#and they're the real slow burn of the story

[thewinter-eden]

Blood Sugar Virus (34)

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Genre: Horror, zombies, strangers to lovers, angst, suspense, slow burn Pairing: Kang Yeosang x female!reader Warnings: based on the Wanteez Zombie episode, zombies, language, discussion of parasites, gore, angst, heavy topics, suggestive content

Story Summary: You (stage name Sugar) are the co-captain of a horror acting group. You and your guys are the ones the companies hire when they want to stage a zombie, ghost, or any vaguely horrific and dystopian episode. So when you get hired by Ateez to develop a zombie program, it's just another routine that you've done a million times. Everything's going exactly according to script--until suddenly it isn't, and it starts getting a little too real.

🏆 Esteemed Moot: @ramadiiiisme

⭐️ Reader Spotlight: @mrsminseochoi

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There are still enough zombies in the hallway to make the task ahead of you seem impossible.

The only reason you don't listen to the voice inside you that screams at you to duck back into the classroom and hide, is that they're all dormant, faces drooping low over their chests, shoulders hunched like it's too much effort to hold themselves upright.

Wooyoung sneaks out beside you, angling himself so that his broken table shield is on the outside, keeping himself between you and the zombies, so you can hug the wall.

You wait long enough to see Yunho, and then Yeosang, step out into the hall after you, and then you fix your gaze ahead. There's only one room between you and the one you left Jimin and Jongho in, and there's a small cluster of unmoving zombies between you and the rear entrance.

After your team advances a few feet without attracting any unwanted attention, you start to feel better about your plan. At this point, by your judgement, you're not planning on dealing with the cameras down the south hall, at least not unless Namjoon thinks you should, just to further throw off the military's observation of you.

The entrance to the stairs leading to the basement is in the stairwell where your earlier group had gotten trapped, at the end of the main hall you're currently tip-toeing down. Maybe it would be ideal to take out every camera in the building, just to spread as much darkness as possible, but you're not sure you have enough time.

Seeing how quickly the parasites had grown inside the people who had been implanted, you can only guess that you're already on borrowed time before the remaining parasites are grown to enough maturity to vacate their hosts and start looking for new, suitable environments to lay their own eggs.

i.e., you and the rest of your surviving group.

You're so close to the first cluster of creatures now that you can smell the sweat on their skin and real blood in their clothes. The lack of the sweet, corn syrupy smell tells you that none of the zombies you're creeping up on are members of your acting team.

The realization relieves you probably more than it should.

It's not like they're any less dangerous, or any less likely to try to tear you to shreds and eat you to feed the parasites controlling them. It's not like they'll be more friendly to you than the strangers that the military trucked in from whatever secret base where they had started this hellish experiment.

You're watching Wooyoung as you sneak around behind the first creature. It occurs to you only now that the piece of furniture he's holding might make it difficult for him to squeeze through without bumping anybody.

And what if their sense of smell is still intact? Had you been this close to any of them before? Could they smell the difference between your uneaten bodies and themselves?

You can't remember if you've noticed any recognition of their olfactory senses.

But Wooyoung presses the shield close to himself and slips through the narrow space without difficulty.

You're standing right up against a cluster of four of them now.

They huff and rasp, like they're mechanically forcing oxygen into their lungs, and shuffle their feet like they have to maintain some kind of movement to keep themselves standing.

You're in the clear in the next few steps, slipping quietly into the next classroom.

One by one, the members of your team follow you inside. The cameras are in both hall-side corners, and you stand back so Yunho can head for the closest one. You feel a nudge at your side, and find Yeosang gesturing questioningly at the doors, wordlessly asking if you should try to close them.

You shake your head. Troubling yourselves unnecessarily with the doors will only risk more time and more noise. But with that judgement call, you have to make sure Yunho isn't going to start swinging on the equipment with the axe and creating an explosion of sound that you're not prepared to defend yourself from.

Hurrying to the corner where he's crawling up on a desk to be able to reach the first device, you stretch your arm up to the only part of him you can reach, and place your hand on his leg.

He finches, twisting to stare down at you through wide eyes. When he sees that it's just you, he lets out a shallow breath.

You gesture to the axe in his hands and shake your head, hoping he understands your poor attempt to communicate. He appears somewhat confused, but as you pursue a laughable series of charades, gesturing at the open doors and then to the cameras, and then mimicking the way you had simply flipped the other camera up to face the ceiling, he shoots you a thumbs up and clamps the axe uselessly under one arm.

Satisfied that he's miraculously received your confusing message, you turn away from him and scan the room nervously.

The four of you are alone for the moment, but you know there’s always a danger of the zombies just happening to wander in at any second.

Wooyoung is posted in one open doorway, Yeosang in the other.

Yunho turns the camera towards the ceiling and then clambers down from the desk to get to the other one.

Since Yeosang is in the front of the room, where you'll take your exit when you're ready to move on, you go to stand next to him. You're regretting keeping your heavy duffel bag slung across your back, because every time you take a step that's not quite cautious enough, you hear the water bottles sloshing around inside.

He looks up as you approach, eyes falling to the hitch in your step that you haven't even noticed.

With his gaze fixed firmly on the bloody patch at your hip, he mouths the words ‘are you okay?’

You nod, settling your weight on your good leg. In truth, the bite at your hip hurts worse than any of the others, and you've been trying not to think about it. Even now, you're trying not to think about the way you can feel the taped edges of the bandage that he'd placed gritting painfully in the raw area of flesh as you move.

Reminding yourself that the pain won't last, that soon enough you'll feel the last of it, you meet his concerned eyes with a pensive stare of your own. You don't really know what's happening between you, or what you're feeling about it. When your mind goes back to the moment in the hallway, replaying the instant that he kissed you unexpectedly, your stomach flutters pitifully.

And all the moments that followed, from him resolutely holding your hand even as the others teased him, to the humorous attempt to ask you out for coffee, all twist your thoughts and feelings confusingly with the sense that something has been settled between you. You can't escape the feeling that something had been established in that short kiss, in the few words spoken between you since it happened.

How had you gone from being the butt of Ateez' jokes about you and Yeosang, to actually watching it come to fruition in some small capacity before your eyes?

Had it always been there, the way they seemed to have spotted it from the beginning?

You had been curious about him from the moment you met him, of course, falling immediately victim to the renowned charisma and fan service that they had all presented themselves with, but you had been training yourself for so long to refrain from any involvement or engagement with clients that you hadn't even acknowledged your attraction to him. In fact, you distinctly remember channeling your impressed surprise at his personality and presence into a clinical analysis of what he might potentially bring to your program experience.

Had your gravitation towards him even back then been a masked sort of interest that you had conditioned yourself to ignore?

From what you remember before the utter demolition of planned events this evening, your earliest connection with him had been when he'd saved you from a fake zombie after Jongho unwittingly sacrificed you, and then proceeded to keep you close to him, going so far as to prevent you from alerting Hobi to your presence once you'd realized something was wrong.

Had he been curious about you even back then?

Had your delight over his intense immersion and commitment to your story been more than professional satisfaction?

Your mind is scrambling for context, desperately trying to search through your interactions for signs that this new dynamic was coming.

Despite your poor attempts at denial, you had noticed your disciplined detachment slipping more and more around him. You remember the stirring in your chest when you first noticed his soft lisp, the heat in your cheeks when you found yourself looking at him for a second too long, the complete abandonment of your emotional barriers during the lockdown, and the utter upheaval of all rational trains of thought as soon as he took your hands and gently scrubbed the blood off them.

Yeosang is still watching you between dutiful glances out into the hallway, waiting for you to explain why you've been staring at him with such a lost look on your face.

You realize that what you're feeling is fear.

Fear that it's not real.

That it's something you actually want.

That it will destroy you.

That you'll alienate him.

That it will end.

Yunho finishes with the cameras and comes to stand near you, nudging your arm to alert you of his proximity. You startle out of your thoughts, glancing over your shoulder at Wooyoung and gesturing him closer when you catch his eye.

With your team ready to go, you have only to resume your earlier positions and move on to the next room. You step up to the doorway where Yeosang is standing, and as he shuffles backwards to allow you and Wooyoung to take your places in the lead, you're studying him.

The expression on his face, pinched with focus, the posture of his body language when he immediately steps aside to let you take the lead, the path of his eyes from the impending hallway, down to the floor to check his footing, back up to you to wait for instructions or a signal.

He, much like most of them, had accepted your role of leadership from the beginning, despite the fact that you're drastically out of your depth and making things up as you go.

He trusts you.

It feels like it should be a heavier burden than it is, but you don't agonize over his faith in you the way you do with the others.

When you realize why, that it's because you trust him in equal measure, emboldened by the way he tells you when he has other ideas that contend with yours, and the way he's taken over control of situations that you can't find the capacity to get on top of, a weight comes off your shoulders.

You're not in this alone.

It's not all on you.

You have room to fail now.

It's a realization that terrifies you and comforts you all in the same breath.

Tackling the rest of the classrooms in the long hallway happens with almost flawless coordination. You and Wooyoung leading the way, choosing the safest routes between zombies that remain dormant, Yunho slipping around you as you reach each room and turning all the cameras, even the ones in the hallway, to face the ceiling.

Yeosang is your faithful guard at the rear, halting your progress every time he spots a creature turning listlessly to face you, never allowing your group to accidentally trip their tenuous capacity to track you visually. Within only a few minutes, your team slips into the stairwell and turns all of the devices in the narrow corridor.

Before you know it, the job is done, and the zombies are still unaware that you've been among them.

In the echoing chamber where Yunho concluded the last of your assignment, you lower your voice and turn to them.

“You guys go back from here. Make your way to my classroom, stay quiet, stay with Jongho and Jimin until we get back to you. No matter what happens, stay in that room. We need to know that you're there. We'll send the team from 2 to you.”

If everything goes as planned, though it rarely has tonight, you'll all be back in the same room together in a matter of minutes.

Wooyoung and Yunho accept your instructions without question, both heading for the stairwell exit.

“We set up the furniture as a sort of shield in case the military starts shooting.” Yeosang tells them. “Stay behind it, and stay low.”

Before they can take their leave, you stop them. They wait as you drop your towel and pull your bag around to retrieve three bottles of water. There's only one left.

“Make sure Jimin drinks one of these. We'll try to find more upstairs to bring back.”

You help Wooyoung hold his table so he can tuck the bottles securely into his waistband. When he's finished, you give them both your best smile. “We'll see you soon.”

Yunho lowers the axe to his side and drags you into a hug that you're not expecting.

“Be careful.” He whispers. “We're all getting kind of attached to you.”

Your heart is warm as he lets you go and grips Yeosang's arm, and you can see the fear written deeply in the contours of his face. “You guys have to be careful.”

“Yeah, both of you,” Wooyoung adds, frowning at you.

“No prioritizing anybody over anybody else.”

When Yunho's words reach you, you vaguely remember them as the ones you told him in anger hours ago.

“We'll be back soon,” You promise him.

You and Yeosang stand in the doorway and watch them sneak back down the hall, successfully skirting the meandering clusters of zombies and finally letting themselves into the classroom where you'd left the others. When you're certain they're safe, you step back into the stairwell with Yeosang and softly guide the latch into place.

Now it's just the two of you again.

You should have taken the axe from Yunho, and the shield from Wooyoung.

But you'll be with the second team soon enough, and they have their own axe.

You'll be fine. You just have to go up the stairs, which is already clear of zombies anyway, and however far down the hall that San and Mingi had made it.

You should be fine.

Turning on your heel to begin your ascent up the stairs, you're stopped by Yeosang's presence suddenly in front of you. He's slung his towel over his shoulder, watching you with empty hands.

“Do you need water?” You ask, reaching back for your bag again to get him the last bottle.

He shakes his head. “No, save it for later.” For a second he just stands there, thoughtful, tilting his head at you.

Unsure of what he's thinking, you blink back, shuffling your weight off your bad hip. It's your turn to be trapped in his gaze, confused by the indecipherable emotions passing behind his eyes.

“Are you ready to go?” You ask. “I don't know what kind of timeframe we're working with.”

His hand finds your arm before you can slip around him. He's still giving you that concerned look, head cocked to the side in away that makes you think of Rose back in the office, securely wrapped in Mingi's arms.

Is this how she had felt?

Yeosang's hand is hot on your arm, his expression just as warm. “If you want to rest for a minute, we can.”

Startled, you can't stop the confused frown that forms automatically. “We haven't been running.”

“We might have to soon. It's okay to take a minute.” His brow furrows slightly. “Your hip is bothering you.”

It is, but not enough to stop you from going upstairs and making sure the rest of your people are okay. “Yeah, but I'm good to go. Do you need to rest?”

You're anxious to put your eyes on your friends and see for yourself that they weren't caught in the rampages, but you won't take this moment of respite away from him if he needs it.

Yeosang's lips curl in a soft smile. “No, I'm okay.”

This time he lets you move around him towards the steps. “I just need to know they're okay. I'm sorry if this is too much.” You feel bad about dragging him away from the safety of the room with the others. “If you'd like to go with them, I can carry on from here.”

He just mounts the stairs with you, this time unbothered by your offer to release him from his foolish promise. “I know.”

The response surprises you, but you don't slow your climb. “I'll make sure they get back down safely.”

“I know.” He says again.

But he's still following you.

“Yeosang,” you take a breath, trying to sort through the maelstrom of messy thoughts that have you feeling frustrated again. “I don't know what I did or said to make you think I expect you to follow me, or feel responsible for me. If it’s some of that shit that Jimin said to you, I want you to know that you can ignore him. He's pissed that he's out of commission. If he could, he'd be the one refusing to let me out of his sight, and since he can't—”

You break off when you realize he hasn't said anything.

He's watching the steps as he climbs, listening to you.

You almost feel bad, because you know you sound like you're discounting your intimate moment in the hallway, and all the moments leading up to and following it, but you're not.

You just want him to know that you don't expect him to be glued to your side just because you shared an adrenalized kiss. You don't expect anything from him, especially since there's now a very large part of you wanting him to stay next to you. You have to be sensitive to the fact that you're now allowing your emotions to get involved, and you have no intention of letting them cloud your judgement and potentially get him killed just because you like having him at your side.

“You didn't make me feel like I have to do anything.” He says quietly.

“I don't understand,” you whisper back. You don't understand why he's installed himself next to you, of all people, during this horrible night. He came here with his brothers, shouldn’t he be with them, focusing on their companionship and survival instead of out here with you?

It doesn't make any sense.

“What don't you understand?”

You're on the second floor landing now, mere feet away from the door, but you can't move. Not yet. You turn back to him. “I don't understand what I did.” You're explaining yourself badly, but you don't know how to tell him what you're thinking. “I don't know why you don't want to go back to the classroom.”

That's not at all the root of your confusion, but you can't spell out every pathetic question tumbling through your mind right now. To your relief, he seems to understand enough not to ask.

For a minute he just stands there, thinking. It's a long enough pause to make you shift your weight from side to side, wondering why you chose now to have this conversation.

Finally, he takes a breath and lets it out slowly. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

The words hit you with some finality, like he's answering all of your questions in the simplest way possible. But you've heard that before, from less than sincere concerned parties, so you square your shoulders and pluck at the damp sections of your sweater that are sticking uncomfortably to your skin. “But I can do it alone.” You reassure him honestly. “I can handle it. I’m okay with being the one to look out for people. It’s what I'm good at.”

He nods agreeably. “You are good at it. That doesn’t mean you have to do it alone.”

You appreciate his concern, but the sentiment means little to you. “If I'm the one out here doing the work, then I don't have to worry about you guys once I've seen that you're safe.”

“You'll worry anyway"

You shrug, because he's right.

“They're okay with you being the one to handle it alone? Your team? When you take on all the details that no one else handles?” his head cocks curiously at you again, and you have to look away, pretending you're listening to the hall beyond the door.

“They don't know about most of it.” You admit, but you don't know why you're telling him this.

"And you're okay with that?" Yeosang asks you, watching the way your face blanks out when you nod.

"It's easier that way.” You say truthfully. “It allows me to do more for them without them trying to stop me.” You find his gaze again, nervously bringing your conversation back on topic. “So you don't have to come with me. I can do this on my own.”

“I don't want you to." He returns easily.

You want to feel touched by his words, and it annoys you that you're feeling too much frustration to appreciate what he's telling you. You huff and reach for the door. “You really enjoy making my life more difficult, don't you?”

He just grins at you, hiding a small laugh behind his hand. “I actually was thinking we made a pretty good team."

Flushed with embarrassment, because you'd also come to value and trust in what he contributes to your efforts, you give him your back and clear your throat. “Yeah, we make a pretty good team."

Your name reaches your ears, deep in his throat, and your hand pauses in reaching for the door. You're kicking yourself for the power he's gaining on you when you feel the warmth of his hand against your back. “When I asked you not to send me to another team, I meant it.”

You don't remember him asking.

His hand feels hot against your back, and your face is so red that you know there's no way he can't see it.

“Let me help you."

This time it doesn't feel like everyone else's shallow sincerity. He's not giving you the ‘let me know if there's anything I can do’ routine that everyone always gives you. He's next to you, refusing to go back down the stairs to relative safety, about to follow you into the unknown for the countless time tonight, telling you to share your burden with him.

Selfishly, you don't even want to deny him. “Okay."

"Okay." His thumb brushes you once in a sweeping motion and you feel a shiver race down your spine to flutter around your stomach.

You push the stairwell door open.

The sight that greets you surprises both of you.

More zombies, grunting and rasping in the same sort of small clusters that they'd formed downstairs, twitching slightly at the soft sound of your door swinging open, but otherwise dormant.

And, sneaking through the throng just like your team had, San and mini making their way toward your end of the hall, reaching up and pulling camera plugs and turning lenses.

They'd continued with the plan just as you had, already more than halfway done.

They spot you and Yeosang immediately, San instantly putting a finger to his lips as though you don't already know to be quiet.

Mingi brightens upon seeing you, tossing you an excited wave.

You wave back, and glance behind him. Other than the silent hoard of zombies, they're alone. You wait until you catch Mingi’s eye again, and then make your lips form the exaggerated shape of Rosé’s name in question.

He understands instantly, gesturing behind them and tossing you a reassuring thumbs up, and you assume that she's back in 2-1, waiting safely as planned.

Relief crashes over you at the knowledge that another one of your teams is safe and sound. Focusing on how to meetup with them through the crowd of creatures, you start looking for an opening.

Before you can take even a single step, you notice one of the zombies behind San and Mingi suddenly jerk, posture straightening.

Your heart slams in your chest. Your hand lifting abruptly to point a warning finger.

Mingi spins on his heel, spine rigid with panic.

Yeosang grips your shirt as another one of the zombies, this one closer to you, makes the same stiffening jerk.

The one behind Mingi falls to the floor in a heap.

The one in front of you crumples as well.

Shit.

Dread cramps in your stomach.

Most of the zombies around you start exhibiting the same terrible behavior, lurching as though someone pinched them, and then crumbling to the ground limply, like puppets with cut strings.

Yeosang's hand on your shirt pulls you back into the stairwell doorway.

San and Mingi are watching the zombies collapse around them, eyes wide with panic and confusion.

The zombies who don't fall begin to stir at the sounds of heavy bodies crashing to the ground. Their faces lift, heads cocking to listen, some of them turning sharply at the frantic scraping of San and Mingi’s shoes as they try to dodge the tumbling creatures.

You can't breathe. You can't think.

Yeosang's arm circles your waist, tugging you back into him and further out of the hallway as your eyes fall on the first one that collapsed.

Long, twiggy black legs appear, curling over the zombie's throat.

Panic crawls up your throat, choking you.

The fallen zombie closest to you is faced away from you, giving you a clear view of the waspish parasite that crawls from the back of his neck like the horrific hatching of an egg.

The waking zombies are lurching, lunging at the slightest sound, while all around them, parasites vacate their hosts and skitter out into the hallway.

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tag list : @mysterysold @threevracha @igotajuicyass @velvetmoonlght @ramadiiiisme @mrsminseochoi @nightshadeblooming @furfoxsake22 @marvolos @lunaryoongie @latisthegenderfluidwannabealone @noukstmblr

[luna-azzurra]

10 Quiet Ways Your Character Is Breaking Their Own Heart (And Pretending It's Fine)

These are the betrayals that aren’t loud. They don’t come with fireworks or screaming matches. These are the small, slow deaths. The ones that your character lets happen... while smiling politely.

» They say yes when they desperately want to say no. Every. Damn. Time. They show up when they're exhausted. They agree to things they hate. They make themselves smaller, softer, easier, because "good people" don’t make waves, right? (Spoiler: they're drowning.)

» They keep chasing people who only love them halfway. It's not even subtle anymore. They know these people leave them on "read," show up late, make them feel like an afterthought. But they cling anyway, spinning every scrap of affection into a story about hope. (It’s not hope. It’s hunger.)

» They refuse to believe good things are meant for them. They’ll hype everyone else up. They’ll believe in everyone else's dreams. But when something finally good lands in their lap? They’ll panic. Push it away. Tell themselves it was a fluke. (Because being disappointed feels safer than being lucky.)

» They’re waiting for closure that will never come. An apology. An explanation. A miracle where someone says, "You were right, and I was wrong, and I’m so sorry." They wait years. Decades. Lifetimes. But deep down, they know: some people never come back. Some stories just end without punctuation.

» They’re hoarding all their "almosts" like treasures. The job they almost got. The love that almost worked. The version of themselves they almost became. They replay those maybes like a greatest hits album. (Meanwhile, real life is slipping by while they mourn possibilities.)

» They’re performing a version of success they secretly hate. Look at the Instagram. Look at the LinkedIn updates. Look at the shiny exterior. It looks like winning. But every trophy they collect feels heavier, not lighter. Every promotion tastes a little more like ash. (Turns out, chasing someone else's dream is still losing.)

» They forgive people who aren’t sorry. Not because they’re enlightened. Not because they’ve healed. But because it’s easier to pretend it didn’t hurt than to sit with the fact that it did—and that the person responsible doesn't care. (Some wounds scar better when you stop pretending they were accidents.)

» They punish themselves for still being soft. The world told them, again and again, that soft things get broken. And they believed it. So every time they feel too much? Every time they cry or hope or trust? They tell themselves they’re weak. Stupid. Embarrassing. (They're not. They're just still alive.)

» They downplay their own magic. They call their talents "lucky breaks." Their beauty "average." Their intelligence "no big deal." They shrug off compliments like they're dangerous. Because deep down, they've been taught that being remarkable makes you a target.

» They cling to the idea that if they just work harder, they'll finally be enough. They believe in meritocracy like it’s a religion. That if they hustle hard enough, self-sacrifice deep enough, burn themselves to ash perfectly enough, someone, somewhere, will finally say, "You're worthy now." (They were always worthy. The system is just broken.)

[f1lovr]

PRETTY GIRL | OP81

pairing: oscar piastri x female!reader (faceclaim claire rosinkranz)

summary: in which he's a loverboy but there's no way he's her loverboy right... or in which lando's best friend and oscar are both soft launching and no one puts together that they're soft launching each other

warnings: none i don't think, some curse words if anything

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe, and 53,756 others

y/n i think i like this little life

view all 116 comments

lilymhe like this little life or like him?

↳ y/n hey now what is this shit

user1 is this a soft launch???

user2 you're telling me the queen is taken

user3 sleeping on the road tonight, my girlfriend is a taken woman

lando ignoring the blatant disrespect of me in slide 4 cause what the fuck is slide 3

user4 you're telling me lando didn't know??

oscarpiastri how does he deal with you

↳ y/n he doesn't

↳ lando OSCAR KNOWS?

↳ oscarpiastri stay mad

liked by y/n, landonorris, and 236,465 others

oscarpiastri a little bit of life

view all 260 comments

user1 wtf now oscar's soft launching? what is this? hell?

user2 woah woah woah slow down there

lando HOW ARE MY BEST FRIEND AND TEAMMATE BOTH IN A RELATIONSHIP AND I DIDNT KNOW

↳ oscarpiastri 🤷

y/n she looks pretty cool

↳ oscarpiastri i'll tell her you said that

↳ lando YOU KNOW?

↳ y/n of course i know

user3 what is happening in the house of commons, y/n and oscar both soft launching? is the world still spinning?

lilymhe are you soft launching lando

↳ lando do i look like i have blonde hair to you

y/n's instagram story

lando replied to your story: POOKIE WHAT IS THIS SHIT

oscarpiastri replied to your story: hope he payed for your lunch

lilymhe replied to your story: you're just teasing him at this point

alexalbon replied to your story: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME WHO HE IS

oscarpiastri's instagram story:

lando replied to your story: um, i feel hated, why won't you tell me who your girlfriend is

y/n replied to your story: your girlfriend said she's hungry

oscarpiastri: i just fed my girlfriend

y/n: she's still hungry

lilymhe replied to your story: y/n said to tell you to feed her

oscarpiastri: yeah yeah im working on it

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe, and 60,764 others

y/n me: im hungry pretty boy: okay

view all 123 comments

lilymhe i see my message worked

↳ y/n your message was much appreciated, he bought me blueberries

↳ lando why does lily know but i dont

↳ y/n because she's cuter than you 🫶

↳ lando WHAT THE FUCK

user1 you're telling me you said you were hungry and he bought you your favorite berry and made you cookies?

↳ y/n yes hes the best <3

lando still wanna know who this guy is

↳ y/n you do know who he is

↳ lando WHAT

↳ lando WHAT DOES THIS MEAN

oscarpiastri can he bake?

↳ y/n no he almost burned down my kitchen in the process :(

↳ oscarpiastri but you got cookies

↳ y/n that and he's cute so it made up for it :)

user2 hear me out...

↳ user3 im listening....

↳ user2 what if oscar and y/n are dating

↳ user3 okay grandma let's get you back to your room

↳ user4 nah if she's soft launching anyone it's definitely lando and he's just playing dumb

like by y/n, lilymhe, lando and 245,768 others

oscarpiastri pretty girl :)

view all 256 comments

user2 pretty girl you say....

↳ user3 grandma go back to bed

↳ user2 no because im right you'll see

lando you would date a blonde

↳ oscarpiastri okay lando

↳ user4 proof that y/nlando is real!

↳ user5 how is this proof???

y/n she's pretty?

↳ oscarpiastri really pretty

liked by lando, oscarpiastri, and 56,239 others

y/n break with the buddies :)

view all 113 comments

oscarpiastri pretty girl :) *this comment has been deleted*

user1 am i trippin or did he-

user2 OSCAR?

lando im getting tired of this shit grandma

↳ y/n well that's too dang bad

lilymhe he was so close to fucking it up

↳ y/n no i know, my little non tech savy king

lando wait a minute

↳ y/n yes?

↳ lando nvm

oscarpiastri he has good taste in hiking spots

liked by y/n, lando, and 323,789 others

oscarpiastri break has been nice

view all 256 comments

lando wait a damn minute....

user1 HEY THAT OUTFIT LOOKS REALLY FAMILIAR

lilymhe nevermind he fucked it up

user3 so you're telling me they've been soft launching each other this whole damn time and we all thought she was soft launching lando...

y/n OSCAR PIASTRI YOU FUCK

↳ oscarpiastri what...

↳ oscarpiastri oh.

↳ oscarpiastri did i ruin the soft launch?

↳ y/n baby why'd you post the one i told you NOT to post because you were wearing the same outfit

↳ oscarpiastri i'm a little slow pretty girl

↳ lando what the fuck

lando WHAT THE FUCK

lando WAIT WAIT WAIT

lando YOU'VE BEEN SOFT LAUNCHING EACH OTHER?

liked by oscarpiastri, lando, lilymhe, and 70,856 others

y/n pretty boy hard lanch :)

view all 143 comments

lando what the fuck

lilymhe he's a little slow

↳ y/n it's okay because i love him

↳ oscarpiastri thanks pretty girl

user2 I TOLD Y'ALL I WASN'T CRAZY

lando what the fuck

↳ y/n can you stop cursing in my comment section

oscarpiastri my pretty girl :)

↳ y/n <3

↳ lando what the fuck

↳ oscarpiastri please stop cursing in my girlfriends comment section

↳ lando ...

lando IS THIS WHAT YOU MEANT WHEN YOU SAID I KNEW HIM??

liked by lando, lilymhe, y/n, and 320,734 others

oscarpiastri my pretty girl <3 (sorry for messing up your soft launch)

view all 326 comments

y/n it's okay i still love you pretty boy <3

↳ oscarpiastri love you too pretty girl <3

↳ y/n :)

↳ lando i'm going to vomit 🤢

lando WHAT IS THIS SHIT

lando why did you not tell me you were dating my best friend

↳ oscarpiastri i'm dating your best friend

↳ lando wow thanks oscar 😐

lilymhe tech savy king!

↳ oscarpiastri i try my best

↳ y/n it's okay my love, that's what i'm here for

user4 how many times did y/n help you post

↳ oscarpiastri every single one

user2 I TOLD YOU ALLLLLLLL

lando i guess i have to get used to this don't i

↳ y/n yes

↳ oscarpiastri yes

↳ lilymhe yes

lando WAIT THAT WAS Y'ALL I HEARD IN YOUR ROOM?

↳ y/n WE WERE PLAYING MARIO KART

↳ oscarpiastri 😬

[thealchemistbae]

Random Astro Observations 🚀⭐

Disclaimer: This post is for entertainment purposes only.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

🚀: People with Venus at 23° or 29° tend to have "iconic" beauty that gets more legendary with age. 23° brings an edge (think unforgettable features), while 29° gives them an almost fated aesthetic that people try to imitate but never quite get right.

🚀: Mercury in 8H natives can literally read minds. They don't hear what you say...they hear what you don't say. These are the people who catch on to the subtext and hidden intentions behind every conversation.

🚀: Mars in 12H (especially in a fire sign) can struggle with repressed anger, but once they unlock their assertiveness, they become unstoppable. They often have dreams where they're fighting, running, or winning in ways they can't in real life (yet).

🚀: Neptune in 5H people are the definition of "method acting" in their own lives. They don't just experience emotions...they become them. Their childhood fantasies and imaginary worlds were so real to them that sometimes they still feel like they live in a dream.

🚀: Jupiter in 3H natives might be the fastest learners you'll ever meet. They could pick up a new language in months, teach themselves a skill overnight, or randomly know a ridiculous amount of fun facts about everything.

🚀: Pluto in 4H (or conjunct IC) people go through deep transformations in their home life. Their childhood could've felt like a survival mission, but as adults, they build a home environment that is entirely theirs...even if they have to burn everything down to start over.

🚀: Saturn in 2H isn't just about struggling with money...it's about mastering it. These people often feel like they're "always working", but once they learn the system, they become undeniable in wealth building. A slow start, but when they win, they win big.

🚀: People with their Midheaven ruler in 12H often have an "invisible" reputation. People know of them, but not about them. They might be mysterious public figures or work behind the scenes in a way that makes them way more powerful than they seem.

🚀: Venus sextile or trine Neptune people are living in their own love story. Their romantic ideals are so strong they often manifest exactly what they want in love...whether that's good or bad. These are the people who say "I dreamed about my soulmate before I met them" and actually mean it.

🚀: Uranus in 6H makes people allergic to routine. The moment their daily life feels predictable, something unexpected happens. These people thrive when they create their own work schedules and often attract jobs that are unstable or ever changing.

🚀: Chiron in 10H natives may go through public failures before they get the recognition they deserve. Their career path hurts before it heals, but once they embrace their unique purpose, they become living proof that setbacks don't define you.

🚀: Asteroid Fama (408) in 1H or 10H = someone who was born to be talked about. Even when they're not trying, people notice them, their name randomly pops up in conversations, on social media, or in circles they didn't even know existed.

Do you have any of these placements? Let me know below.

thealchemistbae © do not copy, redistribute, or edit my content.

I’m sure there is more but honestly this is all I have for now. Enjoy ⚡️

If you enjoyed this post, you can leave me a tip via PayPal at goddessguapa@gmail.com or via Venmo @goddessguapa. Thank you.

[thehoneybeestings]

𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐮 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧

𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚 𝐱 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 2k

Content/Warnings: sfw, arcane au in which they're all actors starring in the show, softttt sevika, loser!sevika if you squint, actress!reader, reader is fem/referred to with fem terms and pronouns

A/N: i am sure i'm not the only one who likes to imagine that every character in arcane is simply an actor, and they were simply acting; not actually experiencing the tragedy they cannot seem to catch a damn break from... so, without further ado, here is this first installment of this series!

as per the poll i posted, sevika will be first, and vi is up next!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐒𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐤𝐚

୨ৎ You’re an up-and-coming actress, with Arcane being your debut television series

୨ৎ The audition process was no easy feat; after its first two seasons’ massive success, it was clear that Arcane’s casting directors were looking for the best of the best, and you were up against some intense competition

୨ৎ Some of which were were a-listers, so naturally, you had your moments of doubt, assuming that there was no way you were beating any of them out

୨ৎ You persevered anyhow, due mostly to the genuine love you had found for the character you were auditioning for: Evette, a prodigy mechanical engineer from Zaun who lands herself an internship with Hextech Labs. 

୨ৎ Her story consists of the tragic loss of her parents at the hands of enforcers, unyielding ambition driven by the desire to honor her late parents, and of course, one of the yummiest sapphic slow burns on television to date

୨ৎ You’re sure this slow burn is the main reason why so many actresses scrambled to land this role, and you couldn’t really blame them

୨ৎ Nina Singh was irrevocably and undeniably one the hottest people in existence, playing Sevika, one of the hottest characters in existence

୨ৎ This made for some very awkward chemistry tests between Nina and a few potential Evettes; actresses focusing so much on trying to seduce Sevika that at times, Nina felt like she was shooting the intro to some shitty porno

୨ৎ Then came you: one of the finalists for the role of Evette, unbeknownst to you 

୨ৎ You’re a nervous wreck in front of Nina- she’s an a-lister herself- and even still, your ability to embody Evette and bring the depths and nuances of her relationship with Sevika to life leaves the room taken aback

୨ৎ You’ll never forget the day of your chemistry test; you’re exchanging the final lines of the short scene you’re given to perform with Nina, heart pounding in  your chest

୨ৎ “Not getting any younger,” Nina gruffs in character, nodding towards your tedious work tightening the loose bolt on her arm, “and I’d rather not spend more time with a Piltie than I have to.”

୨ৎ Nina’s got a prosthetic arm in real life, so there’s actually a little bolt she lets you toy with for the scene

୨ৎ “If you want to leave with your arm short-circuting, be my guest,” you sigh, “but I don’t do sloppy work.” Your eyes flit up to hers for a moment- just until she catches you staring- before you continue tinkering with her arm. “And for the record,” you say, finally leaning back to admire your handiwork, “I’m not from Piltover.”

୨ৎ Nina’s brows furrow in confusion for a split second before she conceals her interest with Sevika’s typical scowl. “You didn’t tell me that.”

୨ৎ You smirk, looking up at her through your eyelashes. “You didn’t ask.” 

୨ৎ “Jesus,” the director calls out, “You two… I mean, the chemistry is palpable. Exactly what I'd envisioned. What do you think, Nina?”

୨ৎ You feel shy under her knowing smirk

୨ৎ “I think we’ve got our Evette.”

୨ৎ “Yeah?” The director responds with a smile, “What do you think, Y/n? How would you like to join us for season three of Arcane?”

୨ৎ Frankly, you almost shit yourself in front of the entire room

୨ৎ Thankfully, you’re able to keep it together and accept the role like a normal person; and now, here you are, three years later, and Arcane fans are obsessed with you

୨ৎ Even more than they’re obsessed with you, they’re obsessed with you and Nina 

୨ৎ Your character is a catalyst for the well-deserved, long overdue exploration of Sevika’s character and her vulnerabilities, and you and Nina are so invested in your characters that the bond you develop while filming inevitably goes beyond screen

୨ৎ At first, you’re wildly intimidated by her; she’s a renowned actress who’d been in the industry for a while, most known for roles similar to Sevika: guarded, icy, domineering

୨ৎ You’re quite tickled (and pleasantly surprised) to learn that Nina is the exact opposite

୨ৎ As soon as cut is called, she’s breaking into a smile, cracking a joke, or praising you for your performance

୨ৎ After particularly heavy or intense scenes, though, her expression tends to remain serious, and her focus isn’t on anyone but you until she knows you're all good

୨ৎ There’s one scene in particular- one where Sevika’s ripping into Evette- that Nina still feels bad about

୨ৎ It’s the first scene she thinks of when a journalist asks which scene from season three was the hardest to film

୨ৎ “I hate having to yell at her,” she says. “I can’t stand it; and you saw her bring on the tears- man, it broke my freakin’ heart!” 

୨ৎ You reach over to rub circles in between her shoulder blades, playfully rolling your eyes

୨ৎ “Poor baby,” you say, sticking your bottom lip out in a mocking pout

୨ৎ “So I take it Sevika’s disposition is much different than Nina’s?” The journalist inquires

୨ৎ “Oh, 100%,” you nod, “Apart from the RBF, Nina is a softie. I’ve never seen her angry.”

୨ৎ “I’m not a softie,” she mutters, resting her chin in her hand, “and what is RBF?”

୨ৎ “Resting Bitch Face,” you say in tandem with the journalist

୨ৎ She lets out a loud laugh, doubling over in her seat

୨ৎ It’s after this interview that fans begin to pick up on some… not-so-platonic energy between you and Nina

୨ৎ Nina is very sweet, yes, but she’s also very shy

୨ৎ But it seems that whenever she’s around you, she’s much more comfortable, coming out of her shell more than ever

୨ৎ Thus prompts the compilations 

୨ৎ “Nina Singh and Y/n Y/l/n being in love for 12 minutes and 54 seconds”

୨ৎ “Every time Nina manages to make the conversation about Y/n compilation”

୨ৎ “Take a shot every time Y/n makes Nina blush challenge: extreme”

୨ৎ But there are three moments in particular that fans can’t get enough of:

୨ৎ 1. The forever immortalized moment where you made Nina blush during a red carpet event

୨ৎ It wasn’t abnormal for the two of you to be paired for most press appearances, considering that your characters were a package deal in season 3, so you’re not surprised when you’re being photographed on the red carpet at the season premier and the photographers want a shot of you two together

୨ৎ “Let’s get some of the two of you, yeah?” the line of photographers begin to call out

୨ৎ Your hand reaches out for Nina- who’s a few feet away, getting her own photos taken- and she quickly slots next to you, arm wrapping around to hold your waist

୨ৎ Her fingers comb through her hair; once, twice, a third time

୨ৎ “My hair won’t stay out of my damn face,” she grumbles

୨ৎ Suddenly, you’re turning to her, reaching up to tuck the stray tendril of raven hair behind her ear and brushing back any other stray pieces

୨ৎ “Better?” You ask, turning back to the cameras like nothing had happened

୨ৎ You don’t notice that she’s acting like a total loser now; all fidgety and shy and awkward

୨ৎ In fact, she gets so bashful that her hand comes up to hide her face

୨ৎ And, of course, who wouldn’t photograph a moment so adorable?

୨ৎ She’s forever haunted by the circulation of her photographed schoolgirl crush freak out

୨ৎ 2. The one and only time she’s ever gone Sevika on someone in real life; and it was to defend you 

୨ৎ You’re sitting on your very first panel at a popular convention, as star-struck by the sea of fans in front of you as they are by the actors and actresses in front of them

୨ৎ This was the most pressure you’d felt during the press tour yet; being interviewed in real time in front of the show’s biggest supporters, answering questions from the show’s biggest supporters

୨ৎ Luckily, the crowd had been great so far

୨ৎ (You’re also sat in between Nina, who always eases your nerves, and Ekko’s actor, who you definitely shouldn’t have been seated next to because all you two do is cut up smh)

୨ৎ Until, a perturbed fan has a question for Nina

୨ৎ “I heard that Natalia Richmond was in the running for the role of Evette; I’m a big fan of both of your work, and I was honestly a little bummed to hear that she wouldn’t be starring alongside you. Not that Y/n didn’t do a good job, but do you wonder what Evette’s character could have looked like if someone else had gotten to take a stab at the character?”

୨ৎ The room falls silent

୨ৎ Your ears burn with embarrassment, and on instinct, you look over to Nina, whose jaw is set

୨ৎ She lowers her mic, turning her head to you with a scoff

୨ৎ “Are you fucking kidding me?”

୨ৎ The crowd lets out an awkward laugh; her mic had picked up her grievance 

୨ৎ Not that she gave a fuck

୨ৎ “Well,” she exhales, bringing the mic back up to her mouth, “truthfully, I don’t think Y/n did a good job. I think she did an incredible job.”

୨ৎ Your breath hitches in your throat

୨ৎ Her voice is stern, assertive; and for the first time since you’ve known her, Nina Singh is pissed

୨ৎ “I wouldn’t have been able to deliver the performance I wanted to this season without her. Sevika’s character arc would not have been executed as well as it was if i’d worked alongside anyone but the woman to my right; so no, I do not wonder what Evette’s character would have looked like if she weren’t played by Y/n, and I haven’t wondered since the day we had our chemistry test.”

୨ৎ With that, she sets the mic down, leaning back and crossing her arms in front of her with a scowl still on her face

୨ৎ The crowd gives her an applause- thankfully, the majority of Arcane’s fans adored you and could not have pictured the Arcane universe without you- and you lean over, giving Nina a “Thank you” and a squeeze on her arm

୨ৎ “Don’t mention it,” she shrugs; and at the sight of the warm smile on your face, she’s a giant teddy bear again

୨ৎ 3. The time you and Nina casually dropped that you’re basically U-Haul Lesbians

୨ৎ You two are setting up for an interview, and the camera is already rolling as your makeup artists powder your faces and your mics are adjusted

୨ৎ The footage starts in the middle of an idle conversation with the journalist

୨ৎ “So you hadn’t heard of RBF until then?” she asks

୨ৎ “I must be getting old,” she shrugs. She gives the makeup artist a soft “Thanks” as they walk away before she continues. “I hadn’t heard that phrase a day in my life; although I had heard that I’m a little unapproachable.”

୨ৎ You chuckle to yourself, thinking of the first time you met Nina; she does tend to sport a furrowed brow, but as soon as she speaks, she’s as kind as can be

୨ৎ “I didn’t think you liked me when we first met,” you muse 

୨ৎ “Oh, well you were right that time. I don’t like you.” 

୨ৎ You all burst out into a fit of laughter 

୨ৎ Anyone who knew of Nina knew of her affection for you

୨ৎ “Right, that’s why we're roomates; because you hate me so much,” you chuckle.

୨ৎ “Exactly- ‘s why we took in a stray cat, too, because who does that with someone they like?"

୨ৎ The journalist is now looking at both of you, gobsmacked

୨ৎ “You mean to tell me you two are living together and took in a stray cat together?”

୨ৎ Cluelessly, you both look to each other, then back to the journalist

୨ৎ “Yeah,” you smile, nodding innocently

୨ৎ “So you two are basically married…” 

୨ৎ Nina snorts, and you giggle, and you both agree

୨ৎ And that night, when you’re both back at home, Nina finally asks:

୨ৎ “Well, since we’re basically married, are you gonna let me take you out to dinner?”

୨ৎ Bonus: 

୨ৎ Yes, there was a sex scene

୨ৎ No, the two of you did not hear the director say cut

୨ৎ Tweets below… enjoy.

𝐄𝐍𝐃 ୨ৎ

[tarotlexa]

PICK A PILE READING- what's next in your love life? ⋆˙⟡♡

welcome back my loves, today's reading is all about what's coming next into your love life and what to expect soon.

usual reminder, this is a collective reading so take what resonates and leave what does not, much love! <3

⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　. .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　* 　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　.　　　　.　　　⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　 　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　. 　.⠀　　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀, 　　　*　　⠀. 　　　　　.　　　　　　　　　　⠀✦ 　˚　　　　　　　　　　　　　　* .⠀ 　　　　　　　　　　.　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　    　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀✦ ⠀ ⠀　　　　　　　　　　　　　　⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀* ⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✦⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　　　　　　　　　.　　　ﾟ .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　✦ 　　　　　,　　　　　　　. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　. .　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　✦⠀　   　　　,　　　　　　　　　* 　　　　　⠀　　　　⠀　　, ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.　　　　　 　　⠀　　　⠀.　 　　˚　　　⠀　⠀  　　,　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　*⠀　　⠀  　　　　　⠀✦⠀　 　　　　　　*　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　.　　　　.　　　 　　　　　　　　　　　. 　　　　　　　 　　　˚　　　　　　　　ﾟ　　　　　. 　.⠀　⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀‍⠀, 　　　　　✦⠀　   　　　,

pile 1: aww a slow burn romance, so cute. your love live is about to get intense extra fast, there's someone that has been watching you for a long time or about to enter with bold and clear cut intentions. this is the kind of person who strategizes, analyzes and doesn't waste time playing games, if you've been asking for decisiveness here it is lmaooo but with temperance in the mix you'll need to pace yourself. they may come on strong but patience will be key to building something real with this person. who is this person? someone magnetic, competitive, petty and driven with a public presence or someone who loves to debate or argue for fun. expect them to be tall or lean, well groomed (this is somebody who cares a lot about their image), fire or air sign (ergo aries, leo, sag, gem, aqua, libra). they might come across as cocky at first but underneath they're a sweetheart. they might be your teammate/friend or someone in your circle already. i'd also say dark hair, maybe freckles/some skin detail in particular.

pile 2: you might not recognize this as a romance at first, it's a slow burn too that's going to be moving faster than pile 1's love story. with the fool being here, you're being taken on a new adventure with a new connection that could be born out of shared projects, goals or self growth. it is not an instant spark but a friends to lovers sort of relationship, it will sneak up on you before you can realize it. it is also career related so someone at your work/school place (both current and previous). who is this person? introverted, medium height, soft features (possibly curly or wavy hair), could have green or hazel eyes, deep thinker, works a lot with their hands (might be into design, writing, healing?), a giver, someone who volunteers or is employed in a field that's about helping people. the hanged man tells me you may have to shift your perspective to recognize them as your romantic interest, it's someone you might have been overlooking.

pile 3: love has been challenging for you lately, you have been let down or abandoned or felt left out. you might have also felt envious of the fact that others (especially friends) find love so easily. there's a shift happening though: a very masculine energy is about to step in with the desire to build something stable, secure and lasting. it's not a fleeting romance either. who is this person? definitely someone older, strong, grounded, protective, broader built, has a stable career (works in something highly structured), serious about love yet not overly romantic, still very dependable and committed if you decide to date him.

as always, thank you so much for reading and for your love <3

feedback, comments and reblogs highly appreciated!!

[ariestrxsh]

dealer!chris x dealer!reader

💸 content warning: smut/angst (in later chapters; this one's mostly just suggestive), mentions of masturbation, mentions of hard drugs and guns, enemies to lovers, slow burn

💸 summary: you and chris set aside your differences to join forces and close on a sweet deal with a local supplier.

there will be several parts to this story, and they will contain sex, drugs, violence, use of weapons, and a lot of things that could be triggering if you've ever been apart of the drug world or loved someone with an addiction. i don't mean to glorify drug use, selling, or anything like that, but i wanted this story to be realistic, so it does appear like a somewhat "glamorous" lifestyle to chris and the reader in the first few parts. i want to make it very clear that when you get involved in the drug world in real life, you usually end up in one of two places: the ground or prison.

dividers by @/kimjiho1

WHEN SPARKS FLY

chapters: | intro | 1 | 2 |

You and Chris rode in your silver Honda Accord through the rainy streets, following all the laws, using your turn signals, and driving the speed limit. Not because you were law-abiding citizens but because you had about twelve bricks of the city's finest coke stashed in a suitcase in your trunk.

"So, what now? We go bag this shit?" Chris asked, fidgeting with one of his rings. "I mean, I'm not doing anything tonight. Are you?" You asked, your eyes darting over at the boy slouched down in his seat beside you. He shook his head and shrugged.

"Let's go back to my place. I'll make coffee, and we can stay up tonight bagging. Tomorrow we start selling," you suggested, glancing into your rearview and fixing your gaze back on the car in front of you.

"You know, you're a pretty established dealer. Pretty high up there. What do you go on your own runs for, ma? I'm sure you could pay someone to do it," Chris wondered, hoping he could be a candidate for the job.

"I don't need help, Chris," you shook your head. "I didn't say you need it. I'm just wondering why you don't," he clarified.

"I like to do shit myself, Chris. It keeps me busy, it makes me more money, and if I'm the one doing it, I know it's getting done efficiently. Why would I pay someone to dip into my stash and give product away to their friends behind my back?" You shrugged.

"Damn, ma. You got trust issues," Chris shook his head. "Don't you?" You inquired, peering over at Chris. "Nah, I don't think so," Chris replied, staring out his window at the falling rain.

"You're telling me you've been in this business for how long, and you've never been fucked over?" You narrowed your eyes at him. "Nah, I haven't," Chris mumbled. "Then someone's fucking you over, and you don't know about it," you dryly responded.

"Damn, ma. That's not a very bright outlook, but if that's how you wanna be," Chris shook his head. "I'm just being realistic," you shrugged. "Who hurt you?" Chris asked, sounding somewhat genuine with his question.

"Wouldn't you like to know? I'm not playing this twenty questions shit. We're not having a heart-to-heart right now, alright? We're just doing business," you rolled your eyes, putting up your defenses.

"That's fine, ma. I don't mind when they're tough to crack," Chris joked with a playfulness in his tone, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

The two of you drove silently through the slick streets back to your place where you unloaded the heavy suitcase. You started a pot of coffee, the smell of the medium-roast brew drifting through the air as you started to take off your blazer, kick off your heels, and unstrap your gun.

"I'll be right back. I'm going to go change," you declared, making your way to the bottom of the staircase. You reached around to try to unzip your dress, but it didn't budge. "Shit," you whispered, fidgeting with the stuck zipper.

"Need help?" Chris asked you, starting to walk towards you. "No, I got it," you told him, but you didn't have it, and you were still struggling. "C'mon, ma. You don't have to do everything yourself all the time," Chris chuckled, coming up behind you.

You felt silly. Earlier, you were bragging about how you didn't need anyone, and now you were being humbled by a piece of metal that was stuck on a thread from your dress.

Chris fiddled with it for a few minutes. "Got it," Chris said as you heard the slow ziiip as it came undone.

He tried to remain professional about it, but he found himself nearly holding his breath as his eyes traveled to the curve of your back and how pretty your skin looked in the soft, dim lighting.

Suddenly, his phone started to vibrate, pulling him out of the trance you unknowingly held him in. He let go of your zipper, and his hand flew to his phone that was in his pocket.

"Who's that?" You asked, peeking at him from over your shoulder. A pang of guilt about how he'd been looking at you all night surged through him as he peered down at his screen. "My girlfriend," Chris replied, glancing back up at you.

You pulled your gaze away from his. A very small part of you felt a little jealous and hurt because you'd thought Chris had been flirting with you all night.

"Don't tell her too many details about our deal tonight. The fewer people that know the names, locations, and prices, the better," you told him, and he nodded at you.

"Hey, baby. I'm gonna be stuck at work pretty late tonight. No, don't wait up for me," he told her as you started ascending the stairs. "I know, I know," you heard his voice take on a more sultry tone.

"I know. I bet you miss my cock so much right now, don't you, baby?" Chris cooed into the phone, his voice sounding further and further away as you got closer to your room. You scoffed and rolled your eyes at his vulgarity.

You shut your door behind you, slipping your straps off your shoulders and letting the fabric drop to the floor. You unhooked your bra and let out a sigh of relief as it fell, joining your dress that laid at your feet. You tossed them into the hamper and slipped into sweatpants and a sweater.

Your eyes danced across Chris' jeans, his shirt, and his hoodie that were thrown into a pile next to your bed. You couldn't help but kind of like the idea of Chris' clothes littering your bedroom floor, but you tried to push that thought out of your mind upon learning that he was dating someone and upon remembering that you totally hated him.

You threw your hair up in a bun and started back out your door to let Chris know he could use your room to change now. You stood at the top of the stairs as Chris' voice came back into earshot.

"I know, baby. Pretend your fingers are mine, alright? C'mon. Be a good girl and cum all over them for me," you heard Chris say into the phone in your living room. Your jaw fell open, your breath caught in your throat, and your hand flew up to cover your mouth.

You felt your body temperature rise as you slowly descended the steps, listening while he talked her through it. You knew Chris self-reportedly knew how to talk to people, but you didn't know it extended to the bedroom, too.

You felt a slickness between your thighs as Chris' seductive voice danced through the air. You tiptoed down your stairs, peeking over the banister at Chris, who was sitting on your couch, legs splayed out, gently caressing the bulge in his pants while he spoke to his girlfriend.

Your eyes widened, and you pulled back before Chris could see you. You took a deep breath and cleared your throat before descending the stairs the rest of the way. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Chris jump a bit.

"Sorry, baby. I gotta go. Gotta get back to work. I'll come over once I'm done. I love you," he told her before hastily hanging up. Chris leaned forward on your couch, placing both his elbows on his knees, and interlocking his fingers to hide how hard he was.

It wasn't very often that men made you lose your composure, but as your gaze met Chris', you hoped he wouldn't notice your flushed expression.

"You can go change out of that corny ass suit if you want. Room's all yours," you casually told him. "Thanks, ma," he said, getting up quickly and darting up your stairs, hoping you didn't overhear his phone conversation.

Chris stepped into your room, shedding the layers of the suit that was too big for him, and he climbed back into the clothes he started off in, making sure to tuck his erection into the waistband of his boxers. He neatly folded the suit over the back of your chair before departing from your room and heading back down the steps.

He found you in the kitchen, pouring two mugs of hot, black drip coffee, steam rising into the air as you emptied the pot. Your eyes rose up to meet his again, and you gave him a subtle smile.

"So, what's your girlfriend like?" You asked, trying to sound nonchalant about it as you handed him the dark blue ceramic mug that was filled nearly to the brim. Chris nodded, silently thanking you for the beverage as he took it from you.

"Her name is Daisy. She's a very sweet person. She's affectionate. She's understanding. She cooks and cleans," Chris told you, smiling to himself. You could tell he was really in love with her by the way he spoke about her. "She gives great head," Chris added.

"Gross!" You exclaimed, rolling your eyes and giving Chris a look of disgust. "You almost had me. You almost had me thinking you were a romantic."

"I am a romantic. I always return the favor," he cracked a smug grin in your direction as he said it. You scoffed in annoyance. "How long have you guys been together?" You wondered. You placed both your hands around your coffee mug, enjoying the heat it provided and taking a long sip.

"About six months," he responded after counting on his fingers and thinking about it for a second. "She know you sell?" You wondered, raising an eyebrow. Chris sighed and shook his head.

"Chris," you said sternly, setting your cup down on your marble counter top. "You can't keep something like that from her. That's not fair," you told him, looking him dead in the eye.

"I know. But it's either I keep it from her, or I have her worrying about me all the time," Chris replied, scanning your expression for some kind of understanding. "If you knew her, you'd know why I made the decision I did to keep it from her."

"No, Chris. She might worry about you, but she has a right to. This is a dangerous business. What if you get raided when she's over at your place? What if someone robs you? What if you get arrested and she doesn't know until she sees your mugshot?" You said, raising your voice.

Chris was silent. He hadn't considered any of those scenarios until the words left your mouth.

"This business is dangerous, Chris. Everyone around you is subject to the risk," you reminded him, running your fingers along the letters of your name engraved into the mug in front of you.

"So, that's why you don't ever get close to anyone, huh, ma?" Chris smugly suggested, reading you like a book. "You don't know me," you scoffed, narrowing your gaze and folding your arms across your chest.

"When's the last time you dated anyone?" Chris asked, raising an eyebrow. "Stop trying to psychoanalyze me, and let's bag this shit," you angrily huffed, picking up your drink and pushing past him. "You got it, ma," Chris agreed, nearly spilling his coffee as you shoulderchecked him.

You unzipped the suitcase, revealing the neatly organized bricks of white powder and perfectly stacked cash. You picked up a $10,000 bundle and handed it to Chris, but before you let go of it, you gave him a serious look.

"Chris, don't go spending this on anything. Got it? This is part of our reup money after we sell all this."

In most cases, you wouldn't have even given it to him, yet, but it was a test. It was great that Chris could talk to people and get you discounted deals, but you had to make sure he was good with his money.

"Don't worry, ma. I know what I'm doing," Chris said with a sly smirk, but you didn't take people for their word. You watched their actions.

"First things first, I'm always testing my shit," you said, pulling a test kit out of a drawer. You pulled out a switch blade and made just the tiniest slit in the plastic wrap around the brick.

"I just get out the tiniest bit, and I'm gonna mix it with this solution here, and based off what color it turns, it'll tell us exactly what we have. Whether it's pure coke, whether it's cut with something," you taught him, holding the test tube up to eye level. "It usually doesn't take too long. Ah, look at that. Bright blue. It's pure," you said, smiling.

"Miles tried to sell me bunk shit once, but I told him what's up, and now he only sells me pure shit. He knows we'd have a problem if he tried to give me anything less. I still check anyway," you mentioned, glancing over at the blue-eyed boy to your left who was mesmerized by you.

He loved the way you looked like some kind of sexy chemist or badass drug lord, and it was undeniably turning him on a bit. He watched and listened intently, soaking up all the knowledge you bestowed upon him.

"Alright, Chris. When I'm bagging, I usually do it in fairly small quantities, and then I take those bundles and put them together. So, we want all the small baggies in a pile, and we want it to add up to a kilo, so it's very important we only break open one brick at a time," you told him, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a bunch of little plastic ziploc bags.

"I don't like to count things a million times, so we're gonna make piles of ten. We're weighing out mostly eight balls, and we use the scale every time. No eyeballing shit," you stated, handing him a stack of bags.

"Yes, ma. You know, you teaching me all this, it's kind of sexy," Chris admitted, peering over at you. You rolled your eyes and stared back at him. "You shouldn't be saying that kind of shit when you have a girlfriend who's laying in bed waiting for you right now while you're out bagging up drugs she doesn't know anything about," you replied coldly, raising an eyebrow.

"Damn, ma. It's just a little playful flirting. I think intention matters, and I'm not trying to actually do anything about it," Chris shrugged, scooping an eight ball into the tiny square bag. "Intention matters, but so does perception. What if I liked it?" You asked, weighing out your bundle.

"You do," Chris smirked, looking over at you. "No, I don't," you dryly answered. "I'm just saying, you flirt like a single man. It gives off the wrong impression. Leads people on," you replied.

"What? You gonna fall for me, ma?" Chris nudged you in the leg with his. You just rolled your eyes, not even dignifying his accusation with a response.

The two of you continued to weigh out the powder, methodically organizing it the same way you always did. Despite the thrills and everyday excitement that came with being a dealer, these were the times you really looked forward to - the mundane.

This is where you felt most relaxed, sitting on your couch with a cup of coffee at the end of the day, just counting, your heart, beating at a resting rate, and your mind, temporarily free of worry.

It was almost nice to have company - even if your company was a former enemy who you weren't sure if you could trust yet. It just felt nice to have someone that could bask in the silence with you while the rest of the world slept soundly.

"Wow. Is it really that time already?" Chris asked, peering over at the analog clock on your wall that read 2 a.m. You yawned and took a sip of your coffee before rubbing your tired eyes. "Time flies when you're having fun," you dryly replied, stretching your arms above your head.

"I should probably head out. I told my girl I'd stay over at her place tonight," Chris responded, glancing down at his phone to see if he had any missed texts. "I can drive you," you offered. "No, I can't let you do that. Look at how tired you are," Chris declined, getting up from your couch.

"Trust me, Chris. It's safer if I drive you. Neighborhoods around here can be sketchy at night," you warned him, gesturing towards the bundle of cash he'd made from the deal. "Ah, you got a point, ma," Chris smirked at you, reconsidering your offer.

"You know, if you're gonna be my partner in crime, you gotta be smarter," you joked, reaching for your keys. Chris followed you out the door, stepping out into the stormy weather.

Your heavy eyelids struggled to stay open as you fixed your gaze on the freshly paved road. The soothing vibration of your tires driving over the smooth asphalt almost made it harder for you to stay awake.

The two of you rode in silence, Chris tapping away on his phone and looking up every few minutes to direct you down different side streets.

You rolled to a stop underneath a flickering streetlight when you pulled up to Daisy's house, a single light bulb lighting up her doorstep. She always left the porch light on and the door unlocked for Chris when she knew he would be coming over late after work.

"Hey," you stopped him before he stepped out of the car. "Thank you for tonight. I'm really impressed with what you did back there with the deal and everything. Plus, we bagged up the product in half the time that it would have taken me to do it myself," you told him.

"Told you I could be valuable to you, ma. Thanks for giving me a chance, and thank you for the ride," he said, cracking a smile. "Yeah, of course, and thanks for the company. It was.. nice," you shrugged, fiddling with the gear shifter.

His stare lingered on your lips for a second before flickering back up to your eyes, and you swore he was about to lean in and kiss you, but his eyes darted straight ahead, and his hand flew up to the door handle. "Night, ma," he murmured, gently easing your car door open and stepping back out into the drizzling rain that was finally letting up.

You got about half a block before you heard the vibration of your phone in your cup holder. Chris' contact information appeared on your screen. Thinking he must have left something in your car, you picked up and slowed your speed, preparing to turn around. "Chris?" You said into the speaker.

"Hey, ma. I just wanted to stay on the phone with you and keep you up until you get back home. You looked pretty tired," Chris quietly answered. "You didn't have to do that," you replied.

"I know, but I could never forgive myself if you didn't make it back safe, ma," Chris replied, still standing outside on Daisy's porch and staring up at the clouds that were passing over the moon. You couldn't help but to smile at his words. It felt nice to have someone care about you. "Plus, I wouldn't know what to do with all this coke if you croaked," he added.

There it was. Every time Chris said something somewhat endearing, he always ruined it by following it up with something perverted or vile. "Gee, thanks, Chris," you sarcastically murmured.

"What are you gonna do when you get home, ma?" Chris casually asked. "I'm probably gonna pass out the second my head hits the pillow," you said, straightening your back and rapidly blinking your eyes to refocus them. "How about you?"

"Probably smoke a joint. Maybe jerk off," he casually admitted, shrugging his shoulders and putting a hand in his pocket.

"Well, you're just an open book, aren't you?" You replied, your heart racing as you pictured him with a pleasured look on his face, pumping his fist around his cock. "I mean, you asked, and I have nothing to hide," Chris replied.

After a moment of silence, his voice came through again. "You're imagining it, aren't you?" A smirk crept into his expression. "What? Gross. I-I'm not. No," you defensively responded, his assumption catching you off guard.

"Relaaax, ma. I'm fucking with you," Chris chuckled. You rolled your eyes as you cranked the steering wheel, turning onto your street. "Well, Chris. Have fun with that. I'm about to pull into my driveway. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

click to read chapter 3 ✨️

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[vbecker10]

Hi Neighbor (Part 3)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 (in progress)

Pairing: Bucky x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: You take Bucky grocery shopping for the first time and you're surprised when he suddenly opens up to you. What might be even more surprising is his reaction when elderly shopper mistakingly assumes you're a married couple.

A/N: This is going to be a multi-part series with a bit of a slow burn between you and your hot new neighbor. I'm not sure how many parts yet but I already have the ending all figured out. I was going to work on something else first but one of my favorite people specifically requested this be next lol. I hope you all like it! 💚

You push the shopping cart through the automatic doors and are closely followed by Bucky. "Produce first I think," you suggest when you see him looking around the large store a bit lost. He nods in response and stays close to you until he sees something that makes him smile.

He wanders over to the large display of fruit and picks up a plum with his vibranium fingers, squeezing it lightly before putting it back down and selecting another one. You watch him for a moment then decide to be helpful and pull a plastic bag from the stand. With a quiet but frustrated groan, you overcome your struggle to open the bag and thankfully he's too focused on the fruit to notice.

"Thanks," smiles at you when you finally hold the bag out so he can add the plums he's picked so far.

"You don't need to buy all them," you giggle when he adds a sixth one.

"I know," he agrees and puts back the one he's currently holding. "I just really like them."

"Yeah, I can see that," you say with a touch of sarcasm. "So, you can feel if they're ripe with your metal hand?" you can't help but ask even though you probably shouldn't.

He holds up his vibranium hand, looking at his palm then wiggling his fingers a little as he rotates his wrist. "Yeah, this is a lot better then the old one I had," he tells you.

"You're real arm?" you ask confused, pushing the shopping cart over to the bananas so you can grab a few.

He shakes his head, "No, I meant the one Hydra made for the uh..." he clears his throat then forces out the next words with his gaze focused on the back his hand metal as it hangs by his side, "The Winter Soldier."

"Oh," you respond, having no idea what else to say.

"Yeah, it was titanium," he explains and you lean against the cart, listening to him quietly. He tries to act like he's searching for the right apple, picking one up then placing it back down gently. You find yourself being thankful the store is nearly empty, shopping late at night has its advantages.

Bucky avoids looking at you while he begins to talk again, "The way they attached it... I could feel it, if it was grabbed or injured because it was connected to my nerves, bone and muscles but I didn't have, what did they call it?" He rubs his metal fingers together while he thinks. "Tactile sensation," he looks up from his hand but still doesn't look directly at you, "So I couldn't really feel anything."

"Other than pain if you got hurt?" you ask and he nods silently.

You wait quietly, watching him think. "It never really felt like that arm was a part of me, it was just some weapon they built for the Winter Soldier," he tries to explain. "I was almost relieved when it got ripped off, as messed up as that sounds."

"It got ripped off!?" you ask, barely able to imagine how horrific that must have felt.

"Yeah, that's a long story but the short version is it absolutely sucked," he says with a light chuckle. "It's not the first time I've lost my left arm though and like I said, it never really felt like it was mine."

You look at him a bit stunned and unable to figure out how to respond.

"This one is great though," he gives you a smile, relaxing more as he talks about his new arm. "The Wakandans made it for me out of vibranium. I forget how many sensors it has but I can feel everything now, even temperature. It's lighter too, even though it's a lot stronger."

"That's really cool," you smile back at him.

"And, it's dishwasher safe," he adds.

You laugh, "Shut up, it is not!"

He laughs and nods, "I swear it is! I used to use the one back at the Tower all the time."

"That's like a million dollar limb and you put it in the dishwasher?" you cover your mouth as you laugh harder.

"On a low setting," he smiles.

"You are so weird," you tell him.

"Yeah, I know," he clears his throat again and you notice he does that when he seems nervous or unsure of himself. "Anyways, I didn't mean to just throw all that out there... trauma dumping by the fruit wasn't really my plan for tonight."

"It's totally fine," you fight the urge to hug him and you're not sure why you resist it. He clearly could use a hug, you think but still you don't move. "I told you, I'm hear to listen and I meant it."

He walks over to stand next to the cart, for a moment it looks like he's going to reach out to take your hand but instead he grips the handle tightly. "Need anymore fruit?" he asks, changing the subject.

"Yep, oh how about those?" you point a few displays over.

"Grapes?" he chuckles when you seem overly excited and follows you.

You roll your eyes and pick up a small bunch to put in a bag for him, "Not just grapes, cotton candy grapes. They taste just like cotton candy I swear."

"Definitely never heard of those," he shakes his head, "But that sounds super weird and unnecessary."

"Of course you've never ver heard of them, it's like you lived in a cave," you sigh then freeze and put your hand over your mouth. I'm an idiot! Holy crap, why did I say that?! you yell at yourself.

"Technically, it was a secret underground military base in Siberia," he says with a straight face.

"Oh my god..." you lower your hand slowly. "I am so sorry! Bucky, I didn't mean that."

"It's fine," he insists, taking the forgotten bag of grapes from you and putting it with the other fruit in the cart.

"No, it's not. That was really messed up, I'm sorry," you tell him.

"It's okay," he reassures you. This time he does reach out to you, his right hand gently resting on your back then moving up and down slowly.

"Are you sure?" you ask, biting you lip and looking up at him.

"I'm sure," he smiles. "Don't even worry about it."

"Okay... but I'm buying you as many plums as you want cause I feel really bad now," you relax a bit and he removes his hand from your back.

He laughs a little, "I guess Sam's right, the whole guilt trip thing works on everyone."

"What do you mean?" you ask him.

"Oh, you know... you feel really bad about saying or doing something and then I get a little apology gift. It's how I got Tony to pay for my apartment," he informs you with a smirk.

"Wait seriously?" you ask following him in shock.

"Yep," he nods proudly. "Pretty much any time Tony says something stupid about my past or the Winter Soldier, which is pretty often, I get something fun like my bike."

"Wow," you laugh. "Really working the system huh?"

"It got me some plums didn't it?" he smiles at you and continues towards the vegetables.

You walk down the cereal aisle, looking for your favorite while Bucky pushes the cart behind you. With a groan, you step up to the shelf, of course it's on the top freaking shelf. Reaching for the box, Bucky chuckles behind you.

"Need help?" he asks.

"I've got it," you tell him and stretch as much as you can, lifting onto your tip toes and holding the shelf with your other hand.

"I can see that," you can hear the smirk in his voice while you struggle. After another moment of you pretending you'll suddenly get taller you feel his chest pressed lightly against your back. "This is getting sad," he laughs as he grabs the box easily.

"I had it," you tell him with a huff when he steps away to add it to the cart for you.

"You could just say 'thank you'," he smiles when you fold your arms across your chest.

"Aww, such a gentleman," an elderly woman says from half way down the aisle.

You both look towards her. "Thanks ma'am," Bucky responds politely with a smile.

"I wish I had a sweet, young husband like you," she laughs and you giggle knowing Bucky is older than her by at least twenty years. She continues, "You're such a cute couple."

You blush furiously at that and Bucky laughs quietly, his hand settling on top of yours on the handle of the cart. "You hear that sweetheart? She thinks we're cute," he says to you and you can barely believe how easily he's going along with this.

"Can borrow your husband, dear?" she asks you and points to something well out of her reach on the top shelf. "I can't seem to reach anything in this store lately."

"Oh, of course," you smile and push him gently towards her. "Go ahead handsome."

Without complaining, he walks towards where she is pointing. You notice he keeps his metal hand tucked away in his pocket and only uses his right hand to reach for the box.

"Thank you young man," she says excitedly and grabs onto his forearm tightly. It's clear she doesn't recognize him but it's also obvious she isn't going to let him go anytime soon. "I need a few more things, you don't mind do you?" she asks and he looks over his shoulder at you for help.

"You can keep him as long as you'd like," you laugh and wave at him when she pushes the cart further away from you.

(A few days later)

"Hey," you wave at Bucky when he opens his front door and you walk up the sidewalk from your car.

"Hi sweetheart," he responds, locking his door.

You sigh and look down, trying to hide your blush by pretending to be annoyed. "Don't you think that joke has run its course?" you ask him, walking up the few steps while he waits on the stoop.

"Nope," he smiles, lifting his backpack onto his shoulder.

"Look, babe..." you decide to throw in an awkward pet name to see how he likes it.

"Babe?" he practically cringes and you feel like you made a good choice.

"... it's not my fault the first woman who's hit on you in a century was half your age," you say sarcastically.

"Okay, there are so many things wrong with what you just said." He laughs and runs his metal fingers through his long hair then his smile fades, "Wait... how old do you think I am?"

You laugh and shrug despite knowing exactly how old he is, "Not quite ancient but pretty close I think, right?"

"Wow, thanks," he laughs, shaking his head. His phone beeps and he checks the message with a sigh, "Sorry to cut this short but I've got to go, work thing."

You jokingly ask him, "Going on a secret mission tonight?"

He smirks, "You know I couldn't tell you if I was."

You continue to smile but suddenly feel worried for him as he walks towards his bike. "Bucky," you call and he turns back to look at you. "Be safe."

"You don't need to worry about me sweetheart," he says with a wide grin as he starts the bike.

"I'm not," you mumble to yourself when he waves over his shoulder at you.

Covering your mouth, you hide a yawn then lean forward to stretch before laying back down on the couch. You pick up your phone, 1:32 am. Letting out a little groan, you place it back on the coffee table and try to focus on the end of the movie.

There's only fifteen minutes left, you think, then I'm going right to bed. Unless he's still not home yet. No, no, I'm not staying up just because he's still out at his 'work thing', whatever that means. This is stupid, I've been trying to watch this movie for weeks, it has nothing to do with Bucky, you argue with yourself about why you can't seem to go to sleep despite being absolutely exhausted.

You sigh deeply, holding the small pillow tightly against your chest as you yawn again when you finally hear Bucky's front door opening. Grabbing your phone, you can't help but open the camera app and check the video from moments ago. A wave of relief washes over you when you see him unlocking his door then pausing as he smiles and gives your camera a little wave.

You giggle and turn off the movie, you'll need to rewatch the last half hour tomorrow but right now it's time to go to sleep.

I hope you liked this!! Please like, share and comment if you did ❤️❤️ Please let me know if you want to be added to my taglist!

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[lemonywings]

so i read "There Are Monsters Nearby" by @uhohbestie

i am unwell. had this fic waiting in my back pocket for a few weeks since i found it, and since i got time to sit down and start it, i haven't stopped really. i did pretty much nothing but read, eat and sleep with only a couple distractions for like the last 5 days i think lmao. oh my god i cant recommend this enough. toxic yaoi slow burn into healthy yaoi my beloved....though the healthy part is debatable depending on how you look at it lmao (they're healthy for each other that's good enough right? sorry everyone else-)

for real tho, genuinely one of my favourite fic reads ever. im gonna need you guys to trust me on this because im not showing my ao3 history to prove it, but ive read so many fics over the years, and the fact that this one has already made its way into my top 5 (im not counting lmao) says alot to me. its writing had me GRIPPED. ngl i accidentally spoiled a couple bits for myself by looking and official art for the fic, but even with it slightly spoiled i still couldn't believe how much i felt immersed with the characters and wanted to see what would happen next. also wasnt expecting to feel bad for and care about grian after reading the bio of the fic. they really crushed it with not making him an irredeemable dickhead for the sake of having drama. im bad with words but yeah it was really nice to see both sides of the story and see how they both grew for each other and themselves.

i already miss this fic despite having only finished it this morning, and idk when im gonna stop missing it.

[vandme12]

Gosh, I just want to say I really love your works 🥺💚💚 Can I request for a Ronin x reader, but when Ronin thought that the reader was only a writer, turn out she was a retired serial killer that decide to just disappear without any track

TW : Blood, Gore!

Being a serial killer is boring.

Not in the way people think—blood, gore, the messy art of it. That part’s fine. Fun, even, if you're in the mood. But the rest? The routine. The predictability. The way everyone thinks they're special, right up until they bleed like the rest.

It’s the people that ruin it. Always talking. Always begging. As if their lives are a unique little miracle and not just meat wearing memories. And the killers? Worse. Self-important, self-obsessed, desperate to be legends when all they are is noise. You got tired of the noise.

So you left.

No goodbye notes. No calling cards. No poetic monologue to stroke your ego. You disappeared, clean as a ghost. Let the world breathe easier without you. Let the cops think they won. You quit while you were ahead—because it wasn’t worth the headache.

And now? Now, you’re just a writer. A curious little writer asking all the wrong questions on all the wrong forums. Boring. Harmless. At least, that’s what they think.

A reporter by day, a wannabe writer by night.

Daylight’s for lies—polished stories wrapped in neat little headlines. You smile, you nod, you write what they want to read. Crime scenes scrubbed clean with words like tragedy and justice. You ask questions, but never the ones that matter. Not really.

Night’s different. At night, you ask the real questions. The ugly ones. How much pressure does it take to crush a windpipe? How deep do you cut to hit the carotid without a mess? Can you drown someone quietly?

Research, you tell yourself. Research for the book.

And maybe that’s true. Maybe that’s all it is. Or maybe—maybe you’re just wondering how much of yourself you left behind when you walked away from the knife.

Either way, you push too far. Ask too much. And that’s when he finds you

A thousand bodies.

Give or take. You stopped counting after the first few hundred—what’s the point? Numbers blur. Faces fade. Only the methods stick. And you? You got creative.

Guns are lazy. Quick, sure—but cold. Too clean. Anyone can pull a trigger. You did it anyway. Execution-style, drive-bys, a whisper of a silencer pressed against a temple. Sometimes you missed the mess. Sometimes you didn’t.

Poison? Elegant. Cruel. Slow if you want it to be. Arsenic in their coffee. Cyanide under the tongue. A little aconite when you’re feeling poetic. You liked to watch them choke. Let them wonder who hated them enough to make it personal.

Blades were intimate. Knives, scalpels, box cutters—anything sharp enough to split skin. You liked the feel of it, once. Warm blood over cold steel. Different blades for different moods. A fillet knife when you wanted precision. A rusted machete when you didn’t.

Blunt objects were… cathartic. Crowbars, hammers, tire irons. There’s a certain honesty in breaking someone with your hands. In feeling the crack of bone vibrate through metal. Some people deserve that kind of violence.

Arson? That was a phase. Fire eats evidence. Fire doesn’t talk back. Whole families reduced to ash because you got bored and wanted to watch the sky burn. You liked the smell. You don’t admit that part. You hated them.

You’ve killed with ropes, with wires, with your bare hands. Pushed people off bridges. Crashed cars. Drowned them. Some slow. Some fast. Some still haunt you. Most don’t.

It wasn’t about the method—it was the act. The promise that anyone could die, and you were the one to prove it.

And you were better at it than anyone else.

But it got old. The thrill dulled. Even chaos starts to feel like a routine. So you quit. Disappeared. Became a ghost.

SO YOU'RE A SERIAL KILLER. SUPPOSEDLY.

A reporter by day, an aspiring writer by night—you tell yourself it’s just research. Writers ask weird questions all the time. That’s normal, right?

Like: – How deep do you bury a body to avoid detection? – How many pounds of pressure does it take to snap a human neck? – What’s the best way to dissolve evidence without setting off chemical alarms?

Totally normal. For a crime novel.

Until one night, your screen flickers. A message pops up.

ERROR! UNKNOWN: "don't be so obvious smh You're Gonna Get Caught."

…What the fuck?

Before you can blink, a new window opens—dark, minimal, the kind of place where bad ideas bloom. A chatroom. And not just any chatroom.

A serial killer chatroom.

You may be slightly fucked.

And at the center of it? Some guy with the username "goreboy." Annoying. Flirty. Dangerous. The kind of person who makes murder sound like a joke—until you realize he’s not joking.

"Goreboy."

The name alone makes you roll your eyes. What is this—2005? But he’s… interesting. In the way a car crash is interesting. Loud, cocky, all teeth and bad jokes. He types like he’s flirting with everyone and threatening them at the same time. A mess.

You tell yourself you’re only sticking around because he’ll make a great character. A little chaos for your novel. That’s all.

And he is chaotic—annoyingly so. Constantly cracking jokes like murder is just a Saturday hobby. But the more you watch, the more obvious it becomes:

He’s an amateur.

Oh, sure, he’s got the attitude down. Talks big. Acts bigger. And to his credit? He’s good—scary good—at covering his tracks. You’ll give him that. No digital footprint. No sloppy evidence. He knows how to vanish when it counts.

But the actual killing? Sloppy.

Messy crime scenes. Overkill for no reason. He’s all instinct, no finesse. Blood everywhere because he likes the aesthetic—amateur hour. Once, he bragged about botching a clean hit because he got "bored halfway through." You almost closed the tab right then.

And yet… you keep watching.

Because for all his flaws, there’s something addictive about him. He talks like he’s untouchable. Like the world’s a toy, and he’s the only one smart enough to break it right.

A stupid little punk with too much charm and not enough caution.

You should leave.

But you don’t.

You don’t know how it got to this point—playing truth or dare with a guy named Goreboy in a serial killer chatroom. It’s stupid. Juvenile. And yet, here you are, fingers hovering over your keyboard, heart thudding in your chest.

“I thought we’d get on with our game,” he says, his words lazy, drawn-out—like he’s been waiting for you. Like he’s already decided you’re his favorite toy. "I like you, darlin'. I wanna hear those interesting things pinging around in that pretty little head of yours."

Cocky bastard.

“You want to do it now?” you type back, knowing full well you shouldn’t be entertaining this.

"Heh. Why not? You got somethin' better to do?"

You don’t. And maybe that’s the problem.

“…No.”

"Didn't think so." His reply is instant, smooth—like he already knew your answer. "Alright then, let's hear it. Truth or dare?"

You hesitate. You could pick dare, let him spin something ridiculous, let the game stay light. But that’s not why you’re here, is it?

"Truth," you type, pulse quickening.

A beat. And then—

"What's your body count?"

The words slam into you. "How many have died by your hand? C'mon, don’t be shy."

You pause. He thinks you’re a writer—some curious little reporter playing pretend. But that question? It cuts too close. He has no idea who he’s playing with.

"Enough to call me a serial killer," you say, because it’s true—and you’re not in the mood to lie.

Ronin whistles low through the screen, all teeth and trouble. "You love bein’ so fucking cryptic, huh. You sure you’re not a cryptid?"

You blink. Give the screen a look like it’s grown a second head. What?

"I did say it."

You could leave it there—let him chase the question in circles, let him wonder. But you’re feeling generous. So you tip your hand, just a little.

"It’s more than you."

Silence. Or as much silence as a chatroom allows. You imagine him on the other side—grinning that lazy, shit-eating grin, probably leaning back like nothing ever touches him. Like you didn’t just twist the knife.

"Yeah?" He doesn’t let it go. Of course he doesn’t. "You wanna spit it out, and we can do a li’l comparison?"

And then—because he can’t resist—

"’Cause hey, I might jus’ add an extra body to the count if you keep actin’ like this."

Threat. Flirtation. A dare wrapped in velvet. He’s waiting to see if you’ll bite.

You lean back in your chair, lips curling into a smug little smile. The silence on the line is thick—waiting. You can picture him, wherever he is, sprawled out like he owns the world. Like nothing touches him. But you know better. You can hear the edge in his breathing, just under the surface.

“I doubt you could hit that rate easily, Goreboy.” Your voice is sweet, saccharine—a blade dipped in honey. “Devil’s butcher… Ronin, right?”

You giggle—soft, teasing, just enough to hook him deeper. You shouldn’t be doing this, poking the beast for fun, but he makes it too easy. Too fun.

“You want numbers?” you purr. “I’ve got a whole record, babe.”

His laugh cracks through the call—low, rough, the sound of a man who thinks the world’s a joke, and he’s the punchline. “A record, huh? What, you keep a scrapbook?”

You hum, light and playful. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yeah,” he drawls. “I would. So spill, princess. You got me curious.”

He thinks you’re bluffing—cute. You stretch the moment, let him squirm a little. Then, soft as a secret, you say:

“A thousand.”

Silence. Then—

A sharp, manic laugh tears out of him, wild and raw like he can’t quite believe you. “Darlin’—what a lie.”

You tilt your head, smiling like the devil’s favorite little tease. And then, because you can’t help yourself, you switch to that syrupy, baby-soft voice that you just know will get under his skin:

“Awwh… didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?” You giggle, bright and wicked. “You should. It’s a good habit, y’know.”

Ronin’s laugh is still buzzing in your ears—low, rough, all jagged edges and bad intentions. He leans into the call like he’s got all the time in the world, voice dripping with the kind of arrogance only a man who’s never truly been outmatched can pull off.

“A thousand, huh?” His words curl around the edges of his grin, smooth and syrupy. “Darlin’, you really expect me to buy that?”

You don’t answer immediately. You let the silence hang, heavy and sweet—make him sit in it. Toy with the moment the same way he’s been toying with you. And then, just because you know it’ll get to him, you giggle. Light. Careless. Like none of this really matters to you.

“Aw, poor baby.” You drag the words out, soft and mocking. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to watch the news?”

His laugh snaps sharp and manic—too loud, too sudden, like he can’t quite control it. “You’re real fuckin’ funny, you know that?” He pauses, but you hear the way his breath catches—just a hitch. Just enough to tell you that you’ve sunk your claws in. “You should’ve led with that. Hell, I would’ve rolled out the red carpet.”

You smile—a wicked little curve of your lips he can’t see, but you know he feels it. “What can I say? I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

“Scare me?” He barks out another laugh, and you can practically see the glint in his eye. “Darlin’, I don’t scare easy. ‘Sides…” His voice dips, lower, rougher, crawling under your skin. “I’d love to see you try.”

He’s cocky—of course he is. The Devil’s Butcher, the monster under everyone’s bed. He’s used to being the one with blood on his hands, the one pulling the strings. But you can hear it—feel it. That itch, that heat curling at the edges of his words. He’s curious. He’s hooked.

And you? You’re not done yet.

“I doubt you could hit that rate,” you purr, leaning into every syllable. “Even if you tried.”

That gets him. Oh, he doesn’t say it—but the line goes quiet for a beat too long, and you know you’ve struck something raw. When he speaks again, his voice is smooth, easy—but there’s an edge beneath it now. Something sharp, something real.

“Big talk, princess.” His tone is all lazy challenge, like this is nothing more than a game. But you know better. You always know better. “Y’gonna back it up? Or you just blowin’ smoke?”

You hum, tilting your head like you’re actually thinking about it. Let him stew in the silence a little longer. “What do you think?”

“I think—” and here, his voice shifts—dropping to something darker, deeper. “I think you’re real good at playin’ pretend.”

You giggle again, light and cruel. “Awh… someone’s cranky.”

Another pause—just a flicker of quiet, but you hear the breath he drags in. The way his composure frays at the edges. And then, so soft you almost miss it—

“You’re up, Goreboy,” you purr, voice dripping with sweet venom. “Truth. What’s your poison?”

Ronin chuckles low in his throat—a dark, syrupy sound that sticks to your ribs. “That’s a good one. Heh.” There’s a pause, a deliberate stretch of silence before he leans in, all teeth and bad ideas. “Alright, darlin’. What’cha gonna give me?”

You tilt your head, feigning innocence. “What do you like to do… outside of killing people?”

Another laugh—this one rougher, dirtier. Like he can’t quite believe you’d ask something so tame. “What d’ya think a guy like me gets up to?” He drawls it out, lazy and thick. “I work. Eat. Sleep. Kill. Think about death ‘n dreamin’—and then I do it all over again. Same shit, different body count.”

It’s the answer you expected. Still, you play along, lips curling into a wicked little smile. “That can’t be all there is to you.”

“What if it is?” His voice sharpens—still playful, still easy, but there’s a hook buried somewhere beneath it. “Would’ja still be here? Or are you just lookin’ for somethin’ to fix?”

Oh, he wants you to bite. Wants you to flinch. But instead, you let the silence stretch—sweet, syrup-thick—before you lean in, matching his darkness with your own.

“What if I wanted someone to get worse with?”

Ronin’s laugh slithers through the call—low and slow, like he’s savoring every delicious syllable you feed him. "Music to my fuckin’ ears," he drawls, voice slick with danger, with promise. "Most people?" He scoffs, dripping venom. "They wanna clean me up. Make me nice. Sweet. Boring." He spits the word out like it leaves a bad taste. "But you?" His voice dips lower, curling around the edges of something darker. "Nah. You’re smarter than that. You wanna roll around in the dirt with me."

You hum—soft, teasing, the sound curling like smoke. "What’s the fun in fixing something that’s already perfect?" You make sure he hears the wicked edge to your smile, the sharpness beneath the sugar. "Besides…" A pause—long enough to make him hang on your every breath. "I’m not looking for some big, sentimental fairytale." Another beat, just to keep him waiting. Wondering. "Though…" and you drag the word out, slow and sweet, like you know exactly how far you can push him—"it’d be nice to settle down. With the right person."

His breath hitches—barely, but enough. You’ve hooked him deep, and you both know it.

"Settle down, huh?" His tone twists—half-mocking, half-starved, like he’s not sure whether to laugh or take you apart. "I gotta warn ya, darlin’—I ain’t the white-picket-fence kinda guy."

You giggle—dark and dangerous, the sound laced with just enough cruelty to make his blood run hotter. "Good." Your smile sharpens. "I’d probably burn the fence down anyway."

His laugh drips through the call again—sickly sweet and razor-sharp. You can practically see the grin on his face, cocky and too damn pleased with himself. "Burn it down, huh? Ain’t you just a little firestarter," he purrs. "Keep talkin’, darlin’. I’m hangin’ on every word."

And oh, you know he is.

"Your methods…" You draw the words out, tasting them, letting your voice curl around the edges of your smile. "They're good. Messy, loud—definitely leaves a mark. But…" You pause just long enough to let the disappointment sink in. "You’re missing a little something. Y’know—if you’re really going for the whole ‘Devil’s Butcher’ vibe."

He clicks his tongue. "Tch. Bold of you to critique, sugar. You think you can do better?"

You laugh softly, dark and syrupy, like you’ve already thought about it. "I know I can." The words slide out, sweet and cruel. "Crowbars? Classic. Brutal. But predictable. I mean, ‘Antichrist’—nice aesthetic, I’ll give you that—but where’s the spectacle?" Your voice dips lower, mockingly sweet. "Where’s the art, Ronin?"

He makes a low, thoughtful sound, like maybe—just maybe—you’ve got his attention in a way no one else has. "Go on," he says, voice rougher now. Hungrier. "I’m listenin’."

"If you really want to earn the title," you continue, slow and deliberate, like you’re peeling back layers just for him, "you gotta lean into it. Meat hooks, maybe. Something that tears. Skin’s fragile, baby—play with it. Or—" and you giggle, sharp and bright, like you’re already imagining the blood—"—why not a bone saw? Nothing says ‘commitment’ like cutting down to the marrow."

His breath stutters—just a little—and you swear you hear the faintest groan under his breath. "You really got a mind for this, huh?"

"Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes," you tease, then lean back with a sigh that’s just this side of disappointed. "But hey—maybe you don’t need my advice, cutie." You let the pet name slide from your tongue like silk, knowing it’ll dig under his skin in all the right ways. "You’ve done fine on your own so far."

"Cute, huh?" His voice drops lower, almost a growl. "You keep talkin’ like that, sweetheart, an’ I might just take you up on all those suggestions."

"Who said I didn’t want you to?" You smile—wicked, daring—because if there’s one thing you’re learning about Ronin, it’s that he’ll chase anything that teases the edge of danger. And you? You’re dangling right over it.

"Your turn. Truth or dare?"

"Truth," you drawl, already tasting the weight of the question he’s about to throw at you.

His voice hums low through the call, lazy but sharp around the edges. "Best kill you've ever had."

Your smile twists—dangerous. "There was this guy… by the coast."

Ronin hums again, waiting.

"He was laughing at me," you continue, voice soft but with an undercurrent of something mean. "Like I couldn’t do it. So, I did. I watched him drown—slow. He wasn’t laughing when the water hit his lungs."

A beat of silence. Then—"Creative," he says, but there’s a lilt to his voice. Doubt. "I don’t buy it."

Your head tilts, and you give the screen a cold, strange look—like you’re deciding whether to laugh or rip him apart. And maybe both. "What?" The question is sweet, threatening—like a blade hidden in silk.

"What do you mean, ‘you don’t buy it’?" A breathy little laugh slips out, all teeth. "I get it, gorebaby… You thought I was some cute little writer just lookin’ for creative ways to kill ‘cause, hey, it’s all ‘for the book,’ right?" Your voice drips mockery, sharp and saccharine. "Did you invite me here to see how I play, or just to keep yourself entertained?"

He doesn’t answer immediately—but you hear it. The low, rough chuckle, curling dark and sweet through the static. He knows. And worse—he likes it.

"What the fuck d’you think?" His tone is smooth, but there’s something simmering beneath—interest. Curiosity. Hunger.

His smile deepens, wicked and knowing. "It’s not your turn yet, cutie." He lean closer, voice dropping low and silky. "Shouldn’t you be tellin’ me a believable kill, darlin’? Or are you just stalling?"

You stretch out the silence, letting it hang heavy between you both—just long enough to make him impatient. Then, with a sweet, venomous lilt, you break it.

"Alright, gorebaby," you purr, "since you’re so curious… Let’s play."

You start simple. A man in a parking garage—cold concrete, colder steel. "He begged," you muse, dragging the memory back like it’s a bedtime story. "Didn’t think I’d do it. But once the knife went in… well, it’s amazing how fast people stop laughing."

Ronin makes a sound—low and thoughtful. "Knives," he muses. "Classic. Personal. But c’mon, darlin’—you can do better."

"Better?" Your voice dips into something darker. "Alright."

The next one’s messier. A sleazebag who liked to corner women in alleys. You describe how easy it was to lure him—how stupid men are when they think they’ve already won. "He didn’t see the crowbar ‘til it was too late," you murmur, each word laced with syrupy amusement. "Bones crack real easy if you know where to aim. And once he stopped moving? Well, let’s just say I got curious about what’s underneath."

He exhales—sharp, quiet. Interested. You can almost picture him—head tilted, eyes gleaming like he’s savoring every word.

"Still with me, Devil?" You tease, voice sugar-sweet.

"Barely," he drawls, and you catch it—just the faintest hitch when you mention the break, the blood. He’s hooked.

So, you push deeper.

"Then there was this preacher," you continue, tapping your fingers against your desk like you’re counting bodies. "One of those real righteous types. Thought he was legit" You laugh—sharp, wicked. "I let him pray, y’know. Hands folded and everything. Guess the Devil answered first."

There’s a pause—just long enough to hear the way Ronin’s breath stirs against his mic.

"You’re makin’ it hard to focus, darlin," he admits, his voice rougher, lower. "Keep talkin’."

So, you do.

A drowning—slow and deliberate. "It’s fascinating," you muse, "how long the body fights when it wants to live. But the eyes… that’s the best part. Watching the light fade—knowing you did that? Feels better than any high."

His laugh slips out—dark and jagged. "You’re twisted," he says, and there’s a heat to it—a little more breath in his voice than before. "I like that about you."

You lean closer, voice curling sweet and deadly. "Funny," you hum. "I thought you wanted someone to be worse with, not just keep up."

He breathes out a soft, breathy curse, and you know you’ve got him. "Careful, darlin'," he warns, but there’s no threat in his voice—just that delicious, dangerous edge of wanting. "I might fall for you if you keep talkin’ like that."

"Aw, poor baby," you mock softly, then giggle—cruel and sweet. "And here I thought you were the Devil. Didn’t anyone teach you not to play with fire?"

"Took you long enough," you purr, fingers dancing across the keyboard like you’ve got all the time in the world. "I’m [Insert Name]—if you wanna see my work, just turn on the news."

And he doesn’t disappoint.

"No shit?" His voice hums through the call, low and velvet-smooth. "Didn’t peg you for a hands-on kinda girl. Thought you were just here to take notes."

You giggle—light, cruel, and just for him. "Awh, what’s the matter, Devil?" you tease, leaning closer to the mic. "Did it hurt your ego to find out I’m not just some cute little writer?"

A beat. Then, that wicked laugh of his spills out—slow, sharp, and laced with something dangerous.

"Cute?" he drawls. "Baby, I ain’t ever thought you were innocent."

You tilt your head, lips curling into a smile. Time to twist the knife.

"Still," you muse, dragging the words out like honey, "I gotta admit—when I hit my thousandth, it was kinda .."

He goes quiet. You let it linger. Let it burn.

"After all," He sigh, fake-pouting, "you were my inspiration. Kinda sad you quit…"

His breath catches—just barely—but you hear it.

You giggle again—soft, sweet, but there’s something off about it. Something wrong. Then, just as quickly, your smile fades.

"Although…" Your voice drops, quieter—almost thoughtful. "That thousandth kill?" You let out a sigh, hollow and cold. "Didn’t know it’d be the last one. Turns out…" You tilt your head, as if considering your own words. "It wasn’t fun anymore."

Ronin doesn’t speak. He’s listening. Hanging on every word like you’ve wrapped a noose around his curiosity and pulled it tight.

"I hated it," you confess, and your tone twists—half-bitter, half-bored. "Killing didn’t feel good after a while. It was boring." You scoff, like the very thought annoys you. "So, I quit. Just like that."

A beat of silence. Then, you laugh—sharp and bright and dripping with malice. "And here I thought you’d get it, Gorebaby. Guess not."

His breath crackles softly through the mic, but he’s still silent. You lean in, voice honeyed and cruel.

"I killed because I liked it," you continue, dragging each word out like you’re savoring it. "The blood. The mess. The way people break when they realize no one’s coming to save them." You hum, nostalgic, like you’re reminiscing about a favorite vacation. "No moral code. No fancy rituals. I didn’t need a reason—I was just… there."

You giggle again—high, light, and absolutely unhinged. "And I loved it, Ronin." The way you say his name—like it’s something fragile you could break—makes his breath hitch just slightly.

"HAHAHAHA!" Your laughter rings out, wild and unchecked, like you’re reliving the thrill of it. "But hey, it’s fine. I’m retired now, right? Outta the game. Mostly."

You drawl the last word like a promise you might break.

"Still…" Your voice softens, but there’s a razor edge underneath. "If you ever need some tips, Devil, just ask." You smile, sharp and sweet. "I’d be so happy to help."

Ronin snorts, low and mocking. "No shit." His voice drips with that signature arrogance—sweet like poison, sharp like broken glass. "What makes ya think I need pointers from Missy Bitchy herself?"

The way he spits the words—like you’re nothing but a joke—should annoy you. Should. But you know better.

You laugh, slow and syrupy. "Aw, Gorebaby…" You drag the nickname out, teasing like he’s just another plaything. "Did I hurt your fragile little pride?"

"Fragile?" He scoffs, but there’s heat under it, something twitching and raw. "Darlin’, I’ve been paintin’ these streets red since you were still playin’ pretend."

You hum, tilting your head. "Cute. But you and I both know…" You let your voice drop to a purr, soft and deadly. "I don’t play pretend. I finish what I start."

That earns you a low, wicked chuckle. "Is that right?" He leans in, voice dropping to something darker—something dangerous. "Then maybe you oughta prove it."

You giggle again—sweet, cruel, promising things no sane person would ever want. "Careful what you wish for, Devil…" Your smile sharpens. "I might just make you beg for it."

"It’s gonna be fun," you purr, voice dripping with wicked promise. "These next six months… let’s see if we self-destruct or fall in love."

You stretch back in your chair, knowing damn well how dangerous you sound—how dangerous you are. And judging by the silence on the line, Ronin knows it too.

He doesn’t speak right away. For once, you’ve left him quiet—left him thinking. But when he finally does respond, his voice is lower, rougher—like he’s already too far gone.

"Darlin’…" His laughter is soft and slow, like he’s savoring the taste of your words. "With a mouth like that, even Satan’d be on his knees."

You giggle—soft, sweet, and utterly sadistic. "Who says he isn’t already?"

[liyliths]

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౨ৎ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 a jujutsu kaisen college au

❝ well, i know that 'just friends' don't look at each other the way you two do. ❞

you, a journalism major in the newspaper club, get assigned to interview the hottest star quarterback on usc's football team for the season, satoru gojo. he’s everything you avoid—charming to a fault, a notorious womanizer, and the king of the college frat scene. the real question is, will you see through his charm, or will you fall for the one person you swore you never would?

pairings: football and frat!satoru gojo x journalism major!reader

contains: fem!reader, opposites to lovers, slow burn, situationship core, angst and comfort, cursing, suggestive content although sfw, idiots denying they're in love

playlist

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𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗢𝗡𝗘

you're thrown into a last-minute interview with the campus golden boy, satoru gojo. between his shameless flirting, the consequences of stalking on social media, and your roommate roping you into a frat party you absolutely don't want to attend, you quickly learn that dealing with satoru might be more chaotic (and irritating) than you ever anticipated. but hey, at least you're getting a good article over it!

-

A/N: hello dear reader! i know you are probably disappointed when you see there aren't many chapters out, but i have the series outline finished! unfortunately, this story is going on a short hiatus while i start a new project, so if you’d like to stay tuned for that feel free! just know i am planning on coming back around to this story because the ending is very dear to me and i can’t wait to write it <3

[luna-azzurra]

What to Give a Sh*t About While Editing Your Book

↳ Emotional Impact

Ask yourself: Do I actually feel something here? If a scene is technically “well-written” but emotionally flat, it’s dead weight. Your readers won’t remember your clever metaphors, but they’ll remember the way a quiet line of dialogue made their stomach drop. So yeah—give a sh*t about that.

↳ Character Motivation That Actually Makes Sense

If your characters are making decisions just because the plot needs them to… we’ve got a problem. In edits, zoom in on their choices. Are they acting like real, flawed, complex humans? Or puppets? Edit until their actions make you nod and go, “Yep. That’s exactly what that little disaster would do.”

↳ Cutting the “Almost Good” Stuff

This hurts, but it’s necessary. Some lines are nice. Pretty. Kind of smart. But if they’re not serving the story, they’ve got to go. Save them in a “kill darlings” file. Grieve if needed. But don’t let “kinda good” block the greatness trying to come through.

↳ Scene Purpose

Every scene needs to earn its place like it’s paying rent. Does it move the plot? Deepen character? Build tension? Ideally, two out of three. If the answer is “it’s vibes,” that might work for a paragraph—but not for 3,000 words. Cut. Condense. Clarify. Your future reader will thank you.

↳ Pacing That Doesn’t Bore People to Death

Look, I love a moody slow burn too. But if your story crawls for 50 pages without conflict, tension, or curiosity—your reader will ghost you. Read your scenes out loud. If you’re zoning out? So will they. Tighten that sh*t up.

↳ Dialogue That Sounds Like Real People (and Not AI)

If your characters sound like they're reading from a very polite script, it’s time to rewrite. Interruptions, unfinished thoughts, weird little phrases—those are gold. Make it messy. Make it sound like how people actually talk when they’re nervous, angry, or halfway in love and lying about it.

↳ Themes You Accidentally Nailed (and Can Now Strengthen)

Themes tend to sneak in while you’re drafting. During edits? Time to spotlight them. Don’t slap it on with a neon sign—but do lean into the emotional throughline you already created. It’s probably smarter and more beautiful than you gave yourself credit for.

↳ Your Voice

Don’t edit your weird out. Editing is for clarity, not sanding down your style until it sounds like generic internet writing. Keep the voicey bits. The odd metaphors. The lines that sound exactly like you. That’s what readers fall in love with—not perfection.

↳ Trusting That You’ll Need Multiple Rounds

This isn’t one-and-done. Your second draft will suck differently than your first. Your third might suck less, but still suck. That’s fine. It’s part of the process. What matters is that each time, it gets sharper, truer, and more you.

�� Not Quitting Halfway Through Just Because It’s Hard

Editing is hard. But you’ve already done the impossible: you wrote a damn book. That’s massive. Now you’re just sculpting it. Don’t give up because it’s messy. Don’t panic because it’s not “there” yet. Keep showing up. Even if it’s just one scene at a time. Even if you’re crying into your tea. Especially then.

[soldierboysdoll]

M A R I L Y N

Soldier boy x fem!reader

SUMMARY: Soldier boy and you had an arrangement: no love, just pure lust and desire. These were the rules and neither of you wanted to change it, especially that he had to fake-dating with fucking Crimson Countess. Luckily you have people and places they're trust with they secrets.

WARNINGS: 18+, unprotected sex, language, smut

PLEASE BE KIND IF I MISSPELLED SOMETHING, ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

1940s America. The war may be raging overseas, but in Hollywood, it’s all about glamour, secrets, and indulgence. The Payback team is America’s sweetheart superhero squad, and Soldier Boy is their golden boy—a war hero, a heartthrob, and the man every magazine cover wants. But behind the carefully curated image, there’s a world of deception, passion, and reckless abandon that only a select few get to witness.

You are not just another pretty face in a red, white, and blue uniform. You're the co-captain of Payback—just as strong, just as deadly, and the only person who can match Soldier Boy in a fight or in bed. You have an understanding: no strings, no expectations. Just pure, unfiltered pleasure whenever you can sneak away from the cameras, the war propaganda, and the eyes of your team.

But there’s a problem: America loves a love story, and Vought has scripted one for Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess. The fucking redheaded songbird and Hollywood’s sweetheart, the woman marketed as his woman. In public, Soldier Boy has to play the perfect doting boyfriend—smiling, holding her waist at events, and whispering sweet nothings into her ear for the cameras. But behind the scenes? The only place he really wants to be is in your bed.

And the only person who knows?

Marilyn Monroe.

Marilyn is the queen of secrets, and her exclusive, after-dark parties are the perfect cover for your illicit affair. The guest list is always long, but everyone knows the rules: what happens in Marilyn’s house stays in Marilyn’s house. It’s a world of flowing champagne, golden-lit ballrooms, smoky lounges filled with jazz music, and secret rendezvous behind closed doors. It’s a world of stolen touches, whispered promises, and reckless nights that neither of them can resist.

One night, during one of Marilyn’s infamous parties, you are standing at the bar, a cigarette between your lips, dressed in a slinky satin gown that drapes over your curves just right. The room is thick with the scent of expensive perfume and bourbon, jazz humming through the air.

Across the room, Soldier Boy is leaning against a wall, whiskey in hand, watching you like a wolf tracking his prey. He’s just stepped off the stage from some Vought-sponsored radio show with Crimson Countess, where he played the perfect boyfriend, but his real desire is standing right in front of him.

"You look like you’re waiting for trouble," Soldier Boy murmurs, slipping up beside you, his voice dripping with smug confidence.

You exhaled a slow drag of smoke, tilting your head at him. "Trouble’s already here."

He smirks, fingers brushing against your wrist as he steals your cigarette and takes a slow inhale. It was one of those tricky blunts which looks exactly like a normal cigarette, but blew up your mind. His eyes stay locked on yours, a silent challenge burning between them.

"You jealous, sweetheart?" he taunts. "Saw me up there, holding her like she’s mine?"

You scoffed, swirling your drink in your glass. "Please, I know exactly where your hands would rather be."

You looked at him with an amused, but knowing smirk on your plump, red painted lips and took a sip of your martini, then put down the glass in a movement, Soldier Boy never thought he would find it that attractive. But it was graceful and sexy as hell as your slender fingers played with the stem of the glass.

"And where would at be exactly?" He murmured, his voice was velvety.

You just smirked and jumped off of the barstool. You were so close, he could smell your perfume, the one he bought for you from Paris a few months ago. It was driving him crazy, in the best ways.

"On me. Under this silky dress. Inside of me" you whispered with that honeyed voice he loved so much.

Before he could've reply, Marilyn glides by, flashing you both a knowing smirk. "Bedroom’s unlocked, darlings," she whispers before disappearing into the crowd.

That’s all the permission you needed.

The party is still roared downstairs, but in the dim glow of Marilyn’s lavish bedroom, it’s just you two. Soldier Boy presses you against the vanity, knocking over a bottle of Chanel No. 5 in the process, but neither of you cares.

His lips crashed against yours, desperate, possessive, full of weeks of pent-up frustration. His hands roamed your body like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every scar, every inch of you that isn’t his to keep.

"You drive me insane, you know that?" he growled against your neck, his breath hot against your skin.

You laughed breathlessly, tangling your fingers in his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan. "Then go find your real girlfriend, Ben."

His grip tightens on your waist, his smirk dark and dangerous. "Nah. I’d rather wreck you instead."

And with that, his lips were on you again. Kissing, nipping, licking your soft skin on your throat and went lower. On your collarbone, on your chest, growls and sighs to your skin as his hands clenched around the silky material of your dress.

"This fucking dress," he growled "I want to rip down of you."

"Don't you dare, it was expensive" you murmured between soft sighs. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back as you let out soft, breathless sighs.

"Don't give a fuck, I buy you another" he murmured on your cleavage just below of the neckline.

"And how would I go home? Naked?"

"I'm sure Marilyn's gonna give you something, darlin'." He was so wrecked, fuming from his desire to take you right there.

You moaned softly as he sucked on the soft flesh of your breast.

"Asshole" you breathed out.

"You love it" he murmured back, his hands tightened around the dress, you could hear it ripping already.

"I do" you moaned "rip it." Your voice was just a low whimper.

That was all he needed. He straightened up and moved his hand to the neckline of the dress, and with one, swift motion he rip it just in the middle. The material fell down on you, like a silky robe before a heated night.

His gaze roamed over your naked body and a sly smirk appeared on him. "No panties?"

You smirked back "I was thinking forward."

He grinned "Good girl" he murmured, then his lips crashed to yours in a heated, animalistic kiss.

His fingers were already between your legs, pushed in two fingers right away. You moaned into the kiss, your body trembled but it wasn't from pain. It was pure bliss. He smiled against your mouth, kissed you feverish.

You like it like this. Your rendezvous is reckless, messy, and fueled by the knowledge that the world can never know. But in that moment, you don’t care.

"You like it don't you?" He murmured as he moved his fingers in and out with just a right amount of pressure, curling in the soft flesh.

"Shut... up..." you whined, your head fell back on the mirror above the vanity.

He chuckled as his lips trailed down on your jaws, then he pulled out his fingers make you whine in protest, but he had other plans.

He spunned you around and bent you down on the vanity. With his other hand, he pulled his already throbbing cock out of his trousers.

"I want you to watch yourself as I fuck you from behind" He hissed out as he pushed himself inside of you with a low growl.

His forehead fell on your shoulder to compose himself for a minute, then started to move in you.

Your head hunged down, your body trembling, the pleasure was too good already, then you felt his large hand on your throat as he yanked you a bit up and against his chest. He moved in hard and long thrusts, leaned his head to your ear as he looked at you through the mirror.

"Eyes on yourself, sugar" He whispered, nipped on your earlobe, then buried his face into the crook of your neck, kissing your soft skin.

You couldn't help but moaned and sighed and whimpered. His hand tightened around your throat and your eyes rolled back in pure pleasure. He yanked on you again.

"Eyes up, babydoll. I want you to watch the show" He murmured, thrusted harder.

The perfums and make ups trembled on the vanity, but you didn't care.

"Look at you..." He mused "So fucking hot, and all mine..."

You just whined in response, you already felt your climax rose up, you felt the familiar warm and tightness in your stomach and he felt your walls clenching around his hard dick.

"That's it baby, let yourself go... let me hear you... come for me..."

He thrusted harder and faster, his hand tightened around your throat but in just the right pressure to make you feel good.

"You're so fucking tight" He almost whined in panting. "I'm gonna make you scream my name as loud that they would hear it louder than that damn jazz. Fucking hypocrites." He hissed out as he felt himself closer to the edge too.

"I love how you fit to me, like a perfect puzzle." He nipped on your neck again as his movements getting ragged and harder with each thrust.

"Gonna make you feel good, I promise."

"You always do" you managed to whimper out "Oh God... I'm gonna–"

"That's it baby. Give it to me. Give me what I want. Scream my name."

And with that, with a loud cry of his name, you came. And he followed. Oh how he followed. Your mixed breaths and whines were downright sinful. It was pure Heaven and Hell in the same time.

His head fell down on your sweaty shoulder, put feather-light kisses as he came down from the high, panting like he just ran a marathon.

"So... who's made a wreck from who?" You smirked at him through the mirror, panting, and he couldn’t help the chuckle escaping from his lips.

"You're gonna be the death of me, woman, I swear the god..." he whispered with a last kiss on your shoulder.

"You're atheist" you commented just to tease him.

He smirked against your skin "But I believe in you, and darling... God is a woman, and that's you"

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@emeraldcrs

Thanks for reading, If you want me to tag you, just let me know in the comments 🩷

You can find this fanfic as a C.AI bot too with the same name but I add a link too, and if you have requests for bots, just DM me 🥰

[girlboysam]

wincest fic rec list

a collection of my favorite fics sorted by my favorite genres. most of these are not smut based, though they contain it (and if anyone’s interested i can make a pt. 2 with smutty ones). proof i read too much fanfiction…

pov outsider

Do you wish you could still touch… her? by ace__BETHANY (6,100 words) - “Every time Jessica Moore hears the name Dean and the consequences following it”

Rift by Fenix21 (6,511 words) - “John thought he knew what he was betraying. Turns out, he didn't.”

Daisy Boyhood by AnonDude (1,229 words) - “Bobby quickly discovers that the boys have no concept of the idea that their particular brand of closeness may not be right.”

Welcome Home by Samcursed (12,373 words) - “The hunters of the bunker don't know what to make of the strange man and the even stranger relationship with his brother when Dean shows up after being possessed by Micahel.”

weecest

Guardian Ad Litem by fraukatzen (24,389 words) -“Sam has always called Dean “daddy” when dad’s not around. Dean likes it a lot.” slow burn, kinky but also sweet

The Ballad of the Invisible Boy by dollylux (57,490 words) - “This is a story of adolescence. This is a love letter for the slow burn, for Led Zeppelin, for the 90s. This is the first of two sets of stories about how Sam and Dean didn’t fall in love. They never had to. It was always there, this desperation between them, like a real, breathing thing. When they came together, it was inevitable. As sure as continents colliding, as the phases of the moon and the life and death of stars. This isn’t a love story, but it’s a story of love” a classic, popular for a reason. the weecest of all weecest

The Salt-Filled Skins of Ptolemaea by BlindSwandive & Maven_Morozov (92,128 words) - “Sam has always felt like a freak in his body. As long as he can remember, his life has revolved around his brother--but as he begins to transition from a child to a teenager, he's forced into a reckoning of his feelings for Dean, and a strange angel appearing in his dreams that calls itself Azazel.” this is my favorite long form fic ever. changed my life a little. featuring trans!sam as well <3

house song by according2thelore (55,501 words) - “Pre-Canon/Teen!chesters AU in which Sam develops powers at age eleven, Dean will do anything to protect him, and they have to live with the consequences”

susceptible to falling by kermiethefrog (7,957 words) - “Dad says keep Sammy safe. Dad says take care of Sammy. Dad says make sure Sammy stays close, no matter what. So Dean does. No matter what.”

Too F’n High by ladygizarme (9,032 words) - sick fic with dark undertones, very smutty, be warned

It Started Out With A Kiss by intrepidheart (17,291 words) - “Sam has a date. That's not the problem. The problem is that Sam's asking Dean to teach him how to kiss. The problem is that this kiss changes everything.”

Crush by BewareTheIdes15 (23,401 words) - “Dean looks at him different now, Sam just can't figure out what the difference is.”

obsession/codependency heavy

mother is pretending by hathfrozen (19,936 words) -“Sam and Dean get reckless about how they're handling the pain of season 2, and whoops! slowly develop a Mommy kink along the way.” hathfrozen has the best fics ever. this one is one of my all time favorites, a must read

Monsters are always Hungry by untraceablegirl23 (27,460 words) - “Nonlinear depiction of the time Sam and Dean are found out and how it all comes to in the months beforehand which are Heaven and Hell at once. Or an acknowledgement of just how far they’d go for each other, even when it’s beyond wrong, because how can you hide when you’re entirely made for someone else?”

Hands Away by objectlesson (13,298 words) - “When you’re horny and alone with one person in one room for a long time and you’re sixteen and all you’ve ever been taught is to love your brother more than anything, it doesn’t seem like that far of a leap to start imagining what his mouth would feel like around your dick.”

case fics

The landscape after cruelty by zorrosuchil (16,428 words) - “After getting coordinates from Dad, Sam and Dean head north to Oregon to find a house that's making people sick for no apparent reason. Dean's antsy because of his unfinished business in that town with a violent spirit from four years ago, a machete-wielding murderer that simply vanished. But what he doesn't expect is the return of his feelings of obsession from four years ago - not over the case, but over Sam, who was away at college that summer. Dean tries not to get too worked up over all of it, but Sam's always been too hard to ignore.”

The Things We Carry with Us by lovesrain44 (47,604 words) - “Sam and Dean are on the road, saving people and hunting things, like they always do. Dean discovers that Sam is attempting to turn himself into a monk, and so he does his best to get Sam laid. Sam resists because, of course, who needs to have sex with a girl when Dean’s around? It's about going on a roadtrip with your brother. It's about the food you eat, and the maps you follow. It's about the things you carry with you.”

What Went Wrong Yesterday by SinnamonSpider, stormbrite (16,224 words) - “With Broward County in their rearview and a new case in their laps, Sam struggles to come to terms with the six months he spent alone after Dean’s death - and the fact that it never happened at all. And on top of it all, he now has to deal with the feelings for his brother that have been dragged to the surface.”

others

nothing's gonna hurt you, baby by orphaned (17,652 words) - angst slow burn getting together

Feel About the Same Most Every Day by orphaned (4,747 words) - angst unrequited smut

i don’t smoke by brotherfuckin (loved hands) (18,783 words) - “After John's death, Dean blames himself, puts up walls, and barricades himself from love. Sam tears it all down.”

Stranger Than Fiction by nyxocity (50,644 words) - “Meta-comedy/drama set immediately post-4x18” featuring dean being obsessed with wincest fanfiction

[writeforthepeople]

Heyy! I've been thinking about Damien and the reader being in a YouTube short film together playing as a married couple and as filming goes on they find themselves actually falling for each other 😩😩 specifically a scene where they're lying in bed together and have to face each other all closely and they're staring into each other's eyes all soft UGHH anyways! I would love if you could write a lil fic like that 🥹🫶 even if you don't end up writing it ty for reading this req!

Absolutely LOVE this idea. The UGHH says it alllllll. Summary: You are cast in a short film your friend Amanda is working on and you are playing Damien's love interest! While you always strive to be as professional as possible, the acting feels a bit too real...and maybe it is?

Warning: No smut, slow burn. Word Count: 4k ... I might have gotten carried away with this one.

You woke up to an early alarm, you had to wake up earlier than usual to start getting ready for your first day on a new set. Your friend Amanda was making her first short film and decided to cast you, of course, you were excited to work on the project because you love her, but you would have been willing to do any part of the project to help. You getting cast as the love interest to the main character certainly gave you a confidence boost though. Nerve racking? Sure! but exciting none the less.

You continued going over the script for what must have been the 10th time as you finished getting ready this morning. It was a romantic comedy about the main character, Gideon Hale who is able to see ghosts. He makes a living running a small bed and breakfast, but on the side he is a bit of an 'Afterlife Coach' (the name of the film) where he coaches ghosts on getting through the afterlife. He meets an old friend (you) who is back in town after many years for a mutual friends wedding. The story focuses on his journey helping the ghosts around him and getting to know you and falling in love. You were a little nervous for a few of the more romantic scenes, but it is nothing you haven't done before. You've been in many plays and projects where you have had to kiss or be romantic with a partner. This one felt different though, you had met Damien a few times through Amanda and somehow knowing him made it feel a bit awkward. Not to mention the fact that you thought he was incredibly attractive, but that would only help the acting be easier, right? It didn't take long to get to the filming location, Smosh had offered to let Amanda use some of their space for filming. When you walked in you were immediately greeted by Erin, the set coordinator. We chatted for a few moments before she brought me to the set Amanda was working on. You were blown away with all the effort that had gone into really making the set look like a bed and breakfast. There was a lobby, a kitchen, and a bedroom plotted out for various scenes. "Y/N!! You're here!" you heard Amanda's familiar voice yell out as she made her way over to you. She was beaming, and it made you smile. "I'm here and ready to work!" you said, giving her a quick hug. "I hope you are here and ready to fall in love because we are about to make magic" She laughed, but you knew there would be more jokes to come on that front. You looked around and didn't see Damien yet but you noticed several other familiar faces from Amanda's parties. It looked like Angela was running the show, directing and moving people about. You think to your self, this must be the most serious you've ever seen her.

"Damien is wrapping in hair and make-up, he has a few scenes to shoot before you enter so once he is done you're next in the chair!" Amanda talked as she led you to the small room right off the stage. "Hey Trina, this is Y/N, she's up after my little star here" he pointed to Damien, waving her finger around in a funny gesture. She walked off without saying anything else. "Hi Y/N, you can take a seat we are almost done here" Trina said and Damien smiled "How are you feeling?" he asked you politely "I'm good, a bit nervous but I am excited" you admitted, trying to hold back your surprise. His hair was different. Last you had seen him his hair was getting long, but was distinctly dyed a silvery white, but the man sitting in the chair has more of a slick backed 90's look and was dyed completely black. "How about you?" you asked, not mentioning the hair. "I'm good" he said not moving his head as Trina added hair spray and tapped him on the shoulder "You are set" she she smiled and turned back to her kit. You watched as Damien examined his look and quickly turned to you "I've never had black hair, how does it look" it was as if he was scanning your features for an answer. You shook your head "it suits you. I like it a lot" you admitted, your cheeks a bit red. "Did you dye it just for the role?" you follow up with and he smiled and nodded "It felt very Gideon" he said with a chuckle "plus Amanda had a vision and who was I to say no to that?" he added. "Well hopefully I don't have to dye mine, but anything for Amanda right?" you smiled.

"Luckily your hair just needs styled" Trina chimes in. "You ready to hop in the chair?" she asked and you nodded, standing up. "Well I will see you out there" Damien said, leaving the room with a wave. "What a nice boy" Trina said after he left and you nodded "he's really sweet" you agreed. "So, you are the love interest huh?" she turned you to the mirror and talked through a bit of Amanda's vision and you got started. You didn't need anything to crazy, she was going to style your hair and put on some make up and take you over to wardrobe. After you were ready, you headed to the set and took a seat in the corner to watch the scene they were filming. Damien was speaking to a ghost played by Tommy, helping them understand that he has options in the afterlife. Amanda came over after they cut and asked if you were ready. You oddly weren't, your nerves were high but you shook out your hands and planned to fake it til you make it. She led you to the scene in the lobby of the bed and breakfast Damien's character, Gideon, owned. You stepped to your marker and looked to Damien, who was reading the script once before the scene and you smiled to yourself, thinking about how cute his thinking face was. You shook out your hands again, you needed to shake any thoughts like those away.

"Ok" Amanda starts "Damien, Gideon is prepping for two arrivals he has today, both are high school acquaintances in town for your friend Aprils wedding. You are feeling uncomfortable, knowing you will have to make a lot of small talk and feel a need to be more entertaining than with any standard guests" she said, nodding but speaking again before he can talk at all. "Y/N, Gwen is nervous about being back in town. Not only is she having feelings about her close friend getting married and starting 'the rest of her life' " the ending she added finger quotes "but Gwen is also feeling inadequate, not being as advanced in her career as she thought she'd be by now, knowing she'll have tons of people asking about it all weekend." I nod to her "I don't want to give too many notes upfront, lets just vibe" she said and you chuckled. That is so like her.

"Action" she said before taking a seat. You begin walking up to Damien, a smile appearing on his face, it looked so genuine. "Hi, I'm uh checking in under Henry, Gwen Henry" as you reached the counter. "I know exactly who you are" he responded. "I'm Gideon, we had 11th grade history together" he spoke, checking you in. "Of course! Gideon, wow, you look great man. I didn't know you worked here" you could feel your nerves leaving as the conversation, while in character, felt so comfortable. "Yeah, I have been running the place for a few years now. Want me to help you with you bags? I can show you to your room" The two of you walk off scene together before it cuts. You ran the scene a few more times, taking notes as you went. Your characters filmed a bit more together, discussing the upcoming wedding. "Do you need a ride to the wedding? Damien asked you, as you sat at the kitchen table the next morning. "I am going alone so I would be happy to drive you" he added. The first time is character is meant to outright flirt with you. "Unless you have a plus one" his character sits across from you and you look up. "I do not" you smirk, as Amanda had instructed "I would love a ride" you went back to looking at your phone but the smile stayed. "Alright folks, that's a wrap!" Amanda yelled and people began bustling around again. She jumped on set and put her arm around around you "you guys did great today" she pulled you in closer "thank you for doing this" she added and you grinned "literally anything for you, and I didn't even have to dye my hair" you joked "Isn't he the best for that?" Amanda asked "It seems like it" you said before her added in "I really am" with a joking shrug. "

The next morning was filming day two of three, and you had a later call time, the morning being a lot of Damien filming with his ghosty friends. By the time you got to set, things were in full swing, but you had a lot to do to get ready. Your scenes were around attending the wedding of your characters friends. Which meant your make up and hair were done up and you were going to be in a nicer dress. Trina got you in the chair quickly, and she did great work. You needed to take some notes because you loved the way she did your make up. Next was finding the right dress. Amanda had the team bring in a few options to find what would be best. When you tried on the first one, you were instantly relieved that there were more options because this was not it. The dress was too tight in the worst ways. The second dress however fit you like a glove.

You were nervous enough about what you had to film today, you didn't want to also have to worry about how you looked. When you stepped back out to the main set area you were greeted by Amanda's grin "giiiiiiirl" she shook her head "If I wasn't married, I'd be the one falling in love with you today" she made you laugh, it was nice to feel all dolled up even though it was only for a few scenes. The bigger issue was the scene after that. Where you and Damien's character end up in bed together at the inn.

No big deal, just awkwardly laying in bed together, staring into each others eyes, with cameras, cast, and crew all staring at you. Totally fine. "Are you ready?" She asked, her tone more serious "nervous at all?" she asked. "Me?" you responded "never" you faked a laugh and she nodded, but you know she saw right through that.

You filmed a few scenes. It felt like you had to film the scene of you walking out in your dress, Damien seeing you for the first time, over and over. Notes given everytime about changing the reaction, Amanda wasn't sure if she wanted an immediate connection, or if it would be one sided from the start so you got several take options to use. Then a few scenes at the wedding, where your characters ended up dancing together, both drinking and feeling the weight of all your old acquaintances feigning interest in your lives. Gideon calls you both an uber back to the inn, far to drunk to drive. The scene cuts to Gideon helping Gwen to her room. The both of you stumbling and laughing, making jokes about the music and the speeches , but when you reach the room the mood shifts. That shift was hard to capture, filming over and over a small but crucial scene.

"Oh, Gideon..could you help with my dress?" your character says, Damien's face heating up at each take. If you didn't know better you'd think part of it wasn't acting. As his character helps, he sits down on the bed, listening to Gwen continue a story as she changed in her bathroom, door open but just out of view. That is when she climbs into the bed with him, both talking and becoming more comfortable. Only taking two takes to get that just right, natural as could be. It was the next scene, the final scene that caused issue.

Gideon and Gwen lay back on the bed, laughing about the way an old school mate said the word "wildest" in his speech, he'd spent the summer in London and now thinks he has an accent. As your laughing slows, you look at each other. Your characters seeing each other in a new way, but you and Damien could not stop giggling. Ruining the scene each take.

"You guys are KILLING me" Amanda says, giggling herself. "Ok, here is the deal. This scene is everything.. it has to be right. We have a few more scenes to get tomorrow so lets try this again then ok?" she sighs. "In the meantime, I need you two to find a way to get...better?" she said with a shrug "I need you two to look at each other like everything shifted, like your friendship is ending and a relationship is beginning. I don't care if you lay in this bed all night figuring it out...but please figure it out" she walked off and you and Damien looked at eachother as the crew starts to wrap set. "Yikes" he said, breaking the silence. "I'm so sorry" you start in but he cuts you off "hey it is both of us, it is an awkward scene" he lets out a bit of air "Maybe we should actually practice" he suggests and you raise an eyebrow

"Why Damien Haas, are you trying to get me in bed?" you ask with a smirk "Maybe" he smirked back and you and while you started it, it made your cheeks heat up. "We can order in at my place and get more comfortable?" he said, losing the edge to his voice and becoming more sincere.

"That does sound like a good idea" you admit. "I guess we haven't really hung out before, so it would be nice to just shake off the nerves and be more comfortable" you said honestly. "Anything I can pick up on the way to your place?" You ask but he shook his head "no, let me shoot you over my address and we can meet there" you hand him your phone and say goodbye to a few people before taking off and driving to his house. The nerds really hit when you walked up to Damien's door. Were you really here to...lay in bed with a cute boy? This can not be real life.

You knock on the door and hear him shuffle a bit before answering. "Hey!" he said, you could tell he was out of breath. "Sorry was just uh picking up a little" he said, gesturing for you to come in. His place looked so nice. You smiled, turning to face him "This place is very you, I like you" you said and he smiled in return "I tried to make it feel like home" he started walking to the kitchen and you followed behind him. "I thought Italian food would be a good option, so I got a few things from my favorite spot".

"I'm not picky" you smiled and watched him as he made you a plate, setting it at the table. "What can I get you to drink? I have sodas, water, tea" he looked in a cabinet next to him "Oh! I don't drink much but I have a bottle of wine we could crack open" he said, pulling out a bottle. "You know, a glass of wine sounds perfect right now" you chuckled. "You are not wrong, take the edge off" he nodded. "What, you don't often invite women over to lay in your bed and stare at you?" you joked at him

"Oh no, this s a weekly occurrence for me" he joked back. He was always quick with a joke, and you liked playing off of him. You followed him to the table, sitting down "Well now I don't feel special at all" you hold back a laugh.

You both talk, getting to know each other over dinner. You found out you had a lot in common, especially around gaming. You learned he even voiced a character or two that you liked and that was a shocking revelation. "Ok" he says, after cleaning up our plates. "I think we dive right into this. Find a way to be more comfortable with ease" he weighs in "we could like...cuddle on the couch?" he shakes his head "this is so awkward" he covers his face with his hand. You start in, hoping to ease his tension "No no, you're right." you give him a small smile "this IS awkward, don't feel bad" you both are quite for a moment "Cuddle on the couch and watch an episode of TV or something? Let us get get over the awkwardness. Pretend this is a casual date night or something" he nods "we are both actors, we can do that" he says with confidence.

You were trying to contain your feelings as he sat next to you on the sofa, turning on netflix and finding a baking show to watch. That was sweet of him since you said that was your go to type of show. "Is it ok if I put my arm around you?" he asks, not taking his eyes off the screen. "That would be ok" you glance at him. When he placed his arm around your shoulders you instinctively leaned him closer. Your heart picked up as his hand nervously laid against you. You held in your breathing slightly, afraid to move too much, wanting to just take in the moment you are in. You watched the show for several minutes like this, quite but comfortable. "I wish I could bake like this" you said, breaking the silence. "Me too" he said adjusting his arm slightly and gently rubbing his thumb against your arm. You got goosebumps very lightly, hoping he hadn't noticed. You adjust slightly and lay your head against his shoulder, allowing for a slight escalation.

In turn, Damien pulled you in a little closer and for a moment you forgot why you were here. "This is...comfortable" he said eventually and you nodded "Yeah, it is" he could not see your smile, but it was there. "Not nearly as awkward as I thought" you added and he chuckled "Oh you thought cuddling with me would be awkward? Should I be offended?" he said playfully. "or should I be happy you imagined cuddling with me at all?" he kept a playful tone but the comment made your cheeks warm. "I guess there are worse people I could have as a romantic counterpart" you joke back. "I'll take that as a compliment" he said, his thumb moving up and down your arm at a slower pace, your body acutely aware.

"We've proven we can cuddle." you say, not sure how to really say that you want to try laying down now. you feel his head nod and you move to sitting back up. "Do you want to...move to my room?" he said now looking at you. "I think so" you said, realizing how close you two still sat. "Do you..maybe want to talk expectations?" he said a bit quieter than his normal voice. "Cuddling on the couch is one thing I uh-" he stammered a bit "I want to make sure you are comfortable and that I don't overstep here" you bit your lip slightly and his eyes moved to stare but quickly came back to your eyes "Yeah" you try to say confidently "Um, the scene does call for a few things, maybe we could practice all of that.." he trail off, knowing that means a kiss.

"Ok" his smile clear "Lets just practice the scene and stop if we feel too weird. Maybe that is easiest? Lets just be Gideon and Gwen?" he suggests and you felt your shoulders actually relax a bit. "I like that Idea" you add in, starting to stand up. "well, are you going to walk me to my room?" you said in a more confident voice that you use for Gwen. Damien stood up, grabbing your hand and leading you to his room. Your heart pounding in your chest. You couldn't believe the way you were able to continue this exercise without squealing. You reached Damien's room and looked around. He had dark bedding, and low lighting. It was much like you expected it to be but very clean and still inviting in a way.

He sat on his bed, patting next to him. "So, we both are sitting here" he said as you made your way over, sitting next to him. "Laughing about the world wildly" you add and he leaned back, you followed. This time, you turned to look at him and he looked at you. This time, there was no giggling, you both stared for a moment or two before you cracked a smile. "Look at us" he said sitting back up, that had to be 5-6 seconds right? he joked. You sat back up too "Better than before right? This is more comfortable already" you tried to shake out your hands and he watched in amusement. "Am I making you nervous" he said, a hint of joking but more a sense of intimacy in his question. He actually worried that something he was doing was uncomfortable and you shook your head no at first but stopped. "I think It was more nerve racking to do all of this with you in front of everyone, judging our movements, giving us notes, you know?" he nodded, you could tell that just saying it gave him some relief. "I was thinking the same thing" he admitted "I don't want to come off as a weirdo but it felt wrong to potentially kiss you for the first time in front of all those people and immediately receive notes on it." he chuckled slightly. "not really how I imagined it" you said, not thinking about the implications of that statement. "So you imagined it huh? He said leaning into the playfulness. You wanted to backtrack, to say something about it being in the script.

Instead you played off his attitude "what if I have?" you bit your bottom lip and you saw the shift in his face, the corner of his mouth turning upwards and he cocked his head to the side. "Well now you have to share with the class. What exactly did you imagine it being like?" the way his spoke made you take a sharp breath. You leaned in closer to him "to start, there were a lot less people" you say in a low voice. Damien matched your energy leaning in, you two sitting on the bed closely "there are less people here now" he watched your eyes, waiting for any kind of invitation "and yet you still haven't kissed me" you felt his hand on your face before the words left your mouth. "I've also thought about what it would be like to kiss you" his voice low as he inched closer. You closed your eyes, waiting for his lips to meet yours. It was soft at first, testing the waters. You pushed harder against his mouth and you felt him envelop you. His hand now in your hair and his body beginning to press against yours. You fall back on the bed and follows, hovering above you as he gently pulls back.

You look up and him and smile "I think we will be just fine tomorrow" he says, before kissing you again.

[kallypsowrites]

I feel like I've seen so many TV cancellation announcements for stuff that I might've watched but now might not. And it really just emphasizes how much the current system is eating itself.

Binge culture means that people are expected to consume a show right as it drops. Because so many shows are binged now, even weekly shows are held to the same standard. If they don't perform well during the initial release, they are written off because binge numbers are the numbers that matter.

So you get more and more people who are afraid to get invested in shows because it might get canceled on a cliffhanger. Because of that, they don't tune in to watch something until they're sure its going to continue. So the next bingeable show gets less viewers. It gets canceled. More people join the 'I'm not going to watch yet because I'm afraid to get invested' crowd. Less people watch TV.

And it sucks because people like this are often the most ardent fans of a work--the ones who will write fanfiction and make fanart and write long analytical posts convincing people to watch a show. The people who will make a new show their whole personality because that's how hyperfixation works. I am amongst that crowd. I can't let myself get invested in something anymore unless I know that I'm going to get emotional payoff.

TV execs have been continuously breaking trust with fandom spaces for the past several years. They don't give shows a chance to find their legs, to grow an audience, to gain a cult following. They kill something in it's cradle in service to the numbers.

And it's not just the fans who suffer because of this. It's writer's rooms. I'm going to school right now for screenwriting and its BAD out there. So many writers who pour their heart and soul into a concept only to never get to bring it to fruition. There's no room for slow burns. For thoughtful storytelling. For trusting the audience. There's no room for real creativity. So the shows that do get renewed are often competent but uninspired or sequel/franchise content. Cause that's what gets views.

I cannot imagine how disheartening it is as a writer to start so many projects and never get to finish them. Think about your own writing. If you were working on a fanfiction but knew at any moment someone could stop you updating because you aren't getting enough hits/kudos, would you find joy in that anymore? I sure wouldn't.

I believe that a lot of the best storytelling is going to come out of indie spaces in the next few years--writers and artists moving outside of Hollywood and making their own low budget stories. Because it's almost impossible to thrive within the current system.

It's not the writer's fault. It's not the fan's fault. It's the way TV has become. And its going to crash and burn and I'm sure execs will find a way to blame anything but the system they created.