#and here's me literally finding it difficult to listen to this happen

[jils-things]

im honestly so glad i never found myself relying on chatgpt or any ai that is supposed to help you in homework. its really embarrassing when a professor finds out

[fromtheseventhhell]

*opens video* *sees their first "book accurate" point is that Arya overheard Roose planning the Red Wedding* *closes video*

[puckinghischier]

Locksmith - Nico Hischier

nico hischier x fem!reader, jack hughes x platonic!reader, luke hughes x platonic!reader

summary: reader has been friends with the hughes brothers for years, and when she finally arrives in Jersey to move in with her best friends, she finds herself locked out and stuck in the hallway, with only the neighbor to save her

notes: this is my first time ever writing ANYTHING, so this could be terrible. BUT it’s really only a peek at where i want the story to go so possible series if anyone actually wants to read it??? 🫣

part 2, part 3, part 4

[2.4k]

~

You know, three suitcases didn’t seem like enough when you were packing, but trying to roll three suitcases down the long, carpeted hallway is proving to be one of the most difficult tasks you’ve ever had to do in your life.

Seriously, the building didn’t look this long from the outside.

After a trek that felt like miles, you reach the door you’ve been scanning for, only to find it locked tight. “I swear to god I’m literally going to kill them,” you said to yourself, out loud. “They tell the doorman to let me in, have me bring all this luggage up by myself, only to leave the fucking door locked. Why did I expect anything less?”

Grabbing your phone, you dial Jack’s number, silently begging him to pick up. You know he’s at a charity thing with Luke, but surely he’s allowed to answer his phone, right? Wrong. His phone goes straight to voicemail, twice. Classic Jack. You know there’s not any point to calling Luke, he always leaves his phone during charity events in order to connect with the kids better. Usually you find that endearing and admirable, but right now you wish that he was maybe just a bit more selfish.

“Well, I guess I live in the hallway now. Hope the carpet is plush enough to sleep on.” You’ve always had a habit of talking out loud to yourself when you’re nervous or, in this case, annoyed. It helps you work through your thoughts and not dwell on anything for too long. Purges your emotions a bit.

“Trust me, it’s not. Speaking from experience here, you’d be much better off sleeping on the couches in the lobby” a voice startles you.

“Oh my god,” you jumped. You turned around to see the door to the apartment behind you wide open, a dark haired man leaning against the doorway, smile on his face.

“I- how long have you been standing there?” you asked, hand on your chest trying to calm your racing heart.

“Long enough to know you’re thinking about sleeping on the carpet, not long enough to know why,” he states, humor lacing his tone.

“Well, if you must know, my roommates left the door locked, no spare key, and won’t answer their phones. So, until they get home, the hallway is my new bedroom,” you surveyed the stranger.

He was tall, much taller than you were. He wore a simple white t-shirt, black sweatpants, and a backwards hat on his head, hiding what looked like hair that was in need of a trim based on how much it was spilling out the sides of the hat. But what made you stop in your tracks were his eyes. You don’t think you had ever truly understood the phrase ‘warm eyes’ until now. They were the most spectacular shade of brown you had ever seen in your life. And they were filled with amusement. Amusement directed towards you, since he had just heard you talking to yourself like a madwoman.

“Ahh, you must be Y/N! I thought Jack said you weren’t coming until tomorrow?” He asked, understanding washing over his face.

“I caught an earlier flight and was going to surprise them. However, Jack texted me earlier this morning and told me he and Luke had to go to a charity skate, so I had to tell them I was coming early. He told me he’d leave the door unlocked so I could go ahead and settle in, but, as you can see, they did not,” you explained, only slightly shocked Jack told his neighbor about you. That boy sure liked to talk, yapping anyone’s ear off who would listen.

“Well, lucky for you, I happen to have a spare key you can use,” the stranger tells you, walking out of your view for a brief moment.

“Should I be concerned that the neighbor has a spare key? Does he just go around handing out spares left and right?” you ask, starting to feel a bit awkward standing among all of your luggage.

“No, not exactly,” the man laughs. “He gave me a spare after one too many nights of me hauling him home from the bar only to realize he didn’t have his key with him.”

He walks out of his apartment, a small golden key in hand. The stranger, whose name you forgot to ask, unlocks the door and stands back with a warm smile on his face.

“There, you just got upgraded to a real bedroom,” he recalls, standing in the now open doorway.

“I would say thank you, but I’m still a little concerned that a strange man just had to let me into my own apartment,” you (semi) joke, attempting to gather your suitcases.

“I’m Nico,” he explains, taking the suitcase you were struggling to heave into the apartment.

“Oh, you’re the captain!” you exclaim, recalling all the times Jack and Luke had talked about their beloved leader to you. “Jack never mentioned you lived next door!”

“That’s me. I only just moved in about a week ago. Was looking for a place closer to the rink and Jack told me about his previous neighbors moving out, so I decided to move in. Nice having them just across the hall. They’re like the little brothers I never had,” Nico pronounces brothers like ‘brudders’. You nearly forgot Jack had mentioned he was from Switzerland, too distracted to have picked up on his accent before now.

“Yeah, they seem to have that effect on people, huh?” you understood the sentiment behind Nico’s words all too well.

You’ve known Jack, Luke, and Quinn since you were all kids. Your family owned the lake house next to theirs when you were growing up. You spent every summer with them up until Quinn got drafted to the Canucks a few years back. Then Jack to the Devils, then Luke following Jack. Your families grew incredibly close to one another over the years, though. Trips to visit the other outside of the summer months became a regular occurrence. Trips to watch their hockey games, traveling to watch Luke play college hockey, and attending their drafts. These three were the brothers you never had but always wanted. They treated you like their own sister from the very start.

“They especially have the annoying aspect of younger brothers perfected,” Nico replied, both of you fully inside your new apartment now.

“God, don’t I know it,” you laughed.

Looking up, you finally took in your new home. Geez, this place is nice. It shouldn’t surprise you, really, with how much Jack and Luke both make, but the apartment is like, really nice. Definitely out of your price range, by likely a couple thousand dollars. You suddenly feel bad that Jack refused to let you pay any share of the rent. You had fought him on it, several times. He insisted that they had the spare bedroom anyways, and they had no trouble making rent as is. You demanded that you contribute in some way, so you were now tasked with grocery shopping and cooking for two professional hockey players. Honestly, after seeing the meal plans the team nutritionist gave them, it might be a fair trade.

It's only as you look over towards the kitchen at the thought of having to go grocery shopping soon, you realize Nico is still there. He’s just standing there, watching you take in your surroundings, lost in your own thoughts.

“Well, thanks for not letting me waste away in the hallway. And helping me with my luggage. I think someone from TSA filled my suitcases with rocks or something. I swear it didn’t seem like I had that much stuff when I left home,” you explain, not knowing what else to say to the stranger.

“No problem, seriously. I feel like I’m over here more than I’m at my own apartment, anyways. Jack is always calling me to come over or insisting that we have to watch game film together after practice. It’s a little concerning how obsessed he is with hockey. I mean, I’m the captain of the team and I feel like I spend less time thinking about work than he does,” Nico chuckles, not seeming to want to end the conversation just yet.

“God, don’t even get me started. I’ve had to listen to him ramble on and on about hockey for years. I’m just glad someone else finally understands my pain.”

“You know, the only other subject he seems to talk about as much as hockey is you. And his family, but according to him the two are one in the same. Every time I’ve seen him this week, which is nearly every day, he’s updated me on the countdown to when you were set to arrive. He’s seriously excited to have you here. They both are. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” Nico reveals.

You and Jack had always been the closest out of the three brothers. With your age falling directly in-between Quinn and Jack, you and Jack had the most common interests as a kid. Quinn was always trying to be the grown one, not concerning himself with whatever you and Jack were interested in while growing up. As teens, Quinn was always training or going off by himself to do who knows what. Luke was still slightly too young to go off with you and Jack alone, so it was usually just the two of you embarking on your own little adventures on those summer days. Once Jack got his boating license neither of your parents would let Luke go out on the water without them. So, more often than not, you and Jack would take the boat to God knows where in the middle of the lake and spend the whole day there, not returning until after dark. Those days were your favorite to think back on. The conversations between you and Jack never ceased to flow. From hockey, to your boy troubles back home, to whatever girl Jack wanted to impress that summer, to what your lives would look like one day, to always vowing to be in each other’s lives, even if he became a big shot hockey player that lived on the other side of the world.

“Yeah, well, he always has been the sentimental type, no matter how hard he tries to deny it,” you chuckle, a fond smile finding its way onto your face.

“Well, I guess I’ll be seeing you around, Y/N. If you ever find yourself faced with sleeping in the hallway again, you know where to find me,” Nico drops his eye into a wink, walking over to the door and opening it once again.

“Thank goodness someone around here understands the severity of the situation at hand. Me and my back thank you,” you wave your arms around for dramatic effect, walking to take hold of the open door as he steps into the hallway and back into his own doorway.

“Welcome to Jersey. We’re glad to have you here,” Nico turns to face you after he’s back in his own apartment, a genuine smile settled on his face.

“Thanks, Nico. It’s good to be here,” you respond, matching his smile, thinking of how well it suits him.

———————————————————————————

“Y/n!!!! Where are you!?” you hear, currently elbow deep in suitcase number two, trying your hardest to unpack everything. You really don’t know how you managed to fit so much clothing in three suitcases. Or how you ended up with so many clothes to begin with. You stand up and start making your way to the door of your bedroom, hand on the doorknob as it flies open, revealing a very excited looking Jack and Luke. You suddenly feel your body flying forward, face hitting a clothed shoulder.

“Ow! Jack, that was my nose!” you tried to say, but everything was muffled because of how tight your body was being held in place. Seriously, he acts like he hadn’t seen you in years. You were literally here a few months ago to visit and arrange plans to move in. Leave it to Jack to always bring the dramatics.

“Just a few more seconds, I missed you,” he mumbles, squeezing even tighter, if that was even possible.

“Jack, no fair! Quit hogging her, I missed her too!”

“Luke, please save me. I might suffocate soon if he doesn’t let go,” you beg the younger brother.

“Oh my god, will you two quit being dramatic? Can’t a man be excited his best friend is finally moving in after months of waiting?” Jack whines as he releases his hold on you.

“No one said you couldn’t be excited, Rowdy, but suffocating me two minutes into living together might not be the best way to show your excitement,” you say, smoothing out your sweatshirt and making your way towards the open arms of the younger, yet much larger, brother.

“Oh Moose, how have you been? Have you been getting enough sleep?” You question, always worried about his wellbeing, especially these past few weeks.

“Yeah, m’alright. A little tired, but we have some home games lined up soon. I’ll catch up on sleep then,” he responds, squeezing you a little tighter at the end of his sentence.

Luke’s rookie year has been a rollercoaster not only for him, but for you as well. You worry about the youngest Hughes, having such a soft spot for the boy. You know he’s talented, and you know he’ll do well, but you can see the exhaustion on his face and in his actions. You know he carries the weight of the foul comments he receives about his gameplay, and you try your hardest to take some of it off of his shoulders.

“Alright, but now that I’m here just know I’ll be holding you to that,” a stern look on your face.

Turning back around towards Jack, you find him surveying your room, looking over the mess you created in the few hours it took for them to return home.

“So, are you going to spend the rest of the day unpacking, or can we go have some fun and celebrate the fact that you live in New Jersey now?” Jack spoke, looking at the pictures you decided to display, most of them pictures of you and the brothers throughout the years.

“I mean, I was hoping to get as much done today as I can, but I’m guessing you’ve already made plans, huh?”

“You would be correct. We’re leaving at 8, be ready,” is all Jack says, before dragging Luke out of your room.

[in-my-feels-probably]

Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

I Feel So High School (Every Time I Look At You)

Request: Older Art spoiling his 20 something yo girlfriend that goes to Stanford. She looks up to him and listens to him and does whatever he says and basically lives for his praise.

and: art being 10ish years older than reader? that’s all i got. go crazy

Hi! Challengers has been on my mind literally since the day it came out, and I think I've read every single fic on here about it, so I figured I’d give it a shot writing one myself. First of all, I combined your requests, hope that’s ok. Second, this is my first time writing for Art, so please bear with me while I try and get the hang of writing his character. I haven’t written a fic in weeks, so my skills are definitely a little rusty. Please be kind! Anyways, I hope you like this. Let me know what you think, and thank you for the request :)

(Warnings: none? idk, maybe very vague mentions of sex, art is divorced, swearing, i guess the age gap taboo. let me know if i missed anything)

—

You should have known trying to explain your situation with Art to someone else would’ve been difficult, but finally telling your roommate everything was just as humiliating as you thought it would be. She always had a knack for nosing her way into your business, and not even you were immune to her federal level detective skills when it came to getting information out of someone. 

“And I’m seeing him today,” you finished your rant as you sucked in a breath, wincing as you waited for the bomb to drop.

But it didn’t. Your roommate just grinned, standing up and walking over to your closet. You watched with a confused look on your face until she turned to you, already elbow deep in your clothes.

“So…you have a sugar daddy?” your roommate asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she rifled through your closet to help you find an outfit. “No judgment, I’m honestly jealous.”

You picked a pillow up off your bed, launching it at her when she smirked as you flushed. “I don’t have a sugar daddy! I have a…well—ok, I don’t know what we are. But he’s not my sugar daddy.”

“No, he’s just an ex pro tennis player with a famous ex wife who was also a pro tennis player that he had a perfect little girl with, complete with a house in the Hamptons. Now, he’s…what, exactly? A coach? A commentator? Part of Stanford’s glorified alumni? No, I’ve got it! I know what he is — hot. In a beekeeping age, recently divorced, kind of way.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up to help her look through your closet. “He’s only in his thirties. You’re making him sound archaic and washed up.”

“Look at you, gushing over him,” she grinned as she finally landed on something for you to wear, quickly handing it to you. “At least he has good taste. You’re hot, too.”

Your roommate turned around while you quickly changed, sitting down at the foot of your bed. She talked over her shoulder as you got dressed, her voice full of curiosity.

“So, how did this all happen anyway?”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Remember alumni week with all the guest lectures and presentations a few months ago?”

“You met Art Donaldson during alumni week? What the fuck! Why didn’t you tell me? I wouldn’t have skipped all my classes that week if I thought I was gonna pick up a trophy husband instead of being forced to sit through a mind-numbingly boring presentation from some guy who used to go here that I’ve never heard of.”

“Sucks to suck, babe,” you grinned, finished getting dressed. “I’m good, you can turn around now.”

She quickly turned around, patting the spot on the bed next to her.

“How did this even happen? I’ve never seen you step foot on a tennis court in your life, and I know they wouldn’t have asked him to speak in a graduate lecture.”

You sat down next to her, nodding. “He did a seminar down at the courts for the kinesiology majors or something like that. They were learning about sports related injuries and how to treat them. He told them about how he hurt his shoulder a few years ago during a match, and he talked about all the physical therapy he had to do.”

“You’re telling me you sat through a kinesiology lecture? On a tennis court? When you don’t even study kinesiology?”

“Absolutely not,” you laughed, leaning back against the headboard. “He told me about it that first week while he was here.”

Your roommate giggled, grabbing your hand and squeezing it. “Oh my god! Okay, okay. Spill. Now. I want to know everything.”

You playfully rolled your eyes, but started ranting again anyway. 

—

In truth, you didn’t really know what your relationship with Art was. You’d met when returning alumni who’d gone on to excel in their fields came to campus for guest lectures and demonstrations.

In a total mortifying cliche, you ran into Art in a hallway while you were rushing to a lecture that had already started ten minutes earlier. You would have been on time, but your roommate accidentally locked herself out of your dorm, and the RA wasn’t answering their phone. She had an exam she needed to get to, which—in her own words—“trumps your boring book lecture.” You had no choice but to turn around and save her, making the trek back across campus to let her in. That’s how you ended up running face first into Art, your bag and all your things scattering across the floor. By some miracle, at least the halls were empty.

You quickly kneeled, scrambling to pick up all your things. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was going. I’m late for class.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, kneeling to help you.

It was then when you looked up, and you felt your heart jump into your throat. Art Donaldson—famous alumni and world renowned tennis player—was crouched right in front of you, handing you half empty tubes of chapstick, a pair of headphones, and a stray pack of gum. Oh god, you thought to yourself. Why me? Why today? You quickly cleared your throat, standing up.

“God, sorry. Thanks…Mr. Donaldson.”

You cringed as you said it, the title of Mr. feeling off as it rolled off your tongue.

“Mr. Donaldson?” he raised a brow, shaking his head. “No, just call me Art. Uh, you know who I am? Am I actually still recognizable here? I figured no one off of the courts would have any idea who I was.”

You glanced down at his shirt, pointing. “You’re wearing a name tag.”

Art paled, raising a hand to awkwardly scratch at the back of his neck. Good one, he thought to himself. Very humble. He cringed to himself as his cheeks flushed, a small smile on his face.

“Right. I knew that.”

You smiled, pulling your bag back over your shoulder as you let out a little chuckle. “I know who you are. Stanford never lets us forget about their prized students.”

“Ah,” he nodded, grinning. “In my day, it was Reese Witherspoon and Jennifer Connelly. Although, Reese dropped out halfway through her degree, so they don’t talk about her much—”

“And Jennifer left Yale to come study here,” you finished. “That’s one they do still brag about.”

Art smiled, leaning back against the wall as he looked at you. You suddenly became very aware of your situation, tearing your eyes away from him to look down the hall where your class was. Art’s eyes followed, and he straightened up, clearing his throat.

“Am I keeping you?”

“No!” you said all too quickly, biting your tongue for a second before you forced yourself to calm down and continue. “Uh, my class already started. It’s not really important, he doesn’t count attendance anyway. And, to be honest, he’s pretty dull. He managed to make Jane Austen boring.”

“Not Bazin’s class, is it?” Art asked, making you raise a brow.

“Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?”

Art smiled, letting out a little laugh. “That’s why I came this way, I wanted to see if Professor Bazin still taught English here. He was a dinosaur even when I graduated. I’m surprised they still let him teach.”

“If they actually read the end of term course evaluations they make us fill out, they wouldn’t,” you mused, making Art grin wider.

“I guess I should let you go then,” Art shrugged, glancing down the hall. “Wouldn’t want you to miss out on something you could use in your scathing evaluation.”

You glanced back down the hallway at your classroom, but you couldn’t get your feet to move. You weren’t sure why, but you didn’t want to go just yet. 

All you did at Stanford was go to and from class and stay on top of your studies. It was monotonous and boring, and you were always up to your neck in papers and projects. Other than your roommate, you hardly had any people left you talked to or hung out with. They all graduated with their undergrad degrees, and you moved on to your graduate studies. Your education was important to you, but it got lonely. You almost never took risks anymore. But as you glanced back at him, that’s what you did.

You took the risk.

“Or…you could save me from my misery?” you stuttered out, an awkward smile on your face.

Art looked at you with an amused expression, tilting his head as he waited for you to continue. You swallowed, fiddling with the strap of your bag.

“My classes are almost all entirely in this building. I’m sure you’re sick of talking about tennis, but between here and my dorm, I don’t think I see enough sunlight in a day to keep me going. Maybe you could walk with me somewhere that actually sees the sun? Doesn’t have to be the courts or anything, although I can say with full confidence that I’ve never actually seen that part of campus and I’m in my graduate studies. Uh, maybe you’ve got somewhere in mind? Or you could let me buy you a cup of shitty cafeteria coffee? I promise I’ll refrain from asking you about your career. But, as I’m sure you can tell just by looking at me, I don’t really know enough about tennis to ask anyway.”

As you rambled on, horrified by your own rambling but determined to put yourself out there, Art smiled. 

He’d met a lot of girls over the years. Some girls who had a genuine interest in him but didn’t last, and some who saw his fame and fortune as a one way ticket to an easy life. 

None of them mattered. 

He had married Tashi, head over heels from the first moment he saw her. He had a kid with her, a career with her, a seemingly picture perfect life with her. It didn’t even occur to him to look at other girls until his marriage started to strain under the weight of his career, and he’d almost forgotten what it was like to look at a girl for the first time and feel that sickening but addictive feeling of butterflies fluttering around in his stomach. After the divorce, it felt so foreign to him that he didn’t even try. He had resigned himself to being a single father who co-parents and lives the rest of his life comfortably and quietly.

But here you were, rambling on with flushed cheeks and bright eyes trying your hardest to ask him out, and he couldn’t be more captivated.

There was just something about you. You were pretty, obviously. Anyone with eyes would’ve been able to see that. But there was something else, too. You were still young and not entirely pessimistic yet, with your whole career ahead of you. Probably no more than a few heartbreaks under your belt, able to muster up some sort of courage to fight for what you wanted. He used to have that, and he missed it — admired it, even. As you finally cut yourself off and looked up at him with mortification written across your face, Art saved you from further embarrassment with a smile. 

“Um…coffee sounds good,” he said with a shy smile. “Not from the cafeteria, though. If it’s as bad as it was when I went here, I’m not gonna let you waste your meal card money on it. There’s a cart outside of the athletics center, I stopped by it this morning. It’s still good.”

Trying your best to mask the shock you were feeling by his answer, you quickly nodded. “Oh, okay. Sounds good.”

You spent the entire afternoon with him. Coffee turned into lunch, and lunch turned into a long walk. Although you both had things to do, neither of you wanted to say goodbye and go on with your day. You skipped the rest of your classes for the day, letting Art show you around campus. He took you to all the places you had never been, and you kept quiet and let him show you anyway when you passed somewhere you had already been a hundred times. He was polite and asked you about your major and career goals, even managing a graceful smile when it was his turn to tell you about his career and how it unfolded after he graduated. He was careful to leave out the end, but he found himself comfortable enough to tell you about the first few years. You asked what you could, but you really didn’t know enough about the sport to ask much of anything.

“I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?” he asked when there was a lapse in silence after you passed a poster with his face on it for a Wimbledon campaign.

“No, not at all!” you replied, tilting your head up towards the poster. “I’m just wondering how you managed it.”

Art cocked a brow, turning towards you. “Managed what?”

“Not becoming a complete asshole,” you shrugged, making him burst out laughing. “I’m serious! You’re not the first celebrity to come here during alumni week. The difference between you and them is that you didn’t show up and immediately start bragging about how successful you had become. As far as I can tell, you’re the same as when you graduated. That seems pretty rare.”

“There’s not much to brag about,” he shrugged, too humble for his own good.

“A career Grand Slam isn’t worth bragging about?” you asked, turning away from him when he gave you a confused look. “Okay, fine, I may or may not have Googled you back in the restaurant while you were in the bathroom. I was running out of things to ask you, and I figured I should know something about tennis. Anyway, I was impressed.”

Art just chuckled. “I’m flattered.”

After walking a few more minutes, the street lamps turned on. It had gotten late enough in the evening that they were starting to light up around the darker parts of the campus. It was your cue to stop walking and look around, both of you realizing how long it had been since you started talking.

“I guess I should be headed back to my dorm,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice. “My roommate is probably freaking out by now. She knows I never really go anywhere after class without her—and yes, I heard how pathetic that sounded as it came out. She’s probably gonna call campus security if I don’t show up soon.”

Art nodded, knowing you were right. And yet, his feet didn’t move. Neither of you made any attempt to leave, still standing under the soft light of the street lamps. Art looked at you with soft eyes, absentmindedly reaching to fiddle with his wedding ring with his thumb before he remembered it wasn’t there anymore. Finally, he cleared his throat. 

“Well…I guess this is the part where I ask you for your number.”

“It was nice meeting you, too—” you started, doing a double take once his words registered. “Wait, what?”

Art let out a nervous laugh, shrugging. “You bought me a coffee, it’s only fair that I do the same. I’m here all week. Maybe you’d want to do this again sometime?”

“Uh, yeah! Yeah, that sounds good,” you replied, trying your best and failing to sound as nonchalant as you could.

Art smiled and pulled out his phone, opening his contacts. He handed it over to you, watching as you typed in your number before handing his phone back to him. You fought the heat pooling in your cheeks, fiddling with the strap of your bag. Art grinned, breaking the silence. 

“Go find your roommate. Tell her to call off the search party.”

You chuckled, nodding. “I’m on it. Well…bye, Art.”

“Bye, Y/N. I’ll text you,” he replied, enjoying watching you shuffle back and forth on your heels. 

He made you nervous. And for some reason, he liked that. He’d spent practically the last decade of his life perpetually nervous. It was nice to know someone else felt the same way. 

He watched you go as you turned around and headed back to your dorm, a distant but still familiar warmth in his chest. He’d only known you for a few hours, but he could already tell he liked you. By the time you made it back to your dorm and managed to come up with an excuse for your roommate who immediately interrogated you the second you stepped through the door, your phone was ringing. You excused yourself to the bathroom with a bashful grin on your face, answering the call.

—

You spent the better part of a week with Art when you both had time between your classes and his seminars. 

It felt surprisingly easy and normal talking to him. Your small talk about your careers and plans turned into more personal topics, and then you were talking about anything and everything. You were fully aware of the age gap between you two, but it didn’t bother you nearly as much as you thought it would. If anything, it was part of the draw to him. He was also kind and friendly, with a surprisingly self deprecating sense of humor that made you laugh. Not to mention the fact that he was drop dead gorgeous. You had to actively make sure he didn’t catch you staring at him when his head was turned. He made you want to actually giggle out loud, which is something you never thought you’d do over a guy.

By the end of the week when it was time for him to leave and go back to New York, you both were dreading saying goodbye. 

It was late in the evening, about an hour before he had to leave to catch his flight. He’d finally taken you to the courts, once again only lit by the street lamps overhead. It was the first time all week he’d stepped onto the court and actually wanted to be there, not surrounded by onlookers who knew every nook and cranny of his life and career. Instead it was you, the sweet pretty girl who made him genuinely laugh when you asked him why the points system would ever use the term love to describe a lacking score. 

He fiddled around for a while, teaching you a few serves and how to hold the racquet to hit the ball. Eventually he was on the other side of the net, watching you giggle and chase after the few balls he’d softly serve your way. He could hear you panting and the sound of your shoes skidding across the court, but your laughter was too sweet to make him stop. 

Finally, you stopped to take a break, sitting down on the bench. “Don’t look at me, I might cough up a lung.”

“Very impressive,” he smiled, passing you his water.

“Thank you,” you grinned, motioning between him in the court. “Go on, let’s see what you’ve got. I’m down for the count, but I’m sure the ball machine will be more than happy to fill in for me.”

Art smiled, watching you grin at him with flushed cheeks and glowy skin. If anyone else was asking, he wouldn’t have done it. He wasn’t interested in showing off his skills, or lack thereof to put it more accurately as of late — he’d stopped training as intensely after the divorce, no new tournaments waiting for him to come and win. But the look on your face when you asked was just one he couldn’t say no to. Plus, your knowledge of the sport wasn’t that vast. You probably wouldn’t notice if he slipped up anyway. And if you did, you’d be too kind to make him feel bad about it.

“If you insist,” he groaned, but he was still smiling to himself as he moved to the other side of the court.

You watched him play for a few more minutes. He really was something to see. Every movement he made was smooth and graceful, a far cry from the stumbling around and huffing and puffing you had been doing. Every ball hit its target, every serve lining up exactly where he wanted it to. As silly as it sounded, you actually had to prevent yourself from clapping once he finally slowed down and turned the machine off.

“Look at you go,” you smiled from the bench, handing him back his water as he walked back over.

His cheeks flushed pink, and he was silently praying you couldn’t see it from under the low lights. He was too busy getting all flustered to reply to you, and it made you smile. It was silent for a long moment as you stared at each other, before he finally stood up. You followed him, a sinking feeling in your gut as you realized that it was probably time to say goodbye.

It had been a week you had never even dreamed would’ve happened to you, and yet it did. The one risk you decided to take had led to the most fun you’d had in your entire time at Stanford. You didn’t want to see him go.

As you looked up at him with soft eyes and a melancholy look on your face, like you were looking to him for all the answers, Art felt a sharp tug in his chest. He found himself immediately wanting to fix it, wanting to make you smile again — smile because of him. He’d have done anything in that moment to get you to laugh again.

So, against his better judgment, he leaned in and kissed you. 

It was a spur of the moment decision, one he almost immediately regretted. But then he felt you sink into the kiss, your hands coming up to his waist to steady yourself. He cupped your cheeks and pulled you into him, unable to stop the smile spreading across his lips. 

And that was all it took — he was falling, and falling hard. 

—

That was months ago now, and yet, Art still found reasons to visit you. 

When there was lapses in tours, or it was Tashi’s week with Lily, he always somehow found himself ending up coming right back to you. He’d pick you up from your dorm, and you’d spend the entire day with him. On weekends, you ended up in whatever hotel he was staying at, telling your roommate you were going back home for a few days. When you weren’t together, you were constantly texting or calling. He even sent a postcard once when the ATP took him to Europe. It was cheesy, but you couldn’t wipe the smile off your face all day when you got it in the mail. 

You hadn’t exactly put a label on the relationship, but it was clear to the both of you that you meant more to each other than either of you cared to admit out loud. Quite a bit more, actually.

And Art wasn’t stupid — he knew what your relationship looked like. 

Recently divorced, a younger woman by his side. If they knew, the media would paint him as one of two options: an easily manipulated victim of a gold digger, or a washed up athlete who split with his wife that was now taking what he could get, the younger and prettier the better. 

But that wasn’t it at all for Art.

It wasn’t just sex, or a new pretty face. You were something different. A breath of fresh air. Someone who didn’t care about his career or money or fame. You had no interest in what he could offer you, or what you could get out of him. You never made him feel pressured to do anything or talk about anything he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years craving a sense of normalcy and peace. Time and time again, he’d wanted to go to Tashi and beg for a break in his routine. But, always too afraid to disappoint her and everyone else watching him, he stayed quiet. He never got a break. As odd as it was to say, that’s what you were to him when he met you — a break. A minute to breathe, a moment to relax. He always felt that way around you.

Simply put, he was head over heels for you. He didn’t think he’d feel like that for another woman after Tashi until he met you, and it shocked him how easily the feeling came to him.

And it wasn’t just him that had fallen. 

You practically hung on every word he said, and soaked up every ounce of praise he gave you. You had never been with someone like him before. Someone so experienced and sure of himself, but just as gentle and patient as he was sure. He made you laugh and smile, and he made you feel safe. For whatever reason he had taken interest in you, you didn’t care, you just didn’t want it to stop. You clung to it, enjoying it while it lasted.

And if either of you had anything to say about it, it would last.

—

By the time you finished explaining your relationship with Art to your roommate, she was already pushing you out the door. 

“Go, go, go,” she squealed, tossing you your keys. “Wait!”

She wrapped her hand around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks as she glanced down at the outfit she chose. “Is that a new dress? Did he buy you a dress? Oh my god, please tell me he has a brother.”

“Not sure,” you grinned, smoothing your hand down your front. “Show up to alumni week next time and find out.”

You were already pressing a kiss to her cheek and rushing down the hall before she could get out another word, giggling as you made your way to the stairs.

On the drive over to the hotel, the nerves in your stomach were making you nervously tap your fingers on the steering wheel. You must’ve got caught by every stop light, making the trip even longer. You were practically vibrating once you finally pulled into the parking lot, grabbing your bag and hurrying inside before your nerves got the better of you and made you stand like an idiot in the lobby, trying to muster up the courage to get in the elevator. You coasted on autopilot as you forced your feet to lead you upstairs to his floor, all the way down to his door. You only came back into your body when you raised a hand to knock on the door, pausing to take a deep breath.

Just knock, you thought to yourself. You’re a big girl. Just knock.

You had barely even knocked twice on the door before the door swung open, and you came face to face with Art. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you took a second to take him in. Still as pretty as you remembered, and every bit as alluring. You could feel yourself melting. 

The feeling was mutual. 

Art let out a sigh of relief, like it was the first good breath he had taken in weeks. A genuine smile crept onto his face as he reached for you, practically making grabby hands like a child. 

“Come here, pretty girl.”

You tried and failed to stifle a giggle, immediately burying yourself in his chest. You let out a hmph as you pressed your cheek against him, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. You could feel his thumb running along the bare skin of your arm, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He nudged the door closed with his foot, tugging your bag from your shoulder and setting it on the floor without even letting you go. He was warm to the touch, and steady against you. He hummed into your hair, squeezing you tighter.

“There she is,” he murmured, letting out a small laugh. “My girl.”

“Hi, baby,” you giggled, the sound making his heart soar in his chest. 

He slowly walked you backwards to the bed, supporting most of your weight as you laid down. He was quick to follow, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder. His arms hooked lazily around your waist, his weight pressing you into the mattress.

This is what you both had been waiting for. This feeling, this moment. Just this.

“You look very pretty today,” he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss where his lips rested. “All this for me?”

The humor in his voice made you grin, your fingers running through his hair. “Couldn’t let you be that pretty all by yourself.”

Art smiled, pressing his face further into your neck as he let out a breath. You tightened your grip around him, holding him close. You let your eyes close, resting your cheek against the top of his head. 

A comfortable silence fell over the both of you, as easy as it ever was.

—

A/N - Hi! So sorry this took so long to get out, thank you for your patience. I keep rereading this and editing it over and over, I’m not totally happy with it. But something is better than nothing, and I’m tired of staring at, so here you go! Hope this is ok, let me know what you think :)

[marvellous1917]

Icarus Falling

(Part 2)

Pairing: mob!Bucky x female!tattoo artist!reader

Summary: It’s gonna be a busy day. Giving a tattoo to a mobster that broke into your home was nothing compared to the fact that you can’t stop thing about how fucking hot he is.

Warnings: lots and lots of swearing, mention of crime (duh), fights, broken bones, tattoo needles, threats, think that’s it.

Part one ⬇️:

A/N: AAHHHH the response to part one was actually insane!!!! I hope this second part is good enough. Love u all <3

———————

Bold is reader’s thoughts.

Italics is Bucky’s thoughts.

The size of the tattoo is in inches.

———————

Walking to the shop, your thoughts were running a mile a minute. Holy fuck, what the fuck, did last night actually happen?, James Barnes is gorgeous and made falling asleep last night really fucking difficult, screw him for making me all hot and bothered. Asshole. But one persistent one came screaming to the front- how the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank?

Unfortunately there was not a lot of time to come up with an answer to that, the shopfront coming into view as you turn the corner. Jigsaw Ink stood proud in the middle of the busy Brooklyn street, the black paint of the walls in stark contrast to the pastel pink of the florists’ to one side and the baby blue of the cafe the other.

The shop was a second home to you, the couch at the front becoming a bed for you sometimes after a night out, or if Caleb was being an ass. Frank was nice enough to let you crash when you needed, trusting you with his business. Frank, and the other two artists at the shop, Billy and Curtis were like family - a weird combination of protective older brothers and best friends who were terribly bad influences on you.

The bell on the door rang when you opened it and there was a yelled “Y/N? That you?” from a deep voice at the back of the room.

“Yeah Frankie, it’s me. I thought Billy was supposed to be here, not you?” You yelled back, moving behind the counter toward your station, dropping your bag and taking off your jacket.

“He was, but he managed to get his ass knocked out last night so he’s taking the day off,” Frank replied laughing, walking out from the back towards you.

“What? Is he ok?” You ask, giving Frank a hug when he got closer.

“Managed to piss somebody off at a bar, not really sure what happened, but he’s fine. Just stupid,” he replied, patting your back as you release him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love the guy but he is an idiot I swear, you can guarantee it was his fault as well,” you say.

Frank chuckle and nods as a response, “yeah I bet. Hey , you got many appointments today?” He asks.

Shit. How the fuck am I supposed to tell Frank Castle - literally the most protective man on earth - that I had to move all of my appointments to next week because a damn mobster broke into my house and demanded I gave him a tattoo today.

“…uh. No just the one, I had to move the rest,” you answer, praying to whoever was listening that Frank wouldn’t ask any questions.

“Why’s that?”

Fuucckkkk.

“Umm..no reason really..” your mind went completely blank, the only thing running through you head were those goddamn blue eyes.

“Kid, what’s going on?” Franks’ eyes narrowing, seeing straight through your bullshit response.

Ughhh. Change the subject right now. “Y’know you call me kid all the time, you’re not that much older than me Frankie. I mean there’s only-”.

“You’re ramblin’ kid. The fuck is going on?” He says, all sense of humor him from his voice.

Ah, there his is, protective Frankie coming in full force.

“Shit. Ok so here’s what happened-” you tell him the full story, coming home from work to see a dangerous criminal chilling in your apartment, the fear that came with that lovely surprise, Caleb’s debt, the weird philosophical conversation, the tattoo talk. All of it.

Of course, excluding the part where you found yourself extremely attracted to the fucking mobster, his weirdly slightly comforting presence, and the fact that the memory of those blue eyes where all you could see as your hand slipped between your legs before you fell asleep.

To be fair to the man, Frank listened to every word you had to say, not interrupting one. But you could see on his face every single emotion he was feeling, the main one being just straight up confusion.

“Lemme get this straight. The fucking Winter Soldier broke into your house last night and is coming in for a tattoo in..” he checked his watch as he spoke, “..an hour?”

“..yeah.” Hit the nail on the head there Frankie.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his hand over his face in an act of desperation.

“Yep.” You say, patting his arm to try and reassure him.

“Alright, I’m gonna be here the whole time, don’t you worry about that kid. You’re gonna be fine.” He assures you, obviously worried about you.

“I know that Frankie, and if it’s any consolation, he didn’t seem all that bad.” You answer.

“Not that bad?!” He almost shouts, and incredulous look on his face, “Y/N he’s a fucking gangster. He’s fucking danger-“

“FRANK!” You yell, the only way to cut off his tirade before it starts. “I know that, but last night he didn’t do anything bad,okay, and if he wanted to hurt me, he definitely would have done it by now. I’ll be fine Frank, I’ll just give him the tattoo and that will be it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I gotta set everything up.” You say, moving back to your station, beginning to grab everything you need.

“Holy fuck kid, how are you not freaking the fuck out right now?” He whisper shouts, running one hand up and down his head.

“I’m not sure. I think…I think I trust him not to hurt me. It’s weird, but my gut’s telling me I’ll be fine.” You answer, starting to print some different sized stencils.

“Kid your brain is brok-” Frank starts to say but he’s cut off by his phone ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and says “Shit, it’s my kids’ school, I gotta take it.”

You wave him off, Frank answers the phone with a sigh.

He walks off to the back of the shop, leaving you to finish setting up your station. Frank talks for a minute and wander back towards you.

“My girl got into a fight at school, Maria’s busy at work so I’ve got to go get her,” he says, dragging his hands down his face, in a way only an exasperated father could.

“Oh my god is she ok?” You ask.

“She’s fine, but apparently she broke some little shitheads nose for picking on her friends,”

“Like father, like daughter then,” you respond with a laugh.

“Can the people I care about stop getting themselves in dangerous situations for like five goddamn seconds.” Frank says, throwing a pointed glare your way.

“Frankie, how many times, I’m gonna be fine alright, go get your kid and -I dunno- take her out for ice cream, tell her she did good.” You say, pushing him to the door.

“Only if you’re one hundred percent certain you’ll be fine.” He says, already pulling his jacket from the hook.

“I’m good I swear, now go!”

“Ok ok I’m going, stop pushing me” he says, leaving the shop and letting the door fall closed behind him, the bell ringing as it did.

Only a minute passed before your phone pinged with a text.

James:

Have you already forgotten about me that quickly doll?

Send me the address to the shop

Now… please

Fuck me. Why does just his text give me fucking butterflies. Ugh. How irritating.

You send him the address and his response is cheeky as shit.

James:

See you at 1 doll, you better be wearing something pretty for me.

Little shit.

————

You had the music in the shop bumping, using it to help calm your pounding heart, adrenaline starting to get the best of you. Your favourite song came over the speakers so you turned it up and started to dance a little, knowing that you had at least 10 minutes before Barnes turned up. Unfortunately this action caused you to miss the ringing of the bell on the door.

Holy shit - ink and a show, today is going better than expected already.

Bucky slowly let the door close, trying not to disturb the dancing girl he couldn’t get out of his head. He lent against the wall, just watching and waiting…and staring.

Shaking out your hands to get rid of any nerves, you turn and nearly scream when you see Barnes stood at the door.

“Oh god, sorry I didn’t hear you come in,” you say, subtly looking him up and down and damn he looks good. Ever the powerful mobster, he wore a black suit, his black shirt had no tie and was unbuttoned at the top. His hair was slicked back from his face, opposite to how it was the night before. This was the other side of him, the business man - James Barnes: the face of multiple charities, the man that law enforcement could never seem to put behind bars. Last night you met the threat, the assassin, and you may be one of the first in his history to survive a meeting with the Soldier.

“No problem doll, I was enjoying the show,” he says, pushing off of the wall and stalking towards you.

Oh my god, “oh..ok, well I have everything set up and ready so if you’re ok to start I say let get going,” you respond, turning to the part of the shop where your station was, nerves flooding back, wanting to get this over as soon as possible.

“Damn girl, not even any small talk?” He asks, slowly following you to the table.

“Oh sorry, I would have asked how your day has been so far, but I didn’t want you to think I was prying into your business. I wouldn’t want you to think I was being disrespectful ab-”

“Ramblin’ again doll, thought I told you that you don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said softly, sounding genuine. “I know what people say about me, I understand why you would be nervous, but I just ask you to not believe everything you hear, ok doll? I’m not who they say I am.” His tone was gentle, almost tired but still pleading, hoping you believe him.

“So you’re not a mobster?” You ask, voice low and calm.

“Oh no I am,” he responds with a small laugh, “I am, and I do what gangsters do. But I am not the ruthless animal I’m made out to be, doll I’m just not. I do what needs to be done.”

His voice breaks slightly on the pet name. His tone is so sincere and tired. Oh my..he’s telling the truth. It actually affects him to hear that about himself.

“Ok,” you respond, siting on your stool next to your station and the table, looking up at him with no fear in your eyes, trusting his words.

“Ok? That’s your response?” He asks, moving around the table to sit on it directly in-front of you.

“Yeah. What did you want me to do Barnes, not believe you?” You ask, all fear gone from your voice.

“Of course not,” he says, confusion laced in his voice, his eyebrows furrowed, “but I wasn’t expecting you to believe me immediately, shit you were scared of me like a minute ago.”

“I know but I think I trust you? You haven’t done anything to me, y’know other than breaking into my apartment. I trust you when you say you’re not someone I should be afraid of.” You answer truthfully.

“…good.” He says, at a loss of what to say next.

“Good. So, Barnes, are we doing this or what?” You ask.

“Yeah let’s do it doll, and please, call me Bucky.” He responds, shrugging off his jacket, folding it and placing it on the head of the table. You had to make a conscious effort to not stare at the way his arms filled out his shirt, but damn it was hard. He sat silently waiting for you to talk.

“Ok..Bucky.. tell me about what size and what placement you want for this.” You say, “I printed some sizes out because I wasn’t sure what size you wanted, and I can reprint or adjust it based in what you want.”

“Oh you a real professional, huh? Not gonna lie to you doll, that serious voice is kinda getting me goin’” he says, smirk on his face, leaning back on his arms, lifting his hips and moving slightly on the table.

Fuck me, what is this man doing to me? He doesn’t give you a chance to respond before he’s talking again.

“I want to get it on my forearm, the inside, and I think that size looks good,” he says, pointing to the 10x8 you printed.

“Ok that sounds good, which arm were you thinking?”

Silence. He stares down at you, an unreadable look on his face. You break eye contact and then freeze.

Shit. Shit. You dumbass. Which arm? Which fucking arm? Are you kidding? I can literally see his metal fucking hand. Oh dear god.

The silence between you goes on for entirely too long. You’re not sure whether you should apologise or wait for him to speak first. You weren’t sure if he would be offended, having a reminder of his injury.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t speak, just continues to stare down at you, that blank look on his face. Looking back up at him, you start to apologise but the words get caught in your throat. His eyes. He couldn’t control them the same way he did his face, tons of different emotions flowing through them, none lasting long enough for you to understand before another one took its place.

If only you knew what he was actually thinking. She asked which arm. She knows about my arm, everyone does, but she still asked. She forgot. The arm is all people see, a weapon, an instrument used to inflict nothing but pain. It’s all people see, but she forgot. That’s not what she sees. Maybe…maybe she just sees me.

He’s shuts his racing thoughts down, fully aware of how awkward the silence was becoming. “I’m thinking my right arm might be a little easier for you doll,” he says, an amused look crossing his face, his tongue poking his cheek.

You open your mouth to apologise for your mistake but he holds up his right hand and says, “and please, you don’t have to apologise like I know you’re going to, we’re all good darlin’.”.

He’s gotta stop with the pet names before I melt.

“Ok, uh, are you sure, because I honestly meant no disrespect or anything. I-,” you start, but Bucky cut you off quickly.

“Darlin’, what did I just say?” A stern tone coats his words and goddamn does it send a shiver down your spine. You internally roll your eyes and look away, back to your station, when you feel two warm fingers on your jaw, turning your head back to looks at him. Holy fuck. He places his thumb on the other side of your jaw, forcing you to keep looking at him as he leans in closer. His voice was low when he said, “That wasn’t a rhetorical question, Y/N, what did I just say?”

Jesus fucking wept. Somehow his use of your name made your heart pound, and the fact that his hand was so warm and strong holding onto your face.

“You said we’re all good..” you answer trailing off at the end of your sentence. His eyes don’t move from yours for a second.

“And?” He asks, tilting his head slightly.

Christ alive.

“I don’t have to apologise..” you say, eyes flicking between his and falling to his lips for a second and then back to his eyes.

“That’s right darlin’,” his eyes dropped to your lips, his tongue darting out to wet his lip. “So stop, okay?” He says, lifting your chin to catch your eye.

“Yes sir.” It’s an automatic response but you can’t help but be a little proud of yourself when he lets out a small throaty growl at the name.

“Careful doll.” He responds, letting go and leaning back, “How about we get started before I do something you regret, hmm?”

Like I could regret you.

You turn back to your station to try and clear your head of all the dirty thoughts running wild. “Ok.. Bucky, if you could roll up your sleeve so I can wipe the area, I’ll place the stencil and you can check if it’s where you want it to be.” You say, not used to the name he said to call him by.

“Mhm,” he hums, releasing the cuff link on his right sleeve, his prosthetic catching the glare of the light above, the plates shining. He places the cuff link in the pocket of his jacket and begins rolling up his sleeve and folds it at his elbow.

You clean the area and place the stencil straight on his arm, and peel it off.

“There’s a mirror on the wall over there, you can check if it’s alright.” You say.

“Okie dokie doll,” he responded the furrowed his brows, like he was confused at why he said that, not very gangster of him.

I like him. He says okie dokie.

“Looks good there darlin’, and as much as I hate to say it, we gotta speed this up a little, I’m expecting a call at some point around 2:30 and I’d prefer you not have to hear it.” He says, coming back to the table, sitting down and swinging his legs up onto it.

You take his arm, putting it on the rest in a position easiest for tattooing while saying “Why’s that? Would you have to kill me if I overheard your call?” You ask, enough humor in your voice for him to know you’re joking.

“Probably, depends how much you hear.” He said, completely deadpan. He looks at you and you have the strangest feeling that he actually wouldn’t hurt you either way.

“Shit ok. Is that position comfortable for you?”

“I’m all good darlin’, let’s go,” he says, adjusting his position on the table slightly. His left arm rests across his stomach as he sits on the table, leaning against the backrest, his ankles crossed.

“Ok I’m gonna do a small line so you know how it feels,” you look at him and he nods. You draw a line about 2 centimetres long then stop, “how’s that?” You ask.

“Ain’t nothin’ doll, keep goin’.” He responds.

“Ok here we go.” You say, getting back to it.

————

You’ve been tattooing for about 40 minutes, and there hasn’t been a word spoken between the both of you. His arm kept flexing whenever you moved away, and he kept clenching his jaw, like he was in pain but was refusing to admit it, even to himself.

“Are you ok? We can stop for five if you want a break? I’ve just finished the outline so I’ve got to change needles anyway.” You ask, disrupting the silence between you, moving the machine away from his arm so you can switch to a higher grouping for the blackwork.

“I’m fine Y/N, how much longer do you think it’ll take?” He asks, moving his head to look at the outline that you had completed.

“Oh it’s hard to say, but probably another 30 at least,” you respond, looking at him while he was admiring the tattoo so far.

God he’s pretty.

“Shit.” He says, rubbing his forehead with his other hand.

“Are you worried about your call?” You ask calmly.

“Not worried about the call itself… just having to do it here may cause some issues.” He responds, lowering his hand to his thigh.

“Because I’m here? I can go to a different room if you want?” You say, placing the machine back on your station, and turning to look at him fully.

“It’s ok doll, to be honest with you, nothing that needs to be said will make any sense to you anyway, and I mean that in the least offensive way possible.” He says, looking at you with apologetic face, tilting his head slightly. “But depending on the news I get, I wouldn’t want my reaction to… scare you.”

“Oh.. well I guess we’ll see when your call comes.” You answer, unsure of how to react to that.

————

The sharp ringing of his phone interrupts the sounds of the machine. You move the machine away from him, turning it off so he could speak freely without noise.

“I really am sorry about this darlin’, but it’s important-”

“Answer it then, it’s fine Bucky.” You cut him off, concerned he was going to miss it if he kept talking.

He gave you another apologetic look, and then turned his back to you to get off the table and answer the call.

You sat in silence as he started to speak.

“Rogers, what did ya find?” His voice changes from how he speaks to you, deeper and more serious.

The person on the other line speaks for a moment before Bucky responds, “we already knew that, didn’t we? What new information did you find?”

Silence.

“Of course he is..,” there is anger in his tone now, “get someone to tell the asshole he can threaten what he likes, I’m not sitting down with him.”

A moment goes by and you think that may have been the end of it, until you see his shoulders tense and-

“FUCK NO!” He shouts, making you jump a little.

“No Rumlow Gets Nothing, I don’t give a shit what he’s doing… Then send the commissioner a goddam gift basket Steve, some portraits of his family would be nice, remind him why he pays us the fucking protection fee.” He seethes at the man down the phone.

This should not be turning me on, shit.

“For fucks sake… Walker is nothing Steve, just some fucking Nazi junkie with a rich daddy, trying to get his hands on my shit…get Nat to bring his ass in, I’ll deal with it Steve… I said I’d deal with it.”

His tone on the last sentence sends a shiver down your spine, what the fuck does ‘deal with it’ mean?

“Ah shit is he ok?” Bucky asks, tone soft now, caring even, “Damn, he’s gonna be out for blood now.. good for him.. give Clint the week off, find the guys and give the pricks to him, let him get out some of his pent up craziness out.”

Oh Clint sounds fun.

“Ok, alright I gotta go now man. Yeah I’m at the shop… nah it’s nothing..yeah ya did… ok fuck off now.. later man.”

He hangs up the phone, takes a death breath and pinches the place between his eyebrows, his other hand going to his hip. He stands like that before he turns back to you, with a small awkward smile. That was cute.

“Sorry about that doll, hope I didn’t upset ya,” he says, walking around the table and looking down at you.

“You didn’t. I gotta ask though, is your friend or whoever ok?” You ask, not bringing up the start of the call where the man in-front of you all but admitted to a multitude of crimes - blackmail, extortion, supplying drugs. He sounded different- genuine when he asked if the man was ok. It was sweet.

“Clint? Yeah no he’s fine, got jumped last night so he’s pissed about it, but he’s ok, worst thing he got were some nasty bruises and a broken finger.” Bucky responds, confusion on his face, wondering why you care.

“How did he break a finger?” you ask, moving backwards as he sits back on the table.

“Oh he didn’t go down without a fight, clocked one of them on his way out,” he says with a small chuckle.

“Ah, good for crazy Clint,” you say with a smile.

Bucky let’s out a sharp quick laugh, “that exactly what I thought doll,” he says, leaning back and putting his arm on the rest, “ready when you are.” He adds.

Ok right back to it. Got it boss.

“Ok, should only be about 10 more minutes.” You say.

“Alright doll.” He answers, leaning his head back on the rest, tilting his head so he could watch you.

Ten minutes later you were finished, putting your machine down for the final time.

“Okie dokie, I’m all done. Have a look in the mirror, see what ya think,” you say, hoping he liked it, not much you could do about it if he didn’t.

He moves over to the mirror, checking out his new ink, twisting his arm around to see it fully. He’s silent for a little while before he says, “fuck doll, you’re a damn artist.”

“Does that mean you like it?” You ask, failing to hide the hope in your voice.

“I love it. Couldn’t have asked for a better one for my first piece.” He says, walking forwards to stand in-front of you, letting you wrap the fresh tattoo, handing him a leaflet on aftercare as you talk.

“You’re shitting me,” you say, “was that seriously your first one?”

“Yeah, why are you so surprised darlin?” He responds, tilting his head.

“I don’t know, just sorta thought you’d have them all over.” You answer.

“All over, huh. You been thinking about me naked doll?” He says with a cheeky grin, talking half a step closer to you.

Shit.

“What, n-no of course not, why would I do that. I mean I’m sure you look good - uh fine.. naked but I don’t-” you cut yourself off before you embarrass yourself anymore.

“No, no ramble on Y/N please, I’m really enjoying watching you try to figure your way out of the grave you’re digging right now,” he says, chucking lightly.

“Shut up Bucky, leave me alone” you responds, looking down at your feet.

“Hey,” he grabs your chin, again, and add pressure until you’re looking up at his eyes, “don’t ever try and tell me what to do, darlin, I don’t tend to respond well to it. I won’t ‘shut up’ and I’ll never ‘leave you alone’… I like ya too much for that.” He says, sounding like a mix between a threat and a compliment.

“Uh.. okay.” You answer, not sure how to respond to his words.

He can tell that you don’t know what to say, so he mercifully breaks the silence. “I love the tattoo doll, it’s looks amazing. You’ve got a talent Y/N.” He drops his hand from your chin as he speaks.

“Thank you, Bucky. It means a lot.” You answer sincerely.

“How much do I owe you sweetheart?” He asks, reaching into his jacket for his wallet.

That’s a new one.

“Uh, say $180?” You respond.

“$180? Damn you gotta charge more than that doll,” he says pulling some bills from his wallet.

He hands you the bills and says “now that’s for today and it should cover next time too, take half for now and half for then.”

You’re stunned by the fact that he’s already planning for next time but your jaw actually drops when you look at the bills.

They were hundreds.

“Woah I think you gave me the wrong bills,” you say, trying to push the bills back in his hands.

“No I didn’t, I know what I gave you. $180 for today, say $200 for next time and the rest is tip.” He answers smoothly, folding your hand back over the bills.

You look down to count and start shaking your head, “I can’t accept this, it’s way too much.”

“Consider it a thank you for dealing with the inconvenience of me having to do business in the middle of the appointment.” He says with a smile.

“Bucky this is 2000 dollars.”

“I know.” He puts up his hand again, stopping you from talking, “I’m not taking it back doll, just have it will ya?” He says, rolling his sleeve back down, doing the cuff back up with the cufflink and placing his jacket back on.

“Oh my god, you’re serious aren’t you?” You ask, unbelievable he wanted you to have over fifteen hundred dollars as tip.

“Yes I am.” He answers, straightening his jacket, “it also may be a small bribe.”

There it is.

“A bribe for what?” You ask, expecting his to ask you to keep quiet about his call.

“I want you to be my artist, anytime I want a tattoo, I want you doing it for me.” He says, smiling down at you with a hint of…something him his eye.

“Really?” You ask in shock, not expecting that from him.

“Yeah, like I said earlier, you got talent. I want more of you on me.” Bucky says smirking at the euphemism he made.

Fuck me running.

“Oh..shit.. yeah ok, that sounds..,” you swallow heavily, “sounds like a plan.” You smile up at him, trying to hide the way his words affected you.

He smiles back, stepping closer and closer until his chest is almost touching yours.

“Yes it’s does. You’re mine now doll,” he says, a dark look in his eye. You swallow hard again and your breath stutters at his words, eyes going straight to the floor. He notices your reaction and smirks, “my artist, I mean.” He continued.

“Although, judging by your little reaction there, I’d bet you be ok with that, wouldn’t you doll?” He says, his tone slightly mocking.

You say nothing.

He hums, then places his right hand on your cheek and tilts your head so you’re looking him in the eye again.

“Would you?” He asks softly.

“Maybe,” you whisper, a cocky smile breaking out on his face.

“Maybe, huh? ‘Mkay, guess I’ll just have to convince you then doll.” He says back, leaning closer, eyes going to your lips before he looks back up, giving you a chance to get out of the situation.

“Guess so.” You respond, some confidence back in your voice.

He hums again, and then he’s kissing you. His kiss is forceful but somehow still gentle, like he’s holding back as much as he can.

Fucking finally you can’t help but think as you move your hand to his wrist, the other one going to his left bicep, the feel of the solid metal under your hand was new, but not unwelcome.

His metal hand moves, wrapping around your back and pulling you against him, deepening the kiss when you gasp.

Reluctantly, you break the kiss when you run out of air. He leans back, the pressure on your back relieving a bit.

“Damn doll, what the fuck are you doing to me?” He asks, biting his bottom lip.

“Something good, hopefully.” You respond cheekily.

He groans, leaning his head back. “Yeah hopefully darlin’. I hate to say it sweetheart but I gotta get going.” He says, releasing his hold on you. He moves towards the door and for a second you think he going to leave without another word, until he turns back and says “I’ll talk to you later doll, keep your phone on or I’ll drop by.” He finished his sentence with a wink, and then he’s gone, the bell on the door ringing behind him.

Fuucckk. Maybe I’ll break my phone so he has to come by. Who knew the fucking Winter Soldier was actually a gorgeous softie under it all.

————

A/N: Ta da! Finally complete!! Love everyone of you that read this, mwah 😘

I can’t tag anyone else on this post so I will tag the rest in a separate post.

Tags:

@sleepyghostygirl @starlightaurorab @scrynexxtins @where-the-river-bends @imagines-of-the-fandom @bigenargy @uraverageatiny @squeezyvalkyrie @mylifeispainandiloveit @mrvlxgrl @bopbeepboopbopbeep @yvessaintmuerte @thecubanator2 @flubblubbb @teambarnes72 @ria132love @pingpongfingfong @cashhvi @rivthejellyfish @mybakubaby @blue-chup @goatsmcgee @facinated-lemon @daddylorianisastateofmind @buckybarnesb-tch @yeahimcrying @shifting2places @fand0mskullfa1ry @1-800-bxrnes @amiets2 @aliabhatt19 @leabunny @justmarlen3 @bofadeezs @jehduxi @grey107th @king-of-spades-aroace @sebismyhubby @princezzjasmine @sebastianstanswhore @cluckityduck @shuriri4life @calwitch @goodkittyspost @iateall-yourcookies @miss-i-ship-it @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @anawhitethorn @radiator-hands @tripletstephaniescp

[shkretart]

Hi! I absolutely LOOOVVVEE your art, the color, lighting, and very animated facial features are all stunning. On top of all that, and what I most admire, is the posing and anatomy. It all just looks very candid and natural, especially the scenes with multiple characters, and I'm wondering what your process is for building up a human body - like, do you use references or programs or just fuckin go for it... if so where do you like to find references? i really love to draw and I'm especially looking to improve in these ways so i would love to hear about your process! xoxo

Thank you for the nice words! I try to always study colors, lighting, shapes, etc. This is very important for me to hear, thank you.

In fact, I don’t always use references, although I should. It's just that sometimes what I want to draw, I can't find a reference. I rarely take pictures of myself for reference, but it happens. I think you can find references in many places, even around you, when you look at people or in photographs of models, or on some sites for this, or on Pinterest (everyone praises it, but I’m literally not looking for anything there, it’s just difficult for me to find something interesting there).

I draw anatomy in a very standard and mediocre way I think. I start either from the head or from the line of the shoulders and the direction of the center of the body (I’ll attach an example, otherwise I don’t know how to explain).

The main thing is to set the direction of the shoulders and center, exactly how the pose should go. And everything else consists of simple shapes that are superimposed on those same lines. The main thing is to feel and understand the shape of the object.

I don't know much about anatomy, so I need more practice. But I'm lazy and don't draw enough. There are a lot of tutorials on drawing anatomy, I think you can find how and what to draw correctly. I'm not a teacher, you don't have to listen to me heh.

Sorry it took me so long to explain. So here's a little sketch as an apology 👇

[luckykiwiii101]

HOW TO CHANGE YOUR SELF CONCEPT AND MANIFEST YOUR DREAM LIFE WITHIN A WEEK!!!

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💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗💗

——————————————————————————

(For when you feel like you just can’t do it).

HEY YOU THERE!!!! Are you still in a continuing loop of not seeing ur desires? Of feeling lack? Feeling like there is so much weight on your shoulders and that your desires are out of reach?

Well believe it or not…we’ve all been in that position. We’ve all been in positions where we put our desires above us, too high to reach. That’s just called having a terrible self concept. And if you are familiar with the law of assumption, you know that self concept is REALLY IMPORTANT!!!

If you really believed that you can’t achieve what you want, then you wouldn’t be here in the first place. Reading this post. Surfing tumblr to read success stories and tips&advice. That tiny amount of faith you have says a lot. We’ve all been at that point, having little to no faith. I’ve been there, at one point i start doubting the law. But i knew i didn’t deserve to live a sad life, so i changed my inner self.

You know how the law works blah blah blah. One thing to familiarise yourself with is how “illogical” it is. This was a concept i didn’t grasp before. I thought it was ridiculous for people to wake up in their dream house, with their dream EVERYTHING. It felt so…unnatural and odd. I felt like things like that couldn’t happen. I thought maybe they tricked themselves into seeing that. But when i started to realise that we are just pure consciousness, everything changed.

First of all, people who manifested their dream life didn’t “teleport” to a different realm or anything. They just changed their awareness to their liking. You are aware of not living your dream life, so that is what you see. Everything in your life is based on your awareness. What you’re aware of. Are you aware of being a master manifestor? If so, then you are a master manifestor. Everything you accept to be real is REAL. YOU gave into the 3D and accepted it as real. That’s why every time something bad happens to you, you say “why is this happening to me!!! I’m so unlucky” etc. You accepting your undesired 3D circumstances as real is literally self sabotage. The only time where you can accept your 3D as real is when it is in your favour. The 4D (imagination) is the REAL and ONLY reality because the 3D cannot exist without it. Still don’t believe me? Remember the time when you really believed that something would happen and it did, for example believing that you would fail an exam. Anyway, i’m not going to try and convince you to believe in the law of assumption if you don’t already. Because no matter what, in a week or less your state will manifest. Belief or not. Wanna know why? You’ve manifested constantly your whole entire life before even knowing about the existence of the law. You did all that without believing in it. LMAO you literally manifested to find it difficult, without believing in it. The law is based on faith, not proof. Proof (which for most of you reading this is the 3D). Never see the 3D as “proof” of your manifestation. Why would you do that? Looking in the mirror after listening to a subliminal to check for results is accepting the 3D as proof. Being surprised when your manifestation “didn’t come” in the desired amount of time is accepting the 3D as proof. BUT HELLO?!?! The 4D IS THE REAL REALITY!!! THAT IS A FACT NO MATTER WHAT YOU BELIEVE!!! NOTHING CAN CHANGE THE FACT THAT THE 4D IS THE REAL REALITY!!!

The 4D is all you need when you desire something. Fulfill yourself in the 4D. The purpose of “feeling it real” is not to convince yourself that you have it. It’s to remind yourself that you do. Embody the state of having your desires. If you don’t know about states i really recommend reading a blog about them. It’s literally the foundation of the law!!! Your state manifests!!! Never come from a state of lack. Never affirm from a state of lack. Never visualise from a state of lack!!! When i knew about the law for some time, i thought i was trying to “convince” myself that i had my desires by “pretending” to have them and “acting as if” i had them. That is literally coming from a state of lack. That is literally accepting that you don’t have your desires. But the 4D is the real reality. So stop accepting your 3D circumstances as real, because they aren’t. They are so fake. Faker than my old friends. The 3D is literally just a product of your past assumptions. It is not real!!! It does not exist the moment you accept that it doesn’t. Why do you think people manifest instantly in the void? Waking up in their dream house/apartment with everything they’ve always wanted? Because the 3D isn’t real. It’s like an illusion. Focus your awareness on having your desires and that HAS TO reflect! Failure does not exist!! Failure does NOT exist!!! Got it? Lemme tell u something. One night i was reading a success story about the void state and waking up in a fricking CAR when they went to sleep in their bed. I was low key shocked to be honest but my mindset has improved since then and i’m not baffled anymore (this was about 2 days ago). I had an epiphany from there. I literally started to realise that the 3D is literally not real. You are just pure consciousness. Whatever you are conscious of, you will see. It’s not “teleporting”. It’s not “magical”. You’re not in a parallel universe far far farrrr away from your loved ones, being surrounded by clones (because that was what i thought before and i was TERRIFIED!!!) Look around right now. Look!!! Look at your surroundings. They aren’t real. That’s just the 3D. The real reality is the 4D. You aren’t “creating” anything. You are just focusing your awareness on the REAL reality (the 4D).

You do realise that you have manifested countless things during your life, unconsciously (without knowing). What makes you think that you can’t do it consciously? Why? Do you believe that you are unlucky? Have you brainwashed yourself that badly that you lost complete faith in the law? You literally manifested for things to be difficult for you…isn’t that disappointing? Luckily, you will use your power to your advantage this time, and not for self sabotaging.

I REALLY RECOMMEND READING @piercedblunt posts because she made me understand the law of assumption so well!!!!

You are going to follow this routine for a week!!! I promise it is literally IMPOSSIBLE to not materialise your dream life. Whether it’s:

- Revising people’s deaths, waking up in a mansion, waking up in a different country, waking up with your desired body and face, becoming an alien, being able to fly, growing wings, being able to talk to animals, being able to manifest in under 2 seconds.

STEP 1

- Embody the state of HAVING, not desiring. States are the easiest things ever. So ridiculously easy to embody.

HOW TO EMBODY A STATE:

ANGEL’S FULFILLMENT “CHALLENGE”

READ THIS!!!

PERSISTING = REMINDING

You should acknowledge that those limiting beliefs were just created by your fears CAUSED by the 3D.

LMAOOOO HOW IRONIC! The ONE thing holding you back was the 3D…and it turns out that IT ISN’T REAL!!! Isn’t that so relieving? Literally most and if not all problems people have had with the law of assumption was based on the 3D. Now that you’ve accepted that the 4D as the real reality, this will be so much easier!!! Ofcourse there are things like “intrusive thoughts” that scared you but you aren’t embodying the state of those instrusive thoughts are you? No, exactly, so they will not manifest. Thoughts do not manifest. States manifest.

Remember, when manifesting, the goal is not to “get”. Because you already have it.

IT IS LITERALLY TIME FOR YOU TO ACCEPT THAT YOU HAVE YOUR DREAM LIFE!!!! STOP PROCRASTINATING!!! I promise you, your desired life with materialise in a week or less. Never give up.

SOME SCOLDING RIGHT HERE!!!

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Hi, I was wondering if you still accept requests because I read your Wonka fics and find them very cute and wanted to ask if I could also make a request. And that is that the reader has sleep problems and asks Willy finally what she can do about it as soon as she no longer knows what to do and he makes a certain chocolate for her so that she can sleep better again? (Something fluffy please) Thank you!

A sweet remedy [W. W]

Willy Wonka x fem!reader

word count: 1.2k

note: I'm sorry it took me so long, these weeks I was covering a full shift and with the holidays I barely had time to do anything, but I'm back now! And I hope you like it

taglist: @dyieying @reallysparklychaos [Timothée masterlist]

While you were scrubbing one of the most difficult sheets you had had to wash during the day you felt your eyelids begin to close, at first little by little, and at times completely. It wasn't until you fell against the tub full of soapy water and stood up with a scream at the temperature that you realized you really had a problem.

"What happened? Are you okay?" Piper asked, immediately approaching while you struggled to keep the detergent from getting into your eyes and mouth.

“Yes, everything is fine,” you lied. Everyone had already gathered around you and shame was taking over your body. “I just… I slipped"

“Here's a towel,” said a familiar and loving voice, which belonged to your recent but quite dear friend.

Willy approached you and wrapped the towel around you, carefully, while he helped you clean your face. Once you could see more clearly you noticed that everyone seemed worried and you honestly didn't blame them. Your face reflected the lack of sleep you had had during the last few weeks, coming from a previously unknown cause. The only thing you knew was that the insomnia was literally killing you.

"Are you sure you are alright?" now Abacus murmured. You nodded again and smiled at everyone, imploring them to let the moment pass.

When you were dry enough you continued with your tasks, but you could feel your friend's dissatisfied gaze from across the room, as if he were the only one unwilling to ignore your recent strange behaviors: you were distracted, you seemed to leave mentally out of nowhere and this wasn't the first incident where you practically passed out on a dangerous surface.

At some point you had to carry a cart of sheets to the drying area and that's when he hurried to follow you.

“Let me help you,” he exclaimed, smiling in your direction as he held the cart you were pushing.

“I'm fine,” you said, to reassure him, because you knew that he had approached you to monitor your mood.

One by one you took out the sheets and began to put them in the dryer. The process would take a while, so you guys had a few minutes to chat, after all you knew the others wouldn't mind.

You leaned against the old machine, feeling the vibration on your lower back, and he did the same. The distance was so close that your hip was touching his, turning any conversation into a private one.

“Are you sick or something? We can get a doctor, if so”

“I'm sick, but I don't think it's that kind of illness,” you sighed.

"What do you mean?"

It was useless to keep hiding things from him, and who knows... that ingenious mind might even find a solution.

“I can't sleep, Willy. I don't understand why I can't, but I've had problems with that. I think it's called insomnia, or something like that” you began to explain, crossing your arms as if you wanted to protect yourself from the vulnerability “And it's horrible and it makes me feel stupid. I mean, who can't do something as easy as sleep?”

“Sometimes I don't get it either. There is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Yes, I know, but…” you started moving your hands in the air, trying to find the right words to express yourself, “it's different. And I don't know what to do anymore, I can't sleep during the day because we work and I honestly feel like I'm going to collapse at any moment.”

Even though he was listening to you attentively, he didn't know how to respond for a moment.

“Do you think I look very bad?” you continued “You know, like… physically?”

“No, I think you look beautiful,” he replied, without thinking too much about it. “Maybe there's a little more pigmentation here…” his thumb slid under your eyes, in the place of your dark circles, and you smiled involuntarily “but nothing to worry about.”

You were reassured that you were still pretty in your friend's eyes, but you knew that the worried look on his face wasn’t in vain. You had to do something about it.

“Perhaps among your curiosities you have some chocolate that helps me sleep?” you joked, speaking only to the air.

But on his face you saw that expression of machination that suddenly emerged, almost as if a light bulb appeared over his head at the idea that was going through his head.

"Not yet. But it's an excellent idea."

“Oh, I wasn't serious…”

“But it’s brilliant,” he interrupted you. The dryer stopped and you knew the drying cycle was over, as should your conversation “Give me some time and you can sleep like a baby, I promise.”

That was perhaps his favorite thing: making promises. And of course, comply with them.

You wanted to answer him something, but a yawn preceded you and the man simply laughed at the irony of the moment.

“I guess I can't refuse now, can I?”

“As soon as I manage to do it, you will have it in your hands,” he said, excited.

With that the talk ended and you began to hang the clothes on a rope, returning to the day's work, but now with a better spirit in the hope that Willy could help you get what you wanted so much.

"Special delivery?" someone knocked on your door. You were like every night, just curled up in bed to hope for the best.

Willy was holding a small purple box with a red bow, which judging by the excited smile your friend had, you assumed was the remedy for your illness.

"It will work?"

“I hope so,” he said, entering your room to sit next to you on the mattress. “I'll stay here for a few minutes to make sure you can sleep and then I'll leave, is that okay with you?”

“It's excellent,” you answered nervously, while you took the candy that your friend had made especially for you. It was shaped like a small moon and glowed inside. “What is it made of?”

“I'll tell you in the morning, when you wake up.”

His feet moved slightly, showing his excitement, and that seemed to rub off on you. Glory seemed so close and you could reach it with a couple of bites, but before that you leaned down to wrap the boy in a hug.

“Thank you for trying this for me. I know it will work, but… even if it doesn't work, you know I appreciate it.”

“Don't say that, it will work” he replied, with complete confidence.

Without further ado, you put the candy in your mouth and tasted it. You couldn't identify any ingredients, but it tasted delicious and cozy, somehow. Although you wanted to compliment your friend's work just a second after the candy had melted on your tongue, you were already feeling how everything around you was becoming heavy, as if the accumulated fatigue had hit you suddenly.

You were already unconscious when Willy trapped you in his arms and laid you carefully on the bed, completely happy to see that his creation had had such an immediate effect. As a farewell, he covered you with a sheet and kissed your forehead, going to his room to recreate an entire jar of chocolates that would ensure your rest for long enough.

[gentlyweeps-world]

Ferrari Red .1

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summary: Tensions run high between the beloved Ferrari boy and his girlfriend after a complicated Austin GP. Pictures and rumors surface, catching the eye of Y/n.

pairing: charles leclerc x fem! reader

warnings: angst, Ferrari boys red flags, alcohol consumption, toxic

next part > 2

LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO

Truly, you should have known. You were warned and advised by many, despite the looks of an angel, Charles Leclerc had many, many red flags. As red as the team he raced for.

You didn’t believe it at first, granted he was the one who sought after you. Following and liking many posts on Instagram after you attended one Grand Prix for a work event with Ferrari.

That was a year ago. You two had quickly started dating after talking for awhile and going on a few dates.

It started off simply lovely, flowers here and there, gifts and paddock passes, quite literally every girls dream. Soon rumors and articles were posted, but that’s normal. F1 gossip was constant and at times unbelievable.

Charles reassured you multiple times all of it was fake, which was true! You even reached out to Carmen and Kika, two other wags, asking how they dealt with all of it. They were both very sweet and reassured you, giving some great advice.

But the Austin Grand Prix came, one of which you couldn’t attend sadly, you watched from home, obviously cheering on Ferrari and Charles.

Later you had found out the news he was DQ alongside Lewis Hamilton, it broke your heart. You had sent a text to Charles, wishing that you were with him to cheep him up, etc.

The strange thing was he left you on read, later that night, you found out why.

Scoffing to yourself, you quickly mute Charles contact, not having it in yourself to block him. As you walk down the streets of Monaco you think of what exactly happened this night.

Just hours ago you were content in your shared apartment, slightly asleep in bed waiting for Charles when your phone went off with multiple text messages from your best friend, asking if you had read this article.

Confused and groggy you read it, tears brimming your eyes as the tiredness wore off.

In that article were pictures of Charles smiling and dancing with some Italian tanned beauty. The further you scrolled down the more pictures showed up, his hands on her waist, her lips against his, hands intertwined and arms wrapped around each others.

You could feel the world around you spin, hearing the blood rushing from your ears. Quickly getting up out of bed you threw on a random Ferrari hoodie, not paying attention to what you grabbed in the moment, then slipped on a pair of shoes, rushing out of the apartment and going to the comfort of your friends instead.

As you walk down the streets of Monaco your phone buzzes alive in your pocket, you quickly answer it, having checked the caller ID was Kika, Pierre’s girlfriend.

“Hey Y/n, Pierre wanted me to ask you to text Charles back, is everything okay?”

“Tell Pierre for Charles to fuck off and find some other girl to bother!”

“Give me one moment..” You hear Kika mumble out. You can make out the faint voices of Pierre and Kika, their tones changing as words were being exchanged.

Then you hear Kika again, “Oh baby I’m so sorry..” Kika says, her tone soft and remorseful.

“I just..I don’t know what I did, I thought Charles and I were doing fine…but clearly I was wrong” You softly sob out to Kika, ignoring the looks and glares from passing pedestrians, which was strange considering the time.

“Honey you didn’t do anything wrong..he was just being stupid and didn’t know how to deal with his emotions” She softly murmurs to you, knowing how difficult this has to be for you right now.

Letting out a soft sigh, you shake your head, not sure what to say or what to do. “Listen Kika I’ll text you later” You say before hanging up, shoving your phone back into your pocket, you soon make it to your friends apartment, unlocking the door with a spare key you crash onto her couch, not bothering to wake her up.

Unlocking your phone once more you endlessly scroll through tiktoks, tweets, posts and articles about the pictures and even videos that surfaced of your Charles and this younger model.

With shaky hands and a tear stained face you decided to text Carlos, asking if he was there and witnessed it. A few minutes passed and he had texted you back, confirming he was but that he didn’t see anything happen. He added on an apology, knowing that his teammate shouldn’t have done it.

Letting out a sob you power off your phone, not wanting to scroll through any more tweets or posts. Curling up into a ball, you hug yourself, thoughts and worries flowing through your mind as you slowly fall asleep, the only thing on your mind was his hands on her body.

———————————————————————

radio: I hope that was a good introduction or chapter one to this mini series I decided to make on a whim! more to come eventually. I will be making a mini fic for Logan soon 💙 (will be making a masterlist later to organize everything)

[throwawayhero]

could you give more hcs or a drabble about bakugou with a crush on reader!! pls i feel like ur fics are the closest ive seen to canon... i need more

No problem, and thanks! I try to make them seem canon, but sometimes it's difficult T-T. Just realising now that a few of these sound stalker-y and I'm sorta regretting writing this but oh well. I hope this is satisfactory!! c/w; social media au, buzzfeed, eminem (idek), karaoke, not proof read

!Katsuki who unintentionally catches himself playing with his hair while talking to you. Not in an obvious way (that's what he thinks at least), but more so absentmindedly fiddling with his side burns and such. It's kinda funny when he accidentally curls them and leaves them like that for a while. He also has a habit of playing with his baby hairs on the back of his neck.

!Katsuki who "accidentally" managed to copy your handwriting style down stroke for stroke? He doesn't really know how it happened, to be honest. He just noticed it one day during a group project after Jirou pointed it out to the two of you. You found it funny, but he found it outrageous and claimed that you had been the one to copy his handwriting.

!Katsuki who allowed you to tag along on one of Kirishima's and his study sessions. He beat the shit out of Eijirou and was gentle with you, more or less. He wouldn't hit you of course, but he certainly wasn't scared to yell. At least the first time. The look you gave him made him writhe with guilt, so he shut the fuck up out of embarrassment.

!Katsuki who heard you talking about a band you loved and decided it was his god given right to go through their whole discography and criticise it in his own time. But turns out, you have good taste, so he keeps to himself about it. "Accidentally" bought a spare ticket to their next concert and offered the spot to you. No big deal, right?

!Katsuki who did extensive searching for your socials, scrolling through his friends friends following, mutuals, and genuinely just word of mouth. When he did find your accounts, he stalked the SHIT out of them. When you requested to follow him, he freaked out and accepted straight away. He didn't follow you back until a week later, "just to be safe".

!Katsuki who unironically took one of those "Do I have a crush on my friend?" quizzes when he started to feel things towards you. 100% went down a rabbit hole on buzzfeed. He wanted to call his "crush" ANYTHING other than what it was. Mentioned it to Kirishima once and was left even ore confused than what he had originally been.

Unrelated but he just looks like he would listen to Eminem. Probably gets a good chuckle out of the whole "You gonna cancel me, yeah? Gen Z me brah?!" thing. Don't ask me to explain why I think this, it just makes sense.

!Katsuki who more often than not is watching you out of the corner of his eye. Not in an overly-creepy way, he's just "aware of his surroundings". He says that to anyone that mentions it, which is literally just his paranoia.

!Katsuki who secretly loved the fact that you hung out with him and his friends almost daily. Because then he wouldn't have to initiate hangouts and look as desperate as he really was. It gave him a plausible excuse to absorb every single opinion you uttered. It gave him an excuse to get even closer to you.

!Katsuki who freaked the FUCK out when everyone (besides the two of you) got sick and couldn't do the bi-weekly hangout everyone had played a part in organising. The group had settled on doing karaoke, so you can imagine how it went down with just the two of you there. Although, the two of you did make an amazing duet. (No one was really sick, Mina just mentioned Katsuki's behaviour and put 2 and 2 together. She also wanted to see if he would take initiative for once.)

!Katsuki who went out of his way to make changes to his hero costume that he knew you would like. Small details here and there, for both style and practicality. While it was cold he would use the neck warmer to hide the smirk that creeped onto his face when he saw you checking out his new look. He also started to make himself look nicer in general, indulging in a bit of jewellery (stud earrings, a ring or two, and a silver necklace), nicer shoes, wearing the uniform properly and such.

!Katsuki who has your number pinned in his contacts, as well as giving you your own message & ring tone sound. He has everyone but you, Kirishima, and his parents on silenced. He also has your contact saved as a nickname he assigned you without you knowing with a heart emoji. It's simple, but endearing.

[houseofanticipation]

You're sitting with your friend Sam at a coffee shop, catching up. She's telling you about an instagram ad she keeps getting for some audiobook streaming service. "It's just crazy," she says, "because I was just telling Lucille I wanted to start reading more books but I never have the time, and then it's like instantly I'm getting these ads all the time."

"So what," you say over your steaming mug, "you think they're listening to you?"

Sam shakes her head. "Honestly I think it's almost scarier than that. They have so much information about us, they don't even need to listen to our conversations. They just know, based on everything they've gathered about me, that I'm probably someone who wants to listen to audiobooks."

"Well they can't be that smart," you say. "Because the only ads I've been getting lately are for something called Slut Cream."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You must know I'm going to need more details."

You take out your phone and find an ad to show her. It's not difficult; literally all of the ads you see on instagram are like this. They're even showing up in other places now, on webpages you visit or apps you use. This one is one you've seen before: a beautiful woman in a crop top that just barely covers her nipples is proudly displaying a squeeze tube of the kind you'd buy sunscreen or toothpaste in. The caption says, "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle! Step up your slut game with Slut Cream! Shop Now"

"I don't even know what slut cream is," you say. "All you get when you look it up is a bunch of porn."

"Well, obviously it's a way to step up your slut game," says Sam sagely. "What does it say on the website?"

"Oh, I'm not clicking the link," you say. "I don't want to encourage them! What I want to know is why suddenly this ad is all I can seem to see!"

Sam shoots you a wink. "Maybe you're just a slut. These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."'

What neither of you know is that it's actually quite easy to buy online ad space, and they let you get pretty specific with your intended audience.

I live in the next apartment over from you. I've been watching you for a long time, studying you, listening to you through our shared wall. We've talked a few times, some terse conversation at the mailboxes or in the hall, which is how I knew enough about you to place those ads, with audience parameters so specific that probably only you and about five other people would see them. I had fun making them; hiring the model to do the photoshoot, dusting off the skills I picked up in that college graphic design course, creating a website for this fake business (though I'm disappointed you still haven't clicked through to see it). If you actually tried to buy slut cream, the website would tell you we're currently closed due to high traffic, and to check back later. Nowhere on the website does it explain what slut cream is.

A number of strange things happen to you over the course of the following day. On your lunch break you walk down the block to the deli by your office. You're in here every weekday, but today the energy here is different. People are staring you, side-eyeing you, having whispered conversations that stop abruptly when you get too close. As you're walking back to work, an old woman spits on the ground as you pass, you'd swear you heard the word "whore!" hissed under her breath. You wonder if you should say something, stand up for yourself, but she's elderly, probably confused, and you decide to be the bigger person.

In the hours after lunch, you're propositioned by no less than seven of your male coworkers. You've had to refuse a few invitations to dinner in your time, but seven in a day is completely out of the ordinary, and the things these men are offering to do to you go way outside the bounds of first date stuff. One guy tells you the conference room is empty, if you want to go for a quick fuck; another guy tells you he hasn't cum in a month, and if you sucked his cock he'd pump so much cum down your throat that you wouldn't need to eat dinner. Your boss even tells you he and his wife are looking for a third and he thought of you first, like he's offering you a big promotion. The strangest thing is that all of these men seem genuinely surprised when you turn them down. Like this sort of thing usually works with girls. One guy even says, "sorry, I was just trying to help."

It was pretty easy to hire actors for the deli and the street. You go to the same place every day, so I knew where they'd have to go and roughly when they'd need to be there. The harder part was getting your coworkers to play along, especially because I was picky about getting people who could sell the act. For a few of them all it took was money. A few of them I had to blackmail. For your boss I had to call in a favor, get his boss to threaten his job. He protested, but I think it made his cock hard, thinking about fucking you alongside his wife.

I keep this up for a few weeks. Anywhere you go I have people watching you, talking about you behind your back. I have people approaching you on the train, at the park, in restaurants, offering to fuck you like they're doing you a favor. You stay firm in your refusal—I wouldn't have expected any less from you—but I can tell it's beginning to eat at you. I watch you try to figure out what you're doing that seems to give all these people the wrong idea about you; you start to dress more modestly, talk less, even walk a little less confidently. But none of this will change anything. All it will do is make you feel more repressed.

After a month, I decide it's time to make my move. I could probably wait longer, but the anticipation is getting too much for me, and besides, you're beginning to get a little wild around the eyes. I'd hate to break you before I've had my fun. One evening, when I know you're home, I unlock your apartment with the duplicate key I had made two months ago. You're in the kitchen, washing dishes with headphones on; you didn't hear me come in. I leave the door open as I approach you, admiring the way you shake your ass to whatever it is you're listening to. I get right up behind you and stay there for a moment, lavishing in your innocence, feeling my cock strain at my belt as I imagine taking it away from you. Then I reach around front of you with both arms and plunge my hand into your panties

You shout in shock, fight back, try to push me off as the headphones fall off your head. But I've got you pinned against the counter, my full body weight against you, one hand down your pants, the other groping your breasts. Once you realize that fighting won't help, you stop struggling and ask me what I want. "Please," you say. Just hearing that quiver in your voice almost makes me delirious with lust. "Please, let me go. I don't want this, please."

I bury my face in your neck, kissing and breathing you in. You smell incredible, like fear and sweat and sex. I bring my lips up to your ear, let them brush against you as I speak. "Of course you want this, baby. You've been trying so hard to hide it, but you don't have to hide with me. Look, you left the door open for me." I let you turn your head enough to see the door hanging open just as my fingers find your clit. I'm rubbing you gently, tenderly, just the way I've watched you touch yourself through the webcam I have in your room. My other hand is under your shirt now and I'm squeezing your breast, rolling your nipple between my fingers, feeling it slowly grow full and erect. You try to stifle a soft moan and I kiss your neck again. "It's okay, baby. You don't have to be ashamed. It's okay to want to feel good. Let me make you feel good."

You clutch your face in your hands and let out a cry of frustration and humiliation and agony and pleasure. You barely know me; I'm the guy next door who sometimes looks at you a little too long. The guy you speed up to avoid in the hall. But that feeling radiating from you clit... You think how exhausting it's been, doing everything you could think of to change people's perception of you, get them to stop looking at you as a slut, how none of it has done you any good anyway. You wonder if you'd have had more fun fucking Jim in the conference room, or swallowing Dylan's cum, or having a threesome with your boss and his wife. And that throbbing in your clit, the agonizing pleasure...You remember that beautiful woman in the ad: "Being a slut isn't a hobby—it's a lifestyle!" You think about how happy she looked, how fulfilled. You remember Sam's words: "These data brokers know us better than we know ourselves."

It does feel good, doesn't it? To let me touch you, pleasure you, to let go of this act you've been holding on to. Isn't it okay to want to feel good? Why did you ever let anyone make you ashamed of that? You try out another moan, letting the pleasure well up through your chest and out your mouth. It feels good, so you try another, and another, and then you're leaning back into me, grinding up against me, delighting in the feeling of my hard cock against your ass.

"Good," I say. "You're letting go of those silly hang-ups. Now we can have our real fun." My hands still around you, controlling you, I half lead-half carry your trembling body to the bedroom. I throw you on the bed, face up so I can get a good look at your eyes, see what I've done to your mind. Those same eyes that have avoided me in the hall so many times now gaze hungrily up at me, wanting me, needing me.

Who am I do decline?

I pull off your pants and panties as a single unit, letting you take care of your shirt for yourself. I kick of my own bottoms, letting my throbbing cock slap against your leg as it springs from its confinement. Don't think I don't notice the way your whole body shivers when it touches you. I lift your legs and push your knees up towards your ears; you're remarkably flexible. It must be all that yoga I've watched you do at the place downtown. I've greatly enjoyed your visits to that place, so it's nice to see they weren't in vain.

You're afraid of me, all of a sudden. Maybe some part of you is seeing sense, realizing you'd have to be crazy to let a guy like me come into your home and fuck you like this. But what was the alternative? Have me rape you? Let me tell you, darling: I would have raped you. You feel the head of my cock gliding over your skin, exploring your inner thighs and pubic area, and tremble at my touch. I want this, you tell yourself. This is what a slut like me needs.

All the same, you cry a little bit when I penetrate you. It's not because it hurts—it does hurt a bit, but you're wet enough, and it's not entirely a bad pain. It's not because you're afraid—well, maybe in part, but that's not the core of it. You cry because you're finally letting go. Letting go of the person you used to be, or thought you were. It's the relief of knowing you don't have to pretend anymore, wrapped up with the mourning you feel when you lose a potential version of yourself. I lean across you as my cock fills you up, and tenderly, I kiss away your tears. "Hush, my darling. I'm here. I will always be here. I will love you despite what you are, when everyone else turns away in disgust."

My weight on you feels good, comforting. The way I press down on your legs, stretching you out, driving my cock so deep inside you that it brushes your cervix. It hurts a little, but is that any better than you deserve? Could a slut like you really expect to find better than this? Better than unconditional love and a desire to give you the pleasure you need?

I'm speeding up now, my face something like an animal, furious and insistent as I gaze down at you. There's darkness behind my eyes, you think, something cold and cruel. You thank God I'm on your side. My hips are like a hammer on your pelvis now, and with each thrust you feel my cock bulging inside you, throbbing and pulsating with anticipation. When I finally plant my seed in you, groaning and growling and pressing you further into the bed, you find there's something comforting about the warmth of my cum inside you. Maybe my seed will take root, make you swell up with me, make you mine. As I roll off you, huffing and panting, the tears begin to stream down your face again, this time from joy.

What did a slut like you ever do to deserve someone who loves you like I do?

[anghraine]

Random thought before back to defense prep:

Something I find interesting and enjoyable about P&P is the way that Austen both foreshadows various revelations about Darcy and complicates them before they ever happen. This is typically done through subtle asides or quick interchanges that don't necessarily register as that significant at the time, but still gives the readers a chance to pick up on what's really going to happen.

Just a few examples:

1- Elizabeth and Charlotte briefly discuss how difficult it would be for an outsider, and perhaps Bingley himself, to detect Jane's true feelings:

It was generally evident, whenever they [Jane and Bingley] met, that he did admire her; and to her [Elizabeth] it was equally evident that Jane was yielding to the preference which she had begun to entertain for him from the first, and was in a way to be very much in love; but she [Elizabeth] considered with pleasure that it was not likely to be discovered by the world in general, since Jane united with great strength of feeling, a composure of temper and an uniform cheerfulness of manner, which would guard her from the suspicions of the impertinent. She mentioned this to her friend, Miss Lucas. “It may, perhaps, be pleasant,” replied Charlotte, “to be able to impose on the public in such a case; but it is sometimes a disadvantage to be so very guarded.”

2- Darcy tries to warn Elizabeth at the Netherfield Ball:

“I can readily believe,” answered he, gravely, “that reports may vary greatly with respect to me; and I could wish, Miss Bennet, that you were not to sketch my character at the present moment, as there is reason to fear that the performance would reflect no credit on either.”

3- Charlotte tries to "read" Darcy at Rosings:

He [Darcy] seldom appeared really animated. Mrs Collins knew not what to make of him. Colonel Fitzwilliam’s occasionally laughing at his stupidity proved that he was generally different, which her own knowledge of him could not have told her; and as she would have liked to believe this change the effect of love, and the object of that love her friend Eliza, she set herself seriously to work to find it out: she watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success.

4- literally the next chapter, one of the funnier miscommunications between Elizabeth and Darcy in Kent:

More than once did Elizabeth, in her ramble within the park, unexpectedly meet Mr Darcy. She felt all the perverseness of the mischance that should bring him where no one else was brought; and, to prevent its ever happening again, took care to inform him, at first, that it was a favourite haunt of hers. How it could occur a second time, therefore, was very odd! Yet it did, and even the third. It seemed like wilful ill-nature, or a voluntary penance; for on these occasions it was not merely a few formal inquiries and an awkward pause and then away, but he actually thought it necessary to turn back and walk with her. He never said a great deal, nor did she give herself the trouble of talking or of listening much; but it struck her in the course of their third rencontre that he was asking some odd unconnected questions—about her pleasure in being at Hunsford, her love of solitary walks, and her opinion of Mr and Mrs Collins’s happiness; and that in speaking of Rosings, and her not perfectly understanding the house, he seemed to expect that whenever she came into Kent again she would be staying there too. His words seemed to imply it.

Very mysterious!!!! Definitely none of their communications here could justifiably be misread!!

[elsweetheart]

the request got deleted by mistake :( so here is:

abby anderson x ball of energy gf

for the lovely anon who requested💕

• okay, first and foremost i think abby would be so unphased. like you’d literally be bouncing off the walls and she just wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at it. she honestly finds it useful, knowing you have lots of energy to be helpful, run and climb if need be. that’s why she likes taking you on patrol, you can keep up with her without trying whilst providing her with some entertainment.

• if she needs you to be quiet whilst you’re rambling, she’ll just turn around and give you her full attention — caging you in slightly with her wider muscular build before calmly bringing her finger up to her lips in a shushing motion. it usually distracts you from what you were talking about and you quietly trail off, staring up at her and copying her motion silently. she rewards you with an affectionate scratch behind the ear, before continuing listening out for what she needed to hear. she doesn’t like to directly tell you to just “be quiet” unless it’s urgent, as she doesn’t want to catch you off guard knowing how intimidating and blunt she can sometimes accidentally be.

• abby finds it super easy to entertain you. if you’re on a supply hunt (etc) with her, and she can feel you getting antsy / understimulated, having a lot of built up energy inside you — it’s a totally easy fix for her. she’ll simply turn to you with a “bet you can’t run and jump up on that wall.” if she deems it safe enough. it’s simple, but effective and before she’s even blinked, you’re sprinting off giggling out a “bet you’re wrong!” she gets creative with all her little challenges, and by the end of the day you’re exhausted, calm for once as you curl up in her arms. you’ll be half awake murmuring “i had so much fun on the supply run today abby. you’re so much fun. i don’t wanna do a hunt with anyone else ever.” which melts her lil heart 🫶🏼

• the only time it’s really difficult, is when you’re on a long car journey together. you can’t burn off energy by running around, and you can’t climb all over her because she needs to concentrate on driving. all this means, is you’re very very chatty— firing tons of hypothetical questions at her such as “would you still love me if i turned into a cat with no legs and one eye and blue fur?” (insert abby fumbling for an answer, trying not to seem dumbfounded by the insanity of the question.) she likes to play “i spy” with you, and finds it helps calm you down a bit more.

• everytime you see her, it’s like you’ve been away from her for weeks. she’ll come back from a two hour patrol, and you’ll spot her across the room — running over and jumping on her, wrapping your legs around her. “abby! i missed you! guess what i saw, so remember the rocks i was collecting? well—” and launch into a full update. abby always wonders how so much manages to happen in the small amount of time she was gone, but it always puts a smile on her face no matter what kind of mood she’s in. she can’t resist your bubbly and energetic ways!

• she’s so used to you, that she doesn’t even consider that other people might be taken aback by your high energy spurts. you’ll sprint out the door past owen, who stops in his tracks with a raised eyebrow. “whats up with her?” he’ll ask and abby’s expression won’t change, if anything she seems a little irritated at some a dumb question. “she’s having fun. can i help you?”

• late night energy bursts can only be cured by one thing, abby letting you bounce on her strap as she lays back and watches. she might be tired, but she’d give up sleep anyday to watch you bounce on her cock like a bunny, straddling her with your knees up, moaning and whining as she lazily rubs your clit with one hand, the other rested casually behind her head. “i know baby, that’s it. get out all that energy. someone’s gonna sleep good tonight, huh?”

• on a supply run, the two of you acquire batteries that were on your list, and you find some that have The Energiser Bunny logo on the pack. from then on, abby jokingly nicknames you her energiser bunny. it’s funny, of course — but something about the way she’ll come up behind you and hug you with her arms around your waist, kissing just below your ear saying “theres my little energiser bunny.” makes you embarrassed to admit that it does something to you.

[herejusttosufferalong]

Ehhh totally understand if you don't post this because it's depressing af. I'm choosing violence today. I was awash with lovey dovey feelings for our couple after re-watching L&N interviews, re-watching B3, re-watching BTS footage. I was full to the brim with LOVE. These guys had me in a choke-hold. Actually had me reviewing and reflecting on my life and relationships, adding so much joy and self-acceptance, reflecting on my self-worth, improving my world view. Allowing me to breathe in deeply, and expand myself in ways I didn't expect it to.

BUT yesterday was a mess. For so many reasons, not just because of L&N-related content. There were some bad vibes circulating. Then I made a really poor life decision last night. I decided to do some stalking of third parties, which I don't normally do. And of course, it had to be the night where said parties were posting and I saw all things unfolding in real time. My predictions were coming true in real time. It was like the granting of a wish in reverse. And look, I'm not naive to think that these things aren't happening, but when you see it unfold in front of you, it just hits differently. These people are so. fkn. toxic. It drains the life from me. The same occurred this morning when I awoke to see a timeline of HBS. I knew about it, but seeing it, with receipts, fkn disgusted me to my core. It was a visceral reaction. All of a sudden, what looked cute and puppy dog became unsafe and ugly. My empathy dissolved. The thing that gave me the most discomfort was the possible connection to the young dancer who was in B3. It made me think such awful things. (the worst being, is he just a fuck boy who was starved during tour?).

But why, why does it have such an effect? I don't interact with these people, no real relationship. So why? I think because we have been sold a certain narrative, through B3 and the press tour, that being authentic, having depth, focusing on 'the real bones' of people is paramount. Beyond the aesthetic. 'The truth will set you free' kind of thinking, right? And here we have the literal antithesis to that. People who promote and value aesthetic over substance. People who are egocentric and appear to have a very limited worldview. People you expect more from given they sold that 'depth narrative' looking you in the eye. People who are old enough to know better. People who choose to surround themselves with younger folk so that personal growth is disallowed. People who care more about their shallow life fulfillment, their hedonistic desires, than the feelings of others whom they purport to love and care about. People who hide behind ignorance, as if that negates them from consequence. The stereotype celebrity. It's truly deflating. I expected so much more.

And my original thinking of 'oh it's ok, he needs to grow and learn from his mistakes, he needs to find himself...", well, I'm finding it more and more difficult to believe. Because why give him grace? Why is he deserving of grace? Because he acted real well? What does he add to society? What do these fked up people add to this already fked up world? You've got N literally changing a whole landscape, waving her wand and creating light in darkness, urging us to think deeply while laughing at the same time. And no, we don't all possess that kind of magic, but hell, shouldn't we all be striving to be authentic, kind, thoughtful people? Shouldn't we try to promote these things if we believe in them?

Look, in this life, people are always showing you who they really are, telling you exactly what they value, what fills them up, and it's up to us to really look and listen. I'm disappointed in myself for not properly seeing what was in front of me all this time... You can't change those who do not want to be changed. My respect and my fucks given need to be earned, and honestly, we need to reflect on our own self-respect if we are willing to fawn over or idolise someone undeserving. As always, I have hope for people, but I'm no longer holding my breath.

Please, give me that Xanax and wake me up when September ends.

#fkeverything #ohthereyouareteenangst

.

[missdaytonawrites]

tr@ck 07 • e. williams

summary - perv!ellie hc's!

WC - 1k

cw/tw - as always, MDNI! 18+ content, ellie williams is a DAWG lmao, afab!reader, hyper-fem coded!reader, dub-con, mentions of marijiuana and paraphernalia, smut smut smuuuut, talk of strap-ons, fingering (r!receiving) and more lol.

A/N - hey slay queens and kings and things, no i dont want to talk about the phantom fic lolsies maybe one day i'll just quit bringing it up! this is to tie you nasty bitches over while i work on this little surprisssseeeeeeeee oooooohhh. and also! yes i am abbys specialest little princess but i love me some of ellie. so here! maybe this will be the catalyst for an ellabs fic

"met a girl who likes my body, said she wants to break your teeth."

• its already established within the tlou community, that ellie williams is a PERV! but like.. in my head? shes pervy like..

• she stares for just a little too long when you change in front of her. literally has to talk herself down from letting at a low whistle upon seeing the swell of your breasts.

• always finds a way to get you into lingerie stores when you two go out. lowkey ends up picking out every piece you buy bc… you love listening to her.

• perv!ellie cannot watch you eat/drink certain things because of the implied sensuality. popsicles? nope. pasta? absolutely not. drinking out of a straw? she’s gotta go.

• she was 110% the first person who got you high. quickly making it a habit, because you are even more pliant when you get all stoned.

• speaking of? in addition to your astonishing obedience when ya’ get all fucked up, ellie williams cannot deny how much she loves watching you wrap your lips around a pipe.

• the first time you get high with her, your eyes glaze over and your nipples harden through your little tank. she would scoot closer and flick one, “look at that, doll!” you just giggle and she waves the pipe in front of your face. “ain't it silly the way this stuff works!”

• takes secret photos of you laughing, bending over, getting dressed.

• perv!ellie dances with you in the kitchen. dancing turns into wrestling, and she loves wrestling because of how close she gets to be to you.

• brings you around her friends to show you off, like she doesn't get upset when they very obviously eye you. “this one’s mine. so back off..” she would tell them when one asks your relationship status.

• she sneaks little touches to your thighs or waist when you sleep.

• one night when you wake up from her touch and ask “whats goin’ on, els?” she just hushes you and tells you that “all friends do this, silly.” as she pulls you closer, spooning you. “just makin’ sure you sleep reeeal good!” later that night she def lets a few fingers slip beneath your panties.

• i’m a firm believer in the fact that ellie used to get stoned and go people-watching, used to. now she gets stoned and goes “you-watching.” like, since meeting you, her favorite pastime has become sparkin’ up, and watching you! things like picking up your room, baking, doing your makeup or hair. its all so interesting, you are so interesting.

• she steals your panties 100%. and maybe shoves them in her face when she touches herself. :0

• always finds a way to bring up sex. she will, without a doubt, ask you blatant questions about what's happening in your sex life. all she gets out of you is your detailed explanation on how you masturbate.

• you would tell her sometimes it's difficult to keep going at a certain point and that you don't think you’ve ever made yourself cum.

• and when she hears that? her eyes go wide. her mind runs rampid with filthy ideas. she feels like she's dreaming when she asks if you would show her, and you say yes..

• she could see the hesitation in your eyes at the questions first proposal… but ellie, ever the charmer, prods until she hears what she wants.

• pulling you close and hushing you, she would say: “this is normal baby, cross my heart!” then throw her hands up in defense before leaning in to close the space between you two.

• after that, her hands are everywhereee!!! on your waist, sliding up your back then down to squeeze your ass, up again to tangle in your hair and then dropping the slightest bit to cup your face.

• when she reaches further down and realizes that you aren't wearing any panties she swears you’re trying to kill her.

• “forgot how to put on panties sweetheart?” she’d chuckle at you, then spit on her fingers and resume her assault on your core.

• her fingers inside and her breath on your neck make it hard for you to speak but, even then you manage to tell her, “no! didnt forget els!” and so she laughs some more, stops touching you and prys, “well then where’d your cute little panties go, doll?”

• in that moment, you let out an exasperated breath and come clean. “hnng! they got all sticky and hot when i thought about seeing you today, so i took em’ off!!!” you sound on the verge of tears.

• perv!ellie could no longer take it, she pushes you down onto your bed and starts to work on you. slender fingers circling your clit and she bites and licks at your neck. “yeah? got all excited ‘cause i was comin’ over?”

• when you dont answer her.. she gathers up a rather obscene glob of your arousal and brings it up to swipe across your nose, like you're a little puppy in trouble.

• “i asked you a question doll, its rude to ignore people.” all you could offer her was a long, incoherent string of whines with a possible “yes!” thrown in there somewhere.

• at that point, it doesn't take her more than fifteen minutes to finger you to completion, and have her strap on and ready for you.

• ellie fucks into you with nothing but unbridled stamina. never letting up, no, how could she? shes been waiting for this.

• and god, you look like heaven personified underneath her. she was convinced she could cum on the spot from that alone.

• after about 4 orgasms from your end, ellie has to literally pull herself away from you.

• perv!ellie could stay so deep in your pussy for hours on end, she would never leave if she didn't have to. she could work on you until you saw starts.

• the little perv quickly turns into a massive simp the second your head hits her chest and your eyelids flutter.

• “n-no doll, gotta clean you up.” but she just simply cannot stop having you near her, so she carries you to the bathroom and wipes you off.

• the encounter has you woken up a bit and when she gets you back into your room she lays you down, then searches around the floor for her pants.

• pulling out a joint and a lighter, she says “can’t just fuck you like that and not smoke you out after..”

• perv!ellie sleeps like a goddamn baby that night, the taste of you still on her tounge and her head on your tummy.

hope the ellie giiirls love this! happy 4th to those who celebrate ✨

[rookiesbookies]

Hi i love the empress and male!concubines idea with the COD boys, I def think that it'll be interesting to see more hcs for this idea/au?

Alright my little anon. Truthfully I should have given more details in the og post (it also started as a rant about how I couldn’t handle a poly relationship because of my anxiety (I also saw a post about a girl who had 4 partners and didn’t get any attention and it made me sad so that's also way).) I have been stewing on this idea though so here’s some hc. Might do more if people are still interested in it or want more, I do love talking about my AUs (like this one and the Greek god one, so let me know if you want me to go more bc stuff like this rattles around my brain)

Also apparently there is a term for a male concubine and they’re called concubinatus or a concubinus. Honestly I took Latin and the fact I didn’t expect this lowkey brings me pain.

General HC?

The first empress in a long time. And the first empress to like her concubinuses (hope that's right) more than the idea of marrying for an emperor. So the council decided to bring you only the best warriors to keep. They of course still must serve occasionally but they have been elevated in status to there is lower risk anything will happen. Mostly kept as tacticians or kept to train the new boys joining the country’s military.

Konig and Krueger were taken as trophies of war for the Empress. They were two of the largest, smartest, and strongest men from the battlefield.

When the two were adjusting, it was difficult. The empress was gracious with them, mentioning how she wouldn’t dare make them do anything, apologizing for the war and the loss. Truthfully trying to get them comfortable, and the two were honestly shocked but I’ll get into that more in their sections.

Keegan was sent as a gift by a neighboring nation looking for peace and protection. He had a good time adjusting, sometimes making comments about how this treatment is too good for nasty military dogs like all of them but I’ll touch on that more later.

Price

Price was probably the first concubinus. He had been a strong warrior and was deemed by the council to be a good fit for what they were hoping for. He also, however, did not intend to retire from his position so they had to find an alternate reason to stop him from getting in trouble.

For him it was awkward. His empress was a bit younger than him, however he did crave to be a father. While the empress didn’t intend to fall pregnant yet, he would be on his best behavior when the opportunity came.

The chance to be the father of the next royal was something he couldn’t miss.

Soap

Both him and Gaz were best in their class, breaking records, so it only made sense it seems to send them to the empress once they got their prime years out of them.

He was probably the last concubinus to come in before the gift and the trophies of war. He has the more vicious puppy eyes. He waits for you like a dog every time you leave and enter. Always talks about how much more comfortable your bed is and how nice it is to lay with you. Definitely sweet talks you even though he’s already a concubinus.

Will literally do anything you say and it’s partially because he thinks he will get sent back to the military full time if he doesn’t.

Ghost

Definitely does checks on all the palace guards to make sure they’re up to spec. If even one slacks he uses his power to make them run.

This is all because of how gracious the empress has been with him. When he had a fit of ptsd (i'm thinking anxiety attack or something) she invited him into her room and away from the others so he didn’t feel embarrassed and comforted him as best she could before making him some tea. With an empire that stretches across Europe he was impressed she had the time to stop and care about a random concubinus.

Definitely was surprised he told you as much as he did and how you listened and comforted him. Telling him you’d never make him do anything he wasn’t comfortable with was something he appreciated.

Gaz

See the first paragraph of Soap’s bc Im not copying it again.

Since I feel like Gaz is the older of the two (he seems to have a maturity I dont see as much in Soap idk?) He was sent to her first of the two for his ‘semi-retirement’. Now they just need them to occasionally train incoming recruits.

He definitely enjoyed adjusting to the cushy life of the castle. He liked being able to keep his weapons since he did double as a personal guard for the empress. But he likes that he and the other concubinus get a hot tub more, definitely likes all the fancy clothes.

His job is the have sex with his sexy empress, what’s not to love?

Konig

Truthfully, when he was being cocky toward the other concubinus and you pulled him away into a separate room to tell him you knew he was compensating for his anxiety, he was more than shocked. He was stunned into silence.

So when you reached your hands under his hood and rubbed his cheeks, telling him it was ok and he didn’t need to act out, he melted. He had never truly been shown such softness, so to be shown it by the empress of the enemy? He was so conflicted. With a pat on his chest you told him he could take on his position fully when he was more comfortable and that you were concerned for him and there if he needed to talk. He was still quiet.

Krueger

Was not interested. No matter how many compliments you gave him or gifts you sent, he wouldn’t budge. He was grumpy and hostile. So much so he made the other concubinus nervous especially for you.

It wasn’t until you pulled him into your room that night that he relaxed quite a bit under your soft hands and apologies. Massaging his tired muscles, and lulling him into a sense of security. Now he understood how Konig folded so easily.

He offered to return the favor but you told him not until he was more comfortable and made him promise to play nice. He agreed but only to be a bit nicer.

Keegan

He honestly believes this treatment is too good for all of them. They were dogs of war, animals trained to kill, and now they’re dressed in fancy clothes? With an empress who dotes on them when they should be doting on her? Truthfully he baffles him. He isn’t ungrateful, he just didn’t expect to become a concubinus when sent here. He expected a joint military operation or to be a representative. He hit it off quickly with the group from the empire’s military.

The two from the war keep to themselves and the shorter one threatened to bite him.

Often feels the most out of place because he is the only one from his area, but he doesn’t complain. He gets nice gifts and is invited into your room pretty often, so he appreciates every moment. He wonders if it would be proper or allowed for him to get you gifts?

I was surprising more eager to write this ask than I thought. Let me know if yall want me to do formal parts to this? Maybe an actual fic for this au?

Masterlist is pinned on profile as always, don’t forget to leave me a comment or a request in my inbox to let me know what yall want to see!