#at what point will i need to stop talking about it?

[thebarneschronicles]

Nine Lives

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Word Count: 9.4k

Synopsis: Bucky Barnes drives you insane—in every possible way. The bickering, the reckless plans, the way he smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you. But when a mission goes sideways, leaving you both bloodied and too close for comfort, the tension between you ignites into something impossible to ignore.

You can keep pretending. Keep fighting him. But Bucky isn’t one to back down—especially when he knows you don’t really want him to.

Trigger Warnings: Bullet wounds, unprotect sex (wrap it before you tap it!), p in v, dirty talk, BUCKY BARNES (he needs his own warning)

Author’s Note: I had been tinkering with a few scenes in this and the Thunderbolts trailer made me finish it. Hope you like it! B x

-- Bucky Barnes was going to be the death of you.

Whether it was because he got on your last nerve or because you were desperately, irrevocably, undeniably in love with him—either way, he’d be the reason your heart stopped beating.

And honestly? It might happen in the next five minutes. Because God help you, the man was insufferable.

The room smelled like burnt coffee and bad decisions.

Sam stood at the front, gesturing at a holographic map as he laid out the mission plan, his voice steady and patient—too patient, the way a parent speaks when they know their kids are about to cause problems.

You were paying attention. You really were. But out of the corner of your eye, you could see Bucky leaning against the wall, arms crossed– and looking bored out of his mind.

Every once in a while, he flicked his gaze to you, not saying anything. Just watching.

And you knew that look. That I’m about to do something reckless and you’re going to yell at me for it look.

You gritted your teeth.

“—we’ll go in through the east entrance,” Sam continued, pointing at the building layout. “Stealth is key. No unnecessary attention.”

Bucky made a quiet sound. It wasn’t quite a scoff, but it was close enough.

Sam’s jaw flexed. “Got something to add, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, like the whole thing was barely worth his effort. “I just think you’re overcomplicating it.”

Your brows shot up. Oh, here we go.

Sam closed his eyes, visibly counting to ten. “What part is complicated?”

Bucky shifted, pushing off the wall. “The part where we’re tiptoeing around like we’re on a damn field trip. We go in, take out the threats, get what we need. Done.”

You turned in your chair, slowly. “Take out the threats?”

Bucky smirked. “What?”

“What?” you repeated, voice rising. “You mean brute force? Like some kind of rabid raccoon?”

Sam sighed deeply, rubbing his temples.

Bucky grinned, which somehow made it worse. “I’d say more wolf, but sure.”

Your grip tightened on the edge of the table. “Barnes, if you go off-script, I swear to God—”

“Relax, doll,” he said, casual as anything. “I’ll mostly follow the plan.”

Your eye twitched. “Mostly?”

Sam exhaled sharply, muttering to himself. “I should start charging overtime for this.”

Bucky wasn’t done, though—he turned that damn smirk back on you. “You do love bossing me around, don’t you?”

And that? That was the last straw.

Your chair scraped against the floor as you stood, planting your hands on your hips. “We are sticking to the plan, Barnes. No improvising. No wandering off. No turning this into some solo hero death mission.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose, inhaling through gritted teeth as you fought for patience you absolutely did not have. “Why is your solution to everything brute force? Sam has a plan. A good plan. A plan that does not involve you punching your way through every obstacle.”

Bucky folded his arms across his broad chest, looking completely unfazed. If anything, he seemed amused. “First of all, rude. Second of all, my way works.”

“You mean it works when it doesn’t get us killed?” you shot back, voice rising. “Which, by the way, is not a guarantee.”

His mouth twitched like he was trying not to grin. “C’mon, doll, you’re overreacting.”

And there it was. That goddamn nickname.

You felt it like a spark in your bloodstream, a rush of heat you refused to acknowledge. Instead, you rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. “Don’t ‘doll’ me, Barnes. I’m serious. We are sticking to the plan.”

“I am sticking to the plan,” he said, far too casually. “I’m just… modifying it.”

Your jaw dropped. “Modifying it?”

“Enhancing.”

“You mean ignoring it?”

He shrugged and you had never wanted to strangle and kiss someone in equal measure more in your life.

God, this man was going to be the death of you.

You took a slow, deep breath, curling your fingers into fists at your sides. “Bucky. No modifications. No enhancements. No Barnes-ifying the plan.”

He tilted his head, looking irritatingly pleased with himself. “Barnes-ifying? Huh. I kinda like that.”

You threw your hands in the air. “Of course you do.”

Sam, who had been observing this entire exchange with the long-suffering patience of a saint, let out a loud sigh. “Are you two done? Or should we clear the room so you can work out all that tension?”

Your head snapped toward him. “There is no tension.”

Bucky, the absolute menace that he was, had the audacity to murmur, “Oh, there’s tension.”

Your entire body went rigid. Your face felt hot. You whirled back to him, pointing an accusing finger at his chest. “I will kill you.”

His lips twitched. “I’d love to see you try, doll.”

You weren’t sure what infuriated you more—the way he said it— doll —like it was his own private joke, or the fact that you liked it. Loved it, even. That it sent a pulse of something traitorous through you, something that made you want to either punch him or grab him by the collar and—

No. Focus.

You squared your shoulders, planting your hands on your hips. “Here’s what’s going to happen, Barnes. You’re going to follow the plan. No making things up as you go along. Got it?”

His blue eyes glinted with something unreadable. “And what if I don’t?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Then I’ll personally make sure you regret it.”

Bucky grinned, slow and wicked. “Kinda looking forward to that.”

Your breath hitched. Your brain short-circuited. You opened your mouth, then shut it again, because there was absolutely nothing appropriate to say to that.

Oh. Oh, that son of a—

Bucky chuckled, clearly enjoying the way he’d just rendered you speechless. Then he leaned in just slightly, voice dropping to something low and smug.

“Face it, doll,” he murmured. “You’d miss me if I was gone.”

You scoffed, even as your stomach flipped. “I’d miss arguing with you. That’s it.”

“Mm-hmm.”

The knowing look on his face made you want to smack it off. But more than that, it made you want to—

Nope. Not going there.

You exhaled sharply, turning on your heel. “I’m done. Sam, let’s go before I change my mind and let him get himself killed.”

Sam snorted, giving Bucky a pointed look. “See what you did? Now you’ve pissed her off.”

Bucky only smirked, watching you walk away. “Nah,” he said, mostly to himself. “She likes it.”

—

You didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

And do you know why? Because you knew—knew—he wasn’t lying.

Bucky Barnes didn’t say things he didn’t mean. He wasn’t the type to play games with words, wasn’t the type to tease just for the hell of it. If he said there was tension, if he said you’d miss him, then he meant it. He knew.

He knew before you did.

And that was the worst part.

You had no idea when your constant bickering turned into something else, something deeper, something dangerous. One day, you thought you hated him—the next, you realized you couldn’t imagine a world without him in it.

It had terrified you.

So you fought.

You fought harder, argued louder, refused to let him see just how deeply he had burrowed into you. You clashed over the stupidest things—his reckless plans, his stubbornness, the way he called you doll like it was a secret between you. Because if you didn’t fight, if you let the walls slip for even a second, you weren’t sure what would happen.

And it infuriated you.

How dare he?

How dare he make himself at home in a corner of your heart you didn’t even know existed? How dare he take up permanent residence there, until that tiny space expanded into the whole damn thing?

How dare he make you want him when you were supposed to be angry at him?

How. Dare. He.

The memory took over before you could stop it…

It had been a disaster from the start.

The mission was supposed to be a simple recon—go in, get intel, get out. No unnecessary engagement. No close calls. No getting shot.

But Bucky Barnes? He didn’t believe in simple.

You were fuming as you dragged him into the safe house, your grip tight on his arm, ignoring the way his blood seeped through your gloves. He was bleeding all over the place, but of course, he still had the audacity to smirk at you.

“You’re manhandling me, doll.” His voice was rough, teasing. “If you wanted to get handsy, you could’ve just asked.”

You pushed him down onto the rickety cot in the corner, none too gently. “I swear to God, Barnes, if you don’t shut up, I will make your injuries worse.”

Bucky groaned dramatically as he flopped back, far too casual for someone who had just taken a bullet to the shoulder. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Oh, I’m sorry—should I be nice to the guy who just got himself shot?” You tore open the med kit, grabbing a pair of scissors and snipping at the sleeve of his tactical suit. 

Bucky’s smirk vanished. “Hey, whoa—this is a perfectly good jacket.”

“You’ve bled through half of it, Bucky!” You glared at him, slicing the fabric open with zero hesitation.

Bucky scowled. “Still wearable.”

“Still ruined.”

“You’re ruining it more.”

“Oh my God—do you wanna keep arguing, or do you want me to keep you from bleeding out you reckless, metal-armed asshole?”

Bucky huffed a laugh, because of course he did, the sound painfully casual. “Little dramatic, don’t you think?”

Your hands shook as you tore open the med kit, fingers fumbling over the supplies. “Shut up.”

“Oh, come on, doll, it’s just a—”

“Don’t you dare say ‘scratch.’”

Bucky sighed, dropping his head back onto the cot. “I’m not bleeding out.”

“You got shot, you dick,” you snapped, peeling the fabric away to get a better look at the wound. Through and through, just above his bicep. A clean hit, but it would scar if you didn’t take care of it properly.

Bucky peered at the wound like it was barely an inconvenience. “It is just a scratch.”

Your eye twitched. You gritted your teeth, pressing an antiseptic wipe to the wound with zero mercy.

Bucky hissed, body tensing as he glared at you. “Jesus—are you trying to kill me?”

“Oh, now you feel pain?” You didn’t let up, pressing a little harder just for good measure. “You didn’t seem too concerned when you ran into a hail of gunfire like a rabid golden retriever with a death wish.”

Bucky scoffed. “Golden retriever?”

“You just charged in, Bucky! What part of ‘stealth mission’ do you not understand?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I had to.”

“No, you didn’t!” You grabbed a fresh gauze pad, pressing it against the wound. “Sam and I were handling it just fine before you decided to be stupidly heroic.”

“Doll, you were cornered,” Bucky argued.

“No, I was waiting for backup.”

Bucky gave you a pointed look. “You were outnumbered and had a jammed weapon.”

You locked your jaw. Because okay, maybe that was true.

But he didn’t have to jump in front of a bullet for you.

You cleared your throat, trying to sound unimpressed. “I was fine.”

“You were two seconds away from getting shot.”

“I know, Bucky!” You slammed the antiseptic wipe against his skin, not caring when he hissed. “But you didn’t have to—you didn’t—you— I told you not to do it!” you cried out. “But no, you just had to go full Terminator and jump in front of a goddamn bullet for me—”

You stopped.

Because suddenly, your throat was too tight, and your breath was coming too fast, and you hated that the panic was winning, that it was spilling over.

You weren’t just mad.

You were terrified.

Bucky blinked at you, actually looking concerned now, which only pissed you off more.

“Doll—”

“You think you’re indestructible, don’t you?” You threw the used gauze aside, grabbing another one, your hands shaking as you pressed it to the wound. “Just because you have the serum, you think you can—can take all these stupid risks—”

Bucky sighed, clearly exasperated. “I heal faster than you do, sweetheart. It’s not that deep.”

Something inside you snapped.

“Oh, fuck you, Bucky!”

His eyebrows shot up at that.

“You think the serum makes you invincible?” you seethed, eyes burning. “Is that why you keep throwing yourself into danger? Why you never hesitate before taking a hit? Why you jump in front of bullets like it’s your damn job?”

Bucky opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“Guess what, Barnes? The serum doesn’t make you immortal! One day, your dumbass luck is going to run out! And what then?”

Bucky stilled, blue eyes searching yours.

But you were unraveling too fast to stop now.

“I swear to God, Bucky, I’m gonna lose my mind if you keep—” You sucked in a shaky breath, voice cracking. “I can’t—I can’t keep watching you do this to yourself.”

Something changed in Bucky’s face. The teasing, the smirking—it all vanished.

You didn’t want to see whatever was in his eyes.

You dropped your gaze, fingers moving on autopilot, taping the bandage down over his shoulder. Your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, but you pretended not to notice.

You felt him watching you.

For the first time since the mission, Bucky was quiet.

The weight of it pressed against your chest.

You swallowed hard, clearing your throat. “Just—just try not to die next time, okay?”

Bucky let out a slow breath, something almost amused slipping into his voice. “Not really my style, doll.”

You snapped your head up, narrowing your eyes at him. “Yeah, I noticed. You’ve got a real stubborn track record of coming back from the brink of death.”

Bucky grinned, slow and lazy, like he couldn’t help himself. “What can I say? I’m persistent.”

Your jaw tensed.

“Yeah? Well, I don’t want to be the one watching you zero out your nine lives.”

The smirk disappeared.

A flicker of something serious passed through his eyes—so fast you almost missed it.

For a second, you thought he was going to say something that would change everything.

But then, as quickly as it came, he shoved it away.

He exhaled a soft chuckle instead, shaking his head. “You worry too much.”

You clenched your jaw, standing abruptly. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Bucky watched you, his expression unreadable.

You grabbed the med kit and turned away, before he could see just how badly your hands were still shaking.

Because the truth was—

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that Bucky Barnes kept coming back from the brink of death—

Or the fact that, one day, he might not.

–

You exhaled sharply, shoving the memory aside.

No. Not thinking about that.

You couldn’t.

Because if you let yourself sit with it for too long—

If you let yourself acknowledge how much he meant to you—

You weren’t sure how you were supposed to breathe through it.

Bucky must have sensed the shift in you, because as you stalked ahead, fuming, he was suddenly there—keeping pace beside you, his presence entirely too much. Too close, too solid, too him.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured. “That’s never a good sign.”

“Maybe I just ran out of things to say,” you snapped, not looking at him.

He made a low sound, somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. “That’ll be the day.”

You whirled on him before you could stop yourself, jabbing a finger into his chest. “Do you enjoy driving me insane, Barnes? Is it, like, a hobby for you?”

His lips twitched, that damn smirk already forming. “I mean… yeah. Kinda.”

You let out a frustrated noise, turning on your heel, ready to put as much distance between you and that insufferable smirk as possible. But before you could take two steps, his fingers curled around your wrist—gentle, but firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a jolt through you. His grip wasn’t rough, wasn’t forceful, but it was steady, intentional. And for a split second, you couldn’t breathe.

When you looked up, his blue eyes were locked onto yours, unreadable, intense.

“I’m not trying to drive you insane,” he said, his voice softer now, but laced with something heavier, something that made your chest feel tight. “I’m just trying to figure out why you won’t admit it.”

You swallowed, pulse hammering. “Admit what?”

Bucky tilted his head slightly, studying you like he was searching for something, peeling back layers you weren’t ready to let him see. His gaze dragged over your face, lingering—too long—on your lips before flicking back up.

Your breath hitched.

He was going to say something else. You knew it. Could feel it. But whatever he saw in your expression made him change his mind at the last second. His features shifted, the quiet determination giving way to something smug, teasing. A deflection.

“That it’s a good plan.”

Your pulse stuttered.

This wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not even close.

But he was giving you an out. Letting you pretend, letting himself pretend, like this was still just another argument. Another round of your never-ending bickering instead of… whatever the hell this was becoming.

And that? That scared you more than anything.

“It’s not,” you shot back, seizing the escape he’d handed you. You took a step back, yanking your wrist free of his grasp. “It’s stupid. It’s reckless, and it’s going to get one or all of us hurt if we do it.”

Bucky’s jaw tensed, his smirk faltering for the first time. His eyes darkened, something unreadable flickering in them before he asked, voice quieter, but rougher—”Why do you never take my side?”

The question hit like a sucker punch.

It knocked the breath from your lungs, left you reeling in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I—” The words caught in your throat.

He wasn’t teasing now. Wasn’t throwing out some cocky remark just to get under your skin. This was something real, something raw, and it left you woozy.

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Second time I’ve got you speechless today, huh? Must be a new record.”

His voice was light, teasing again, but the look in his eyes said something else entirely.

Then, before you could recover, before you could shove something sharp and defensive between you, he turned and walked ahead—leaving you standing there, heart racing, breath unsteady.

Completely, utterly furious at him.

And even more furious at yourself.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails digging into your palms as you forced yourself to breathe. In. Out. Don’t let him get to you.

Except he had. He always did. And the worst part? He knew it.

You glared at the back of his head as he walked ahead like nothing had happened, like he hadn’t just thrown you completely off balance and left you scrambling for solid ground.

Why do you never take my side?

You hated that the question still echoed in your head. That it stung in a way you weren’t ready to unpack.

You stormed after him, your boots crunching against the pavement. “Barnes, we’re not done talking about this.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t even turn around. “Seemed pretty done to me.”

Your jaw clenched. “God, you are infuriating.”

“Yeah, you’ve mentioned that once or twice.” He threw a glance over his shoulder, his smirk still in place, but his eyes? His eyes were still sharp, still waiting.

You caught up to him in two quick strides, grabbing his arm to yank him to a stop. “Don’t walk away from me.”

Bucky arched a brow, glancing down at where your fingers gripped the sleeve of his jacket. “Thought you couldn’t stand being near me, doll.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at the nickname. Ignored the way your traitorous hand lingered for a second before you let go.

“That plan of yours?” You crossed your arms, tilting your chin up. “It’s reckless. And you know it.”

His smirk faded, just slightly. “And what if reckless is the only option?”

“That’s bullshit, and you know that too.”

Bucky let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I get it. You think I’m some idiot who just punches his way through problems—”

“I know you are,” you shot back.

He glared at you, jaw ticking. “But maybe—just maybe—I actually know what I’m doing this time.”

You opened your mouth, ready to argue, but something in his expression stopped you.

There was no smugness, no teasing. Just raw frustration, something worn down underneath.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling too fast, the words dying on your tongue.

“Right,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head. “Should’ve known better than to expect you to trust me.”

The words weren’t loud. He wasn’t even looking at you when he said them. But they landed like a slap.

Your breath caught. “That’s not—”

“Forget it.” 

— 

Shockingly, Bucky had followed Sam’s plan.

And—even more shockingly—it had gone wrong.

In the end, brute force had been the only way to get all three of you out alive.

You weren’t sure when the dust had settled, when the ringing in your ears had finally faded enough for you to hear your own breathing again. But when your vision cleared, Bucky was still standing.

Standing over a pile of bodies, bloodied and exhausted, his chest heaving with exertion.

There was a split in his lip, a gash across his forehead, and a bullet graze along his ribs, the fabric of his tactical suit dark with blood.

And you hated it.

You hated how your stomach twisted at the sight of him hurt. Hated the way your fingers curled into fists at your sides to stop yourself from running to him, from touching him, from grabbing his face and checking.

Most of all, you hated that you had doubted him.

Bucky Barnes had a century of combat experience. He had spent his entire life surviving fights he shouldn’t have walked away from, and still, you had dismissed him. Still, you had refused to listen.

And now? Now all of you were bleeding. All of you were shaken.

But the worst part—the part that made your throat tighten and your breath shudder—was that Bucky wasn’t even gloating.

No smirk. No I told you so.

Just silence. Just his sharp, assessing gaze, scanning the aftermath like he was still bracing for another fight.

By the time Torres had you all back on the plane, you were shaking.

The adrenaline should have worn off by now, but the weight in your chest only grew heavier. You knew—you knew—Bucky would heal faster than you or Sam. Logically, you understood that.

But logic wasn’t stopping the tightness in your throat when your eyes landed on the bruising around his temple.

It wasn’t stopping the way your fingers trembled as you grabbed the first aid kit and sat down in front of him, against every warning screaming in your head.

Bucky exhaled slowly, tilting his head back against the seat. “I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” you shot back, voice sharper than intended.

“So are you.”

You ignored that. “Just—hold still.”

For once, he didn’t argue. But when you reached for him, when your fingers ghosted over his skin, his gaze flickered—just for a second—to your hands.

He noticed.

Noticed the tremor in your fingers, the way they weren’t steady.

His brows drew together, just slightly. He didn’t say anything, but you felt his stare, felt the question lingering on the tip of his tongue.

Your breath hitched. You curled your fingers tighter around the antiseptic wipe, focusing too hard on dabbing at the cut on his forehead.

When he flinched, you huffed. “Big bad super soldier can take on twenty guys at once but can’t handle a little stinging?”

His lips twitched, but the teasing was half-hearted. “Not my fault you’re rough.”

You shot him a look. “I wonder why.”

His jaw flexed. “You do like making things difficult.”

“Oh, I make things difficult?” You shook your head, pressing a little too firmly as you cleaned the wound. “I don’t remember me running in headfirst with zero regard for a plan.”

Bucky scoffed. “Right, because your plan went so well.”

You froze, fingers stilling against his skin.

His voice hadn’t been sharp, but the words still landed heavy in your chest.

“You didn’t have to follow it,” you murmured.

Bucky let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Well. I did.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and weighted.

You forced yourself to move again, forced yourself to focus on the cut rather than the way his eyes lingered.

Your throat was dry when you spoke. “You were right.”

His expression didn’t change, but you felt the shift in the air.

“We should have done it your way,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

Bucky’s fingers curled over the edge of the seat. He didn’t speak, didn’t move, but you knew he was watching you.

Finally, he exhaled, his voice quiet. “Didn’t do us much good, did it?”

You pressed your lips together. “Would’ve gone a lot worse if you hadn’t stepped in.”

His eyes flickered. His jaw worked, like he wanted to argue but didn’t have the energy for it.

“You don’t have to say that,” he murmured.

“I do.” Your voice wavered, but you swallowed hard, pushing through it. “Because I was wrong.”

Bucky was still. Unreadable.

Then, after a beat, his voice dropped lower. “That an apology?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real fire behind it. “Don’t push your luck, Barnes.”

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Wouldn’t dream of it, doll.”

But his eyes? His eyes told a different story.

—

The hum of the jet was steady beneath you, the vibrations deep in your bones, but it did nothing to ground you. The cabin lights were low, throwing long shadows across the metal walls. Sam was already passed out in the back, his breathing even, the tension from the mission finally easing from his shoulders.

You should be doing the same. You should be closing your eyes, letting exhaustion take over, shutting out the memory of the chaos you’d just escaped from.

But you couldn’t.

Because Bucky was still watching you.

He sat across from you, silent and unreadable, his blue eyes darker in the dim light. He hadn’t spoken since you finished patching him up, but he hadn’t stopped looking, either.

It wasn’t his usual sharp-edged irritation or teasing smirk. No playful bickering, no cocky remarks about how he’d been right. Just this.

Something softer. Something heavier.

Something you weren’t ready for.

“You should get some rest,” he murmured, voice low and rough around the edges.

You shook your head, fingers curling into your palms. “I’m fine.”

Bucky exhaled through his nose, like he didn’t believe you. “Yeah? You don’t look fine.”

You hated that he could see it. The tremor in your fingers, the tension in your shoulders, the way you were still breathing too fast, like your body hadn’t realized the fight was over.

You hated that he noticed. That he cared enough to notice.

And then—because you were tired, because you were furious, because he had almost died and you were still trying to claw your way back from the sheer panic of it—you snapped.

“You could have died, Bucky.” Your voice was sharper than you meant, thick with something you didn’t want to name.

His brow twitched, but his expression didn’t change. His voice stayed infuriatingly even. “Yeah. That’s kinda what happens when people shoot at you.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I wasn’t trying to be.” His lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tight. “You think I don’t know what I’m doing out there?”

“That’s not—” You exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down your face. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?”

The question hung between you, thick with unspoken things.

Bucky didn’t move, didn’t blink, just watched you—his gaze steady, patient, like he was giving you the space to say it.

And God, you wanted to.

But the words sat like stones in your throat, impossible to force out. You clenched your jaw, tried to shove them back down, but they wouldn’t go away.

Because the truth was, you weren’t just shaken by the mission.

You were shaken by the way seeing him bleeding had made your stomach drop, by the way his pained groans had made your hands shake, by the way you had wanted—needed—to run to him, to wrap yourself around him and never let go.

You were terrified.

Because this wasn’t just anger or frustration or a heated argument in the middle of a mission.

This was Bucky.

And you couldn’t lose him.

So instead of answering, instead of trying to put words to the panic still rattling inside you, you did the only thing you could do.

You reached for him.

It wasn’t sharp or defiant, wasn’t out of frustration or anger.

You just—needed to touch him.

Your fingers brushed over his wrist, barely there, hesitant. A point of contact. Something to anchor you.

Bucky stilled.

For a second, he just stared at your hand, at the way your fingers curled against his skin like you weren’t even sure if you had permission to hold on.

Then, slowly, he turned his wrist under your palm, letting your fingers slide over his pulse point. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. Alive. Here.

Your throat went tight.

Bucky’s voice was quieter this time. Rougher. “You gonna tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t let go.

Your thumb ghosted over his pulse, barely a whisper of touch, but it still wasn’t enough.

You didn’t know what you needed, what you were searching for beneath your fingertips, but the slow, steady thrum of his heartbeat wasn’t easing the raw ache in your chest.

Your eyes flickered around the cabin.

Sam was still dead to the world, Torres nowhere in sight. The only two people awake on this jet were you and Bucky.

Something inside you snapped.

One second, you were gripping his wrist, tethering yourself to him like that alone would make this feeling go away. The next, you were moving before you could stop yourself—sliding out of your seat, crawling into his lap, wrapping yourself around him like holding on tighter would somehow keep him safe, keep him yours.

Bucky made a sound—something low, something confused—but his hands came up anyway, large and warm and steady as they settled on your hips, instinctive.

His breath hitched, and you felt it against your temple, the subtle shudder of his inhale.

You buried yourself closer, curling into his chest, fingers winding into the hair at the nape of his neck. His scent was everywhere—gunpowder and metal and something distinctly him—and you could have drowned in it.

“If you ever tell anyone I did this,” you muttered, voice muffled against his neck, “I will find ways to kill you.”

There was no bite to it. No real threat.

Just you—raw and exposed in a way you didn’t know how to take back.

Bucky let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, but he didn’t pull away.

Didn’t tease.

Didn’t shove you off like he should have.

Instead, his arms shifted, wrapping around you fully, pressing you into him like this was what he had been waiting for, like this was something he had been needing just as badly.

Like he wanted to.

His metal fingers flexed at your waist, pressing against the fabric of your suit, a steadying grip. His other hand flattened against your back, tracing over the curve of your spine as if he was committing the shape of you to memory.

His touch burned.

His warmth was everywhere.

You squeezed your eyes shut, your fingers sliding from his hair to his cheek, brushing over the stubble there, the still-healing cut on his temple. And then—before you could stop yourself—you were tilting his face toward yours.

For the first time since the mission, since the gunfire, since you watched the blood dripping down his temple and felt your entire world tilt on its axis—you met his eyes head-on.

Bucky swallowed.

His gaze dropped—just for a second—to your lips.

It was enough.

Your resolve snapped like a frayed wire.

And before you could second-guess yourself, before you could remind yourself that this was Bucky, before you could convince yourself that you didn’t love him like this—

You kissed him.

It was desperate, messy—nothing like the slow, sweet build-up you had imagined in the deepest corners of your mind.

Your lips crashed against his, your hands fisting in his suit, pulling yourself closer, closer, closer, needing more, needing everything.

Bucky froze.

Didn’t move when your lips parted against his, when your tongue flicked against his bottom lip, when your teeth caught the cut there, tasting blood.

Didn’t react when you kissed him again, soft and searching, when your nose brushed against his, when you sighed against his mouth, the sound fragile and aching.

Didn’t kiss you back.

The realization hit slow, creeping in at the edges of your desperation, sinking its claws into your chest.

He wasn’t—

Oh, God.

The sting of rejection burned hotter than the wounds littering your body.

You tried to breathe, tried to steady yourself, but your lungs felt too tight, your hands shaking as you forced yourself to pull back, to put distance between you before you shattered entirely.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, a shaky breath washing over his lips. Your throat was tight, your vision blurring at the edges. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

Your voice broke.

Bucky was still silent.

And that was somehow worse.

It took a second to register the weight of what you’d done, to catch up to you.

You had kissed him.

You had kissed him and he hadn’t—

Your stomach plummeted.

“I’m—” Your breath hitched, panic clawing at your ribs. “I’m so sorry, Bucky.”

You tried to untangle yourself, tried to scramble out of his lap, to preserve whatever dignity you had left, to put distance between you before you completely fell apart in front of him—

But then—

God.

Then his hands tightened on your hips.

Hard.

Before you could even get further, Bucky dragged you back against him, fingers digging into your skin, like he wasn’t about to let you go. He maneuvered you until your legs were astride his hips, your arms around his neck, your chest pressed to his.

Your breath stilled, eyes wide, heart hammering against your ribs.

His expression had changed.

The shock, the hesitation—it was gone.

In its place was something darker.

Something heated and unrelenting.

Something like want.

Bucky’s breathing was uneven, his lips parted, his pupils blown wide as his gaze flickered between your eyes, your mouth, back up.

Then—

Then his fingers traced up your spine, slow and deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His metal hand trailed over your ribs, up your arm, curling at the back of your neck, tipping your face toward his.

And then, finally, he spoke.

“Doll,” he rasped, voice wrecked and low. “Can you do that again?”

Your stomach flipped.

“I—” You swallowed, your pulse hammering against his fingertips. “You didn’t—”

“I froze,” he cut in, jaw tight. “I won’t now.”

Oh.

Oh.

Your lips parted, heart stumbling over itself.

Bucky let out a breath, something between a laugh and a groan, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you. His grip on your hips flexed, strong and sure, and for a split second, all he did was look at you.

Like you were something he didn’t know how to handle.

Like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to devour you or worship you.

Then—slower this time, more sure—he leaned in.

And kissed you.

You had been right.

Bucky Barnes would be your undoing.

He’d kill you with the way he kissed, slow and deliberate, like he wanted to ruin you, like he wanted to take you apart with nothing but the sweep of his tongue and the heat of his mouth.

You felt it—every glide of his tongue against yours, every careful press of his lips, every sharp inhale between kisses—like a spark lighting up your spine, sinking deep, settling between your legs with a heat so intense you could barely breathe through it.

You shook on top of him, the way he touched you sending shockwaves through every nerve ending in your body. His hands were everywhere—tight, possessive squeezes against your hips, reverent drags of his fingers down your back and thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go.

A whimper escaped you, completely unbidden, and Bucky groaned, a deep, wrecked sound that vibrated against your mouth.

Then, suddenly, his lips left yours.

You gasped at the loss—until you felt him move.

Felt the warm brush of his breath against your throat, felt his nose skim along the sensitive skin there before his mouth followed.

“Bucky—” His name left you in a sharp breath as he kissed down your neck, slow, teasing, his lips dragging over every inch of exposed skin he could reach.

The problem was—there wasn’t enough.

Your suit covered too much, kept him from truly touching you, and it was driving you out of your mind.

You arched into him, restless, desperate. “Take it off,” you whispered, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

Bucky stilled, his lips pausing against your collarbone.

His hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. Didn’t continue.

“Take it off,” you begged, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, tracing over the zippers, tugging uselessly at the buttons, trying to feel more. “Please, take it off.”

His breath was uneven, ragged. “Doll, there are people—”

“I don’t care.” You tugged at his collar, leaning in, pressing another desperate kiss to the corner of his mouth. “They won’t see.”

Bucky’s hands flexed against your waist, like he was warring with himself.

You kissed him again, lips parting over his, trying to convince him, trying to make him understand, to feel just how badly you needed this, needed him.

He let out a shaky breath, his forehead pressing to yours, his chest rising and falling unevenly beneath you.

“Please,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Please, before you change your mind—I need this. I need you.”

That did it.

Something snapped in him.

The hesitation vanished.

And then, suddenly, you were weightless.

Before you could even process what was happening, Bucky was standing, lifting you effortlessly, your legs tightening around his waist as he carried you toward the back of the jet, moving with a singular, determined focus that made your breath catch.

Your back hit the cool metal wall of the jet, the impact sending a shiver down your spine, but you barely had time to react before Bucky was kissing you again—hot, rough, devouring.

You gasped against his lips, fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding on for dear life.

His hands roamed down your back, over your thighs, squeezing, gripping—and then, finally, finally, he found the zipper of your suit.

“I’m not changing my mind,” he murmured, his voice thick, edged with something raw that made you shiver. His fingers curled around the fabric, tugging just enough for you to feel the weight of his words. “And you’re not changing yours.”

You nodded without thinking, without hesitation, without fear.

There was a faint awareness of the reality around you—the steady hum of the jet beneath you, the wall of gear shielding you from the others, the knowledge that Sam and Torres were mere feet away. The fact that you were both bloodied and bruised from the mission, that maybe this wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

But then Bucky moved, and all of that faded.

The zipper came down in a slow, deliberate slide, the rasp of it against your skin sending a shiver down your spine. His hands worked quickly, efficiently, but gentle, pushing the suit down your arms until you could shake it off completely. The moment it was gone, he pulled your arms around his shoulders, guiding them to hold onto him, like he needed you to keep him close.

“Hold on to me,” he murmured, voice quieter now, almost reverent, before dropping to his knees.

Your breath caught, your pulse hammering as his hands gripped your hips, firm and unshakable, guiding the rest of your suit down your legs. His head dipped, his lips grazing the fresh bruise blooming along your hip. He kissed it once, then again—soft, lingering. Worshipping.

You swallowed hard, your fingers threading into his hair as he nuzzled along your thigh, your knee, before rising back to his full height.

“Not getting these off,” he muttered, his fingers ghosting over your soaked panties. You’d be ashamed if it weren’t for the way his lips parted, like he was desperate to get back on his knees, get his mouth on you, There was also something else. The look on his face - regret, you thought - like he wanted to take his time with you, but was disappointed he couldn’t.

His hands moved up your body, skimming over your waist, tracing along your ribs. You shivered at the sensation of warm and cold, flesh and metal. His eyes darkened at the sight of you trembling under his touch.

“We have to be quick.”

You nodded, obedient, but there was something clawing at your chest, something making your breath catch, making your hands shake as you reached for his belt, undoing it with frantic fingers.

“This—” You took a breath, sliding the zipper down, pushing his pants and underwear down in one swift motion. His cock sprang free, thick and hard, the tip already slick with pre-cum. You ached at the sight of him. Ached to drop to your knees and taste him.

Instead, you swallowed hard and met his eyes. “This isn’t how I imagined doing this with you.”

Bucky let out a low, disbelieving chuckle, shaking his head. “Me either.” His voice was rough, wrecked, breaking apart at the seams. His lips brushed your ear as he groaned, deep and ragged, when you wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him slow, teasing. “Fuck, sweetheart—”

A shudder rolled through him, his forehead pressing to yours, eyes fluttering shut.

“But I’ll make it up to you,” he promised, voice thick with something dangerous, something devoted. “I promise.”

His arms wrapped around you again, lifting you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, your hips rolling forward to grind against him.

“Bucky—”

“You want this?” he asked, pressing you back against the cool metal wall, the contrast making you gasp. His mouth was everywhere—dragging down your jaw, across the swell of your breast, open-mouthed and hungry.

“I do. I—”

The words faltered on your tongue.

Your heart was hammering, your chest was aching. This was reckless. This was insane.

This was everything.

You squeezed your eyes shut, pressed your forehead to his, your lips brushing his with every ragged breath. “I want you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “All of you.” Your fingers twisted into his hair, tugging just enough for him to feel it. “Please.”

Bucky exhaled sharply, his grip tightening. “You have me.”

His words were iron, unbreakable, true.

Something cracked inside you.

And then—there was no more hesitation.

His lips crashed into yours again, raw and consuming, leaving no space between you, no air, no room for anything but him. His free hand slid down, tugging at your panties, dragging them to the side. Your own hand moved between you, wrapping around his cock, guiding him to where you needed him.

“Jesus, doll—”

It wasn’t gentle.

It wasn’t careful.

It was one full thrust, his cock pressing inside you inch by inch, filling you completely, stretching you to the edge of pain. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your head falling back against the wall as a gasp tore from your throat.

You felt full. Too full.

Your legs shook around him, your walls clenching tight around his cock, the overwhelming stretch making your eyes slam shut, your mouth parting on a silent moan.

Bucky groaned, deep and wrecked, his forehead pressing to your temple. His body was shaking too, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps against your skin.

“Fuck,” he ground out, metal hand locking around your thigh, keeping you open for him. His other hand tangled in your hair, his grip tight, desperate. “Fuck, you feel—Jesus, sweetheart.”

Your breath hitched, your arms trembling as you clung to him. “I can’t believe you’re inside me,” you whispered, voice barely there, overwhelmed and ruined. “Oh my god, Bucky—”

He snapped his hips forward, and your world split apart.

The pleasure was sharp, blinding, a lightning strike surging through your veins. Your body clenched around him, gripping him so tight he groaned against your neck, his rhythm faltering for a beat. His hands tightened on your hips, metal and flesh both possessive, both desperate to hold on.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he choked out, voice strangled, roughened with something close to reverence. He thrust deep, his cock dragging against every nerve inside you, every sensitive place that made your stomach coil so tight you thought you might shatter.

“For you,” you confessed, arching into him, letting him feel it, letting him know. “All the time. Every time you look at me—”

Bucky snapped his hips forward, harder, deeper, tearing a cry from your lips.

“Shit,” he breathed, voice breaking, cracking at the edges. “Shit, shit—”

“You’re so deep,” you gasped, barely able to breathe. Your nails raked down his back, desperate, pleading, needing. “Bucky, I—I can’t—”

“I’ve got you, doll,” he groaned, pressing his mouth to yours, swallowing every sound you made as he ruined you completely.

Every thrust was a curse, every breath a kiss, and you were careening toward the edge so fast it was dizzying.

The pleasure ripped through you before you could warn him, before you could even process it. Your walls tightened, pulsing around his cock, body shaking so violently that he had to pin you to the wall with his hips, burying himself to the hilt, his hand cradling the back of your head, shielding you as you contorted in his grasp.

His mouth devoured your cries, catching every broken, pleading gasp as the orgasm tore you apart. It was an explosion that didn’t stop, that kept rolling through you, wave after wave.

You rocked against him, desperate for more, still chasing, still needing, barely hearing the way he rasped your name, telling you to slow down, telling you to look at him, warning you that he was—

“God, you’re heaven,” Bucky breathed against your ear, grinding deep inside of you, his voice wrecked, every syllable tinged with something broken, something beautiful. As you slowly came down, you could feel how close he was, how tightly he was holding on, trying to keep himself from falling over the edge. “I can feel you—fuck me, I should pull out.”

“No.”

It came out fast, urgent, a whisper laced with something dangerous. Your legs locked around his hips, keeping him trapped in your hold.

His entire body went rigid. His breathing stilled.

“Baby.”

Bucky’s voice was low, frayed at the edges, filled with disbelief. The word hung in the air between you, unspoken until now.

You froze.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t have given that away. Shouldn’t have let it slip, shouldn’t have handed him something so fragile, something you couldn’t take back.

But what was a drop to someone who was already drowning?

Bucky’s hands tightened on your hips, but he didn’t move. If he wanted to, he could have pulled you off of him without lifting a finger. You had always been painfully aware of how much stronger he was, how easily he could overpower you.

And yet, he stayed still, locked in your hold. Completely at your mercy.

You swallowed, your fingers shaking as they curled into his hair, pulling him closer, refusing to let him run.

“C’mon, doll,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours, stealing a kiss that felt like it was more for him than for you. “Let go.”

His hips rolled, his pelvis grinding against your clit, making you whimper. Your body was still trembling, still oversensitive, but fuck, if he kept going just a little longer—

“I want you to cum inside me,” you pleaded, your voice trembling, your nails digging into his skin.

Bucky froze.

The words echoed between you like a shot fired into the silence.

His hips stilled. His breath hitched. His hands trembled where they held you.

You had to bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out, from begging him to move.

“Doll,” he rasped, warning in his tone, his forehead pressed to yours. He looked wrecked, as undone as you felt.

“Stop arguing with me,” you shot back, voice shaky, grinding against him, dragging your soaked, sensitive heat over him, pulling a moan from his throat so deep it made every hair on your body stand on end.

“Fuck,” he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder, his grip on you bruising.

“I want this.” You tightened your arms around his neck, pressing yourself closer, wrapping him in you, cocooning you both in the moment. “I’m begging you, Bucky. Please.”

“It’s—” He swallowed thickly, voice strangled.

“Irresponsible, yes, but what’s a little irresponsibility?” A breathless laugh escaped you, but your voice broke at the end, too raw to keep up the teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, inhaling deeply before forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m on the pill.”

His jaw clenched.

“I need this,” you whispered, the truth clawing up your throat before you could stop it. “I need you.” Your voice cracked, your breath hitched, emotion swelling too fast, too much. “You don’t get it, I—”

You didn’t even realize you were crying until he softened.

Something in his eyes clicked, something changed, and suddenly, his arms were wrapping around you tighter, his hands cradling your face like you were precious, like you were fragile, like he had to hold you together before you broke apart completely.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, kissing your temple, your cheek, your jaw. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

And then he moved.

His thrusts were slower, deeper, his lips brushing yours between each movement. His hands wandered, soothing, worshipping.

“Giving you exactly what you want, yeah?”

You nodded frantically, breath labored, losing yourself in the way he felt, the way he surrounded you, consumed you.

“Don’t pull out,” you begged, voice barely there, a whisper of devotion, of desperation.

Bucky let out a shaky breath, forehead pressed to yours. “I won’t, baby,” he promised, voice breaking. His pace picked up, hips rolling against yours, pushing deeper, harder, dragging against your oversensitive clit in a way that had you whimpering. “Gonna fill you up like you wanted.”

Your toes curled at the words, at the image, your walls fluttering around him.

“Oh, please don’t stop,” you gasped, rolling your hips, needing, aching.

Bucky groaned, his head dropping back as his rhythm faltered, as he snapped his hips harder, chasing the end, giving you what you wanted, giving you everything.

“Fill me up, baby,” you pleaded, your voice a broken, desperate thing. “Make me yours..”

And that—

That was what finally broke him.

Bucky snapped.

A curse tore from his throat, his grip on you bruising, unrelenting as his hips slammed into you, chasing the inevitable, giving you everything. His rhythm turned frantic, needy, his body demanding what you had just offered.

And you took it.

You craved it.

Your body tightened around him, coaxing him deeper, begging for more. Every thrust was an answer to a question neither of you had spoken aloud, a declaration in the language of skin and breath and longing.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart,” he gritted out, his forehead pressing to yours, his breath hot against your mouth. His hand slid down between you, his metal fingers finding your clit and pressing, rubbing tight circles, dragging you back to the edge with him.

Your body shook, every muscle tensed, the pleasure sharpening into something unbearable, something deadly.

“Bucky—”

“I know, baby,” he groaned, his voice cracking at the edges, his own body trembling as he held himself back, as he waited for you. “Give it to me.”

You did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, knocking the air from your lungs, blinding in its intensity. Your body locked around him, your hands clutching desperately at his shoulders as the pleasure ripped through you in violent, unrelenting waves.

And that was it. That was everything.

Bucky followed, slamming into you one last time before breaking, burying himself as deep as he could go, a shuddering groan torn from his chest as he spilled into you, filling you like he promised. You felt it as his warm cum Costas your walls, so much of it you weren’t sure there wasn’t some spilling out.

His body trembled, his arms locked tight around you, holding you close as he gave in, as he let go, as he let himself have this.

For a moment, there was silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, labored and uneven. The quiet, lingering shock of what you had just done.

Bucky’s forehead pressed against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his heart hammering so hard you could feel it through his suit.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you moved.

You stayed like that—wrapped around him, his cock still twitching inside of you, his arms cradling you like you might disappear if he let go.

You let your eyes drift shut, your fingers tracing slow, lazy circles against the back of his neck, the weight of him comforting, grounding, even as reality started creeping back in.

You should let go.

You should move.

You should say something.

But when Bucky finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, his hands coming up to frame your face gently, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones—

The words died on your lips.

Because he was looking at you like you had just ruined him. Like you had just changed something fundamental inside of him.

Like you had just made him yours.

And you had.

Slowly,, Bucky eased his grip, his arms still wrapped around you, his hands still mapping the shape of you, like he needed to memorize every curve, every ridge, every place he’d touched.

His lips brushed your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw—soft, tender kisses that made your heart clench, made something deep inside you ache.

It felt too big.

Too much.

But you couldn’t stop touching him.

Your fingers traced the lines of his jaw, the stubble rough beneath your touch. You pushed damp hair out of his face, ran your knuckles down the slope of his nose, his cheekbone, memorizing him the way he was memorizing you.

A hand slid up to cradle the side of your face, his thumb tracing your cheek, his expression unreadable.

When he finally spoke, his eyes were soft, but serious.

“You meant it,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question.

You swallowed, lips parting, breath hitching.

“Bucky—”

His other hand was still pressed to your lower stomach, like he could feel himself inside you, like he could brand this moment into your skin.

“I felt it,” he whispered, almost to himself. “The way you—” He exhaled sharply, like the words were too heavy to get out.

You closed your eyes, trying to give yourself some kind of reprieve from the enormity of it all.

“Don’t run from this.” His voice was so calm, but it cut through you like a knife. “Please, doll.”

Your throat tightened.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftershocks of pleasure or the overwhelming emotion of it all, but your body was still trembling—and Bucky felt every bit of it.

His arms tightened around you, securing you to him, anchoring you.

“I’m not running,” you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to search your face, like he didn’t quite believe you.

And maybe you didn’t quite believe yourself.

Because what came next?

What happened after this?

There was you before Bucky Barnes.

There was you after Bucky Barnes.

And they weren’t the same.

[muwapsturniolo]

Nipple or Tip ( • )( • ) C. Sturniolo

"I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks-"

⟢ funny shit tbh. nipples and tips of dick are mentioned as well as balls. chris being unhinged in ulta, reader done with his bs but also down with his bs.

dividers by the one and only rose toy @bernardsbendystraws

You were a beauty lover, it was well known by everyone in your life. When you were a kid, you were constantly in your moms makeup bag, messing up her high-priced lipsticks and eyeshadows on a daily basis.

As you got older, that love for makeup stayed.

You had a whole beauty room in your two-bedroom apartment. You had the vanity, the box lights as well as ring lights, and drawers on top of drawers filled with makeup you may not even have a chance to touch.

Chris knew of your love for makeup, he has been in you're beauty room one too many times to think otherwise. He never saw it as too much because he knew it was your way of expressing yourself - he was never the one to hate on expression.

So here he was, driving you to the place he should just invest in at this point.

Ulta.

You spent so much time there, that the workers recognize you. You have the credit card, you've racked up points, and you memorized the aisles. This was basically your third home, the first being your own and the second being Chris's.

"Alright, what do you need today?"

You proceed to go through your list as you walk inside the bright store, the sound of Billie's "Birds of a Feather" playing over the speakers. The song distracts him for a moment, but he comes back to reality hearing you say foundation.

"Wait, didn't you just get a new foundation?"

"Well...Yes, but I need another one!" He gives you a look as the two of you walk over to Wyn Beauty. "Technically, you don't need another one. You have about forty of them, but who am I to complain considering you're paying?"

It's comical to him the way you stop in your tracks, your eyes widening in disbelief. "What do you mean I'm paying? It's your turn to pay!"

Chris chuckles to himself, fixing the beanie on his head. "I'm just pulling your clit."

"Chris please stop fuckin' talking to me. That's not even how the damn saying goes!"

He giggles like a schoolboy and kisses your shoulder, motioning to the bright green packaging in front of you. "Go ahead and pick out your millionth foundation."

And so you do, you pick out a new foundation...and concealer, primer, setting spray, bronzer, lip gloss, and lipstick.

"Ok, now a lip liner." Your words spark Chris's interest, his mind going back to a specific video he saw not too long ago. The two of you start walking over to NYX, and he decides to fill you in on the content he consumed.

"So like, I saw this makeup video on tik- Why are you getting makeup videos on TikTok? What girl are you sending them to?"

"I'm getting them because of you, dumbass. You're the only girl that actually puts up with me, why would I talk to another one?" You snicker to yourself knowing he's right.

He's too in love with you to go find someone else.

"Anyway, like I was saying. I saw this video on TikTok where this girl was trying out these makeup hacks or secrets, whatever it's called. So she said the best way to match your lip liner is to match it to your nipples! Crazy shit, but it has me thinking, what if you matched it to the tip of my dick?"

All you could do was stare at him in silence.

"You being deadass?"

He shrugs before answering you, a smirk that shows he's up to no good making its way onto his face. "I mean, I think it would look nice on you. A nice pinky red....It's up your alley anyway considering you have a blush named 'orgasm' and a mascara called 'better than sex' ."

"Didn't I tell you to stop talking to me?" He groans and pulls you closer, his hands settling right on top of your ass. "Come on it would be funny! I will literally give you my card and let you roam in TJ Maxx and I will take you to Chili's!''

"You had me at TJ Maxx."

You whip your phone out, thanking yourself for buying a privacy screen, and begin scrolling through your privet photo albums to find a picture of Chris's dick.

"Wait, you should match one to your nipples too. Then we can compare which one looks better."

He could be so childish at times, but you were the exact same.

The two of you stand in the aisle, holding up different shades of pink and brown to your phone. Eventually, you two settle on "Rose" and "Nutmeg", the two colors being the closest you could get.

Soon the two of you are back in the car and Chris is urging you to try on both lip liners, refusing to drive until he sees them on you. You first try on the brown shade, lining your lips with ease. It was a pretty color, simple and not unusual considering you always wore brown lipliner.

You turn to Chris, asking him what he thinks. "Sexy as usual. You know I like it when you do the brown ones." You smile at his flattering words, giving him a quick peck on the lips before wiping the lip liner off. You unravel the pink liner and swipe it on, rubbing your lips together so it blends out.

"So what do we think? Nipple or tip?"

You see the way his eyes dart across your face, analyzing everything about you.

"Both look good, you know you can make everything look good. It's what I love about you." You find your cheeks getting warm, never getting used to the way he makes you feel so good, even on days when you look like a bum.

"Come on, I promised to let you roam in TJ Maxx." He puts the car in reverse and begins driving towards the retail store. The drive is quiet for the most part, nothing but music and the occasional small talk. As soon as the two of you make it to TJ Maxx, Chris turns to you before getting out of the car.

"You know, I also saw one of those weird makeup hacks where this girl put her foundation on with her boyfriend's balls."

"This the last time imma tell you to shut up talkin' to me!"

[cosmosluckycharms]

Bug Like Angel

pt5

Last day on earth

hey guys warning might be ooc cause i am writing this half asleep

"SHOOT- I'M LATE AGAIN!"

You had band practice with the others today

Why are you always late?

You promised them, and you accidentally slept through your alarm. Again.

You forgot Lyla was down for today too, she was focused solely on the anomalies today, so she couldn't wake you up.

Shit.

You scrambled around in your room getting ready for the day.

You put on your clothes and quickly do your hair.

You tried looking for your guitar and forgot you left it downstairs.

You ran downstairs and almost tripped.

You stopped when you saw everyone eating breakfast at the table.

Without you.

It made you less mad that they were together without you, you were used to them being together without you.

It made you sad how you never even realized.

"..You guys have been having breakfast together? Without me?"

They all went silent. You could see the guilty looks on their faces. As soon as Dick opened his mouth to talk, you shut them up.

"Why would you even-" You stopped yourself, you had things to do. "You know what? This is a problem for future y/n."

You grabbed your keys and put it in your bag while you ran around trying to finish getting ready.

"Alfred, I'm gonna be gone till later, I promised my friends I'm gonna be at band practice"

You ran into the bathroom to finish brushing your teeth.

"Also if one of them shows up at the door, please let them in! Hobie's my ride today!" You called out from inside the bathroom

"Alright, young miss." you heard Alfred say from the kitchen.

You did your makeup quickly and put on your shoes.

You grabbed your bag that had your guitar picks inside, along with some essentials like money, a hairbrush, makeup, etc.

You just needed your phone, which you had left in the kitchen.

As soon as you run out of the bathroom and into the dining room you get jumpscared.

"Boo." Hobie jumped, scaring you.

You screamed before play hitting him

Okay, screw you too, spidey-senses!

While you explained to Hobie you were almost done getting ready, you could slightly feel the others glaring at you and Hobie.

it wasn't them trying to figure him out,it was them judging him.

Damian couldn't understand, why were you hanging out with someone like him?! He's too punk and crazy looking, it's so dumb you were excited to hang out with him.

He snapped out of it as soon as he saw you and Hobie about to exit the manor.

He was about to demand to know where you were going, but suddenly as soon as you were about to walk out the door, you felt Hobie pull on the back of the collar of your shirt.

"Hm?" you asked Hobie

"Don't you think you're missing something, Tinkerbell?" Hobie asked, pointing to your back.

"what do you mean? I have everything, I think. I have my lipgloss and everything.." you started rambling to yourself for a bit, checking the mental checklist you had for yourself.

After a few moments, you realize you thought you had your guitar with you!

You did not!

You ran to grab it, everyone looking at you both.

You grabbed your guitar and said bye to everyone.

Jason does not like Hobie.

He didn't even get to introduce himself to your family.

He straight up ignored all of them, besides Alfred, to see you!

He didn't like how excited you were to just be around him.

He didn't like how naturally you guys play fought like siblings.

He didn't like how close you guys seemed.

He didn't like how he walked around like he's been here before.

He didn't like how he had a nickname for you.

He needed to know who this guy was.

But how?

He followed you both to your practice. While dressed in a red hood.

Oops.

He watches as you both get into your car and go to a place to practice music.He sees a tiny 12-year-old girl with short black hair playing electric guitar, like you.

He sees a blonde girl with half her hair of hair shaved off getting her guitar ready while talking a curly haired boy with big doe eyes.

He sees the boy next to her getting his keyboard ready while awkwardly flirting with the girl.

He sees a boy with stupidly luscious hair getting the amps up and ready.

He can see them all getting slightly anxious, he assumes it's because of you being late.

He didn't know its because they could all sense someone watching them.

Finally, you and Hobie walk in and immediately feel the presence.

You text Miguel that you feel a tiny bit anxious and send him your location.

Better safe than sorry!

After an hour or two of playing, you all decide to sit down and take a break.

The feeling someone was watching you was still there, it just died down the slightest bit.

After a while, Pavitr finally spoke up.

"Am I the only one feeling that someone watching us?"

Immediately you all said different variants of yes.

It was so strange, why would anyone watch you guys?

You assumed it was maybe a kid on the street who was listening to your music, but that didn't explain your spidey senses going off.

As soon as you were about to talk about it, all your spidey senses went off, and someone popped up in front of you.

Red Hood, or your brother, Jason Todd.

Immediately everyone got up and gave you knowing glances.

Sure, you never told anyone about your family's identities, but technically everybody in the spiderverse and their moms knew.

Something about you being a mix of two multi-verses.

"Woah! No need to get so defensive!" Red Hood said, putting his hands up.

"why are you here?" you asked, glaring at him dead in the eyes. Well, he was wearing a mask so you looked at him where his eyes were supposed to be.

"Can't someone drop by for a visit? You guys were great, by the way," he said. You weren't sure what he wanted.

At this point, you had Peni hidden behind you. Sure, he wouldn't ever do anything to any kid, but it was a force of habit you had to protect her.

You didn't notice Hobie slowly moving beside you to protect you if anything happened.

"Welp, I just came in to check on regular civilians, nothing wrong with that," he smirked. he knew he was getting under your skin.

"well, it's a good thing we don't need help. Goodbye." you shooed him away like he had done multiple times to you.

He scoffed and left.

You all let out a breath you didn't know you were holding.

It was getting late anyway. You should all start packing up and go out someplace to eat.

It was your turn to choose which place to go, and you immediately chose Batburger.

As soon as you all ordered and sat down, you all immediately started talking about why Red Hood popped by.

Your friends all knew about the neglect from everyone, no one understood why they were here.

Why now?

The topics changed throughout everything, from school drama to plans for the future, to plans for future hangouts.

Everything was great, you all grabbed your meals and were eating the mountain of food you guys ordered.

"I'm telling you, the food in my universe is so much better!" Miles argued with you.

"it's so not! It's greasy!" You argued back

"like batburger isn't?" Miles smirked, you both played arguing.

You gasped dramatically. "YOU TAKE THAT BACK!" you play slapped Miles.

"LISTEN DINGBAT I SAID-" Miles rudely pointed his finger in your face.

"GET YOUR FINGER OUT OF MY FACE!" You and Miles started throwing fries at each other's faces, everyone else at the table laughing at how stupid you guys are.

Suddenly, your spidey senses went slightly off. Not enough for you and Miles to notice, but the others stopped laughing.

You didn't understand until you heard a very familiar voice.

"Is there a problem here?" You looked up and saw your other brother, Dick, looking at you guys with his stupid signature smile.

The same smile that made the hairs on your neck stand up.

Immediately you and Miles straightened up. Not in fear, but because you didn't want him to see you enjoying yourself.

"No, Richard."

You see him flinch at the use of his full name and not his nickname. His smile slightly faltered, but not enough for anyone other than you to notice.

"All alright then." he started walking away and you noticed behind him were your other siblings, Tim and Damian.

Shit.

You needed to get out of here.

Gwen immediately noticed you looking slightly panicky and immediately started holding your hand to calm you down.

It worked.

Everyone looked at each other, almost to say "Let's go."

You all left and decided to go to a park to calm down.

You all lay down on the grass in quiet. It was nice.

You don't mind doing anything with them, as long as you are together.

You wish you could stay in this moment forever.

After a while, you and Peni ended up falling asleep.

Noir came and picked up Peni.

Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr had to go home to their respective universes.

Hobie took and carried you home, there's no way he was gonna leave you lying in the middle of Gotham at night.

He made sure to carry everything you had with you into the manor.

Alfred let Hobie in as soon as he saw you being carried by him.

As soon as he got inside, Jason offered to carry you to your room, but Hobie had already started walking toward's it.

"Nah, sorry mate. She's knackered right now and moving her around might make her go mad."

As soon as he got to your room, he dropped you off on your bed took off your shoes and tucked you into bed, kissing you on the forehead, something that he's done to all the spider kids as a form of affection.

As soon as he went downstairs, he started getting questioned by everyone there.

"Who are you?" asked Damian.

"Wouldn't you like to know, weather-boy?" Hobie teased.

"Why is she so attached to you?!" Asked Jason.

"I ain't got a scooby doo," Hobie replied.

Soon, the questions turned into everyone yelling at Hobie for no reason.

You woke up from the commotion.

You went downstairs to see Hobie having a serious face.

That was not a good sign.

You kept walking further until you were on the same floor as everyone else.

"What's going on?" you asked rather meekly.

No one heard, so you spoke louder.

"What's going on?"

Still, no one heard, so you had no choice but to yell.

"WHAT IS GOING ON?!"

Everyone stopped to look at you. Everyone but Hobie was surprised to see you speak that loudly. They weren't used to you using that tone.

Everything was silent and tense for a moment.

"Well? is anyone gonna say anything or are you all gonna act stupid?" You were cranky. You needed a nap.

"We don't want you hanging around those guys anymore." your father, Bruce said.

"I don't care. I still am gonna be with them," you said.

"You don't have a choice," Damian added, agreeing with his father.

"Well nothing is stopping me, I'll still see them," you replied, glaring at Bruce.

"You're under my roof. You can make your own decisions when you aren't living here." Bruce said, rather mad you won't be obident.

"Maybe I don't want to live under your roof..." you muttered, thinking no one would hear.

"What was that?" you heard Dick say, clearly expecting you to crumble and apologize.

"Maybe I don't wanna live under your roof!" you turn to look at Hobie. He looks proud.

"Then leave." you hear Tim say.

"All alright." you start walking to your room to pack your essentials.

Everyone suddenly looks shocked. They weren't expecting that. You felt Hobie put a hand on your shoulder and help you pack. You grab your phone and see you never replied to Miguel's texts where he asked if you're okay.

You reply to him and tell him you're alright. You ask him if you can stay at his apartment because of family problems.

He immediately replies and says yes.

You finish packing up and go downstairs.

You didn't say bye to anyone as you left.

You went to a random abandoned building to use your bracelet to make a portal to Miguel's universe.

Hobie tagged along, to keep you safe.

As soon as he saw Miguel take you inside, he waved bye and went to his universe.

As soon as you got inside, you broke down.

Over how tired you are, over how your family treated you, and how you just wanted a hug.

You fell asleep hugging Miguel that night

hi guys this is kinda bad but like idk i might make a fluffy oneshot of the spiderkids js hanging out cause reader deserves a break idk

tags (please let me know if i missed anyone!): @bath1lda @mariadvorak @coralaura @tsxukikami @hjgdhghoe @coffeeaddictxd @cxcilla @kaitense1 @star-girl-interlud3 @sukaretto-n

[bookwormjust]

Sisterhood and Sweet Cravings : Love Shared in Simple Moments

(Azriel x mate reader)

The living room was warm and cozy, the three of you sprawled across the sofas and cushions, talking and laughing about anything and everything. Feyre was rubbing her slightly rounded belly absentmindedly when she suddenly sat up straighter, her eyes sparkling.

“I need chocolate ice cream,” she announced, “with strawberries. Right now.”

Nesta, who had been flipping through a book, groaned dramatically. “Of course you do,” she muttered, setting her book down. “You’ve been talking about sweets all day.”

You laughed softly, sitting up from your spot. “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

Feyre waved her hands frantically. “No, no, you don’t have to! I shouldn’t even eat it. I’ll feel like a whale if I do.”

Rolling your eyes, you stood and gave her a pointed look. “If I eat it with you, you won’t feel alone. Deal?”

Feyre blinked at you, her expression softening as a smile tugged at her lips. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” you replied with a grin, already making your way toward the kitchen. “That’s what sisters are for!”

Behind you, Nesta sighed heavily. “If you bring any for me, I swear I’ll throw it at you.”

You laughed over your shoulder. “Noted.”

In the kitchen, you grabbed the chocolate ice cream and fresh strawberries, preparing two bowls. One was much larger, piled high with extra scoops and an artful arrangement of strawberries—perfect for Feyre. When everything was ready, you carried the bowls back to the living room, balancing them carefully.

As you passed by Feyre, you stopped, crouching down beside her. With a playful smile, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to her belly. “Eat well, my little nephew,” you murmured softly, your voice filled with affection.

Feyre’s cheeks turned pink, and she laughed, her hand coming to rest on her belly. “You’re too sweet.”

From the balcony, Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel watched the scene unfold.

“She’s a natural,” Rhysand said, his voice tinged with pride as he leaned against the railing, his violet eyes soft as he watched you interact with Feyre.

Cassian chuckled, nudging Azriel. “You’ve got a good one, brother. She’s going to spoil that kid rotten.”

Azriel didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on you as you handed Feyre her bowl with a warm smile and settled back down to eat beside her. A soft smile played on his lips, his shadows curling lazily around him. “She already does.”

Rhysand chuckled, shaking his head. “You two are lucky. More than you know.”

Cassian snorted. “I know I am. I just need Nesta to admit it.”

“Good luck with that,” Rhysand quipped, earning a laugh from all three males as they continued to watch their family with quiet contentment.

[vbecker10]

Stop Saying it Like That

Pairing: Loki x female reader (Y/N)

Summary: Just a little blurb based off the meme below (from Loki:intotheowenverse), hope you like it 💚

"Loki, you need to stop saying it like that," you laugh, shaking your head as he opens the door to the small bakery for you.

He follows you out onto the street carrying a small box full of treats, "Saying what?"

You stop, clearing your throat so you can do your best impression of your boyfriend's accent, "Enjoy the next twenty-four hours."

The God of Mischief chuckles at your poor attempt, "Was that supposed to sound like me?"

"I sounded exactly like you," you answer with a wide smile despite knowing it wasn't even close.

"Look, that's not my point," laughing as you try to get the conversation back on track. "Its really creepy when you say it like that," you inform him.

He wraps his free arm around your waist and starts walking again, leading you back towards the Tower. "It was truly awful darling," Loki shakes his head with a smile.

"Creepy?" he raises an eyebrow as he looks down at you.

"Don't act like you have no idea what I'm talking about," you roll your eyes. "It literally sounds like a threat, like they only have twenty-four hours left to live or something."

He chuckles, "Trust me darling, when I threaten people they know." You sigh, trying to look annoyed but he bends to kiss your cheek and your smile slips free. "What would you prefer I say?" he asks genuinely curious.

"Just say 'have a good day'," you tell him.

"Y/N, that's the same thing," Loki states and you shake your head. Before you can argue back he presses his lips to yours to silence you. "Fine, I will try that next time," he agrees and you smile.

Loki walks with you in comfortable silence for two more blocks, his arm still around your waist, slowing his pace when he notices your attention is caught by the bouquets outside a flower shop. "See something you like?" he asks as you both stop in front of the colorful display of mixed flowers.

You smile, pointing to a bundle of your favorite flowers. Loki picks them up and you follow him into the shop where he pays the employee.

She hands Loki his change, he looks down at you briefly then back at the woman behind the counter. "Have a good day, mortal," he tells her with a wide smirk that causes the florist to let out a nervous laugh before thanking him quietly.

You walk back outside, your flowers in one hand and swat Loki's chest lightly in a joking manner. He chuckles, "What did I do wrong now? I told her to have a good day like you insisted."

"Mortal?" you tilt your head and look up at him.

"Would 'human' have been better?" he smiles.

You ignore his question, knowing he is only asking to see your reaction. "And the evil smirk, really?"

"Evil?" Loki let's go of your waist, putting his hand over his heart dramatically. "You wound me Y/N."

You laugh, reaching up to kiss his cheek when he tries to act as if he's offended. "You're cute when you're being annoying on purpose," you tell him and he chuckles, holding on to you again.

"I'm glad someone thinks so," he smiles.

"But stop talking to people when we go out," you add with a laugh.

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!

@soubi001 @mochie85 @lokiswife-dark-fox-queen @animnerd @cabingrlandrandomcrap @icytrickster17 @mischief2sarawr @mjsthrillernp @holdmytesseract @lulubelle814 @goblingirlsarah @alexakeyloveloki @siconetribal @lokidokieokie @kneelingformyloki @jiyascepter @eleniblue @ash-muses @muddyorbsblr @alyeskathewave @loz-3 @firedrakegirl @javagirl328 @princess-asgard @morally-grey-variant @soulpiercing @km-ffluv @glitterylokislut @biodegradable-glitter-fest @wolfsmom1 @simone818283 @hopefuldreamers-world @blackhawkfanatic @sabspoetic @anukulee @lovinglokilaufeyson @beaniemoon @hotburreaux

[fronzie]

technically has to do with this but you tend to teach your friends things unconsciously solely because they’re that interested in you.

I have this friend (one of my closest best friends that I met last year). I was really hesitant to meet them bc I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself again but that’s beside the point. They’re in one of my classes and before I met them was very prone to anger if something ticked them off but was capable to mask it completely.

When we finally talked we clicked immediately because we had a lot of the same interests so we already had an emotional bond instantly. They started rubbing off on me with little things like their accent (a mix of Greek and Puerto Rican) and the ability to mask my anger to some very beneficial stuff like starting to take care of myself and being proud of what I do! Why? Because what they say about what I do is just so motivating that I’m starting to strive more and more to do the best I can to make them proud. When I’m around them I get butterflies and I just wanna tweak out and hug them and just tell them how much I love them (platonically). To say I owe my life to them is an understatement. They saved my life time and time again.

Back to the story though. So a few months into our friendship (5 months), I had a breakdown on a face time call with them. To calm me down, they started to talk about what I’ve done for them. One thing stood out from what they said.

“You made me be patient”

“what.?”

I somehow taught them to be patient although I myself am not patient. I asked them to explain and they did. I was always patient and waited when they were busy w/ god knows what, I stopped what I was doing to help them in any way I could. If they needed a break, I’d wait till I got word that they were okay now. I thought that was just being nice???? they said I had the unconscious tendency to make sure they’re okay before I took care of myself which made them take care of themself.

your friends like you so much more than they put on. i really do mean it.

Notice: not only do your friends actually like you, they secretly like you twice as much as they let on

[luvsferrariss]

˚⟡˖ ࣪. ʚ 💌 ɞ who said that I hate you? - OO2

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Synopsis: Where Y/n, in an attempt to escape from Charles, her rival, fails because Charles keeps getting closer, and Y/n starts to like it.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Charles Leclerc x Female Reader! Red Bull Driver

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Warnings: Cute, Charles has improved from his foolishness, nothing too serious in this one, just fluff 🤍

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ Author’s Notes: I didn’t really like this story, it feels like I couldn’t develop it very well, but I hope you like it! English is not my first language, so sorry for any mistakes.

˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ part one here ! 🤍

You couldn’t deny how Charles’ proximity brought several consequences, like: the media. Everyone was speculating so many things that happened between you two, theories totally out of reality. You tried to avoid him as much as you could or push him away, but he was always there, and that irritated you.

When you thought the wave of bad luck had ended, the universe conspired against you again.

This time it wasn’t your fault. It was finally your chance to make it to the podium, you were in second place, and because of a mistake from your team, you ended up in sixteenth place. After the race, you didn’t want to talk to anyone, and everyone knew it.

Then you hear a knock on the door but completely ignore it.

“I know you’re in there,” Charles says, and you just ignore him again.

After a while, you hear another knock. You close your eyes and take a deep breath.

“Go away, Leclerc,” you say straightforwardly.

After your response, there’s a deadly silence, then you just close your eyes and sigh. But within a few seconds, you get startled when your door opens.

Clearly, Charles hadn’t left, so he decides to check and see how you’re doing, then opens the unlocked door.

“Are you crazy, you idiot?” you say, irritated as he enters, still recovering from the shock. Charles smiles and leans against the doorframe.

“Before anything, I need to know. Are you going to break something? Because if you are, just let me know and I’ll leave,” Charles asks calmly, making your blood boil.

“I’ll break you, idiot!” you say, throwing a pillow at him, which he just catches.

“Look how bold you are,” Charles laughs, and you huff.

“Go to hell.” Your voice is quieter now. “What kind of idiot enters someone’s room uninvited?”

He ignores the provocation and gets closer, throwing himself on the couch like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Stressing yourself out alone won’t help anything, you know?” You squint your eyes at his words.

“Since when do you care about what I do?” He doesn’t answer right away. He just watches you, like he’s analyzing every expression.

“Since when did you stop hating me?” Charles says, and in that instant, you freeze.

And Charles notices.

His gaze locks on you for a second that’s too long, and for the first time, there’s something beyond rivalry there.

You look away, feeling your heart race in a way that annoys you deeply.

“Go screw yourself,” you say, still not looking at him, and Charles laughs softly.

“You’ve said that before, Y/n.”

He stands up and walks towards the door. But before leaving, he throws one last provocation:

“Try not to think too much about me, Y/n.”

And then, he leaves, leaving you even more confused and furious than before, not knowing what to respond.

( . . . )

The tension between you two grows to an unbearable point. Everything explodes in a tense practice, where Charles makes an aggressive move, and Y/n nearly hits the wall.

When you both get out of the cars, she goes straight to him in the pit lane, pushing him in the chest.

“What’s your problem?! You could’ve slammed me into the wall!”

Charles grabs her wrists, stopping her from pushing him again.

“You’re shaking. Are you scared, Y/n?” he asks, almost choking on the words.

You pull your arms forcefully, your face burning with anger.

“I will NEVER be afraid of you!”

He leans in slightly, closing the distance between them.

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?”

You pale.

Charles smiles.

You’re so angry that you almost punch him right there. But instead, you just glare at him with hatred and walk away.

But, for the first time, that hatred doesn’t feel so simple.

( . . . )

After that fight, Charles pulls back a bit. He stops provoking her so much, but Y/n misses it. This deeply irritates her.

Until one night, before an important race, she finds him alone in the pits, sitting with his arms crossed, staring at the car.

Without thinking, you approach him.

“So, you think sometimes too. I thought you only talked nonsense.” You say, stopping beside him.

Charles smiles, but doesn’t make a joke.

“Hey, what’s up, idiot? You’re way too quiet.” Her question makes him sigh.

You frown.

“Tomorrow’s gonna be tough,” Charles murmurs.

She frowns.

“You always say that, and in the end, you go speeding like there’s no tomorrow.” You respond, rolling your eyes, stating the obvious.

He lets out a heavy sigh and rubs his face.

“This time it’s weird. I’ve been feeling bad since yesterday, like I have a fever or something.” His words make you worry, but you don’t show it.

“What?”

“If they find out, they won’t let me race. So you’re the only one who knows, and if you tell anyone, you’re done.” He says jokingly, and you cross your arms, skeptical.

“So you’re gonna hide this until you pass out in the car? Great plan.”

Charles gives a slight smile.

“I thought you’d like the idea. If I pass out, you can finally get first place.” You roll your eyes, but inside, you feel a strange tightness in your chest. He was really sick. And still, he was there, ready to race.

You sigh. You didn’t understand why this feeling of worry, especially since, above all, you hated each other, right? Of course, you hated each other, and could never be friends.

“You’re an idiot. But a fast idiot.” Charles turns his face to Y/n, surprised by the concern.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” Charles says sincerely, and you just roll your eyes as if you hadn’t said anything, but the truth was that you were really “kind,” and you didn’t understand why.

“Don’t get used to it,” you say bluntly.

But when you leave, you hate admitting that something between you two has changed.

And you didn’t know what it was.

( . . . )

The heat inside the car was suffocating, and Charles felt the sweat trickling down his neck as he gripped the steering wheel tightly. His body felt heavy, the fever draining his strength, but he couldn’t back down.

On the radio, the voice of the team sounded distant.

“Charles, how are the conditions?” The engineer asks, as usual.

He presses the radio button, trying to sound normal.

“Everything’s under control.”

Lie.

Nothing was under control, and Charles knew it, but he couldn’t admit it. The race seemed to last longer than expected, every corner demanding more from him than he was used to. His vision seemed blurry at times, but he was already here, and there was no way to quit.

A few laps later, Y/n had already noticed something was wrong. She saw Henrique in the rearview mirror, struggling more than usual to keep pace. He wasn’t driving with his usual aggression.

“Shit, he’s worse than he seemed yesterday,” you think to yourself, growing concern building up.

You grip the steering wheel, frustrated with yourself. Why were you worrying about him?

On lap 38, a mistake. Small, but enough.

Charles brakes too late in a corner and ends up sliding, losing position to Y/n. You pass him, but, when glancing at the car beside you, you see his hand trembling on the steering wheel.

He won’t make it through the entire race.

Y/n’s engineer’s voice comes through the radio:

“Good job, P2 now. Keep pushing the leader.” Your engineer says happily, but you weren’t on the same level of happiness.

You should be satisfied. But, for the first time, you weren’t.

When the race ends, Charles can barely get out of the car. As soon as his feet hit the ground, his legs give out. The fever, the exhaustion… everything hit him at once. He stumbles a little, trying to hide it, but before he can fall, someone catches him.

You.

You hold his arm firmly, preventing him from collapsing right there.

“I knew you were gonna do this shit,” you say, irritated.

Charles lets out a weak laugh.

“And I knew you’d catch me if I fell.” Charles says, cocky, making you roll your eyes, but you don’t let go of his arm.

The journalists notice the scene and begin to approach with cameras and microphones, sniffing out an interesting moment.

Before anyone can ask anything, Y/n steps forward, blocking Charles from their view.

“No questions right now. He needs rest.” You say firmly, but the journalists don’t leave.

Charles looks at you, surprised by the attitude. He didn’t expect this from you, not really.

You look at him.

“Come on, before I regret helping you.” You say, helping him again, making his body lean against yours.

Charles smiles lightly, liking the idea of being close to you.

“That was the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You sigh, impatient.

“I swear, if you say that again…” you say, impatient, but a slight blush creeping onto your face. Thankfully, you could say it was because of the race.

Charles laughs, but inside, he feels that something between you two has changed.

( . . . )

The deafening roar of the engines had faded, replaced by the cheers and applause of the crowd. You had won. Your first victory in Formula 1.

It was a dream come true, beyond just proving your ability and strength to everyone. You were radiant like never before, a genuine smile on your face.

You were on the podium, holding the trophy, champagne dripping through your fingers. Max and Lando, beside you, were smiling, but you could barely process anything. The world seemed like a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Your first victory after racing against rumors and trying to prove you were capable. And even more so, you were beside people you could trust and count on forever.

It was so rewarding.

The podium ceremony and trophy presentation, you couldn’t have been happier. Lando and Max, without excitement, sprayed champagne on you, celebrating.

When you were finally ready for interviews, you felt someone pull you by the wrist to a secluded spot.

You had seen this scene before, and your heart sank.

“Lando, please don’t tell me it’s another fake news about me,” you murmur sadly, and when you turn, you see Charles.

He says nothing. He just looks at you with an intensity that makes you forget all the confusion around you.

“You did it.” His voice is quieter than you imagined, but there’s a genuine smile on Charles’ face. You laugh, sighing.

“I did it, didn’t I? This is crazy. Doesn’t even feel real!” you say, like a child who just got a candy. You’re so happy, and it captivates your rival.

Charles hesitates for a second. You notice he wants to say something else, but at the last moment, he just smiles and pulls you into a tight, unexpected hug.

This time, you don’t resist and hug him back.

You both pull away from the hug, and the adrenaline runs through your body. Until you hear someone call your name, you quickly say a “see you later” to Charles and leave him there alone, thinking.

Charles’ heart hurt when he saw your fear that there might be more bad news about you.

It was clear Charles had been a jerk to you since he entered Formula 1, but he really didn’t understand why.

Maybe it was because pretending to hate you was easier than saying he loved you.

But he felt guilty instantly when he saw you broken, crying on Lando’s shoulder, when he saw you more vulnerable than ever.

He hated everyone who made you cry, and from that day on, he made a promise to himself: he didn’t want to be that kind of person.

The team decided to celebrate the win with a dinner. Everyone was there – the engineers, the drivers, even some members of the media. You were sitting next to Lando, listening to some nonsense joke he was telling, but you could feel a gaze on you.

When you looked up, there he was.

Charles, across the table, holding a glass, watching you like he was trying to solve a puzzle.

His eyes didn’t shift, not even when you raised an eyebrow, challenging him to say something.

And then, he smiled.

Small, discreet, but the kind of smile that made something inside you tremble.

You swallow hard and look away.

Damn it.

You turn back to Lando to hide it, but soon laugh at a completely absurd joke, laughing the same way Lando did at his own joke.

Later that night, you were outside the restaurant, enjoying the fresh air. The city lights twinkled in the distance, and the muffled sound of the celebration still echoed from inside.

“Running away from your own party?” You jump, startled, as soon as you hear someone behind you.

But as soon as you recognize the familiar voice, your heart skips a beat. You slowly turn around, and Charles is there, hands in his pockets, that intense look again.

“I just needed a moment.” You reply, looking away from Charles, now staring at the ground.

He nods and steps closer, stopping beside you. The silence between you two feels different now. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s not easy to ignore either. When you look up again and look at Charles beside you, your heart skips.

Then, he extends his hand and, without warning, brushes a strand of hair from your face.

Your body stiffens. The touch is brief, but the skin where he touched feels like it’s burning. You see when Charles notices. You see when he finally understands.

And then, he smiles again.

“This might be a problem,” Charles says, looking at you with a smile. You just breathe deeply and nod, now looking away at the view in front of you. You can feel Charles staring at you.

( . . . )

In the next race, everything seemed normal. Or at least, it should have been.

You were talking with Lando and Max in the paddock, laughing at some silly thing Lando had just said. The atmosphere was light and relaxed, until you felt that gaze again.

Charles.

He was just a few meters away, arms crossed, listening to an engineer speak, but clearly not paying attention. His gaze was fixed on you. You did everything to hide the nervousness he caused, but your cheeks flushed slightly, and once again, your heart was faltering. You tried to focus on the conversation between the two drivers in front of you, but you failed miserably.

When your eyes met, something shifted. Your breath stopped in your throat, and time seemed to slow down. The only thing you could hear was your heart racing.

He squinted his eyes, as if irritated, leaving you confused. You raised an eyebrow and turned back to your friends. After a few minutes, you felt someone tap your shoulder.

You turned around and saw the person you really wanted to avoid.

“Y/n, can we talk?” Charles said, sounding irritated. You were confused and choked on your own saliva. Max raised an eyebrow, surprised by the interruption. Lando looked at you, puzzled, then looked at Max.

“Now?” You asked, suspicious.

“Now,” Charles said firmly, and you nodded, with no real option.

You said goodbye to the others and followed him to a more secluded spot. Charles took a deep breath, as if trying to find the right words, but in the end, he just blurted out:

“What were you doing with them?” He said bluntly, and you blinked, surprised. You opened your mouth and closed it, not knowing what to say.

“Excuse me?” You responded, still in shock.

“What were you doing with them? Max and Lando,” Charles repeated, moving a little closer to make sure he heard you right. You laughed in disbelief.

“Talking? Laughing? Ever heard of that?” You said, obviously crossing your arms.

He didn’t laugh. He remained serious.

“With Max? With Lando?” He asked again, and you tilted your head, still a little lost in all of this.

“Yes. What’s the problem?” You said innocently, and Charles thought it was cute, but then remembered why he was there.

Charles ran a hand through his hair, clearly uncomfortable.

“The problem is that…” He stopped in the middle of the sentence, closed his eyes for a second, then opened them again, now with a determined glint.

“Forget it.” The driver in front of you took a step forward. Now, you were so close that you could smell him, a mix of fuel and expensive cologne. Charles turned around to leave, but you grabbed his wrist, freezing him in place.

“What’s wrong, Charles?” You whispered, your voice softer than you intended.

He hesitated for a moment. But only for a moment.

Then he murmured:

“I don’t like seeing you with them, I don’t know.” Charles shrugged. Your heart raced.

And for the first time, you saw in his eyes what you had only suspected before.

And you stood there for a while, just looking at each other. You sighed, half enjoying the confession, but it made you even more lost.

Then, without warning, Charles stepped closer, and again, you smelled him. You were only a few centimeters apart.

“C-Charles?” You called him.

“Yes?”

“What is this?” You asked, but completely lost in the proximity.

He didn’t answer. He just took a step forward, closing the distance between you. His hand found your face, hesitant at first, but firm enough for you to feel the warmth against your skin.

And then, without waiting any longer, Charles kissed you.

It wasn’t a rushed or uncertain kiss. It was something intense, charged with everything that had been hanging in the air for so long—unspoken teasing, glances that lasted a little too long, words never said but always felt.

You kissed him back without thinking. One of your hands grabbed his shirt, as if you needed something to hold on to. The other found his neck, feeling how he leaned in even more toward you.

The world around you disappeared.

It was just him. Just the two of you.

And when you finally pulled away, your faces still close, your breaths mixing, Charles smiled. That crooked, teasing smile, but now it was different—there was something more there now.

“Now tell me… are you still going to pretend this means nothing?”

You felt a shiver run down your spine, but you didn’t look away. With a small smile, he gently ran his thumb across your cheek before adding, almost like a whisper:

“Because I can’t, I can’t pretend and deny what I feel for you, Y/n.”

( . . . )

The tension between you two had only grown since that conversation, that kiss. You couldn’t deny your mood had undoubtedly improved.

Now, minutes before the race start, you were on the grid, mentally reviewing the strategy, trying to concentrate. But your mind kept drifting back to Charles.

Then, he appeared. The red suit, the determined eyes, but at the same time… different.

He approached without hesitation.

“Good luck, Y/n,” you loved the way he said your name.

You smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Do I need it?” You asked, laughing, and Charles smiled.

He shrugged.

“No. But I needed an excuse.”

You furrowed your brow.

“An excuse for what?” You asked innocently again, and Charles smiled.

And then, again, without warning, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss on the corner of your mouth.

Not a full kiss. Just a touch, a test.

But it was enough to take your breath away.

Before you could react, he was already pulling away, putting on his helmet, and heading to his car. He turned to you and winked.

You stood there, frozen.

Lando, who had seen everything, whistled. You looked at him, lost, your face turning as red as a tomato.

“That was interesting,” he said, crossing his arms. You hit his arm.

Lando laughed and raised an eyebrow. “When were you going to tell me?”

“Tell you what, Norris?” You said impatiently.

“That you two are… like this,” he pointed to you and then to Charles.

“Like what?”

“Like this!” Lando said, and you rolled your eyes. “Come on, Y/n, you used to hate each other, and now he comes and kisses you in front of everyone, not even embarrassed.”

You couldn’t respond, just shrugged.

Because, in that moment, one thing became absolutely clear.

This was no longer a game.

( . . . )

You won.

Again.

But this time, the only thing you wanted wasn’t to lift the trophy or spray champagne.

It was to find Charles.

And he knew that.

As soon as the ceremony ended, you felt a hand on your wrist. He pulled you into a corner, away from the cameras, the journalists, any distractions.

His eyes were shining, but it wasn’t just from the race.

“How many more times are we going to pretend this isn’t happening?” Your chest tightened because you knew exactly what he meant.

You exhaled, a small smile forming on your lips.

“I think it’s already enough, right? You kissed me in front of everyone, I don’t think we need to pretend anymore.” You said, smiling like a happy little girl.

His smile grew, full of something new—certainty.

“Good.” And this time, when he leaned in, there were no doubts, hesitations, or teasing.

This time, it was real. And you knew there was no turning back, so you continued.

Charles pulled back and kissed your forehead, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, looking at you with love.

“I want to hear that from you.” Charles said, holding your hand.

“Hear what?” You said, pretending not to understand, and Charles groaned, throwing his head back.

“If we’re going to be like this, I’ll say it first. Before anything, I want to apologize for being such a jerk. I thought pretending to hate you was easier than telling you how much I like you.” Charles sighed, and you felt like you were floating. Your heart leaped with joy, and the only thing you could do was hug him, so you did.

“It’s okay, Charles. This can stay in the past.” You said, still hugging him. Charles let go of you and held your waist firmly. You wrapped your arms around his neck.

“And besides, I think I like you a little too.”

“A little?” He complained, pretending to be offended.

“Yes, just a little.” You said, showing with your fingers how small the amount was. Charles laughed and gave you a quick kiss.

“You’re going to be my downfall, Y/n.” Charles said, and you kissed him.

[lnfours]

focal point ☆ chapter 6 | l.n

summary: 'she was like a shot of espresso' - andrew garfield (but also lando norris)

warnings: art student!reader, best friend/college student!oscar, college student!lando, slight enemies to lovers!au, slight grumpy x sunshine, language, finally finding out who lily's chem guy is (!!!!!), fluff to the max for our lovebirds (we're finally getting somewhere)

message from jordan: 2 chapters in one week?? who am i??? also life without f1 is so boring can we put these cars on track already 😩😩😩

series masterlist | listen to the playlist

"can you sit still for just five seconds?"

"i am!" he laughed softly, now used to the way your hands had repositioned his head to go back to the pose he had been holding.

"well, try harder." you laughed back at him, causing him to shake his head. the two of you had been at this for about two hours now, the room filled with giggles, small talk, and the low music playing from his laptop.

"let's take a break, yeah?"

you nodded, "yeah, sounds good."

you placed your project down and are taking it in for a moment. you were proud of the outcome you had so far. it was looking far better than you had imagined it to be.

but nearing the end of your project, and nearing the date of his econ exam made an unsettling feeling arise. were the two of you just going to stop hanging out after all this? when you both got what you wanted?

you used to pray for that day to come quick, but now you didn't want it to come at all.

you stretched out on the mattress, letting out a soft sigh as your body loosened from the previous position you had been sitting in for far too long. he leaned over to check the time on his phone, "you hungry? i can order us something,"

you hummed, hugging a pillow against your chest, laying on your tummy, "'m down for whatever."

"pizza?" he asked and when you twisted your face he hummed, "mm, thai? italian?”

“you like sushi?” you asked and the face you received as an answer, let’s just say he was more than offended. you laughed as he looked at you like you had three heads, “i’ll take that as a ‘no’ then?”

“it’s an ‘absolutely fucking not’,” he laughed with you, “you like eating raw fish? what’s wrong with you?”

“have you ever even tried it?” you asked, a small amusing smile on your face.

“i know i don’t like fish, so no need to try it.”

“what about the ones with crab? or shrimp?”

“yeah, but they’re near a fish!”

“oh my god,” you laughed, “okay, fine, sushi is off the table.”

the two of you went back and forth trying to decide what to order before finally settling on something as he placed the order on his phone.

"wait! let me grab my card," you said, leaning over the mattress with your torso hanging off as you fished around for your wallet inside your bag.

"no, i've got it," he replied.

"you paid for our breakfast last time!" you huffed, sitting back up with your card in hand, but he wouldn't take it no matter how many times you tried to shove it in his hand, "just take my card."

you watched as he tapped on his phone with a smirk, clearly not listening to you. when you tried to take the phone away from him, he just kept lifting it higher out of your reach, which made you pout and fold your arms.

accepting defeat was something you weren't necessarily fond of.

you hadn't noticed the fact that your legs had managed to straddle his hips, or the fact that his free hand was holding onto your hip, fingers pressing into the slightly exposed skin due to your t-shirt riding up in effort to get the phone from him.

he smiled and placed the phone down on the mattress, "should be here soon,"

"at least let me venmo you," you sighed and he shook his head.

"don't want your money."

"lando,"

"okay, fine, how about you get my coffee the next time we study. how's that?"

you nodded, satisfied with the fact that he let you pay for something, even if it was just for his double shot of espresso over ice.

you bit down on your bottom lip, now fully aware how awkward the position you were in was. he was trying not to think about it, too. sure, maybe he was looking way too hard for way too long at the features on your face, but he couldn't help it. you were the most beautiful thing on earth to him.

you were like a shot of espresso or being bathed in sunlight. he hadn't really believed in love at first sight until he met you.

"you have an eyelash," he gestured to your cheek. you reached up to wipe it away, but he chuckled softly and shook his head.

"missed it," he said, gently reaching up to your cheek, "'ve got it,"

your breathing slowed as he swiped his thumb against your cheek gently, holding out his thumb to you instead of just shaking off the eyelash like normal. you sent him a confused look.

"make a wish,"

you hummed, thinking of something to wish for. all that you could think of was him. the same guy who unexpectedly plagued your mind and took over your dreams.

now he was taking over your wishes.

you gently blew on the eyelash, laughing softly after. you had realized his hand never fell back to his side, instead it reached out to your cheek cautiously.

you leaned into his touch, smiling down at him which got you one of those smiles that made your heart clench in return. no matter how many times he had smiled at you, each time it made you giddy inside.

"y/n," his voice was low, scared to speak up, almost like it would startle you if he spoke above a whisper.

god, you loved the way he said your name.

"yeah?"

"please tell me you feel this too," he said, his eyes searching yours for any sign to be a silent tell that you've been wanting this as long as he has, as much as him, "whatever this is between us."

you nodded, "i do,"

a soft breath of relief came from his nose, but the tension was still thick enough to cut through with a knife, "can i kiss you?"

you nodded again, whispering back to him, "please."

he didn't waste a single second after, his lips meeting yours. he poured every single ounce of pining and longing as he could into the kiss and you reciprocated it right back.

you hummed when he pulled you closer against his body, leaving no room for air between the two of you, your hands wrapping around his neck and playing with the soft curls at the nape of his neck. the same ones you had imagined running your fingers through.

you only pulled away due to the lack of air in your lungs, the both of you smiling against each other's lips and your noses bumping.

"'ve been wanting to do that for so long." he mumbled and you giggled, smiling so hard you were sure your cheeks were going to hurt by the end of the night.

you brushed over his now wild curls, flattening them out with your fingers. you bit down on your lower lip, stopping yourself from laughing at the fact the curls only got wilder, "i might've just made it worse,"

he shrugged, shaking his head with not a single care in the world, his lips coming back to brush against yours, "don't care,"

you laughed into his lips, kissing him once more. and again. and maybe again.

and so many times you lost count.

that was, until the door to the apartment closing made the two of you seperate. the slam of the door was followed by a pair of familiar voices.

"oscar?" you asked, you and lando listening to the conversation in the other room.

he nodded, "yeah, but i can barely hear the other person."

then there was a laugh, a laugh you could've recognized anywhere. the high-pitched noise was engraved in your brain and it only belonged to one person.

you hit his shoulder and he raised an eyebrow, "what? he's just invited a girl over?"

"not just a girl," you said, "we called it! at the diner the other day!"

he looked at you, eyebrows furrowed, clearly not following what you were saying.

until, it all clicked.

"oh, no way!" he said and you nodded.

"it's lily!"

[pomegranatelifethis]

Hello so i saw where your post about taking requests, I really entertained by your story which Star in the shadows(if I write the title right) that's just fantastic, so my request are can you make neglected reader where at beginning she's really had bubbly, happy and loud personality, like she really trying to bond with Batfam but then they just brush her off (y'know basic beginning in a lof of Neglected reader fanfic) but then there's at one time where reader get tired and then enter a point, a tragedy(this part is up to you) that turn her into emotionless being like a porcelain doll, she barely talk and expressed herself until it made some member of Batfam felt eerie around her(reader's gender is up to you, I used she because it's more easy to me to write since English isn't my native language)

Porcelain Doll

*I love the idea, you can think of it as a draft, will continue it*

(A Neglected!Reader x Batfam Story)

In the beginning, most of the laughter echoing through Wayne Manor belonged to her. She was once cheerful, lively, and full of love. Every morning at breakfast, she would greet everyone with the brightest smile, sneak sugar into Tim’s coffee, try to talk to Damian about kittens, joke around with Dick, and tease Jason about his book choices. She even tried to hug Bruce, though she usually had to settle for a light touch on his shoulder.

But what did she get in return?

Being ignored.

At first, she thought she just needed to try harder. Maybe, if she put in enough effort, she could make them laugh, become a part of them, feel like a "family."

But every "we'll talk later" turned into words that were never spoken.

Every "I'm busy right now" faded into endless silence.

Every turned back, every unheard word, every avoided glance… At some point, all of it stopped hurting.

Because she had stopped feeling.

And then, tragedy struck.

No one knew what she had been through. Where she had gone, what she had done. The last flicker of light in her eyes, like a candle flame, wavered and died the night she left. When she returned in the morning, she was still the same person—yet completely different.

From that day on, her words became scarce. Her smiles disappeared.

Sometimes, when Dick spoke to her, she would just stare blankly. When Jason made a joke, she wouldn’t react at all. When Tim watched her for hours, she felt nothing. Even when Damian snapped at her, she wouldn’t lift her head to look at him.

And Bruce… Even he realized something was wrong, but by then, it was too late.

No one could reach her anymore.

She had become like a fragile porcelain doll. Cold, silent, and emotionless.

** English is not my native language **

[mywordstovictor]

Yeah I’ve thought I was safe talking about testosterone stuff with other trans people just to get told that it’s gross. Like ‘what about bottom growth though? What do you do about that?’ Not something I feel the need to do anything at all about actually. ‘And you want to get hairier?’ Yep. ‘Testosterone makes you smell bad though.’ It doesn’t stop you from showering, though. It doesn’t dematerialize all your deodorant, though. My happiness is worth the potential cost to your nose, though. "It’ll ruin your singing voice." One, you’ve never heard me sing, and there’s a reason for that, two, go listen to some trans guy singers because your blanket statement is wrong, three, you know that most cis guys have voice cracks for a couple years, right? "You won’t be able to have kids." Bold of you to assume I hold my genetic material in high enough regard that I want another human to have half of it. Also, not necessarily. Also, I could have frozen some eggs.

It’s not surprising from cis older relatives, but other trans people? I’m happy for you and the peace you’ve found in the body you landed in and I’m proud of you for staying true to yourself despite pressure to medically transition. That’s a wonderful thing. But I just wanted to talk about how happy my straggly little chin hairs make me because I thought you’d be happy for me, too.

Anyway let’s be nice to each other even if we don’t really understand each other’s needs and choices, okay? We can be confused about why other transes want or don’t want the things they want or don’t want and hold back our judgement to keep from dampening each other’s happiness. ‘I don’t personally understand how growing belly hair, of all things, could make you this happy but I’m really really glad you have the belly hair of your dreams’ is okay. ‘Why would you want that, that’s gross’ is not.

We’re not talking about thinking someone’s lunch looks unappealing (which most people still consider quite rude to point out), we’re talking about the bodies of actual human people. If you might hurt someone’s feelings saying it about their sandwich, don’t fucking say it about their body.

Anyway I’ve been told testosterone makes you gross enough times I wanna rub my somewhat oily man hair on someone out of spite.

everyone knows that cis people need to be less weird about trans bodies but trans people also need to be less weird about trans bodies. no one gaf if ur scared of bottom growth or thinks its weird. keep that shit to urself. ppl keep talking about normalising trans people who don't medically transition but like. don't normalise not wanting to medically transition to the point that medical transition is stigmatised bcs you guys r freaks about trans bodies. no one cares u think that either ftm or mtf bottom surgery is ugly or weird looking. keep that to urself

[avaredava]

I think we can all agree Satoru is so nice usually. But I think I NEED mean Satoru. He absolutely makes fun of you when you inevitably can't take all the dick he gives you, especially if you're folded up into like, mating press. Just calling you dirty names.

I'm fucking drooling holy lord

IM TWEAKING THAT IS SO YUMMY ISTG

I fucking love your ideas ilysm 😩 btw this one is kinda short i'm still sick but if you want a longer version just ask i'll make one ( ˘ ³˘)♥

୨୧・・・・୨୧

MDNI

Master list's

⯌ Sum

Mean Satoru Gojo (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

⯌ Wc

0.7k

it's really short but it's all mostly smut

⯌Warnings

Mean!Satoru, Fem!reader, Degradation, Humiliation. Overestimation, Edging, Bondage, Restraints, Impact Play (pussy spanking), Cervix bruising, bruising, brief mention of rope burn, Degradation & Humiliation, some aftercare, kinda kinky, breast playing, mating presses, eagle spread, vibrator that suctions, clit stim

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Satoru Gojo is one of the kindest and sweetest boyfriends you ever had. He would buy you everything you want and kiss you so gently it feels like an angel's kiss. One thing no one has ever expected was him to be so cruel when you both are having sex.

All your friends talked and gossiped about how "He'd just give you vanilla sex nothing that feels good.", "Orgasmless sex.", and "He's tall but probably a small dick." They chuckled and giggled about there own comments.

Little did you know when you joked about what they said about Satoru to him. He decided to prove them absolutely wrong.

_

"Toru! Fuck!" You whine as he slams his big cock inside you in the tightest mating press. His hips snapping wildly like he was so fucking desperate to make you and him cum he was about to cry from over stimulation but he doesn't fucking care.

You tried to move away from overstimulation since he's been edging you but his hips snapping and his hands gripping your shoulders making sure you can't move away.

All you can do is holler and squeal and beg for mercy. Obviously he doesn't. He pulled out for a second and you thought it was over so you let out a sigh of relief before you heard a buzz. Your eyes shot open and you squirm. He ties your wrists and legs bound to the bed post in a eagle spread.

Your nipples perked in the air with arousal your stomach moves up and down with harsh breaths. You let out a shaky breath as he puts the pink vibrator on your clit. It suctions with a click of a button and you yelp as the buzzing gets stronger and more stimulating.

"Your such a fucking slut. Talking about me with your friends, agreeing about these insults. One of those insults maybe being... orgasm-less sex hmm..?" He snarls at you raises the vibrations a notch.

"S-Satoru please I was joking!" You begged and hollered. You know there's no point. He's too pissed off to stop. "I don't fucking care Y/N. You're getting what you said I give you- or what i don't give you. Being a bad girl means no orgasms."

He shoves his fingers inside your pussy pushing against your sweet spot and you were on the brink before he takes the vibrator off while it was still suctioning so it caused a little sting and you whined.

He unties your legs but not your arms so you can't leave or stop him. Your legs shut close fast. "I swear to god Y/N stop closing your fucking legs. I undid them to put you in another position you slut. So keep your legs open." He snarls meanly at you but for some reason it got you more wet.

He put you into a mating press again, his dick hitting parts of you only he can hit. You holler and moan sweet music for his ears. He crushingly hits your cervix. It hurts so good you're at the brink of screaming. His hips snapped at this point both of your hips are bruised.

He grabs your tits aggressively. Tweaking your nipples. Your voice was hoarse from your screams so your moans were more quiet as fat tears dropped down your face. "Fucking slut."

He slapped your pussy, hard. He kept smacking as his thrusts got more bruising. Your cervix is at the point of bleeding. You do have a safe word but fuck it feels too good to stop.

"Y-Your so b-big 'Toru." You whine your eyes squeezed shut. "You can't take it? I thought you were my personal whore hm? My little slut can't even take my own dick." he grins meanly with an evil grin. He decides to take some mercy on you but with a price.

"I'll let you cum if you are a good girl and be quiet no moaning? Hm? Show how obedient you are?" He says wanting power over you. You nod frantically wanting him so bad you don't care what he says anymore.

His hips snap faster and you finally cum on his cock holding in your screams letting out cute noises as his hips don't stop moving crazy fast. He moves a hand down rubbing your clit prolonging your pain of trying to be quiet but the pleasure unknotting from your stomach your pussy feeling good with thrusts and rubs. It's so worth it.

He finally pulls out and unties your wrists kissing the rope burn marks gingerly pulling you close.

"Still gonna joke and make fun of me?"

Maybe you will, maybe just maybe, you want that all again.

୨୧・・・・୨୧

Sorry ya'll it's kinda short 😖

[scoupsakakitty]

Beautiful | idol!Hoshi x idolxReader | angst, fluff

Tw: weight loss, not feeling enough

The rain poured relentlessly, blurring the neon lights of Seoul into streaks of color as Hoshi stood outside the apartment building. His fingers clenched around the umbrella handle, though he wasn’t sure why he had bothered bringing it. He was already soaked, and something about the cold seemed fitting.

He hesitated before pressing the buzzer.

Silence.

Then, a static-laced voice: "Who is it?"

Hearing her voice after all this time nearly broke him. "It’s me."

A long pause. Too long.

"Go home, Soonyoung."

He swallowed. "I just want to see you. Please."

"Don’t you have something better to do? Like catching a flight to Japan?" she said bitterly.

"I’ll take the next flight," he replied without hesitation. "You’re more important."

More silence, then a click. The door unlocked. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and stepped inside.

Y/N was thinner than he remembered. The weight loss was noticeable even under the oversized hoodie she wore, sleeves pulled over trembling fingers. Her once-bright eyes were dull, lips slightly chapped, the kind of exhaustion that no amount of sleep could fix settled deep in her features.

Seeing her like this made his chest tighten. This wasn’t the Y/N he knew.

"You shouldn’t be here," she said, voice barely above a whisper.

Hoshi ignored the warning, stepping inside fully. "I had to see you. I had to know if you were okay."

She let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through her tangled hair. "Do I look okay to you?"

No. She looked like she had been barely holding on, like she had been drowning in something she couldn’t escape from. And the worst part? He hadn’t been there to pull her out.

"I’ve been watching you… on stage, in interviews, award shows. You’re disappearing, Y/N. You’re hurting," he admitted, voice raw. "Your friend reached out to me. She’s worried. And she thought maybe… maybe I could help."

Her eyes flashed. "And what? You think you can just come back and fix me? That your presence will magically make things better?"

"No," he whispered. "But I can be here. I can hold you up if you let me."

She scoffed. "You left, Soonyoung. And now you want to be my savior?"

"I never stopped caring," he said, his voice shaking. "I never stopped loving you."

That was the breaking point. Her lips trembled, and before she could stop herself, she collapsed into his arms.

"It’s so hard, Soonyoung," she sobbed into his chest. "No matter what I do, there’s always something wrong with me. I’m never pretty enough, never talented enough. Always too much or too little. They find every flaw, every mistake. The pressure is… it’s crushing me."

He held her tightly, rubbing soothing circles on her back. "Y/N, listen to me. You are the most beautiful person in the world. And not because of how you look. You are beautiful for the way you think, for the sparkle in your eyes when you talk about something you love, for your ability to make people smile without trying."

She clung to him, her breathing ragged.

"I am proud of you," he continued. "I am proud of you for trying, even when it hurts. I wish I could tell you when you’ll finally feel okay again, when your head will be above water, but healing isn’t something you can time. It isn’t something you can measure. But things will get lighter, little by little, as you break through the weight on your shoulders. Keep facing what you need to face. You are getting closer every single day, even if it doesn’t feel that way. And I hope you start to believe that you are worthy of everything you want in this life. You deserve to be adored and cared for in every way your mind, body, and heart long for. You are effortlessly beautiful. You are the embodiment of beauty. Don’t let anyone tell you differently."

She sniffled, pulling back slightly to look at him. "Why do you still love me? After everything?"

He smiled sadly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "The only feeling stronger than my love for you is the ache that comes with missing you. I love everything about you. Maybe too much. But how could I not love that smile, that laughter, those eyes, that passion?"

Her breath hitched, fresh tears pooling in her eyes.

"I hate you," she whispered, voice trembling.

"I know," he said softly, pressing his forehead against hers. "Hate me all you want. Just let me stay."

She let out a shuddering breath and, after what felt like an eternity, nodded against his chest.

Soonyoung held her, his arms tightening around her fragile frame, and for the first time in months, she let herself lean into the warmth she had been missing.

Outside, the rain kept falling, washing away the past, making room for something new.

[rubyvhs]

show me love [ dean w. ]

SUMMARY . you and dean’s friendship (of both platonic and sexual nature) falls apart when his father goes missing TAGS . 0.7k words, cliffhanger, all texting, heavy angst LAILA’S NOTES . y’all I’d apologize but this is the first thing i’ve written in years so if anything we should be happy.

February 2003

Dean: Hey, sweetheart.

Still in Georgia?

You: Yeah, why? Are you thinking of passing by?

Dean: Something like that. 

I’ll be there in two days, maybe. 

You: That sounds great, D. Text me when you’re here.

+

August 2003

Dean: Look outside. 

You: You’re a real piece of work, you know that? 

Rocks at my windows was sexy a century ago.

Dean: Still worked though, didn’t it?

You: Yeah, asshole, I’m awake at three in the morning.

Dean: Does that mean you’re not gonna open the door?

You: Fuck you. I’m getting dressed.

Dean: No point, gonna take it all off anyway.

+

You: You left suddenly, didn’t know I was a one night stand, asshole.

Dean: Sorry, sweetheart, Sam called and I didn’t wanna wake you up. We can grab something to eat tonight, how’s that?

You: Is that a promise you actually plan on keeping?

Dean: Swear on my life.

You: I’ve seen it, ain't much to swear by.

Dean: Ouch.

You: Miss you, pick me up at seven.

Dean: See ya then, baby.

+

June 2005

Dean: Hey

You: Hi, D. Been a while.

Dean: Yeah, I’m sorry

You: It’s okay, I never expect much from us anyway. What’s up?

Dean: Do you think I’m a bad person?

You: No. Why would you say that?

Dean: I’m gonna ask Sam to come back, I can’t find dad.

You: Why didn’t you tell me? And it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I mean, I would advise against it, Sam deserves a good life and you know that, but the fact that you’re asking before doing it says everything I need to know.

Dean: What does it say?

You: That you have a pure heart, D. Don’t ever doubt it, okay? 

But also incase you were actually thinking of it, please don’t go get Sam. He’s out, he’s finally out of the life, Dean.

I text him every week and he’s happy and in love, don’t do it.

Dean: I’m sorry.

You: Answer the phone.

Dean answer me.

Stop ignoring my calls

You suck

You: You’re still not a bad person.

+

August 2005

You: I will never forgive you.

Ever.

Dean: I didn’t know you’d be here.

You: Fuck you. You disappeared on me for months and stop answering my calls you fucking asshole and then I try talking to you and you walk away in front of everyone.

Do you understand how fucking humiliating that was for me? My sister’s asking if I’m okay, that’s how bad it is.

Dean: I’m sorry.

You: You’ve never once meant that, Dean. 

Not fucking once.

You’re a dick.

And one day, you’re the one who’s gonna regret it, not me.

+

September 2005

Dean: Hunted a Djinn today.

Wanna know what my perfect life looked like? 

You: Oh now you wanna talk?

Real nice of you.

Dean: You know what it was

You: And yet I don’t care

Don’t text me again

Dean: You would’ve blocked me if you meant it.

It was you, sweetheart.

You: Good night, Dean. 

Dean: Night.

+

Sam: Hey, darling.

You: Sam!!!!!!!

I’ve missed you endlessly 

Literally haven’t seen you in ages

Sam: Yeah, sorry about that.

Dean told me that he met you at the gathering.

You: Yeah why weren’t you there?

Sam: Just didn’t feel like it.

But I do miss seeing you, send me your location?

You: Virginia, what about you?

Sam: Close. About a day out.

You: You don’t have to, we can meet up when we’re closer.

Sam: Ah, so you don’t wanna see me?

You: No no no I do, just don’t bring Dean.

Please, Sammy.

Sam: Sorry, sweetheart but if I drive him around then I get to go wherever he does.

You: Dean?

Sam: Yeah, Sam’s in the bathroom. We’re on our way.

You: Don’t text me.

Sam: Heard that threat before.

Sam: Hey, sorry, I didn’t know he would do that.

You: I’m wrapping up my hunt, won’t be in Virginia when you get here.

Sam: No no, please.

You: Sorry.

+

January 2006

Sam: Hey.

You: Hi.

Sam: Dean’s dying.

You: What are you talking about?

Sam, answer the phone.

Sam the last thing I told him is to not talk to me please answer the phone

Sam: We’re at Bobby’s.

You: I’m on my way.

[samiholloway]

I call first drafts Mess Drafts or Zero Drafts so I don't get hung up on them -- just get all the stuff out of the brain and see what's even there, like emptying a drawer before you organize it.

I also handwrite those so I can make a fat margin on one side and then I'll do some combo of:

Arrows to point at stuff I know I need to keep track of as I go on

Commentary and structure stuff so I don't stop the drafting to go back and do big changes (this person's name is x now, write that previous scene I just talked about, move so and so to make this make sense) and so on

Snarking on myself

And in the text itself, yeah, seconding writing out of order if the parts come to you out of order.

Seconding skipping the parts that feel too hard just now -- put something there like [they get out somehow ] and move on to the next part you know, bc a lot of times, writing the stuff that comes after tells you what you needed to know for the part that was stumping you!

And I always end a writing session with a little mini brainstorm of at least three things that could happen next, or that I know will happen next. Even if I come back and decides that's not what I want to write, I've got those notes right there in the text and they're placeholders for the next draft or for a day when I have the urge to fill gaps, and if I wind up going a different direction, I just cross them out and they're first draft artifacts that might wind up in some other story some other time.

favourite things about first drafts:

square brackets with notes to self mid-line like [does this make sense with worldbuilding?]

ah yes, Main Character and their closest friends, Unnamed Character A and Unnamed Character B.

bullshitting your way through something that you probably definitely need to research later

also square brackets to link up scenes. [scene transition idk] my beloved

the total freedom of word vomits

"I'll fix that later"

the moment when the world and characters start to gain a life of their own

pieces falling into place as you write that you were uncertain about before you started

the accomplishment of Made A Thing

[jsooly]

idk why but i feel like reader was SO happy when tuk was born simply because someone was shorter than her

get my girl on stilts

ur so right anon 🙂‍↕️ this is so silly LMAO wait—

human!reader x sibling!sullys

the seven years before tuk came along, you swore you developed chronic neck pain from looking up at everyone all the time. jake was two inches shy of 9ft, neytiri following close behind, and even lo'ak, the youngest, was comfortably over 7ft.

it got to a point where you just didn't bother to look them in the eye anymore. not when they stood, anyway. sometime along the line, the kids started to crouch when they were around you. it started subtly. bending at the waist to match your eight. and you didn't think anything when they squatted around you—they did that all the time.

it was their rapid growth stage. they shot up from below you to being just over you, and suddenly they were acting as if they were as gigantic as your parents.

it clicked in your brain when you were out and about, taking a stroll through the forest and supervising your troublesome brothers and sister. you paused, propping your foot atop a rock to adjust the wraps around your feet.

they circled around you, bending at the knees in a squat while chatting among themselves. you paused, giving them suspicious looks before you began walking once more.

you stopped near a tree, shielding your eyes from the sun to get a better view of the foliage above. you remembered that you were low on fruits back home and—

you turned when you felt breathing over your shoulder. lo'ak was right behind you, neteyam and kiri just behind. they were low to the ground, a pattern you were just becoming aware of.

"...what are you doing." you said flatly.

"do you need a lift?" lo'ak offered his arms, nodding up to the tree as if it were a perfectly reasonable offer.

you scrunched your face, offense souring your expression like a lemon. "you're kidding me."

"i mean, it's a pretty tall tree." he mumbled, shrugging unconvincingly.

you let out a slow breath, flicking your gaze past him to neteyam and kiri. "and what about you?"

"we're standing here with you?" neteyam answered with a quizzical tone, thinking the answer was obvious.

"you're not standing. you duck down every time i stop walking. this better not be a prank."

"how else will you hear what we say from way up here?" lo'ak retorted, rising to his full height again.

you gave him an incredulous look, taking a pause in the conversation that set off danger bells in your siblings' heads.

"...because you have so much height on me." you said sarcastically.

the intent of your words flew over lo'aks head, missing the sarcasm completely. he smiled proudly, puffing out his chest. "yeah. yeah, i do."

"lo'ak, you're barely a foot taller than i am. i fear you are the last person that should be talking."

his ears shot up at the jab, pointing an accusatory finger in your face. "hey! i grew over the summer—"

"wanna go shoulder to shoulder?" you shot back.

his mouth hung open, his brain processing his response. he pulled back his finger. "no." he said slowly.

"don't stoop anymore," you instructed the obvious to them. when they all squatted around you, they looked like kids cornering a pet. "my ears work just fine." you glared at lo'ak.

"good, cuz that was getting tiring." kiri sighed when she finally pushed herself upright, her legs burning from the unintentional workout. neteyam stood up as well, stretching his arms over his head.

"unbelievable." you grumbled, rolling your eyes as you continued your trek through the forest.

—

all of this to say that you were really happy when tuk was born. she had at least a decade before she surpassed you and you intended to treasure every second of it.

you were more than happy to rub it in the other kids' faces when they suddenly complained that you spent an increasing amount of time with the newest addition to the family.

"it's not gonna last long." lo'ak grumbled beside you. you pushed him away playfully. wait until he finds out about the stilts humans regularly use.

[bananayuyu]

just friends (2) - back to the beginning

pairing: san x f reader

genre: smut, angst, a bit of fluff

word count: 12.6k

summary: could you really call this a friendship anymore? what was it really, when you spent nights curled up in the sheets with him, days fighting till your blood ran cold? this was more than anything you'd had with anyone; but what it was, you didn't know. you'd fight to keep it alive, for it held you together; but how much more of this could San take before he breaks?

warnings: MDNI, smut, vaginal sex, cream pie, oral, cum eating

a/n: i have become completely obsessed with these two. I've mapped out 10 parts for this series (help me), please let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the rest <33 new parts won't be coming out on any certain schedule as I have many other writing projects I'm working on, but I will for sure finish his series within the year. I'm too obsessed not to. also the argument at the end of this part is pretty nasty so please proceed with caution <3

<- previous part | next part -> | series masterlist | read it on ao3

One Year Ago

"Titi, it's 4:15, get your ass up!" you called from her desk, squinting at your eyes in the mirror as you put the finishing touches on your dark, heavy face of makeup.

"I know, sorry," she grumbled from her bed, slowly pushing off her comforter. "Winter makes me so sleepy," she yawned, stretching as long as she couch reach, her feet falling off the side of her mattress.

"You just love being late, I think," you joked, slapping closed the lid of your highlighter, putting the brush you used back into the drawer it came from.

"You'd think I do, with how often I am," she laughed, another yawn escaping her lips, her palms rubbing circles over her eyes.

"I'm leaving without you if you're running late, just so you know," you responded, stepping up off her desk chair and over to your trusty bag, double checking you had your costume for tonight, your phone, your keys, wallet, and makeup bag.

"I'm coming, just give me a second," she muttered, pushing herself up dramatically, a deep sigh wracking through her. "I didn't get to sleep till like ten in the morning."

"What were y'all doing?" you asked, chuckling, zipping closed your bag with a satisfying sound, everything packed just right for the day ahead.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she laughed, waggling her eyebrows at you.

"You're a couple of fucking rabbits, you two," you shot back, staring at the disheveled state of your best friend. She tipped her head back, laughing hard, that bright full smile showing across her beautiful face. She'd been smiling a lot like that lately, ever since her and her girlfriend had made things official, ever since they'd decided to move in together.

"I'm sorry, I won't talk about it so much if it's annoying," she said, finally standing herself up and shlepping off her pajamas.

"Don't stop, it's very adorable," you responded. "Why would it be annoying?"

"Just cause, you know, your last situation was such a disappointment. I don't want it to feel like I'm rubbing it in," she said, grabbing for a pair of black leggings and pink sweater in the pile of clothes on the floor.

"My last, what, three situations, actually?" you said, trying to remember each of the ridiculous members of the cast of dates you'd been on last year.

"Dating sucks," she said, pulling her leggings on, stumbling a bit.

"Not for you, it doesn't," you responded, crossing your arms.

"Well, not now, but it did for my whole life up until this point," she said.

"Ah, turned twenty-two and now you have it figured out?" you joked, rolling your eyes.

"Hey, don't get snippy with me missy," she pouted, pulling the sweater over her head.

"Sorry, you know I just like arguing for no reason," you sighed, chuckling a bit.

"I need to find you someone who likes it just as much as you do," she joked back, grabbing her phone off it's charger.

"But who's not actually an asshole?" you said.

"Yeah, exactly," she laughed, shooting off a quick text. "Shit, 4:20," she said, stuffing her phone into her own huge bag, not bothering to check it's contents like you just did.

"Okay, we're going now," you said, walking out into her living room, heading straight for the front door.

"Wait, just let me make a cup of coffee!" she called to you, stumbling behind.

"They have coffee where we work, you know," you remarked, looking back at her over your shoulder.

"Oh my god, you love saying shit like that," she rolled her eyes, following close behind you.

"I'm not wrong," you said as you opened the front door, stepping out into the hall.

"I just wanted my pretty mug," she sighed, stepping out after you.

"Then go grab it," you said, holding the door open.

"I can do that? Make coffee into a mug I've brought in?" she asked.

"I don't see why not," you responded, shrugging your shoulders.

"Okay, if I get in trouble I'm blaming you," she said, running back in to grab her favorite mug from the cabinet above the sink.

"Fine, fine," you shook your head, closing the door once she'd come out again.

As soon as you exited the building you realized you'd worn too much; it might be January still, but it was hardly cold at all, this dense desert city holding all the heat the rest of the world must be craving.

"Can we slow down?" Tina asked from beside you, your shoulders bumping as you stepped around a huge group standing on the sidewalk outside of an Italian restaurant, chatter filling the air.

"I don't wanna be late," you answered, keeping your pace as it was.

"Dude, you're so wound up," she said, snaking her hand through your upper arm, genuinely worried you'll start sprinting off if she didn't ground you somehow.

"Sorry, I know," you said, linking your arm around her's. "I'm good, I swear. Just stressed about my manuscript submission," you said, flashing her a wary smile.

"They said they'd get back to you by next week, right?" she asked, gently pulling on you to help you avoid a dark spot of something sticky on the sidewalk.

"Yeah, next week," you sighed, letting out a disgruntled noise.

"Okay, so, you just gotta wait. You did all that work last year finishing that play, you should let yourself have some fun for a few weeks. We should all go out after work today, we haven't done that in forever," she said, the two of you snaking around a line of people standing outside the old movie theater that sat just a block from your place of work.

"Doesn't Maya work Sunday mornings?" you asked, pulling up at the corner to wait for the light to change.

"Usually, but not this week. She's on a later shift today so they gave her tomorrow off," she answered you, eyes darting around at the cacophony of sounds streaming through the streets from every direction.

"Oh, that's nice," you said, and Tina started laughing, squeezing onto your arm. "Shit sorry, did that sound sarcastic?"

"It's so funny when your tone goes all flat like that," she said beside you, a genuine smile on her face. "Seriously though, there probably won't be a Saturday night where she can come out with us for a very long time. We should do it. Maybe we can even convince Sasha and Bibi to come too."

"I'll think about it," you said as the light changed, the two of you stepping down onto the asphalt in front of you. A car honked loudly from your left, wanting to turn down the street you were walking across, and you both shot the driver identical looks of confusion over your shoulders. Only another minute and you were pushing through the side door of the bar, stepping right into the back of the kitchen and waving hi to the cooks on the line. The hallway to the dressing room was already uncomfortably hot; your light layers were far too much now, so you stripped them off quickly, shoving everything into your locker and checking your phone. You weren't late, after all. Thankfully, because you were on early tonight, second in the program, and you only had time to change into your costume and warm up a bit before Ilya was calling your name and pushing you down to the left wing of the stage.

It was a fairly normal night, by all accounts. You'd been working at the bar for nearly two years by then, one of the longer standing performers. There was high turnover in the staff, as was typical in a bar, but especially amongst the performers, who'd often find sudden success in movies or TV, or decide that pursuing this was just not for them anymore. Ages varied wildly; your boss Julie was not one to obsess over youth, or any other conventional markers of beauty. All she cared about was talent; she wanted to create the most interesting, jaw dropping, entertaining show this whole city had to offer, and there was no doubt she had succeeded. Every kind of person could be found working here; sometimes servers would take on a performing shift or two, and sometimes the opposite. It wasn't rare for you to be asked to take drinks to a certain table, your costume still on, sometimes staying in character as you placed them down in front of wonder-filled eyes. You all were expected to help each other out; once or twice you'd even been requested in the kitchen or behind the bar, when there'd been one too many sudden call outs.

It was a classy establishment. Doors opened at 4:30, the show promptly starting at 5pm; it ended at midnight sharp, the bar closing only half an hour later. It was the earliest place to close on the block, only open four days a week, Wednesday night through Saturday night. It was a place people went to pregame, to start their evening with a bang, or a place people went to see a great show before heading back home at a reasonable hour. There was a drinks limit; you all could deny a customer another if they were acting unruly, your security team inconspicuous under the dark shadowy light inside, but always watching. The food served was regular bar fare: tacos, wings, pizza, burgers, but it was high quality, so good that some people came frequently just for their favorite menu item. The place was known for its drinks, too, having hoards of non alcohol options that put every other bar's mocktail lists to shame. It was known for its organized and sparkly atmosphere, known as a reliable place to have a good ass night. The patronage was a mixed bag, but the place wasn't cheap; it tended to skew a bit older, a bit more mature. You didn't hate that; it meant the behavior was generally predictable, even if you didn't exactly fit in amongst the crowd cheering you on.

Halfway through the night you plopped down on your stool in the dressing room, scrubbing free the bits of eyeliner that had smudged below your eye during your first two solo performances of the night.

"Hey girl, sorry to bug, do you have any lashes I could borrow?" Sasha came running in, a slightly panicked look on her face.

"I should, let me see what I have," you said, setting your makeup wipe on your bare thigh and zipping open your bag.

"I'm so sorry to ask, but I literally don't have any with me," she sighed, coming to sit beside you. "My right one fell off on stage and I couldn't find it for the life of me. I was trying to look for it without making it obvious," she said, a nervy chuckle escaping her.

"No worries, here, look through there. Take whatever you need," you said, handing her the small box you kept your old and new lashes in.

"Oh darling, you're a lifesaver," she sighed, snapping it open and rifling through, finding the size she needed. She still had some of that newbie air about her, not six weeks into working with you. But already she had established herself as irreplaceable; by then she emceed almost every night she worked, and thank god for that, as none of the rest of you had any talent or desire for it. Julie tended to do it, if no one else was available, but having a beautiful drag queen host the evening, one who also performed in the show, was a much better choice in every way.

"A group of businessmen just walked in and took table four, I'm hoping one of them is interesting in all this," she said, leaning forward to place the replacement lash on her right eyelid.

"I'm sure one will be, Sash, you're fucking gorgeous," you said, wiping the last of the smudged makeup from your face and giggling.

"Oh sweetheart, you flatter me," she drawled, looking over her face in the mirror. "Do you think those straight-" she lifted her hands, making air quotes, "men can tell I'm not a woman in all the typical ways?"

"Girl, I wasn't even sure the first time I saw you. Your makeup skills are unmatched," you said, chuckling at her.

"Oh stop it," she joked, shaking her head at you. "I hope my hosting skills are half as good," she sighed, finally placing the lash on her eye just right and batting her hand in front of her face in a desperate attempt to get the glue to dry quickly.

"Sasha, are you kidding? You put the rest of us to shame. You should have seen me the one night Julie made my try it out," you laughed, tossing your used makeup wipe in the waste basket beside you.

"I'm sure it was just fine, you little genius," she responded, blinking her eye open and closed a few times. "Sorry to cut this short, but I should probably get out there again."

"Go get 'em, girl," you responded, shooting a playful wink her way.

"Thank you again, darling," she said as she walked past, a gentle hand on your shoulder. You squeezed it briefly; "of course," you said. Then her heels were clacking past you, and soon the room filled with noise as nearly every performer on your cast came in to start their makeup, all of you preparing for the big group number of the evening.

You'd discovered the song, randomly, a few months back. The title, Kalyna, and the album art had intrigued you; after your first listen you were imaging the choreography immediately, turning on your phone to record the sudden ideas flooding your brain. You'd never choreographed a number for the bar, but you knew Julie would be open to it if you pitched it correctly. Three weeks later and you were teaching your coworkers the choreography, chaotic short lessons between everyone's normal performances, all of them picking it up lightning quick. It was an instant hit with your audiences, the night it debuted, and had been kept in the rotation longer than most of the other numbers ever were.

That night the air was buzzing in the dressing room; everyone looked sharp and stunning in their body suits, hair slicked back and pulled tight into buns. The makeup was angular; this number was meant to evoke a bit of tension, maybe even some fear in the audience. But it also showed the strength of the team, the strength of community, and the physical strength of each of you. It was your absolute favorite number that winter; you looked forward to it every night you worked, proud to know you'd created something that stuck so fondly in the minds of the people who watched.

As you hit the stage, you saw immediately what Sasha had just mentioned. Table four, which sat just off the right side of the stage, was cramped full of men in suits, every single one sharp and fitted and so obviously expensive. There was every type of man you could imagine at the table; you spotted immediately the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome, Sasha's dream come to life. And when she led the first eight counts towards the front of the stage, you saw his eyes take in everything, her long legs, her face, her deep rich eyes he seemed lost in. You nearly broke character; so rare was is that people in here flirted with the performers, oddly enough, and normally you were very thankful for that. It was all a part of the classy environment your boss had curated, and it meant you felt safe. But you couldn't deny how giddy it made you to see this playing out in front of you, mere feet from where you danced.

You danced the rest of the number focused, determined not to drop your professionalism for too long, the crowd erupting in cheer as you all finished. Clasping hands down the line, you took one giant bow, spinning and running off stage as the number ended.

"Lina needs help y'all!" Ilya called as you ran through the wings, and immediately you headed down the short hallway to the back of the bar, bursting through to find her. Stacked along the bar were multiple trays of drinks; a line was forming, and your head bartender looked the tiniest bit stressed. Sweat dripped form her brow, and she wiped it away quickly with her hand, punching something into the computer before whipping around to take another order.

"Oh, good, please take those out!" she said when she saw you and Tina, pointing to the trays of drinks in front of you. "The beers are for table four, the cocktails table seven!"

In an instant you grabbed the tray in front of you, sliding past Tina as carefully and quickly as possible. This was sometimes your favorite moments of the evening, when in the adrenaline of post-performance you had to run out drinks to an excited table, who'd marvel over your performance and ask you every question they could think of. As you started weaving through the room, several iterations of 'great job!' and 'amazing, just amazing!' were thrown your way, making your smile so wide it nearly stretched off your face. You barely payed attention to the drinks in your hand, only to make sure they didn't spill, as you nodded in thanks to the compliments, smiling at the half-lit faces around you.

It wasn't until you stopped, stood close to the wall to let another server past, that you realized which tray you'd grabbed. Both table four and seven sat on the far side of the room opposite the bar, and in the chaos of the moment you'd just headed this way, not bothering to actually take note. Now, you did; eight beers sat on the tray balanced on your hand, all identical dark ales. You shot a look to your side at Tina's tray, littered with pink and blue and clear cocktails, fun decorations sticking out the top of them all. Your's was meant for table four, for those businessmen Sasha had spotted, the one's you'd just performed mere feet from.

It shouldn't have worried you, but you couldn't help remembering it now. The only time you'd felt uncomfortable at work had been when serving a giant table full of just men, when one of them had said things severely over the line with you, just to make his friends laugh. It'd only ever happened that once, but the feeling was humiliating enough to have stuck with you, your mind whirring a bit as you made you way towards the crowded table. You decided you'd set the tray down by the man eyeing Sasha; maybe you could subtly hint at her interest, though you had no idea what you'd say. But as soon as you entered their proximity and reached between two of them to set down the tray, a man across the table spoke to you.

"I love that song!" he said, and you looked up to find a sweet, bright smile and deep dimples staring back at you.

"Oh, thank you!" you replied, giving him a genuine smile back, your mind immediately put at ease. You started placing the beers around, one in front of each man, careful to avoid the plates of food already littering the table.

"Do you know the significance of the Kalyna plant in Ukraine?" the same man asked, and your head snapped to him, eyes slightly wide.

"Yeah, that's why I chose to make that number," you said before you could think, so shocked that someone here knew anything about the song you'd spent long hours researching months ago.

"You choreographed that?" he asked, his eyes going wide a bit too.

"Oh, yeah," you said, slightly embarrassed that you'd just openly admitted that. It wasn't something you tended to do, when making light chatter with customers. You grabbed the last beer, which was for him, and made your way around the table to set it down in front of him. "It's just such a great song, easy to choreograph to," you added, trying to make yourself sound less conceited, less interested in talking about yourself.

"It is great, haven't heard it in years," he responded, taking the beer from your hand as you moved to set it down.

"You've heard it before?" you asked, genuine shock in your tone. The band was not one very popular here; not a single person you knew had heard of them, and no one in the months you'd been performing it had mentioned knowing anything about the song.

"Yeah, my freshman roommate in college was from Ukraine and he played a lot of their music. He's a drag queen, I would go to his shows a lot. He actually did a routine to that song, too, for a while," he responded, turning in his seat a bit to better face you. By this point the rest of the table had fallen into another conversation; it seemed none of the rest of them had heard of the song before, or cared to learn much about it. Kind of made them seem like shitty friends, to you. But you were thankful for it, because all of the sudden it felt like you and this gorgeous man were all alone, your back against the west wall of the seating area, Sasha's voice booming through the speakers around you.

"Next time he's visiting I'll be sure to take him here, he'd love it," he added, taking a swig of his beer.

"Well we might not be performing that number anymore, depending on when he's coming. Our numbers are put on a rotation, and this one's overstayed it's welcome already. Though it's still quite popular, we might be able to perform it a while longer," you said, words coming easily, the normal walls you kept high when talking to customers nowhere to be found.

"That's too bad, I hope you get to keep it for a while. It's fucking great, you're a real genius," he said, looking up at you again with those perfect dimples.

"Thanks," you said, blushing, the smirk he was sending your way bringing sudden heat to your face. You'd had time now to take him in; his hair was black, short at the sides and longer on top, his suit black to match it. His skin was honey, smooth as can be, and his face was pure perfection, pouty lips and a perfect nose, a strong jaw, strong eyebrows. He was very masculine, but very pretty too, so stunning you couldn't believe your eyes. And his wire framed glasses held his look together perfectly; he looked sharp, smart, and confident. He looked the way you were pretty sure every man wished he looked in a suit.

"I don't usually say stuff like this, but, when are you free tonight? We're all headed to a huge party up in the East Heights after this, if you'd like to come. There's gonna be an open bar, a pool, it's supposed to be pretty crazy," he said, taking another quick sip of his beer, his face pure and calm as he said it.

'I don't usually say stuff like this' my ass, you thought. The words had flown off his tongue too easily for that to be believable. But it was working on you, his confidence. You'd experienced too many instances of vague flirting, of indirectness, of shaky voices and shakier hands. You'd dreamt of a moment like this, when someone saw you and liked what they saw, liked it enough to ask you out then and there with no hesitation.

"Uh, I get off at 12:30, when the bar closes," you answered him, words falling out of your mouth without intention. "I- uh- I'll need to think about it though. I wouldn't be comfortable coming by myself, would I be able to bring some friends?"

"Yeah, bring whoever you'd like. It's a big event, a few extra bodies should be no big deal," he responded, smirk turning to a full on smile. His teeth were perfect, god he was perfect, and you got lost in his face for a few seconds, resting your hip against the wall behind you, your lower lip grasped between your teeth.

"I'm San, by the way," he said, reaching out his free hand in your direction.

"Oh, yeah, I'm y/n," you replied, placing your hand in his. His handshake was strong, hand warm around yours, your fingers nearly disappearing in his palm.

"It's nice to meet you," he said, holding onto your hand for a second longer than needed, gently releasing it and looking you straight in the eyes.

"Nice to meet you too," you said awkwardly, eyes darting around the room. "I should probably get back to work, it was nice chatting with you," you said, finally walking around the table to grab the tray and bring it back to the bar.

"We'll be here till closing, so just let me know then if you'd like to come," he said, nodding in your direction as you started to turn.

"Okay, thanks," you said, smiling over your shoulder, before walking off hurriedly between tables, suddenly worried sick that you'd be in trouble for talking to him for too long.

"Titi, you still wanna go out tonight?" you asked as you rushed back into the locker room, two slices of sweet bread you stole from the kitchen in your hands.

"Yeah, you actually wanna?" she said excitedly, reaching forward to grab one of them from you.

"I just got invited to a party in the Easy Heights," you said, a bewildered look gracing your features.

"Hello? What?" she responded, her mouth open in a comical O.

"I don't even know, but yeah, apparently some big party is happening at a house up there? He said it will have an open bar and pool?" you said, shaking your head in disbelief at the words coming out of you.

"Who said this?" she asked, mouth full as she chowed down.

"He said his name is San, he's in that group at table four," you responded.

"Oh my god, Sasha was just telling me she was making eyes at one of those men," Tina laughed, a hand coming to your shoulder.

"Yeah, I saw that while we were performing Kalyna," you said, giggling too.

"You sure you wanna go to an East Heights party? There's definitely gonna be like coke and shit, probably worse. It might be crazy," she said, head tilting to the side.

"If it's awful we can just leave, but I kinda feel like going. I doubt we'll ever be invited to one of those again," you laughed, giving her an assured smile. "I kind of want to see what tomfoolery those rich assholes get up to."

"So this isn't about hanging out with that man?" she asked.

"He seems cool, but I think he might be gay," you said to her, crossing your arms.

"Um, why?"

"He said his roommate in college was a drag queen, and that he went to his shows a lot. And he talked to me way too confidently to be into me. If he's not gay, then he's definitely not interested," you said, shrugging.

"Babe, he invited you to a party with him, barely knowing you. He definitely finds you attractive," she said, giving you that look she does when she thinks you're being just a bit dumb.

"Okay, but, well-" you cut yourself off, holding your hands out in a gesture of pity. You were dumb when it came to this relationship stuff, downright stupid. You knew that, as frustrating as it was. You wanted to be confident in your suspicion he was into you, but you'd been wrong enough times when you were younger about this sort of thing to assume it now. You'd been made fun of countlessly in high school, person after person laughing at the mere thought that they'd be into you. You were always baffled; you'd been told by some other person that this person had a crush on you, and were only asking them about it because of that information. They were pranks, and it took you embarrassingly long to figure that out. You understood that now, you recognized it had just been childish bullying; but still, even years later, you doubted any instance of even a suggestion that someone found you attractive.

You were different back then; you'd changed so much in the few years you'd lived away from home. But still, you doubted yourself. Maybe you had a complex about being undesirable, but who didn't? And frankly, when you looked around the world, it seemed like more of the "ugly" people had partners than not. It must be more about personality, you reasoned, which made your undesirability all the more painful. A silly, sick side of you began to feel attached to being single, began to feel better than other people for it, even your ride or die perfect friend standing in front of you. You didn't need romantic love like everyone else did, you decided; you had your art to give you passion, your friends to give you companionship. And you could physically satisfy yourself just fine. It was all projection; it was how you coped. How else could you deal with the pain of never being loved, lusted after, wanted the way all of your friends had since puberty?

But even as attached to your single identity as you were, you'd perused the apps last year, a tiny buried part of you wishing and hoping that there was someone out there for you, perfect in every way. It had been a bust, as expected. You felt like a fool for even trying. You had hoped that it would give you at least a little self-esteem, even if no relationship came of it. But it had only driven that painful truth of your undesirable personality deeper into your heart, cracking it further.

"I don't even want a relationship right now, Ti, I've said that for like the past three months," you said, pulling your hands back to your chest. You felt your heart thumping there, trying desperately to come alive despite the year of terror you'd put it through.

"It doesn't have to be a relationship, you could just hook up with him, you know, have a little fun," she answered you, grabbing your hands in hers. "Let's go, let's have some fun. Just relax, spend the evening enjoying ourselves." You hadn't seen her so excited all winter; her moods were severely affected by this season, and it always felt like a part of her left you for the cold months. It made a complex mix of sadness and excitement swirl through you, staring back at her perfect face. There was no way you'd be saying no to her now, despite anything.

"Okay, fine," you sighed, pulling her into a tight hug.

It took little convincing for Sasha and Bibi to join you, and soon the four of you plus Maya were standing on the sidewalk outside, stuck like a barnacle to the side of San's huge group. You were all waiting on two limos, according to him; when he's said this the five of you looked between yourselves with huge wide eyes, grabbing each other's arms and trying desperately not to laugh.

"You realize none of us have ever been to the East Heights, right?" you said to him, the soft arm of his suit jacket brushing up against the exposed skin of your own upper arm.

"That's fine, I've only been once. It's nothing that crazy, the houses are just big," he said, looking down at you, his shoulders intimidatingly broad now that he was standing beside you.

"I thought you said this party is gonna be crazy though," you replied, squinting your eyes playfully.

"Well, it's possible. I don't really know," he responded.

"So you just said that to say it earlier?" you questioned him, head cocked to the side.

"I was trying to make my offer sound enticing," he replied, looking you up and down, that smirk back on his face.

"So you lied to me?" you shot back.

"Hey, like I said, I don't know much about this thing, it could very well be crazy," he responded, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Wow, what have I gotten us into," you said, turning to the group, all of whom were suppressing their laughter at the interaction unfolding in front of them.

"The best night of your life," he answered, nudging your shoulder in a way that almost could have been accidental, making your eyes snap back to his again.

"I hope that wasn't a lie," you said, eyeing him sharply.

"I'll make sure of it," he shot back, one eyebrow raised slightly.

A titter sounded behind you, Tina unable to keep her composure at the ridiculous bickering unfurling between you. Your eyes were locked on each other, faces closer than either of you realized. It was so damn obvious to all of your friends, then, what was about to happen. The two of you couldn't hide it for a second, how affect you were. You were still locked in eye contact when the first limo pulled up, the rest of San's group filing in, waving him goodbye.

"You can go with your friends if you'd like," you said as he closed the door, stepping back.

"Oh they're not really my friends, just guys I know through work. This whole thing tonight is a networking opportunity, what fun," he joked sarcastically, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Oh wow," you said, eyes glued to the limo as it pulled away. "People network at one in the morning?"

"Us tech bros do I guess, we just love it," he said, laughing sarcastically again. "I don't really like this stuff, but my manager is making me go. He gave me Monday off, so, I can't really complain."

"Wow, you have like a normal job," you said, laughing.

"And you don't?" he asked.

"I just mean, you work Monday to Friday, 9 to 5, right?" He nodded. "Yeah, I literally don't know a single other person who does. My mom is a doula, and my twin sister is a nurse, and my dad has early-onset Parkinson's so he's been on disability almost my whole life. And the rest of my friends work here, or work at other bars or restaurants around here. Even my best friend from high school works in a library at her university, but she works weekends and nights."

It all came stumbling out of you so fast, your hand shot up to your mouth.

"Sorry, that was crazy. Just forget all that shit about my dad..." you trailed off, eyes wide with worry as they met his.

"What shit about your dad?" he answered, and your expression immediately changed to one of relief, one of laughter. Just then the second limo pulled up to the curb, and the five of you excitedly gathered by the door, San opening it for you.

"Ladies," he said, bowing his head slightly and beckoning you all to step inside.

"None of us have ever been in a limo either," you told him, chuckling as your friends excitedly squealed while carefully entering the sleek black car.

"Uh, I have, speak for yourself miss thing," Bibi said as she crouched down, shooting you a look over her shoulder.

"Well damn, I guess one of us has," you said to San as you finally stepped inside, his body following quickly after you, rich laughter ringing in your ear.

San, it turned out, was most definitely not gay. Which of course, deep down, you'd already known. You'd known it from the moment he asked you to go to that party with him, from the moment he smirked and your body sizzled under his glare. But he was so different from anyone you'd dated before; too kind, too upfront, too knowledgeable about musicals and theater and all the things you loved so very much. It almost pained you to find out he'd been studying theater in college before switching to computer science. That was why he'd been paired with his freshman roommate; at the time, they'd had the same major. That roommate, Antin, became one of his best friends; the two bonded over coming from overseas, the pressure their parents put on them even thousands of miles away. It was so sweet, so charming, and in the two hours you spent at that raucous party, you learned what seemed like all there was to know about him.

He was too perfect; it was too easy to say yes when he'd asked if you wanted to see his apartment, too easy to bid your friends goodnight as your Uber pulled up in front of their places. You thought of nothing but the hunk beside you, about what he'd look like with that suit strewn on the ground. You tried not to jump his bones the second you were alone, but damn was it hard; as soon as you arrived he'd taken your purse, and placed it in the front closet of his apartment. His apartment was huge, his front closet bigger than the bathroom you shared with three other roommates; it was fancy too, well kept, stacks of books and DVDs in the living room, only two dirty dishes in the bottom of his kitchen sink.

It was all simply too good to be true, and in that moment nothing felt real. You were present, sure, but you felt like you'd been knocked into an alternative timeline, getting to live out the life of someone far better than you, who deserved all this.

"Aren't you hot in that suit?" you asked him, your loose minidress hanging free, your body unburdened with extra fabric. You always kept a few random clothes at work in case you needed to change suddenly, and even though it was the last day of January, this tiny dress had been a great option. Outside you'd thrown a large old flannel of your dad's over it, but at the party you'd tied it around your waist, the mass of bodies creating more heat than you could bear.

"Yeah, I was sweating all night," he laughed, slowly and methodically pulling off his suit jacket, finally revealing the shape of his shoulders to you. Under his white button-up they bulged; you did all you could to stop yourself from just staring, especially as he loosened his tie and finally pulled from his head, setting it down on the small table just inside his front door.

"You can put your shoes in there, if you'd like. Oh and your shirt, here, let me hang it up," he said, reaching for the flannel still tied around your waist. His touch was electric as soon as his hands made contact; even through the material of your dress you felt the spark, your body shivering. It only lasted a second, his nature too respectful to make anything more of a moment like that, especially after what you'd said at the party to him not twenty minutes ago. You wished you could have frozen time, wished every little detail of this night could be burned into your memory forever. It would be hard to believe then that you'd forget a lot of it in just a year, that somehow so much would happen that this one night would come to feel almost insignificant.

"Can I make you some hot cocoa, or tea, coffee?" he asked as he walked towards his kitchen, pouring you both glasses of water.

"Some herbal tea sounds nice, if you have any," you answered, and he opened his pantry to reveal a small collection. You picked out the lavender mix that sounded refreshing, placing the purple tea bag in a black mug he'd set down on the counter. As he set his tea kettle to boil, you hopped up on the counter beside him, bare feet swinging in air.

"So, you think that was the best night of my life?" you quipped, looking sideways at him as he set the kettle to temperature.

"Night's not over," he responded, eyebrows flicking up in amusement.

You were squirming under his gaze, your face now level with his. His shirt and pants fit him immaculately; you were so obviously ogling him, your thighs rubbing together as you did, your eyelids heavy with lust. He could feel it pouring off of you, but he kept replaying what you'd said, and kept trying to keep his composure, because he really wasn't that guy. He wasn't the guy who slept with the girl right away; he had known too many of those guys at college, seen too many of them back home too, when he visited his brother in the fall. He found the hookup culture he was surrounded by almost unnerving. He'd been raised with integrity, with respect; and being here in a new country had challenged his beliefs, for sure, but not when it came to sex or romance.

But you were determined. Your body had a mind of its own, and this whole night had felt surreal for hours now. Your own, already loose morals were thrown out the window, and you didn't give a fuck. You wanted him now, forget whatever the hell you'd said earlier; you didn't even remember it anymore, too filled with arousal to think straight.

You grabbed onto his arm closest to you, pulling him in.

"Hey, I thought you said-"

You cut him off with a kiss, pulling his face towards yours, leaning back slightly to arch into him. It was feverish as your lips met, mouths open, your legs already shaking as you wrapped them around his waist. It didn't take long for his hands to find your hips, your waist; he dug in, feeling the softness of you, softness he wanted to be wrapped in forever. He'd kept his composure the whole way here, not putting a hand on your thigh in the Uber, not a hand on your back as you walked through his front door. But now, it had left him; just five seconds of you in his grasp, and he knew he could never let go. His tongue swiped into your mouth, sucking hard on your lower lip, and without thinking he was reaching under your dress, feeling over the bare expanse of skin.

You hadn't worn a bra or panties tonight. He could tell about the bra, from the way your dress caught on your chest, but the panties were a surprise, making his head fuzzy as he reached down to your ass and found it bare for him. Your hands now were desperately grabbing at his over-shirt, trying in vain to undo each pesky button as you kept kissing him, your hands stumbling and failing over and over. Finally, he reached up and just ripped his shirt open, buttons popping and falling onto the floor in a soft rattle. He flung it off his arms, his tight under shirt leaving nothing anymore to your imagination. His abs rippled underneath it; you'd never seen abs like that in person before, weren't sure that they even existed. Especially not on a man who worked in tech, whose face was prettier than a porcelain doll's.

He came back to you, breathing hard; you grabbed at his abdomen, his shoulders, his chest, desperate to feel all of the perfection in front of you. You could smell the sweat on him now, musky and rich notes hitting your nose and making your body heat even more. He moved his mouth to your neck, your ear, making you whine and squirm with pleasure, sharp sparklers of energy running down the entirety of your body. You were pulling at him, desperately, forgetting any sense of where you were, or what you'd planned for tonight. As he licked a stripe up your collar bone you squealed loudly, the feeling ticklish and pleasurable all the same, and you jerked away from him momentarily, falling into a fit of giggles.

Suddenly there was a crash; the mug next to you was sent flying to the floor by your hip, and now it's pieces spread out across the grey tile, littering it in shards.

"Fuck, sorry," you gasped, your hands flying up to cover your open mouth. You were expecting maybe a light chuckle, maybe a shocked noise, for San to want to clean this up right away before you two got to whatever you were doing; instead he laughed deeply, his bright, wide smile back on his face, dimples staring you in the face for the probably thousandth time that night. He looked down to each side of his feet, sighing ever so slightly, before moving his gaze back up to you, his eyes thoughtful.

"Fuck it," he laughed with a shake of his head, grabbing you again, his hand on the back of your neck, soft lips wrapped around your own. You giggled into his mouth, so overcome by the chaotic set of events; but it only took a moment of his lips on yours again for you to melt, your legs around him, your breathing hot and heavy as he grabbed at your dress, pulling it up at the front to reveal your bare crotch to the room, running two of his fingers down your slit to see how wet you were.

"Fuck, San," you gasped, feeling how easily his slippery fingers moved, his movement unexpected.

"You want this, right?" he asked you, voice husky and deep. His eyes were boring into yours, and his look was dark and intense. It made you shiver to look back at him, and a part of you wanted to look away, to not feel the complex string of emotions tumbling through you. It almost felt like dread; dread laced with beauty, laced with desire and sweetness and everything addictive, and you just couldn't bring the rest of yourself to look away.

"Yes, please," you responded, pushing your hips down onto his hand, grinding onto his fingers. "Please fuck me, San."

You'd never said anything like this in your life; you'd only imagined it, or read it. As cheesy as it could feel on the page, in that moment it felt consumingly empowering, downright sexy. You pulled at his belt in front of you, your mouths meeting again, his teeth scraping over your upper lip as he nearly devoured you. Once again, you struggled with undoing his clothing; he moved his hands away from you to unclasp it himself, pulling it hard and tossing it to the ground when he had. Your hands were around his chin, holding his face to you as you messily kept kissing, his hands now working on the button and zipper of his jeans. In a matter of moments he'd pulled his hard cock out of his pants, and held it in his hand, hungrily eyeing your flushed cunt in front of him.

"Let me get a condom," he huffed, clearly having to work at pulling his eyes away from you.

"No, I have an implant," you said, pointing to your left arm. You saw his eyes twitch to side for a moment, like his brain was struggling to process what you'd just said. "It's fine, I can't get pregnant," you added, in case he didn't know what the hell you were trying to say. It took another few moments for him to accept it; but once he did he moved his cock closer to your aching entrance, and rubbed it along your slit where his fingers had been just seconds ago.

"Fuck," you sighed, head hitting his shoulder as he leaned into you, as he spread your wetness over his tip. Your closed eyes cloaked you in almost darkness, only the soft light in the kitchen illuminating the room, and all you could feel was your throbbing cunt and San's movements, already whimpering and moaning in his ear. He lined himself up carefully, pulling your hips to the very edge of the counter to give him room, and slowly sank halfway down.

"Oh my god," you squeaked, the stretch not at all what you expected. He was far bigger than any man you'd ever been with; it almost hurt, and you'd never experienced this before, so you had no idea if this was a hurt that would subside, or a hurt that would grow and fester. You clung to his shoulders for dear life as he slowly pulled out of you again, thrusting back in just slightly deeper, his movements slow and controlled.

"Ahhh, shit," you whined again, grip on his shoulders even tighter.

"I need you to relax for me," he said in your ear, the vibrations of his voice sending tremors of pleasure through you.

"I'm trying," you squeaked out, face stuck in his neck as you tried to breath slowly.

"Need me to stop?" he asked, stilling his movements completely, holding onto your lower back for support.

"No, please don't stop," you whispered, finally finding some control of your breath. "Just give me a second."

San obliged, kissing the top of your head as he ran a comforting hand down your back. You continued to breathe deep, continued to take in his scent, and in a few short moments you felt the walls of your cunt finally release a bit, allowing you to rock yourself against him without pain.

"Okay, I'm ready," you said, bracing yourself, and a moment later you felt him push himself in further, finally bottoming out. You both let out a guttural groan; it felt like you'd discovered new parts of yourselves in that moment, like your bodies were made for each other, made to pleasure each other just the way you needed.

"Fuck, y/n," San moaned your name, your walls tight around him as he pulled back again, thrusting short and soft at first. Hearing your name roll of his tongue made your chest swell; it was far to intense, all of these emotions you were having, for you to utter a thing. Soon he was thrusting faster, setting a steady pace as he held firm onto your hips, his mouth on your neck leaving bruising bites that you'd have to deal with tomorrow. You were breathing ragged, an eruption of feelings so perfect coming from your core that you couldn't quite believe it.

Then it happened; he picked you up by your hips, holding you dead in the air, still thrusting into you. If anything his thrusts were harder, deeper now; the position had given him space, and he used every bit of it, his thrusts becoming longer, harder, his cock nearly falling out of you when he pulled out. Your moans turned to screams; you were no longer aware at all of what sounds you were making, so overcome with the severe intensity of the feelings in your core.

"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you started babbling, breathing desperately, your hands again grasping at his shoulders.

"What?" he asked between grunts, a chuckle following.

"I didn't- fuck- think this was po-ossible," you stuttered, his thrusts not letting up, the feeling so intense it almost was zapping you back into the moment again, reversing the drifting that your mind had started to do. This felt real; felt too real, too intense. You swore you could feel every vein in his shaft, feel the exact shape of his head. Your orgasm was building, fast, and you'd never come just from penetration.

"Now you know, baby," he chuckled again, not letting up. Soon you were clenching hard, the rippling feelings of your climax building to their peak, your legs around his hips, squeezing him.

"Fuck, fuck," you screamed, biting down on the top of his shoulder, shaking hard.

"Did you come?" he asked, still thrusting hard, wanting you to ride it out as much as you could.

"Yes," you almost sobbed, drool dripping down onto his bare skin. "Slow down," you whined, and he did, gradually slowing his movements until he'd stopped, placing a quick kiss on your neck and making you squeal again.

After that, the night was a blur. He took you again, on the couch, and you came so many times you couldn't keep track. He was flipping you around, holding up your legs; he seemed to know every perfect angle to make your cunt feel even better, and you gladly accepted every movement from him. When he finally came he dropped down between your legs, eating you out as his cum dropped out of you, his face a flushed mess when he looked up to take a breath. You came again; finally, you begged him to stop. Your body was spent, you couldn't take anymore. When you looked at your phone it was nearly six in the morning, and when you ventured a look over to his kitchen window you recognized the first signs of winter dawn, the sky not as dark as it had been.

He made you stay put, cleaning you up in a fluffy towel, picking you up to carry you to his bedroom. He helped you out of your dress; then his own clothes came off entirely, and you ogled him all over again, as he scolded you and told you to get some much needed sleep. Wrapped around him your cunt seemed to stay permanently wet; you thought there was no way you'd fall asleep, but it was late, even for you. Soon you were both out cold, San's blackout curtains tricking your bodies. It wasn't until nearly three that afternoon that you woke.

"You stay, I'll go make us some food," San yawned, kissing your forehead, your face smushed in his chest.

"Are you sure?" you pouted, looking up at him. Even with his curtains open the sky outside was dark; what time it was now, you had no idea. After you awoke and showered, the two of you couldn't keep your hands off of each other. Another slew of hours had flown by, and your pussy was aching, begging you to give her a break. You couldn't help how fucking good it felt, though. You wanted it to never end. You were sure you could be satisfied with your life if all you ever did from now on was fuck him.

"Oh god, don't give me that look," he groaned, turning his head away. You laughed, tugging yourself on top of him, wrapping your arms and legs around his torso. "I thought you said you were hungry," he said, arms around you too.

"I am," you answered, snuggling into him.

"Well I can't make you food if you're laying on top of me," he responded, squeezing the tops of your thighs.

"I think you're definitely strong enough to carry me around," you said, giggling.

"Oh, is that what you want? You done with walking?" he joked, pinching your thigh.

"Ah, hey!" you squealed, jerking off of him, trying to reach for his ribs to tickle him in retaliation. But just then your stomach rumbled, so loud you both could hear.

"Come on, let me make food. What do you want?" he asked, sitting himself up.

"Do you have eggs?" you said, and he nodded. "Can you make just some toast and scrambled eggs?"

"Of course, anything else?" he responded, standing up off the bed. The naked form of him in front of you was so distracting, especially in the hazy light coming in from outside, the evening street lights shining in through San's huge window. You took a mental screenshot; no one else could ever look this good, you thought, in such low light. It accentuated every nook and cranny of his body; he was so perfectly built, every little part. It was hard not to stare at the curve of his ass as he threw on some sweats, or the muscles of his back as he stretched his arms.

"No, I just have that for breakfast every day. I like simple food," you said, yawning again and sitting yourself up.

"Me too," he smiled, looking back at you for a moment before exiting the room, clinks sounding from the kitchen as he started preparing.

It took you some time to finally get yourself up; your body was wracked with exhaustion, but you'd never felt better. You felt on a permanent high around him; you grabbed your crumpled dress from the floor and slipped it over yourself, finally walking out to the living room to check your phone, which was probably dead. As you came out you saw San on the floor cleaning, the remnants of that poor mug swept into a pile at the corner of his kitchen.

"Oh shit, let me help you with that," you said, making your way over, but San stopped you.

"No, don't walk over here, you'll cut your feet. I'll take care of it, it's no biggie." You stared at him with wide eyes for a moment, but already this dynamic felt comfortable. If he really was fine with it, then you were fine letting him deal with the mess you'd made. You turned on your heel and walked over the couch, grabbing your phone off the coffee table, checking the time.

|6:14 pm|

You saw a slew of texts, but your battery was at ten percent, so you ran to your purse to grab your charging cable, plugging it in.

{Titi}

|3:43pm| how was your night bestie?? |5:58pm| please tell me you didn't get kidnapped |6:14pm| fuck sorry, I hadn't looked at my phone till now |6:14pm| I am alive and well

|6:15pm| oh thank god, we were worried |6:15pm| nothing to be worried about 😌 |6:16pm| so how'd it go?? |6:16pm| girl, we fucked for like three hours last night 😭 |6:16pm| HELLO |6:16pm| are you okay??? 😭 |6:17pm| Maya just said you're putting us lesbians to shame 💀 |6:17pm| 💀💀 |6:17pm| we fucked for like three hours this morning too |6:17pm| GIRL |6:17pm| RIP to your vagina |6:18pm| she's never been happier 😭

|6:18pm| this is so crazy |6:18pm| you home now? |6:18pm| I KNOW |6:18pm| no I'm still here, he's making some food for us

|6:18pm| wow |6:18pm| just wow, idk what else to say 😭 |6:19pm| girl same |6:19pm| you busy tomorrow? |6:19pm| no, why? |6:19pm| I'll bring over some dinner at seven, I have so much to tell you |6:19pm| I can't wait 💕

Present

It was nearly noon, when you woke. Slowly your consciousness came back to you; at first you only felt the warmth of the sheets beneath you, and you knew for sure you weren't in your bed, nor on your friend's couch like you'd planned. You were in the place you'd ended up so many times this month; maybe close to twenty of the nights of January you'd spent here. Thinking of it pulled at you. You knew this was a mistake, ending up here, knew something terrible would come of this. But you hadn't had the will this morning to stop it. You woke grumpy, worried, with the events of the morning spiraling through your head, especially Tina's flushed face of agony and the guttural sounds she made as she threw up.

You were worried, as much as she told you not to be. You'd never seen her like this in the five years you'd known her. As soon as your eyes melted open you were reaching for your phone on the night stand, finding it plugged in to San's charger, a glass of water there too.

You shot off a quick text to your group chat with Tina and Maya. How are y'all feeling? You didn't want to smother them with your worry, so you kept it as casual as you could, sipping at the water beside you and scrolling mindlessly through the other notifications littering your screen. There would be no convincing Tina to go get checked out; you had to accept it, had to welcome the fact that it'd be you and Maya keeping her well. She mistrusted doctors, on top of the unneeded expense, and you completely understood why; with the experiences she'd had, there would be no reason to give them a second chance. But she'd always had a stomach of steel; to see her so unwell was unnerving you, tremendously.

Finally you pushed yourself up; your stomach was rumbling, your head still aching with exhaustion, but the feeling was duller than this morning. The sleep you'd just woken from had been helpful, no doubt, but you wished you felt a little more normal today, instead of sleep deprived and emotionally unsteady. You had important work to do; you needed to head home fast, needed to not get distracted by San like you always did. You couldn't afford to spend the rest of the afternoon here eating and watching a musical, forcing him to recreate it with you. You had a musical of your own to edit.

"Hey," he said when you poked your head out of his room, walking gingerly over to him in the kitchen. He was preparing some lunch for himself; a block of tofu lay resting on the counter, as San chopped peppers and onions and broccoli. The smells of ginger and garlic already wafted from the pan, and San stood shirtless, in just grey sweat pants as he cooked, looking like someone out of any person's dreams.

"Hey," you responded, sighing. His body was alight with energy; he must have hit the gym while you were sleeping, which always left him feeling perky and bright. It was wafting off of him, this positive energy, and it couldn't have conflicted more with the heavy stress coursing through you. It was abundant in your tone; you'd gotten less and less good at hiding it from him, how you felt. Especially this last month.

"You want some breakfast?" he asked you, tossing the onions and peppers into his pan before stirring them with a spatula.

"I can make it," you mumbled, crossing past him to the refrigerator and grabbing the carton of eggs from the bottom shelf.

"Let me do it, I know you're exhausted," he said, coming over to you to grab the carton from your hands.

"No, I want to," you sighed, holding it to your side and out of his reach, a grumpy frown on your face.

"Okay, if you insist," he responded, palms up. Your terrible mood was worrying him deeply, but he was trying to convince himself that everything was fine, that this afternoon was in fact the time to finally do it. He'd been at the gym almost two hours, pumping himself up, doing every exercise he could think of to distract himself from the dread that was slowly filling him. It was like sand in an hour glass, falling slowly enough that he could forget it if he tried. Which he'd successfully done all morning, until your tired form appeared from his bedroom door.

You started preparing your food in silence, the sizzling of San's stir fry and clinking of dishes the only sounds in the room. You were thankful you'd be leaving him in a good mood; it was always hard to leave when he was sad, or grumpy, because every single part of you needed to make him feel better, needed a happy look on his face for you to feel okay. There was no doubt he was meal prepping for the week, given the amount of food he was making, and you sighed in hoping that the future days were on his mind now, instead of the past few.

"I realized something this morning," he said out of nowhere, tossing in his chopped tofu. Your eggs had just finished, so you turned off the burner, plopped them onto your plate, and grabbed your two slices of bread from the toaster, carefully spreading on the perfect amount of butter.

"What's that?" you asked, mind still elsewhere, running in circles and figure eights.

"We met exactly one year ago, today," he said, voice bright and breathy.

"Oh shit, really?" you asked, grabbing a fork from the cutlery drawer, then shoving a piece of toast in your mouth.

"Yeah, don't you remember?" he responded, voice lilting a bit. You mindlessly stuffed some eggs in your mouth, savoring the flavor of the local organic eggs that San always had in stock.

"Yeah, I just didn't realize it was that da-" you cut yourself off when you saw his face, his eyes glassy and jaw set. "Sannie, oh my god, don't cry. I'm not that special," you said, almost scoffing at the emotion coming off of him.

"Yes you are," he said, turning back to the pan on the stove, wiping something that must have been a tear off his cheek with the back of his hand.

"I'm really not," you responded, walking back towards his bedroom to find your phone again, which you'd accidentally left behind. Inside his room you could hear him speak from the kitchen, but you couldn't make out the words. You were distracted by the text you'd received from Maya, i'm doing even better, but Titi is still pretty bad. the Tylenol and everything has been so helpful though. and whatever those anti-nausea meds were, please thank San for me. she's able to keep down fluids now.

I'm glad to hear that. I hope she keeps getting better. She looked awful this morning, you responded, typing it out with your right thumb as your left hand balanced your plate of food.

"You gonna eat in here?" San asked from the doorway, and you snapped your head around to meet his gaze.

"No, sorry, just checking my phone. I had texted Maya asking how they were doing," you responded, mouth in a tight line.

"How's Tina?" he asked.

"Fine, it sounds like. Maya said to thank you for all the stuff you got them," you said.

"It's no biggie. I'm glad it's helping," he said, eyes blinking and face neutral. No biggie, the words made you want to roll your eyes. It was always 'no big deal' to him to do so much, and you'd started to realize that those words were total fucking bullshit. 'No biggie' was seemingly just a favorite English phrase of his, one that made him sound selfless and kind in the way he wanted to be. But you could see the flash of irritation in his eyes, you knew damn well that he was upset that you'd called this morning and made him feel obligated to come and help. He'd wanted your thanks for doing so, which you could recognize was fair. But he also should have said no, if he really didn't want to do it. You couldn't help the fact that he'd been lax with you since the start; one year now, as he'd just reminded you, of you pushing his boundaries and him relenting, and somehow he was still frustrated every time it happened. Like he didn't realize this was just how things were.

You waited till he turned around to point your eyes to the ceiling, a long deep sigh matching the movements of your eyes. You just had to eat and get out of here, one simple task. Then you could be home and worrying about the work ahead of you, or you could be on the phone to Tina and checking on her. You couldn't wait for the relief of hearing her voice.

"Did you hear what I said earlier?" San asked as you walked out of his room, sitting yourself down on his couch to finish your food.

"I don't know, what did you say?" you asked, placing your phone face down next to you.

"I asked if you remembered what you said to me that night we met, right before we came here?" he said, his own bowl of food in hand as he sat down a few feet from you.

"I don't think I do," you responded, sighing as you took another huge bite.

"Really?" he asked you, an eyebrow raised.

"Yes really, San, was it something I should remember?" you asked.

"It's just kind of funny, given what happened next," he said, taking a bite of his stir fry. You gave him a confused look, head cocking to the side. "You said, 'sure I'll come to your apartment, but I'm not fucking you'," he said, chuckling.

"I did not," you scoffed, shaking your head at the thought of it.

"You did, I swear," he continued, eyeing you. "Kind of crazy considering that's exactly what you did for the next forty-eight hours."

"Oh my god, shut up," you rolled your eyes, grabbing the throw pillow to your right and smacking his arm with it. He laughed and batted it away, careful to protect his food as you swung it recklessly. "Also, you say that as if I'm the only one involved in that activity, you ass. That was very much a 'it takes two to tango' situation, Sannie."

San laughed hard in response to that, his dimples popping and his chest rising and falling with each chuckle. He was satisfied to have brought out some humor in you; he knew that was the way he could get you to calm down, to feel a little better and be ready for everything he was about to launch into.

"Do you know that you're the only one other than my mom that I let call me Sannie?" he said, voice softer.

"No I didn't- wait, why?" you asked, suddenly really thinking about what he'd said.

"Uh- you just, I..." he looked at you with a confusing expression, face a mixture of what looked like shock and anticipation.

"Sannie is a special nickname only your mom uses for you?" you asked, tone harsher than he'd hoped.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking at you.

"Then why do you let me call you that?" you asked, placing your finished plate of food on the coffee table in front of you, then leaning back and crossing your legs and arms.

"Cause you're special to me," he said, resting the side of his head on his palm, eyeing you deeply now.

"San- I- I thought that was what everyone called you, I thought it was just your nickname. I wouldn't have started calling you that if I'd known it was a you and your mom thing. I'm not trying to be some replacement for her, or something," you stuttered, hands gesturing in front of your face to emphasize your point.

"Of course you're not a replacement for here, god, you're just special to me, can't you understand-"

"San, why would I be the only one who gets to use the special nickname? You have closer friends, a brother, other family you're close to, I'm just a girl you sleep with sometimes. I'm not the love of your life, or something, we're not married with a baby on the way, and now that we're a family unit of our own you're letting me use this special name for you. We're just friends, why didn't you tell me!?" you snapped, cutting him off mid sentence without a care in the world.

"We're not just friends, y/n," he grumbled, face stony. "And I don't see what a big deal it is that I let you use that nickname. You're the one who started using it without even asking me if it was okay," he shot back, face and body completely still.

"Fuck you," you muttered, standing up and grabbing your plate, walking over to the sink to clean it. "I know you think everything bad between us is my fault; you probably somehow think that shit you pulled last night is my fault, too."

"I wanted to talk to you about that, I wanted to apologize-"

"Oh, you wanted to apologize for choking me? Slapping me? Practically raping me?" you turned around, staring at him with wide, petulant eyes.

"Oh god, please don't use that word," he sighed, his food long abandoned as he leaned forward and put his head in his hands.

"Why, cause it's honest?" you shot back, rolling your eyes at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry I did that baby, I know it was wrong, it was so wrong, I'm just, please know I'm so fucking sorry and I'll do anything I can to make it up to you..." he trailed off, mumbling, a deep sniffle cutting off his words. He was sobbing into his hands, his bare shoulders moving up and down as he heaved, trying with all his might to stop himself from completely breaking down. The sight of it immediately shot right through you; you started crying too, in an instant a huge deluge of tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor below. It was so painful, whatever this feeling was; it was like the entire foundation of your body was cracking, like you were about to crumble in on yourself and die on the spot.

"Sannie, please, stop crying," you managed to say, haphazardly wiping the tears from your eyes. But they kept coming; they wouldn't stop until his stopped, you realized; there was something in you that was breaking with him, like your beratement of him was a boomerang, swinging back and hitting you too.

"I can't, I'm sorry," he squeaked, and you'd never heard his voice like that, never seen him break down so severely.

"Sannie, please," you cried, and suddenly your feet were rushing over to him, and you wrapped your hands around his folded torso, your tears now falling onto the smooth plane of his back. "Please, when you cry I cry, and I don't wanna fucking cry right now."

It made him cry harder, hearing the desperation in your tone; he tried with all his might to calm himself, to take some deep breaths. But he didn't have the strength; the exhaustion from this past month was really catching up with him, and that high he was riding from the gym this morning was long gone. There was nothing he could do now to stop this; he never cried like this, he was sure the last time was more than a decade ago. He had no idea how to put an end to it.

"I'm sorry I used that word, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you chocked out, breathing through your tears as best as you could, holding onto him for dear life. There were no words on his tongue; he couldn't think of anything now, couldn't remember a single thing he'd planned to say to you, the conversation he'd worked himself up to all morning. Instead he was left with this terrible hollow hole in his chest; one you had created, one you filled, one that he feared more than anything. Your tears were the worst thing for him; the gash you'd carved only grew, deeper, wider, getting closer to the exact shape of you, and all he could do was sit himself up and grab you, wrapping you around him and holding you tight.

"You're not just my friend," he said, voice thin and weak with tears. "And right now I fucking hate you."

next part ->

Taglist: @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @starhwa1024 @pyeongstarr @hwaromi @completelyjae

@midnightrebel1028 @pautiny27

Thank you for reading and supporting me my loves! <3333