, he's come home to you not being there. You can hang out with other people. However, after last night, something in the back of his mind is screaming at him that something’s wrong. He shakes it off, chalking it up to his anxiety messing with him, thumbs moving again.

just checking :) got worried lol when will you be back?

Not sure. Don't wait up :)

His stomach drops. He didn't like the way that made him feel, the anxiety inside of him bubbling over. He scrolled up to your other text thread, seeing the messages shared between the two of you and the obvious vibe switch. To an outsider, this would probably look like a normal text between two friends, but deep down he knew something was up.

He makes his way to his room, chewing on his bottom lip as his mind races. Had he done something last night? Noah can't think of a single thing he may have done wrong, having thought he had done everything right. He did his best to make sure you were taken care of, the way he had wished his first time was, but maybe he hadn’t.

Or maybe you just simply didn’t like it.

He tells himself not to dwell on it, trying to find something to do to pass the time until you come home. That doesn’t work, because he finds himself staring at the ceiling hours later, the anxiety inside of him growing as each minute passes.

Fuck.

You managed to stay out much longer than you anticipated, turns out you had a lot to say to Anna when you had asked her if you could come over. You were scared that she was going to judge you for asking Noah to be your first, but instead she sat patiently with you on her bed, listening intently to everything you had to say.

When you were finished, she simply smiled at you before asking, "You like Noah, don’t you?"

All you can do is nod, and if you hadn't cried yourself out that morning, you would have probably cried right then and there. 

She didn't seem shocked, instead only smiled more before telling you that she figured as much, and maybe even confessed that that's why she suggested to you to ask someone you trusted like Noah, because she knew, and you quote,  Noah would never say no to you. You're not sure what to do with that information, because she refused to elaborate, saying you'll understand eventually. 

Hours later, when you came home and quietly tip-toed to your room, you thanked God that Noah was asleep. It was close to midnight, you think, and you had to pass his room to get to yours. His door was cracked open and you could just barely see him curled up in his bed, and the sight alone made your heart clench beneath your chest. 

Anna said you had to talk to him, and you think eventually you will, but the thought still hurts. You'll have to do it when it doesn't anymore, yet you're not sure when that will be. You toss and turn that night in bed, eyes glued to your ceiling as every single possible scenario passed through your mind.

What if you had truly ruined your relationship with Noah? You had to have, seeing as he didn't even feel comfortable enough to stay long enough for you to wake up. 

You let yourself cry one more time, mourning the loss of one of the most important people in your life, before you finally drifted off to sleep. Then, that morning when you woke, you told yourself that you'd talk to him tonight. Apologize for everything and tell him it can be forgotten, and hope you can go back to normal eventually. 

His door is still shut when you wake up, and you rush to your shared bathroom to try and hurry through your morning routine. You pray that he doesn’t wake, and when you’re tiptoeing back to your room, his door is still shut.

You’re relieved, but there’s still a small part of you that wishes maybe, just maybe, he would’ve been out here waiting for you. You crawl back into bed after that, deciding you’ll rot there for the day before having to face your roommate.

Maybe you’ll take another nap. Maybe you’ll finish that book you’ve been putting off for months. 

You actually don’t get to do any of that because your door is being pushed open, Noah staring at you from the doorway. At first you don’t do anything, hell, you don’t even breathe. Your eyes widen as you stare at your best friend, whose eyes are narrowing at you.

“Alright,” Noah stares at you on your bed, hands on his hips. “What the fuck is your problem? Was it seriously that bad that you’ve resorted to straight up ignoring me?”

You sit frozen, pulling your blankets up your body. “What?”

“Was it bad?” He repeats, his tone insistent. “Or did I hurt you? I had to have done something for you to ignore me.” 

“What? No.” You shake your head, embarrassment and slight anger running through because this is what he wanted to talk about after leaving you alone? “I’m fine. It was great.” 

He stares at you for a beat before his arms fall to his sides, mouth dropping into a frown. "Okay, cool. That still doesn't explain why you've been ignoring me."

The anger outweighs your embarrassment and you sit up fully in your bed, eyes narrowing in a glare at your best friend.

"Well, why haven't you talked to me?" Your arms cross over your chest, tilting your chin up. "Besides, you're the one who left me alone in the morning without a fucking word."

You could hear a pin drop with how silent the room fell, the frown on Noah's face slipping away. Your heart raced beneath your chest as you watched Noah's face fall into one of confusion and then into understanding, soft brown eyes widening as yours only narrowed more. 

"Shit. I didn't text you."

Your brows furrowed. "What?"

"I meant to text you." He says almost frantically now, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Holy shit, is that why you haven't talked to me? Because you thought I left you alone?" 

"Well, I didn't have to think about it - you did leave me alone."

His lips form into a frown again. "It’s not what you think."

"Well, what am I supposed to think, Noah?"

He sighs before running a hand down his face.

"Jolly called me about some studio time, caught me up on an idea he had and I think I just got so excited over the whole thing I just... left?" He comes to stand next to your bed, frown still evident on his lips. "And I meant to text you, because I couldn't get myself to wake you up. You looked too cute. Didn't wanna disturb you after um… the night you had."

Your face flushes at his words, flashes of your night shared together racing through your mind. Noah notices, his own face flushing, before sitting down beside you. Your shoulders tense at the closeness. 

He continues, "I was going to come back. I wouldn't just leave after that. I'd never do that to you."

You let his words linger. If you had thought about it with a more rational mind, you would’ve realized that yeah, Noah would never do that to you. Leaving you without a word made no sense whatsoever. 

"Well." Your shoulders deflate, giving your friend a sheepish look. "I really wish you had texted me, because then I wouldn't have convinced myself you hated me and regretted the entire thing."

"Hate you? Babe, I would never." He looked at you, almost offended, and yet your body was buzzing at the slip of the pet name. "And for the record, I don't regret anything. As long as you don't."

"I don't." It flies from your lips so quickly that your face warms from embarrassment, Noah's own face flushing. "I don’t regret it at all. As long as you don't."

"I don't." He mimics your words, much softer than you had, and his gaze falling on you makes you feel warm all over.

Your mind was racing, trying to catch up with everything. Noah hadn't actually left you in a haste of regret, instead left because... he got excited about new music? A text he had meant to send was forgotten due to likely being distracted by whatever Jolly had sprung onto him, and you feel like punching yourself for not using the rational part of your brain and talking to him to begin with. Anna even told you that you should, but by then you had fully convinced yourself he hated your guts.

If only you had texted him that morning, maybe all this miscommunication would've never happened. Instead, you'd not only caused anxiety for yourself, but for Noah, and that thought alone upsets you immensely. You meet Noah's eyes with a frown, arms tightening around your chest.

"I'm sorry." You tip your head back with a groan, hands now coming up to cover your face. "If I had just... fucking texted you like a normal person, we wouldn't be in this weird mess."

"It's not a mess. Just miscommunication at its finest." Noah chuckles halfheartedly at his joke, and you feel the covers shift as he scoots closer to you. "It happens, and honestly, I should've just woken you up. That would've probably solved everything."

"Maybe."

Noah pauses before asking, “So… you actually don’t regret it?”

“No.” You flush, before quietly adding, “…It was amazing.” 

He flushes. "...Yeah?"

You feel him scoot closer, your covers shifting and all you can do is nod. He's close enough now that you can feel his body heat, and the urge to reach out to touch him was suddenly the only thing you could think about. 

"Mhm. Thank you... you didn't have to do that."

"I didn't." He hums and you realize just how much closer he's gotten. If it weren't for the blanket still partially wrapped around your body, your legs would be touching, and the thought brings a shiver down your spine. "But I wanted to. Thank you for trusting me."

You don't know how it happens, or when it happens, but the second your eyes meet Noah's again it's like some gravitational pull is tugging you towards him. It's all one big blur, a flurry of limbs as Noah reaches for you while you're trying to free yourself of the blanket wrapped around your body to crawl into his lap. Your lips smash together in a bruising kiss but you don't even care, especially when Noah makes the sweetest noises against your lips.

Your arms wrap around his shoulders as you settle into his lap, legs on either side of his hips, and his fingers dig into your thighs. The groan he lets out against your lips goes straight to your core and the reminder of last night is clear as day in your mind. You're overwhelmed, the need to be as close as possible to him again flooding your senses. It's you who lets out a noise this time, a desperate whine, and Noah pulls back at that, eyes half-lidded.

You catch your breath before you're chasing his lips again, drunk off the feeling, and your hips start moving on their own, grinding yourself into him. You gasp at the feeling of his hardening cock between your thighs and Noah takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, swallowing the noises you were making. He pulls back only trailing his lips across your cheek and down your jaw, nipping at your skin. Your eyes are beginning to roll back at the same time he sighs out your name, fingers inching dangerously close to where you needed him the most, before something inside of you snaps. 

"Wait." The almost drunken-haze you had felt from his kiss was shattered, the reality of everything falling all at once. You pull back from his kiss against your skin, resting your hands on his shoulders to keep yourself steady at how fast you moved, eyes widening. "Wait, wait, wait. What the fuck are we doing?"

Noah pulls back from your neck, brown eyes glossed over in what you can only assume was want. He blinks before realization fills his features, and you feel his grip on your thighs loosen.

"I..." You can't help but watch his neck when he swallows, and also can't help but follow his tongue as it swipes across his bottom lip. "I don't know. I just really wanted to do that again."

His words hit you right in the chest, heart pounding against your ears. "Really?"

"Yeah. I haven't stopped thinking about it," He murmurs, and you watch his eyes drop from yours back down to your lips. "Kind of want to keep doing it."

"Oh." It comes out weakly, and you're not sure if the flush on your cheeks was from his words or from the kiss you just shared. Maybe both. "You want to keep doing it?"

"Yeah." His eyes drag back up to yours and you see something flash in them, something that has your stomach turning in a way you've never felt before. Were those butterflies? "I think I have for a while. Is that okay?"

Oh.

Your heart was beating so rapidly against your chest and you couldn't find the right words to say, because what the fuck was he talking about? He wanted to kiss you? And has been wanting to for a while? Your mind immediately goes back to Anna, to her telling you that you'll understand eventually, and suddenly it was all starting to make sense. Your arms settled back around his neck and you felt his fingers dig into your skin again, eyes never leaving yours.

"I think I have for a while, too, so um.” You swallow down the nerves, giving Noah a timid smile. “Yes. Very much okay."

You see the ghost of a smile on his lips, outer corners turning up at your words. "Yeah?"

You nod, but instead of answering you lean back towards him. He meets you halfway, lips pressing to yours in a much different kiss than the one you had just shared. It wasn't as frantic, filled with something you can't quite place yet, but you were obsessed. It made you feel warm, almost like you were floating, and you quickly realized you would never get enough of it. 

You've never experienced this with another person in your life and you're suddenly thinking about how you never want to do this with anyone else. Just Noah.

You squeak against his lips when you feel him lift you up and toss you onto the bed, your back meeting the sheets. He's on top of you immediately, but he doesn't attach his lips to yours just yet, instead stares down at you with the softest brown eyes you'd ever seen. 

"I also think I've liked you for a lot longer than I've realized, and I hope that's okay, too." He looks almost terrified to say that, and you feel a pang of sadness punch you in the stomach.

"That's more than okay," You all but whisper, reaching out to pull Noah down to you, "because I think I have too."

You don't miss the relieved smile Noah gives you before his lips were back on yours, his body melting right on top of yours.

[fallenbratfiction]

shared desk part 3 ~ bucky barnes x f!reader

This is part three of shared desk! You can check out the prior chapters on my masterlist!

A/N: I have kept you waiting for so long for this!! here you go the official date date!! I don't even know what to say, its gone off the rails completely. I just couldn't stop typing.

mentions: lots of flirting my dudes, unprotected sex, p/v, couch sex my dudes on a really awful couch, I guess some slight angst or vulnerable moment between reader and bucky. If you think I'm missing any important mentions let me know

minors dni. if you're under 18 don't interact with this fic or my blog. I'm not responsible for what you choose to do.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

as always, i hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this! no fr, I hope you do enjoy this.

The next morning, he’s already at the desk when you arrive—unusual for him. There's a cup of coffee waiting beside your chair.

"I didn’t know what coffee you like, so I just… went safe," Bucky says with a soft chuckle, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You smile, taking a sip. "This is good. I like it."

He nods, relief flickering across his face before both of you settle into your usual rhythm. The clack of keys, occasional sips, the faint hum of low conversation and machines around you. Comfortable silence.

But something’s shifting under the surface—bubbling just beneath—and you can feel it coming before he even says anything.

"Hey…" he blurts, breaking the silence. “Can we talk about the kiss?”

You glance up, fingers pausing mid-sentence in your email. “Yeah. What’s up, Buck?”

His hand runs through his hair. Nervous. “I mean, we can talk later if you're busy—”

“It’s just an email. Tell me.”

He hesitates, then exhales. “I didn’t plan on doing it—it just happened.”

Your brow lifts. “Oh shit. Was that not meant to happen? You wanna pretend it didn’t?”

“What? No. No, nothing like that.” He shakes his head quickly. “Just… in my mind, I’d planned it differently.”

A beat.

You lean back in your chair, coffee in hand. “Well… sometimes things come out even better unplanned.”

That stops him. You see it in his eyes—how the words hit and settle. He looks at you like he’s thinking about kissing you again, right here, right now. But he just nods, slowly.

"Yeah," he murmurs. "Yeah. You’re right."

It goes back to silent. You finish the email and he goes back to his work except he blurts out again.

“So… listen,” he starts, clearing his throat. “My idea was, uh… to walk you home, of course. So you don’t get murdered late at night.”

A small laugh escapes you, the kind that tugs at the corner of your lips despite trying to keep it cool. He keeps going, nervous energy in full swing.

“But really—I just wanted to ask you out. Like, actually out. A proper date. A nice one. Or not formal, if you’re not into formal. It doesn’t have to be, I just—something that’s not a coworking lunch. Though those are nice too. I like those. We can still do those—”

“Buck,” you interrupt, amusement dancing in your eyes, “you’re going off.”

“Right. Sorry.” He exhales, cheeks a little pink. “I just wanted to do things right. In order.”

You raise a brow, playful. “Didn’t know you were a control freak.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “Really? You didn’t notice ‘til now?”

You both laugh—and it’s a little too loud for the quiet, focused vibe of the coworking space. A few people glance over. One guy near the printer gives you both a look that definitely says get a room.

After a beat, you lean in just slightly, your voice soft but sure.

“So this proper date… is it still in the plan?”

He looks at you like he’s been waiting to be asked that exact question.

“Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

After the laughter settles, you both ease back into work. But it’s different now—there’s this buzz in the air. Something warm and giddy threading through the glances you sneak at each other when you think the other isn't looking. He catches you once. Smiles. You smile back.

When noon rolls around, it’s almost expected—you pack up your things at the same time, exchange a casual, “Lunch?” and head toward the elevator like you haven’t done this a dozen times before. Except this time feels different.

Inside the elevator, it’s quiet. That kind of intimate quiet where the silence isn’t awkward, just full of potential.

A strand of hair slips into your face as you look down at your phone.

He reaches out, slow but certain, tucking it behind your ear. His fingers graze along your jaw as he does it, featherlight.

“It was in the way,” he murmurs.

You arch a brow. “Control freak.”

“Guilty,” he says, not even pretending to deny it.

You both laugh again, a softer one this time, as the elevator dings open.

The day ends earlier than expected—his work got rescheduled, your deadline moved. There’s no real reason to head home together… but he waits anyway. You walk out side by side.

“You really ate this hero role up, huh?” you tease as you cross the street. “You won’t let me walk home alone from now on?”

“Not if I can help it,” he says, simply.

Your heart tugs a little.

The sun’s lower in the sky now, casting a soft gold light over everything. It’s quiet when you reach your door. That moment again—lingering.

You turn to him, voice low, a smile tugging at your lips. “So… what’s this proper date you’ve got in mind?”

He leans in slightly, like it’s a secret only for you.

“That depends. You like Italian?”

“I do.”

A small, satisfied nod. “Good. Friday? I’ll pick you up.”

And just like that… the not-a-date lunches are officially retired.

Friday evening 

Across town, Bucky’s staring at his reflection like it owes him money.

He holds up a button-down. Frowns. Too formal.

Switches to a basic black Henley. Classic. Safe.

Switches again. Tries it with a jacket. Then without. Then back again.

“You are spiraling,” he mutters, annoyed with himself. “It’s just dinner.”

He shuts the door and heads over to your place—though not before stopping by a flower shop to pick up a small bouquet.

———

You’re in your room, chaos at full volume.

Half your closet is on the bed. Your hair’s half-done. Your playlist is jumping between calm and hype like it’s trying to match your heart rate. You hold up two outfits—one a bit flirty, one a little more classic.

You go with the flirty one. You stare in the mirror and re-apply your lip gloss twice. You mutter to yourself, “It’s just a date. Not like you haven’t seen the guy every day this week.

Bucky rings and it’s go time. You answer through the machine that’ll be down in a second.  

Still, you check the mirror one more time before heading out. 

———

“Hey,” you say with a smile that is both confident and quietly nervous.

He looks at you like you just stepped out of a dream. “You look… wow.”

You glance him over and grin. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

He offers you the bouquet, a little awkward but sincere. “I, uh… got these. Figured flowers were required.”

“They absolutely are,” you tease, taking them. “Good to know you’re a traditionalist.”

He scratches the back of his neck, still trying to recover. “So… I have some news for you.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He gestures toward the curb. “We’re going on my motorcycle.”

You lean out to look. And there it is. The beast. Matte black. Loud. Aggressive. The opposite of what you pictured when you heard “nice Italian dinner.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh… oh no no no.”

“I have a helmet for you,” he says, holding up the one he brought.

“This could’ve been a nice warning, Barnes.”

He gives you that half-grin, the smug one. “You would’ve canceled.”

“Damn right I would’ve.”

He sets the helmet on your head—your perfectly styled hair that you spent a reasonable amount of time on.

“It’s going to ruin my hair,” you grumble.

“Impossible,” he says without missing a beat.

But somehow—you don’t. Somehow, minutes later, you’re on the back of his bike, clinging to him like your life depends on it. (It might.)

“Hold on,” he calls over his shoulder.

You tighten your arms around his waist, muttering, “Believe me, I am.”

The engine growls beneath you, a deep rumble that vibrates through your bones. The city blurs past—neon signs, headlights, the fading pink of sunset melting into dusk.

Your arms are wrapped tight around his waist, and you lean in close, yelling over the noise, “I HATE YOU!”

He doesn’t respond.

But you know.

You know he’s smiling.

You can’t see his face, but you can feel the grin spreading across it. That cocky, smug little smirk he wears when he knows he’s won.

Your hair whips around you, wind cutting past your cheeks like laughter, and despite yourself… a laugh escapes your lips too.

It’s terrifying.

It’s exhilarating.

And it’s a little bit too much fun.

You pull up to the restaurant, a cozy little Italian spot glowing warmly on the corner. As you take the helmet off, hair a mess, you glare at him.

He holds up a hand, gesturing—may I?

You nod, and he gently runs his fingers through your hair, trying to fix the damage the helmet caused. His touch is light. Careful.

“I still hate you,” you mutter, breathless.

He shrugs, completely unbothered. “Didn’t hear you complain back there.”

“You couldn’t hear anything over my screaming.”

He opens the door for you with a little bow. “C’mon. I’ll make it up to you. There’s pasta with your name on it.”

———

Inside, the restaurant is warm and low-lit, all exposed brick and hanging lights. It smells like heaven—garlic, fresh herbs, something sizzling in a pan.

The host greets Bucky like he’s a regular. You raise an eyebrow.

“Don’t tell me this is your go-to first date spot.”

He smiles innocently. “Would it be a red flag if it was?”

“Depends. How many helmets do you carry around?”

He laughs, head tipping back just slightly, and gestures for you to walk ahead.

Once seated, the waiter leaves a bottle of wine and two menus. You both open them at the same time… and neither of you looks down.

You’re watching each other instead.

“You gonna pick for both of us too, or are we back to equal rights now?”

“You’re welcome to order for me, if that’s your thing.”

You hum, pretending to think. “Something with anchovies, then.”

He looks horrified.

You grin. “Power shift complete.”

He’s still smiling when he pours the wine.

The pasta arrives, steaming and rich, and for a few quiet seconds, it’s just the clink of silverware and shared smiles over wine.

“Okay,” you say, after a sip, “you’ve told me your favorite band. But what’s your comfort movie?”

He lifts his brows, chewing thoughtfully. “The Great Escape.”

You blink. “Really?”

He shrugs, grinning. “There’s something satisfying about the plan. The tension. Also—motorcycles.”

You laugh. “Of course.”

You keep going—music, food, things you’d never eat. He tries to pretend he isn’t picky, but you catch the face he makes when you mention oysters.

Then, in a lull, you glance over at him, playful but curious.

“So what was your plan?”

He blinks. “Plan?”

“You said you had one,” you remind him. “With me.”

He exhales, chuckling softly. “God, yeah. I mean—there were rules. No kissing until at least the second date. Keep it casual. Let things unfold naturally.”

You smirk. “And how’s that going?”

He looks at you like he wants to say something smart—but then just admits, “I wrecked it the second I met you.”

The silence after that is warm, charged.

Then he blurts, almost without thinking, “Which, statistically, is ridiculous for someone my age.”

You blink. “Your age?”

He winces, realizing what he’s done. “Shit. No. I didn’t mean—forget I said that.”

You lean in, eyes narrowed. “What, are you older than you look? What are we talking here—mid-forties? Fifty?”

He mutters something.

You lean closer. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He sighs, looking anywhere but at you. “I’m… technically… one hundred and seven.”

You stare at him. Then you smile, slow and wicked.

“So if I asked for your birth year, would I need to use Roman numerals?”

He groans, but you see the corner of his mouth twitching.

You add, “Do I need to puree your food from now on?”

“Okay, enough,” he laughs, covering his face with one hand.

The table shakes with your laughter. And underneath it, his hand finds yours. Warm. Solid. Grounding.

“Are you going to let me pay this time?” you ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head immediately, brows furrowed like you just insulted him. He gets to the check before you can even pretend to reach for it.

“What kind of gentleman would I be?” he says, almost scolding—but there’s a warmth behind it.

That makes you blush. The way he says it. The way he means it. He is a gentleman—truly. The kind you’ve only read about. The kind that makes you pause and wonder if this is real.

He’s folding the receipt away when he glances up and catches the look on your face—just for a second like you forgot to hide it. Like you're lost in a thought you didn’t mean to let show.

“What?” he asks gently, a trace of amusement in his voice. “You’re looking at me like I just grew another metal arm.”

You laugh, soft and breathy, shaking your head. “Nothing. Just… you’re kind of unfair.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Unfair?”

You nod. “Too good. Like you stepped out of some daydream or something.”

His eyes soften. No teasing this time. Just honesty.

“I think that about you,” he says quietly, “all the time.”

Then, even softer—almost like he’s admitting it to himself more than to you. “Which is probably why I keep messing up my plan.”

 After the check is paid you step outside into the crisp night. The city hums around you, but it all feels muted—like you're wrapped in some kind of bubble.

He hands you the helmet.

“Still worried I’ll fall off?” you tease.

He just smirks. “Not worried. Just prepared.”

You take it, slide it on, and glance up at him through your lashes. The helmet’s too big and makes your hair puff awkwardly, but you’re smiling—and that smile hits him like it always does.

He huffs a soft laugh, eyes crinkling. “Come here,” he murmurs, stepping closer.

His hands reach up—one warm, one cool—and gently adjust the strap under your chin. He’s careful and focused, thumbs brushing your jaw as he fastens it just right.

“There,” he says, voice low. “Wouldn’t want you flying off and blaming me.”

You’re close enough to see the flecks of gray in his stubble, the softness in his eyes, the way he lingers just a second too long.

Too good, he thinks. Too good to be mine.

You swing your leg over and wrap your arms around his waist. There’s no joking this time, no pretending you’re terrified. You just lean in. You breathe him in. He feels it.

And for the ride home, it’s quiet. The wind against your jacket, the rhythm of the engine beneath you, your cheek against his back.

He feels your arms around him, your grip tightens slightly on turns, and it’s… grounding. Intimate. It's almost like he could believe he belongs somewhere.

When he parks outside your building, you swing your leg off and remove the helmet, hair mussed and cheeks pink from the wind.

He watches you, that same quiet look in his eyes as always.

You hand him back the helmet. “You wanna come up for a second? You said you needed to use the bathroom, remember?”

He hesitates—but only for half a second. “Right. Yeah. Bathroom.”

Inside, the apartment is dim and calm. You flick on a low lamp in the corner and start to gesture toward the hallway. “Bathroom’s just—”

But you don’t finish the sentence.

Because when you turn, he’s already looking at you.

He steps forward. “I had a whole plan, you know.”

You smirk. “Yeah? How’s it going?”

He’s close now, one hand finding your waist, the other brushing your arm. “Totally wrecked it.”

And then he kisses you.

Slow. Focused. A little desperate—like he’s been holding it in for too long and something just gave way.

You reach behind you, fumbling the door closed without breaking the kiss. Shoes half-kicked off, jackets forgotten. You both laugh softly as you stumble over your bag and bump into a table, don’t care.

You barely make it past the entryway before you fall into each other again.

The kiss grows hungrier. Your back hits the couch, or maybe his back—you’re not sure who landed first. All you know is you’re straddling him now, knees on either side of his thighs, your breath uneven.

His hands roam—your waist, your thighs, your back. Yours are in his hair, his jaw, gripping the edges of his shirt like it might anchor you.

Then his vibranium hand slips into your hair—cool and sure. He tugs, just enough to tilt your head back, exposing the line of your throat.

His mouth finds your neck.

You gasp, fingers tightening in his shirt. He exhales against your skin, and it sends another shiver through you. His hands grip your waist firmly.

“You’re really bad at following plans,” you murmur, breathless.

He grins against your throat. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” His hands find your zipper and pull it down—slow, careful.

You stop him—not to push him away, but to shift.

Wordlessly, you slide off his lap and stand in front of him.

He watches you with eyes dark, hungry, locked in place—like if he blinked, he might miss it. Like you’re something he’s been starving for.

You let the straps of your dress slip from your shoulders. Let it fall in one clean motion, pooling softly at your feet.

You stand there in your underwear—bare skin kissed by the soft lamp light—and for a beat, he just stares.

Like you’re something holy.

Then he reaches for you. No hesitation. No teasing. Just raw, reverent need. He pulls you back onto his lap, your knees on either side of him.

His hands are everywhere—your thighs, your waist, your back—gripping, grounding, like he still can’t believe you’re real.

His voice is low, almost wrecked.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

And he says it like it’s killing him. Like it’s been on the tip of his tongue since the moment he first saw you.

You reach for him, fingers finding the edge of his jacket. He lets you pull it off without a word.

Then comes the shirt—your hands slipping beneath the hem, dragging it up over his chest, his shoulders, and finally off.

And—holy shit.

You blink.

Fuck me.

Why was he hiding all of that under his clothes?

Defined, scarred, solid. Like he was carved from something real. Something earned.

Your breath catches. And suddenly? The whole “I’m a hundred” thing feels like absolute bullshit.

“Seriously,” you mutter, eyes wide. “There’s no way.”

He raises a brow, amused. “No way what?”

“That you’re a hundred. Bullshit.”

He laughs, soft and a little breathless, but you’re not really listening anymore.

Your hands find his chest, running slowly over warm skin, the lines of muscle, the scar on his shoulder—faint, but deep—and the place where metal meets flesh, the seam where his vibranium arm connects. You pause there, not to inspect, not to question—just to feel it.

You’re not studying him. You’re admiring him.

Your hand lifts, soft, fingertips brushing along the edge of it. Just to feel. Just to understand.

And that’s when you feel him shift.

Not visibly. Not loudly. Just a subtle change in his breathing. A tension in his jaw.

You glance up—and his eyes are on you, guarded now. Watching you watch him.

Like he’s waiting. For judgment. For you to flinch. For the part where you see the damage and pull away.

Like he’s had people look at him like that before—and it never ended well.

But you don’t flinch. You don’t pull back.

Your fingers trace the line where metal meets flesh, soft and slow. You look at him—not with pity, not with fear. Just… awe.

“You’re not a monster,” you whisper. “Not even close.”

He exhales, shaky. Like he didn’t know he’d been holding his breath.

You press a soft kiss against his lips —hands pressed to his chest, your body close—he kisses you back like something unlocked inside him. Like he’s not afraid of being seen anymore.

The kiss deepens, slow but intense, your mouths moving together.

His hands return to your body—warm, solid, reverent. One curls around your waist, holding you steady. The other, vibranium and sure, cups the back of your neck as he pulls you closer, closer, like he still doesn’t believe you’re really here.

You shift against him, your thighs straddling his hips again, and he groans into your mouth—quiet, rough, needy. It unravels everything.

The heat grows. His hands explore—your back, your sides, under the edge of your bra, then, with a smooth flick of his fingers, he unhooks it with one hand. Effortless.

You blink, breath catching. “Show-off.”

He grins against your skin. “You’re welcome.”

You grind down against him and he groans—low, sharp, like he’s unraveling beneath you.

“Won’t this mess up your plan?” you murmur against his lips, breath shaky.

He pauses just barely, eyes flicking open, dazed.

“…What plan?”

His voice is ragged. Like he genuinely forgot it ever existed. Because you wrecked it.

“You sure you want this?”

He groans when you nod, like the permission undoes him.

You barely get the word “yes” out before he’s kissing you again— It’s messy now, deep and heated, his mouth hot against yours, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Your hips grind against his and he gasps, hands flying to your waist, gripping tight like he’s barely holding it together.

You tug at the waistband of his pants and he helps—shoving them down without grace, without care, because nothing matters now except skin and friction and you.

He curses under his breath when you sink down onto him, head falling back against the couch, eyes blown wide.

“Fuck,” he breathes—raw, reverent. “You feel…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. He’s too busy watching the way your mouth parts in a moan as you move—slow at first, teasing, and then faster, harder.

Your hands are everywhere—his chest, his shoulders, the edge of the couch for balance. He fills you completely, and the stretch has you gasping, clinging to him as you move. Your hands claw at his shoulders, fingers digging into muscle. He loves it.

Your pace quickens and so does his grip, guiding your hips with both hands like he needs this to last but knows it won’t.

His grip on your hips is possessive, guiding your rhythm, dragging you down harder with every roll of your body.

“You’re driving me insane,” he growls, voice hoarse, head tipping forward to nip at your collarbone, your jaw, your shoulder.

You tug at his hair, and he groans again—louder this time, shameless.

The couch creaks.  The room’s too hot, too perfect.

He shifts, hands gripping your thighs as he flips you—your back hitting the cushions, legs still wrapped around him as he settles between them.

Now he’s on top. And he doesn’t slow down.

He thrusts into you deep, steady, relentless—his eyes locked on yours like he wants to watch the way you fall apart.

You arch beneath him, breath shattered, hands gripping anything you can—his shoulders, his arms, the couch cushions, your sanity.

He lowers his head, mouth trailing hot across your collarbone before his teeth sink lightly into the curve of your neck. Not too hard—but enough to make your breath hitch, enough to mark.

His hips snap harder. His grip tightens.

He’s groaning against your skin, biting, licking, losing it as your moans rise in pitch, your nails dragging down his back.

You feel it building—fast and sharp.

“Bucky—” you gasp, voice breaking.

“I know,” he growls, voice wrecked. “I know—don’t stop—don’t fucking stop—”

And you don’t. Neither of you do.

You come together like a crash—loud, clinging, uncoordinated—his mouth still on your neck, your back arching, both of you trembling through it.

The couch groans in protest, a final creak under the weight of your bodies and everything that’s been boiling over between you.

And then—

Silence.

Except for the sound of your breathing. His heartbeat against your chest.

And the way neither of you dares to move just yet.

He collapses onto you with a low groan, forehead damp, breath still catching in his throat.

His weight is heavy, but not crushing—just solid. Comforting.

He rests his head against your chest, cheek pressed between your tits, one arm draped lazily over your waist.

Neither of you says anything for a long moment. Just breathing. The sound of it filling the room as your heartbeats slowly, slowly return to something almost normal.

You brush a hand through his hair—sweaty, soft, a little wild—and smile to yourself.

“So,” you murmur, voice hoarse. “Still think you’re too old for this?”

He groans into your chest. “Don’t start.”

You laugh softly. “No, seriously. Should I call a medic? Or a chiropractor?”

He pinches your hip, but he doesn’t move. “I hate you.”

“Liar.”

He hums, lips brushing your skin. “A little.”

The couch creaks beneath you again and you both wince.

You look at the state of it—cushions everywhere, throw blanket on the floor along the rest of your discarded clothes. 

“Okay,” you whisper. “So we definitely killed the couch.”

Still, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even lift his head.

“You wanna move to the bed?” you ask, fingers lazily tracing circles along his spine.

“Can’t,” he mumbles.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Both.”

You grin. “You’re seriously going to pass out on my tits?”

“Best pillow I’ve ever had.”

You giggle softly, but you don’t push him off. You just let your hand keep stroking his back, slower now, as his breathing evens out and the weight of him starts to feel like something more than just exhaustion.

Like comfort. Like trust.

Like maybe he’s safe here.

You shift under him, trying to get comfortable—but there’s no hope. The couch is broken, cushions askew, and your back is already protesting.

Still, you don’t move.

His head is still tucked against your chest, one arm slung heavy around your waist, and his breathing has slowed into the kind of deep, steady rhythm that says he’s out.

You stare at the ceiling, the room dim and quiet around you, the air still thick with sweat and warmth and everything you didn’t say out loud.

You try to wiggle your leg. Nope. Trapped.

You sigh.

It’s the worst sleep you’ve ever had.

Your shoulder aches. The couch dips weirdly to one side. Your neck’s at a horrible angle.

But his arm tightens slightly in his sleep.

You smile. Close your eyes.

And fall asleep anyway.

Hope you enjoyed your read just as much as I enjoyed writing this for y'all, let me know what you think!

Reblogs, likes and comments help this story grow! ✨✨✨

Let me know if you want to be added to a Taglist so you can be the first to know when the next part comes out!!

@pickuptruck01 @writing-for-marvel @bluelygreen @pins-and-flowers @voodoo-tofu @mcira @lostinspace33

[maevawrites]

'and they were neighbors' . . . jack abbott - mini series pt.2

✦ disclaimers/warnings: drabble, fluff, cuteness, the use of y/n, abbott elementary-style f!teacher x jack abbott (the pitt), written with a black reader in mind but anyone is welcome to read, reader is an art teacher, let’s just pretend abbott elementary and the pitt are in the same area for the sake of this, possible grammar and spelling mistakes...

✦ summary: as you're about to head to abbott elementary for your first day, your nerves are slowly taking over but when you catch a moment with jack, you realize things are going to be just fine.

✦ word count: 788

pt.1 | pt.2 | pt.3

imagine... you see jack as you're headed to your first day teaching at abbott elementary.

summer was over before you knew it, and back-to-school season was now in full swing.

you'd been going down to your new classroom at abbott elementary for the past couple weeks to get things prepared for the new school year. you were going to be the schools new art teacher.

you taped up colorful posters, hung up fairylights, even made a cozy corner with a pink fluffy rug and bean bag in efforts to make your room feel like yours. but still, everything felt unfamiliar. things were going to be a lot different this year.

new school. new classroom. new students.

this move brought lots of change into your life. everything constantly changing around you as you got adjusted. strangely enough, jack, your new neighbor had slowly become a constant in your life.

every morning when you left your place to start the day, he was just getting home to end his. there was never much said between you guys. just quiet acts of acknowledgement as you both went on with your days.

jack worked nights—something you picked up on quickly, judging by the way he always looked half-ready to collapse when you were stepping out bright and early. it was almost like the two of you existed in opposite realms that were somehow close.

he was dusk. you were dawn.

in the short time you guys had been neighbors, something about the silent encounters you had with him quickly became your favorite part of the day. it was always either, a crooked half-smile or a gruff "morning" from him, followed by your own, "sleep well, jack." your vanilla-scented perfume hanging in the hall as you passed him—unbeknownst to you, becoming jack's new favorite smell.

to some, it might look like neighborly routine, but to you, those little interactions were grounding. humanizing. something to hold onto as you try to fall back into normalcy after the move.

this morning was no different—at least not at first.

you were locking your apartment door just as jack stepped out of the elevator at the end of the hall.

"mornin'," he said in his usual gruff tone, though there was never anything harsh behind it.

"good morning, jack." you said, trying to keep your voice even. for some reason, you were beyond nervous for your first day, even though you'd been teacher for three years now.

"first day or something?" jack asked, eyeing you.

"yeah," you nodded. "first day teaching at abbott elementary, actually. i'm going to be the school's new art teacher." you glanced down, picking at the loose thread sticking out from your cardigan. "i'm kinda nervous."

"why?" was all jack said.

"i don't know. everything's going to be different this year. i mean i've taught before, but this year feels... different."

he gave a slight nod, shifting the backpack on his shoulder as he looked at you—really looking at you—taking in what you had just said.

"different doesn't mean bad." he simply said. "you'll be fine. kids'll love you."

you glanced up at him, surprised at how steady and sure he sounded.

"you think so?"

"yeah, you got the look."

look?

you glanced down at yourself.

bright multi-colored cardigan. a pair of flowy pants. your hair freshly done in neat knotless braids, styled into two pigtails with ribbon bows wrapped around them. dangly apple earrings swinging gently with every move. a pencil shaped lanyard around your neck.

you supposed.. you did have the look—a warm, inviting one.

still, the nerves pressed at your sides, quiet but persistent. your mouth went dry as you were about to say something but jack beat you to it.

"i know you care. the past couple weeks i've seen you walking out with something new for your classroom. i'm sure the pink rugged you dragged over there will get some good use."

your eyebrows rose. "you remember that?"

"kinda hard not to. the damn thing is pretty fluffy."

"yeah" you chuckle, your nerves slowly dissipating. "it is."

you took a deep breath and let it out.

the things that jack had just told you somehow made you feel a lot better about today.

"thanks, jack." you said, heading towards the elevator.

"anytime." he then called out, "you're gonna have a good day, teach."

"i hope so. get some rest, doc." you called back, a smile forming on your face.

you tucked jack's words into your back pocket like a note.

you believed what he said—because hearing it from him meant more than you expected. and somehow, it made walking through the doors of abbott elementary feel a little easier.

✦ maeva’s thoughts: i know this part is lowkey giving slow burn but i swear the next part will have more action (abbott kinda makes a move??). i have this whole thing all planned out trust.

hope y'all enjoyed.

[apollabarnes]

part five

"i think i'm friends with my ex's stepmother." it's simplifying the relationships involved by a lot, but if tommy tries to get into how their whole thing works they'd definitely run out of time, and he's not the only one who wants to talk. "and i'm pretty sure it happened after we broke up."

he catches someone across the circle trying not to laugh and shrugs. "no, it's weird. i get it. you can laugh." the offer breaks the dam and he sees at least three of them start laughing quietly.

siobhan shakes her head, frowning gently at tommy. "is there anything else you want to say about that?"

"nope. just wanted to say it to someone who doesn't know any of us," tommy shakes his head, crossing his arms across his chest and sitting back. "thanks."

he's been turning it over in his head for a few days, and it's why he's visiting one of the other meetings that he used to go to. he's definitely not about to talk about this in front of athena, but he just… wants to know if it's as strange as he thinks it is.

"you don't have to stop being friends with someone when a romantic relationship fizzles," siobhan offers to all of them, "people are capable of having more than one friend."

for all that tommy has literally said that (to evan) before, it's not that helpful. tommy thinks about the fact that the text threads with hen and eddie dried up almost immediately after the breakup. hen's ability to hold a grudge is legendary, and eddie was evan's friend first. still. part of tommy had hoped that they'd become good enough friends they'd stay in touch after. karen still texts him occasionally — tommy's never sure how to respond to her. she's on the outside of the 118 too. she probably understands the most what it's like. he doesn't want to know what she really thinks of him.

howie's the only one he texts back, and tommy's very pointedly never replied to any texts that mention evan. they mostly talk about movies. howie still drops the odd tidbit about evan anyways, and then tommy finds himself staring at them for so long he memorizes them. howie's a complicated bastard. tommy remembers the call he made to karen, thinks that if he wants to avoid a similar one that he should block howie's number. he can't. he'll be in his nineties and still picking up just in case howie needs a hand with anything.

he hadn't once considered that it would be athena he'd stay in touch with after the breakup. tommy had assumed that she'd be one of the first people to forget him— and she probably would have, if tommy hadn't wandered into the same meeting she was in.

before the cruise he'd only interacted with her a few times on the job, and the most memorable call had been maurice. it wasn't until they'd been waiting for hen and howie had been going through the photos on his phone that tommy had put together that sergeant grant and bobby's wife athena were the same person.

(in tommy's defense, there are so many stories about sergeant grant that he'd just assumed there had to be at least six of them in the city.)

he has no idea why athena's decided to keep talking to him. there's a clock ticking down in the back of his head. one day they'll hit the end of whatever they're doing and that'll be that.

tommy gets it. it's not like athena's getting anything out of this. she's even better about talking around who she goes to the meetings for than tommy is about talking around evan, but tommy's only an idiot about his own relationships. there had been enough after work drinks in the six months between bobby joining the lafd and tommy transferring that he'd noticed bobby never drank.

everything that she says tells tommy he hasn't relapsed since they've been together, so he's happy enough to let the anonymous part of the group win and not ask athena for confirmation.

"tommy," siobhan comes to a stop in front of him. "time's up."

he blinks up at her. "sorry."

"you sure you're okay?"

"i'll let you know."

part one // part two // part three // part four

[red-dye40]

LOOK EVERYONE BEE'S MAKING ANOTHER LONG TEXT POST!

LET'S ALL READ IT AND REALLY REALLY ABSORB EVERY LAST WORD!

Hello, it's me, Bee. I'm typing with proper capitalization to show you how serious this post is.

Recently, and especially yesterday, I've been getting increasingly upsetting and alarming engagement from fans (it feels stupid saying "fans" but also maybe my overfamiliarity is part of what's biting me in my huge ass.)

I am always of the mindset of letting people do their freak shit, never yucking anyone's yum, etc etc, but I think I have to start being a lot more explicit about where I stand on some things.

First of all, I want to specify upfront that Newfag Runs The Gauntlet is a work of fiction, and what's more, it's very explicit social commentary. You are Not supposed to root for Newf. He is purposefully Not A Good Person. That goes for pretty much everyone in NFRTG in fact; like, yes the CrowdSauce posts are funny and ridiculous, but if you find yourself reading some of the more violent and disturbing parts of those threads and being like "woah that's just like me!" then I urge you to understand that it's not a Good thing.

NFRTG isn't written to be representation for paraphiles or radqueers. I in fact do not use either of those terms to describe myself, because I personally am deeply uncomfortable with how broad and vague and muddy the definitions are, and how it invites and potentially encourages some really unsavory behavior. NFRTG is a cautionary tale first and foremost. It's a horror novel because it is SCARY how willingly all these characters agree to ruin people's lives for a laugh. It's also FUNNY because I am very funny :) and it's HOT and you can think it's HOT because I do! And definitely write parts of it to be hot and horny! That's part of the horror, too! Not knowing whether you're disturbed or disgusted or aroused! But please please please know that these characters are Not the good guys. There are really no good guys to be found. Intentionally. And that's not a Good Thing.

I'm going to take a big big BIG step back from fandom engagement for my own sake. There inevitably comes a point where creators kind of can't afford to keep up intense fan engagement and I think I'm there, so I'm gonna untrack my tags and let you all have your fun without mommy breathing down your neck. If you want me to see something, you can tag me or submit it to the site for sure! I WANT to see your art and writing and theories and all that! I LOVE it! I just don't think I need to be privy to ALL of it.

My closing remark is I am so grateful and so lucky to have gotten such a following so fast. Pretty much everyone I've interacted with has been very kind and sweet and curious, and I so admire that. What a lucky little bug I am! I want to keep feeling positively about my work and the impact it's having on others, so I urge everyone to approach NFRTG with a critical eye, understand that I am very much Pointing Out A Problem when I write characters doing or saying terrible things, understand that I very much Don't want people to kill themselves or each other, that I don't think these behaviors are just things we should turn our backs to. I was once a deeply suicidal, nihilistic, self-entitled channer who frequented gore sites and watched awful shit for fun. That was not good, and it took years of therapy for me to even START to unpack that and crawl out of that hole of self destruction. But I'm so much happier and healthier and better off now that I'm away from all that, and I will always encourage people to do the same. I really really would prefer it if people stayed alive and helped themselves and didn't harm others. That is my ask.

Thank you for your reading and I love you and I LIKE you. Please be safe and good :)