#and it’s good! i’m like actually chilling!!!

[carnalcrows]

LOST AND FOUND - THE SALESMAN

pairing: the salesman x top male reader

synopsis: A man starts noticing his belongings disappearing after every visit to his best friend’s house—until he stumbles upon the unsettling truth.

content warnings: 18+, bottom salesman, reader is fucking salesman's son, dubcon, blackmail, cheating, fingering, anal sex, implied stalking, dead dove do not eat.

word count: 1.6k

Dinner at your best friend’s house is always an experience.

Not because of the food—his dad’s a damn good cook, actually—but because of the company.

“Hyung, I’m telling you, this lady at work keeps calling me ‘oppa,’ and I don’t know how to tell her I hate it,” Jiho complains, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “Like, I get it, I’m devastatingly handsome, but can we have boundaries?”

You snort, reaching for more rice. “You could just tell her to stop.”

“I did! And you know what she said? She said I ��look like the type to enjoy it.’” Jiho groans, collapsing dramatically against the back of his chair. “I feel violated.”

Across the table, Jiho’s father hums, slow and thoughtful. “Perhaps you give off the impression of someone who enjoys attention,” he muses, sipping his soup.

Jiho gapes at him, offended. “You’re supposed to be on my side!”

You chuckle, glancing at Jiho’s father. He hasn’t said much tonight, but that’s not unusual. The man is a quiet observer, the kind of person who listens more than he speaks. You’ve had dinner here plenty of times before, and the pattern is always the same—Jiho chatting away, you chiming in, and his father interjecting with the occasional dry remark.

But tonight… feels different.

Jiho’s father has been watching you. Not obviously—just little glances, the weight of his gaze lingering longer than usual. His face remains unreadable, but there’s something sharp in his eyes, something calculating.

It’s not unfriendly, exactly. Just… unsettling.

“Hyung?” Jiho nudges your arm. “You good?”

You blink, shaking off the feeling. “Yeah. Just thinking about how you probably deserve that treatment.”

Jiho makes a wounded noise. “Et tu, Brute?”

Across the table, his father chuckles. A deep, quiet sound. When you glance at him, he’s already looking away, refilling his tea like he wasn’t just assessing you like a goddamn science project.

Yeah. Something’s up with him tonight.

You just don’t know what.

And that? That should’ve been your first warning.

You should’ve gone home.

Jiho had texted that he’d be late—something about running an errand for work—but you figured it was no big deal. You’d been to his house a thousand times before, and waiting around wasn’t exactly a hardship.

But the house was too quiet without him.

It’s why you found yourself wandering, aimlessly at first, then with purpose when you noticed something odd.

A door. Slightly ajar.

You didn’t remember Jiho ever mentioning this room before. Curiosity got the better of you, and you nudged the door open fully—only to freeze in place.

Inside, the walls were lined with shelves. Not with books or storage boxes, but with you.

Your bracelets. Your books. Your toothbrush.

And—most horrifyingly—your underwear.

Stacks of them, folded neatly. Some draped over surfaces, others tucked away like a grotesque collection. And at the very center, in a glass display case like some kind of prized possession, was a used condom—your used condom.

A sickening chill crawled up your spine.

What the fuck was this?

A shadow moved behind you. Before you could react, a deep voice spoke, low and amused.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s rude to snoop?”

You turned sharply. Jiho’s father stood in the doorway, watching you with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You opened your mouth—whether to demand an explanation or to throw up, you weren’t sure—but he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a click.

Trapping you inside.

“You’ve been quite careless,” he murmured, trailing a finger along one of the shelves. “Leaving so many things behind. Did you ever wonder where they went?”

Your pulse thundered in your ears. “What the fuck is this?”

Jiho’s father merely chuckled. “Just a collection. I like to keep things that interest me.”

Your stomach churned. This wasn’t just interest—this was obsession.

You tried to move past him, but he stepped in your way, his smirk widening. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t be so hasty.”

You clenched your jaw. “Move.”

“And if I don’t?” His voice was light, conversational, but there was a razor-sharp edge beneath it. “You could run to Jiho. Tell him. But then I’d have to tell everyone something too, wouldn’t I?”

Your breath caught.

“I wonder,” he mused, tilting his head. “How would your workplace react? Your friends? Your family?”

Your hands curled into fists. You knew what he was implying. Being outed in this country—where tradition and reputation mattered—was a death sentence for your social life, your career, everything.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “So, what will it be?”

Oh.

Oh hell no.

You let out a short, incredulous laugh, because there is no way this is happening. “Dude,” you blurt. “You do realize your son and I have been—”

“I’m very aware,” he interrupts smoothly, his gaze flickering down your form. “And I must say… I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

You should leave. You should run. But your legs don’t move. Because the way he’s looking at you—intense, predatory, like he’s testing something—sends a very different kind of shiver down your spine.

The air between you shifts.

He’s close now. Too close.

“You’re an interesting one,” he murmurs, reaching out—not grabbing, just hovering, his fingers barely ghosting over your arm. “Most people would be terrified right now.”

“Oh, I am,” you say, flashing a weak grin. “But I also have really bad coping mechanisms.”

His lips quirk up. “Is that so?”

Then, before you can think better of it—before you can stop yourself—you grab him by the tie and pull him in.

His smirk barely has time to widen before your lips crash together.

The kiss is messy. Heated. Too much, too fast, but neither of you seem to care. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, while yours tangle in the expensive fabric of his suit. He tastes like something rich and intoxicating, and damn it, you hate how much you like it.

Your hands move to his waist as his move up to your shoulders, slightly changing the dynamics of the situation. He groans against your mouth at the friction against his crotch, making you hard.

This is wrong, so wrong, but there doesn’t really seem to be another way out.

You tug at his work pants, bringing them down with a firm grasp while pushing him onto the bed in the corner of the room– more like a shrine.

His cock emerges, hard and leaking. Your thumbs trails at the head-- picking up the precum that builds up at the slit. He shudders; he hasn’t touched himself like this in so long.

Wanting to finish what he wants as soon as possible, you shimmy down your own pants, revealing your own erection. You find yourself feeling ashamed at the fact that your grew hard from kissing your fuck buddy best friend’s father.

Searching through his coat pocket, the older man finds a small packet of lube and tosses it at you. You catch it before it flies past you– glaring at him. 

“You're no fun,” he grins, as you rip the packet with your teeth and pour the cool liquid onto your fingers.

You take your lubed digits to his awaiting hole and press them at his entrance, before pushing in. You weren’t going to give this man the mercy of your patience.

His back arched as he let out a loud moan. If your fingers felt this good, how would your cock feel in him?

His thoughts were interrupted by you moving your fingers in and out of him sloppily, not caring if the sudden intrusion hurt (he was a masochist, so you supposed it didn’t matter anyway).

Feeling that he had been prepped enough, you slid your digits out of his hole, and replaced the emptiness with your cock.

The head caught on to the slick of the lube, pushing in slightly– before you slid all the way in. You groaned at how tight he was– even tighter than Jiho if that were possible. You chided yourself for thinking like that before you pulled out almost all the way before slamming back in.

The man’s eyes rolled to the back of his head– your cock hitting the right spot with every thrust. You felt so, so good inside him, and his hole involuntarily clenched around you at the thought.

You held tightly onto his waist as you practically abused his hole, profanities leaving your mouth every now and then.

“Hah– never thought you would get of to being fucked by your son’s best friend, hm?” He could only mumble incoherently at the jab, his brain just too full with being fucked dumb.

He had been waiting so long for this to finally happen, for you to take him like this. He was aware of the relationship between you and his son, and he chose to exploit it instead of doing what a normal dad should do.

But it wasn’t like he was a normal person anyway.

At that thought, he felt himself clench around you more, fucking psychopath. You groaned, feeling his warmth, thrusting into him even further as though you were an animal in heat.

Soon, you felt yourself close to a climax, so you pressed your cock into him all the way, letting yourself come undone– painting his insides a pearly white, before whispering in his ear.

“You can throw away that condom now– you have the real thing in you anyway”, he came, almost violently, when he heard you say that– his semen staining his pristine suit.

You were going to pull out of him, when a sharp knock suddenly echoed through the house.

“Dad?”

You both freeze.

Oh. Oh, hell.

The door creaks open, and there stands Jiho —his son—staring at the two of you like he’s just walked into the world’s worst nightmare.

Silence.

More silence.

Then—

“What. The. Fuck.”

You sigh, forehead dropping against the older man’s shoulder. “Welp,” you mutter. “Guess I am gonna start screaming now.”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[nctinthehouse]

afternoon pick-me-up

❝ pairing: barista!reader x Jaehyun — genre: fluff — wc: 0.6k — ⚠️ warning(s): none — a/n: happy jaehyun day!! 🍑 a little something for jaehyun’s birthday! damn i actually miss him :(( ❞

It’s currently late afternoon. All you can hear is pitter patter of rain against the windows accompanied by chill café music in the background.

Usually, you would be dealing with the aftermath of a lunchtime rush. Sometimes, it can get really busy during those times. However, today wasn’t much of a rush at all. Maybe because it’s been pouring down since early this morning.

You haven’t really got anything to do so you just decided to check your phone for a little.

You glance up as you hear the door open and spot a familiar figure coming in.

He’s somewhat a regular customer, probably orders a drink, two or three times a week. Usually either the same or you notice that he takes a little time, staring at the menu, maybe thinking he should venture out a little with something different.

He’s quite a happy chap whenever you see him and, you think he’s cute too.

You really want to know his name and ask for his number, but, you being you, you absolutely do not have the courage to do so. Especially with someone so handsome and probably out of his league. And usually, it’s quite busy whenever he’s here, but today, right now, it’s very quiet. Probably because it’s pouring outside. Perhaps today’s the day you pluck up the courage and spark up a little conversation with him?

You sometimes wonder what he does for work. Is he a model? Could be, especially with a face like that.

You spot him finally making his way over to you as he decides what to get.

“Hi!”, you say with a smile on your face. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hey!” He responds with a beaming smile as always, whenever he’s here. “Um, can I get an iced latte please?”

“Sure! Anything else?”

You notice his facial expression slight changes, to a hesitate one it looks like but you ignore it.

“Um yeah…” his voice comes out a little hoarse so he clears his throat. “C-can I also get your number, please?”

You stare at him with wide eyes, blinking at him a few times, not expecting that. “W-what?”

The guy repeats his question, seemingly with confidence this time. “Can I get your number, please? I-it’s just that I think you’re really cute and you seem like a really sweet person. I’ve always wanted to talk to you. I mean, other than you taking my order, but, I know it can get quite busy here so I don’t want to disturb you. I mean… It’s okay if you say no-!”

You butt him in mid-sentence. “What? No, no! It’s cool!”

He looks at you with a beaming smile on his face again; dimples popping out in view. Gosh, you just want to poke his dimples.

“Thank you…” he takes his phone out and passes it to you so you can write your name and number. You pass his phone back and looks at your name and number.

“Thanks… uh, Y/N.” he smiles. “Cute.”

You let out a small chuckle.

“I’m Jaehyun by the way. Nice to meet you!” He reaches out his hand, and you reach back, shaking hands in unison as you both chuckle.

“Nice to meet you too!”

“So, Y/N, I’ll call you, or text. Whichever you prefer.”

“Sounds good”, you say with a smile.

“Great! I’ll, uh, see you around” he gives you a wink. You give him a small wave and he does the same back, you watch him walk out of the store.

You kind of stare at the door for a while, thinking back to what just happened. A slight blush forms on your cheeks, and you softly tap them with the tips of your fingers, trying to stop yourself from blushing even further. Then suddenly, you had a thought.

“Wait, did he just order a drink and walk out without one?”

As you get lost in thoughts, you suddenly feel a buzz in your pocket and take out your phone and see a text from an unknown number.

“Forget about the drink haha, I just wanted your number today :)”

masterlist

© 2025 nctinthehouse — All Rights Reserved.

[vantetaes]

FRIDAY NIGHT LIGHTS🫧🥂

ATHLETE ONYANKOPON X TUTOR BLACK FEM READER

SUMMARY!!! yn is forced to tutor her colleges golden boy, onyankopon

WARNINGS!!! slow burn, enemies to lovers, mild vougerism, pet names

on a rainy tuesday, the sky hangs low and gray, smothering the campus in a damp chill.

you’re sitting in the library, tucked into a corner where the light from a nearby lamp casts a golden glow across the wooden table. books and papers are scattered in front of you, your pen tapping rhythmically against the spine of a well-worn calculus textbook. the library is quiet except for the faint hum of the central heating and the soft rustle of pages being turned.

then, you hear it. heavy footsteps, a bag dragging along the polished floors. you glance up to see onyankopon striding in, his broad shoulders swaying under a damp varsity jacket. his forehead still wet from the rain, beads of water slipping down his neck and soaking into the collar of his gray hoodie and his large jeweled necklace. his black sweatpants hang low on his hips, the fabric wrinkled and casual.

he doesn’t even apologize as he plops into the chair across from you, his duffel bag hitting the floor with a loud thud. a few drops of water splashing into your work surface.

his presence is immediate, commanding, and unwelcome.

“you’re late.” you say flatly, folding your arms.

he doesn’t look at you as he leans back, his long legs stretching out beneath the table.

“yeah, well, traffic. i’m here now. isn’t that what matters?”

“not when you’re fifteen minutes late. i could be doing something better than this.” you push the calculus textbook toward him, your tone clipped.

“let’s just get started. i don’t have time to waste.”

“psht- sure.” he mumbles lowly, spreading legs wider, leaning back in his chair, arms tucked into his hoodie pocket, hood shielding his eyes.

“you’re awfully cocky for someone failing calculus.” he rears up, eyes narrowing at you.

“and you have a lot of mouth for a tutor.” his frame began leaning forward, his irritating smile beginning to form across his lips.

“be an asshole all you want. i’m what’s separating you and the championship. i separate you and your incompetent little scouts. watch what you say.” his eyes relax from shooting daggers, instead of look of defeat crossing.

“open your book to 215.”

-

the first few sessions are a disaster.

he spends more time cracking jokes and scrolling on his phone, flirting with the library assistants. rather than actually studying. half-listening, scribbling answers in the margins of his workbook with barely any effort.

you were stuck in a loop of wanting to rip the boys head off and reassuring yourself that this would look good on your record.

“what’s the point of this, anyway?” he mutters late one evening, slouched over the table in his usual hoodie, varsity jacket combo and sweatpants.

the library’s soft lighting and sunset through the large windows makes his skin look warm, his dark brown eyes glinting with something that isn’t quite interest but isn’t boredom either. licking his plump lips as he goes to lean back in the chair, pen tucked behind his ear.

“not like i’m not gonna use this in real life.”

“knowing you, maybe not.” you reply, your voice sharp, placing the tip of your red pen down on his paper, marking everything wrong on his sheet.

“but for now, you’ll use it to keep playing football. or do you want to sit out the champs because you couldn’t be bothered to learn how to integrate a function? all the money your parents spend for you to go here, make use.” your tone was straight and nonchalant. sliding over the paper to the man as if it’s confidential files. his eyes scan all the red x’s and o’s. noticing it was the majority of his work.

“do you always talk like this? no wonder no one sits with you in class.” he gives you a look, one eyebrow raised.

the words sting, but you don’t let it show.

“nigga we’re grown. this isn’t high school anymore, onyankopon. maybe people would like you more if you weren’t so fucking obnoxious.”

his grin is infuriating, lips stretching across his face. letting out a chuckle.

“oh, they like me just fine, sweetheart.”

“and i hope to be as delusional as you someday.”

despite your attitude towards each other, you find yourself noticing small things about him.

the way he fiddles with the drawstring of his hoodie when he’s frustrated. index finger and thumb nipping at the metal tips. the way his voice softens, just barely, when he asks you to explain something again, pushing his glasses up. breath hitching when you slide from your side of the table casually, the fabric of your sweater falling slightly over your shoulder. he thought you smelled like fresh baked cookies, maybe a contrast with the way your attitude was. you’d notice the faint scar above his left eyebrow, visible only when the light from the library’s lamp hits it just right.

one day, the library is too crowded, filled to the brim with worried college students, and he suggests meeting in his dorm instead. you hesitate but agree, figuring it’ll be easier than finding another spot in the cramped exam season.

when you arrive, his room is a mess. clothes tossed over the back of a chair, textbooks and playbooks stacked haphazardly on his desk, the faint scent of cologne and sweat lingering in the air.

“sorry about the mess. been trying to keep up with everything.” he says, scratching the back of his neck. he’s wearing a fitted black t-shirt and joggers today, hair protected in a dark maroon durag. his feet padding softly against the carpet as he moves to clear his clothes from his bed to his laundry basket tucked into his closet.

you couldn’t help but notice he’s moving erratically, eyes and hands unable to find a steady place to stay.

“onyankopon.” you reply, setting your bag down. “we can always reschedule, maybe you’re working yourself too hard.”

��no. we can do it just let me straighten up, swear.” your eyes drift from the man rushing to clean, to a pile of crushed red bulls, celcius cans, and empty americano cups. his calendar was packed full of activities and sports events he was mandated to attend. lists of exams growing. he’s running on nothing but caffeine.

“onyankopon.” you say, crossing your arms, your voice tight with concern.

“you’re running on nothing but coke and sheer panic.”

he laughs, though it’s short and breathless, as if acknowledging the truth in your words would be admitting defeat.

“nah, i’m fine. i’ve got it. i always do.”

you don’t respond right away, instead watching as he swipes stray clothes off the only other chair in the room and dumps them onto his bed. his hands move quickly with hangers, his jaw tight, his movements too sharp to be natural. you realize it’s not just the caffeine, it’s everything. the weight of expectations. the need to perform, to stay on top.

“sit down.” you finally say, your voice firm.

“what?” he looks up, his dark eyes blinking in confusion.

“sit. down.” you gesture to his unmade bed, the rumpled gray sheets twisted like he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep in weeks.

“take five minutes to breathe before you collapse. i’m serious.”

“i don’t have time to—” he hesitates, his fingers twitching like they’re itching to pick up something else, to keep moving, to do anything other than pause.

“make time. you can’t keep going like this.” you cut him off, your tone sharper than you intend.

his shoulders sag, and for the first time, you see a crack in the cocky, untouchable facade he always wears. slowly, he sinks onto the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees as he rubs a hand down his face.

“it’s just… a lot,” he admits, his voice quieter now.

“if i don’t keep up, i’ll fall behind. and if i fall behind- then…”

“then what?” you press, stepping closer.

“the world ends? the team loses one player for a game? you fail a test? what’s the worst that happens?”

“everyone’s counting on me.” he says, the words heavy.

“the team, the coaches, the professors. hell, even my parents. if i screw this up-” voice cracking, he trails off, shaking his head.

you feel something in your chest twist, a mixture of frustration and sympathy. you’d always seen onyankopon as larger than life, the guy who has it all together. but here he was, cracking under the weight of his own perfectionism.

“look-” you say, your voice softer now. “i get it. people expect a lot from you. but you can’t give them anything if you’re running on fumes, onya. you need to take care of yourself too, okay?”

he looks up at you, his dark eyes searching yours, and for a moment, he’s quiet. then, he gives a small, tired smile.

“you’re bossy, you know that?”

“you’re stubborn.” you counter, sitting down across from him and sliding your notebook back into the bag.

“im serious though. drink some water, eat something. we can pick up next week before exams start.”

as the week goes by, something shifts. it’s subtle at first: he starts showing up on time, asking questions that prove he’s actually been paying attention. during one session, you catch him staring at you. not in his usual teasing way, but with an expression you can’t quite place.

“what?” you snap, your cheeks warming under his gaze.

“nothing. just wondering what you’d look like if you smiled once in a while.” he shrugs, his lips curving into a small smile.

“maybe i’d smile more if you got an answer right for once.” you shoot back, jokingly tapping the side of his face. there’s no real venom in your tone.

one evening in his dorm, with BRENT FAIYAZ playing softly in the background on his laptop. he surprises you by pulling out a red notebook filled with neatly written equations.

“i’ve been practicing.” he says, his voice almost shy.

“you… did this on your own?” you blink a few times, caught off guard. fingers flipping carefully through the work.

“yeah. figured you’d yell at me less if i tried.”

for the first time, you see a different side of him. he’s still cocky, still quick with a comeback, but there’s something vulnerable beneath the surface. it’s infuriating, how much you notice.

you find yourself in his dorm again. the rain is pounding against the window, the room dimly lit by the glow of a desk lamp. onyankopon sits across from you, his hoodie pulled low over his curls. he’s focused on the textbook in front of him, his jaw tight as he works through a problem.

you don’t know why, but your chest tightens at the sight of him like this. serious, determined, and quiet in a way that feels rare.

“you’re getting it.” you say softly, and his head snaps up.

“yeah?” his voice is quieter than usual, almost hesitant.

“yeah.” you smile, just a little. “you’ll pass.”

he leans back, exhaling deeply. “good. because i don’t think i could’ve done this without you.”

you wave him off, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at his words. “just focus on your game tomorrow.”

but he doesn’t look away, his dark eyes fixed on yours. “i mean it. you’ve been there for me when no one else was.”

your breath catches, and for a moment, the space between you feels charged, electric. but you force yourself to look away, gathering your things. “you should get some rest.”

he doesn’t stop you as you leave, but the look in his eyes stays with you long after you’ve gone.

-

the stadium is alive with energy, the roar of the crowd vibrating through the crisp autumn air. the bright lights cut through the darkness, illuminating the field where onyankopon moves like he was made for this.

you’re watching from the sidelines, surrounded by screaming fans and teammates pacing anxiously, but your eyes never leave him. he’s electric tonight, faster than you’ve ever seen him, his body a blur of black and gold as he weaves through defenders. every throw is perfect, spiraling through the air before landing seamlessly in the hands of his receivers. he’s playing like a man possessed, like this is his destiny.

and maybe it is.

the final play unfolds in slow motion. clock winding down, onyankopon dodging two defenders, the pocket collapsing around him, but instead of panicking, he pivots. his cleats dig into the turf as he launches the ball downfield, his arm a perfect arc of muscle and control. the last second. the crowd holds its breath as the receiver leaps, fingers grazing the ball before pulling it into his chest.

touchdown.

the stadium erupts.

the scoreboard cements the victory, and just like that, they’ve won. the team rushes the field, helmets flying off, bodies colliding in embraces and back slaps. onyankopon stands at the center of it all, arms raised, grinning so wide it’s blinding.

you should leave. you should turn away now that your job is technically over. he passed his classes, he made it to the championship, he didn’t need you anymore. but your feet stay rooted to the ground. because despite everything, despite the way he frustrates you and how complicated everything had become, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

but neither can he.

even in the chaos, in the middle of his teammates hoisting him up like he’s their king, his eyes find you. just for a second. just long enough for something unspoken to pass between you.

with a big smile and both thumbs high, you just smile at the man.

then, suddenly, he’s swarmed. scouts in expensive suits push through the crowd, hands outstretched, voices blending together in a frenzy of opportunity.

they’re speaking fast, throwing out numbers, offers, futures that sound too big to be real. you watch as coaches shake his hand, as reporters shove microphones in his face, as his teammates thump his back with shouts of -

“that’s the nfl calling your name, bro!”

“the girls gone love this shit!”

“let’s go drink!”

-

the campus bar is packed, overflowing with students buzzing from the victory, their energy vibrating through the dimly lit space. the neon signs overhead cast a hazy glow over the crowd, bottles clinking together, voices raised in laughter and celebration over the music.

you sit at the bar, half-hidden in the shadows, nursing a drink that burns just enough to dull the tightness in your chest. your fingers trace the rim of the glass as you watch groups of students in jerseys throwing back shots, replaying onyankopon’s best plays on the tiny bar tvs like they hadn’t just witnessed them firsthand.

you should be happy. you should be celebrating too. after all, he won. he got everything he wanted.

so why does it feel like something in your chest is unraveling?

you tip your glass back, finishing the rest of your drink in one go. the ice pressing against your lips yet the warmth spreading through you like a slow burn.

“another?” the bartender asks, eyeing you curiously. almost concerned with the solemn expression that rest on your face.

you nod, sliding your glass toward her.

“yeah. something way stronger please. everclear if you have it.”

“sorry we don’t carry jet fuel.” she jokes, reaching across the counter to grab your empty glass.

the doors swing open, and the energy in the bar shifts instantly. the football team floods in, a wave of jerseys and victory-fueled adrenaline, their presence consuming the space like they own it. someone starts chanting onyankopon’s name, and the whole bar picks it up, the sound rising above the music, shaking the walls.

he walks in at the center of it all, his championship hoodie slung over his broad shoulders, his jersey still clinging to him from the game. his chain catches the light as he moves, bright white teeth grinning, dapping up teammates, accepting the endless praise with that same easy confidence.

he looks good. he always does. but there’s something sharper about him tonight. something almost restless in the way his eyes sweep across the room.

then, he sees you.

you’re still at the bar, fingers wrapped loosely around your drink, your posture relaxed but your gaze unreadable. you don’t cheer, don’t chant his name like the rest of them. you just watch, eyes batting at him and somehow, that unsettles him more than anything else.

without a word, he starts moving toward you. almost like he was gravitated towards you.

“onyan, where you going man? they wanna take shots.” one of his teammates calls, arms thrown over two girls. a small smirk crossing his face. but onyankopon barely hears him.

“shouldn’t you be celebrating with them?” you glance up when he reaches you, arching a brow.

he leans against the bar, close enough that you can smell the faint mix of cologne and sweat still clinging to him.

“i could ask you the same thing.” he says, voice low over the noise. you take a slow sip of your drink.

“i am celebrating.” he huffs a quiet laugh.

“yeah? you don’t look like it.”

“guess i don’t have as much to celebrate as you do.” you shrug, swirling the liquid in your glass, watching the ice clink against the sides.

the words shouldn’t sting, but they do.

onyankopon watches you for a long moment, then reaches past you, grabbing a random shot from the bar. he downs it quickly, barely flinching at the burn before setting the glass down with a quiet thud.

“go back, they’re waiting for you.” your finger points past the man to a group of guys staring at him and you. some of them smiling at you while others stare confused.

“ma, stop acting like this. y’know i appreciate you helping me, i couldn’t have done this without you. im serious.” his hand shoots out, taking hold of yours, bringing it up to place a small kiss on your knuckles. eyes never leaving yours.

“come take one drink with us and the you c -“ yanking your hand back, the man’s big brown eyes widen.

“baby! there you are!”

your fingers tighten around your glass as a girl slides up to onyankopon, wrapping her arms around his bicep like she belongs there.

her black minidress riding up her ass as she pressed against the man. but she’s pretty. long, sleek hair, manicured nails pressing lightly into the side of his face.

kirsten.

you’ve seen her before, walking across campus in his hoodies, sitting front row at his games, in pictures tagged on his instagram.

your stomach turns, but your face remains impassive.

“uh, hey.” onyankopon tenses, like he wasn’t expecting her, but he recovers fast. she looks up at him, pouting.

“you disappeared right after the game! i’ve been looking everywhere for you. even came by the locker room.” then, as if just noticing you, she turns, her eyes scanning you from head to toe.

her smile is polite. too polite.

“who’s this?”

before onyankopon can answer, you set your glass down and meet her gaze head-on.

“yn.”

her brows lift slightly, like the name rings a bell.

“oh-” she hums, the realization clicking in her head. she looks at onyankopon. “the tutor?”

there’s something about the way she says it that makes your jaw clench. like she’s filing you away into something insignificant.

“girl- yes. the tutor. the whole reason your fuck buddy was even able to play tonight.” you exhale slowly, keeping your tone even.

onyankopon mutters something under his breath, running a hand down his face, but kirsten just smiles, saccharine-sweet.

“right, of course. i heard you helped him so much.”

“i did, how did you?.” you arch a brow.

her smile tightens, and for a second, the two of you just stare at each other, an entire silent conversation happening in the space between. neither of you back down.

onyankopon shifts beside you, clearly uncomfortable.

“kirsten, not now.” he mutters.

but she ignores him, tilting her head at you.

“it’s just funny. you’re acting all… close, but you’re just his tutor.”

your lips part, and you could let it go. you should let it go. but the exhaustion from the last few weeks, the emotions simmering under your skin, the alcohol in your system. it all catches up to you.

you lean in slightly, voice smooth but firm.

“ha! kirs baby... you’re acting all secure, but you had to come find him.”

her smile vanishes.

onyankopon lets out a low, exasperated- “oh, fuck.”

“do you need that?” she asks, about to start taking her earrings until onyankopon started to scold the girl.

the bar suddenly feels too loud, too crowded, too full of people pretending not to watch the tension unfold. you sigh, shaking your head, suddenly too tired for this. reaching into your purse, you throw down a fifty dollar bill and snatch your jacket off the back of the chair.

“enjoy your night, superstar .” you say, voice quieter now, pushing in between the couple.

and this time, when you walk away, you don’t stop.

-

the pounding on your door is relentless. heavy, urgent, like whoever’s on the other side has no intention of leaving until you open up.

you groan, burying your face deeper into your pillow, willing whoever it is to go away. but the knocking only gets louder, more insistent.

“yn! open the damn door!”

your eyes snap open. you recognize that voice instantly. deep, slightly hoarse, impatient. onyankopon.

you drag yourself out of bed, throwing on the nearest sweatshirt, slipping on your slippers, your head still hazy from last night’s drinks. your legs are heavy as you trudge toward the door, stomach twisting with a mix of exhaustion and irritation. the knocks still persistent.

the second you yank it open, he’s there, standing in your doorway like he owns the place. his hoodie is pulled up over his waves, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, like he left in a hurry.

his eyes. dark, intense, scan over you, taking in the oversized sweatshirt swallowing your frame. lashes disheveled, your bare legs, bonnet secured on your head, the clear signs that you just woke up. eyes narrowed at him, sleep still collecting at the corners.

something flickers across his face, gone too fast for you to catch.

“jesus, onyankopon. why you knocking like the fucking police? barely morning.” you mutter, rubbing your temple, wiping your eyes. he frowns down at you, flipping his apple watch up.

“it’s noon.”

“…oh.”

he exhales sharply, jaw clenching.

“can i come in?”

you hesitate, debating slamming the door in his face just to make a point. but there’s something about the way he looks- frustrated, tired, guilty. that makes you sigh and step aside.

he brushes past you, pacing across your living room like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. you cross your arms, watching him, waiting.

finally, he stops, turning to face you.

“about last night—” you cut him off.

“you don’t have to explain.”

“yeah, i do.” his voice is firm. “you left before i could.”

you huff a humorless laugh.

“what was there to explain? your bitch came looking for you, you let her hang all over you, and then she tried to play in my fucking face. sounds pretty clear to me.”

“she’s not my fucking girlfriend.” he scrubs a hand down his face, exhaling hard.

“wow! could’ve fooled the hell outta me.” you blink.

“yn, i swear to god! i. am. not. with. her!” he looks at you, exasperated, hands held out pleading for your warmth.

“she’s not- we were a thing, yeah, but we broke up weeks ago. she just- she doesn’t take ‘no’ for an answer.” he shakes his head, frustrated. you stare at him, skeptical.

“and what, you just let her? let her claim you, let her act like i was nothing? was her dumb ass helping you pass a class you knew you shouldn’t have signed up for in the first place? you could never be my nigga.”

his expression tightens.

“i wasn’t thinking. i was caught off guard. and then you and her started—”

“that, and i just—fuck, i handled it wrong, okay?” he gestures vaguely.

“all this fucking stuttering. yeah, no shit. you chose her last night when you let the weirdo talk to me crazy.” you scoff.

“i don’t want her, ma. i swear, i need you to believe me.” he steps closer, lowering his voice.

“good for you.” your breath catches, but you keep your face neutral.

“no.” he shakes his head, his eyes locked onto yours. he’s towering over you and all you can smell is his cologne and laundry detergent. his head still hooded, lips shining under the low light of your apartment.

“you don’t get it.” he moves even closer, his voice quieter now, more serious.

“i don’t want her. i want you.”

“prove it.”

he wastes no time bending down and attaching your lips to his.

“mm-! i didn’t have time to brush my teeth!” you whine, letting him snake his large hands under your sweatshirt. his trimmed nails running up and down your waist. his lips venture down the side of your neck, humming before pulling away.

“mama, i’ve wanted you for the last two months, i don’t give a damn.”

his lips move against yours with urgency, all heat and frustration, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you even closer until there’s no space left between you.

your fingers dig into his hoodie, gripping the fabric as he backs you up against the wall, his knee slipping between your thighs like he belongs there. the heat of him, the sheer size of him, has your breath hitching, your heart pounding so loud you swear he can hear it.

he breaks away just enough to look at you, his breathing uneven, his eyes dark and intense.

“you sure?”

you don’t answer with words. instead, you fist your hands into his hoodie and pull him back in, crashing your mouth against his like you’re making up for lost time.

that’s all the permission he needs.

he groans into the kiss, one hand cupping your jaw, the other sliding down to grip your hip, his fingers pressing into the soft skin just beneath the hem of your sweatshirt. his thumb brushes over the curve of your waist, slow, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

your body reacts before your mind can catch up, your back arching, pressing yourself against him. the friction makes you gasp, and he takes the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss, swallowing the small sound you make.

he tastes like mint and something else, something undeniably him, and it has your head spinning, your knees weak.

his hoists you up, rushing down the hall with your lips connected. pushing open your bedroom door, he carefully places you on the bed. hands eagerly paw at your sweatshirt, getting it off over your head.

“let me take care of you, baby.” you watch as he climbed onto the bed, bending to attach his lips to your swollen nipples. his other hand comes up, dragging along your frame, taking hold of your other breast. he gently massages, rolling your nipple in between his thumb and middle finger.

mouth agape, all you can do is grab at his large arms, trying to ground yourself to anything. he removes his mouth with a ‘pop’, sliding down to your stomach. he places a few kisses, eyes locked on yours as he proceeds down.

the warmth of his mouth over your clothed heat is enough to have your eyes closing in anticipation. his places a kiss, using his hands to hook the sides of your underwear. in one swift motion, your pink underwear were draped over your tv.

when he started you couldn’t stop him. like a wild animal, his tongue lapping up your juices as his mouth sucks and bites at your core. he’s humming, using his free hands to feel every inch of your body, every bump, mark, mole, he needed to know all of you.

“oouu- shit! onya just like that.” the large digits of his middle and ring finger pump in and out of you, feeling your gummy, warm wall clenching around him. his tongue playing slowly with your clit, eyes rolling to the back of his head at how good you taste.

he always wondered how you’d look under him.

every assignment, every session in the library, it took him all his might not to bend you over his calculus book and fuck the shit out of you.

showing up in your skims or iamgia two pieces, the fabric fitting snug against your smooth skin. how everytime you got close to show him how to work an equation, the smell of coco butter, vanilla, and hair oil would fill his space. he loved heading to practice, music barely playing as his thoughts ran rapid throughout the drive.

and now he has you.

pad of his fingers press up against the small sponges texture at the back of your heat, tongue lapping at the bud with a sense of hunger. in the light of your room, you can see your slick and his spit covering his face. coating the neck if his hoodie. hands dart out to grab the closest thing to brace yourself. the coil in your stomach burning heavy, shaking with every pump of the man’s fingers.

“i feel that shit. you’re such a good girl for me baby, let it go. mm- let me take it, ma.”

-

you’d always known onyankopon didn’t have many cares in the world.

with your hands tied behind your back with his hoodie string, body pressed against the living room window. onyankopon stands behind you, slowly pumping in and out of you. wet squelches of sound fill the large room, filling your ears as pleasure coiled in the pit of your stomach.

“fuck onyyy, just like that.” you could feel his large tip rubbing across the spongy area, prodding around like he knew your entire body. his hand comes up, cupping the side of your face as his thumb slips inside your mouth, other had anchoring to your hips.

“mhm, hold on for me mama. let em see.” you can only look out of your window onto the balcony, tear filled eyes dashing across the parking lot, making sure no one was actually staring through the glass.

he pulls out, almost fully, tip filling your hole. he leans down, giving the back of your shoulders a kiss before sliding into you. slow, controlled strokes drive you over the edge. tears fall into the glass as your lips wrap around his finger. his hips dip in and out of you, a white creamy circle forming around the base of the man’s cock.

“pussy so good. takin’ it so good for me.” his words fuel the fire, passion burning through your bodies as his strokes become sloppy and shallow.

“yes! oh my- onya im so close, imma cum on this dick!” your breast collide with the door, letting the man take control as he nears his end.

“do it then, ma. make a mess on my shit.” he says through gritted teeth, eyes rolling to the back of his head as he subconsciously begins to lift your frame. too lost on ecstasy and need that he doesn’t notice your feet hovering off the ground. he’s ravaging your insides, swollen cock drilling at your warm walls.

“i’m cumming! onya holy shit!” he continued, using his hand to cover your mouth. your body falls limp, standing no issue to the man as he holds you in place.

“that my good girl! i’m finna nut baby, where you want it baby?” too lost in the pleasure in your core, you just nod. pulling out, he releases white sticky ropes onto his own chest, carefully placing you down on the couch.

he takes his hoodie off, carefully undoing your hands.

“believe me now?”

“maybe”

© vantetaes. do not modify, repost, translate, or plagiarize any of my works. ageless/blank blogs dni.

[sorry-not-feeling-it-right-now]

(There’s not enough Cheated appreciation in the world so hiiiiii just gonna ramble about him a bit cause I’m revisiting the Thorn route via YouTube videos)

Alongside Broken he’s probably one of the most empathetic voices out of everyone (at least, in human standards). Despite being a voice who had successfully killed the Princess without getting killed in chapter one he has a distaste for violence. Mostly likely because you were going through it with the attitude of “let’s get this over with” instead of like how you get Cold where you push down every single doubt away from your head to get the job done successfully. It’s more likely that he’s fighting back out of spite and the desire to make things right instead of having actual bloodlust, like Stubborn for example.

Ultimately Cheated is not violent whatsoever. In fact, I’d say he’s a pretty fair person. Instead of being the “raging gamer guy” he’s more like the tired unlucky guy who just wants things to go smoothly for once. He’s actually pretty chill himself when he’s not screaming his heart out on how unfair everything is.

(Side note, I really enjoy @/phantasmatoucan ‘s portrayal of him. He’s just so tired-looking and attractive I mean what)

(Side-side note, read the Cheated x Broken fics written by @/writingdevil. She got me into the ship. They’re really good trust)

[cursedcanon]

JJK men as dads.

Characters: Gojo, Choso , Sakuna, Geto , Toji and Nanami.

Gojo Satoru – The Ridiculously Over-the-Top Dad

Gojo as a father would be chaotic good. He’s the kind of dad who shows up at parent-teacher meetings in designer sunglasses and acts like a celebrity. His kid? Spoiled beyond belief. Need a new toy? Boom, you have the entire toy store. Want dessert before dinner? He’s already handing you ice cream.

He’d be super playful, letting his kid ride on his shoulders at high speeds (terrifying for bystanders), randomly teleporting them places, and making everything a game. But when it comes to protecting them? No one is touching his kid. Ever.

Pros: Funniest and most entertaining dad, will literally bend reality to make his kid smile.

Cons: Probably lets them get away with way too much, so discipline? Who’s she?

Overall: The "best friend" type of dad but still a powerhouse of protection when needed.

Choso – The Overprotective, Gentle Dad

Choso would be so soft with his kid. He’s been through so much loss that once he has a child of his own, they become his entire world. He’d always make sure they feel loved and protected, constantly checking if they ate, if they’re warm, if they’re happy. If they so much as get a scratch, he’s holding them like they’ve been mortally wounded.

His bedtime stories? Legendary. He’s the kind of dad who will sit for hours telling stories and making shadow puppets on the wall. But if someone dares to harm his child? They’re dead. No hesitation.

Pros: Incredibly caring, super protective, and patient.

Cons: Might be too overprotective (his kid is not allowed to climb trees, ever).

Overall: A soft, warm dad who will also commit a crime for his child.

Sukuna – The “I’m Not a Softie” Dad (But He Is)

Sukuna as a dad would pretend he doesn’t care, but deep down, he’s got that soft spot. He’d be the dad that grumbles about how kids are annoying, but the moment his child looks sad? He’s casually placing their favorite snacks next to them and acting like it was always there.

His parenting style would be strict, though. No nonsense, no whining. But the second someone else tries to be mean to his kid? Immediate execution.

Pros: Will make sure his child is the strongest, and no one will ever mess with them.

Cons: Tough love to the max. “Crying? Weak. You can fight a bear, I believe in you.”

Overall: The dad who acts like he doesn’t care but would burn the world for his child.

Geto Suguru – The “Cool But Protective” Dad

Geto would be the cool dad—the one who’s got that chill vibe and never raises his voice unless he needs to. He’s the type to have deep conversations with his kid, teaching them about the world, strength, and how to handle things with grace.

But if someone messes with his child? He will destroy them. Effortlessly.

Pros: Wise, calm, and genuinely wants the best for his child.

Cons: Might be a bit too hands-off sometimes.

Overall: The dad who gives solid advice and will make sure his child is respected.

Toji Fushiguro – The “Tough but Soft” Dad

Toji would be a dad who tries to act like he doesn’t care much, but deep down, he’s so soft when no one’s looking. He’d teach his kid how to defend themselves from a young age and make sure they know how to survive.

He’s rough around the edges, but he’d do anything to give his child a better life than he had. If his kid ever got bullied? That bully would mysteriously disappear (coincidence? I think not).

Pros: Teaches survival skills, fiercely protective, secretly affectionate.

Cons: Struggles with showing emotions, might be distant at times.

Overall: The "tough-love" dad who is actually a big softie.

Nanami Kento – The Reliable, Best-Dad Material

Nanami is the perfect balance. He’s the dad who provides everything his child needs—stability, warmth, and love, but also discipline when necessary. His kid will grow up knowing their worth because Nanami will always be there to remind them.

He’s the kind of dad who comes home tired from work but still helps with homework, reads bedtime stories, and makes pancakes on weekends. If his child cries? He’s holding them and reassuring them with that deep, soothing voice.

Pros: Responsible, loving, and will always put his child first.

Cons: Might worry too much about their future.

Overall: The ultimate “Dad of the Year” type.

[livixbobbiex]

Translating the Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney Fanbook! Article 1

So, I recently managed to buy one of the old fanbooks. This one is a compilation of magazine articles and blog posts written by Shu Takumi. It's also where a lot of the really iconic official promotional art pieces are from. I know that there are some translations out there of a few pages, but I don't think anyone has done the whole thing.

The pages are typically formatted with a written entry from Shu Takumi, followed by a dialogue between various characters. I will be posting the character dialogue first (even if not on the image page) as it's probably the most interesting. You can also access the full raw text and images here.

Dialogue on artwork

Phoenix: If you’re just hanging around, go home. 

Edgeworth: Hm, I’m thirsty. 

Phoenix: This isn’t a cafe. Maya, don’t serve him tea. 

Maya: Nick’s stinginess…

Dialogue page

In Wright and Co Law Offices: On the theme of ‘Summer’ 

We asked Mr Takumi about how things are going in the Wright and Co Law Offices recently! Are Phoenix and Maya still the same as ever…!?

Maya: Everyone, it’s been a while! I’m Maya Fey. 

Phoenix: Hello. I’m Phoenix Wright. 

Maya: We did it, Nick! We’re  finally making our magazine debut!  

Phoenix: We’ve got to get into the spirit of things here, don’t we. 

Maya: That’s right! Let’s get going! 

Phoenix: Should we start without delay? The theme is ‘Summer’. 

Maya: Summer, huh? Summer is… hot, isn’t it? Every day. 

Phoenix: You’re so normal all of a sudden. 

Maya: If you’re Japanese, it’s surely time for somen noodles and barley tea. 

Phoenix: They’re nice and refreshing. 

Maya: I made the mistake of dipping the noodles in barley tea and I was like ‘it’s flavourless!’. 

Phoenix: What's with that iffy failure story? 

Maya: Hey, hey. I wonder if Detective Gumshoe is also slurping up somen noodles today. 

Phoenix: I don’t think the season matters, in his case. 

Maya: The image of Detective Gumshoe and somen noodles has become completely stuck. 

Phoenix: That’s true for you too, Maya. With miso ramen, huh? 

Maya: I’m going for it this year. “Best Miso Ramenist.” 

Phoenix: A good idea? 

Maya: In any case, in the summer, light types of noodles are the best! 

Phoenix: …Speaking of which, what does Pearls like? In terms of noodle types. 

Maya: Ah, Pearl. She really loves soba. 

Phoenix: Oh. Good choice. Feels a lot like summer in Japan. 

Maya: Right, right. By the way, how about Prosecutor Edgeworth? 

Phoenix: Knowing him, he’d probably say something like spaghetti. 

Maya: Eh! That’s so normal. How boring. 

Phoenix: No, no. I don’t actually know much. It’s just my own image of him. 

Maya: In any case I would have thought that he’d like ‘kishimen noodles’ or something. 

Phoenix: Kishimen noodles…? 

Maya: Here. The flat noodle sticking out of his mouth would suit the frills he wears. 

Phoenix: ……I’ll recommend them to him next time. 

Maya: Well, well. What about you, Nick?

Phoenix: Me? What type of noodle do I like…

[TL note: this is hilarious because of the way everything is written. The line could literally read as ‘what kind of men do I like?’ and I’m not sure if intended].

Maya: You have one, don’t you?

Phoenix: I guess. Maybe vermicelli noodles. 

Maya: …What’s that? 

Phoenix: Ah. You don’t know?

Maya: I’ve never heard of it.

Phoenix: Baked vermicelli are delicious. The feeling of them sticking down my throat is indescribable. 

Maya: ‘Vermicelli’ doesn’t sound like the name of a noodle in the first place… 

Phoenix: It doesn’t matter, really. I like them. 

Maya: You know what? The image is important. The should call it something safe like “squid yakisoba”. 

Phoenix: …Why are you putting squid in it? 

Maya: If you attach it to an awkward image, you’ll have trouble like I did. 

Phoenix: Eh? But, you like it, don’t you? Miso ramen.

Maya: I like it a lot. This time of year too, I really want to eat chilled ramen. 

Phoenix: But you can still eat it. 

Maya: But, but. Won't everyone expect that of me? 

Phoenix: Expect it…? 

Maya: Like, “look over there. There’s Maya, with the same miso ramen as always.” 

Phoenix: …Haa. 

Maya: So then you’re slurping down ramen as a last resort. It’s really hot. 

Phoenix: That’s being excessively self conscious, Maya.

Shu Takumi article

Ace Attorney and Summer 

Takumi Shu (??): The director and screenwriter of ‘Ace Attorney’. Rumour has it he’s fueled by alcohol.

Nice to meet you. I’m Takumi Shu from the Ace Attorney team. I have responsibility for the planning, directing, and screenwriting for the three works in the series. On this occasion, I’m pleased I was able to greet everyone in this Dorimaga magazine. I hope that you will enjoy reading. 

Now, onto the theme of ‘Ace Attorney and Summer’. Thinking of summer… every year, it’s the busiest season. 

First… frantically writing proposals. 

Second… frantically scripting. 

Third… frantically making final adjustments. 

…These are my fundamental memories of summer. 

The series releases in October, which means that during this period each year, it’s our last scramble. By the way, the third game was released in January…. This is because that last scramble dragged on. 

In ‘Ace Attorney’, there’s actually only one story set in summer. ‘The First Turnabout' begins on the third of August. The details… aren’t particularly summery at all. There’s probably no themes like “the sea” or “bon festivals”.

It seems like we’re not very well versed with summer. I wonder why. Perhaps it’s because I have no air conditioner in my room, so I spend every day in a red-hot hell, cursing the world. If you fail to buy seasonal goods like that once, it’s hard to find the right time to get them. 

That’s about it for this volume. I would like a change from the feel official website column, at to make here more relaxed… or, rather, I think freer. Everyone, if you have any requests or questions, please send them to me here! 

Godot box 

Prosecutor Godot compilation: Showcase of various cut content. 

Here we showcase various cut content. First is Prosecutor Godot. Here are some rejected phrases extracted from my ‘punny lines notebook’, which I prepared when writing his hard-boiled lines. I hope you’ll read them out loud as you imagine the situation. (Takumi) 

….Trite. You look like… a begging monk too naive to steal a kiss from the courtroom goddess. 

A man’s worth is determined by the smile he shows in his last moments. …Look. The coffee… smiles bitterly… 

[highly-important]

Severance s2e5 thoughts

Poor Helly, dear god. You really feel the claustrophobia in this episode, how no one has time to process anything.

Part of Mark’s issue is compartmentalizing to avoid dealing with his problems. And how that he has this issue with Helly, he’s trying to heads/down focus on work instead of dealing with it.

The big slice out of Irving’s melon :(

Milkshake is such an interesting character, I really love him. I just really like competent people!! It drives me crazy how under appreciated his is.

The reveal that … he’s actually been trying to treat the innies like human beings, and that the rest of Lumon management thinks he’s being too nice to them? Kind of chilling tbh. The whole time we thought the little treats were tricks or traps and they were Millchick trying to be a nice boss.

Don’t get me wrong: “does she know you fucked her outie” is nasty work.

Plus the stuff with him and Natalie is so interesting. I’m white so I’m not going to pretend I’m the best person to talk about this.

So… I had this theory the other episode about Dylan. You know those type of men who feel like their masculinity is threatened unless they go on the hero’s journey? I know it’s Jordan Peterson nonsense, but I think that’s Dylan. His outie is depressed because he’s not on the hero’s journey. But his innie feels like a hero. He has purpose, he has friends he’s loyal to, he flipped the switches and fought Milchick. He still has that sense of adventure.

Maybe I am like way off base with this assessment of Dylan, but.. his dead mentor just left him a treasure map.

Is Irving’s outie … out??

Also, after a whole episode of loose ends and bad communication, it was really funny to me to see how direct Burt was, and how quick he put some pieces together. Also confirmation of why Burt was fired.

Ricken and Devon had their most normal interaction.

In general, between the funeral and the progress review, this show reminded me again why it’s such good satire of how horrendous corporate culture is. Dear god I never want to work at a huge company again.

[angelremnants]

First of all, I need to know what kinda dynamic MC is gonna have with the Starks… and maybe even Peter??? like the potential there is eating me alive actually🧍🏻‍♀️

There's just something about a hot man nursing his bruised knuckles that makes my brain short-circuit. like sir?? why do you look so good while looking a little wrecked??? we love a delulu and hot-headed Buckaroo in this house frfr

And listen. I know he’s a mafia boss in disguise but the fact that he’s also got that CEO summoning you to his office energy??? That is SO unfair. Like yes sir, I am scared, but also??? Kinda turned on??? But also 🤺🤺 back off sir, don’t approach the no-no square

Also the Gifted reference with Frank??? I SEE YOU. I see what you did there and I love it😩😩

But the way I let out the ugliest silent scream when she got those flowers.. Bucky, sweetheart, that is BEYOND the agressive flirting limit—this is straight up stalking creepiness™️. Daddy chill🙏🏼🙏🏼

Or maybe don’t actually. because I live for chaos and I’m so obsessed with this already, I physically need the next part andjdossijd

Dangerous Notes – Part 5

Title: Dangerous Notes – Part 5

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Singer!Female Reader

Fic Summary: Reluctantly agreeing to fill in for her sick friend at a prestigious jazz club, The Armoury, Reader finds herself thrust into a world of old- world glamour and unknown danger. The club’s enigmatic owner, Bucky Barnes, has set his sights on making her a permanent fixture on his stage- and in his life.

Chapter Summary:  Bucky gets answers from Nat and decides to speak directly to you. But life still goes on, and its Monday and you have teaching to do.

Word Count:  4.8k

Fic Warnings: // Explicit Content // Mature Themes.18+, Minors DNI,Dark Romance, Slow Burn, Possessive/Obsessive behaviour, Violence, Smut (eventually)  Chapter Warnings:  None…just people being jerks.. a little..

A/N: Updates Thursday bi Weekly 

Bucky flexed his bruised knuckles, his fingers curling into a loose fist before he pressed the ice pack back against them. The swelling was minor, but the ache throbbed, a dull reminder of the night before. The air in his office was thick with the scent of whiskey and leather, the dim morning light filtering through the blinds casting sharp shadows across the room. The rhythmic ticking of the antique clock on the wall only added to the heaviness of the silence.

His mind, however, wasn’t on the fight that had left his hands sore- it was on the lingering tension in his gut. The Stark situation wasn’t adding up. The timing of their movements. The pressure on his docks. And now, her. The moment his eyes had locked onto her on that stage, something in his chest had tightened. Suspicion? Interest? He wasn’t sure. She didn’t seem like a threat, yet there was something about her that gnawed at him, like a splinter in his hand. No more like a song stuck in his head.

Natasha strolled into his office without knocking, the quiet click of her heels on the polished wood floor the only sound before she tossed a slim file onto his desk.

“That was fast.” Bucky’s voice was low, rough from lack of sleep. He barely looked up, keeping the ice pressed against his knuckles.

“You’re welcome,” Natasha replied dryly, dropping into the seat across from him with effortless grace. “Nothing out of place. She’s a teacher. Lives alone. No criminal record. Mother passed away not long ago. She’s clean, Barnes. Just a friend of Kara’s, exactly like she says.”

Bucky thumbed through the file, no wonder it hadn’t taken Natasha long. Skimming over the details he already knew- until his gaze landed on the financials. Debt. Medical expenses. The reason she gave up singing. And, most interestingly, her school’s location.

“Queens,” he murmured, fingers tapping against the desk in a slow rhythm, his mind already working through possibilities.

Natasha arched a brow. “That’s what this is about? You think Stark’s got his hooks in some broke music teacher?” Her voice carried a healthy dose of scepticism. The woman had no connections, no history that tied her to anything remotely suspicious- not that Natasha had been able to find.

Bucky didn’t answer immediately. He flipped the file shut and leaned back in his chair, fingers tapping idly against the cover. “It’s just a feeling.”

Natasha’s lips curled into a smirk as she folded her arms. “Are you sure you know what that feeling that actually is?”

Bucky shot her a glare, but she only grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “Come on, Barnes. You’re acting like you’ve never been thrown off by someone before.”

He exhaled, rubbing a hand over his jaw, tension still pulling at his frame. “It’s not that,” he muttered. “Something’s off." He didn’t feel like this around people- especially not someone with a clean record and a boring day job.

Natasha let out a low chuckle. “Maybe your 'feeling'." She threw up air quotes. "Isn't what you think it is." 

Bucky didn’t answer, just shifted in his chair, his eyes dark with thought. Natasha tilted her head, observing him. “You joke now, but wait till this turns out to be something,” he murmured.

Natasha sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes as she moved toward the door. “Sure, Buck. Like I don’t have a nose for these things.”

She paused just before leaving, glancing back at him. “Maybe you’re not jumping at shadows. But maybe you just don’t like that she’s getting under your skin. We've got bigger things on the horizon than a stand in singer. Just remember that." 

With that, she strode out, leaving Bucky alone in the heavy silence of his office.

As soon as she was gone, he turned back to the file, flipping it open again. He scanned the details, his jaw tightening as he tried to pinpoint exactly what was making him feel this way. There was nothing- nothing concrete, at least. No reason for this level of scrutiny. But he knew better than to ignore his gut. She noticed too much, and she seemed to at home on his stage with* his* people. 

Bucky gut was telling him she was a problem. Wasn't it? He didn't like the way looking at her had him tided up in knots. How that damn voice of hers stayed in his head. Natasha was right, he had bigger things to worry about. He needed to sort this mess with her sooner rather then later. 

Bucky picked up the phone, dialling downstairs. The line rang twice before Yelena picked up.

“Make sure our new singer doesn’t leave tonight until I’ve spoken with her,” he ordered, his voice smooth but firm.

Yelena chuckled on the other end. “A little early to be obsessed, no?”

“Just do it.” He hung up before she could needle him further, he didn’t need it from both sisters.

The air in Bucky’s office was thick with something unspoken. The dim glow of the desk lamp cast elongated shadows across the room, adding an almost cinematic weight to the moment. You sat opposite him, feeling the weight of his gaze as he leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled in front of him like he was carefully piecing together an answer to a question he hadn't yet voiced.

You swallowed, shifting slightly under the intensity of his stare. The room felt too quiet, each tick of the antique clock on the wall stretching the moment further. You hadn’t seen him on the floor tonight- not like you had on Friday or Saturday. The absence had gnawed at you, making you wonder if he was disappointed, if he’d decided you weren’t worth his time. Or maybe that was just your nerves making too much of everything. Still, there was something in his posture, the way his shoulders were tenser, his jaw set harder, that made you feel like you’d been summoned to the principal’s office rather than a meeting with your temporary employer.

Yelena hadn’t given you much to go on before sending you up. Just a casual, "Boss wants a word." No explanation. No hint of what was coming next. That had done little to calm the unease already simmering in your gut.

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver, and you wondered if he was deliberately making you wait, testing how well you handled the silence. You sat up straighter, determined not to squirm under his scrutiny. Kara had stuck her neck out to bring you in. Yes, it was a favour, but if this went sideways, it wasn’t just your reputation on the line- it was hers, too.

“You like teaching?” His question was unexpected, his tone deceptively casual, but there was something else beneath it- something weighted. His gaze, piercing and unreadable, bore into you, making your pulse spike.

You hesitated, fingers curling slightly against the armrests of the chair. The room felt smaller under the intensity of his scrutiny. “It’s an income,” you answered carefully, shifting in your seat as the leather creaked beneath you. “And I like my students.”

Bucky tilted his head just slightly, as if considering your words too carefully. “Why North Queens Community High?”

Your stomach twisted into a knot. The question felt off, too precise. You swallowed, struggling to ignore the way the silence pressed down on you. “They were the first to hire me.” Your voice was steady, but you could hear the slight edge creeping in. Then, narrowing your eyes, you asked, “How do you know that?”

Bucky didn’t answer immediately, but his expression didn’t shift either. It was an expression you’d seen before in people who held power, people who knew more than they should and weren’t about to explain why.

Bucky ignored the question. "Anyone ever ask you for a favor?"

You blinked, caught off guard. The shift in the conversation was so sudden, so unexpected, that it took a moment for you to find your words. "A favor? Like a parent asking me to change a grade?"

His gaze sharpened, the intensity behind his eyes sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. "Something like that."

Your fingers gripped the armrest of the chair, knuckles paling as you tried to steady yourself. He was studying you too closely, watching for every flinch, every micro- expression, as if he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it. There was something else in his eyes too- something calculating, dangerous, like he was playing a game you didn’t know the rules to.

You exhaled, your frustration rising to the surface. "No," you said, more firmly this time. "I don’t.. I'm not... I do my job. That’s it."

Bucky’s lips twitched, a flicker of something between amusement and scepticism flashing across his face before he leaned back, drumming his fingers lightly against the desk.

“Teaching doesn’t pay well.” He tilted his head slightly, studying your reaction. “Can't tell me you wouldn't be tempted."  Maybe to him it was, you bet he bribed people all the time.  Your spine straightened at the implication. “No.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly, something unreadable flickering behind his expression.

“Do you look into all your fill- ins this hard?” Your tone showed your annoyance and you wanted to take it back. 

“It’s my business to know.” His voice was smooth, controlled, but beneath it, there was something sharper. Something that made your stomach twist. “Can’t have a fox in the henhouse.”

You huffed, trying to suppress the irritation rising in your chest. Your patience was wearing thin, but you knew better than to overstep. Kara had stuck her neck out for you. Yes, she’d asked you for a favor, but if this went wrong, she’d be the one paying for it in the long run. Still, you couldn't ignore the way Bucky was watching you- like he was testing you, waiting to see if you’d break.

“Do I look like a fox to you?" His finger tapped the arm of his chair, a smug eyebrow raised at your question. "I’m just a teacher,” you shot back, your voice tight. “I’m helping out a friend. If you have such a problem with me, then tell me not to come back and put someone else on.”

Bucky nodded slightly, his smirk shifting into something slower, more deliberate, as if he were weighing your words. His sharp blue eyes flickered with something unreadable- enjoyment, challenge, intrigue. He drummed his fingers lazily against the desk, the sound deliberate, slow, like a ticking clock counting down to something you couldn’t quite place.

Then, in one smooth motion, he rose to his feet. The movement was unhurried, calculated, as he stepped around the desk, his presence swallowing the space between you. He leaned against the front of his desk, arms crossed over his broad chest, the tailored fabric of his suit shifting with the motion. His posture was deceptively relaxed, but you weren’t fooled- there was a weight to his stance, a tension that hummed beneath the surface like a coiled spring, ready to snap.

“Not very loyal to Kara, are you?”

Your stomach tightened, heat creeping up your neck. “Excuse me?” The words left your lips before you could stop them, sharper than you intended. Who the hell was he to question that? You were here because of loyalty. You swallowed, forcing yourself to maintain eye contact, even as your pulse thrummed against your ribs.

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you with a look that sent something uneasy curling in your stomach. “Seem awfully keen for me to tell you not to come back,” he mused, his voice calm, but there was an edge beneath it, something teasing and perceptive. “Practically begging me to run you off.”

Your jaw clenched as you forced yourself to breathe evenly, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much that jab had gotten under your skin. “It’s not running when you’re being pushed.”

Silence stretched between you, taut and electric. Bucky’s smirk deepened, with the same measured ease, he leaned forward just slightly, closing the space between you even further.

“You don’t strike me as someone who run off when pushed.” He said, voice dropping lower, quieter, as if sharing something meant just for you. A challenge woven into the words, laced with curiosity. His fingers tapped against the edge of the desk again, slow and deliberate.

It felt like standing on a knife’s edge, the tension so taut you weren’t sure which way it would snap. Bucky’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his gaze darkened, like he was cataloguing everything about you, filing it away for later.

His eyes flicked to the file on his desk behind him. “Let’s see how long that spine lasts."

Your breath hitched, and you hated that he noticed. His lips quirked, just the faintest trace of a smirk, as if he enjoyed the way his words unsettled you. "We’ll see you Tuesday. We’re not open tomorrow.”

You lifted your chin, refusing to let him see you waver. Finally, after a beat too long, you stood, your heart pounding. You weren’t sure if it was from anger or something else entirely.

“Fine. Tuesday." 

As you turned to leave, you could feel his gaze still on you, lingering, pressing into your back like a weight you couldn’t shake.

Dragging yourself out of bed felt like a battle. The weight of the weekend still clung to your limbs, a dull, residual exhaustion making even the simplest tasks feel overwhelming. You rubbed your eyes, staring at your phone on the nightstand. Five missed alarms. A deep sigh left your lips as you swung your legs over the bed, feeling the protest of muscles still sore from late nights at the club.

Brooklyn was already alive outside your window, the hum of traffic and distant honking filtering through the thin walls. You made your way into the kitchen, the tiles cold against your feet as you fumbled with the kettle. Instant coffee again. You grimaced, scooping the powder into a mug as you scrolled through your messages. A part of you still wasn’t sure how you were supposed to juggle two lives, even for a week. Teaching during the day, performing at night- it was already pulling at the seams of your routine, stretching you thinner than you liked.

By the time you made it to school, the fluorescent hallway lights felt like daggers. You clutched your travel mug, already half- empty, as students brushed past in hurried chaos. Their voices were louder than usual, or maybe you were just too tired. Even the students seemed to notice your weariness, their glances lingering a little too long, testing limits they wouldn’t usually dare.

“Miss, can we move the assignment due date?” one asked, feigning innocence.

You exhaled slowly, leveling them with a look. “Nice try.”

A chorus of groans followed as they shuffled to their seats.

By lunchtime, you collapsed into the staff lounge chair, letting out a quiet sigh as you took a long sip of the terrible instant coffee. The bitterness did little to shake the exhaustion clinging to you, but it was better than nothing. Your calves throbbed, the dull ache spreading up to your knees as you shifted, reaching down to rub at them absently. You weren’t used to spending hours of your nights in high heels anymore. Maybe at one time, but not now- not with your days spent on your feet teaching, only to spend your nights standing under the stage lights. You’d have to get used to it again. At least you hadn’t gotten blisters this time. Small victories.

Maybe tomorrow you'd wear sneakers to work, see if anyone really noticed. Not that you had the energy to care.

"Hey." Frank Adler dropped into the seat across from you, unwrapping his sandwich with practiced ease. He placed a small stack of math papers beside his lunch, the red pen already tucked between his fingers, ready to mark between bites.

“You look like hell,” he commented, barely glancing up as he took a bite of his sandwich.

You let out a small, humorless laugh, shifting again to ease the tightness in your legs. “Thanks, Frank. Always a charmer.”

“Just calling it like I see it.” He smirked, taking another bite before nodding toward your untouched food. “You planning on eating that, or is it just for show?”

You glanced down at your lunch, realizing you’d barely touched it. Your appetite wasn’t quite there, but you picked up your fork anyway, stabbing at the food as if to prove a point. “Yeah, yeah. I’m eating.”

Frank hummed, unconvinced. “Rough weekend?”

You hesitated, fingers tightening around the mug. Your own food still sat mostly untouched. “No, just Mondays in the public school system.” It wasn’t technically a lie.

Frank tilted his head slightly, studying you with the same quiet scrutiny that made him such a good teacher. “You just look like you didn’t sleep much.”

Of course, Frank noticed. Frank always seemed to notice when you were off. He was that kind of friend. He’d been able to tell, without you saying a word, when your mother had taken her last turn for the worse. Just by the look on your face.

You forced a smile, waving a hand dismissively. “Didn’t really do much. Just stayed home, worked on some new arrangements. Class outlines.” The lie came easily enough, but the slight rise in your voice betrayed you.

Frank hummed again, still not buying it, but didn’t push. Instead, you switched gears. “How’s Mary?” latching onto the safest topic you could think of.

Frank’s face softened slightly, his shoulders relaxing. “Enjoying MIT,” he said, running a hand through his hair dirty blonde hair. “We had our phone call on Saturday. She’s doing fine. Loving it.”

“Bet you miss her.” You finally took a bite of your lunch, chewing slowly as he spoke.

“Course I do,” Frank admitted with a small smile. “But I’m just glad she’s getting the experience. College, independence, all of it.”

You admired his attitude. The way he had raised his niece, the way he had done everything to make sure she had the future she deserved, no matter the sacrifices. You understood that kind of love, that kind of need to protect something innocent.

“Must be weird having all that free time again now that she’s gone,” you mused, nudging his foot lightly under the table. “You doing okay with that?”

Frank let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. It was going to happen eventually.”

You both sat in comfortable silence for a little while before Frank’s brow furrowed, like he was debating something. “Hey, did you- ”

He was cut off as the front office staff entered, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. The room quieted slightly, the sight unexpected. It wasn’t every day something like that happened. Your stomach dropped the moment they approached your table.

“These are for you,” she said, setting them down in front of you with a wink.

Your pulse spiked as you swallowed hard. The neatly folded card nestled between the stems read: See you Tuesday. B.B.

Frank raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s the real reason you’re tired?”

You forced yourself to keep your face neutral, but you knew you’d been caught in your lie. “Just a gig.”

“Gig?” He leaned back, studying you more closely. “Didn’t know you were performing again.”

You attempted a smile, but it felt tight. “Just helping out a friend.”

Frank let it go, returning to his grading, but the tension in the air remained, thick and unspoken. The bell rang shortly after, signaling the end of lunch. You grabbed the flowers "I'll see you tomorrow Frank." He just nodded before you left. You ignored the looks from a few lingering staff members as you carried them back to your classroom.

One thought looped in your mind as you walked: You don’t strike me as someone who runs when pushed. 

You walked through the door, kicking it shut with your foot as you adjusted the heavy grocery bags in your arms. The weight pulled at your muscles, and a dull ache settled between your shoulders, exhaustion creeping into your bones. You let out a slow breath, setting the bags onto the counter with a quiet thud. Your handbag, heavier than usual from a day of running errands, slipped from your shoulder and slumped against one of the chairs. You rolled your shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness before reaching for the small stack of mail you had grabbed on your way in.

Bills. Grocery flyers. Another pre- approved credit offer you knew better than to entertain. You flipped through them absently, the paper rough against your fingers, before setting them aside with little more than a sigh. It was already late, but you needed to meal prep. With everything you had a head this week between school and the Armory you'd want premade meal. Last thing you could afford right now was having to buy your lunch. 

The neon glow of a streetlamp bled through the blinds. The fluorescent light above the sink flickered as you began unpacking the groceries, casting a dim, uneven glow over the counter. You pulled out a pack of ground beef, a bag of rice, and some canned beans, canned corn debating if you had the energy to meal prep. "Have you, can’t waste what you bought..”  You mumbled voice tired, at least burrito bowls were-  cheap, easy, and could stretch through the week. Something you were very used too. 

As you reached for the next item, your gaze landed on the bouquet sitting on the counter, its petals still fresh but out of place among the clutter of everyday necessities. You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly on the plastic bag in your grip. The flowers weren’t something you’d ever expect to see in your apartment, and yet here they were, a quiet reminder of something you weren’t sure how to feel about. A gesture, or a warning?

You exhaled, setting the bag down beside the vase and brushing a fingertip along the edge of one of the petals. The note had been simple, but its meaning still felt like a puzzle you hadn’t figured out yet. Was it acknowledgment? Approval? Apology? A way to make sure you understood just who he was, that he knew where you worked?

Shaking off the thought, you turned back to the groceries, pushing the unease aside. The meal prep still had to get done. The flowers, for now, would stay where they were.

Your fingers hovered over a slightly bruised bell pepper before setting it aside with the others. It wasn’t perfect, but it was good enough. The cheese, though- that had been a splurge, one you had justified at the time, but now it felt like a luxury you maybe shouldn’t have allowed. Even as you tucked it into the fridge, a quiet sigh slipped past your lips.

You rubbed at your temples, staring at the half- unpacked groceries. There was still more to do. Always more to do.

You put your phone out you started getting everything chopped, and laid out, looking at the clock. You couldn't postpone you check in with Kara any longer. You owed her that much. Taking a breath, you tapped her name and lifted the phone to your ear, waiting.

It rang. Once. Twice. Five times.

Then nothing.

Your stomach twisted. Kara always answered, even if she couldn’t talk. A simple ‘can’t chat, later?’ at the very least.

You set the phone down, chewing on the inside of your cheek again. Maybe she was sleeping, or maybe you were reading too much into it. Still, unease settled in your gut as you turned back to cooking. 

As you pulled vegetables from the bag, the weight of your financial reality settled over you like an old, familiar blanket. You had gotten used to pinching every penny, carefully budgeting out meals and making sure every dollar was stretched as far as possible. Even now, you hesitated before placing a pack of shredded cheese in the fridge, wondering if it had been a splurge you shouldn’t have allowed.

Thankfully your little pity party was cut short by the ding of your phone. 

'Can’t talk. Voice is shot.'

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your throat instinctively, a flicker of sympathy tightening your chest. You knew what it felt like to lose your voice, the frustration of needing rest but still wanting to push through. You could almost feel the phantom soreness, the strain of too many late nights singing without proper recovery.

'Just checking in. Wanted to know how you are, and to let you know the sets went well- just like you said..'

'Told you! Everyone being nice?'

'Yeah. Pietro said I could add to the set- if that’s okay?' 

'YES! Just send me anything new I love your arrangements, they're always so cool.' Kara words made your tummy feel warm. She was such a hype girl, your couldn't help smiling as you put rice into the cooker and turned on the stove. 'Make it yours! Just don’t steal my job LOL.' 

Your eyes flickered back to the bouquet on the counter. The scent of them was faint but persistent, weaving through the smell of cooking beef. The sight of them still unsettled you, a reminder of a moment you couldn’t quite place into the right category- gesture, warning, or something else entirely. You hesitated before adding, 'Bucky sent flowers.'

Kara’s response was quick. 'Good sign.'

You scoffed, stirring the beef with the edge of your wooden spoon, adding seasoning with a slightly heavier hand than necessary. 'Not sure about that.' Your grip on the spoon tightened as the unease in your chest curled into something sharper, something resentful.

You leaned against the counter, staring at the flowers like they might suddenly explain themselves. You wanted to tell Kara everything- the interrogation, no, the 'discussion' Bucky had cornered you into the night before. The way he had leaned back in his chair, looking so at ease while prying into your life, asking questions that felt invasive, inappropriate, unnecessary. How he knew where you worked. How he made you feel small, like your morals were something to be measured, judged. But then he sent flowers?

It didn't make sense. It was almost insulting. The contrast of it was what unsettled you the most- how someone could be so cold, so demanding, and then follow it up with something so... delicate. If it had been a veiled warning, it would have been easier to stomach. But a gift? A sign of approval? It felt more like a taunt. And yet, Yelena hadn’t even flinched when she told you Barnes wanted to see you. Hadn’t reacted at all, like this was just another night, another inevitable meeting. Was this just typical of him? Was this what Kara had been dealing with this whole time?

You exhaled sharply, turning the heat down on the stove. Maybe Kara was right. Maybe you were reading too much into it. But honestly, you felt like you weren’t reading enough. Like there was an entire chapter missing in a book you hadn’t been given access to. Your brain was too tired for this, too tangled between paranoia and exhaustion to make sense of any of it. And it was only Monday.

'Do you think you’ll be better by Thursday?'

'Seeing a doctor tomorrow. Maybe?'

Your stomach twisted. You had only agreed to a week. But it was Kara. And you’d promised. Bucky’s words echoed in your head: You don’t strike me as someone who runs when pushed.

'If I need you to cover for longer, you're going to right?'

You sighed, staring at the bills on the counter- ones that sat right next to those damn flowers. It wasn’t like you could say no. That wasn’t who you were. You were the reliably friend who showed up, the one who didn’t flinch under pressure. Kara needed you, just like your mother had.

Even if your stomach churned at the thought of more nights at The Armory, of being on stage with Bucky Barnes’ sharp gaze pinning you in place. His scrutiny, the way he had spoken to your like you was a problem to solve, a variable in an equation he was working out in real- time.

Your fingers drummed against the counter,  thoughts racing. This wasn’t just about a job. It was about loyalty, about trust- about Kara having a job to come back to. And if that meant keeping Barnes happy, well you'd grit your teeth and handle it. Like she always did.

'Totally. I got you.'

If you just avoided being alone with Barnes again, you’d be fine. You were always fine. 

[daisydogboy]

i hate how the one time i’m not paying attention to wtf my face is doing i end up making the wrong expression and now everyone thinks i’m upset

[turtleblogatlast]

I still think about how Leo’s ideal day out for the fam’s venture into the Hidden City was basically just an effort to get some rest and relaxation because boy does he never get that ever.

[vic-does-battlecats]

Minor spoilers for the already revealed chapters of the next A Starless Clan book Wind

[solongsuzy]

My latest obsession, Cubfan135 😍 I tried making a version of him covered in fireworks but idk if I like it or not…

[humiliationsheets]

hell is being hyperfixated on the teenage girl that your entire fandom absolutely despises

[boag]

I’m so glad we moved where we did omg…. We lived in this neighborhood before when we first moved to Philly but like on the other side which is technically a ~better~ area but we got in touch with these landlords through one of my mom’s best friends Shawn who lives across the street and knows the owners and was like “yo they are cool as hell and are planning on moving out you guys should rent from them” . And we’ve been going over Shawn’s house and hanging out with him and his friends for over a year now bc they’re all just great, genuine, fun ass people so we’ve gotten to know a lot of them. And now we live on their block and it’s the best vibes ever and we always know we’re surrounded by a whole group of SUPER cool/trustworthy people and we’re so often just outside at night hanging out on each other’s front stoops having some drinks and smoking some and having the best conversations and I just love it sm . I’m so done with the messy toxic drugged up bullshit of my past so it’s really awesome to have people around who are just kind and honest and have their shit together but can still have fun like it’s just an amazing group of people to be a part of

[gumy-shark]

just had a hard conversation with my grandma about trans people and my support for them and walked away crying. but in like a good way. at least for me

[hana-bobo-finch]

erm…..posting about an OC via a rushed shitpost was not on my 2025 bingo card!! 😂😂😂😂😂😂get it??? 😂😂😂because his name is bingo??(GETS SHOT)

these are all things he has done or has attempted to do so consider this the full intro post for that freak for now. he’s still too undercooked to fully introduce but damn I love him