#and how it would be better if they didn't or straight up are not there

[oscpstri]

born to ride | grid

ft. verstappen, norris, leclerc, sainz, piastri (fem!reader)

the perks of dating a formula 1 driver was that they had an arsenal of cars at their disposal and they knew how to drive them. but what if you took the wheel this time?

INCLUDES: fluff, its funny ok please laugh, use of y/n, use of endearments for certain drivers, they're cute, not proof read

NOTE: born to ride or wtv lana said. I GOT CARRIED AWAY W MAX AND LANDO SO IF YOU WANT MORE DRIVERS ILL GET TO IT IN ANOTHER POST !!!! these were the first ones i did before it got WAY TOO LONG

( masterlist | more grid )

★ MAX VERSTAPPEN

You should've known better.

Your boyfriend being a Formula 1 driver had its perks, one of them being the fact that you had a personal chauffeur whenever you had anywhere to be.

Ever since you and Max started living together, you had created a schedule to follow during the summer breaks. The both of you would run errands on Saturday morning, cook lunch together, then cuddle all day until the sun falls over the horizon. Simple enough.

Today was different, though. It was the first day off of the summer break and Max had spent the entirety of yesterday getting as much training as possible before putting his phone on Do Not Disturb. Because of this, he got home quite late and was absolutely exhausted. Poor guy didn't even get a chance to properly change out of his clothes.

You felt bad having to wake him up early, so you did what you thought was best. You took the car keys off the wall and started heading out as quietly as possible. As you turn the car on, you scroll through your phone to try and find the best music to fit the vibe. You were so lost in trying to find the perfect playlist that you didn't notice the blue-eyed blondie walking towards your side of the car.

A knock is what brings you out of your trance. You jump in your seat, startled at the sound before snapping your head towards your door. You could only sigh in relief as you saw the familiar face of your beloved in a hoodie.

He opens the door before you could even put your phone down, a deadpan look on his face. "I'm driving."

You stay frozen in your seat for a beat, before getting up and heading to the passengers side of the car. By the time you had settled in to your usual spot, Max immediately brings the car to life.

The both of you drive in silence for a few minutes. You would glance every so often towards your boyfriend but he only looked straight ahead.

You slump in your seat, a tinge of disappointment coursing through you as you start overthinking if you had fucked up. Max seems to notice this as he leans over to grab your hand from your lap, intertwining your fingers like you always do.

"I'm not mad. Just wake me up next time," he comments, glancing over to you with a gentle smile. You nod at this, muttering a 'sorry' in return.

"Schat, I literally drive for a living," he starts. "No matter how tired I am, I will always drive you. Always. As long as it's you."

"I'm sorry," you muster up, throwing him a sheepish grin. He smiles warmly at this, rubbing his thumb over your hand.

"No need to be sorry. I'm sorry if you thought I was mad." You chuckle at this, bringing your connected hands to your mouth and planting a kiss on top of his knuckles.

"But seriously, you have a four-time world champion at your service and you decide you want to drive yourself?" he starts, energy slowly coming in. "Schat, I literally won at driving. Four times!"

★ LANDO NORRIS

You had accepted the invite to your boyfriend dragging you around while they filmed for Quadrant all day. It was always a rare occurrence whenever Lando would be free to join in on his company's shenanigans, so you decided to come along.

It was lunch time and everyone was scattered around the area, munching away and socializing with the team. Although Lando had urged you to eat earlier on, you just didn't feel like eating anything. It was that time of the month and your appetite was never much for actual food during it. So while there was a good buffet in front of you fit for the whole team, you wanted cupcakes. But not just any cupcakes, Cecil's Cupcakes. This wouldn't be a problem if it weren't for the fact that Cecil's was an hour drive from where you were filming, and with only 20 minutes left before they start production again, you knew you couldn't drag Lando to drive you there.

So what did you do? You silently grab his car keys, sneak out of the huge building, and trudge towards the car park. It wasn't until you reached the door when you notice someone following you. And it wasn't until they got closer when you realized that it was the lovable face of Lando Norris doing so, one hand still holding on to his plate of food and the other shoving nutrients into his mouth.

Your eyes narrow upon seeing this, Lando stopping in his tracks when he notices that you've seen him. A boyish grin creeps up onto his face, still chewing on his food. "Where are we going?"

"We? You have to film in," you glance at your watch before looking back up at him. "15 minutes."

He swallows harshly, throwing away the plastic plate and utensils. "So? Not like they'll fire me."

You scoffed at his response, "Unbelievable."

Lando seems to hear this, walking towards the drivers side and stopping beside you. "So... where are we going?"

A smile creeps up onto your face, shaking your head in disbelief. "Cecil's."

Lando's eyes go wide at the bakery, stealing the car keys from your hand. "You were about to drive an hour to get cupcakes by yourself?"

He places his hands on your shoulders, pushing you towards the passengers side. You giggle at his actions. He opens the car door, pushing you down on the seat while muttering something under his breath. You couldn't make out what he said, but you heard the phrase 'did she forget?'

When Lando plops down onto the driver's seat, you laugh at the sulky look on his face. He looks at you like a hurt puppy before bringing the car to life. "Have you forgotten what I do for a living?"

You try to stifle your laugh, looking forward. "Lan, I didn't wanna disturb—"

Out of nowhere the car comes to a halt, your eyes go wide as you grip the seat. You turn to look at your boyfriend who was already looking at you with a crazed expression: eyes wide, mouth agape, "Is this your way of telling me I suck?"

Your facial features fall. You exhale loudly at the antics of your boyfriend, blinking at him with a deadpan look. "Seriously?"

He purses his lips, putting the car into drive again as you make your journey towards fluffy cupcakes. "I don't suck..."

"No you don't, my love."

★ CHARLES LECLERC

"Oh my god!" You get up from your position on the couch, head shot up from Charles' arms. He looks at you with both eyebrows raised, both concerned and shocked from your excitement.

You turn to look at him, shoving your phone screen in his face. "It's open! It's here!"

Charles raises an eyebrow at your happiness, taking your wrist and adjusting the screen so he could read what you were showing him. It was an Instagram post from your favorite coffee shop back in Spain. You and Charles had discovered the place when you went with him for the Barcelona Grand Prix and you were constantly praying for the day it would open a chain near you. And it finally did.

"Do you wanna go get some right now?" Charles asks, an endearing look on his face as he watches your eyes light up in delight. "Yes! Yes please!"

He chuckles at your enthusiasm, and before he knew it, you bounced off the couch and went to go get ready. Charles stayed on the couch, scrolling through his phone when he looked up as he felt your presence near him. When he met your figure though, his eyes went wide and it was his turn to bounce up off the couch.

"Why are you holding that?!" He exclaims, snatching the car keys that you were twirling around your finger. You blink in confusion, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"I'm gonna drive, duh." You said that like it was a given— like it was the most obvious answer in the world. This situation could have passed immediately, but Charles needed to be dramatic.

"What?! What do you mean drive yourself?!" He grabs you by the shoulders, eyes still wide like a crazed person. "Do you forget what I do for a living?!"

You laugh at this, shaking your head in disbelief. "You're seriously going crazy over the fact that I offered to drive?"

Charles shakes his head profusely in reply, grabbing your hands in his. "Mon amour, when I'm around, I drive."

"But you drive all the time!"

Charles starts stuttering, head still shaking like this was the stupidest concern in the world. "And? I drive. No questions asked."

You giggle as he grabs your hand, heading towards the door. "I drive. I always drive. I drive all the time. You should never drive."

"Charles, I get it—"

"I always drive you! Never do that ever again!"

★ OSCAR PIASTRI

You and Oscar had gotten home from the airport early and jet lag hit you two like a rocket. So as soon as the both of you got home, you dropped everything and headed straight to bed. Early enough that the sun was still setting and the two of you were already halfway to dreamland.

Here's the thing— you two never had dinner. So when you woke up at midnight, stomach grumbling like a lion, you weren't exactly surprised. You weren't surprised either that your boyfriend was still asleep next to you, the different time zones affecting him more than the lack of food.

You slowly got out of bed and trudged sleepily to the kitchen. Your eyes were barely open and your hair was the standard definition of bedhead.

You rummage through the refrigerator like a mad man, trying to find anything that could satisfy you. Upon finding nothing, you slump into a chair, head in your hands as you try to fend off both the sleep and the hunger. You thought that this was it, you were about to fall back asleep at the kitchen table in the dead of night, until a glint of silver catches your eye.

Oscar's car keys.

It lay perfectly by the end of the table, shining in all its glory. It was practically calling out to you, screaming your name, directly hit by the kitchen light like it was put there for you.

So what did you do? You got up and took it. You pocketed it in your pajama pants and headed back into the bedroom, making a beeline for the first hoodie you saw lying about. As you put it on, you could instantly tell it was Oscar's.

You thought you were being quiet, pacing around the room trying to find a clip, hair tie, anything to make your hair not look like it was ran over by a train. But apparently you weren't, because as you turn around to open the door and leave, you stop dead in your tracks when you hear—

"Y/N?"

You turn on your heel, slowly taking in the tired appearance of your boyfriend on your bed. He was sat up, rubbing his eyes and looking at you with a worried expression.

"Where are you going? It's—," he reaches for his phone, blinking profusely when the light from the screen practically jolts him awake. "It's midnight."

You walk over to him, sitting on the bed. "I'm hungry."

He blinks, eyebrows furrowing. "Okay. Is there nothing in the kitchen?"

You shake your head in response. Oscar starts getting out of bed, also pulling a hoodie on. He takes your hand and you follow as you both head out. He seems to notice that his car keys weren't where they usually were. He doesn't say anything, probably not to alarm you, but you already knew he was panicking deep down.

You fish the keys out of your pocket, poking his arm and dangling it in his face. He blinks comically, "You were about to drive yourself to get food?"

Now it was your turn to blink, a sheepish smile now on your face. You lower the car keys, nodding slowly. "Yeah?"

Oscar was surprised, you knew that for a fact. He was normally the one that drove you around. He treated you like a queen— never letting you even touch the steering wheel like his life depended on it.

He nods slowly, "Okay."

The both of you stand there for a minute, not really knowing what to do or say. You shift uncomfortably under your boyfriend's gaze, not exactly knowing what he was feeling in that moment.

"Do you want to drive?" He softly asks, taking your hand in his. Your mouth is slightly agape, barely stuttering out a reply. "Yeah. Why? Do you wanna drive?"

"No, it's fine," he shakes his head, pulling you closer to him. "Well, that's my job but... you can do whatever you want to do."

You smile softly at this, looking up into his eyes.

"But," he starts, piquing your interest. "Can I come with you?"

You laugh at this, resting your forehead on his chest. "Of course."

★ CARLOS SAINZ

Carlos insists that Monaco is too chaotic for you to be driving yourself and that you're too pretty to be doing any hard labor. Which is why no matter the time and the date, he always insists on driving you everywhere.

Until today.

You were getting ready to go out. One of your close friends was flying into Monaco and you were going to give them the privilege of showing them around. Unfortunately for you, your boyfriend was out training so you had to drive yourself. This wasn't really ever a problem, Carlos just always made it out be one.

You had texted him an hour ago about the arrangements you had made. You informed him that you would be gone for the day and not to be surprised if he came home to an empty house. He was busy so you weren't surprised that he never replied.

You grab your car keys on the way out and take one last final look in the mirror. As you open the door though, you're surprised to see the love of your life standing outside. Your eyes go wide at this, mouth slightly agape. Why was he here?

"Amor?"

He smiles when he sees you. His eyes drop down to what you were holding and his eyes narrow. "Ay, you're not supposed to be holding this."

He takes the keys from your hand and replaces it with his hand instead, grinning at you from ear to ear when you look at him with a done expression. "What are you doing?"

He perks up at this, heading into the house and closing the door behind him. "I'm driving you, of course."

He says it like it was an obvious answer, immediately darting to change out of his sweaty clothes into a fresh set. You follow after him, shaking your head at your boyfriend's antics.

"Seriously, Carlos? You dropped halfway through training to drive me?"

He stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, a mischievous smile on his face. "Of course, cariño."

"Your trainer is going to kill me."

He walks up to you adjusting his shirt and bends down to plant a kiss on your forehead. "He'll have to get through me first."

You're weak in the knees from his actions, accepting his hand as he drags you out of the room. "I can drive myself, you know?"

He stops when you reach the living room, turning his body to look at you. "Eh? Drive yourself? Your hands cannot be damaged by hard leather."

You quirk an eyebrow at his words, "Hard leather?"

"Yeah," he smiles. "Of the steering wheel, duh."

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the smile that forced its way onto your face. Upon seeing this, Carlos smiles even more. He squeezes your hand before leading you both towards and out of the door.

"Road rage does not suit you, amor. Let me handle the driving."

[sangunary]

hear me out, batfamily with a teenage reader that gets in trouble for fighting...BUT the reader won because they had used a move they saw that member of the batfamily do. For example, Reader jabs the other kid in the throat to choke them up then suplex's them or something😭 OR Reader uses a weapon they might've used and won that fight (obviously not Damian's or Jason's because they can be lethal) but it can't be Bruce's either because that's just straight hands and reader isn't that advanced yet lol. So i'm just gonna go with Dick or Tim's weapon of choice. Say for example there's for some reason a heavy but thin lying pole around, Reader just grabs that and starts beating on the kid with it but with Red Robin's moves for some reason(or nightwing's). this is purely just for fun but tysm for reading it at least. if you do write it may it PLEASE be separate with the characters? like to each their own scenario, or not it's up to you

- Teenagers Are Scary.

BatBoys × sibling reader ( Platonic )

SYPNOSIS: Copy and Paste but just make it more violent.

You were never one to hesitate every since you were born, that's how you were raise. The one that hesitate will be left to starve and the ones who never hesitate got to see the daylight again.

Simple and easy rule, nothing complicated about it.

Growing up in the street really build characters in people.

Hesitation doesn't run in the blood, an unattended belonging? yours, a wallet that is very visible? yours, random money on the ground? yours. If it's not by someone side it's yours.

Even if angry dogs are surrounding it, you would fight them. Older kids trying to steal something you already set your eyes on? Just use the plank or brick to scare them or better hit them hard enough to scare but not hard enough for jail.

That's how you and your mother survive for eight years, it wasn't fancy like in the books but it was something. You can't blame a kid for trying to survive.

After a long day of running from people's and cops that want you dead you went home, your mother laying dead on the ground.

You sit near her body for a day straight without moving, no tears, no panick, just processing the moment and trying to find a way to escape the orphanage system.

Then he came, batman. One look at your rough and dirty self suddenly you got adopted by a rich man the next day.

Who you later found out to be batman.

You had promise yourself to forget about the past life and finally choose the peaceful way of life when you had an option.

But, boy do you wish to raise your hand.

"Do you have Asthama?"

You asked the boy who had been bothering another girl for sometimes, she herself clearly told him to stop but he doesn't seem to understand english.

"No... Wh-"

Before he could answer you, you jabbed him on the neck.

Turns out defending people against annoying people is a bad thing and got suspended for a week.

"Little wing, why would you jab him? You do realise that you are suspended right? It better be for a good reason, you're lucky B isn't here"

Dick the moment he saw you walk inside began to lecture you on behalf of Bruce, well let's be honest he's alot more kind but his word hold more significant since he's the eldest.

"He was annoying"

You answered simply, you didn't understand what you did wrong you just simply defend a harmless girl.

Why is everyone so mad for? A rematch would be a good way to get everyone off your back.

"Little wing, this isn't like the street you can't harm people for that reason here... Now what did he do exactly?"

After explaining what had happened he seems to be relaxing... But still not happy with the way you had handle it.

"He could have hurt you... And thank God he didn't cause I won't be able to stop whatever forces that will be seeking revenge on your behalf."

Dick added to lighten the mood up, he meant Damian and Jason would definitely terrorise the kid if he touch you.

You have learnt how to jab people without any long term damage by watching him... So he was also involve one way or another.

He doesn't know if he should be mad or impress that you learn such move by just watching and somehow practising.

"Don't tell B, im proud of you for handling the case maybe next time just not too much violence?"

He pat your head as he smile, his siblings are so diverse one doesn't even realise what hesitation is...

"Still, pretend to be upset Alfred might catch on that I let you free"

Jason on the other hand was excited to meet you after he got news that you got in another fight.

Jason understand your anger and lack of hesitate alot better than anyone else.

He was also from the street and surprisingly when he was your age he was very kind compared to you.

He can see that you were trying your best to not go back to your old life style but it's hard when it's everything you ever knew.

At the park while you were going out with a friend this new girl with the entitlement of an European monarchy came up to her and push her.

Well for any mature person they would let it go and talk about it later.

Not you, never you.

You wouldn't let another hand touch your precious friend like that, from where you were from that was the biggest sign of disrespect and that isn't alright.

You complete forgot about the fact that you were no longer obliged to follow that rule and went after her.

The poor girl was running for her life as you continued to chase her, thanks to the fact that you were used to running from cops you caught to her quick.

Although you weren't stupid enough or mad enough to just yank her by her hair you insted hug her.

She was utterly confused and did try to struggle her way out of your grip.

But Instead you held tighter, not forgetting that adult's were indeed present.

"The leaf are slippery"

After that sentence you accidentally fell backwards while still holding onto the girl and lifting her, suplexing her.

You've saw Jason did it before infact he taught you that move.

He was always the one who brought up on how you would be able to defend yourself from bully without any warning or problem.

Basically Jason train you to beat others without getting into trouble, he was a professional.

"So you use the move?"

He asked curiously, afterall he had been waiting to hear the result of his teaching for a while.

"Yup, they actually check up on me first than her"

"Good, I supposed teaching you the art of violence in disguise is a great bounding material. I am a better mentor than that bat"

Jason exclaimed, he wanted to say he was proud but he need to hold back so you'll continue to work harder.

"Can you teach me how to terrorise people without direct involvement next?"

Yup, you're the best sibling he could ever ask for.

Tim on the other hand seeing you with no hesitation scared him, abit.

You had been accompanying him during his patrol, although you weren't a vigilante yet Bruce insist that you learn the route and other small matters. (He wants you to bound with your siblings more)

As a result you were tagging along with Tim, with a paper bag on your hear with a hole for an eye. Your fashion was unimaginable.

You were learning good and overall a good night. Bruce did gave you a uniform but you like to wear a normal' pants and shirt with sneakers and a paper bag from the last fast good you order.

While chasing after a kid that you absolutely hate you managed to catch him before he could due to pure hatred.

Picking up a thin metal pipe and hitting him on the leg as he kiss the ground hard. Tim notice the way you hold it, just like he did.

He did remember during the latest patrol you two had he did use the same move just yours was sloppier and you hit them alot harder.

It was like looking at the past, you really did learn everything from the way he hold it to even how you were standing... He's abit scared on how fast you catch up.

The kid was squirming on the ground cause you did hit him on the knee with a loud thud.

You on the other hand place your foot on him to stop him from moving, yes it wasn't necessary but you took your chance.

"Cuff him"

You demanded still holding onto the pipe.

Tim doesn't know if he should tell you or let Bruce take his part as your father... Well he would most likely be drag in since he is his son as well...

"You hit him too hard, don't step on him either he isn't resisting"

He told you, he can't let Bruce know about this.

"Could have done worse"

you mumbled, listening to your older brother.

Damian was picking you up from school when he saw you getting pick on.

He saw the other kid tugging at your hair more then once and you were surprisingly calm. Damian was disappointment at that moment.

He doesn't like seeing people just taking it when they're being bullied and he was thinking about teaching you how to fight.

Last time he check you beat the life out of Tim with a pillow. Maybe you weren't as much of a demon outside? You must be one of those people who cares about reputa-

Before he could finish thinking you look at the kid dead in the eye.

Put your hands on his shoulder and hit him with your forehead, the kid on the other hand began to cry as you went back to normal.

It was satisfying to watch, the kid friends tried to comfort and even try to hit you back.

He was abit concern now, you were the youngest and they out number you plus you haven't been trained yet you were eleven.

You took a very thick book from someone wnd proceed to hit them with it and yeah you won.

One example and no one wanted to know what you will use next.

"What was that about?"

He asked, he knew what it was about he just wanted to hear you talk about it.

"I saw you hitting Tim with your forehead once... That got him to shut up, I just wanted him to stop I didn't knew it would hurt"

Lie, you knew damn well how much ut would hurt. Your forehead is turning red from the impact.

Damian does remember what you were referring to, Dick, Jason and Tim tried to smash his face with cake and Tim was the one holding the cake.

He headbutt him because struggling out of Dick hold was hard and he just wanted to hit Tim, fortunately you were there to witness everything.

Guess he's a good influence then.

The book was just you utilising your surrounding object. Hitting them hard was just to show them who the real deal was.

He wasn't mad, he was the same when he was your age just honest. You? could talk your way out of it with that facade innocent of yours.

Atleast one of his siblings is nearly as great as he is.

[im-on-fire-today]

Rook pspsps'ing Lucanis, as he stares at them after having not slept for two days straight. Him sighing heavily as he takes the bait and lays his head against them, and then proceeding to fall asleep in seconds.

Rook smugly grinning to themselves both because they didn't think that would work, and because they are trying not to gush about how cute that was.

Lucanis wakes up and realizes that Rook called to him like an oversized cat, but doesn't have the energy to complain because he slept better than he has in weeks.

[marscardigan]

A-lister — chapter i. happy new year!

A-lister masterlist

summary: to serve as ellie williams’ assistant was to live a dream, or survive a nightmare. no one made it past eight months. and then, you showed up.

content warning: mdni. smut ahead. no use of y/n.

word count: 5k

You don’t move across the country for just anyone.

But when Theresa Servopoulos calls you directly and says she needs someone, you pack a bag, hand in your notice, and get on a plane.

Now you moved through it all in a daze, nerves buzzing. Your carry-on bumped your heel for the third time, and you were half a second from kicking it across the floor when you heard her voice.

“There’s my girl.”

You turned—and there was Doreen.

She looked like the sun breaking through New York’s humid concrete gloom: golden skin that glowed like she carried her own light source, long dark braids streaked with copper, and wide brown eyes that already held you like home. She was wearing gold hoops the size of your palm, and her smile was soft and a little sideways, the kind that made you want to confess things.

“I missed you,” you breathed, nearly dropping your bag as she pulled you into a hug.

“Mm-mm,” she murmured, squeezing you tight. “I can already tell. You’ve been holding it in, haven’t you?” You nodded into her shoulder, suddenly too full to speak. “It’s okay,” she said gently, pulling back. “You’re safe now. Let’s get you out of here before you start crying.”

“Alright,” she said from the driver’s seat an hour later, both hands steady on the wheel. “You’ve been suspiciously quiet for ten whole minutes. Spill it.”

You blinked over at her, and hesitated. “You know Theresa Servopoulos?”

Doreen’s foot jerked off the gas for a second, so fast the car lurched forward. “Fuck.” She reached across your chest dramatically. “Sorry. Reflex. You can’t just drop that name mid-traffic like she’s your cousin.”

“I take it you’ve heard of her.”

“Heard of her? Babe, you know how many people I know would give up a kidney just to get a five-minute Zoom call with her?”

You looked down at your hands. “Yeah, well. She called me.”

Doreen stared straight ahead, jaw slack. “She called you. Directly?” You nodded. “No manager, no assistant—Tess fucking Servopoulos got your number and called you?”

“Apparently my name was recommended,” you said, like it wasn’t the most surreal thing.

“By whom?”

“She didn’t say. Just said she was in a bind, and that someone she trusted said I was… what they needed.”

Doreen let out a long breath through her nose, quiet for a beat. Then, softly, “are you okay?”

It was such a simple question, but it hit harder than you firstly thought. 

“I think I’m still in shock,” you admitted. “I mean, she didn’t even tell me what the job was. Just that it was a personal assistant role, high-level, sensitive, and… quote: ‘not the kind of thing you describe over the phone.’”

You felt her glance over again. “That’s cryptic as fuck.”

“She said I had to talk about it in person to understand.”

There’s a pause before Doreen murmurs, “Jesus. That sounds serious.”

“Right?”

“Not just serious. That sounds life-altering.”

Her apartment in Queens hadn’t changed at all. Plants still climbed the windows, books still lived in little messy kingdoms on every flat surface, and the scent of clove, cardamom, and the faintest hint of eucalyptus was always in the air. 

She opened the front door and gestured inside. “Your kingdom awaits, my lady.”

You smiled. “You didn’t have to—”

“—I wanted to.” She took your bag and set it down for you. “You stayed with me when I got fired and didn’t know what to do with my life, remember?”

“Of course I remember,” you said.

It was right after college. You had pure luck in finding a decent job after your internship. Doreen didn't have the same destiny, and her first job after uni was hell. You stayed with her until she found something better, helping her paying the rent. And now? Now she had everyone in the palm of her hand. 

You hadn’t known who Doreen would become when she first moved to New York. That first job nearly broke her. She almost quit the city entirely. But she didn’t. She jumped ship, freelanced, networked, and found herself curating campaigns for indie designers and visual artists so good it made people stop scrolling mid-thumb-swipe.

Now she was known as someone whose word got people in the room. She worked with stylists, production designers, and cultural consultants. She built brands from scratch. She knew people, not just names on rosters, but people who created real things. She was always meant to shine, after all.

Later that night, you sat on the fire escape with mugs with hot chocolate, staring down at the street below. 

You broke the silence first. “What if I’m not what they’re looking for?”

She shrugged gently. “But what if you are?”

“I keep imagining all the worst-case scenarios.”

“Here’s a better one: What if it’s someone brilliant? Someone who needs you the way you deserve to be needed?”

You smiled tiredly. “That’s not a thing.”

“Sure it is,” she said. “You just haven’t seen it yet.”

You looked out at the night. “And what if I mess it up?” you asked quietly.

Doreen’s answer came soft and immediate. “Then you come home to me. And we can talk about it as much as you need to.”

You leaned your head on her shoulder, warmth pooling behind your eyes. Her touch alone was enough to ground you, to make you feel safe. “You’re too good to me,” you whispered.

“No, baby. I’m just good at loving what’s good.”

Your heart was loud. You didn’t know who you’d be meeting Monday. You didn’t know why Tess was so vague, why the job was secret, why even she sounded uneasy when she said the words ‘it’s complicated.’

But you do know that you were not here by accident. And you were not going back.

As days passed, your anxiety started eating you alive. And Doreen could tell. Now it was December 31st. The last night of the year. And you were at her kitchen table in your softest hoodie, rereading your notes for the fifth time, when she waltzed in wearing a floor-length coat and a velvet head wrap.

“Okay,” she said. “Here’s the deal. You’re coming with me tonight.”

You didn’t look up. “I love you. No.”

She leaned against the counter. “You haven’t left the house in three days except to go buy cereal.”

“Correction,” you said, flipping a page. “Also toothpaste.”

“And I will throw that toothpaste out the window if you don’t listen to me.”

You smirked, eyes still on the paper. “I need to focus. The interview’s on Monday. I need to be clear-headed, not hungover and panicking because I made eye contact with someone who was on the cover of Vogue.”

She stepped closer, lowered her voice to that gentle, glinting tone she saved for moments she knew she was right. “I know you think preparing means being perfect. But what if it just means being present? Trusting your instincts? Trusting you?”

You looked up at her. She wasn’t wearing any makeup and still looked like a goddess who could command a room with her posture alone.

“Please,” she said, softer now. “Come with me. You don’t have to drink, or talk to anyone you don’t want to. Just be there. You deserve to enter the new year feeling alive, not locked in.” You hesitated. “And also,” she added breezily, “I told people you were coming, and they’re excited to meet you.”

“Doreen—”

“It’s mostly work people. Creative people. Respectful, weird, brilliant—”

“Famous?”

She smiled with all her teeth. “Maybe one or two.”

You sighed. “Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m leaving early.”

“I will personally unlock the fire escape for your escape route.”

Both of you knew how tonight’s party wasn’t just a party. It was the party: an invite-only, rooftop-under-the-stars kind of night with stylists from Milan, playwrights from downtown, Netflix showrunners, Victoria Secret’s supermodels, and, apparently, you.

The city buzzed that night, a hum beneath your skin.

A low vibration, like something about to start. Streetlights diffused by fog, the hiss of tires on wet asphalt, and the deep bass of music rising from somewhere above, like the party was floating above the rest of the world, unreachable unless invited. And you were, indeed, invited.

Wrapped in winter, cheeks flushed and fingers stiff in your gloves, you stepped out of the elevator and into a rooftop that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread. It was all polished glass and concrete softened by string lights. Hanging lanterns glowed honey gold. The skyline opened beyond the safety rail, glowing like the inside of a beehive.

People glittered. Silk. Sequins. Fur coats unbuttoned just so. Perfume that smelled like luxury and secrets. You adjusted the hem of your dress. The dress Doreen had insisted you borrow from her closet. “Something that doesn’t look like you’re trying,” she’d said, rifling through hangers. She landed on one that was midnight-colored, silky but not too shiny, hugging the lines of your body like it knew what it was doing. You’d protested. Then looked in the mirror. And she was right, like always.

“You’ll thank me later,” she had whispered.

The scent of money and ambition hung in the air like incense. Everyone looked like they had perfect teeth and someone to manage their schedule. Polite conversation clinked like glasses.

You clutched your mocktail too tightly. Took a breath. Then reached for a glass of wine instead. Just enough to soften the edges.

At some point, you laughed too loudly at something Doreen murmured in your ear. Her hand was on your back, grounding you. She could tell when you needed it. Her concern came through in small ways, like a slightly longer glance, a subtle repositioning to block someone’s gaze.

“I’m gonna go talk to Jules about this campaign pitch,” she said, brushing a kiss against your cheek. “Sit. Breathe. Soak it in. You’re doing fine.”

You nodded, the wine finally easing your shoulders. “Okay.”

And then she was gone, swept up in the slow-moving tide of social sharks and glass clinks.

You turned, off-balance in that way you only are when you're slightly tipsy and slightly too aware of yourself. A velvet couch near the corner of the terrace caught your eye—tucked into an enclave half-sheltered by hanging lights and a sleek heat lamp that made the shadows long and soft.

You let your body fall into the cushions with a sigh that felt like release. It was quieter there. The edge of everything. You set your glass down on the little marble table and relaxed.

When you opened your eyes—God knows how much later—someone had taken the other half of the couch.

A woman.

You blinked slowly, trying to focus. The room shimmered slightly at the edges, like it was underwater. Your head was light, your limbs too warm, and the lighting in this corner was low, just the soft gold glow of string lights spilling sideways from a nearby window. Shadows sliced across her face like secrets.

She wore a dark satin shirt, matching pants. Her posture was effortless, an ankle resting over her opposite knee like she’d been there forever. There was something about her presence, but you couldn’t really see her face. Not clearly, anyway.

The alcohol made your vision slightly syrupy. And she was positioned just off the edge of the light, her face half in shadow. You caught flashes: the strong line of her jaw, the subtle glint of freckles, maybe? Or just the way her mouth moved when she sipped from her glass. Her hair was cropped close, that much you could tell, and it suited her, framed her head like something deliberate, almost poetic.

But the details like the color of her eyes, the exact curve of her smile, they were just out of reach. Like trying to remember a dream after waking up.

And when she muttered under her breath, “I fucking hate parties,” with that dry, dismissive edge, you snorted. Out loud. You knew the comment wasn’t meant for you. But you heard it.

She turned. Slowly. “Wow,” she said dryly, “that wasn’t even my best material.”

You pressed a hand to your lips, trying not to laugh. “Sorry. You caught me off guard.”

“What?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “You kinda just appeared.”

“Would you have said no if I’d asked?”

“Would you have asked?”

She shrugged, eyes glittering. “No.”

There was a beat. 

“Why are you even here?” you asked, waving at the glittering crowd. “Doesn’t seem like your scene.”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t. Came with someone. Got bored.”

“You ditched them?”

“Moment they got sucked into a conversation about some rich shit.” You winced. She sipped her drink. “You?”

“Friend dragged me out. Even allowed me to borrow her dress and everything.”

Her eyes flicked down your frame, slowly, like she had all the time in the world. “The dress was a good call.”

You felt your ears flush. “Thanks.”

Something in your chest ticked faster. You picked up your glass again for something to do. The conversation moved from there, warm and comfortable and safe. Something spun loose inside you. It didn’t feel like trying anymore. It felt like finding a strange rhythm with someone who danced the same way.

Then she said it. Like a challenge. Like a door swinging open.

“Come with me. Let’s disappear.”

And just like that, she lifted her palm, waiting for you to grab it, and you did. You rose. She stood. No one noticed. Or if they did, they didn’t care. You moved together like shadows along the back wall, down a side hall, through a door that probably belonged to a coat closet but felt like something more secret.

It wasn’t like you planned it. You were following her. Or maybe she was following you. Or maybe the universe cracked open just wide enough to let this happen, the dim hallways that rich people always seem to have in their homes.

She reached past you to open a gold-trimmed door. You slipped inside first.

The light was low, almost nonexistent. Just the thin glow of the hallway seeping through the cracked door before she closed it. The air inside was heavy, warm, thick with expensive perfume soaked into designer coats. You could smell vanilla, amber, cedar. Something floral. Something like leather.

The door clicked shut behind her, soft but final. And in the dark, the world shrank.

You could feel her, even before she moved. That quiet presence, like heat. Then, you felt the contact. How her fingers brushed your hip. Barely. Just enough to make your breath catch. Tentative. A question, maybe.

You turned toward her, heart thrumming like wings against your ribs. The closet was too narrow for distance. You were already close, but now, face to face. Eyes somehow finding each other in the dim.

And hers, God. Even if you couldn’t see clearly, you could decipher them perfectly. They weren’t impatient, or cocky, or drunk. They were something else entirely. Like hunger layered with caution. Like she was afraid of breaking something sacred. Like a restraint coiled so tight it might snap.

Finally, her mouth was on yours. Not rushed. Not clumsy. A ghost of a kiss. A brush, a pause. Like a prelude. Like a question you didn’t know how to answer except to lean in, give more, let it happen.

So you did. You kissed her back. Soft at first, tasting her, breathing her in. The shape of her mouth was like a secret. Warm and deliberate. You could feel the way she was holding back, measuring the space between pleasure and permission. It made your skin burn.

Then it shifted into something hotter, something deeper, but still soft. Her hand found your waist again, firmer this time, fingers curling through your dress like she wanted to memorize every inch. She tilted her head and kissed you like she'd waited hours. Days. Like she was trying to burn her name into your mouth without ever speaking it.

Your back hit the wall of coats with a muted thud. She pressed into you as her other hand slid into your hair, slow, threading carefully. You gasped when her teeth grazed your bottom lip, sharp and fleeting.

And still, she paused. “This okay?” she murmured against your mouth.

The words ghosted over your own lips. You nodded, dizzy. “Yes.”

But she didn’t kiss you again right away.

She pulled back just far enough to take a good look at you. Her gaze flicked between your eyes, scanning for something. For doubt. For permission. And when she found it, whatever she was looking for, her mouth came back to yours with purpose.

And this time, it wasn’t soft. This time, she kissed like someone who had nothing left to lose. Like she was trying to brand the night into you. Like the only thing that mattered in the entire city, the entire world, was you saying yes and meaning it.

Your hands slid to her shoulders. Her jaw. The back of her neck. Every part of her was heat and pressure, intention and control. She was taller up close. Or maybe it just felt like she towered, the way she moved against you, steady without being still at all.

She tasted like whiskey and Marlboro. Her lips moved to your jaw, slow, trailing heat. She kissed the place under your ear, and you inhaled sharply, your knees nearly buckling.

Outside, faintly, the countdown began.

Five!

Her mouth was on your throat now, open and warm, teeth teasing the skin before she soothed it with her tongue. Your head tilted instinctively, letting her in, exposing more.

Four!

Your hands gripped her shirt, fingers curling in satin. She pulled you closer like she couldn’t stand even a sliver of distance. Like needing you against her was the only thing that made sense.

Three!

Her hand found your thigh. She slid it slowly, deliberately, under the hem of your dress, fingertips featherlight, waiting for the smallest shift of your body to tell her yes again.

Two!

You kissed her like you had nowhere else to be. Like you belonged there, in the dark, in her hands, in the fire she’d lit inside your ribs. Her mouth moved over yours with bruising intensity now, like she was starving for something neither of you could name.

One!

A ragged exhalation passed between you as her hand tightened on your thigh. She pushed gently, fingers slipping upward with aching slowness, testing every second for resistance. You didn’t pull away. You tilted your hips forward, just slightly, a silent answer—yes, yes, please.

She groaned softly, like the sound had been dragged from somewhere low in her chest.

Happy New Year!

Outside, muffled through walls and coats, came the pop and sizzle of celebration. The windows must’ve lit up with color from the fireworks. Someone yelled, followed by glasses clinking and a shriek of laughter that felt miles away. A whole world was happening outside. But inside, time fractured. She was kissing you like she’d forgotten language itself. Like her only fluency was touch and need and want.

Her hand slid further, seeking for skin, heat, finding the soft inside your thigh. You gasped into her mouth. She swallowed the sound like it fed her, grinning deviously. Her fingers traced a line with maddening patience, not rushing, not assuming, she was just taking her time to learn you with every move.

You were breathless now. Unraveled. Your hands gripped the collar of her shirt, then her shoulders, grounding yourself in the strength of her. Her body fit against yours like puzzle pieces twisted into something new; familiar and foreign all at once. She cursed under her breath. And then her hand moved where you’d wanted it. And you arched.

Your back hit the coats again, your forehead dropped to her shoulder, and she held you there, one arm firm across your lower back, anchoring you like she knew you'd forget gravity existed. Her mouth traced your temple, your jaw, the curve of your neck. She kissed every inch she could reach, slow and reverent, like you were something holy and fragile and on fire.

And when her fingers moved, when she pressed and stroked in rhythm with your breath, your knees almost gave out. But she caught you.

You bit your lip, hard, to keep from crying out. She kissed you again, coaxing the sound out anyway. Every touch was impossibly tuned to your body, like she knew how to ask without words, how to listen to the smallest shiver of your hips, the catch in your breath. Like this was the language you both shared now, this rhythm, this rising tide.

You pulled her closer, nails pressing lightly into her back through the thin silk of her shirt. Her breath was ragged against your skin, just as undone as yours now. You buried your face in her neck and let it take you. A trembling wave of sensation that left you raw and open and shaken in the best possible way. She didn’t say anything. Just held you. One hand cradling the back of your head. The other still resting on your thigh, soft now. Still.

Minutes passed, and the fireworks faded outside. The party throbbed on beyond the door. The music pulsing low, someone stumbling past the hallway with a laugh and the clink of heels. But in the quiet closet, you breathed.

Finally, she spoke. Low. Breathless. A little stunned.  “Happy New Year.”

You exhaled against her collarbone. Your lips brushed her skin as you answered. “Not bad,” you murmured. “As far as midnight kisses go.”

She laughed softly. “High praise.”

Silence again. But it wasn’t awkward. It was charged. Like the air still crackled with what had just passed between you. Like the universe was still catching its breath.

You could’ve stayed. Could’ve said something. Could’ve asked her name. Could’ve learned her voice, her laugh, what color her eyes really were in the light. Could’ve exchanged numbers.

But something in you wavered.

Maybe it was the sudden rush of clarity, the sharp return of your heartbeat as the spell broke. Maybe it was the way she didn’t ask for anything else. Didn’t say “stay.” Didn’t try to stop you. Maybe it was your own fear. So, you reached down. Smoothed your dress. Ran trembling fingers through your hair.

She stepped back just enough to give you space. Her hand lingered on your wrist for a beat longer than necessary. She didn’t speak.

So, you opened the door as the cool air rushed in. Sound returned. Light. Laughter. The sharp clink of glasses. You stepped out into the hallway. She didn’t follow, and you didn’t look back. But you could feel her, standing in the shadows. The shape of her still written on your skin. Her mouth still warm on your lips. Her fingers still trembling ghosts on your thigh.

Later, you would wonder what would’ve happened if you’d turned back. But instead, you found Doreen again—her makeup smudged, her laugh still bright. She was holding two flutes of champagne and raised one when she saw you.

“Hey, dove,” she said, tipping her head. “You good?”

You nodded, breathless. “Better than good.”

And for once, you meant it.

The next morning hit like betrayal.

You woke up on Doreen’s couch with your face half-stuck to one of her throw pillows, mouth dry. Your head pulsed in slow, deliberate thuds. The kind of headache that felt personal. Like your brain was mad at you specifically. You groaned and pulled the blanket over your face.

“Oh, good,” Doreen’s voice came from somewhere near the kitchen. “You’re alive.”

“Debatable,” you croaked.

“Didn’t even drink that much, lightweight,” she teased. A mug clinked against the counter. The smell of coffee drifted across the room like a blessing. “You know you have your own room, right? I know the couch is good, but…”

You sat up slowly, regretting every second of the motion. “This feels illegal.”

“Hydration is not a crime,” she said cheerfully, walking over with a glass of water in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. She handed them both over like a priest delivering a sacrament. “Water, coffee and ibuprofen. Say thank you.”

You squinted at her, blinking. “Thank you, Jesus in a silk robe.”

“You’re welcome, my child.” She sat down on the other end of the couch, one leg folded beneath her. “So.”

You blinked again. “So what?”

She grinned. “Are you really gonna pretend you didn’t disappear for like thirty minutes and come back looking like your soul had just been rearranged?”

You groaned and collapsed backward onto the couch. “Oh my God.”

“I knew it,” she crowed. “You hooked up with someone, didn’t you?”

You covered your face with the pillow again. “Shut up.”

“Tell me everything. Who was it?”

“I don’t know,” you mumbled into the cushion.

There was a beat of silence.

“…You what?”

“I don’t know!” you said, sitting up, hair a mess, coffee sloshing in your mug. “She just—she was there. On the couch. We talked. And then we ended up in that weird gold closet, and I don’t even know her name but—” Doreen stared at you like you’d announced you’d married a cryptid. “—Doreen. She was so good at it.”

You weren’t even sure what ‘it’ covered, exactly. Kissing, touching, the part where her hand slid up your spine like she’d been built for it. The part where you forgot your own name for about thirty seconds because her mouth had learned you too quickly.

Doreen’s jaw dropped. “Okay, wait—like, good good?”

You nodded slowly. “Like—how-do-you-know-what-I-want-before-I-do good.”

“Damn.”

“Right?”

She whistled low. “So mystery hot girl with angel face and demon skills just made out with you in the coat closet, then vanished into the night like a horny fairytale?”

You sipped your coffee. “Pretty much.”

“And you didn’t get her number?”

“She didn’t ask for mine.”

Doreen threw both hands in the air. “You’re killing me.”

“I didn’t plan it! It just… happened.”

“Okay,” she said, holding up a hand like she needed to physically catch the chaos. “Was she someone I invited? Someone from work?”

“I didn’t ask.” You shrugged helplessly. 

“But like—you can’t even describe her to me?”

You looked at her, deadpan. “Oh, I’m sorry, it was kind of hard seeing anything in the dark apart from her lips.”

Doreen choked on her own coffee. “Jesus Christ.”

“I stand by it,” you said, sipping yours. “They were very informative lips.”

“Did you at least recognize her from somewhere?”

“I was too busy trying not to combust.”

Doreen made a dramatic noise of suffering. “God. This is why I need to start running background checks on my party guests.”

You laughed weakly, falling back again. “Do you think I’m gonna see her again?”

She gave you a look. “In this city? Not unless fate’s feeling flirty.”

“I hate that you’re probably right.” You sighed. 

“Okay, but what if she was someone famous?” she asked, narrowing her eyes. “Like, what if you made out with someone who has a fucking Wikipedia page?”

“Oh my God, stop.”

“I’m just saying—if you turn on HBO, and she’s the lead in some big series, don’t act surprised.” You threw a pillow at her. She ducked, laughing. “Anyway,” she said, calmer now, “I’m glad you had a good night.”

You looked at her. “Me too.”

She smiled gently. “It’s nice to see you let go. Even if it took whiskey and a woman with witchcraft lips to make it happen.”

Finally, Monday arrived.

You were up hours early, pacing the length of your apartment with a mug of black tea you never drank, because your stomach couldn’t handle it. Your phone buzzed with a final confirmation from Theresa Servopoulos’s:

Subject: NYC Meeting – Confirmed Time: Monday, 10AM Location: Office address attached. No phones. No assistants. NDA will be waiting. T.S.

Tess. Fucking. Servopoulos.

Even saying her name in your head felt like trying on something expensive and too tight. She wasn’t just a powerhouse in the industry. She was the industry. The woman had turned reputations into legacy, scandal into stardom. She was untouchable. And you were walking into her office to interview as a personal assistant to a ‘very high-profile’ client. No name. No details. No photos. Just the warning: this person is very private. Very well known. Very demanding. Your knees nearly buckled in the elevator.

Theresa’s studio wasn’t quite an office, it was more like a sanctum. You were led down a hall too silent for footsteps and into a glass-walled room with floor-to-ceiling views of Manhattan.

And there she was. Sitting at the head of the room like a god behind glass, wearing an immaculate gray suit. Her gaze flicked up as you entered, cool and precise.

“Sit,” she said simply, and you obeyed. She didn’t waste time. “You’ve worked in event coordination, communications, and crisis management. But you’ve never been a personal assistant.”

“No,” you said, willing your voice to stay steady. “But I’ve supported high-pressure workflows. I’m organized, fast, and extremely discreet.”

Theresa arched one brow. “Everyone says that until the first public meltdown.”

“I don’t melt,” you replied swiftly.

A pause. Then a twitch of something almost like approval at the corner of her mouth.

“This client,” she continued, “requires a full-time shadow. Scheduling. Messaging. Coordinating press with multiple teams across time zones. You’ll have no work-life balance. You’ll have no predictability. You’ll have to know what she needs before she says it.”

She. She said she.

“This client values privacy. Discretion. Stability. You’ll travel, often last-minute. Works irregular hours. And she doesn’t tolerate… dramatics.”

You nodded. “Understood.”

Theresa studied you a moment longer. “You’ll meet her now. She’ll make the final decision.”

That thud in your chest? That was your heart deciding it might bail. You swallowed hard and nodded. Before you could even say anything else, the door behind you clicked open. You turned, and your heart dropped clean through the floor.

Leather jacket. Auburn hair tied back, loose at the nape. Eyes shadowed behind dark sunglasses — until she took them off.

It was her. Ellie Williams. 

Oscar-nominee. BAFTA darling. The face of two billion-dollar franchises. You’d seen her a thousand times. On billboards. In interviews. On streaming platforms and film festivals and magazine covers.

She was one of the most recognizable woman in Hollywood from this generation.

And you’d had your tongue in her mouth in a coat closet two nights ago.

series taglist !

@leaaavesss @yasmilks @bambi-luvs @mars4hellokitty @esotericatrait @wewerewildandfluorescent @ferxanda @haithone @bbut3rflyi01 @lvmxih @oneinameliann

[bratbarzal]

OK IF YOU'RE TAKING REQUESTS anything smutty with LIH Luke and Reader!!! I think you said you'd do HCs or NSFW alphabet so whatever you're comfortable with! I love you and I love them ❤️

so some of these I've had saved just as character notes for a while bc I think it's fun even if the smut isn't inherently written into the fic to have an idea of what the intimate part of their relationship would be like - I've tried to expand to bulk it out so it sort of goes on!! I took some inspo from the nsfw alphabet but I didn't use it because I repel structure!!!! It’s not even very very smutty it’s more so just describing intimate parts of their relationship

ALSO you don't have to have read either fic to read this, it's sort of general luke and how I conceptualise him as a character tbh!! Idk if I’ll ever write him beyond LIH so I think this is just Luke to me by now but I hope you enjoy regardless!!

word count: 4k+

general warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected p in v, coming inside, coming on, mutual masturbation, oral (m and f receiving), mentions of being tied up and blindfolded, mentions of period sex and I think that’s all

Luke just gives boy moaner vibes. Like he's loud, and he has no concept of just how loud he is because even when he's trying to bite back his noises or be lowkey about it, he's groaning and panting and grunting and you quickly give up trying to get him to shut up because he isn't capable of doing so. And you like hearing him moan as much as you like hearing him speak, which is a lot if you're being honest - you'll let him yap for hours sometimes while you just cuddle up to him or when you're straddling his lap and kissing at his neck and he's going on and on about something that happened in a game or training. Sometimes you think he's so in his head about whatever it is that he's talking about that he forgets you're literally sat on him but then his hands will grip at your hips and get you moving, and he'll slip out the occasional, “Right there,” or “Oh, fuck," when you grind straight against the obvious bulge in his sweatpants.

And he'll talk at you between kisses sometimes, like even your tongue in his mouth won't stop him when he's got something to rant about, but he still occasionally kisses back - lets it drag out a little before he carries on until he's finished - and you just let him because it's always better for him to just say what he clearly needs to say before he gives his full undivided attention.

And he’s bantery even when you’re fucking, even in his dirty talk that he considers foreplay, he’s teasing you - craving that back and forth that you love to give him, saying dorky jokes while he’s literally inside you and you think it’s the dorkiest and sexiest thing he could possibly do - make you belly laugh while he has you pinned down to the bed and your legs are up over his broad shoulders.

But back to the boy moans you don't know how you ever kept your situationship a secret that first summer with just how loud he is - he gives these big satisfied hums whenever you give him the slightest touch - like if you wrap your arms around his shoulders and your fingers tickle at the curls by the nape of his neck, or you're tucking yourself into his side when you all go out on the boat, or one of his brothers are driving and you're nestled up to him in the backseat. He's such a physical touch guy that he can't help the little noises he makes when you give him what he wants, even if it isn't entirely sexual in nature

But when it is, when you're sinking down onto your knees in front of him, and your neck is craned to look straight up and meet his eye while you lower his zipper, he'll literally whine as he watches you take him out of his briefs - watches you wrap your fingers around the base of his cock and shuffle forward a little to get a closer angle on him - his breath will stutter audibly the second your lips come within an inch of his length, the mere distance of you causing it to twitch a little as it hardens even more.

When your thumb swipes at the pre-cum leaking from his tip, and you bring it to your mouth as you look up at him, he’s letting out a heavy, blissed out sigh in pure anticipation of your next touch, and you do your best to tease him just to get as many sounds out as you can before he’s a moaning, gasping mess - and that comes when your lips are around his shaft, when his hips are jolting forward and his tip is hitting the back of your throat, and your nails are scratching at the thick muscle of his thighs in response. His groans then are broken and the pitch is a little higher, and sometimes you’ll take his hands and put them in your hair or on the back of your head, encouraging him to fuck into you a little when you can handle it, which isn’t that often because he’s big and you try to surprise him with it when you can

You’d like to think with stuff like that it’s your own version of having some sort of control over him, but in reality, he holds a quiet dominance over you at all times

It isn’t really forceful and it isn’t really loud, but he just always has the upper hand when it comes to being intimate, and you both like it that way.

Even when you’re on top, and your holding him to the bed by his wrists as you’re riding him, hips moving at your own pace, his cock filling you so deep that it’s almost mind numbing but all you can think to do is keep moving and keep holding him down, and it’s a while before you realise he doesn’t need his hands to control you - he rocks his hips at his own pace, filling you deeper than you were managing on your own, thrusting up into you when you bring yourself down and he lets you bask in the illusion of your own dominance, but he never fully submits, not when it comes to sex, because you can mouth off all you want to him - in public, in private - and people can have their own ideas of who takes the lead in your relationship, but as soon as those doors close, you’re his, and he’s the only one who’ll ever get you like this.

and oh my god, back to this - he’s such a physical touch guy!! he HAS to be touching you whatever way he can, fingers hooked through belt loops, hands laid flat in your back pockets when your facing him, or in your front pockets when your back is to his front, like you’re at a concert and you’re stood at the barrier and he’s just behind with his hands on your hips and keeps leaning down to speak right in your ear and his breath is on your neck. If he’s beside you, his arm is over your shoulder, your hips bumping, your legs touching if you’re sat down, and he loves when you lean into him, head on the side of his chest, or when you wrap your own arms around his middle.

Because when YOU touch HIM he sort of loses it - because love languages are sort of a projection right, of how you want to be loved back? So when you trace your fingers along the veins in his arm, or your hands seek him out when you’re laying out in the sun and it’s too hot to be on top of each other how you probably want (plus last time the two of you fell asleep all cuddled together and you had a distinct tan mark that was the shape of his hand on your ass) or you’re absentmindedly playing with his hair he has this big Cheshire Cat grin on his face all the time because he just loves the idea that you can’t keep your hands to yourself, either.

And he’s big into showing off his strength - because he can look sort of unassuming sometimes, but then he’s hauling you up over his shoulder and carrying you upstairs, hand landing firmly on your ass when no one else can see and you’re still squirming, and he’s wrestling you down into the sheets and burying his head between your legs until your kicks of defiance die into your knees flopping in their jelly-like blissed out state - his tongue lapping at your core and his lips closing around your clit over and over in sloppy kisses. Your hands are in his hair - perfect - and your hips are bucking like crazy, and he’s humming into your folds and you feel the buzz of him all the way up your spine. And when he’s done, when you’ve come apart with a pillow held over your face to muffle your screams, and your body is vibrating, and his chin is slick with your juices, he just looks up at you all proud and smug and you kick at his shoulder until he falls to the floor with a thud - and then you follow him down because why not? It would only make the headboard bang if you stayed on the bed.

He shows his strength in other ways, too. Lifts you to reach the top shelf instead of reaching it for you, hands at your hips and smiling big and bright when you turn around to thank him with a kiss. Piggy backs when you’ve spent all day out on the boat and you’re too tired to walk up the dock to the house, and your sticky front is pressed to his sticky back, and he smells like sunscreen and a little sweaty and you smush your face into the space between his neck and shoulder and breathe him all in.

And then you’re showering together and he’s washing your hair and you just about reach up to wash his, and he presses his head into your hands like a touch starved puppy because he’s sweet like that!!

And he doesn’t initiate anything because he knows you’re tired, but you lean up to kiss him under the spray of the shower, and you guide him to where you’re pressed against the wet tile, and you hook a leg around him until he gets the message, until he’s got hands splayed at the top of your thighs and he’s lifting you against the wall, and he slips in without any prep because you’ve spent all day watching him just walk around all broad chested with his freckled skin glistening under the sun and he’s yours and the mere fact of it makes you so wet, and he’s been watching you in your bikini, been helping apply sunscreen and slipping his fingers under the straps, been sneaking glances at you as the day has gone on - where your hair gets all sticky around the edges of your face, and your lips wrap around the cool rim of the beer bottle he handed you straight out the cooler, and he doesn’t think he’s managed to hide the effect you have on him from anyone but he’s beyond caring too.

Because now his grunts are masked by the shower spray, and he can hear your sweet little moans right in his ear, and neither of you really have to care about hiding anything, and he’s thrusting so deep inside you that you can barely hold on - scratches down his back that aggravate the slight sunburn he has there, and fingers so tightly gripped around the back of your thighs that they’ll probably bruise, and he’s practically begging you, “Can I come inside you?” And you’re practically pleading back, “God, yes!”

He gets sort of a complex after that, for holding you up while he’s fucking you - he has you against the door of your bedroom, thinks it’s really hot that he can’t wait a single second after you’re through the threshold to have you sometimes, and a few more times in the shower. When the two of you are back in Jersey, there isn’t a surface in your apartment you haven’t christened. The kitchen counters, the couch, the rug on the floor in your living room, the little dining table you have that only fits two chairs although that’s all you need. He likes your apartment - likes being able to have you anywhere, any time, and be however loud he likes - your neighbours be damned.

He likes coming home from a game and you’re in bed with a spot reserved for him, when he comes out of the bathroom after freshening up and you’re sleepily lifting the covers for him to join you, and you wrap your limbs around him like a monkey and the two of you just fall asleep with whispered I love you’s because he’ll tell you about his game in the morning.

And he loves having a routine with you - loves getting up and making you a coffee and a toasted bagel while you shower, and you drink and eat with him before you’re rushing out to get to class - and every day, without fail, you rush back inside for “one more kiss” that turns into at least four and he’s walking you backwards, smiling into your persistent mouth, until he can wave you off at the door - and the last thing you get to see every morning is Luke stood in your doorway, hands up against the jamb until the veins pop in his arms, boxers slung low on his hips and a very promising smile that tells you later - later I’ll satisfy that very obvious hunger in your eyes. And he always follows through on that promise. When he doesn’t have a game, you get to come home to game highlights on your tv, loud enough that they carry through to your little kitchen, where you more or less always find him trying to put together something that will “refuel you” enough for all the ways he’s about to ruin you.

And you like that, too - having someone at home who wants to be there when you are, who cares if you’re well fed after a long day at school, after a longer than necessary commute because you wanted to live closer to him, so close that he’s honestly living with you before either of you realise enough to freak out about it. He goes home to his and Jack’s apartment sometimes, but during the season he wants to be as close as he can as often as he can, especially when roadies are taken into account.

And when he’s on the road, and he has a room to himself or a little privacy, he can usually go a few stop before he’s desperate enough to get himself off. He tries to do it straight in the middle of a trip, give himself time to build up to it and then give himself time to build up to a reunion. He has pictures and videos he can use, and they usually do the trick - he’s conscious if he’s away that he’s behind you in times and you might be asleep, but sometimes he needs to talk to you because it isn’t half as fun when you’re not chirping him mid orgasm. He’ll send a cautious text - you awake? - and you’ll usually call him within a minute. “You horny fucker.” You say when you light up the screen, a wry smile - one of his shirts that you deny you ever where when he’s gone stretched across your torso, the neck hole so loose that it’s hanging around your shoulder, and he’s gripping at his base and squeezing a little as he takes you in. “Miss you,” he shrugs like it’s a reasonable response, and the roll of your eyes sends a twinge straight between his legs. “Tell me about your day,” he says, because he doesn’t even need you to talk him through it, and the two of you haven’t caught up yet today. He pumps himself slowly until you can’t really ignore his little grunts anymore, and you’re asking him to flip the camera and he does, trying to ignore the sight of his leaking cock in the little rectangle in the corner, watching your reaction to it instead as he fists the length of it, a subtle flick of your eyes up and down in line with his own movements. “Fuck, Luke,” you whine, “Miss you too.” And he’ll tell you all the things he misses specifically - misses your hand, misses your mouth, misses pressing his nose into your hair in the morning and breathing you in, misses the way you snuggle into him, climb on top of him, kiss at his skin all the way down to the waistline of his briefs and nuzzle against the bulge beneath them, kissing him through the fabric until it’s too much to bear.

And then you’re moaning, and he hasn’t even realise how far gone you look, that little concentrated furrow in your brow, your bottom lip between your teeth, and he’s telling you to flip the camera.

Your hand is wrist deep under your panties, and you’re doing your best to angle the camera and carry on your handiwork, two slender fingers curling into the heat Luke could wax lyrical about all day. Tight and warm, wet and welcoming, he can’t wait to get home and take the reins.

“Tell me how it feels,” he says - and it’s sort of new territory, because he’s never seen you touch yourself before. He’s usually quick enough to do it for you if he’s around, and he doesn’t think you’ve gone this far on a call.

“Good,” you breathe out, and he’s picturing you with your neck craned, your head thrown back in pleasure. “Not as good as you, but good.”

“Yeah,” he’ll breathe back, like a blissed out sigh, because that’s exactly how he feels. Good, but not good enough. “Take ‘em off, let me see,” and his chest lurches a little at how quick you are to follow his orders. You kick off your panties and perch your phone past your legs, so he can see between them and he can see your reaction to the touch, and he sees how your fingers disappear, can hear how wet you are, and his own hand is moving faster, turned on by how you can get yourself off just by the memory of him at this point, without having to watch what he’s doing anymore. He isn’t quite as strong willed. He times his movements with yours, and it isn’t long before you’re both coming, your pretty moans coming through the phone and his strangled and restrained, because for some reason it’s different when he’s on his own and there’s the risk of a teammate hearing through hotel walls.

“Show me,” you say, and he already knows, flipping the camera to his tense stomach, where he’s slick with his own spend. He comes on you more than in you, probably, and you both just sort of like it that way. You like it on your face, knelt in front of him, eyes screwed shut to avoid anything going in them when his cock is spurting out healthy amounts against your skin, and he likes it on your folds, pulling out with just enough time to aim it there, or on your stomach, or your lower back and ass if you’re already on your front. He likes to watch it drip, you like to feel it, and when you’re apart, he guesses you like to see it, too.

And then you’re both a panting mess when you’re done, and he’ll huff out a groan of “one more week” and you’ll have to correct him like, “two, I’ll be on my period when you get back,” and he’s chewing on his bottom lip all nervous cos you haven’t had the conversation yet, but he’ll be like that doesn’t bother me you know, if it doesn’t bother you - and it opens up a whole new world for the two of you when he gets back, and it’s a lot more shower sex, and a lot more dry humping and a lot more slow, sensual movements with him on top and a towel laid out beneath you on your bed and you couldn’t love him any more than you do when he’s taking care of you after - all attentive and sweet and careful.

And you don’t know why it surprised you in the first place because Luke is experimental - he’ll try anything once, as evidenced by the fuck-it list in the summer where you two tried whatever positions you could reasonably get into together at the lake house with others around. He doesn’t mind you tying him up, thinks it’s cute when you cuff him places thinking that his hands are what he needs to feel you, but he isn’t that big on tying you up - thinks his word is enough to get you into submission, but he likes a blindfold - likes teasing you when you can’t see, and driving you crazy with every little touch - likes it when you do the same to him. When all he can feel is your breath, or your hair when it falls into his lap and makes him shudder.

And you pretty much have similar levels of experience so everything that’s new to you is new to him and you’re discovering it all together which he likes - doesn’t like thinking about you figuring out what makes you tick with someone else even if that’s a dickish thought to have.

He likes that he’s the first guy you ever fucked in the back of a car, likes that he’s the only guy you’ve ever snuck around in public with, likes that he’s the only one who’s ever actually overstimulated you - gone round after round until you can barely string a sentence together, like if it’s a couple days without a game and he’s got pent up energy and you’re all stressed from school and he thinks you need an outlet. No one else has ever got him like you have, and no one’s ever got you like him.

And overall I feel like intimacy with Luke goes way beyond sex - he loves being around you, loves laying up and watching movies with you even if you’re more prone to falling asleep on him when you’re back in school after the summer and his season is underway - loves having a hand creeping up the back of your shirt, or the legs of your sleep shorts, and just holding you with big hands, absentmindedly stroking at your soft skin. Loves nights in the summer when your skin is all shimmery from body oil and your legs tangle with his in the sheets and he wakes up a little glittery from where you’ve rubbed all over him. Loves holding your hand, loves playing with your fingers, tickling at your palms, loves when you do it back, and your fingers are scratching from his wrist to the inside of his elbow and back.

He loves taking care of you, loves plonking his hat on your head when you’re looking a little pink in the sun, or drawing little shapes with sunscreen onto your back hoping he can get an L to tan itself into your skin, loves helping you onto the boat, sitting you on his lap, buckling up your life jacket and kissing your nose when it’s done. He loves carrying your groceries up the stairs to your apartment and actually doing your grocery shopping for you when he knows you’ve not got a lot of time on your hands, helping you put it all away and noticing all the snacks you buy for him considering he practically lives there anyway.

He loves texting you, too. Loves double and triple texting you his every thought like you need to be clued in on his inner monologue, and loves when you send the same sort of stuff back. He has personal beef with the guy who sits behind you in class for smacking his gum too loud - calls him Gum Loser because having all these insights into the part of your life that doesn’t involve him makes him feel good.

And you send each other dumb selfies all the time that end up as contact pictures and lock screens. Yours is a close up of his face from below, and he’s doing something stupid with his mouth like puffing the air up into his top lip until his nostrils flare and you like it cos his eyes look super pretty in whatever light he’s under, his lashes fan out and you think it’s cute he looks a little like a fish or something.

And his is you sat across from him, one of the times he tried to teach you chess, your chin is in your palm, your feet resting on the chair and your knees bent up to your chest and you’re so focused on making the right move that you never noticed him taking the picture - and he loves it because you asked him to teach you, and you sat there and listened and learned, and he has a million pictures by now of you in bikinis and pretty dresses and his shirts, or just random selfies you sent him or pictures you asked him to take for your Instagram but he likes catching you off guard the most.

Loves taking pictures of you asleep to tease you with, and you do the same to him. And you take pictures of him doing the most mundane things just because you can - stood with his hands in his pockets in the line at the bookstore, trying to figure out which avocado looks the most ripe and ready at the grocery store, mid argument with one of his friends while he’s playing video games on your couch. And when you get to go to games you’re always sneaking to watch him in warm ups and he’s always trying not to fall or stumble when you’re there because lord knows you’ll chirp him as much as any of the guys will about it.

But Luke can’t go a day anymore without seeing you or speaking to you, and you’re pretty much the same. However you can get him, you’ll take him.

[alltimecharlo]

just genuinely wondering — i feel like in fics mack is sooo often characterized as being difficult/moody/a lot to handle and i’m wondering where that stems from? i’m just getting into the sharks so idk them that well so really the only thing i’ve seen that reflects that is the never offside podcast with the whole windshield punching story and toff even says that mack is known to ‘spaz out’ but idk if there’s any other specific instances that fans get that vibe from

anon!! sorry for letting this ask sit for so long, i wasn’t sure how to go about this post at first! but yes certainly, let's delve into the question:

is mack actually moody/bratty/difficult/a lot to handle? 👀🩵

i certainly know what you mean when it comes to this being included in fics!! i think we definitely saw a sharp increase in this mack characterisation post windshield-incident reveal (mack getting frustrated waiting for will in his car and punching the inside of his windshield) as the story kind of puts a highlight on this aspect of mack's personality lol. full story from cat's podcast in the vid below (12:20-15:00).

firstly, soooo much could be said about their bickering and mack's little protests throughout the whole story because obviously will's telling it wrong despite mack prompting him to tell the story in the first place (shoutout to the part of this amazing post about how mack waits for will's cues on a lot of things to gauge how he should react himself - like in the emergency contact vid!).

for me one of the main parts of this story that stands out is the fact that will says mack didn't even say 'sorry' because 'why would i say sorry? i'm gonna pay for it'. you just know mack felt super embarrassed about breaking will's windshield with his little outburst, hence the lack of a sorry because that would mean mack would have to admit it's his fault and that he did something wrong which are not macklin celebrini traits in his eyes. obviously it was the windshield's fault!! ('it was an unsafe windshield', 'it was a soft windshield')

and as you said, toff said mack is known to 'spaz out' a little (likely meaning he gets in a mood about things/gets worked up easily, which the team obviously finds funny - will's 'you THINK?!' agreement lol). back at BU mack was also reportedly 'going at it' with 5th year senior captain case mccarthy because mack got pissy in practice and maybe concussed sam stevens...

so i think it's safe to say that mack struggles to control/process his emotions sometimes, leading to his moodiness/making him 'difficult'. some amazing exploration as for why (and why will helps this) in this post again!!

another moment that definitely built on this narrative was the awards given out by the sharks media admin. of course mack wasn’t happy with his the first time (his whiny ‘… idk i’m disappointed…’)

so the admin tried again (‘are you serious?’ *turns to will for moral support* ‘i don’t like this one either’☹️) and AGAIN (‘okay… this one’s better…’🫤) and AGAIN, until mack was finally satisfied (‘this one i can get behind☺️’ *proceeds to happily bicker with will about it*) bless the patience of the sharks admin staff fr <3

anyway, my main point here is that the admin printed out THREE extra awards for mack because they already knew he’d be picky and difficult about it, so they thought ahead to bypass the system lol. not to mention that will was given a jokey award too and just accepted it, y’know, like a normal person.

of course this all leads to the 'bratty' characterisation we see in a lot of fics, mainly because will is constantly letting him get away with it!! no, worse than that. he's DELIGHTED by it!!

mack straight up broke his windshield and will thinks it's the funniest thing in the world despite it happening literally on the way to them filming the podcast and looks at mack like this whilst he's telling the story:

will, who watches mack whine about the awards he's getting and looks at him like this when mack's finally happy with one and he gets to rib him over it...

so in conclusion, YES, mack sometimes has trouble processing his emotions (he's an 18 year old kid thrust into super-ultra-mega nhl stardom with an overbearing performance coach father and is expected to save an entire franchise, i think we can cut him some slack), and YES, this sometimes means he comes across as a bit moody/difficult to deal with. but my main point here is:

WSH you 🫵 are an enabler !!!

[cherryblossms]

his body immediately stiffened upon angel's touch, his eyes widening for a moment before he allowed himself to relax but only the slightest amount. still, he didn't look at angel again while they were with his aunt. the last thing garam wanted was for the woman to take notice of the touch, the shift in his demeanor. it wasn't until the two of them were alone, tucked away behind the safety and privacy provided by the hotel room's door that he let himself drop the tension he held. and once they were inside the room, garam's focus shifted from, what he felt was, the awkward encounter to the room his aunt set them up with. he looked around at what he could see in complete awe, he hadn't been in a hotel this nice before — by choice, he didn't stay at trashy places but he did look for rooms that were more inexpensive regardless if he could afford better — only for his attention to snap back to angel but the moment the man spoke, he found his eyes wandering away. it wasn't out of anger, more so because he was afraid if he looked at angel too long he would end up crying and he just really didn't want to start crying again. "i get it," there was a pause as he finally looked up to meet angel's gaze, "you don't want them knowing." garam automatically assumed he'd meant his family believed he was straight, he wasn't interested in men. garam had played into that role before, he knew it well; showing zero romantic interest in the person you're romantically involved with, keeping physical contact to a bare minimum, being extremely careful not to let a hand slip out of line, no lingering gazes, only letting those walls slip when nobody was around. it was obvious he was still upset, he didn't hide the fact but what could he really do? this was what angel wanted, what he was comfortable with and garam was in no position to push for more. "i didn't realize there was so much i didn't know about you," he was honest. with how close they were, how much he shared about his own life, he thought angel had done the same but garam was realizing that his assumptions weren't true at all. and he tried not to take offense, he knew angel wasn't keeping things from him with the purpose of hurting him but it still hurt to find out such important things so far along in their friendship. garam didn't touch angel, he didn't lean into his touch like he normally would have nor did he try to push angel's hand away either — he simply just walked away, moving across the room to the window. he let out a heavy sigh as he leaned in closer to peer down at the ground. "i've never been this high up before," his words were hushed, quickly followed by a laugh as he knew axel would never be able to find them where they were. for the first time in what felt like years, garam felt safe. truly safe. garam looked over his should, extending his arm out behind him to gesture angel to come over. "is there anything else important you haven't told me?" he asked, as if knowing there wasn't or being told what's been kept secret would make him feel more comfortable with being introduced as a friend.

Angel didn’t miss it. He never did, not when it came to Garam. The way Garam’s smile had dimmed after that single word: friend. The flicker of disappointment, the way he’d shrunk in on himself just a little, trying not to show it but wearing it all over his face anyway. Angel had caught the shift like a cold wind through a cracked window. And now, watching Garam fold his hands behind his back and try to look like he wasn’t trying to disappear, it hit him like a slow, aching bruise: he’d done that. He hadn’t meant Angel knew he had explaining to do once they entered the room. Being friends for this many years he should have told Garam. He considered him once of his best friends. Angel had spent years learning how to armor his words, to wrap truth in safe vagueness when family was involved. Not out of shame, but survival. Because he’d learned early that clarity invited scrutiny, and scrutiny from people like his family could peel a person down to bone. So “friend” was a shield. But it wasn’t fair. Not to him. Angel’s hand brushed Garam’s back just a whisper of contact as they stepped into the elevator—but it lingered a second longer than it had to. The metal doors closed with a soft chime, enclosing them in brushed gold and polished silence. He couldn’t wait to be alone with Garam. He had to explain, “Tía, We are both very tired. I’ll explain everything tomorrow.” Angel held out his hand for the key card. There was a beat of silence, their stares communicating with each other before she handed over the key. “Mañana.” When they were alone, Angel finally spoke. “That wasn’t what I meant.” His voice was low, but not rushed. As soon as the door clacked into place he needed to get the words out. “I didn’t mean just a friend. I just…” He paused, brow furrowed as if he were sifting through something fragile in his mind. “They come with expectations. Definitions. And once you say something out loud to them, it becomes a thing they can use or misunderstand or—god, talk about for years.” He glanced over at Garam, eyes tired but warm, “Most of this side of my family? They didn’t even know I existed until a few years ago. My mom only reconnected after my asshole grandfather died. And since then—it’s once a year, handshakes and fake hugs. So no, they don’t get more than they need. They don’t deserve it..” Angel moved close but didn’t dare reach out to the other. “I brought you here because I wanted to fall asleep somewhere I could hear you breathing…somewhere I know you’d be safe” He gave a soft, sheepish smile, the kind that cracked the polished, guarded exterior he’d worn like armor for years. “I’m not good at this. I never really had to say things out loud before. People usually made assumptions, and I just let them. But with you, I want to try. Even if I mess it up sometimes.”His free hand reached up, almost hesitant, before it settled gently on the curve of Garam’s jaw, thumb brushing just beneath his cheekbone.

[futureperfectchanges]

The Gym Boy T-Shirt

Liam relaxed as he heard his roommate, Matt, leave and the dorm room door close. He'd been pretending to sleep for a while now to avoid having another conversation with Matt. Liam was an introvert who just wanted to come back to a quiet room after his lectures, whilst Matt was an extrovert who was always bringing his gym friends back to the dorm. Liam had tried telling himself that things could be worse, at least Matt followed a strict routine at the gym so he knew the times when he'd have the room to himself, but Matt just seemed oblivious to how annoyed Liam was getting.

Liam had finally got the courage to speak up to his roommate the night before. He'd been a bit surprised by Matt's reaction who had seemed honestly apologetic, but was frustrated that Matt had asked if Liam wanted to be a bit more outgoing. Liam had tried to explain that he would love to be an extrovert like Matt but that just wasn't his personality. Eventually they had agreed to take some time to think about how to get along better, but in reality Liam had decided to go to his resident advisor and request a room change.

At least that was the plan until Liam had got up and discovered that Matt had hidden all Liam's shirts. He was shocked that Matt would do something like that, as he really thought Matt had been sorry the night before.

Not only had all Liam's shirts been taken, but Matt had decided to humiliate Liam further by leaving out a single t-shirt with 'GYM BOY' written in bold on the front. Matt had then left a note on top of the t-shirt: 'Hey, sorry if you've not been having a great time with me as a roommate, but try on this top and come meet me in the gym, Matt'. Liam was was barely able hold himself together. What sort of idiot did Matt think he was? Did he really think Liam would be stupid enough to show up at the gym so all Matt's friends could laugh at him?

He now had no doubts at all about asking for a room change. He was sure that once the resident advisor heard what Matt had done he'd be able to move rooms straight away. Liam considered wearing one of Matt's oversized shirts, but then decided wearing the embarrassing t-shirt would only serve to back up his story, so he slipped it on and got ready to head out.

Liam was surprised by how comfortable the t-shirt was. It passed his mind that if it didn't have such an embarrassing message on the front he'd probably wear it quite often. Liam normally tried to avoid looking at himself in a mirror, but he now found his eyes drawn to his mirror to see how the t-shirt looked on him. He had expected to feel angry, but as he looked at himself barely felt annoyed. It crossed his mind this might just be a prank that Matt was playing on him and was meant to be taken as a joke.

As Liam looked at himself he wondered what he would look like if he really was a gym boy. He thought it probably wouldn't hurt to gain a bit of muscle, and considered asking Matt for some advice. That thought was quickly followed by a burning sensation in his arms. Liam was confused for a moment but as he looked at his thick arms he remembered he'd recently altered his arm routine so must be hitting some new parts of his muscles. He felt a tightness around his biceps and wondered if he'd still be able to fit into his favorite t-shirt if his arms got any bigger.

Liam loved the way the top clung to his upper body and showed off his hard-earned delts and cannonball shoulders. He knew the slogan was silly, but it was also a great conversation starter. He always got a lot of comments when he wore it - not always positive but enough to break the ice, and there was nothing he loved more than making new friends at the gym.

Liam realised he had lost track of time whilst checking out his form in the mirror, and had completely forgotten what he had planned for the day, but then saw the note from Matt and remembered he was due to meet his buddy at the gym. As Liam left the room he smiled as he thought about how lucky he had been to get a fellow gym boy like Matt as a roommate.

[uniformbravo]

now that it's officially been 5000 years here's part 2 of rating my natsuyuu volume covers from memory LOL (part 1)

OK starting off strong tbh i might be a genius??? LOOK at this shit this is literally the most accurate ive ever been kgjlsdkgjksd

my tanuma & taki's goofy ass smiles are cracking me up LMAO i think i actually got the facial expressions reversed?? it looks like in the original tanuma & taki are more straight faced while natsume is smiling a lil bit whereas in mine im like. natsume would never smile. he has never smiled in his life im positive. there are no tumblr accounts dedicated to disproving this

honestly im lucky i remembered this cover at all like as i was collecting the different languages' covers i kept forgetting what vol 16 looked like so rly the fact that i got it SO good is literally a miracle im ngl

do i do it. do i give myself the big one-oh do i DESERVE IT. i'm doing it im literally never gonna top this gkdnkfndkg 10/10

OOF YEP THAT'S. YUP. YEAH KFNGKDNDKG

i've literally never noticed nyanko sensei hiding in the corner there kfndkgdf GOOD

god honestly??? this might be the actual worst one LOL i cant remember if this is hinoe or benio (fake fan) but either way i did her SO DIRTY LMFAO AUGH like i dont even know what to say im hiding my face and seeping into the earth in SHAME

straight up didn't know what to do w natsume all i remembered was that he's THERE this is so sad pour one out for vol 17 😔😔😔

1/10 LITERALLY the worst one hgjnfgndf

WHEEZES LOOK AT MY FUCKED UP LITTLE GUYS I DREW A FUCKING PEANUT AND A FLYING POTATO IM SCREAMING

this is rly the best i could do fskdngak GOD. i replaced nyanko sensei w this monsters inc ass motherfucker 😭

honestly stunned i couldn't remember more color on the table, i barely remembered that there were desserts even. man what is going on in vol 18

the fact that the flying potato kind of looks like hiiragi is sending me i have to leave fkjlsnlakjlfkdkgm 5/10

the most important thing i remembered was natsume looking mildly pissed off in sensei's direction i think that's all we really need to know

i was rly hemming & hawing over the color of the floor, v glad i stuck w green but now i know why i kept thinking it might actually be yellow (the blinds). that ball sensei's playing with is a lost fucking cause tho o7

why does my sensei look like a pokemon also gkjsdngalksdgk i didn't remember the bow around his neck that's SUCH A CUTE DETAIL im cryin instant 0/10 orz

tanuma deserves a cup of tea im glad i gave him one. 7/10

A BLANKET...... or maybe a yukata probably that. sensei looks SO CUTE in this one i am taking damage. lil winky ;3

is it weird that the main thing i remembered abt this one was the low contrast shading on natsume's clothes. like it doesn't reflect in my drawing but in my head i went from there to figure out the pose ksglkdg

i straight up made up the bg on this one i cannot BELIEVE it's so close???? it's amazing considering at first i had no idea what to do and started drawing a whole ass table behind them kgnsldkgkd im so glad i erased that LMAO

overall REALLY not too bad, i'll go w a solid 7/10 here

uoooOOUUuu ok............. ok it's FINE............

what is sensei doing on natsume's shoulder like that get DOWN frm there how dare u make me look stupid!!!!!!

i think i remembered a lot of important details here like the color of natsume's clothes (sort of) and the butterflies and all the books stacked up in the bg.... OH i just realized sensei is up there bc hes trying to catch the butterflies OK FINE THAT'S CUTE....... I'LL ALLOW IT o)-<

this is one of the prettiest covers btw i love this one LOOK AT IT. look at natsume's SMILE assemble the fucking troops we need to protect this one at ALL COSTS

6/10 could've been better but the most important parts are there

VOLUME 22 MY LOVE....... this one's my FAVORITE cover god it's so good LOOK AT THISSSS i even went all out & added shading to this one n everything, v dramatique...... atmospherique 👌

it's a pretty easy one to remember since the composition and general impact are so strong but dont worry i think at this point it's my Job to find things to get wrong nfjsjdgdkfj

there's a figure of natsume & madara that's similar to this which i think influenced me to make the yukata fully red but likeee there's red on the one in the original cover too so I Think i get a free pass with 0 points docked ok locking it in thamk you. the figure btw:

i rly thought sensei's eyes were open tho jgknsdk stop falling asleep back there...... also how did i forget the size of the moon it's ENORMOUS smdh!!

all in all this is like basically exact NGL it might be another ten.... ok im gonna give it a 9/10 bc since it's my fave cover i should've at least remembered the color of his yukata i think. i said i get a free pass on that but life isnt fucking fair ok

LOL THIS ONE HAD HANDS..... i stg i came up w a phantom cover in my head where natsume's wearing this yellow scarf & sensei's on his shoulder i SWEAR I CAN SEE IT but alas reality is CRUEL

this is another preddy cover look how soft and warm.... also sensei bein cute +7

so as u can see i struggled w this one dnfjdngj the scarf thing was REALLY throwing me for a loop, i invented snow??? but then i was like but it's so yellow there are lanterns i think. but there can't be BOTH what does it MEAN. (it means ur wrong u Buffoon)

the text in the first one says im not gonna redraw it & then i redrew it, when will the lies end. 6/10 the foundation's there i just forgot several details & forced in my scarf headcanon

alright. this is like. not bad. COULD BE BETTER, BUT U KNOW...

my sensei is being sooo warm & cuddly while the real one is fighting for his fucking life kgkanlkdj this is propaganda taki made. her Death Grippe

tanuma's pose was a complete mystery to me i just remembered he's there and like what else do u need. the boy is HERE thank youuuuu

also had no idea what taki was wearing, the cream colored sweater was kind of a shot in the dark but u know what call me the gun slinging hash slinging dong swingin meat bea-

6/10 it's passable

WINDOW CONFIRMED LET'S GO???? CALL ME THE GUN SLINGIN-

if u squint u can interpret my natori's suit as very muted olive green so technically it's definitely correct and not meant to be gray that would be SOOOO wacky and silly of me :3

i was fighting for my life trying to figure out the colors for matoba's outfit which u will see SO clearly in the next one kgalkgsdkg but it's fine. it's fine. it's so fine and cool and awesome out here like u wouldnt BELIEVE

once again a surprise yukata draped around the shoulders, i should just start doing that as my default instead of the school uniform thing TBH midorikawa sensei LOVES a good flowery haori like When In Doubt.....

4/10 i rly did try but there are just TOO many discrepancies lkgjalk

farting in my sleep over this one what da HELL i thought i was a GONER WHY IS THIS LIKE ACTUALLY KINDA CLOSE

25 and 26 are such good covers together we LOVE a good pair.... (pair of stinky smelly exorcists am i R

its mostly the colors i got close not necessarily the.... designs... lmfao.... i just knew this one was kinda dark and kinda red. ik it doesn't rly look like it but that main bg color around the window is this palette's analogue for black, the darkest color besides the lineart, so at LEAST i got that right

if u cant tell what the HELL is going on w the windows it's ok you're so normal for that bc i didn't know what i was doing w that either and still kinda dont LOL i was like. ok maybe it's a screen kinda thing and it has a leaf pattern??? that would explain the colors???? and so i went w that

also u may or may not have noticed by now my plan of attack for the yukata patterns is always to just splotch around the colors i THINK are involved and hope that it looks like the original in the end LOL so that form of bullshit is what got me here today, theres no FUCKING way i would have ever remembered the spider lilies but since i splotched a bunch of reds on the fabric it kinda looks right.... PRO STRATS DONT TRY THIS AT HOME KIDS

o yea uhhh 5/10 for sheer dumb luck :)

AUGH DAMN IT I KNEW SENSEI WAS IN THERE SOMEWHERE AAAAAAAAA

why does this cover make me think they're at the beach man EVERY TIME they dont even live by the ocean.... what is this...... but they coulda been on a school trip U DONT KNOW

theyre so cute god i wish i'd gotten this one a little more correct. i just remembered that seafoam green kind of color and just soft pretty pastel colors in general. this is such a good cover dude it's about GOD DAMN TIME nishimura & kitamoto got a cover WAAAAAA i love them sm ;w;

i tried i rly did but hm 4/10 the only things i got right were kitamoto & nishimura and a bench, also some bags. man look at them those are TRAVEL BAGS they are so on a trip THIS IS TRAVEL VIBES FOR SURE maybe they are at the ocean. when i get to this volume in my read thru U WILL ALL SEE

not the worst!!!! not by a long shot. i covered natsume's wrong eye or maybe euurmmm the original artwork is flipped and i was actually right all along wheres my JUSTICE

this one's pretty striking too w those red flowers & the snow ugh what a pretty cover this one's also pretty high up there. i gave natori a scarf bc i have common fucking sense what are u DOING MY GUY. BUTTON THE FUC UP

why is natsume like telekinetically levitating the book of friends do u see that. what the hell natsume gets psychic powers that's so sick. lifting the slice of pizza w his mind

ok i give this oneeeee 7/10 pretty solid imo. some details are wrong but i included most of the elements present which is Preddy Good

like just recently got this volume i shoulda looked harder at it gjskdkngksd who knew the wall was fuckin green the WHOLE TIME

sensei what are u even DOING. fucking points. is he reaching for the candle. it's too big for ur little paws ur TOO SMALL

tanuma looks SO nice on this cover ugh i love this cover what is the story behind this i gotta know oughghhh it has such a Classic Mystery feel i LOVE it. i for sure remembered hiiragi being in one of the paintings and i knew she was more bottom right but bc of the way i drew things there wasn't gonna be room so i just put her up higher instead bc i still wanted to draw her. worth it tbh look at her shes perfect

also like holy shit those guys in the top right corner i SWEAR 2 god i didn't remember them being there i just didn't know what else to draw so i drew them AND THEN THEY WERE ACTUALLY THERE????? LITERALLY THE GUN SLINGIN ROOTIN TOOTIN PARTY POOPIN-

7/10 all the elements are there just not like. Correct. look at natsume's outfit i had no idea what tf was going on there all i remembered was his sleeve lookin like that and the rest was such a mystery. i think it's just a sweater but in my mind i was like this is so fucked up and evil guys im scared

ok i've only seen this one a few times since it's so new i dont think there are any other versions of it yet besides the japanese one but GOD LOOK AT IT IT'S SO PRETTY AAAAAHHHH I CANT WAIT TIL THE ENGLISH VERSION COMES OUT AAAAAAAAA

literally art school vibes LOOK AT HIMMMM he is posing he is the model i am drawing him i am drawing him i am drawing h

sensei's the real model here tho like look at him the perfect subject. replace all "draw an egg" assignments w "draw nyanko sensei" i guarantee 30 michaelangelos will come walkin outta that classroom

so the main thing here was purble obvs but i forgor abt the curtains.... they're so delicate & pretty god. natsume pls tho why are all ur papers falling out get it together. im sorry i shouldnt have said that actually ur doing perfect sweetie i love u LGKNSLDK nyanko sensei pick up his papers for him immediately

yo illegal observation actually the notebook is spiral bound on the long side but the falling papers are torn on the short side?? hello 911 my world is falling apart because of this i'll never be the same again???OH NEVERMIND I SEE IT NOW ITS THE PERSPECTIVE i was looking at the perspective wrong oh my god im so sorry for my ignorance midorikawa sensei i should have believed in u im a clown im a FRAUD im going to study art for the next 25 years as penance so i will never make such a foolish mistake again 😔😔😔

5/10 idea's there but its a little too fucked up overall and frankly i deserve a 0 for my hubris 🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️🙇‍♂️

---

and that's the end!!! it's been so long since i wrote all this that we're well past vol 30's release and vol 31 has been up for preorder and u may be thinking Well Where Is Vol 31 From Memory Then. and well. haha. let's just say. haha ;)

(the truth: i've already hit the 30 image limit on this post so i wouldn't be able to include it even if i had looked at vol 31's cover more than once for like 10 seconds and retained enough to draw it from memory. i think it's natsume and matoba? wearing white??? or SOMETHING im not looking it up rn feel free to eliminate me)

oh right the total score WELL adding up everything from this post we have!!! 89/150 WHICH if we add to last time's score of 74/150 gives us a WHOPPING 163/300!!! wow!!!!! that's just over half let's fucking GOOOOO 🎉🎉🎉

thank u to my mom and the folder of over 750 images i have saved of every natsuyuu manga cover front and back (and spine if available) in several different languages that made all of this possible, And Also Viewers Like You :) and the 27 tabs i still have open of the sites i got all those pictures from so i can continue this nonsense indefinitely please god somebody stop me 700+ was NOT an exaggeration im so serious rn-

[jaegeraether]

The Runaway - Chapter 3 (Alexia Putellas x original character slow-burn)

Jae's Masterlist

CHAPTER 3

ALEXIA

The next time Alexia saw Delaney was at the Ballon d'Or ceremony in Paris. Alexia was not usually the nervous type, but she did feel anticipation that day leading up to event.

Thus far, the power rankings had Alexia leading the race, with Delaney in the top 5. The reason why she wasn't higher was purely because she'd been playing for lower league clubs and hadn't been as successful trophy-wise with the national team. They were building towards something, though. And Alexia knew if it truly was the best player, then Delaney would be winning the award this year.

Alexia chose a suit to wear. Her hair was slicked back into a neat bun with a nice set of earrings on display. She had to keep her hand on her jacket whenever she moved or bent too far to avoid showing the world her chest, but regardless, she loved the look.

Not as much as she loved Delaney's, though. That was the problem — how easily she felt undone just by seeing her.

The Australian turned up in a suit also, though with the jacket open, and her midriff exposed below her black bra. Seeing her in person after the internet had been frothing over her body was... disarming. She found herself waiting at the end of the photographer line as Delaney smiled for the cameras, one hand in her pocket, posture relaxed — her abs catching the light, impossible not to notice.

She shouldn't have waited. She told herself that. But her feet didn't move until Delaney had finished. It was impossible to take her eyes off her. This woman commanded attention without even wanting it. Delaney moved through the crowd like she didn't even know it parted for her. Like she never noticed eyes following her. The football version of Princess Diana.

Finishing up with the photos, she said her thank yous to the photographers and moved off, straight into Alexia. Her face gave away her surprise immediately, which was replaced with a compassionate smile, excitement dancing in her eyes. She looked at her as if she'd known her for years, and that did something to the Spaniard that she couldn't explain.

"Alexia."

"Danny."

Her smile grew at that. She looked her up and down, as Alexia did the same. The Spaniard's eyes lingered at the hollow of Delaney's throat, where her jacket gaped open. It was too warm in here. Or too something. She forced herself to look away, jaw tight, pulse betraying her. She needed an excuse to tear her gaze away.

"You look amazing, as always." Delaney complimented with a husky voice.

"Muchas gracias." Thank you. "You look better."

"Oh no – this is all my stylist. You're the fashion Queen of us both."

Comparing the two of them against each other excited her for some unknown reason. She smiled. "Good luck tonight."

"Gracias, la Reina." Thank you, Queen. "But we both know you more than deserve your third."

"You deserve it too."

She tilted her head. "Tu ingles ha mejorado." Your English has improved.

That surprised her. Alexia had always been stubborn with the language, believing that the English-speaking world were entitled and always expected people to speak their language. She had to admit though, that it was because of Delaney that she been practicing a little more. The thought that she had done the same was heartwarming.

"So have your Spanish."

"Mmn. Great minds think alike. Just don't go learning any more English, okay?"

Alexia frowned. "I yam bad?"

"No, simplement me encanta tu acento." No, I just love your accent.

Whatever Alexia expected, it wasn't that. Not only was it flirty, but she'd said it slowly as if trying to remember the words as she said them in her adorable Australian accent.

She raised a defiant eyebrow. "How we talk then?"

"I think we communicate very well without words, Alexia." A pause. Alexia didn't respond. She didn't have to. Her breath caught anyway, and she saw Delaney noticing it. The Australian ducked her head almost shyly. "A..and if you don't agree, you could always ask for my number."

Oh, they were most definitely both on the same page. "Would you give me if I are asking you?"

Delaney chewed on her lip as she thought, and Alexia wondered if she even knew she was doing it. What was she thinking about so hard? Alexia knew she didn't have a bad reputation when it came to  dating - she was mostly private. And very, very rarely was she as clear with what she wanted as she was with Delaney.

The Australian looked up, catching Alexia's eyes on her mouth. She stopped biting her lip as if Alexia had instructed her to. They shared a moment that could have very well ended with Alexia dragging her somewhere private so she could strip the layers from her body and bury her head i-

Delaney's jaw flexed and she stopped her eyes rolling mid-way, a light blush creeping up over her cheeks. Clearing her throat, she responded. "I'm honestly not sure, Ale."

She wasn't sure about her? Them? Dating a footballer? Being gay? Whatever it was - she seemed to be the one with an apology in her eyes. Alexia opened her mouth to reply and a ten minute countdown was announced. 

She gave her a look that said she'd be asking questions later, and Delaney responded by absentmindedly chewing on her lip again. They walked side by side into the theatre, admiring the enormity of it.

They were only a few seats away from each other, but that was already too far. When they arrived, there were several of Alexia's teammates there for her to interact with, and Delaney had Mariona. She was one of the Spanish players who had recently moved over to Arsenal from Barcelona. She was a soft-spoken sweetheart. Everybody loved Mariona.

"Dellie, hi!" Mariona greeted with a hug and typical big grin. They embraced and Alexia then realised she'd missed the opportunity to do the same. Mariona grabbed her into a hug straight after. "Hola la Reina!" Hello, Queen.

"Hola, Mariona. Como estas?" Hello, Mariona. How are you?

"Estoy bien y feliz, Capi. Tu ves bien." I am good and happy, Capi. She pulled back with a smile. "Buena suerte esta noche. Nadie lo merece más." Good luck tonight. No one deserves it more.

They turned to see Delaney interacting with Aitana, Salma and Caroline who were all Alexia's teammates at Barcelona and all expected to be in the top 10. Unsurprisingly, they liked her. Aitana and Salma having met her before during their not-so-friendly "friendly".

"Dellieeeee, is that you?" Said a voice as she slid her arms around the Australian from behind. A pang of jealousy hit her unexpectedly at the sight of another woman's hands sliding around her waist, skin on skin under her jacket. And then a pang of slight annoyance when she realised it was Sam Kerr, Captain of the Matildas, though currently she was still out with her ACL injury rehab.

"Hey Sammy, I thought you weren't coming?!"

"Kristie insisted. Apparently I spend too much time at home."

Kristie, her pregnant fiancé who was also a footballer, though from the US.

"I agree with her. You can be very annoying."

"Fuck off," she laughed. "We can't all be as perfect as you."

Delaney rolled her eyes. "You've met everyone here, right? Everyone, this is Sam. I'm apologising for her in advance."

Sam made her rounds of introducing herself and then the two ducked off to the bar for an early drink. Alexia didn't particularly like the Captain, especially after a tweet she'd made a few years back when Barcelona had lost 4-1 against Lyon in a UWCL final. It was an immature tweet saying "Aaaaand this is competitive.." with an eyes emoji. Alexia was made to reply in the media and did so by brushing it aside professionally.

She wondered if Delaney and Sam were friends because they were similar, or because they were simply both Australian. She knew better, though. Delaney was nothing like Sam. From what she knew of her – there was no world in which Delaney would ever do the same thing. It just wasn't in her.

The two made it back just in time for the ceremony to begin. She couldn't look over. Not because she didn't want to, but because if their eyes met, she wasn't sure what she'd give away. That and the camera was right in front of them. The last thing she needed was more obsessed football fans deep diving into things that weren't their business. And yet the tugging sensation to look at her was there throughout the entire night. The curiosity. The confusion and wonder about what exactly she'd meant when she said she didn't know.

Her daydreaming and wondering was cut short by the presentation of their award. It was the last one of the night, which wasn't the best for the tension. As they started ranking from the top ten, her teammates were ranked one by one. Third, was Sam Kerr. This left Alexia and Delaney.

Alexia hated losing. She'd spent her entire life worshipping Barcelona and taught to win everything. But for some reason, she didn't mind the thought of coming second tonight.

As the card was opened and read out, she finally gave in and turned to Delaney who was already looking at her calmly, as if she knew it was Alexia's name that was on the card. Her heart wasn't racing—she was too still for that. It wasn't nerves, it was awareness. A knowing. Of Delaney so close to her, yet somehow too far away. Of their names echoing in the room. Of the breath Delaney let out, soft and steady, ready to be happy for her. To cheer for her. 

"And the Ballon d'Or goes to... Alexia Putellas."

There were no negative emotions in her eyes. No anger. No sadness. Just pure happiness for Alexia. And that... unsettled her.

Alexia stood, clutching the hands of all her teammates in acknowledgement. When she got to Delaney, she stopped thinking and felt herself lean in, half out of instinct, half out of need. Their first hug.

Delaney met her there, arms closing around her like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they'd done it a thousand times before. Alexia had never known how much she needed the warmth of her body — her quiet presence — until she had to let it go. It's a shame it needed to be so quick. But her body against her own was not something she'd be forgetting anytime soon.

"No one deserves it more than you, Alexia." She murmured in her ear.

Alexia didn't respond. Her throat had closed. How could someone be so generous, so empathetic, that they supported the person who had just won over them? She squeezed tighter and then pulled away, walking toward the stage. She heard the clapping behind her. The cheers from her teammates.

She'd just won her third Ballon d'Or. And somehow, the only thing she felt was a sadness that Delaney hadn't won.

After the award ceremony came the post-ceremony drinks organised by their hosts. Alexia usually didn't have to make the rounds; they came to her. Unsurprisingly, they all swarmed around Delaney too. Football had come far with women being recognised in the sport, but it was still very much male dominated, and these were usually very confident guys. They were respectful enough around Alexia because of who she was and being openly gay. But they were confident enough to make moves on Delaney who had never stated her sexuality publicly.

Even if she had, men always had this idea that they'd be the magical one to turn a woman straight. Although she saw Delaney in the distance being polite to the vultures of men around her, it still didn't stop that jealously tugging at her so hard that even she was surprised.

Alexia wanted nothing more than to sweep in and drag her away, but Delaney was smiling politely and engaged in multiple conversations. A rare bout of insecurity hit her. Who was she to interrupt? They barely knew each other. She wasn't even sure she'd take her number. But the again, there was so much more to her. So much complexity. So much experience and... pain? behind her eyes. It made her even more attractive to Alexia. Unwillingly, she entered a conversation to stop her thoughts.

She could only manage to distract herself for a few minutes with another player, before she turned back to the group of male footballers that had been surrounding Delaney. To her surprise, she wasn't there. Bathroom?

A few minutes later, she was still gone. Alexia finished her drink and wandered to find her.

She wasn't by the bathrooms. Not at the bar. Not even near the press crowd or the award engraving station. Alexia found herself climbing stairs she didn't even remember noticing earlier – something telling her she should follow it.

Alexia weaved her way up the stairs to the balcony overlooking the stage, and that's exactly where she found her. Her head was bowed against the railing, her body moving as she took a few deep breaths. The urge to touch her was usually something she restrained, but not right now. She needed to feel her. To reassure her.

Alexia came up beside her quietly - her fingers finding the warm curve of Delaney's back. Delaney jumped back, her head whipping up. Seeing it was Alexia, she relaxed, apologising and stepping back towards her. She took Alexia's hand and placed it back where it was, which was both confident and sexy. Alexia rubbed her back lightly. Solid. Real. She didn't mean to linger, but her hand stayed as it stroked, something about it feeling reassuring to the Spaniard.

"Lo siento.." I'm sorry.

"Is okay." Alexia reassured. "You are.. okay?"

"Sí, I just... it was a lot."

"The male men?"

That made her chuckle – transforming from her serious expression. "The mailmen, yes."

"You no like..?"

She bit her lip in thought, and Alexia's eyes were drawn to it again like a moth to a flame. "It's fine. I'm just an introvert. Social functions drain me."

Alexia didn't understand every word, but she understood enough. "Ah, introvertida. Me also." Ah, introvert. Me also.

She relaxed and shifted closer to her. "Tú entiendes..." You understand...

Many people didn't understand what introversion was. You could seem outgoing, but social interactions drained you. 99% of them anyways. There were some which drained a lot less – like spending time with her teammates for example. But at the end of the day – Alexia always loved her alone time.

Delaney just needed a moment or so to catch her breath and recharge her battery. Alexia understood that better than anyone, and didn't want to hinder her from doing that.

"You want me go?"

"No!" She responded quickly before softening, "No. Not unless you want to."

"I need break also..." she admitted.

The two shared a look and then turned their attention to the crowd below them – Alexia's hand still stubbornly rubbing her back – unable to stop.

"Congratulations again, Alexia." She murmured as she stared at the crowd. "I really am happy that you won."

"It should... been you." She found herself responding.

Delaney looked to her in surprise. "No, you deserved it."

"You were better player-"

Delaney covered Alexia's mouth with her hand; her lips pressed against Delaney's palm. Her breath hitched. She didn't move. Didn't dare. Because if she moved, she thought she might lose every last shred of control she had left. Regardless, she felt herself leaning into it. 

Delaney blinked, realising how close they now were. Her voice became husky again. "You stop now. It doesn't matter who the so-called "better player" is. It's about leadership. Legacy. Success. You are all of those things. I just bounce from place to place. You earnt this, Alexia."

God, her voice was the type of husky that Alexia could fall asleep to, or alternatively, would be desperate to hear in her ear as she touched her. 

"You understand?" Delaney challenged.

Alexia nodded, missing the hand that suddenly dropped away.

"You've just made it known to all the younger players that they can come back from injury and be even better than they were before. They can do it, because la Reina just did it."

Again, she didn't catch all the meaning, but she caught enough to be at a loss for words.

She was right, of course. Instead of telling her that, Alexia moved forward and embraced her – this time with no time restrictions. Delaney's arms came around her, tight and reassuring, her chin finding her shoulder and her head leaning against Alexia's.

"But I wanna it to be you." Alexia admitted.

"I think it's one of the reasons we get on so well, Alexia." She murmured huskily right into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "We both want the best for each other."

They held each other for a bit longer, not even swaying. Just feeling. Just communicating like they did without words.

That is until Delaney's phone broke the silence. She pulled back to answer it.

"Hey Sammy."

She couldn't quite catch the words on the other end of the line.

"Oh... yeah. I'll be down in five, okay?"

She hung up and gave an apologetic look to Alexia, one that also showed her own unhappiness at needing to leave.

"Go time?"

She chuckled. "It's go time for me. Plane to catch."

Alexia pondered and then had a 'fuck it' moment. "I can message you?"

Delaney's eyebrows rose in surprise. "You want my number?"

"Sí, claro."  Yes, of course.

You don't scare me, she thought.

Alexia expected more lip biting, more thinking, another question. But there was none of that. With another slight pause as she studied Alexia, she handed over her phone. Alexia typed in her number and hit send. Somehow, that felt like more of an accomplishment than the golden ball.

[autismfox]

Hold Me Tight, Don't Let Me Go

Read on Ao3 the ao3 version is slightly revised

Malevolent, John/Arthur/Noel

Trauma discussion, hurt comfort, dissociation discussion, uhhh masochism, masochism With Nuance, there's still no smut yet hopefully one day I can write that, I have not proofread this because I am too tired my apologies

This is a sequel to Pinch Me I'm Dreaming (which apparently I posted untitled). You can read that here or on AO3

They've been together a few weeks now. It's good. Really good. In a lot of ways it's the best relationship he's ever been part of. Noel grins at the irony that his life's most stable relationship is with another guy who's half as fucked in the head as he is, and the doppelganger of the guy that fucked them both up. 'Course Arthur's had his head fucked up by a bunch of other shit too, and so has John, so maybe they're all about even as far as being part time madmen goes.

Talking to them helps. Noel wasn't so big on the idea at first. He'd tried talking to doctors way back when he was first trying to get his head on straight. They didn't help much. He could only talk to them about the war. And they'd said he was doing pretty well compared to the other shell shock cases they'd seen so they sent him away with a few coping techniques and left him to fend for himself. And he had.

He got a job, an apartment, and an unofficially reserved seat at Sal's, where the food is decent, the moonshine is potable, and nobody cares who you go home with. He'd become "a productive member of society". He was doing fine. Then Arthur Lester walked into his life and introduced him to the voice in his head and they taught him that he can aim for a higher bar than just being "fine".

Arthur is always asking how he's doing. He always wants to talk things out, turn things over and over until he has a full picture of everything. Frankly it's annoying how obsessive the kid gets about everybody's feelings. Like he's some kind of emotions inspector. But with the way John doesn't understand his own feelings half the time it makes sense that Arthur got like that.

He's big on honesty too. It sticks in Arthur's craw if Noel says nothing is wrong when something is. Noel's never met anybody who hated even the little white lies. One time he'd told Arthur he liked the coffee he'd made and John must have ratted on him when he pulled a face at the bitter taste because Arthur looked like somebody kicked his puppy. So it's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. It ain't easy living like that though. It takes discipline to be so open all the time.

There's been something on his mind for a while now and he needs to get it out before Arthur catches on that he's keeping secrets. So he invites them to his apartment and tells them to sit down. He's nervous. He already smoked half a pack of cigarettes waiting for them to show up. He'd tried to sit too but he couldn't settle so he's pacing back and forth.

"Noel, would you please just tell us what's going on? I promise I won't--"

"John's been hurting me." He blurts out. Fuck. That was not the right way to say this.

"What! When?! John how could you?" Shit, this is bad. John must be talking because Arthur is seething quietly. Fuck. He didn't mean to make them argue.

"Ah! Wait wait! I didn't mean. It's not what you think just stop... Just let me explain." He throws up his hands in what he hopes is a placating gesture.

Arthur grits his teeth. "Explain, now." John gestures rapidly for him to continue.

Noel wishes he could have talked about this with John before bringing it up to Arthur. They probably could have figured out a better way to broach the subject. "It's not, bad. The way he does it. It's, you know how sometimes I get those daydreams?" Arthur nods. "Right well, when that happens John will pinch me, or scratch me, step on my foot, hurt me in some small way and it's... Nice? I like it. It makes me feel... Present. And I was thinkin' maybe we could try doing that when I'm more... awake?"

"Is this a sex thing?" John looks directly at him and Arthur narrows their eyes. He shivers. It's intense when they sync up like that. Like holding a mirror to a mirror the visage refracted infinitely back on itself except all of the attention is focused on Noel.

Noel feels trapped. Pinned in place. Held fast by this being sitting in front of him that is simultaneously awe inspiring cosmic entity and Earth's most primal human. An instinctual part of him wants to run away but there's nowhere that he'd rather be. It's nothing like being in the presence of The King. They are something entirely their own. He vaguely recalls the soulmate myth of people being created with two heads and eight limbs. The gods feared them and split them in two, doomed to search for their other half. The gods would be right to fear Arthur and John.

John snaps his fingers and waves his hand at Noel. "Noel," Arthur's voice is soft, "are you with us?" John pats the couch emphatically. "John says sit next to me."

Noel blinks away the reverie, "I'm here, sorry fellas." He scratches at the back of his head. "I got lost in your eyes."

Arthur giggles. He sounds like an angel. "Is that a yes then?"

"Huh? Yes to what?" John starts making grasping gestures at Noel. Ain't he the sweetest thing? He sits down next to them and John takes his hand. He gives it a squeeze.

Arthur turns so John can look at him. "Liking pain, is it sexual?"

Noel thinks for a moment, "Um, I don't think so. Not exactly. I don't like pain. Not the way John does anyway."

John pulls his hand away, scandalized. Arthur chuckles, "I think he's talking about how much you like being bitten, John."

"Sorry John, was that supposed to be a secret or something?" He flashes him a grin. "No I think this is more like Arthur's thing about being in control all the time. It's not about sex but it's not entirely separate."

"Beg pardon? I do not have a thing for being in control." It's his turn to act scandalized apparently.

"Woah doll, I ain't complaining. We all have our quirks. If I had a problem with getting bossed around I would have said something by now." Arthur's glare is mitigated by John looking at the bite marks on his hand and wrist. "I call 'em like I see 'em. And I've seen you in public when you get someone to do what you want 'em to. You take joy in it."

Arthur seems hesitant to accept this. "What no I... He was going to kill my father, John!"

"Oh my God, is he talking about that time you called the Butcher a "good dog" and kept talking about his daddy?" Arthur makes a noncommittal sound. "'Cause I gotta be honest with ya, darlin', I think about that night more than I'd like to admit. It was an awful situation obviously, that's why I've never brought it up, but the way you handled it, well it was pretty hot." Arthur's blushing a little. He's very cute. "Maybe the specifics weren't quite my thing but the way you picked him apart and got him under your thumb?" Noel can't resist speaking closer to his ear. "It sure got my blood pumping."

"Right!" Arthur slaps his own knee. "I believe we were talking about you."

Noel chuckles, "Fair enough."

"So if it's not about sex what is it about?" Arthur asks.

Noel sighs, this is going to be tough. He holds his hand out, "John?" John takes his hand and he feels safe enough to continue. "I think it's about my body. It felt like I didn't have one for almost ten years. Not a real flesh and blood one. I know it was different for you, because those cultists did some freaky shit to you, and you crossed over physically, but for me it was just my mind." He pauses to make sure Arthur is ok. He seems fine. No overly distressed body language. John squeezes his hand. He squeezes back. "He said he didn't need my body. Bodies are just cumbersome meat sacks with no inherent value. It wouldn't be worth the trouble of keeping me fed, and watered, and dealing with all my mortal functions. I didn't need a body for him to hurt me. Mostly he played mind games. Sometimes there was pain, but it never came from my body, it was like phantom pain. Or a pain with no apparent source. There was no hunger, or thirst, I didn't sleep because I was already asleep. In a coma actually. People on earth took care of my body while I was gone." Noel sighs heavily. The hard part's over. "When I got back I felt... Disconnected. Like me and my body were two separate things. Worse, I felt trapped inside of my own body. There wasn't much I could do from the hospital besides read and reminisce and imagine myself elsewhere. Rehab was a bitch. I had to learn to walk again y'know? Get all the nerves rewired. It was hard. Grueling. But it got easier. Every day it got a little easier. Eventually I could walk, run, climb... fuck, I had a lot of sex once I was able to. I still can't ride a bike, but I couldn't do that before either. Heh. At some point I was me again. Or I was Noel anyway. I was a person." He flexes his hand in front of his face like he's testing the sensation. "I'm here. I'm alive. I'm real. I'm really here. I still can't believe it sometimes. I guess that's the problem. I start having doubts, or I start feeling disconnected. I don't really know why it happens. It's like shell shock I guess. Buddies of mine had similar issues after the war. It's like: I know my body there, and I know I'm part of it, but it's a little out of focus. My mind is a little bit separate. A little to the left. But it helps," he squeezes John's hand, "when I can feel something." John squeezes back. "Touch is good. Really good. Especially skin to skin. I paid a hooker once just to lie on top of me for an hour. Pain is good too, better sometimes, it really cuts through the fog. It reminds me that I'm part of my body and it's part of me. If I can feel my body it must be here and I must be here too or I wouldn't feel it." Noel is finished. He thinks. He covered everything. He hopes. And without fucking off to la-la land even once. Score. He feels exhausted. He sinks back against the couch.

He can't tell if Arthur and John are talking to each other or just being quiet. Finally Arthur says, "Thank you for telling us all of that, Noel. It means a lot that you'd trust us enough to talk about this. John says: I'm glad I can help you Noel. I care about you so much. I'm happy you're in our lives... I feel the same way."

Noel kisses John on the back of the hand, "happy to be here with you, angel." He pulls them forward until he can reach Arthur's face, he kisses him softly, "And with you darling."

Arthur pulls back. "There's just one thing though." Noel groans. "I'm still not sure what you actually want us to do together."

"Fuck." He opens his eyes to stare at Arthur and John. "I don't know either. I didn't think I'd get this far. I'm so tired." He really is. He could fall asleep right here.

"Ok, well maybe you should take a nap? We can figure the rest out later." Bless Arthur Lester. "Oh that's a good idea. John asks if you want us to lie on top of you while you sleep." Bless John Doe.

"God yes. That sounds perfect." They arrange themselves so Noel can lie on his back with Arthur's head on his chest and John's hand on his shoulder. Arthur's breathing is slow and even. John strokes at his shoulder gently. Noel settles into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[dcdreamblog]

[QSandA]

Let's see...

Mr. Hawkins, TY for answering my questions.

-What were the hardest parts of adjusting to being "public", rather than operating with a secret identity? Relatedly, unlike some public Heroes, you weren't given a choice in the matter; how do you feel about that?

-Back in the day, did you interact with other sidekicks much?

-Are there any things about the way "superhero culture", for lack of a better word, has changed from the Golden Age that you find particularly gratifying, or alternatively, that bother you?

-Have you ever felt awkward when interacting with German or Japanese or Italian people in the 21st Century?

-Speaking of social awkwardness, is it difficult interacting with people from your native era who, uh, got here the old fashioned way, so to speak?

-What was the biggest adjustment in your, uh, let's say fighting style, upon finding yourself a superpowered adult, rather than a unpowered teen?

-So, what were you doing when you heard about Pearl Harbor?

-Are there any there any Legacy villains who's existence particularly irks you?

-Some Golden Age Heroes have mentioned that both at the time and even today, feeling guilt about not being on the front lines. Did you have similar feelings?

-Pretty much everyone in your age group read superhero comics, of both the real ones and fictional. How awkward was it when discussions came up? Especially the inevitable arguments about who would win in a fight?

-Speaking of, did you ever interact with any of the people who wrote the comics about you and Mr. Dodds?

-Speaking of stuff written about your mentor; have you read Sandman Mystery Theatre, and have any thoughts about it?

-It's been reported that, while many were intellectually aware of the Nazis and Imperial Japanese attitudes towards they considered inferior, they did not actually grasp the depth of their depravity, even those who were reading perorts reports about the Camps, Unit 731, etc. Until confronted with the irrefutable evidence, many just could not believe that modern people were capable of such monstrosity. Do you have any thoughts on this?

-I can understand if you want to skip this last one, but do you sometimes feel resentful of some of the JSAers who made it to today, when Mr. Didds didn't?

Thank you!

Sandy: *Looking down at the paper print out of the questions in front of us* ...This is the guy you warned me about, isn't it?

Me: My best customer. Let's get to it! (This is a long one. Re-edit for readability)

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

S: Let me answer that question with a question. Could you describe what I look like in specific terms without the mask and the coat?

M: (Several seconds past) You are...a blonde man, somewhere between your mid 20s and your late 30s and um...no, no I guess I can't.

S: Exactly. I'm not what you would call a movie star. If I go out without my costume on, nobody who doesn't know me personally knows me from Adam anyway.

M: What about things that are tied more directly to you. This giant mansion right off Battery Park is in your name.

S: Well yes but what would be the point of a big, intimidating mansion if I couldn't ignore people at the front door?

M: So what do you think about having your identity being public then?

S: Honestly its for the best. Having my name out there while I'm still among the living means that I get to tell my story, Wes' story, my Aunt Dian's story straight from the horse's mouth. I have no idea how you'd do an interview like this with a person whose ID isn't out there.

M: I've given some thought to it but I agree with you in large part

S: Besides, like most JSA members or All Stars I probably would have dropped the pretense when we came back in the modern day anyhow. We're not young men anymore with occupations and families to protect, not in the same way at least.

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S: Oh of course, we were always getting up to mischief. It was me, Wing, Stuff, Danny and Pinky. We were *hellions* I tell ya.

M: By Danny you mean Daniel Dunbar, AKA Dan the Dyna-Mite

S: That's the one, he was always the most mature of us though we all looked up to Sylvester. The Star Spangled Kid. From our perspective it looked like he was the kid who got to sit at the grown ups table, call the shots.

M: Looked like?

S: Obviously our mentors were doing their best to do right by us back then. I was a teenager, I loved Wes like a father but that didn't mean I didn't rankle under him and mouth off sometimes, we all did.

M: So you bonded with each other.

S: 100%. A lot of it was just as complaining about the grown ups in the back of Squadron meetings. When the Young All Stars got formed it only made us that much more insufferable.

M: How so?

S: Most of the Young All Stars were older than us, 16-18 rather than us who were between 13-16 or closer to it. But we had been there first, we were personal proteges of the best heroes in the world. We got to look down are noses at the scrappy kids down the hall.

M: A little bit of a rivalry?

S: Yea, but schoolyard stuff. Sidekicks vs Young All Stars, it was mostly just mouthing off in the halls. When it was mission time we had each others' backs.

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

S: I read your piece about the Ingersoll Amendment

M: I'm flattered

S: It's good stuff, I think you're right on the money about the way the culture itself has changed.

M: In what way?

S: Superheroes are right in the public eye now. We don't show up, beat down the thugs and then melt back into the shadows. We can talk to the press, we can work with the cops to a certain extent. We've become publically accountable in a way we never were before. I think its why this heroic age is here to stay.

M: And you don't miss the way things used to be done?

S: God no. I mean I'm nostalgic about Wes and I slinking about in the dark, all noir and whatnot but its so much easier when the evidence room will actually take my phone calls.

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

S: You mean have I ever accidentally called someone a N*p?

M: That's not what I said

S: No but you could probably patent the shade of red you just turned. In all seriousness, no. It never sat right with us how the propaganda department spun things, especially with the Japanese.

M: You must have hated them

S: Of course I hated them. Tojo and Hirohito and his whole murderous crew but I hated them the same way I hated Hitler and Goering and Himmler. It was never a race a thing with us, maybe a little in our absolute darkest moods but not really.

M: You come out ahead of most of the planet in that sense.

S: If you say so, honestly if anything I'm just glad those nations have moved forward the way they have. Would have felt like a pipe dream what Tokyo looks like now and I celebrate them for it.

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

S: No more than it was at the time.

M: It's the bigotry thing again, isn't it?

S: Yessir it is. Also the...crustiness that a lot of folks "my age" have. That backward looking attitude.

M: Speaking about the general public rather than your JSA teammates.

S: Eh, Alan and Ted have their grumpy moods. Jay was always a ray of sunshine.

M: How do they interact with you about the...*gestures*

S: Some of them are jealous of my permanent 25 years old disease, honestly if they wanted it they could have it. All they'd have to do is get turned into a big sand monster for 70 years.

M: Not worth it then?

S: I wouldn't recommend its anti aging properties no. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

S: Having superpowers just changes your options.

M: How so?

S: Wes and I usually had to treat guys with superhuman toughness as a mulligan. Do what we can, try not to get flattened, pass it off to one of the big hitters. Now when I give Captain Nazi a right hook to his Aryan nose I can put the force of an industrial sandblaster behind it.

M: Your fighting style in the modern day is a lot like your mentor's

S: Always will be, really the biggest coup of my powers is investigative. Being able to enter and exit places without being seen or sensed, being able to sense vibrations into the next room. When it comes to the scrapping it just means I can take more hits and give harder ones. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

S: You gotta think, nobody knew what was happening in Pearl Harbor until it was over. And that's without the 6 hour time difference. The attack started at around... M: 8 AM Hawaiian time, would have been about 2 PM here in New York

S: Exactly. Wes was at home, I was at school. The official declarations didn't come down until the next day.

M: A moment which will live on in infamy.

S: The entire Society was standing around the radio with death on their faces. Death, and sadness, and fear. But no surprise.

M: Why not?

S: The Society had been assembled by FDR with the foresight that America was GOING to end up in the war one way or the other. We just didn't know when or how.

M: It must have been shocking anyway.

S: What I remember was...that Wes wouldn't take his hand off my shoulder. Every so often he'd look down at me and when I looked up at him he'd face forward. Back then it was comforting. Now I don't know if he was trying to console me or trying to hold himself on his feet. I don't think he knew either.

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

S: The Nazi ones. All the Nazi ones bother the hell out of me.

M: For the obvious reasons one assumes.

S: Fascism should have gone the way of the dodo a long time ago. I don't think it needs any explaining beyond that.

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

S: Wasn't my call, but it was something I was constantly kind of stewing about.

M: Not being able to fight?

S: I wasn't old enough to fight when the war started anyway. Didn't mean I didn't want to. I wanted to fly over to Berlin and break Hitler's nose with my bare hands. I was a punk kid and I thought if they'd just let me attem I could take em down with my own two hands.

M: And then the Spear

S: And then the cowardly god forsaken spear that rat bastard pulled out of his back pocket. Meant a lot of good men had to go over the top and pay the price to pry it from his goosestepping little claw. Yea, I got guilt. I got guilt for a few million guys who didn't get to come home again because we had our hands tied behind our backs.

M: Wasn't your fault.

S: The whole damn thing was the little bastard's fault, what else is new.

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

S: We didn't read the comics at the time, none of us could get through 'em

M: The inaccuracy was too much?

S: For the two of us especially. They drew Wes as some cleft chin He-Man with pecs you could crush marbles between. Wesley Dodds was a mousy clerk of a man who wore coke bottle glasses until the day he died.

M: And about who would win?

S: No superhero on the planet worries about that. Generally we prefer to aim our punches at the bad guys.

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

S: Not back in the day no, none of us did. But some of the modern ones yea, books, movies, stuff like that.

M: You opened up the archives of all of Dodds' journals to Matt Wagner for Sandman Mystery Theatre.

S: And I'm damn glad that I did, got the closest to the truth out there about the man and woman I remember. Hell I'm opening up to you now, aren't I?

M: Fair enough.

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

S: ...People...knew about the camps. In an absolute sense.

M: Sure, the Red Cross knew about the camps in the absolute sense.

S: It wasn't...possible. It wasn't feasible. It wasn't SANE. I mean the entire idea of concentration camps is insane. We all knew people would be starving, diseased, dropping dead by the dozens. Camps like that kill people, always have.

M: But not like...

S: Not like that. Hitler's screed wasn't new, every Jew or Roma on the planet knew it by heart from birth...no one outside of Germany knew until the Reds started knocking over the camps.

M: You and your allies had no better idea?

S: No, the War Department didn't share jack shit with us. We didn't get more than the reports that were needed for us to do what we needed to do. We saw...we saw the photos at the same time as everyone else.

...

...Some nights I never stop seeing those photos.

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

S: No.

M: No?

S: I don't begrudge those who have made it this far one inch and Wes wouldn't have either.

M: How so?

S: We were family. Comrades. We stuck to each other shoulder to shoulder whether it was gangsters, or supervillains, or nazis, or the HUAC. None of us expected, thought we especially "deserve" to live through the next 100 days let alone 100 years.

M: You don't wish he was still here with you?

S: I miss my Uncle Wes every hour of every day. But that's who I miss, my Uncle Wes. MY Uncle Wes. Not the Sandman, not any version of the man I could possibly express to the rest of the world. But MY Uncle. I wish he was here to guide me, to explain things to me, some days I feel like he'd have this all figured out...

M: But?

S: But he was in my exact same position back in the day. He did what he could. He found for what he knew to be right and when they called his number he sold every drop of blood dearly. Every single one of us is gonna have a time. Guys like me, guys like Wes, we hope to live with what we've got, to always stand up when we're called, and to die with our boots on watching the look on the other guy's face when he knows he lost.

[curious--curations]

You're My Safe Place

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After the Winter Soldier sneaks into your house in search of medical supplies, you decide to offer him a place to stay

Part 2

He followed you to your apartment, his eyes darting around at his surroundings. He was on high alert, vigilant and cautious as always. He seemed to relax once you entered your apartment.

“I have a spare room.”

He nodded, but other wise did not respond.

He seemed to be looking for any signs of danger and therefore was not completely focused on your words. "I'll need to inspect the room first before I can use it."

You let him go through whatever routine he wanted as long as it made him feel safe.

He was thorough in his search, checking every nook and cranny. He looked in the closet, under the bed, and even tested the floorboards. Once he finished, he seemed slightly more relaxed. He seemed satisfied with the room, and he gave a small nod of approval.

Once he was satisfied you immediately went into your role as a hostess. You grabbed him a clean set of clothes that you kept in your house. You went around your apartment complex to collect clothes for a clothes drive and this seemed to be a good way to use some of them.

You set aside anything that seemed around his side and put them in a wash. Then you folded a pair and placed them in his arms.

"Bath is straight ahead. Don't use up all the hot water.”

Bucky gripped the clothes in his arms, looking down at them in surprise. He couldn't remember the last time he had a real bath.

"Don't worry, I won't."

"Good. I'll be right back. I have a load of laundry to start in the basement."

30 minutes passed quickly and you returned to your apartment with the laundry you just finished. You almost didn't recognize Bucky after he finished his shower.

He looked like a different person. His hair was slicked back, revealing his sharp features and steely eyes. The stubble on his face was still there, but it looked less disheveled and more purposeful.

By the next day you came home irritated and ranting.

“Never do a customer service job. People can be so rude.” You dropped your purse off on a side table. “How was your day? I'd assume it felt nice not having to run around.”

He shrugged, a smirk on his face.

“It was different being able to have free time.”

“Good different?”

“Yeah.”

“You sleep well?” For some reason he felt like the truth would hurt you, so he lied and said it was fine. He was not sure how long it would take him until he felt comfortable enough to sleep the full night through and it wasn't your responsibility or your fault. He felt like you would just blame yourself for his discomfort. He already felt like you were doting on him so heavily and your efforts couldn't be for nothing.

You made yourself comfortable on the couch next to him. Your sudden proximity pulled him out from his thoughts.

“What does an old man like you even watch to pass the time?”

He rolled his eyes as if he was annoyed but you could spot a smile forming at the edge of his lips, "I may be old, but I can still appreciate some modern shows. I'm not a complete fossil, you know."

"Aren't you older than television itself?"

It was hard to believe the man you were joking with was the same brooding one that held you hostage yesterday. “You seem a lot better than yesterday. You're a different person.”

“Ok ok. That's enough.”

He noticed you were wearing a long sleeve despite it being hot outside. "What's with the long sleeves?"

You didn't exactly want to talk about the bruises he left behind. You shrugged, trying to act casual. "It's nothing, just cold."

“I wasn't exactly gentle during our little altercation yesterday was I?”

You sighed, realizing he was not going to let this go You reluctantly rolled up the sleeves, revealing the bruising on your arms. The marks were dark and obvious, a clear indication of the violent encounter.

“Barely feel them.”

He frowned as he inspected the bruised. He felt guilty and ashamed for causing so much damage. He tried to remain composed, but it was obvious that he wasn't comfortable seeing the injuries he had inflicted on you.

He looked away, avoiding your gaze. He couldn't bear to look at the marks he left on your skin any longer.

He wanted to apologize but it got stuck in his throat. Besides an apology wouldn't change the fact that he hurt you.

You felt him retreat back into himself.

You didn't want him to lose him and have him revert back into his cold demeanor. Not when you were just making progress.

"I should go." He announced.

"No, stay," *You said, reaching out and held onto his arm as he stood.

He paused at your touch, but ultimately jerked his arm away and left to his room. You let him leave not wanting to deny him the right even if everything in you wanted to stop him.

You sat there, feeling frustrated and helpless. Hopefully the next day will be more promising.

[wild-magic-oops]

I've read a lot of absolute dogshit takes about DATV but "Davrin should've been a templar" takes the cake with its bizarre existence and complete wrongness

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Trapped in a vicious cycle of pining? Try gay sex! (More things to learn over at Tiger Tiger!)

[origami-butterfly]

Reminder for pride month that queerness is not limited to whiteness and if you erase non white queers, when talking about the community, every queer person who isn't white gets to throw rocks at you and shoot you out of a cannon 💖