#but SHE talked about it and made jokes about it

[the-witty-pen-name]

The Love Triangle From Hell (3)

Steve Harrington x F!Reader / Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Synopsis: Following PART TWO, Steve feels even more distant from his friends- especially you; Eddie reflects on memories he has of you two; Nancy and Jonathan work together for the paper; Robin does her best to navigate what being friends with you and Steve looks like; you seek comfort in one of the only ways you know how- calling Eddie

Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: messy messy feelings; unrequited love; cursing; arguments; crying; angst angst angsty angst; allusions to violence; miscommunication; jealousy; kissing; implications of smut; horniness

A/N: You guys are literally the absolute best. I am having the best time writing this- I'm so inspired by all of you. The love you have shown this fic so far has me overwhelmed. Thank you for your kind words, you have helped me work through some serious writer's block. Your comments and reblogs are keeping me going fr

This is unedited; please let me know what you think and if I missed anything I should include as a warning.

This series with be 18+ in later chapters MINORS DNI

His hands are tangled in your hair and he’s pulling you in close for another searing kiss. He can’t catch his breath, but he’s just so desperate to stay close to you like this. Your lips are so soft against his and your mouth is so inviting as you yank him closer. You whimper against his lips and it makes him shiver. He feels weak in the knees as you feel so pliable to his touch. You melt into his embrace and sigh happily as his lips trail down your neck. 

“Want you,” you moan softly, tugging his hair. He groans at the sensation. “Need you so bad.” 

“‘M gonna take care of you,” he promises, bringing his lips back to yours. 

“Love you,” you moan.

Before he finds out  if he says it back, his alarm goes off and he’s brought back to his reality. He groans disappointedly, covering his ears with his pillow- desperate for a couple more minutes with dream you. There’s a bang at his door. 

“Steve! Turn that shit off!” Eddie calls from the other side of the door. He’s yelling but his tone is playful. Steve hits his alarm off and drudges out of bed finally. Eddie has coffee made and Steve forgets anything is wrong at the moment. 

“Did she say anything last night?” Steve asks groggily as he pours himself a cup. 

“Um, not really,” Eddie replies, taking a moment to think about it. “I mean, yes but not about anything that we don’t know already. She’s conflicted, she doesn’t know what to think or feel. She just wants time.” 

“Okay,” Steve replies, leaning up against the counter. He takes a sip of his coffee. He needs to get to work. He can talk about this with Robin when he gets there. 

When you called Eddie, you didn’t expect Steve to answer. You thought maybe he’d say something- you wanted him too. But he didn’t. You couldn’t read him anymore.

Eddie was thrilled to hear your voice. He’d missed you, and he’d missed talking to you. He wanted that piece back as soon as he could get it. He reveled in the way his name sounded coming from you. 

“I’m so sorry,” you apologize, “I didn’t mean to upset Steve- I heard the way he dropped the phone down…” 

“It’s okay sweetheart,” he says compassionately. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

He’s met with a sad feeling of silence. 

“I’m happy you called,” he says gently. He hopes the sentiment makes you feel better. 

“I’ve missed you,” you admit, and Eddie feels like his heart might swell out of his chest. 

“It’s hard when the two people who you talk about everything with are the people you want to talk about,” you joke, and he laughs with you. 

“You can talk shit about me,” he teases and he hears you groan. He bites his lip, holding back a smile. 

“How are you doing?” You ask, changing the subject. 

“Much better now,” he flirts. 

“How are you doing, really?” You ask again, your voice sounding more fragile. 

“I meant, honestly- not great. But not worse than anyone else is doing right now.” 

“Yeah…” 

“I miss you a lot too,” he admits. He runs a hand through his hair, and it reminds him of how amazing it felt the last time you played with his hair. He’s craving that touch so badly. 

When you both were in high school, Eddie went out of his way to make sure you always had a seat at the table. He’d notice as you stood with your cafeteria tray, waiting for Steve to realize there was no open seat for you at his table. He’d wave obnoxiously to catch your eye and he’d smile at the way you’d get shy from the attention. He’d point at the empty seat next to him, and he’d grin as your eyes light up in realization you had a spot. You’d shuffle through the crowd and take your seat next to him. You’d take a seat and ruffle his hair in your hands. 

Eddie was always a creature of habit. As much as he exudes chaos, he actually thrives in having a routine. Don’t get him wrong- it’s never been a good routine… but it’s routine nonetheless. In high school it was a lot of the same. Tuesdays, Corroded Coffin played at The Hideout. He would get home way too late and never get in bed until close to 3am. Wednesday mornings, he’d sleep through his alarm and stroll into first period consistently 10ish minutes late. Thursdays he prepped for Hellfire, and then of course, the piece the resistance was Friday. Hellfire. An epic campaign that would run several hours and ensure the most recent shit week had been worth it to make it to that moment. 

He remembers that he was paralyzed when the group proposed to postpone Hellfire one time his first senior year. It snaps him out of his thoughts, as he was so wrapped up in you- and how close you were sitting. Eddie knew that hypothetically, it shouldn’t matter if the date changes. However, he couldn’t wrap his head around change. He hated it- still does. A disruption from his status quo throws off his entire week and it will take him too long to mentally recover. He knew that he came off as a hard ass, but he prefers it than trying to explain his mind to his friends. He had felt  his jaw tighten as he tried to rationalize with himself that it can be okay to switch it up. He unclenched his fists once he realized that he was making his knuckles white unintentionally. 

“Uh yeah, no problem. Saturday’s fine,” he was able to manage through gritted teeth. He relaxed when he could look past himself and see his friends smile, thanking him and happily chatting about the campaign. He smiled when he observed that his decision made everyone happy. That for him outweighed the internal struggle. 

He didn’t really listen to the reason everyone wanted to reschedule, but he picked up on after the fact that everyone is talking about the Snow Ball. He couldn’t help but recoil back into himself as his friends talked about their plans to go- who they’re asking, what suit they’re getting, what songs would play, and whatever. He couldn’t have cared less. Unless… 

His eyes wandered to sneak a glance at you. He wondered if you had plans- maybe you're hoping someone asks you. Maybe, he’s lucky and you were hoping that someone would be him. He wondered if you had a date. Maybe you already had been asked. It’s not like you had been aware of the way Eddie’s felt about you- unrequited feelings that tugged on his focus constantly since he’s known you. You caught his eye and offered him a shy smile and he could crumble. 

Eddie immediately averted his gaze, and focused his attention back on his friends. He ignored the way his face suddenly became so warm and he ignored the butterflies that were swarming around in his stomach. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on these feelings- he knew that there’s no way you feel the same. Who could possibly like him? 

He felt a pressure when the freshman looked at him, one of them having asked Eddie about his own plans. Eddie sees the way the kids look up to him, they idolize him. He knows they think he’s cool. He can’t let that go just yet, he loved it too much. He needed it. He wanted to have them hang on to this version of him for as long as they’d believe in it. 

So, despite his usual distaste in school sanctioned functions, he did not want to allow the kids to think he couldn’t score a date. He could only blame society so much before they realized it’s actually his own fear of putting himself out there that cramped his dating life more than anything else. He then resolves that he needs a date to this dance. He tells himself that it’s for the freshman, to keep up the cool facade or whatever. But in actuality, he just wanted to ask you because he wants to ask you out. It’s his perfect window of opportunity. 

“Oh, I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” you said, when one of the freshmen asked you if you had plans. “I’d been so busy with the play, I haven’t had a chance.” Eddie watched as you glanced over to Steve’s table. “Steve and I usually would go to this kinda thing,” you said quickly, and Eddie could see your apprehension despite your best attempt to hide it. “We’ll probably go as friends again.” 

He said nothing. 

A few days later, you called Eddie and he could immediately tell you’re upset. You’re doing your best to hold it together but he can tell you’re almost at your breaking point. 

“Hey,” you say, your voice straining as you try not to cry. “I know this is totally not your thing, but I’m kind of in a bind.” 

“What can I do?” He asked, sitting up straight on his bed. He was getting ready to locate his shoes or his keys- thinking you’re in trouble somewhere. He’ddrop anything to come get you. 

“I know you’d probably rather do literally anything else, but um, I have two tickets to the Snow Ball and I already bought a dress…” 

“I thought you’d be going with Steve?” He asked. You sniffled. 

“Um, yeah I kind of just assumed he’d take me. I didn’t realize that he asked out Nancy Wheeler,” you choked back tears. “I mean it’s not like that,” you lied, maybe not to Eddie but more to yourself, “we’re just friends. But I still thought He and I would be going together like as friends again- you know? But, uh, yeah- he is taking like a real date.” 

“I know you’d hate it, and I will make it up to you. But, I already bought the tickets and I can’t get my money back. It’s like not a date or anything, just like a friend thing…” 

“I’d be happy to take you,” he replied, sincerely. He can tell you were expecting him to fight you on it. When would you catch on that he’s willing to do anything for you? 

“Eddie, thank you so much,” you sniffled, still trying your best to keep it cool. “I owe you one,” your voice cracks and you hang up quickly before he gets a chance to say anything. 

Eddie didn’t really understand back then why you were even friends with Steve to begin with. Eddie thought Steve, frankly, was a total douchebag. However, once he actually got to know Steve- it was a different story. He couldn’t resent Steve. He loved him like a brother now. And once Eddie got to know the Steve you’ve always known, your feelings for him made sense. But at the same time, Eddie held his tongue for all the things Steve did or didn’t do for so long. Steve was good guy at his core, Eddie understood. But his actions didn’t reflect that in Eddie’s eyes. But it wasn’t his place to tell you that. It didn’t seem right. You’d known Steve so much longer than him. 

Nancy and Jonathan invited you and Robin to go with them to watch Lucas’ basketball game. You were excited to get out of your little apartment and support Lucas. Jonathan was photographing it for The Hawkins Post. Jonathan paced up and down the court side to get photos, and you sat up in the bleachers with Nancy and Robin. You were never one to go to school things really, but it was Lucas’s senior year and it was a big game- of course you were going to be there. 

“It feels weird, Steve not being here,” Nancy whispers to you and you nod in agreement. 

“Yeah, everything just feels weird right now,” you agree. “You and Jonathan are okay?” 

“We’re good. We’re doing good, um, still working through stuff but we’re going to just work through it.” 

“That’s good.” 

“Robin?” Nancy asks, and Robin turns her head to pay attention. “How’s things with Vicky?” 

Robin’s face turns tomato red. “Fine,” she mumbles, happily. “I’m gonna hang out with her tomorrow.” You elbow her teasingly, making her blush redden. 

“How’s it feeling? Being the best at all of this out of us?” You tease. 

“I don’t know,” she’s so embarrassed, it’s so sweet. “We both just like each other- it’s not that complicated. She’s so great.” 

The three of you turn your attention back to the game at the sound of the whistle. You clapped and cheered the loudest whenever Lucas had the ball. He tried to plead with the lot of you to tone it down, casting weary looks in your direction. You couldn’t help yourselves. You felt so proud of him. 

You decide to take a walk to the concession stands and get some snacks for everyone. You order four sodas and two large popcorns- one for Jonathan and Nancy and one for you and Robin. You fish the cash out of the front pocket of your jeans, and hand it to the kid working the window. You thank him, and balance it all in your hands to navigate carefully back to the stands. 

You see a familiar face coming down the hallway, sprinting. For a moment, you can’t help the smile that forms across the expanse of your face until you remember what’s been going on. Your face falls, and you feel so stupid for being excited to see him when it hits you again all at once. 

You don’t think Steve knew you’d all be here, because he looks just as surprised to see you. He stops and his sneakers squeak across the polished gym floor. He looks at you with an expression of pure panic. He totally didn’t think you’d be here. And you’re surprised he came alone- but of course he did, he’s Steve. Of course, he’s going to show up to every game for Lucas. You shouldn’t expect any less. It still takes you back. 

“Can I help with those?” he asked, gesturing for you to pass some stuff to him. You nod, and tilt so he can take some of the things from your grasp. 

“Where are you sitting?” He asks, and you nod your head towards Robin and Nancy. His face deflates. “Ah, okay.” He walks over with you, and he passes the items in his hand off to Robin. He moves aside so you can walk back into your spot. 

“Thanks, Steve,” you offer him a soft smile, appreciating the effort despite the circumstances.

“Yeah of course,” he mutters, backing away, lingering for a moment because the seat that’s usually there for him between you and Robin isn’t there. He quickly pulls himself out of his thoughts and just heads over to the next row of bleachers, finding a seat next to a couple of his old basketball teammates that are here for their little brothers. 

Steve can’t even focus on the game,  he keeps trying to steal glances of you from his peripheral vision. He wants to know what Robin said that made you laugh like that, and he wished he could have heard your laugh- but you’re too far away from him. He watches as your jaw drops at something Nancy tells you, and he watches how you cheer so happily for Lucas. He wants to know if this is bothering you the way it’s bothering him. You look like you’re keeping it together and he wants to know if that could truly be the case. 

Even when you’re carrying so much hurt, you give off such a radiance that Steve and he’s sure everyone else is just drawn into. Your pretty smile and your bright eyes are all he can think about- he only knows when to cheer when he feels the people around him move. He smiles when you stand up and pose, pointing to Lucas- then Lucas matches it, giving it back to you. He watches as you both share that moment of just pure joy, and his heart aches. He doesn’t know if he could ever make you that happy. 

When the game was over, you looked to see if you could find Steve but there was no sign of him. You all invited Lucas to go out for celebratory pizza for his big win, but he wanted to go with his teammates. The plan fizzled pretty much after that. Robin wanted to get home so she could call Vicky and Jonathan and Nancy wanted to head home so Jonathan could start developing his photos. When you and Robin are walking out, you see a familiar van. 

“I’ll bum a ride from Nancy,” Robin assures you, pushing you in Eddie’s direction. She waves to Eddie from a distance and then jogs to catch up with Nancy and Jonathan. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask with a smile. He pushes himself off of the hood of his van and walks over to you, his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. 

“I thought you might be here,” he quips. “Plus, I had to poke my head in- Sinclair is some big shot apparently?” he jokes, “I had to check out for a few minutes.”

“He’s really great,” you agree. 

“Was Steve here?” Eddie asks. 

“Yeah I saw him. He didn’t really stay either- I mean he stayed for the game, but we didn’t talk really.” You shrug. 

“Well,” he says, trying to optimistically change the subject, “Do you wanna get out of here? I could give you a ride home or we could get food or something- or even just drive around and not talk. I’m not picky.” 

He looks so beautiful like this, you observe. The sky is pitch black but the lights in the parking lot illuminate him perfectly with a soft glow. His hair is wonderfully messy and his smile is making it hard for you to breathe. Has he always looked like this? You wonder, astonished as it hits you all at once. He’s gorgeous. Your eyes linger, taking in every little detail you’ve overlooked before. He waves his hand in front of your face to snap you out of your trance. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” he tisks. 

“Looking at you like what?”

“Like you’re trying to jump my bones,” he chuckles. Your face warms, and suddenly you realize how long you must have been staring. 

“Ha, right,” you joke sarcastically, or at least, trying to joke sarcastically. You walk past him and get into the passenger side of the van and try your best to compose yourself in the few seconds it takes for him to follow suit. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” he says, turning over the ignition, “where to?”

“Can we just drive around like we used to?” you ask- the circumstances of tonight making you feel so nostalgic. 

“Of course we can,” he hums, passing you the case of his cassettes- a familiar and welcomed sight for your tired eyes. 

You watch Eddie as he drives, and observe the way the muscles in his arms flex ever so subtly as he turns the wheel. You watch his ringed fingers tap across the top of the steering wheel and you can’t help it the way your mind wanders. You’re so wrapped up in the way his hair sways so effortlessly and the movement of his jaw as he sings, you don’t even notice that Steve was leaving the gym just in time to see you both drive away. 

After a little while of aimless driving, and hitting up the drive thru, Eddie ends up parking at Lover’s Lake when neither of you are ready to go home just yet. 

“Eddie?” You ask absentmindedly, finishing off the milkshake he got you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot,” he replies, also finishing his, but with an obnoxiously loud suck of his straw- determined to get every last sip. 

“Why do you like me?” you ask, cringing almost immediately. You think you sound like a middle schooler or something- you’re so embarrassed. His eyes widen for a brief second, contemplating his answer. He tosses the empty cup into the back. 

“First off,” he criticizes teasingly, “I did not say I liked you- I’m in love with you. Get your facts straight, ma’am.” 

“My apologies,” you giggle, holding your hands up in defeat.

“I mean- I love everything about you; always have,” he starts. “You’re sweet and kind. I think you’re beautiful. I think you’re incredible, and sometimes I can’t figure out why you wanted to ever be friends with me in the first place.”

“Eddie?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Would you kiss me?” 

Eddie’s a goner when you’re looking at him with those doe eyes. More than anything he wants to lunge across and close the space between you. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. It takes every fiber of his being to hold himself back..

“I don’t know if I can kiss you without knowing if I could ever kiss you again,” He whispers, but it doesn’t stop him from leaning in towards you. His hand lifts to hold your cheek and suddenly he’s so close. Closer than the two of you have ever been. His lips are tantalizingly close to yours when his forehead touches yours. A huge bang on the side of the van scares you both away from each other. 

“Give her time, my ass, Munson! Get the fuck out here! Get your fucking hands off my girl!”

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[thelov3lybookworm]

Ice Cream (part 2)

Part 1

Summary: what is this new flavour in the air? mint chocolate of course. not love...right?

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Word Count: 1935

Warnings: literally just fluff. azzie being a shy baby 🥹hes literally so adorable omg i love him 😭

A/n: YAYYY ITS FINALLY HEREEEE🥳🥳🥳 im going to be posting one more part, most likely on friday, in which these babies finally get together and ic finds out 🥹

anyways, enjoyyy🥹🤭

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Y/n had known the male who bothered her day and night and almost everyday at the bookstore was the spymaster. The shadows gave him away before his dark, mysterious and broody nature could. But she had to wonder.

Was she mistaken?

For surely, no spymaster would be so clumsy and talk to the point of oversharing?

After Y/n had reluctantly let herself believe that this was not some cruel joke the spymaster was centering around her disappointment as the punchline, she had gotten dressed up in one of her better dresses, but tried to make it not overly fancy so as not to seem like she was trying to impress him.

As she had watched the sun descend closer to the horizon, she almost ditched the idea of him ever coming to meet her, and had just grabbed a book to read quietly by the fireplace when the knock on the door made her freeze. Her head had snapped to the door, her disappointment morphing into quiet anticipation. She had turned and set her book down, moving in quick steps towards the door, her light purple skirt swishing around her ankles.

He had been panting when she finally opened the door, a wide, shy smile on his face.

It almost made Y/n give him a wide smile of her own. But she had tamped the urge down and stepped out onto the apartment landing, with only a slight tilt to her lips in greeting, and turned away from him to lock the door of her small apartment. In hindsight, she had felt slightly insecure, wondering what he would be thinking of her, considering he most likely lived in the house of wind that stood proudly over the city like a soldier standing guard.

The entire building her apartment was a part of looked like a pebble in the face of that cliff.

It was an effort not to apologise to him for her living conditions. By no means was she struggling to get by, and her apartment was something many could only dream of, but it wasn’t the most lavish, either.

Azriel had spoken up and distracted her before she could beat herself up over the fact that he had seen her home, something so vulnerable and private, and guided her down and out, into the fading golden light that made Y/n feel ten times prettier.

After that, everything had gone pretty well, almost too well. It almost began concerning her when Azriel didn’t make any comments about things she was not comfortable talking to him about yet, as most men seemed only to be interested in taking her to bed for just one night.

But there was one thing that did concern her. The way he seemed to be physically unable to shut his mouth. It made her wonder, did he always talk this much? If yes, how the hell is he a spymaster if he keeps spilling secrets?

"-And then Cassian threw up all over me, and I had to scrub myself raw because I was so disgusted. I didn’t talk to him for a week." Azriel laughed, the faelights lighting up the air between him and Y/n in an attempt to make this more romantic and intimate glinting off his eyes. They were sitting in a diner, not too fancy, just the perfect amount of flashy and comforting.

Y/n tilted her head, lips twitching. When she spoke, it was not too hard to speak in her normal soft, quiet voice, considering she was in the presence of someone considered a predator. "Bet he felt so much guilt."

He nodded, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward, glancing down at his empty plate stained lightly with the leftovers of their dinner. "He wouldn’t stop apologising, and I felt bad for ignoring him. Eventually, I agreed to talk to him again if he promised to sit far from me the next time he drank so much."

Y/n huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head, trying to imagine the scene he described. Silence surrounded the two for a long moment, letting her mind wander, before he pulled her attention back to himself.

Gentle in his voice, but commanding her every thought to himself as effortlessly as he did those shadows.

Or maybe not, because it seemed they were set on ignoring him. They kept reaching out to play with her hair, her fingers, the sleeves of her loose white shirt every time his attention left them. He blushed hard every time, apologising constantly.

At this point, Y/n couldn’t help but think if he’d apologised more than he’d spoken anything else.

"Are you ready to leave?"

Y/n straightened, nodding. She grabbed her purse, following him to the exit, where he had already paid before she could catch up. At her glare, he simply flashed her an innocent smile.

"You didn’t have to pay for me."

He shrugged, watching intently as Y/n pulled her jacket closer to herself before shyly extending his arm for her to hold. Y/n only contemplated for a minute, taking note of the blush on his face darkening under flashes of light from shops down the road, before slipping her palm through his elbow.

He continued talking, telling her of how he’d been to this shop-and oh! Cassian had the biggest infatuation with that lady looking after that shop.

The shadows continued to sneak up to her, twining with her hair and caressing her back lightly like some sort of a protective lover. They even floated by towards the hand she wasn’t holding Azriel’s arm with and slithered in between the fingers, their touch light and barely tangible, but still very much there.

Azriel slowed down while she glanced down at the shadow climbing up and under her sleeve, looking at a nearby shop. "Have you ever tried ice-cream?"

It was a treat that had recently become popular from summer court and spread like wildfire throughout prythian. With good reason too.

Y/n followed his gaze to a pink coloured shop with striped red and white interior. The seats inside were over exaggerated blue and purple colour and entirely too large to be anything but for attracting people.

She nodded. "A couple of times."

He fumbled for a moment before clearing his throat. "Would you be interested-"

"Yes."

She had already begun walking towards the shop, carefully manoeuvring so as not to bump into anyone. Azriel hurried to keep pace, and Y/n smiled to herself, turning her head away from him to make sure he didn’t see it.

"Which flavour would you like?" He questioned once the two were inside, gaze fixed on the plethora of flavours displayed under the glass case. Y/n did not even have to consider after she saw her favourite flavour.

"Mint chocolate."

He blinked, lifting his head to look at her in surprise. "You like mint?"

Y/n gave him an unamused look. "What, are you going to lecture me about how it tastes disgusting?"

His cheeks darkened and he shook his head, hurriedly proceeding to explain. "No- no, I was just curious. I’ve never tried it, but Rhysand once said it tastes weird, so I was surprised you liked it-" he took a deep breath, his eyes wide as he stared at her.

Y/n’s lips quirked to the side. "Your high lord doesn’t have very good taste then."

Azriel only huffed, contrary to what Y/n expected, and gave their orders to the worker who stood behind the counter. Y/n only watched him, her eyes following his every move as he talked and took the treats from the worker, as he turned, his gaze instantly searching for her and meeting hers as she stood against a far wall.

Even his eyes seemed to smile as he made his way over to hand her the mint chocolate.

To make conversation- and also to make some effort herself, seeing as he had been trying to keep her engaged and entertained the whole evening- Y/n curiously peeked at his hand. "What did you get?"

He smiled. "Chocolate."

Y/n hummed, picking up her spoon and scooping up a small amount of ice cream into her mouth, relishing the sweetness before turning back to him and extending her cup towards him.

"You can try if you want."

He coughed, choking on his ice cream before shaking his head so vigorously to the point Y/n was concerned he’d sprain his neck. "No no, it’s alright."

Y/n stared at him for a long moment, bored, until he reluctantly dipped his spoon into her cup and tasted the divine gift from god that was mint chocolate. His eyebrows rose imperceptibly, and he glanced down at his spoon before looking at Y/n.

"It’s good."

She shrugged. "I know. I don’t get why some people don’t like it. I guess they just hate good things."

"I might just get obsessed with it." He laughed under his breath before shoving another spoonful of his own ice cream into his mouth. She offered to share their ice creams, and he refused at first but after seeing that she really was serious, he agreed. The two ate in silence, staring out of the glass floor to ceiling window, letting quiet settle between them.

His presence was calming, comforting as no one else’s was. Y/n felt safe, like the world could be going into destruction but their little corner in this ice cream shop, with him, would be protected. It made Y/n question if she was thinking too much with her heart.

Feeling his gaze on her, Y/n glanced at Azriel twice, but each time, he was looking elsewhere.

It made her cheeks heat for reasons she couldn’t figure out.

Too soon, the sweet treat was finished, and it was time to part ways. Despite that, as Y/n and Azriel stood in front of her apartment after he had walked her home, she did not want to leave. It was so unlike her, so foreign to feel that way, but she, surprisingly, loved it.

But maybe unfamiliar things are good for you, or however those sayings go.

Azriel’s head was bowed as he toed at the grey stones of the pathway, his neck and ears flushed. He refused to look into her eyes for more than a moment, so shy Y/n wondered if she was playing the intimidating and brooding bookstore owner role too well.

Finally, after she couldn’t handle the silence and his nervous neck scratches anymore, she spoke.

"So, same time tomorrow?" He looked up, wide eyed. She scoffed.  "What? I didn’t think you told me all about your ancestry and your family’s personal lives just to have ice cream with me for one day. Did you?"

He cleared his throat. "Are you sure?"

Y/n raised a brow, trying her best to not let her lips lift in a smile. "Well, are you?"

He nodded quickly, something like hope beginning to glow in his hazel eyes.

They’re pretty, Y/n thought to herself.

She turned away, before pausing and looking at him again. His smile remained unwavering the longer she stared at him.

But the smile did vanish once she rose onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips gently against his cheek. She smirked to herself, proud of her accomplishments, and then left him standing in the snow.

She couldn’t wait to have more ice cream with him.

She was almost… excited, to see where this path would lead to.

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[mev-fizzah-writes]

ᑎᑌᗰᗷ 𓌉◯𓇋

A/N: First fic on this acc!! Enjoy this little angsty fic :) Neglected bat!reader breaks their sobriety after their family makes a grave mistake. Sure Reader should be used to it by now, but offering them a drink? At a Gala they forced you to attend? On your birthday? What a load of bull. You pray that Damian doesn't find out...but sadly they don't get accepted. No beta reader, we die like Jason Todd TW: Substance abuse, alcoholism, brief mention of underage drinking, self harm etc .

𐙚"Don't let them see you like this" -Alex G 𐙚

ᑎᑌᗰᗷ

That's what it felt like, not a single though in your mind. It was consumed by the taste on your lips, the bottle in your hand. Limp, you sat in your bathtub, surrounded by broken glass and empty beer cans. The loud city of Gotham seemed to finally be silence, it seemed distant. It was the only thing keeping you from fully drifting away, the faint sound of cars, the only time you thanked this godforsaken city for being loud.

Guilt hadn't reached your mind yet, you only wanted to drink. Focusing on how the burn in your throat made you feel, oh how it made you feel so alive. Each breath felt sharp against your throat, it made you want more. The alcohol coursed through your veins, providing an escape, providing a warmth no person ever gave to you.

Leaning more into the cold porcelain you stared at the shattered glass by your feet. You could feel its sharp edges against your feet, it was a constant reminder of your mistakes.

Unfixable, the glass and your life. But right now that didn't matter, only the bottle existed, the burn and the urge to finish it. You managed the strength to pull your arm up, tilting your head back to feel it. The taste you missed so much, a taste you wanted to forget had no idea why you would neglect. What a day to celebrate your twenty second birthday! Relapsing after two years wasn't your plan today but it sure was better than anything else that happened today.

The night, displayed by your bathroom window, taunted you. It made your mind float through an intoxicated haze. Pieces of the day coming back to you, as well as the -now broken- promises you made. A sigh left your lungs and it was evident that she had drank, so much. All of this, just because of one question. A question that shouldn't have broken your heart as much as it did, really it was pathetic.

"Why aren't you drinking tonight?"

The sound of your 'brothers' voice was distant, and so was the guilt that was soon to consume you. But as the line between fiction and reality blurred more with another sip, there was not a worry in your head. The guilt will come later, but here it was no where to be seen. The only thing you could grasp was the bottle you used to keep on the highest shelf.

A shelf that was now empty, thanks to your so-called family's echoes. Echoes that were forever etched into your brain. Not only had they forgotten about your birthday, forcing you into a social event that you already dreaded, but they had also forgotten about your sobriety. Was not drinking on your twenty-first not an obvious sign? The question had filled you with anger at first. Your fists were clenched to your side when Dick had asked that. Hopefully you would forget this day ever happended.

"Why aren't you drinking tonight?" Dick said with slurred speech, making your family turn their heads to you. At first you took it as a joke, that he was trying to make you less tense. When your chuckle left all of them confused that's why you could feel your heart shattered. It felt like time had stopped, like god was playing a joke on you. You just stared at them, not giving him an answer. "You're kidding." There was no point in hiding the sadness in your voice, there was no way anyone was going to care anyway. After a strangled 'yes' left his lips you decided there was no point in talking them. You took one last glance back at your dad Bruce, he looked like he was going to offer you a drink, that was the last straw, so you decided there was no point in staying. Sadly, you did. Just enough to take a sip of champagne, just enough to set you back. God did you wish Damian was with you, he would've remembered.

Remember. That's the only thing you wanted to do. Today was supposed to be simple, go with Damian to a petting zoo, visit you favourite café with a few friends and be done with your day.

Damian...would he have stopped you from doing this? He was too young to attend whatever you were at this morning and sadly he wanted to meet up with his friend. You weren't going to stop him, he was the only one that listened to you and vise versa.

It made you chuckle, every time you told him about how much you used to drink, and every time he would give a small lecture on how much it impacts your liver and brain. Being a doctor would really suit him.

Just as you close your eyes you see a small light peeking outside the door. Light footsteps followed soon after, and suddenly everything is crashing down. You shake your head, hoping, praying that it isn't Damian. You'd rather it be a murderer coming to finally end you then your little brother. No, he had so much faith in you, please. Sadly, if you speak of the devil, he appears.

The light spilling in from the living room stung your eyes, luckily they were already tearing up.

"Sorry I didn't knock, but can you pick up the phone-"

You saw it, the way his eyes widen an he drops your phone. The way the his green eyes suddenly become more reflective, is hands twitched and he took a step back. Your baby brother, staring at you with such a distaste and confusion and...there was nothing you can do. There was no way you could've gotten up to hug hum, even reassuring him seemed impossible in your state. Glass etched into your foot, a pool of blood by feet as your eyes fluttered.

"Wha...y-you promised!" His voice wobbled with an anger that you understood all too well. The way his eyes switched between shock and sadness and the way he seemed to be frozen on the spot. It was like looking into a mirror ten years ago. He stared at you the same way you stared at your mother, it was driving you crazy with guilt.

"Dami..." you croaked out, feeling nothing but selfish.

"No. Keep your eyes open I-I'll call an ambulance. I...I" watching him stutter didn't do anything good for your heart, you just wanted to hold him and tell him that this was just some sick prank.

"I'm sorry...just don't tell Dad." The way you uttered those words seemed to catch him off goard.

"This...feels like a matter that should be reported to hi-"

"Dami. Just don't...please." To be honest, you were baffled he was even understanding you. It didn't even feel like english you were speaking. "I love you, buddy..."

If those were your last words, you were glad. Soon the coldness of the porcelain was no longer there, and there was only a faint ringing you could here. Maybe you were dying? It was a lot less scary then what you thought it would be, it was just...numb. No taste of alcohol, no warmth, no burn. Only numbness.

Just numb.

Numb.

๋࣭ ⭑Laying there lifeless...๋࣭ ⭑

[alotofpockets]

Fun facts | Grace Clinton x Reader

5k celebration prompt: “Do you ever run out of fun facts?”

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.4k

-----

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. For the past hour you had been debating your outfit, switching between a top every five minutes. But, the knock on your door meant that Grace was here to pick you up for your first date, so the top you were currently wearing had to be the one.

You quickly make your way to the door, not wanting to leave her waiting for too long. When you opened it, Grace’s face lit up. “You look amazing.” You feel your cheeks flushing, already by even such a small compliment. “Thank you, so do you.”

Grace moved into your apartment building a few weeks ago. The thick Liverpool accent had caught your attention instantly when you were making your way downstairs. None of the neighbours that you knew had that accent, so your curiosity was instantly triggered.

What you hadn’t expected to find around the corner was the contents of a moving box scattered over the hallway floor. “A single cardboard box can be reused 5 to 7 times before it starts to break down and lose its strength, yet here I am on my first use with my stuff scattered all across the hall.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the unexpected commentary as you stepped around the corner. “I think you might’ve gotten the one box that has a vendetta against moving. Clearly it wasn’t cut out for this life.”

The girl looked up, startled but amused. “Ah, so it is the box’s fault, is it? Not my fault for not using proper packing rules, and putting more weight in it than you’re supposed to?”

Within ten seconds of meeting this stranger, you already loved her humour. You crouched down to help her pick up the scattered items. “I mean, who am I to argue with a moving box expert?”

She laughed at your joke, the sound of her laughter like music to your ears. Never had you imagined you’d be able to fall for a stranger so quickly. The way she so effortlessly joked around with you, made you want to get to know her better.

“Oh, I’m full of fascinating facts about boxes, and well just random facts in general. Stick around long enough, and you’ll learn loads!” She stood with her hands now filled with her items.

“Well, if this is how you introduce yourself to your new neighbours, I am definitely interested in sticking around for more. I’m y/n, by the way. Your neighbour who now knows more about moving boxes than she ever planned to.”

The girl chuckled. “Grace, the neighbour who might’ve just exposed her weirdest talent way too early.” With a smile and a shake of your head you say, “I think it’s cute.” You noticed the light flush of her cheeks before she quickly turned her face away from you. “What floor are you on? I’ll help carry your stuff up.”

Since that day the two of you have been chatting every day, whether it was face to face or over text, the two of you were connecting. It was instantly clear to the both of you that it wasn’t just a neighbourly or even just friendly connection, and you wanted to explore it more. 

So, Grace asked you out on a date and now here she is standing in front of your door. All your nerves faded away as you walked down together, and she started talking.

“Did you know that dates involving outdoor activities create stronger connections?” If you had learned one thing over the past few weeks is that Grace had a fun fact on just about every topic. “I didn’t, but it makes sense if you think about it.”

She agreed, “It’s why I wanted to grab some coffee to go and walk through the park on our way to what I have planned.”

“That sounds lovely, and also very adorable, telling me you want to have a stronger connection with me.” You smiled at her as you walked out of the apartment building.

Grace paid for your coffee, even if you told her that wasn’t fair because she was already paying for the rest of the date. “You can get them next time.”

“Oh, you already know that there will be a next time?” You said with an amused smile. “Around 66% of people say that they know within the first thirty minutes if they’re interested in a second date.”

You chuckled, of course she had a fun fact for that too. “Thirty minutes sounds doable for getting the vibe of a person, but Grace we’ve been out for like five minutes.” She smiles and shrugs, “I already knew before I knocked on your door.”

Gosh she was a smooth talker. “I think I may need the remaining twenty five minutes to decide.” You joked back, and the glint in her eyes was enough to make you cave in. “Fine, you got me. I was already thinking of what I could plan for our next date before you knocked on my door as well.”

You continued on your walk, sipping on your coffee, and talking with Grace. If you had only done this for the duration of the date, you would already have considered it a good date. Grace had more planned though, as she led you into town and you stopped in front of one of the buildings.

“Are we going to make pottery?” You asked as you took in the shop’s window. “Close, but no. We’re painting pottery.” Her smile grew when she saw the excitement on your face.

Once you were inside and you were all settled in at one of the tables, surrounded by a bunch of different pottery dishes, paints and brushes, Grace started speaking excitedly about pottery. “Did you know that pottery is one of the oldest human inventions, with the earliest known pieces dating back over 20,000 years?”

With a shake of your head you say, “Wow, that is so long. Isn’t it cool how some things stick around for so long?” She nodded, “Yeah, I love it.”

You decided on a mug for your first pottery piece, while Grace went for a bowl. You thought for a moment on what you wanted to paint on the mug, deciding on some tulips. After dipping your paint brush into the green paint, you fill the mug with the stems and leaves, leaving room to add the flowers in different colours.

“Did you know in the 17th century, tulips were so valuable in Holland that they were used as a currency?” At this point you weren’t even surprised by Grace’s random knowledge on all topics anymore. “That’s crazy, imagine getting coffee somewhere and just paying with tulips.”

“Yeah, it’s so weird to think about, right? They even named the period Tulip Mania.” With the new knowledge about tulips, you fill the already painted stems with red, orange, and pink tulip flowers. 

When you looked over to Grace’s bowl, she had filled the outside with small watermelon pieces, and she was now working on painting the inside of the bowl like the inside of a watermelon. 

“Yours looks so cool!” You say in awe. “Thank you! I love it, and yours too. Did you know that watermelons belong to the cucumber family? Technically they are classified as both a fruit and a vegetable!”

“Do you ever run out of fun facts?” You say with a soft chuckle. Amazed at her excitement over the classification of a watermelon.

“Oh, is it too much? I can stop.” She says taken back. You’re quick to reach out your hand and place it over hers. “Please never stop, I love it.” Her smile grew again. “Yeah?” You nod, “It’s so cool that you have all this random knowledge, and I love that you want to share it with me.”

The rest of the date was amazing, and like you had already said at the beginning of the date, a second date was definitely happening, and you couldn’t wait to plan something for her.

-----

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[clarii]

Off Limits

Summary: Before Eddie Munson even officially met Dustin’s sister, Dustin warned him to stay far away from her, knowing she was exactly Eddie’s type. But when fate pairs them together as chemistry partners, Eddie can’t help but fall for her — and she starts falling too. One night, when she finally confesses her feelings, Eddie rejects her, torn between his growing feelings and his loyalty to Dustin.

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Reader, Dustin & Eddie friendship, Dustin & Reader sibling relationship

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, rejection, hurt/comfort, protective sibling, pining, happy ending

“Hey, listen—”

Dustin caught Eddie just as he was packing up after Hellfire one night, voice unusually serious.

Eddie raised a brow. “You okay, Henderson? You look like you’re about to give me some sort of intervention.”

Dustin sighed, crossing his arms. “Look, I just… need you to promise me something.”

Eddie smirked. “Sure. Anything. Except giving up metal, or D&D, or my throne as your fearless leader.”

Dustin glared. “I’m serious, dude.” He took a breath. “It’s about my sister.”

That made Eddie straighten slightly, his smirk faltering.

“Yeah?”

“She’s off-limits.”

Eddie blinked. “What?”

Dustin’s face hardened. “I know your type, Munson. She is your type. And I don’t want you messing with her. Like… ever. Got it?”

Eddie scoffed, holding his hands up defensively. “Dude, I haven’t even met her. Chill. I’m not gonna—”

“I mean it.”

There was a rare protective edge to Dustin’s voice that made Eddie nod slowly, the teasing smile dropping.

“Yeah… okay, man. I get it. No funny business. Scouts honor.”

And he meant it.

But then came chemistry class.

It was almost comical how quickly the universe turned on him.

When Mrs. O’Donnell paired him with you for the semester-long chemistry project, Eddie had nearly choked on his gum when you introduced yourself with that soft, shy smile.

“Oh. You’re Henderson’s sister?”

You laughed. “Yeah. Unfortunately.”

And then he was screwed.

You were gorgeous — but that wasn’t the problem. The problem was how easy it was to talk to you. How you rolled your eyes at his bad jokes but laughed anyway. How you didn’t flinch when he rambled about D&D while sketching dragons on his notebook instead of paying attention.

And the flirting? Yeah. That just… happened.

Small touches when passing beakers. Sitting a little too close during study sessions. Him calling you sweetheart and you calling him out for it, but never actually minding.

It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

————-

The tipping point was a quiet Wednesday night.

Eddie was sitting cross-legged on your bedroom floor, guitar pick between his teeth as he scribbled down notes for the chemistry report.

You, meanwhile, weren’t even pretending to focus.

You were too busy watching him — the way his curls fell over his face, the way he bit his lip when he concentrated.

It had been building for weeks.

The crush. The stolen glances. The feeling that maybe… just maybe… he felt it too.

And you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Eddie?”

He looked up, oblivious as ever, still chewing on his pick. “Yeah?”

You exhaled.

“I… I like you. Like, really like you. And I was wondering if… you’d ever consider, maybe, I don’t know… dating me?”

Silence.

Eddie froze, the pick dropping from his lips.

For a moment, he just stared, like he hadn’t heard you right.

Then —

“Wait, what?”

You flushed. “You heard me, Munson. Do you… feel the same? Or… did I totally misread this?”

His mouth opened. Then shut.

Because, God, he did feel the same. He felt everything.

But he also heard Dustin’s voice in his head, loud and clear.

“She’s off-limits.”

Eddie’s heart shattered.

He forced a strained laugh, running a hand through his curls.

“Y/N… you’re great. You really are. But… I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Your face fell.

“Oh.”

The smile dropped from your lips, embarrassment crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You had been so sure.

“I… I thought—”

Eddie cut you off, voice almost desperate.

“No, it’s not you. I swear. You’re amazing. I just—”

You nodded stiffly, swallowing hard.

“It’s fine. We can just… finish the project another day. I’m not feeling well.”

“Wait, sweetheart—”

But you were already closing the door behind him.

And he felt like the biggest idiot on the planet.

—————

The next day was brutal.

You didn’t speak to him. Didn’t even look at him in chemistry class.

No stolen glances. No quiet jokes.

Just silence.

And it killed him.

—————-

At lunch, Dustin was the first to say something.

“You good, man? You look like you’ve been hit by a bus.”

Eddie blinked up from where he’d been pushing his food around his tray.

“Yeah… I’m fine.”

Dustin snorted. “You’re so not fine.”

A pause. Then Dustin frowned, glancing between Eddie and where you sat, equally miserable, across the cafeteria.

“Okay, what happened? You and my sister look like someone just kicked your puppies.”

Eddie hesitated.

Then he sighed, dropping his head into his hands.

“I messed up, man. She… she told me she liked me. And I said no.”

Dustin blinked. “Wait, what? But… you like her too. It’s so obvious—”

Eddie groaned. “I know! But you told me she was off-limits, dude! You literally made me promise!”

Dustin paled.

“Oh. Oh, crap.”

“Yeah. Crap.” Eddie stared at the table, voice quieter. “She’s the only girl I’ve ever felt like this about. And I just crushed her because I didn’t wanna lose you as a friend.”

Silence.

Dustin opened his mouth. Then closed it.

Then—

“Dude. I was being an idiot. I thought you’d mess around and break her heart or something, but… you care about her. And she clearly cares about you too.”

Eddie blinked. “You’re not mad?”

Dustin shook his head. “I’m mad you didn’t talk to me sooner. Go fix it, Munson.”

——-

That night, Eddie showed up on your doorstep.

You opened it, blinking in surprise.

“Eddie? What are you—”

He cut you off, words tumbling out.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t say no because I don’t care. I said no because I do care. And because I was scared. Your brother told me to stay away before we even met, and I didn’t wanna lose him as a friend. But pushing you away hurt worse. I like you, Y/N. So much.”

You stared, heart pounding.

“Then why didn’t you just tell me?”

Eddie winced. “I’m an idiot?”

You gave a watery laugh.

And when he hesitantly reached for your hand — fingers brushing, warm and gentle — you didn’t pull away.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I deserve that.”

“But… I like you too.”

His whole face lit up.

And when he kissed you, slow and soft, everything finally felt right.

The End.

[abitchyturtle]

How does something you don't even care about wind up living so rent-free in your head, Lily? You couldn't keep Steven Universe out of your mouth for years and made several videos on it, despite trying to claim that you didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Oh wait, I know. Because the show was popular at the time, and smearing it and attempting to defame Rebecca Sugar would get you a lot of views.

Yeah. That's it.

You literally started pretty much an entire all out internet war against Steven Universe and Sugar ( And don't tell me she wasn't responsible for it. She would sit there actively encouraging it and interacting with people complaining about Sugar. She knew what she was doing. ), you knew it, and you literally didn't even give care because you could sit there on your throne while people brought up your awful two hour long video full of misinformation and insanity.

It's the one video that turned me away from your content, despite the fact that everyone else seemed to be on board with it. I told myself that, amongst the other things that were wrong with this video, the overarching problem is that you clearly didn't watch it.

I was right.

That intro she used to use for her videos of Peter from Family Guy going ' Give me money' was not really a joke. That's how she views her fans and her audience.

It's sad, and it's honestly even sadder that people take her opinion so seriously when this is how she views the material she 'reviews'.

Lily just admitted that she never watched Steven Universe, she only covered it because it was on while she was covering MLP.

[robinsgrl]

since im still getting hate through anon over “stealing” a concept that I didn’t know this woman had posted prior to me, im going to clear some things up.

rafesangelita reblogged a post of my comment which was taken completely out of context and not me pioneering “weird!girl”. I was talking about the “fan club” that the commenter was referring to. She commented “weird girl fan club” and I responded with “I am the leader and founder of” meaning, I was the leader and founder of my weird girls FAN CLUB because I adored that character. in high school, all the clubs had a leader and a founder but that doesn’t mean they created the idea of the club, and that’s quite literally what i meant. Think of it like a silly little club in school, it was a joke about a fan club for my specific reader. Granted, it was worded weirdly but that was part of the joke. Like me “completing” the sentence. yes, im name dropping her because quite literally everyone in the fandom knows her and she reblogged a completely inaccurate post AND blocked me before I could even speak up.

^^ this issue has been resolved. we have both apologized and a statement was made. I understand her pov completely and if anyone was bothered to read the comments in this post AND read her statement, you wouldn’t be in my inbox harassing me still.

now for the woman who is claiming that i stole this concept from her. we dm’d and honestly, she was nice. i have nothing against her as a person. but she was still reblogging stuff that her friends posted about the situation and if it’s been “resolved” then stop reblogging things. anyway, she privately messaged me and admitted that she “blocked me previously to this happening”. i started writing for this fandom the end of november. I posted weird girl reader the first or second week of December. she admitted to blocking me since she saw the post and it blew up pretty quickly so im assuming that she blocked me around the same time that it was posted. i can not stress enough that i had not seen her work. as you can see that was almost a month ago. im not sure on my timeline because literally no one will tell me anything but my first post was nov. 22. it hasn’t been that long since i’ve been in this n fandom

the few works that i DID read were texts posts. everything i read i literally reblogged under my recs. I hadn’t read much farther than that. Now i know there’s no way to prove that but it’s the truth. I didn’t see her posts. I didn’t know who she was. And I didn’t get the time to know who she was because she blocked me.

now, in her long post in that same reblog im talking about, she stresses that you can make weird girl different. that she spent time on her character and I’m sure she did. granted, I didn’t get to read her works because again, I’ve been blocked. but that’s quite literally the point of _!readers. writers have the control. they can base them off of whatever they want and she named those examples. just like she was proud of her reader, i was proud of mine. those things that my reader did in the series were things that i have quite literally done in my real life.

the first part. i did the boob/pec thing to a gym guy that i was seeing back when i was 18. biting someone’s muscled arm was a trend that i saw on tiktok. Of women biting their so’s muscles.

the putting her hands in her boyfriends jeans to warm her cold hands up? i did that before and granted, it was with a girl that i was semi-seeing and not a guy like the original post, but I just flipped the scene. same with the ass slapping and grabbing joke. i do that to my friends. my friends. it’s weird, yes, but that’s why i wrote this weird girl with things i’ve done before because for a long time, i was considered weird. i was bullied in school for being weird, as im sure a lot of people have been.

this reader of mine was me. from the antics she did to the chronically online posts and texts. ive had so many people say that they, themselves have done these things with their significant others as well because tiktok and social media is normalizing not being so serious all the time, that it’s okay to be awkward and weird and goofy with the people you love. And as stated before, i go into writing weird girl reader as someone who’s on the spectrum. I don’t write that she is but as someone who is, those little pieces of me were in the story and im sure many who are can understand that.

she goes on to say that people blow up on her for confronting them. im truly sorry she had that experience but i am not them. she should have come to me as an adult from the beginning. as a grown woman. we both are grown enough to have a civil conversation before name dropping and having people come to my page and say im plagiarizing and copying her when i did not know who she was. because im sorry to say this: you did not inspire me. i did not see your posts. i did not know your account. until this reblogged ask was posted, i did not know you existed. i can not give credit on a concept that i didn’t even know you posted ahead of me. quirky readers like this have been around for longer than your own. i remember reading one direction wattpad stories with quirky/off putting readers when i was a preteen, literally dozen off stories, and back when it was “not being like other girls”. this concept is not new and was not popularized by you. I am not saying that takes away from your work. You have a right to be upset when people steal your own personal work but a concept is a concept. And it’s not one that i stole or got inspiration from you. and i have to reiterate: I am not saying i came up with this on my own. Im not saying this was my idea. But i did not get it from you.

now cameronwillow is defending her friend and i get that. having friends like this is important in hard times but i do believe she and the original sender of the ask, blew this thing out of proportion. im glad you’re there for your friend, truly, a love like that is all anyone can ask for. but you did this the absolute wrong way. read the top to see what i mean. if you still think i copied or stole from your friend and that “credit wasn’t given”, then, you’re gonna keep having a tough time on the internet and in fandoms; tropes and concepts and plots are constantly reused.

now, you posted that i should’ve messaged first. how when she admitted to blocking me when she saw my first weird girl post? you go on to say that “if you’re old enough to be on tumblr then you’re old enough to use your thumbs and message people off anon”. Now, the anon hate is wrong and anyone who is harassing your friend in a harsh way or calling her names, don’t take them as anyone I would support. I wouldn’t support any of them or any of that. If i found out who it was, i would report and block them myself. Hate through anon is wrong no matter what. But wouldn’t that go both ways? You all reblogged and posted things about me while I was blocked before we could have any sort of discussion as adults. (With the exception of dolly because she did unblock me and we had a discussion, although i will say it was too late.)

those are the main few that i think had a lot of hold over the situation. dolly isn’t at fault here. but neither am i. it was a bad situation that was dealt with badly. feelings on all sides are valid but this is the internet, you have to be careful with what you post and how you word yourself. i should have worded myself better on that leader and founder comment and i admit that, it was wrong. but at the least all of these people can and should admit that they blew this entire thing out of proportion.

now, i do want to add that this person gravedigginbbydoll made a completely insane post. in my latin culture, mal de ojo/brujeria/ hexes are a terrifying thing. it’s not something to be messed with in any sort of way. i’ve seen first hand what those things can do to a person. my mother and her long line in mexico rebuke all of this. they fight against it. they cleanse others and us in ways that i wouldn’t even know existed if i wasn’t a part of them. you don’t have to believe in it but i do. I wholeheartedly believe in it. And maybe she didn’t mean me. Maybe she didn’t mean it seriously. But i took it seriously. My family, who im talking with this about is taking it seriously. If youre an avid believer and follower of this stuff, you should know that a post like that to a random girl on the internet, who just wanted to get a better grasp on this abrupt situation, is maniacal and evil. I believe in karma. Karma IS going to come for you over that post and over wishing those things on me (and others).

I had a conversation with her friend under a post where we talk about the hate comments and anon and i agree, neither of us should get this hate. Not at all. And dolly has the right to her feelings. Plagiarism and copying is a real issues in fandoms and in fanfiction writing, one that i have dealt with myself in my past fandoms. But it’s also not insane of me to want to defend myself. I’m not “dragging it” by wanting to defend myself. I’m not “dragging it” by posting this. This is me defending myself and my writing because i am being completely honest— I did not know her work.

sensitive topic below here

Now to those who are defending me and sending me sweet messages, i love you all so much. It means the absolute world to me that you all are willing to hear me out and not jump to conclusions like many people are. And im so grateful for all the love on all my works, not only my weird girl posts. Fearless and Kildare nights were works that i was immensely proud of. Kildare Nights was a way to let out my silly little thoughts. I get attached to character and JJ was one that i was very attached to. The ending of s4 felt like a hole in me and i wanted to fill that. On top of that, a lot of you knew from my authors note that i was in the process of moving. I was lucky enough to find a place with my family in time before being evicted. I was homeless before this. I moved in with my mom because i was literally homeless. I slept in a shelter for a few days before renting a room in a random house with a random lady i met on Facebook. My mom, who I wasn’t talking to at the time, let me move back in with her. But she hadn’t told the landlord. So we were scrambling to find a place. Being homeless is a traumatizing part of life that I never want to go through again. And Kildare Nights is what got me through the nights where I wanted to give up again.

And Fearless was my baby. I’ve been a big girl my entire life. I was bullied for it relentlessly in high school to the point of developing an eating disorder that I still struggle with at 21 years old. I’m getting there slowly and surely but Fearless was for the big girls now and in the past that never felt like they could be loved. For the big girls who struggled to find themselves attractive or sexy or even pretty. To the big girls who have had mean girl experiences regarding their weight and just mean high school girls in general. We are deserving of love and romance and even the heartbreak that comes with all of that.

And im sorry to cut it all short. But this account is tainted by everyone who has name dropped me, who has blocked me, who has sent me hate through anon. By all of it. I may be grown and I should be able to handle these things but truth is im not. I don’t have the confidence nor am I in the correct frame of mind, mental health wise, to be putting up with all of this. I get that im not a child but Im 21 and still figuring things out. drama (because this is drama. despite saying its not.) shouldnt be in spaces that make us feel good, that make us feel empowered and that a lot of us use as an escape. thank you for hearing me out.

[proshippers-against-censorship]

Hey all, as a proshipper, I wanted to warn people of the "Clovers" Discord Server on Disboard, they're a group of antis who primarily target young and mentally disabled proshippers to reveal sensitive information before using this, along with false allegations of Neo-Nazism, CSEM, racism, transphobia, etc. to "ruin their lives" for entertainment, including doxxing and spamming these things to their family and friends.

I joined the server a while back, realized they were strange, and stayed so I could lurk to see what they were doing. I've personally witnessed them do this to 3 people, and there is about 7 or 8 more instances I could find while scrolling back through the messages.

I won't say any of the victim's names for obvious reasons, but here's a list of descriptions of the people they targeted and what they did to them:

The first one I witnessed was a trans man around 16 (forgot his exact age) who had ADHD and PTSD if I am remembering correctly. They coaxed him into sending embarrassing videos of him back in 2020 when he was about 12 and cosplaying from what I think was Danganronpa (never played it) to turn around and use them to humiliate him, as well as making disgusting rape jokes about him (despite that he was either a preteen or early teen in the footage), and then go on to accuse him of being a Neo-Nazi, leaking nudes, and being an abuser, claiming he emotionally manipulated one of the moderators (as far as I know, they never even spoke outside of the server). They proceeded to doxx him and spread these allegations to, as far as I know, many of his family members and friends.

The second one I witnessed was a girl who was openly 13 years old, yet was allowed in despite that their server is advertised as being 16+, as well as having pretty severe autism. This girl was actively being groomed online while she was in this server, and they used this against her, making continual horrible jokes about her situation and blaming her for being manipulated, saying that the groomer " was the real victim". They then similarly went on to accuse her of being a Neo-Nazi and a "pedo-baiter", as well as accusing her of distributing CSEM (which, while technically true, they were images of herself she had been manipulated into sending to her groomer, and wasn't out of malicious intent or of other children like they made it out to be). Similarly to the first boy, they spread these allegations to all of her online friends (though did not doxx her).

The third one was not as severe as the other two since I messaged them privately to let them know what they were doing, and they left the server + blocked all of the members before it could go down. He was another boy who claimed to be 16, but I'm pretty sure is only 13-14, and he had Autism and ADHD. They didn't have time to do much to him yet, but they had begun planting the seeds for abuse, asking him to reveal personal information like what city he lived in, his real name, if he wanted to introduce them to his other friends, and childhood stories. Once he left the server, they had a short-lived episode of talking badly about him, encouraging other members to report his account, and trying to contact any of his mutual connections to spread rumors, but dropped it pretty quickly when they realized they didn't have enough information on him to really "ruin" him yet.

Also, keep in mind, the antis running this server are all between 18-27, grown adults, which makes their behavior even worse. Not only are they fully aware of what they're doing, but they intentionally target those significantly younger than them to make the job easier.

For the other 7-8 instances of people I did not witness that I mentioned earlier, they were all basically the same scenarios. Mentally disabled minors between 13-16 being baited into revealing info, just to have their reputations smeared with allegations and inevitably being forced to create new accounts.

They also tend to target other proship servers on Disboard, one example being the "Creepcest" Server, which they continually accuse of being "run by Nazi Pedophiles" and being "a Child-Porn farm" (while I've never joined that server, knowing them, it's most likely just more bullshit allegations), and sending their members off to raid, stalk, and harass the people inside of these servers.

I am still in the Clovers Discord Server, and I intend to keep it that way so I can hopefully, like the third victim, interrupt their plans before they can fully enact them, and I feel terribly guilty that I could not do that to the first 2 I witnessed.

I won't reveal too much information about myself so that, on the chance they see this, they won't be able to remove me from the server. But don't worry about my wellbeing, I am an adult and am not susceptible to any of their abuse; my account is essentially a blank slate with no information to use against me.

Sorry for the text wall, but overall, please stay away from this server. They change their theme quite frequently, so by the time this ask gets submitted, they'll have most likely already changed the name and profile picture, but it's run by 2 users named "Jett" and "Renny". So, if anybody reading this joins a Disboard-advertised Proship Server, and you recognize those people's names, please leave immediately.

Do not argue with them, do not fight with them, just leave. If you stick around, you will become a victim, if you make a scene, you will become a victim, hell, I've seen them flame random people who join and leave without saying a word for no other reason than that they dislike their profile. They love harassing people, they feed off of negativity, their entire server was created for no other reason than to prey on innocent people.

And to anybody reading this who has been in this server before, please reconsider. Ask yourself if these allegations they made are actually real, ask yourself if they're good people, ask yourself if they actually even like you, or if you're just another vulnerable person that they're trolling. They're antis, they're malicious, and they're predators.

Thanks for reading. Once again, sorry for the text wall. Read over this time and time again, tried to summarize it as much as I could, still ended up being pretty long lmao.

That's...terrifying.

[moralesluvr]

FABLE AND TRUTH 4 | billie eilish

୧ ‧₊˚ love was the law & religion was taught…. ↳ summary: you had always been raised on being poise, feminine, classy. but what was most important to your family was your religion— and it had embroidered itself into your daily life. but when it’s time to pick between feelings and faith, which will you choose? pairings & aus. billie eilish x fem!reader warnings. religious backgrounds & guilt | mature language | sexual content | substance use author's note. CHAP 4 IS HERE! i'm so sorry my loves this lowkey took forever but here ya go <3 wc. 12k (my god)

✧ 3:07 am, wednesday ✧

sleep felt like a distant relative right about now. 

it would come, and then it would quickly vanish— leaving you absolutely worn, but never enough to where you could slip into a slumber. you were wired yet exhausted, fueled yet so sleepy, and it was driving you borderline insane. 

you wrestled with yourself all night. it was too hot, and then too cold— and the constant back and forth of temperature seemed to line up with your tangled emotions. you were certain, and then confused again, and then more certain that you were even more confused. but you knew one thing, though— you were stressed out of your mind. 

billie asking you to hang out shouldn’t have been the issue. the issue was that your heart twinged with nerves when you read the message, and you couldn’t seem to calm yourself down no matter how hard you tried. she was a friend now— yes, but she felt much closer than, and it was all too much for you. this girl was making you feel things you’ve never felt before. safe, secure— like you didn’t have to have everything figured out right now. 

but that’s what infuriated you. not having everything all sorted out and linear made you feel like you were a mess. you’d tidy up one area of your life, and the next would become deranged, off of your path. you had finally figured out your life, and here billie comes, sweeping you off your feet. 

it wasn’t comfortable to feel like this, and you were sure it never could be. you didn’t like how she made your skin feel when she stared at you too long— and how easy it was to stare back. you didn’t like that when she touched you, it made your nerves light on fire, half out of annoyance at yourself and half out of anxiety. 

it wasn’t a crime to appreciate beauty, you knew this. but what was a crime (or so it felt) was appreciating it to the extent of wanting to be the only one to see it. to be the only one who could talk with her the way you do, to smile and laugh at her jokes the way you do, to keep your skin pressed against hers the way you do. 

your dilemma was what to do with yourself now. everything felt a little blurry, so unclear, like everything you’d kept so dear to your heart was now just a distant memory. it felt out of the question, when you really should be considering it most. 

well, what did you value most? feelings, or faith? truth, or temptation? 

you weren’t sure now. and that’s what made pesky and hot tears bubble in the corner of your eyes, what made you slip further underneath your sheets, wishing you could just disintegrate into them, your thoughts and feelings following. 

your bed was suffocatingly warm now. it felt like you were burning alive— and you weren’t sure if it was because it was actually hot or because of the thoughts swirling in your mind. it was as if the mattress had turned into a bed of coals, each fiery ember igniting the guilt and shame festering inside you. you tossed and turned, trying to escape the unbearable heat, but it clung to you like sin.

it felt too fitting, in a way. the warmth reminded you of every sermon you’d ever heard about fire and brimstone, about straying too far from the path and finding yourself engulfed in flames. was this what it felt like to drift? to teeter on the edge of everything you believed in?

you couldn’t shake the thought that this heat was deserved, that it was your punishment for letting your feelings spiral out of control. the suffocating warmth of your bed felt like a taste of the consequences you feared, and no amount of shifting or turning could make you feel any lighter.

but you knew yourself better than that, you knew your faith all too well. you knew you’d find yourself back on your path one way or another— because you always have. you’ve always figured it out, no matter how hard you tried, no matter how many late nights you laid awake, fingers tucked against your Bible and praying until your voice croaked and your eyes wept. 

but tonight felt different. heavier. your faith was the foundation that had carried you through so many storms, but now, it felt like it was shaking under the weight of everything you couldn’t even say out loud. you could barely even think about them without feeling sick to your stomach— much less speak them into existence, because then that made them real. 

thoughts weren’t a sin, but actions were. and as much as you could imagine what it would be like to run your fingers through her hair, to kiss her, to hold her— it’d better not weave itself into how you acted. it’d better not become habitual. 

your thoughts swirled like a storm until you felt sick of tossing and turning. they were crashing into each other, leaving you stuck in this cycle of confusion and guilt, and you longed for sleep to undertake you, to leave you with peace for just a few mere moments, if your anxiety allowed it. 

you loved God, you lived for God— but it felt oddly strange that you were souled out for something you couldn’t see, couldn’t touch. you knew that deep down it was what you believed, and nothing was wrong with it, but doubts crept in. everyone had doubts— whether or not they’re with the right person, whether or not they should eat this or that for lunch, but this was so much bigger than that.

you felt like a spider in a cage. though you could easily slip through the cracks, though you could easily set yourself free, you remained captive. the illusion of being trapped in this confinement, this box that you allowed yourself to be shoved in— that’s what kept you stuck. and you hated it. 

could you not do both? could you lean on faith and feelings? how could something so minuscule dictate your life? 

things seemed so black and white. there was no mix— there was no gray with God, it was always either this or that. if you choose these feelings above Him, was it eternal damnation? would He still love you after all your faults, selfish desires, your confused prayers at night? 

it wasn’t just about billie. it was about you —the parts of yourself you’d spent years trying to bury, trying to pray away, hoping they’d dissolve into nothingness. but they never did. not really. and now, with billie here, with her laugh and her eyes and the way she made you feel so seen, those parts were louder than ever.

you finally rolled onto your side, staring at the dim glow of your phone screen across the room. ignoring her text wasn’t going to make the feelings go away. you could block her number, avoid her altogether, but what would that really change? the problem wasn’t her, no— it was you.

billie wasn’t confused about who she was. she didn’t spend her nights tossed within her bedsheets, hoping and praying that her feelings would melt. you could envision her laid on her back, limbs outstretched on her mattress, dreaming peacefully about any and everything. 

oh, how you longed to feel that way. how you longed to be content with who you were, even if it wasn’t perfect. even if you did mess up, if you were wrong— or even if you were right. but fear encapsulated you. it strangled you until you lost your breath, it had wrapped itself around your soul, coiled itself around your thoughts, made you beaten and broken until your limbs felt weak.

living in fear was preferred by no one. but it kept you in line, kept you on a straight path. and if that was what it took to make you as seemingly perfect as possible, you couldn’t complain. 

it’s four in the morning when you almost fall asleep. you were so close— almost in that temporary paradise, your body nearly collapsing in the soft velvet of your sheets. but then you feel your heart groan and your eyes water, and your mind takes you to places that you hadn’t been in so long, old feelings and memories collecting dust in the back of your conscious. 

you’d known since you were younger, even before you could put words to it, that something about you didn’t fit neatly into the boxes everyone else seemed to fit into. you felt like the black sheep of your community, even though it was a secret that you kept so dear, so quiet that you couldn’t even write it down. 

you remembered being twelve, sitting in the back of a church service, gripping your knees tightly as the pastor spoke about sin, about purity, about love. you remembered how the words cut deeper than they should have, how they made you feel like something about you was broken and beyond fixable. 

“a man and a woman,” the pastor had spoken firmly, like any deviation from those words was an abomination. “that’s what love is. anything outside of that is frowned upon by God.” 

and so, that’s what you believed. that’s what you practiced. 

boys had never appealed to you before, but they did now. if it was favored by God, it was favored by you, too— and you let yourself grow wild. you liked almost every boy that you were around, and they always had interest in you back. you’d playfully flirt, go out on as many dates as you could— but the second they found something deeper, the second they’d tell you how badly they wanted to be with you, you ran. 

you ran because you knew it wasn’t real. it wasn’t fair to them, and it wasn’t fair to you, but it felt like the only way to survive. you weren’t looking for love; you were looking for approval. boys were safe, primitive, easy to explain. no one questioned you when you smiled too wide at their compliments or leaned too close during conversations. no one doubted your intentions because they were what they were supposed to be.

and for a while, you convinced yourself it was enough. you let the feeble attention fill the empty spaces, let the fleeting thrill of being wanted make you feel whole. but it never lasted. no matter how many boys you flirted with, no matter how many dates you went on, there was always that hollow feeling waiting for you afterward. that gnawing sense that you were playing a role you didn’t quite fit into.

because deep down, you knew the truth. boys didn’t set your heart racing. they didn’t make your palms sweat or your stomach flip. they didn’t leave you staring at your ceiling at 3 a.m., questioning everything you thought you knew about yourself.

but girls did.

you tried to ignore it, to push it down, to tell yourself it was a phase or a test of faith or something you could overcome with enough prayer and discipline. but no matter how hard you tried, the feelings were still there, simmering just beneath the surface. and now, with billie in the picture, they were impossible to ignore.

she wasn’t like anyone you’d ever met before— bold and unapologetic, with a laugh that made you feel lighter even when you didn’t want to be. she made you feel seen in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying, and you hated how much you craved it. how bad you wanted it. 

because craving it meant admitting something you weren’t ready to admit. it meant acknowledging that the life you’d carefully constructed for yourself might not be the life you were meant to live. it meant stepping into uncharted territory, where nothing was certain and everything felt like a risk.

and you weren’t sure you were brave enough for that.

so you kept running. from the boys who wanted more than you could give, from the girls who made you feel too much, and from yourself most of all. you ran because staying still meant facing the truth, and the truth was messy and complicated and scary as ever.

and now, years later, those same feelings had crept back in, wrapping themselves around your chest and making it hard to breathe. was it wrong to feel this way? to feel drawn to someone who made you laugh so easily, who made the world seem a little less daunting? to want something more than the lines of scripture could explain?

your faith was supposed to be unshakable, unwavering. but right now, it felt like it was cracking under the weight of your heart, and you hated yourself for it. you wanted to be better. stronger. you wanted to want the right things, the things you were supposed to want. but billie made it so hard.

you pressed your hands to your face, letting out a shaky breath as tears slipped down your warmed cheeks. you didn’t want to be this version of yourself— the one who questioned, who doubted, who couldn’t find clarity no matter how hard she tried.

and yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered, soft and persistent: what if it’s not wrong?

but you couldn’t listen to that voice, not right now. not when everything you’d ever been taught, everything you believed, told you otherwise.

by the time your thoughts fall dead and slumber almost captivates you, your alarm clock jolts against your nightstand, making a groan slip between your teeth. it was five, and that meant it was time for morning Bible study. 

you felt your whole body ached as you sat up, running a tired hand through your untamed hair. your steps feel hallow and slow as you reach for the light, flicking it on gently and squinting at the sudden glare. 

you had to focus. it was a new day, with new opportunities to grow, with new possibilities and endless outcomes. you couldn’t keep letting your fears trap you, prevent you from making your days exponentially better than the last. 

‘This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it.’ is what pushed you to pad across the cool floor of your dorm room, plopping into your desk chair with your tired eyes fixated on your Bible. 

the cover was worn and beaten, little sticky notes and page markers flooded between the sheets of the book, nearly every line highlighted in specific and special colors. 

you used to find peace in that. and you knew that you could find it again, as long as you stopped being so hard on yourself. you just needed to relax, to fall back in habit, to let yourself breathe a fresh wind. 

so you flipped your Bible open, landing in Psalms— a place you often went when your heart felt too tangled to sort out on its own. “Create in me a clean heart, O God; and renew a right spirit within me.” you whispered the words aloud to yourself, the quiet atmosphere of your room soaking the sound up, your throat dry and scratchy. 

but as you read, the usual familiar comfort didn’t come. instead, the words seemed to blur together, their meaning slipping through your fingers like water. it was like they had no weight to them— like you were just reading to read. nothing made sense anymore. 

you let out a heavy, frustrated breath, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip so hard that you were sure you’d draw blood. your mind wandered back to the night before, to billie’s text, to the way her laugh lingered in your memory, warm and inviting. you hated how easily she crept into your thoughts, how she made you question things you never thought you’d have to question, how bad she made your inability to focus. 

you shook your head, trying to regain your thoughts and start over. you placed your finger on the next line of scripture, your head aching from concentration. 

“Cast me not away from thy presence; and take not thy holy spirit from me.” is what comes next. the verse was supposed to reassure you, like it usually does— but instead, it felt like a plea, a desperate attempt to cling to something solid while your world felt like it was tilting off of its axis.

what if you were being cast away? what if your feelings for billie, these things you couldn’t control, were pulling you further and further from God? the thought made your chest tighten, guilt curling in your stomach like it was alive.

your hand froze on the page, your breath hitching. these thoughts felt like a betrayal, like a crack in the foundation of everything you believed in, everything your entire life had clung to. but all your questions and skeptics remained, undeniable and persistent, and no amount of prayer or scripture seemed to silence it.

you closed your Bible gently, resting your hands on the cover as you leaned back in your chair. your eyes drifted to the window, where the first hints of sunrise painted the sky in soft hues of pink and gold. it was beautiful, serene— a stark contrast to the living chaos inside your head.

you wanted to cry again, to let the frustration and confusion pour out of you until there was nothing left. but the tears didn’t come this time. instead, there was just a deep, aching exhaustion that settled over you like a heavy blanket.

you couldn’t think, so you prayed. it was like second nature to you, and you had your hands clasped so hard that your knuckles popped. 

the silence stretched on, and for a moment, you thought you might get an answer. but none came, just the quiet hum of the world waking up around you.

eventually, you stood, stretching your stiff limbs before heading to the bathroom to splash cold water on your face. the chill jolted you awake, chasing away the last remnants of sleep.

you glanced at your reflection in the mirror, taking in the dark circles under your eyes, the redness clinging to the edges of them. you barely recognized yourself, and that realization stung. you let out a thick sigh before heading back to your dorm, peeking into emma’s ajar door, hoping she’d be awake and willing to talk. but she was dead asleep. 

you sighed and pulled your phone off the nightstand as you walked back to your own space, billie’s message still sitting unread in your notifications. you stared at it for a long moment, your thumb hovering over the lit screen, but you didn’t respond. you couldn’t. 

your heart felt like it was waging a war against your mind, one side pulling you toward her, the other screaming for you to stay away, and draw to what was true. 

but before you could make a decision, to text back or to not— your alarm buzzed again, pulling you out of your thoughts. you sighed, setting the phone back down and grabbing your notebook instead. if you couldn’t sort out your feelings, maybe you could at least start your day right.

you sat back at your desk, pen in hand, and wrote the only thing you could think to write: God, I don’t know what to do. I need You to guide me. Please, show me what’s right.

it wasn’t the answer you wanted, but it was all you had. and for now, it would have to be enough.

✧ 8:50 am ✧

you weren’t really sure how you managed to stay awake this long. 

it’s almost nine when emma emerges from her bedroom, dolled up head to toe, her red hair pressed straight and resting gently against her shoulders. it was such a huge contrast from your gray leggings, pink hoodie, and bare face, but you still smiled when she walks into your dorm, grinning from ear to ear, “morning, sunshine. you sleep good?” 

you nearly tell a lie just to keep the peace, but it wasn’t worth the immense guilt that you’d feel later. so you shrugged, “i didn’t sleep.”

“why not?” emma questions, twirling the ends of her hair around a freshly painted fingernail, “what’s going on with you? you’re being awfully weird.” 

you shake your head at her defensively, “i’m not being weird?” 

emma squinted at you, her grin faltering as she studied your face. she didn’t speak for a second, but when she was done reading you, she cocked a brow, “you can’t lie to me, y/n. we’ve been best friends for years. and plus, you’ve got that look on your face.” 

“what look?” you asked, trying to play dumb as you picked at a loose thread on your hoodie, trying to avoid eye contact. 

you had really had enough of the pestering with her. was it so hard to leave you alone?

as much as you want her to shut up, though— she continues, her eyes narrowing. 

“the look you get when you’re overthinking really bad or you’re hiding something and you won’t tell me. is this about class? or—” she paused, narrowing her eyes even further, “hold the fuck up, is this about billie? again?”

your heart stuttered in your chest, and you immediately busied yourself with your phone, pretending to be scrolling aimlessly through apps you weren’t even paying attention to. all you could really pay attention to was the unanswered text on your phone. but you still shrugged her off, “not everything is about billie, okay? you’re like, obsessed with talking about her.” 

emma tilted her head at you with such slit eyes, you really didn’t know if she was actually looking at you. you knew deep down that you were projecting, but it seemed like the only way to push your feelings aside and be content for once. 

your best friend took a shaky breath, leaning against the edge of your desk like she was gearing up for an interrogation, “dude, what’s your issue? i mean, i ask you genuine questions to try to understand your situation, and you talk to me like i’m a fucking idiot, or like i’m the one that’s being all cold and sarcastic. fine, whatever— i’m done asking you questions. i’ll leave you alone, since that’s what you want so bad.” 

the room felt thick and heavy after emma’s outburst, her words hanging in the air like a hazy fog. you opened your mouth to say something, anything, but nothing came out. your throat croaked and cracked and you almost shed a tear, but instead, you sat there, frozen, clutching your side as guilt started to gnaw at the edges of your chest.

it’s one thing to be going through something alone, but it’s another to drag someone else into you— especially emma. you felt horrible because through any and everything, no matter the degree, she was always there for you. and this is how you repay her? with mistrust and secrecy? 

“emma, wait—” you started, but she waved you off, pushing herself up and grabbing her purse, slinging it over her shoulder with little to no care. 

“nah, it’s fine. really. i get it,” she said, her voice tight as she turned toward the door. she doesn’t face you when she speaks, she just shrugs, “you don’t want to talk about it? cool. i won’t bring it up again. ever.” 

she wasn’t yelling, not at all— but the calmness in her voice made you feel even more sick. it was the kind of tone that meant she was hurt but refusing to show it, and it made your stomach twist. you felt like your body was caving in on itself, all this stuff with billie was bad, but now emma’s mad at you, too? you felt like you were losing your grip and there was nothing you could do to stop. 

“em, i didn’t mean to—”

“save it,” she cut you off rapidly, her back still turned as she opened the door. 

and then she left. 

she didn’t wait for you to get up and run to her, to throw yourself in her arms and cry to her about how much pain you were in— she just…left. 

you rose a cold hand to wipe your watery eyes before lifting yourself off of your mattress, grabbing your belongings before heading out, starting your walk to your 9 a.m. 

it was a cold and companionless one, too. jules wasn’t there to humor you with her dry wit and dark toned jokes, no naomi to offer up her sweet spirits and constant laughter, no oliver to make you feel safe and included, even though he never talked much. 

but what killed you— what hurt you the most, is that there was no emma to tease and poke fun at you, even though you always claimed that you hated it. there was no emma to always ask you ‘are you okay?’— and not just to fill a silence, but because she actually cared. 

there was none of that. you were alone, the opposite of what you wanted to be, but it was like you couldn’t help it. you couldn’t stop yourself from being pushed into isolation, it was snowballing and squeezing you so tight with no opportunity to escape. 

emma’s absence felt louder than anything else. you replayed her words to you in your head, her sharp tone even more spiked than you had experienced beforehand, the way she didn’t even look back at you  before shutting the door making your lips curl downward. 

save it.

two words that cut deeper than she probably intended, though you couldn’t really blame her. not entirely, anyway. you had pushed her away. you’d been cold, defensive, and for what? to protect a secret you weren’t even sure you could define?

your steps felt faltered as you reached a quiet path lined with trees, the golden light filtering through their branches. it was a place you usually loved, a rare pocket of peace on a campus that always seemed to escape the loud, the too crowded. but today, it only reminded you only of how isolated you felt.

you pulled your phone out of your pocket, your thumb hovering over the screen. you choked up when you saw a picture of you and emma at your high school graduation— she was making bunny ears behind your navy blue cap, both of you smiling as you held her side tightly. 

you let out a quiet sniffle, unlocking the device and clicking on your messages to keep yourself from crying, especially right before class. but there it was again— billie’s text. the one you still hadn’t answered.

it was such a simple question— if you wanted to hang out or not, but it held so much weight. you thought about emma’s accusations, about the way your chest tightened whenever you thought about billie. she was right— you were being cold and sarcastic, and insanely secretive, even though she was only trying to help you, like a good best friend would. 

you thought about how easy it would be to type out a response, to say yes, to meet her and let yourself drown in whatever this was. whatever little thing you had going on— to let yourself bask in it, to enjoy it, because that’s what you deserved. 

but you didn’t. you didn’t respond to her text. instead, you locked your phone and shoved it back into your pocket, quickening your pace as you approached your building, pushing the doors open and heading to your class. 

when you reached the hallway to your classroom, the familiar smell of coffee and old books hit you, and you tried to let it ground you. the lecture hall was already half-full, students chatting, scrolling through their phones, or flipping through notes quickly, preparing for tests and quizzes. you walked into your psych class and found an empty seat near the back, sinking into it as you unpacked your things.

your professor’s voice droned on as the class began, but you couldn’t focus. your notebook remained blank, your pen hovering uselessly over the page. your mind kept wandering back to the morning, to emma’s disappointed face, to billie’s unanswered text, to the gnawing uncertainty that had taken root in your chest.

you thought about how easy it had been to run from boys. to shut them out when they got too close, when they wanted more than you could give. it was almost second nature, a defense mechanism you’d perfected over the years.

but with billie, it was different. you didn’t want to run. you wanted to stay, to see where this could go, even if it terrified you. even if it meant confronting parts of yourself you weren’t ready to face.

your pen pressed into the paper, the ink smudging messily as you scribbled aimlessly, trying to distract yourself. but the more you tried to focus, the more your thoughts spiraled.

is this what it feels like to lose yourself?

the thought came unbidden, sharp and cold. you stared down at your notebook, the words and lines blurring together as your vision swam.

you clenched your jaw, forcing yourself to take a deep breath. you couldn’t fall apart here, not now. not in class, and not when the day had only just begun.

the lecture dragged on, each minute feeling like an eternity. you were completely lost, missing virtually everything that your teacher was saying. you tried to hold out as long as you could, but to no avail, you were just…confused. 

when class finally ended, you packed up your things quickly, keeping your head down as you made your way out.

the hallway was crowded, voices and footsteps blending into a chaotic hum. you slipped through the throng of students, little ‘excuse me’s and ‘i’m sorry’s slipping through your lips as you bumped into shoulders and bags. your mind was still tangled in a mess of feelings you couldn’t untangle, and it felt just like this hallway was— a blurry sea, a messy mix, a path almost impassable. 

and as you stepped out into the sunlight, the weight in your chest felt heavier than ever, pressing down with every step you took, every move that you made. 

you contemplated on skipping class, but the fear of your grades slipping was what kept you pushing down the sidewalk, and you were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t realize emma was perched on a stone hedge, chatting with some guy from her class. 

she gives you a glance, and then she sighs, looking back at the brunette with sparkling eyes, completely unaware of your presence as you kept walking. 

it made you feel horrible that she was upset with you. she was doing just what she said— dropping it. just like you wanted, right? 

but deep down, you wished she just pushed one more time. asked you how you were feeling again, and you’d finally tell her— you’d break down in her arms and hold her, letting all your confusion and doubts fall at her shoulders. but it was too late now. 

your next class is math, and it’s definitely your easiest, so you don’t stress about being attentive. you find another seat in the back and pull your phone out, lost in recent texts and instagram posts that you had ignored from the night before. 

you really needed to make a solid decision. this constant confusion wasn’t in your favor, and living in constant fear and frustration wasn’t ideal. but everytime you think you’re set on something, it fades into gray, and doubts began to creep in. 

it was driving you absolutely crazy. 

you sniffle quietly, slumping further into your seat that you’re comfortable, but not enough to make it seem like you’re not paying attention. though your teacher can sense otherwise. 

“y/n?” 

“hm?” you hum back, and your professor gives you a cocked brow, her eyes beaming into your own. 

“the answer?” she asks you, and the class’ mumbles fall silent, “are you paying attention?” 

“uhm…” is all you say, your eyes welling up. she just offers you a look of disappointment, “we have a quiz friday. please pay attention.” 

you give your teacher a slow nod, and that was your breaking point. you slumped your head into the desk, tears flowing silently down your face as you tried to keep your sniffling to a minimum. a frown meets your lips as you hope and pray this class goes by quicker than it feels. 

when it finally does end, professor walkins meets you at your desk as you grab your things, her hand resting on the wooden surface, “is everything okay, honey?” 

she can see right through your teary eyes, even though you nod your head at her. the last thing you needed was to appear seemingly off to everyone around you— especially people that didn’t even know you at all. 

“i’m sorry that i embarrassed you,” mrs. walkins apologized, “i understand now. but whatever it is, it’ll pass. have a good day, sweetie.” 

and then she’s off, her heels clacking against the floor with her briefcase in hand, slipping through the door. you follow her after a second, down the hall with your earbuds tucked in your ears, thinking about her words longingly. 

whatever it is, it’ll pass. 

you wish it just would already. 

the hallways are still just as crowded as they were after your first class, but you thanked God that you only had two classes today, because you didn’t really think you could hold it together much longer. 

you’re walking out the building when you see a figure slumped against a brick wall, a cigarette in hand and long, black hair flowing in the autumn wind. it’s billie. 

you hadn’t expected to see her all day, and you thought you were doing a good job at avoiding her. but of course, her being her— she finds a way to pop up randomly, right when you don’t need her to. 

she’s effortlessly beautiful as always. her hair is braided on the sides, though some loose strands find themselves engulfed in the wind, curling around her face. her eyelashes look long even from a distance, and she’s clad in a pair of baggy jeans paired with a navy blue sweater, a white tee underneath. a tote bag slouches on her shoulders as she takes another drag of her cigarette, and you try your hardest to go unnoticed by her, your eyes captivated by her. 

you want to look at her forever. she’s so pretty that it feels like it’ll hurt if you take your eyes off her, but you feel your heart squeeze with guilt as you blink, debating whether or not you should go up to her and say something. 

but you couldn’t push everyone in your life away. she was the only person who wasn’t upset with you or pestering you with a bunch of questions, and you longed for peace, even if it was just for a moment. 

you looked down at your phone, and nothing but a Bible app notification waited for you. no calls or texts from emma, naomi, oliver, jules— you literally had nothing from anyone in your entire friend group. 

“hey, little drummer girl.” 

your eyes travel to billie’s figure that’s still slumped against the wall behind her, her head now turned to look at you. her cheeks are red due to the harsh winds that float through the air, her eyes blinking rapidly to keep the cool breeze from making tears form in her pretty, blue orbs. 

you bit your lip, really hoping that you could’ve stayed out of her view for just a second longer. you only liked looking at her when she didn’t notice— because then, she couldn’t look at you back. and you could stare as long as you wanted. but now that she had noticed you, she’d offer that eye contact that she always did— the kind that made your heart flutter, made your mind wander, made your pupils grow. 

neither of you move for a second. and then you step forward before you can really think, your nikes scuffing the pavement as you find your own spot on the wall next to billie. you flash her a weak smile, “hi, billie.” 

she seems to elate in the way you say her name, or maybe it’s the way you dragged over to her so quickly— whatever it is, it’s enough to soften her edges. she just shakes her head at you, “your class just end?” 

“yeah,” you nod, shoving your hands into your hoodie, “math. not eventful at all.” 

billie hums, and you expect her to tell you about how her class was, but she doesn’t. she’s quieter than usual, and you can infer that it’s probably about the message that she sent you, which was still…unanswered. 

and now that you were standing in front of her, it made things a little more awkward. you tried to muster up an excuse to brush things over with, but you came up with absolutely nothing. 

the air between you felt hot, like tension was raining on the both of you. you just stayed silent for a moment, watching as billie took another hit of her cigarette, her lips pursing like she was thinking really hard about something. 

your heart was pounding in your chest. you couldn’t think straight— if billie was upset at you, that was pretty much it. you’d have virtually nothing left, and even though the two of you were only beginning to get close, she was a good friend, and had a caring spirit. 

you take initiative to speak, and you’re honest when you do so, “i saw your text.” 

billie pauses for a second. she takes another slow drag of her cigarette, the smoking curling around her face and fading into the wind as her eyes flicker to yours, “yeah? and?”

you can’t mess this up. you can’t keep running, avoiding everyone who actually cared about you, and you definitely couldn’t keep pushing everyone off just because you were going through…whatever this was. so you take a deep breath, shifting on your feet, your fingers curling into fists in your pocket.

“and… um, i didn’t know what to say. or—” you hesitate, the words catching in your throat. was it too soon to be so honest? 

you take a deep breath.

“i just didn’t want to say the…wrong thing.”

billie’s brows knit together slightly at your words, her expression almost unreadable as she watches you. she takes you in— your somber eyes, your withdrawn body language— she studies you, like she always does. her cigarette lingers between her fingers, smoke curling up into the air like a question mark. you feel your chest tighten under her gaze, her silence pressing into you harder than any words she could ever say.

“why would you think you’d say the wrong thing, y/n?” she asks finally, her voice softer than you expected. there’s no edge to it, no sharpness— just genuine curiosity. it’s almost worse because it means she’s taking you seriously, she called you by your name, and that’s almost unheard of. 

you glance down at your shoes, scuffing the toe of one against the pavement as you search for words, but they’re somewhere in the back of your mind, buried beneath layers of doubt and second-guessing.

“i don’t know,” you mumble, your voice hardly even audible, “i just… i guess i didn’t want to mess things up. billie…i’m…i’m confused.”

there. you said it. the truth hangs in the air between you, raw and vulnerable, and you can’t bring yourself to look at her. not yet.

billie lets out a small sigh, one that sounds more thoughtful than frustrated, and it makes you glance up at her, just for a second. her lips are pressed into a faint line, her head tilted slightly as if she’s trying to figure you out.

“you’re not gonna mess things up,” she reassures you, and there’s a certainty in her tone that makes your chest ache. “at least, not with me. i don’t know what’s been up with you, but… i don’t scare off that easy.”

you want to believe her, but the knot in your stomach tightens anyway. it’s not just about billie— it’s about everything. your friends, your classes, your entire life feeling like it’s slipping out of your hands faster than you can hold on. faith was the only anchor you had, and even that felt like it was fleeting— like you really had nothing left.

nothing but these jangled emotions that you couldn’t figure out.

“it’s not you,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. it was kind of untruthful, but you didn’t care. it was already a blessing that billie was listening to you right now, so you tried to get at least some of your emotions out, practically begging for advice.

“it’s… everything. i feel like i’m messing up all over the place, and i don’t know how to fix it. i don’t even know where to start. i’m a wreck.”

the confession spills out of you before you can stop it, and you bite down hard on the soft inside of your cheek, trying to keep the tears at bay. the last thing you need is to cry in front of billie, but the lump in your throat is making it harder and harder to breathe.

billie doesn’t say anything right away, and for a second, you think you’ve said too much. you think she’s going to brush you off or change the subject, but instead, she shifts her weight, her shoulder bumping yours lightly.

“start small,” she says, her voice low and steady, “you don’t have to figure everything out all at once. just… take it one step at a time. one thing at a time. you seem like the type of person to drive yourself batshit until you’re bruised and beaten. yeah, don’t do that. don’t do it to yourself.”

her words aren’t groundbreaking or revolutionary, but something about the way she says them— the calm certainty in her voice— makes you feel like maybe she’s right. maybe you don’t have to have all the answers right now, and that’s okay. 

your problem was that you never let yourself feel for too long. it wasn’t like you were numb, but you weren’t always present, either. you always thought that you were running out of time, and every mess-up or mishap was cutting it shorter and shorter. but you couldn’t do that anymore. these aren’t the types of feelings that you solve just within a few days, no— they linger, they sting, and getting rid of them or making sense of them altogether wasn’t something that would just happen overnight. 

you strived for perfection, and it wasn’t really your fault. it was all you had ever known.

growing up, your best wasn’t enough— because you could always be better. you could always make better grades, say long prayers, memorize more scriptures. and you worked at it everyday, fixing and molding yourself into a box that even you were too small to fit into. 

you aimed for perfection, but it was never enough— because better always lingered just out of reach, whispering that you were still falling short, but looking back to make sure that you were still chasing it. 

you feel your chest tighten.

you glance at billie, and she’s looking at you, her blue eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. it’s almost too much, the way she looks at you like she actually cares, like she’s not just saying this to make you feel better but because she means it.

“i’m serious,” she adds, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “you’re tougher than you think, saint. you’ve just gotta give yourself a break.”

you let out a shaky breath, her words settling over you like a warm, heated blanket. it doesn’t fix everything— it honestly doesn’t even fix most things— but it makes the weight on your chest feel just a little bit lighter.

“thanks,” you say softly, and it’s not enough, but it’s all you can manage.

billie shrugs, taking another drag of her cigarette before flicking it to the ground and stamping it out with the heel of her sneakers, “anytime,” she says, and you know she means it.

the two of you stand there for a while, the silence between you no longer heavy but something closer to comforting. the wind picks up, tugging at your hoodie and billie’s loose strands of hair, and for the first time all day, you felt safer. more secure. 

“so…” billie starts, “what’s this little secret that’s making you like this, anyways?”

it hurts not to tell her. after everything that she’s said, after she went all soft on you, you almost feel inclined to tell her, but you hold your tongue, avoiding words that even you yourself haven’t admitted. 

her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are locked on you, blue and piercing, like they’re sifting through every layer you’ve built carefully to keep the truth hidden. you feel the weight of her question settle in your chest, pressing hard against the fragile walls you’ve tried so desperately to reinforce.

you swallow, your throat tight. the words are there— just barely formed, barely coherent— but you can’t let them out. not here. not right now.

“it’s nothing,” you mumble, your hands fidgeting in the pocket of your hoodie, fingers finding loose threads to pull at anxiously, “just… stuff.”

billie raises an eyebrow, unconvinced at your statement, “stuff?” she repeats, leaning her shoulder against the wall further, wrapping her arms around her body, “you’ve been walking around like a fucking zombie, and you expect me to buy ‘stuff’? come on, virgin mary. try harder.”

you wince at her words— not because they’re harsh, but because they’re not. she’s right. and her tone is steady, patient, even playful, and that makes it so much harder to hold back. you almost feel inclined to confide in her, but you hold your tongue.

“i’m fine, billie,” you say, forcing a smile that feels heavy, “really.”

“you’re such a bad liar.” she says after a beat, her lips quirking up in a small, but sad smile.

your stomach twists, and for a moment, you think about spilling everything— about the guilt that weighs you down, the doubt that claws at your insides, the way your heart aches and your mind won’t stop spinning. you think about telling her how you feel like you’re falling apart, how you’re scared that if you let anyone see the mess inside you, they’ll walk away like everyone else seems to.

but you can’t. so you lie. 

and for the first time, you don’t really feel guilty about it.

“guess i’ll have to work on that,” you say instead, your voice quieter than you mean it to be, “but it's still nothing.”

billie’s done fighting it. she sighs when she looks at you, though you can tell it’s full of understanding. she leans in closer to you, her hand lightly brushing your own as gives you eyes that are scribbled with words that you can decipher, even though she doesn’t say them. you just know. 

you had to get out of this headspace, out of this environment. it wasn’t good for you. 

you felt sick, yet numb all at once. your heart was aching like none other, every nerve in your body felt like they were dying on you, like you were frozen. 

but you can’t go on like that. you can’t keep pretending like isolation is preferred by you, like being alone is your remedy for the exhaustion you were feeling. 

you don’t move away from billie’s light touch. you bask in it for a second, “billie?”

she hums at you, her eyebrows quirking at the sound of her name. it falls sweetly off of your tongue, and you let your eyes bore into hers for a second before speaking lowly, quietly. 

“can we still hang out?” 

the smile that creeps onto her face is priceless, and she tries to keep her composure as she nods fervently, “i’d thought you’d never ask, sunday school. yeah. let’s go.”

you nod at her, walking beside her as you make your way to the student parking lot. billie doesn’t say much when you leave the building together, her steps slow and deliberate. you follow close behind her in silence, her tote bag slung lazily over one shoulder, the faint scent of cigarette smoke still clinging to her sweater. it’s not uncomfortable, the quiet between you two— billie has a way of filling silences without saying a word. but it still makes your stomach churn because you know she’s waiting for you to speak first, like she always does. 

“so… where are we going?” you finally ask, your voice a little louder now as you trail a step behind her.

“you’ll see.”

the walk to her old, black mustang isn’t far. you can tell it’s one of those vintage cars that people go crazy about, and the model makes you examine the vehicle with curiosity as she unlocks the door. it smells faintly of lavender air freshener and leather, mixed with a little smoke, and the mix of scents makes your nose flair. 

you climb into the passenger seat, pulling your hoodie tighter around you as billie starts the engine, reaching to flicker on the heat before looking at the road intently, pulling off into it. the soft hum of the radio fills the space, some indie song playing faintly in the background.

the drive is honestly not that long, but it feels like forever. you don’t ask where you’re going again, too caught up in your own thoughts to care. you’re just happy that you’re finally going out, happy that you’re giving yourself the chance to escape yourself and relax a little bit.

“i’m gonna take us somewhere that’ll calm you down a little,” is what billie says as she pulls off an exit of the highway and onto the main road again. that gets you a little bit more giddy.

you’re hoping that she’ll take you somewhere that you’ll find a little peace— a bookstore, church, maybe even to God himself, but the smile that has found its way onto your face quickly fades when you pull into a huge brick building, with red lighting that looks like your absolute worst nightmare.

it’s a rage room. 

as billie pulls into a parking spot, you let out a vulnerable whine, “billie, really? a rage room?”

“you’ve never experienced real peace until your throwing shit against the wall and screaming your heart out,” she giggles, putting the car in park and pausing the music, “you’ll like it. i promise.”

you feel cool air wisp against your face as you open the passenger door, circling back around billie’s car as you both start to walk in the building, “i’m gonna hate this.” 

she just giggles at you, her laugh strong and reassuring, though you’re face doesn’t even flinch. this wasn’t what you had in mind at all, but you’re here now— so you might as well make the most of it, you think. 

as you both step inside the building, the cold air from the outside seems to follow you in, hitting you with a rush of discomfort as you glance around. the walls are lined with shelves of broken, donated items, but the most expensive ones are locked up, probably just for display. there’s a pool table in a separate room to your left, and to your right is a bar with people sitting on red and black stools, listening to soft jazz and laughing as they take sips from their drinks. it's loud, chaotic, and everything inside your mind is screaming to leave, but you try to hold it together as you and billie step up to the front.

a clerk behind the counter, with a bored expression on their face, glances up at you both before clicking some button on the register, “do y’all want the couple deal?” they ask, with a rehearsed tone and very tired, droopy eyes.

billie glances at you before answering, her eyes glinting with mischief. and then she shrugs, “yeah, sure, why not?”

you blink, slightly taken aback by her quick agreement. the words settle in your mind, making you think for a second. it’s not the kind of thing you’d expect someone to do in the heat of the moment— but then again, billie was always the type to go with the flow, to not think twice, especially if it meant saving a few bucks.

but still, couple deal? that’s what this place calls it? you can't help but wonder for a second, what does it mean for her? does it feel like something meaningful? was it just about saving some money? you glance sideways at her as she hands the clerk her card, and the thought quickly slips away. she’s too calm about this— she honestly doesn’t seem to care, so why should you?

the clerk nods and hands billie her card back, muttering a slow ‘follow me.’ as billie leads the way further into the chaos of the establishment. you can feel the weight of uncertainty creeping up on you, the buzzing fluorescent lights overhead seeming to hum louder as you pass the racks of broken, smashed objects, and your stomach flips in a way you can’t ignore. what kind of place is this, really? the air smells faintly of old dust and something metallic, mixed with alcohol and smoke, and your nerves feel like they’re tightening with each step that you take.

billie’s excitement is almost tangible. she’s practically bouncing on her heels, eyes glinting with that spark she always has when she’s onto something she’s sure you’ll hate, yet she knows you’ll secretly love. secretly, because you haven’t fully let go yet. you haven’t let yourself give in to the absolute absurdity of this place.

the clerk motions for you both to follow, guiding you over to a corner of the room where various protective gear is lined up— thick plastic helmets, gloves, goggles, and heavy jackets that look like they belong to someone working with power tools. you pick up the jacket, feeling its weight in your hands before sliding it on. it’s heavy, and as you zip it up, it feels more like a costume than something that’ll actually protect you from the wreckage of sharp objects and whatever else this place had for you to throw around.

you glance at billie as she straps a helmet over her two dutch braids. she’s grinning like a kid in a candy store, and for a moment, you almost wish you could share her enthusiasm. but you don’t. the look on your face has ‘i want to go home’ written all over it as she looks at you, giving a playful wink that’s so contrast from how you’re feeling underneath this gigantic jacket and helmet.

“you ready to break some shit?” she asks, her voice practically bouncing with energy as she shook out her arms, watching you slide on a pair of thick goggles to protect your eyes. you swallow, tightening the straps of your gloves as your heart pounds in your chest. you’ve never felt so out of place, so off-kilter. there’s something wrong about all of this, something about the whole idea that makes your insides twist. what is this even supposed to fix?

but you keep your mouth shut, not wanting to be the buzzkill— not wanting to ruin this for billie, who’s already bouncing on her heels, waiting to see you finally let loose and throw something across the room. you sigh and force a smile for her, though you’re hardly feeling it.

“i mean, i guess,” you mumble, “let’s do it.”

billie’s grin widens at your answer, and you wish you could feel it too— that spark, that joy she gets from the chaos of whatever you could call this place. but right now, all you feel is the weight of the unknown, the tension in your shoulders, the knot of anxiety that wraps around your throat.

the clerk leads you both into the actual rage room. it's a huge space, walls lined with thick, cushioned coverings, and in the center is a table stacked high with glass bottles, plates, mugs, and other objects begging to be destroyed. it’s all there for the taking— for the throwing, the smashing, the shattering. your feet feel impossibly heavy as you step inside, like you're walking into a trap that you led yourself into. you can feel the weight of your own breath underneath the thick jacket that swallowed your whole frame whole, shallow and quick, as if your body knows that something’s about to happen.

the clerk gestures to the pile of objects, “pick what you want,” they say with a shrug. “nothing’s off-limits. have fun.”

and then they’re off. 

billie wastes no time to get active. she picks up a wine bottle and taps it against her palm, eyes shining with mischievous excitement, “you pick something too,” she says, tossing the bottle lightly in the air before catching it again, “we’ll throw it at the same time.”

you look at the pile of objects, feeling strangely detached from every single one of them. there’s a weird sense of distance between you and everything in this room. what’s the point of this again?

but then, you reach for a plate. it’s small and unassuming, a simple ceramic dish that’s decorated with an intricate pink and blue lining, painted on the perimeter. you hold it in your hand, turning it over, weighing the weight of it in your palm. it’s just a plate— just a thing that could be easily replaced, something that’s meant to hold food, to be useful.

but right now, it’s in your hands, and the urge to throw it across the room— to hear the crash, to watch it break into pieces— suddenly seems strangely satisfying. you glance over at billie, “let’s do it.”

she cheers at you, her stance becoming heftier as she readies herself to hurl the bottle against the wall.

“ready? she asks you, and when you nod reassuringly, she’s ready, too. 

“one, two, three!”

you raise your hand and swing it as hard as you can, your ears splitting as you hear glass and plastic crack against the wall. your plate and billie’s bottle crash all at once, and at first, you feel a little guilty. 

billie lets out a laugh, her leg raising as she claps at you, “fuck yeah! do it again!”

you’re trying to collect your thoughts, looking at billie, who’s already swung another bottle against the wall, the shattering sound ringing out like a loud cheer. she’s laughing, loud and free, picking up things and smashing them onto the ground like there’s no tomorrow.

can you let go, too?

the question lingers in your mind as you reach across the table to pick up another plate. billie’s looking at you now, waiting for you to throw it. she knows you’re hesitating, knows that you’re struggling with this whole thing just by the look on your face. but she doesn’t push you. instead, she just stands there, the light of anticipation still burning in her eyes.

you take a deep breath, a shaky one, as your fingers tighten around the plate.

“you sure you’re okay?” billie asks, her voice softer now, sensing the tension that’s still there. you nod, though it’s half-hearted, because you’re not really sure if you are. but she smiles again, a little softer this time, and for a moment, you forget all about the chaos, all about the fear of breaking.

maybe it’s just about the release.

you throw the plate. it doesn’t fly the way you imagine it would this time, but it hits the wall hard enough, sending shards flying across the room in a messy explosion. the sound of it is loud, harsh, and something inside of you shudders, but it’s not bad— it’s not as bad as you thought it would be.

billie cheers, clapping her hands, her smile wide and unguarded, “hey, see? i told you you’d like it!”

you don’t know if you liked it, but the rush of breaking something— of letting it go, just for a moment— does something to you. you’re usually much more reserved, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like the way the plate had laid victim to your throw, how it crumbled so quickly against the wall. something cracks open in your chest, just enough to let the air in. you feel lighter, in a way. still unsettled, still unsure, but alas, lighter.

billie picks up a plate that’s a little bigger than yours, ready to throw it herself. you can’t help but watch her, the way she seems so in tune with this whole mess. she doesn’t care about the mess, the chaos. she just wants the release.

you wonder what it would be like, to let go that easily. to not care about what comes after. to just be.

you want it too.

as billie throws the porcelain— the sound of it smashing against the wall echoing through the room— you can’t help but feel a flicker of something inside of you. it’s not peace. nothing of that sort. but it’s something. and maybe that’s enough for now.

the next few minutes pass in a blur of noise, motion, and broken things. billie and you are tossing objects back and forth, laughing manically as you throw things across the room, your arms feeling lighter with each smash. the tension in your body begins to ebb away, and for the first time in what feels like forever, your mind is completely empty— just the satisfying sound of glass shattering and the feeling of letting go.

billie’s face lights up with each throw, and she grins at you after each object breaks into a thousand pieces. “you’re getting the hang of it!” she shouts over the noise, her voice half-laugh, half-scream. her eyes are wild, her hair falling out of her braids as she throws another bottle, the force enough to send it flying across the room. it crashes against the wall with a satisfying thud, and she jumps, her laugh echoing.

you can’t help but laugh too, the sound a little less guarded now, a little more free. your body moves on autopilot as you pick up the next object— a ceramic mug, its chipped edges jagged in your hand. you feel the rush of adrenaline again, the beat of your heart quickening as you swing it towards the wall, flinging it as hard as you can.

crash!

the mug shatters, and for a second, you stand there, your breath coming faster than it should. the world around you is loud, but you’re starting to feel lighter, like all that tension you’ve been carrying is slowly starting to fade. billie’s right there beside you, giggling, grabbing more stuff to toss. you both keep going, throwing, screaming, until your arm aches and your throat is sore from all the yelling.

then, in the middle of a particularly wild throw, your hand brushes against a jagged piece of glass. the sharp sting of pain lances through your palm, and you gasp, pulling your hand back instinctively. the glass shard had sliced across your skin, leaving a thin but pretty deep cut.

“oh my gosh!” you scream, clutching your hand as blood starts to trickle down your fingers, crimson red dripping onto your leggings.

billie notices immediately that you’re hurt, her eyes flicking to your hand, “whoa, hey— are you okay?” she says, her voice immediately serious, her playful demeanor melting away like snow in the beaming sun as she takes a step toward you.

you nod, gritting your teeth. “y-yeah, it’s just a cut. i’ll be…i’ll be fine.”

she frowns, shaking her head, “no, c’mere and let me see.” 

before you can protest, she gently grabs your injured hand, inspecting it with a mix of concern and attentive focus. her touch is soft, and for some reason, it makes your heart race in a way that feels entirely out of place.

this wasn’t the time for that.

you take a sharp breath, the intensity of the moment settling in your chest. “it’s not that bad,” you say, trying to downplay how hurt you were, but there’s something in the way billie’s holding your hand— tender and careful— that makes the air between you two suddenly shift.

"you're really hurt," billie murmurs, her voice quieter now, and the seriousness of it hits you harder than it should. you swallow hard, your pulse picking up again, but this time it’s different—slower, deeper.

“it's just a cut,” you say again, but it comes out softer this time. billie’s gaze flickers down to your hand, then up to your face, and before you can say another word, she’s pulling herself out of the gear and tossing it onto the ground. you’re unable to even move your arm without it aching, and billie seems to understand that, so she pulls your jacket and goggles off for you, adding to the pile of her own discarded protection. 

she then pulls you out of the rage room, guiding you towards the door with her hand on your arm, another on your shoulder. you follow mindlessly feeling strangely disoriented by how close you’re standing and with the mix of pain that won’t stop shooting up your arm. 

once you’re outside, the cool night air hits you, a sharp contrast to the heat that’s inside. billie leads you over to her car, her fingers still lightly brushing against yours as she pulls open the door and motions for you to sit. you get in, still slightly stunned by how everything literally just shifted in the span of a few minutes.

billie opens the glove compartment and pulls out a first aid kit, all business now, her eyes focused as she looks at your hand, “I’m gonna patch it up, okay?” 

“okay.” you nod, feeling a strange wave of warmth flood your chest despite the discomfort in your palm. you whine as billie grabs a wipe, tearing it open with her teeth before giving you soft eyes. 

“i’m so sorry, but this shit is gonna burn.” she whispers before gently cleaning the cut, and the alcohol content makes you feel like your whole hand is splitting open. 

“i know, i know, i’m sorry.” she apologizes, wrapping a bandage around your palm slowly, sweetly, like she doesn’t want to hurt you any further. her touch is soft, her movements careful and steady, and every now and then, her fingers brush against your skin in a way that feels intentional, like she’s lingering, even if just for a second.

you’re still caught in the aftershock of the moment— of the rage room, of throwing things back and both, of the way her touch feels, of the wild energy between you. you try to focus on the sting of the cut, but your mind keeps drifting back to her, to how close you are, to the way her eyes meet yours with that subtle, knowing look.

she finishes wrapping your hand, her fingers lingering on your wrist as she looks up at you, her expression softer than you expected. “better?” she asks with a small smile, but there’s something in her gaze that makes you pause. 

“yeah…a little better…thanks.” you whisper, your voice unexpectedly shaky as you try to keep your cool, ignoring the throbbing pain that has slithered its way up your wrist. 

billie’s smile deepens as she leans closer to finish the wrap tightly, her breath warm against your cheek, “you sure you’re okay, for real?” 

you want to say yes. you want to pretend like everything’s fine, like you’re not feeling that strange flutter in your chest, the one that’s completely at odds with the chaos of previous events. but the way she’s looking at you makes it impossible to ignore. there’s an energy between you, a spark that’s been there all along, but now it’s real— too real to deny.

and then, before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning in, closing the distance between you and her, your lips finding hers in a kiss that’s sudden and full of heat. her lips are soft, and for a second, everything around you goes quiet—just the feel of her, the pressure of her mouth against yours, the warmth of her body close to yours as she presses against you. 

when the kiss breaks, your heart is racing, your skin flushed and hot. 

shit. you’re in trouble. 

billie pulls away, her eyes dark, her lips slightly parted as she looks at you, “y/n?” 

you sit up abruptly, the energy shifting immediately as you run a finger over your lips, and tears are already forming. your mind is spinning, your chest is pounding, and you can’t deal with this right now— can’t deal with the weight of it all, the electricity between you that’s starting to feel way too heavy for you to bear. without another word, you grab your things and storm out of the car, slamming the door behind you, your breath coming fast and uneven as you walk quickly, walking to somewhere, anywhere that can get you out of this situation. 

billie watches you go, calling after you, but you keep walking. your breaths come shallow and uneven as you pull out your phone. there’s only one person that can help you fix this, one person that can make a good enough cover up after the horrible thing that just took place.

you click on your contacts and hold the phone up to your ear, hoping and praying that they pick up.

you hear the line connect on the other side, and your breath hitches as you hear a deeper voice sound through the device, “hello?”

“oliver,” you breathe out, “i need your help.”

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[doginurbloodstream]

i am bive from regretevator!

i dont particularly miss the regretevator universe.. i do enjoy the game though

i know two infected fictionkins, one of which is also unpleasant gradient and poob!

id say im a 3/10, i tend to be a very rational person (i think)

bive is unlabled mspec but wlw and im aroace transmasc

my fictionkin identity doesnt really effect daily life, if at all. it has to be triggered by specific bive related things. the closest its gotten is wanting to yell out "me" whenever the npc me entered the elevator while i was playing with my friend, who does not know im a fictionkin, so there was like an awkward pause where i stopped myself, and then yelled bive. there are random bits of dysphoria i guess, i dont like talking in third person, but its mild and i can get past it.

my fictionkin experience is mainly unpleasant (gradient) unfortunately. shifts are euphoric but also stressful. i tend to have to consciously ground myself a bit, because i have felt like im being watched in the past. i knew/know i wasnt, i just couldnt shake the feeling. i mean coming up with theories for the game where i can just completely let lose is fun, however it is saddening that i will probably never come up with a real one.

death note, touch tone telephone (i was based on that song so its not surprising), and i recently realized the backrooms does too. theres more im not thinking of

im not sure, its not psychological and i think dont believe in most spiritual things. its probably a multiversal thing, but i dont know from there so i usually just say unlabeled.

i do experience shifts! they are always triggered tho, thankfully. i dont get them too often. the first two shifts i had were me being paranoid abt things (the very first one was very out of control, but i was sleep deprived and depressed at the time). the second time i talked about two questions ago. i didnt have any shifts for awhile after that until i my plushie arrived, and i stayed up quite a bit just missing mediamates. that was rough. my later shifts were triggered by trying to come up with theories for the game, altho i wasnt aware i was shifted, until later, i thought i was just excited. the theories were really unhinged, and i thought i was a genius. it was rly fun tho. harmless shift. today i had a brief shift, i was looking at a bive fictionkin stimboard, and there was like a liminal space gif + music was playing, and it looked.. all too much like the lab. i started crying a bit, even tho i do not think have kinmemories, but it ended pretty quickly cuz my friend msged me a joke and the shock value got to me lol. ive also had phantom shifts, but not much recently. i may have had tail shifts, but its difficult to differentiate between kintypes

my media is regretevator on roblox! i do cringe at it sometimes tbh.

when i see fanart, it sort of feels like it was made FOR me specifically lol. what i know abt my canon heavily aligns with the fanon designs so thats cool. when it doesnt align i do feel a bit off tho- like no, that isnt me. you got it wrong. ironically this happened with a recent canon update, when they added melanie WHO IS DEAD. she was supposed to BE dead and STAY dead. and then also, why do i welcome her back?? why am i so friendly?? i mean i get that shes like friends or smth with split, but i just dont trust her. i have no reason not to, i just dont. that is WRONG. you. NO. get OUT.

ooh ooh! i like this question. i have a large, reptile-like (but hairy) non-prehensile tail! my hands and feet are clawed, with only 4 digits. for my feet i have like thumb things coming out of my heels, similar to a bird. i likely am very similar the upcoming remodel, but i cant confirm as i have not seen it. i just know im not a roblox character, and the previews of splits remodel feel very familiar.

ah.. ships. i dont see much of them outside me n split. if i do i just think its a bit weird, and move on. i wish i was seen as more than just someone who likes her. theres more to me. the majority of bive fans are mainly spive fans. i decided to look myself up on tumblr and i was just flooded with shipart. there is MORE TO ME. I AM MORE THAN HER. PLEASE SEE ME FOR ME.

in current lore me and split have feelings for each other (cant relate, im aro, but spive is in my canon tho) and are GOING to confess but that has not happened yet. i feel kinda weird abt it since i have very mixed feelings on romance, but i think we are a thing in my canon, because MY GOD I MISS SPLIT SO MUCH. I MISS HER.

Alex's fictionkin ask game!

(mostly for fictional characters)

🌲 - what is your fictotype?

🪲 - do you miss your home? Or maybe you're happy that you're here?

🐸 - do you have any sourcemates? If yes, who/what are they?

🌳 - in scale 1-10, how are you similar to your canon?

🌿 - does your fictotype have a different sex/gender identity than your body/you?

☘️ - what aspect of life does your identity affect the most?

🪴 - is your fictionkin experience unpleasant or enjoyable for you?

🍃 - what reminds you of your fictotype? (E.g.: a figurine, a doll, a tv series)

🌄 - on what level is your identity? (E.g. spiritual, psychological, psychical)

🐢 - do you experience shifts? Of yes, how do they look like?

🥝 - what is your source?

🐛 - how do you feel about fanarts of you and fanfictions?

🌵 - do you look exactly like in your source or do you look different? If you do, then what is different?

🥀 - what do you think about ships with you?

🦕 - do you have/had a loved one in your source?

♪♪♪

So, yeah, that's all! :D

Reblog this, so the others can ask you questions or answer them all right now, if you want to :>

[x-aefx]

L O V E Billie Eilish x fem!reader

Summary: your best friend has been waiting for you to break up with your boyfriend.

No warnings

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

You had no motivation to move from your bed where you've been laying all day. Your head lay against your pillow and you held your blanket close to your body to trap the warmth it provided.

You weren't crying anymore, the sadness was bearable now, you were just tired.

Your friends and parents had all rang and texted, you kept your replies vague and short, not being in the mood to talk.

Of course there was one person that persisted despite your dry replies and obvious efforts of ending every conversation quickly. You had expected it.

Billie hated your, now, ex-boyfriend. He wasn't a bad person, Billie just didn't like him. He never mad you cry or said anything mean, he was caring and sweet. He just wasn't the person you were supposed to end up with. Billie knew this. Billie told you this.

She told you this constantly, whispered it into your ear when it was just the two of you cuddling on her couch, or when you were at the same event and she seen the two of you together.

She was your best friend, of course she wanted what was best for you.

You just didn't want to give her the satisfaction of being right. Billie made her opinions on your relationship very clear, you made your disagreement very clear also. Yet, after all that effort you spent defending your relationship, she had been right.

Did you break up with him?

Her newest text lit up the screen. You stared at it.

Billie could read you like a book.

Yes.

Was all you repsonded with. Billie replied immediately with a single word.

Good.

You could see her smirk in your mind. You could imagine her eyes trailing up your body the way they always did, her hands holding your body from behind every chance she got.

Billie made her attraction for you very clear.

She didn't ever attempt being discreet. She would wrap her arms around your waist constantly, pulling you flush against her front. She would whisper flirty remarks into your ear whenever people were around. She would joke about your friendship, hinting at how it could be something more, then disguising it as a joke.

Sighing you closed your eyes once again. Your weren't heartbroken. You had wanted to end the relationship for a while now, not seeing it going any further. Some people just don't connect and that's ok.

Your eyes grew heavy and soon you were asleep once again dreaming of your best friend.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

Billie walked into your cozy home without warning you prior. she used the spear key you had given her to open the door. It wasn't unusual for her to do this.

Knowing exactly where to find you, she walked straight upstairs, down the familiar hallway to your bedroom. Opening the door she spotted you immediately under a blanket.

Billie smiled adoringly at you.

She kicked off her shoes and left them beside the door before making her way onto your bed. She had been on this bed so many times before. She had cuddled you on this bed hundreds of times, lay asleep under the covers beside you, kissed you under the sheets when tension grew unbearable between the two of you.

Careful not to wake you up, Billie lifted the blanket and snuggled in close to you from behind, covering herself with the blanket. Her arms snaked around your waist protectively, it was by instinct at this point.

She pulled you closer to her until you were pressed up against her, like she adored. She rested her head against your shoulder and breathed in your scent, she recognised instantly the perfume she had bought you for your birthday. That made her smile.

You stirred. Your eyes slowly opened.

Once you were fully alert you felt the body pressed up against you. You felt hands around your waist and the familiar feeling of safety that surfaced whenever Billie held you.

You knew immediately it was her. Of course she would be the first person at your side when you finally broke up with your boyfriend. Of course she would be holding you extra close, wrapping her limbs around yours extra tight. Of course she had been waiting for this moment, of course she was happy in a selfish way.

"Billie." You breathed out. You twisted your body around to face her. You smiled sleepily at her, your eyes puffy from sleep.

Billie smiled back softly. "Hey, baby." Her voice was an octave lower.

"why are you here?" You giggled. it was a stupid question to ask, you knew rightly why she was here.

Billie smirked. "To celebrate."

You scoffed. "There is nothing to celebrate." You rolled your eyes playfully.

Billie had a mischievous gleam in her eye. You looked away from her when you felt your face flush.

With her hands around your waist, Billie pushed her leg between yours so that your limbs were tangled together. She rested her face in the crook of your neck, and for a second you thought she was falling asleep.

Then you felt her lips on your neck, kissing, sucking, biting. She moved from under your jaw all the way down your throat and you were sure she was leaving marks. Your head titled upwards as you gasped quietly from the sensation of your best friend kissing your skin. Your heartbeat was now speeding and loud, you were sure Billie could hear it.

Billie stopped and brought her face close to yours. Every breath she exhaled you could feel it, that was how close she was. Your lips almost touching hers.

"you have no idea how long I've waited for this moment." Billie confessed.

"i didn't realise my best friend was praying on the downfall of my relationship." Your brows raised in challenge. In reality you had known. It would be impossible not to, Billie would literally say it straight to your face.

Billie's face scrunched up in something you assumed was disgust. "We are not just best friends." She scoffed. She raised herself on her hands so she was hovering over your body that now lay flat on your back.

She brought her face down to meet yours, just as close, or closer, then it was before.

You stared down at her lips as she spoke.

"remember on my twenty first birthday, after the party, and i told you i was in love with you? I said i had been drinking and didn't actually mean it. I lied. I did mean it." Billie spoke with more sincerity now, she spoke with a kind of urgency behind her words, needing you to know that every word she was saying was true.

"when i kissed you for the first time when we were thirteen, because i wanted to see what kissing a girl was like? I only wanted to know what kissing you was like. "

Billie continued leaning in closer, now her nose was touching yours.

"I've been in love with you since we were thirteen. I have watched you be in relationships with fuckers that don't deserve you. i have watched and waited for you to realise that im the one you should be with."

You looked into Billie's blue eyes. Your fingers gently caressed her soft skin with care, brushing the hair out of her face.

Billie continued talking as she stared down at you with nothing but love.

"and now you have finally broken up with him, im not going to watch you be with someone else. Not again. I love you, y/n. I know you know this, and i know you love me too." Billie breathed out. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second from the feeling of your fingers on her skin. It was a feeling she could get addicted to.

Then you cupped her jaw with both of your hands and pulled her into a deep, meaningful kiss. Billie responded quickly. She allowed her body to fall flat against yours, laying on your front as one of her hands held your throat gently, and the other your jaw.

You kissed unlike you've ever kissed anyone else before. With a passion, want and love reserved only for her.

You broke away from the kiss but held her face close to yours. "I love you too." You whispered.

Billie grinned. Before you knew it she was pulling you on top of her body as she lay flat on her back. You squealed in surprise from the sudden movement, but then you rested your face into the crook of her neck. You were sure you were red faced and you couldn't stop smiling. You felt so giddy and had so much energy suddenly.

Billie held you tight to her, savouring the feeling of your bodies together. She couldn't stop smiling either.

"does this make us girlfriends?" You mumbled shyly with your face still hiding in her shoulder.

Billie laughed loudly, looking down at you fondly. There was love in her eyes as she looked at your body curled up into hers.

"girlfriends?" She laughed again. "Im going to make you my wife." Billie grinned smugly.

𖦹 ☼ ⋆｡˚⋆ฺ ♡

[stellamarielu]

mr. o'hara

declan o'hara x female reader

summary: in an attempt to play wing woman for your best friend, you end up with the job of distracting her father. your inability to lie and the sexual tension between you has your mouth getting into trouble in more ways than one.

content: nsfw, 18+, best friend's dad smut, mutual pining, age gap, dirty talk, blowjob, praise, thigh riding, fingering, unprotected sex, did i mention dirty talk?

author's note: nothing but 6k words of mutual pining, flirting, sexual tension and smut! I think best friend's dad!declan might just be my favorite thing to write. like taggie girl I am so sorry but I need to fuck your dad.

—————————————————

The night was coming to an end as you joined Taggie in the kitchen. You were helping her clean the massive pile of dishes that had accumulated from an evening of dinner and drinks with the venturer employees. 

Declan had somehow ended up hosting the dinner party for his company, filling the priory with music, laughter and loads of alcohol. The celebration of their newfound success was almost completely organized by his eldest daughter.

You insisted on helping Taggie with arranging the event because you knew without Maud, Declan was sure to throw a sad excuse of a party. He was thankful for the two of you and your incessant need to meddle in his life after his wife left. In this case, it meant he wouldn’t have to plan a dinner menu or worry about a guest list, and for that, he was eternally grateful. 

“Thank you again, I really couldn’t have done it without you.” Taggie was pulling you into her side as you worked next to her, scrubbing a plate in the sink. 

“Oh whatever, I barely did anything. I’m only here for the free food.” You joked, returning her embrace.

The two of you were interrupted by a deep sultry voice gushing from the doorway of the kitchen. 

“That’s the only reason I show up to these things as well.”

You didn’t even need to look over your shoulder to know who the voice belonged to. 

Rupert Campbell-Black was behind you. Clad in a perfectly fitted black suit and a white button up that was undone just enough to see the smallest bit of chest hair peeking out from underneath. he stood with that signature smirk he always wore plastered on his face. 

You could feel Taggie buzzing beside you.

It was endearing how utterly obsessed with each other they were.

You were the only person who knew about their secret romance, and you had to admit it made even you feel like a hopeless romantic. It was nearly impossible not to root for them. 

“I thought maybe you could walk me home.” His voice was tender as he took a number of steps forward, one of his hands landing on Taggie’s hip.

“Have you gone insane? Daddy would lose his mind if he found out I just waltzed out of here with you.” Her voice was filled with concern as she swatted his touch from her body.

“Taggie, c’mon. Are we really supposed to follow your dad’s orders for the rest of eternity? Live a little. I’ll deal with ‘daddy’ tomorrow.” 

You could see Rupert’s silk voice enveloping Taggie and tempting her deeper into the British man’s desires, but it wasn’t enough.

You knew her well, and a look of worry was still written on her features. She wouldn’t take what she wanted if it meant going against her father’s wishes.

“I’ll keep him distracted.” You spoke up causing both Rupert and Taggie to look to you in surprise. 

The truth is you felt bad for them. 

Having to tiptoe around Declan all the time had to be exhausting. Not to mention Taggie recently confided in you about her lack of a sex life. Her and Rupert had barely done more than some kissing and heavy petting due to the impossible challenge of getting somewhere alone together.

She longed for him, to know what it felt like to be touched by him. She was your best friend, and you owed it to her to be their wing woman. 

“I mean he’s had a few glasses of whiskey, two or three more and I can just sit him in front of the tv. he’ll probably just knock out.” You give the pair a reassuring smile as you divulge your plan to keep the nosey irishman out of their way. 

“Are you sure? I-“ Taggie begins before you interrupt her.

“Yes, now go. Sneak out the back.” You’re practically pushing them out of the kitchen catching the apologetic smile Taggie throws your way.

You hear the faint shut of the back door and you allow your body to linger in the kitchen.

standing alone for a few seconds, you soak in the calm. The home is nearly empty. It’s quiet, the only sound is the subtle murmur of music coming from the living room.

You were alone in the house with Declan.

Declan O’Hara; Taggie’s dad and part-time owner of a thriving televison station. Declan O’Hara; a powerful, somewhat mysterious man, that drew your attention more often than you would have liked to admit. 

He was so mesmerizing, everything about him intrigued you. Your hidden fascination with him had been impossible to deny from the moment you met him, and it had become quite the guilty pleasure. 

You planned to take your little crush on your best friend’s dad to the grave with you, never telling a soul and trying to remain as nonchalant around him as possible. It was always doable– pretending you felt nothing for him. Until his wife left a few months ago. 

Ever since then your obsession with him had been kicked into full gear.

He was just so obviously available; it was almost as if you felt the need to fill his loneliness deep within your bones. Seeing how he poured into work to distract himself from solitude or when he would sleep on the couch to avoid the bedroom he once shared with his ex-wife. It was heartbreaking, and a little bit tempting if you were being honest. You wanted to help him and comfort him and maybe even fuck the loneliness right out of him.

You had assured Taggie that you could distract her father, but truthfully you had no idea what your plan was.

It couldn’t be that hard right? Feed him some more alcohol and get him talking about Yeats, you could do this.

You mustered up all the courage you could manage and began your journey into the living room. 

Declan was picking up after the guests that had now long departed. Gathering empty glasses and straightening throw pillows. The radio on the mantle was playing a Fleetwood mac song that he could barely recognize yet still found himself humming along to.

In his quiet tidying his silent singing was joined with another, this hum was several octaves higher than his own and so much sweeter.

He turned to find you strolling through the entryway, humming along to the radio and finding a seat on the couch in the middle of the room. 

Declan had to fight with himself to keep from looking at your backside as you walked past him. Your dress hugged your figure perfectly, a body he had memorized over months of watching you frolic through his house in short skirts and skintight t-shirts.

You had become quite the temptress in Declan’s mind. 

He had always thought you were a beautiful young woman, but you were Taggie’s friend and nothing more. You were polite, easy to talk to, fun to have around– he was never one to mind your presence at family meals or special occasions. In fact he quite enjoyed when his daughter brought you around, he had always felt like you helped brighten their otherwise dim home with your lively personality. 

He was entertained by you– amused. However soon after Maud left; casting him aside for a new life in London, his feelings for you shifted to something a little less harmless.

It started when he saw you sunbathing in his front yard. 

You were joined by his two daughters, but he didn’t even notice. all he could do was gawk at the image of you sprawled out on a bright red pool towel in nothing but a skimpy bikini.

He had to peel his eyes from your body, reminding himself that you were only a few years older than his eldest daughter, young enough to be one of his children. Before he could rip his gaze from your bare skin, your eyes met his.

“Mr. O’Hara!” you were sat up waving in his direction, your chest bouncing ever so slightly with the movement and of course his eyes caught it.

He cursed himself at the strain in his jeans that only tightened upon hearing you call him that. Mr. O’Hara, it made you sound so innocent– so good-natured. The opposite of how Declan viewed you in that very moment, nearly naked on his front lawn. 

“Wanna join us? They say Vitamin D is good for your mental health. You know, boosting your mood and all that.” You were half yelling to ensure that he could hear you, a broad grin on your face.

Declan had never realized how cute your smile was. 

“I think I’ll have to pass on the invitation today.” He kept his voice pleasant and warm, speaking to you like he would his own children. 

“If you girls need me, I’ll be inside.” 

And with that Declan rushed to the kitchen to fix himself a glass of brandy, hoping to chase away the image of him pulling the tiny swimsuit off your body and fucking you into that cute little pool towel.

“I didn’t picture you as a Fleetwood Mac fan Mr. O’Hara.” Your voice was sugary and playful in his ears, bringing him back to the present where you were sat on his living room couch. 

“British rock band with a dicey love triangle, what’s not to like?” His own deep voice was now matching the playful tone in yours.

“And I’ve told you a hundred times to call me Declan.” He continued cleaning up the room, trying his best to act as if he wasn’t phased by your presence. 

“Did you abandon my daughter in the kitchen to come have a chat with me about Stevie Nicks?” He was joking with you, but the question about Taggie made you nervous. 

You had never been a good liar. 

“No we uh, finished the dishes. I just wanted to come see if you needed help with anything.” You were trying to keep your composure and act as natural as possible.

You were not doing a good job. Not one bit.

Maybe it was the tone of your voice or the way you stumbled over your words, but Declan was privy to your strange behavior. He stopped what he was doing and turned his body to face yours, brows furrowed.

“Why are ya actin’ weird?”

The question was filled with curiosity- hardly accusatory, but you felt your palms begin to sweat. 

“I’m not acting weird.” You countered, sitting up straight.

Declan’s eyes squinted at you in question.

“Tag!” He yelled toward the kitchen but kept his stare on you.

“Taggie!” This time his yell was much louder, and you winced at the upcoming interrogation you were sure to receive. 

Declan slowly closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath.

“Where’s Tag?” 

With his eyes still closed you could tell Declan was trying to remain relaxed, but you had a feeling he knew exactly where his daughter was.

“She went to walk Rupert home.” The words flew out of your mouth in one quiet stream. 

Declan let out an aggressively loud sigh. his eyes finally opening to meet yours, the anger palpable in the deep brown of his iris’. 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I can’t fucking trust either of them.”

He was doing his best not to yell but his voice was pushing out strong and harsh. His hands were in the air motioning in rage, still holding onto half full glasses left behind by party goers. 

“I can’t fucking stand Rupert, he knows exactly how I feel about this! I’m going down there.”

And now he was yelling.

He shoved the glasses in his hands onto the coffee table, creating another mess out of the already dirty cups. The clinking and crashing sounds only accentuating the anger exuding from him.

Just as he was turning to leave the room you jumped up off the sofa, rushing to grab his forearm. 

“Declan don’t.”

your eyes were pleading with him, he had never seen you look so desperate. It stopped him in his tracks seeing you gaze at him like that.

Why was it turning him on?

“She’s an adult. Let her make her own decisions.” Your grip on his arm was still tight, you weren’t going to let him ruin this for Taggie.

“Yeah, and he’s an adult too. almost twice her age. He shouldn’t be interested in gettin’ her alone.”

He wasn’t yelling anymore, and he also wasn’t fighting your effort to keep him from leaving the room. 

“It’s really not that big of a deal.” Your voice was calm and quiet in an attempt to deescalate the situation. 

“Well of course you would think that.”

Declan practically spit the words out, but you could tell by the wince in his eyes that he wished he hadn’t.

“and why do you say that?” You challenged, taken aback by his comment. 

You were searching your brain for the reason behind Declan’s accusation when it hit you. He had to be referring to the time you hooked up with Basil Baddington. Only you never actually hooked up with him. The two of you madeout in his parked car outside of bar sinister one time and the next day there was a nasty rumor going around that you got caught giving basil head in his brand new 86 corvette. 

You could distinctly remember later that week Declan asked if you were seeing Bas.

He never mentioned the alleged sexual act or the other heinous things people were saying about the two of you, he just asked if you were dating.

It was such a harmless and casual question, one that you answered confidently, assuring him there was absolutely nothing going on between you. “Good he’s a prick and way too old for you” was Declan’s short and sweet response.

“Oh last summer. With Bas?” You were grinning now. Almost amused that Declan was comparing your two-week fling with a man barely 10 years older than you to his daughter’s love affair with a retired Olympian. 

“First of all, he’s not even that much older than me. And second, you of all people should know nothing even happened between us. We made out and I barely felt him up through his jeans, nothing past a PG-13 rating.” You were almost laughing at the memory.

Declan felt a pang of jealousy in his chest at the mention of the younger man’s name on your lips.

“He isn’t my type anyway.” The words tumble from your mouth and you see Declan’s eyes fully soften. His gaze intently watching you. 

“Even if I am a bad influence, at least Taggie won’t be getting caught giving someone a blowjob in a tiny pretentious sports car.”

There’s a giggle in your voice and Declan closes his eyes once again, shaking his head at your words.

“Please don’t say my daughter’s name and the word blowjob in the same sentence.” He’s rubbing his temple, and you let your hold on his arm relax.

“Oh come on! It’s just sex. Blowjobs are a perfectly normal part of life.” Your sentiment is serious but there’s still a teasing tone in your voice. 

Declan can’t handle hearing such dirty things come out of your mouth.

You talking about sex was not something he had on this evening’s agenda. He didn’t think he could handle much more before he would need to excuse himself to his bedroom to relieve the tension building in his pants. Imagining it’s your lips wrapped around his cock, with the sound of your voice still echoing in his head.

You watched with a coy smile on your face as Declan’s cheeks displayed a slight hue of pink. He was looking everywhere but your eyes and it was fun to see him so flustered.

Your hand still lingered on his arm, and you realized you’d never touched him before. You had imagined it many, many times, although, those scenarios were often much raunchier– involving your hand holding something that definitely wasn’t his arm. You had fantasized about touching Declan, feeling the warmth of his skin on yours. Your heart rate quickened when you remembered the two of you were alone. 

Something about your current position coupled with the idea that it was just the two of you on your own in this big house, had you behaving in a way you barely recognized. Possessed by a craving that could only be satisfied by the man at the other end of your touch.

“When was the last time you had a woman on her knees for you?” The question left your lips quietly- a soft and smooth whisper. 

His eyes are on yours quick, but you can’t read his expression. He’s staring you down, not even attempting to open his mouth to give you an answer to your question. 

“I mean it’s had to of been months. I’m around enough to know you haven’t seen anyone since maud left and I-“ Your continuing your cross-examination when Declan’s harsh accent interrupts you. 

“Years.”

The one word is all he says. 

It takes you a minute to understand, but once you do you have to try your best to keep the shock from showing on your face.

“Years Declan?” the surprise in your voice is unmistakable.

“It’s been years since the last time someone gave you a blowjob?”

Declan just raises his eyebrows at you in defeat. There’s a hint of embarrassment in his eyes and it makes you feel sick to your stomach. 

“Maud wasn’t much of a giver.” He shrugs. 

“Lucky for her I was.” You’re glad to see the playful glimmer in his gaze as he jokes about his ex-wife.  

Declan’s words insinuate that him and Maud’s intimacy completely revolved around her pleasure.

What a selfish bitch. You think to yourself.

You had never liked Maud. The way she treated her family made you irrationally angry and this was just adding fuel to the fire. 

“That’s not fair.” Your voice is faint. 

If it wasn’t for the way your eyes were staring into his, Declan would have sworn you were talking to yourself.

“You deserve to feel good.” This time you open your mouth, and the words sound almost like a purr. 

Declan can feel his eyelids growing heavy with lust and he can’t stop himself from watching as you take your bottom lip between your teeth.

You’re biting down on the pillowy flesh and all he wants to do is replace your teeth with his, gently nipping at your skin and finally getting a taste of those pretty pink lips. 

You see Declan’s gaze fall to your lips and something in you snaps. It’s almost like you’ve lost all logical thought and replaced it with feral desire as you sink down onto your knees for the man in front of you.

Declan’s voice gets stuck in his throat as he whispers your name causing it to come out in a husky groan.

He’s completely lost in his head right now. He can’t focus on a single thing, only you kneeling beneath him. 

“What are you doin’?” He finally comes to his senses enough to string a sentence together.

“Giving you what you deserve.” You state sweetly.

He shakes his head in disagreeance but can’t form the words on his tongue to tell you to stop.

“This is wrong.” He says it but he’s making absolutely no effort to get you off your knees. 

“Let me do this for you Mr. O’Hara” You look up at him, doing your best to keep your gaze wide-eyed and innocent. Your fingertips toying with his belt buckle. 

Seeing you looking up at him through your lashes like that, using his surname in such a sensual tone– he would let you do anything you wanted to him. He had never had a woman so ready to give to him like this. You were practically salivating, so hungry and greedy to have him in your mouth, it was like something out of a wet dream. 

“Yeah, Okay.” He gives into your joint desire with a whisper of two simple words. 

The satisfied smirk on your lips as you hear him agree to the lewd act has him going weak in the knees.

He’s mentally searching his surroundings for a stable piece of furniture to grip as you undo his belt with your nimble hands.

If you keep acting so desperate to have your lips around his cock he won’t be able to stand on his own two feet.

You take your time with his belt, pulling it from the loops on his waist one by one until it finally hits the floor. 

You’re staring at the tent in his dress pants, seeing how hard he is in anticipation. The evidence of his arousal has you wet between your legs and you can’t help but lift your hand to get a feel of him through his pants. 

Your touch on him is soft but the second he feels your hand meet his concealed erection he’s sucking in a deep breath, eyes fluttering shut in shameful desire. 

You move your fingertips to the button of his pants, popping it open and trailing his zipper down at a painfully slow pace. 

Declan was doing his best to remain calm but you could hear his erratic breathing with every movement of your body beneath him.

His hands were hanging at his sides and you desperately wanted them tangled in your hair or around your neck. 

You had his underwear hooked in your grip ready to slip them, along with his pants, down to his ankles.

You looked up at him once more only to see his eyes still closed.

He wanted to look at you, to see you inches away from his cock, but he couldn’t. There was no way in hell he could stand to watch you taking his clothes off, looking at him with those pretty eyes. He would cum in his pants right away. 

He was focusing on steadying his breath as you pulled his boxers and slacks down his thighs, allowing his agonizingly hard member freedom from its constraints. 

You were now face to face with a part of Declan you thought you would only see in your dreams. You bit down on your lip again at the sight of him, bigger and even more alluring than you had imagined it to be. 

You trail your fingertips up his thigh earning a groan from the man above you.

Very gently taking his length in your hand you pump him once, then twice, wondering how on earth anyone could neglect this man of such pleasure for so long. 

It was a crime, you thought– to sleep next to Declan O’Hara every night and never give him this type of gratification. 

You leaned in to place a handful of soft kisses to his lower abdomen in a path to where he wanted your mouth most.

A quiet groan left his mouth when your lips met the base of his cock, your tongue coming into play as you traced up the length of his shaft with one long kitten lick, kissing the precum off his leaking tip.

Taking just the head of him through the threshold of your lips you decide to look up again, hoping to see a state of bliss taking over his features.

You take him deeper into your mouth and peer up at him. His stare is completely fixated on you, his mouth parted in pleasure.

When his eyes catch yours it’s game over, he doesn’t care that you’re his daughter’s best friend or that you’re nearly 20 years younger than him. The only thing he can think of is the feeling of your sweet mouth around his cock and how utterly gorgeous you look taking him like this. 

“Fuck darlin’.” He’s moaning out as you slide him deeper past your lips. 

You moan back when his hands find your hair, intertwining his fingers in it gently, careful not to grip or pull too hard.

You wouldn’t mind though.

You had imagined fucking Declan multiple times in multiple different scenarios. Many of those visions involved his rough hands gripping your neck, slapping your ass, and pulling your hair.

You needed him in every way possible and you wanted him to know he could use you however he pleased. 

You kept a slow pace as you continuously enveloped him in the warmth of your mouth. In and out.

The attention of your lips is on the head of his cock when you bring a hand up to wrap around the rest of him, your mouth and fingers working together. You feel his body shutter and for a second you think he might lose his balance. 

“Christ that’s good.” His voice falls on your ears in a throaty moan.

“So good for me like that darlin’.” 

His words are driving you to a place of overwhelming carnality.

In that moment you felt as though your one and only purpose in life was to be on your knees for Declan O’Hara. You were determined to show him exactly what he’d been missing all those years. 

“Touch yourself.” His voice is no longer a moan, instead it’s strong and stern. 

You pause your movements for just a second to process his command.

Here you sat thinking you were the one with all the filthy thoughts, but Declan’s brain must have been equally as corrupt.

He was asking to see you touch yourself for him– to see you get off with his dick in your mouth.

And it just might have been the hottest thing anyone had ever said to you.

Without so much as a second thought, you were hiking your already short dress further up your thighs until you were able to easily reach underneath. Slipping the silk material of your underwear to the side, your index finger found your clit circling it lazily as you continued to focus on Declan’s pleasure. 

“Good girl.” Declan praised and you could hear the faint smirk in his voice. 

He had wanted to call you that earlier in the night when he watched you bend over his dining room table. Helping to clear dirty dishes, leaning over to grab a plate with your short dress riding up far enough to send Declan into cardiac arrest. You were just trying to help, to be a good girl, so sweet and innocent not even realizing how dirty you really were. 

The sight in front of him now was far more arousing. You bowing in front of him, immersed in his gratification with your own hand hiding between your legs. He didn’t want to admit how close he was at the sight alone. That’s not even to mention how good it felt.

It had been so long since anyone touched him like this, it was a near out of body experience. The hug of your wet lips mixed with the smooth strokes of your hand had profanities dripping from his tongue. 

With every sound that slipped from Declan’s lips your fingers worked faster at the growing pleasure between your legs. Your pace quickened on Declan as well and you immediately felt his grasp on your hair tighten. 

He was dangerously close to spilling into your mouth. He was trying to pay attention to his breathing and steady his mind.

He wanted so badly for this feeling to last forever but the fire within him was all consuming and he knew he had to stop you soon or the fun would be over before it had even begun. 

He uses his hold in your hair to guide you off of him. Your hand is still buried underneath your dress and your hair messy from his hands. Your lips are plump and you have the cutest look of confusion and frustration on your face. Declan almost pushed you right back onto him at the look in your eyes, but he refrained. 

“Stand up.” He was enjoying ordering you around more than he could have ever anticipated. 

You stood slightly irritated. How rude of him to not let you finish the job you were working so beautifully at.

You had barely any time to be disappointed because as soon as you’re on your feet Declan is pulling you into a frenzied kiss.

It’s frantic, it’s turbulent, it’s sloppy. the kiss is raw and impassioned and you’re both lost in each other’s taste.

He broke the newfound connection of lips to reach under the hem of your dress. Finding the thin material of your panties and yanking them down your legs freeing your body of the wet and ruined clothing. 

With his lips back on yours, he took a few steps backward brining you with him.

Once his body finds the living room couch, he’s sat, drawing you onto his lap.

You were falling onto him straddling one of his thighs as you continued assaulting his mouth with your own. You enjoyed the slight dominance you held in this position. 

His kiss found its way to your exposed neck placing the most delicious wet touches on your skin.

You felt his hands grab your waist on either side pulling your body down to sit completely on his bare thigh. Your exposed core met the pure muscle of Declan’s leg and you both made equally lewd sounds of delight. 

“Tell me,” Declan begins to speak but his voice is strained in excitement at the feeling of your wet cunt against his thigh. 

“do you walk around my house in those tiny little’ skirts just to torture me.” 

He’s smirking at you as he uses his hold on your hips to guide you, pulling you back and forth against him. 

You’re in a trance at the delicious friction of him beneath you, all you can do is nod your head at his words, that innocent expression still in your eyes. 

He’s going to go insane if you keep looking at him like that.  

Your following his lead and grinding against his thigh shamelessly.

Declan’s using the dress that’s now bunched at your waist as leverage, griping at the material to influence your movements.

His eyes fall between the two of you, watching you use yourself on him. You’re letting sighs and whimpers fall from your mouth as your arousal slides continuously over the thickest part of his leg.

You catch his cock twitch out of the corner of your eye and all you want to do is maneuver your body so your sitting on it instead of his thigh. 

You reach down, wrapping your hand around his member once again.

“Declan, please.”

Your begging to be on his cock at this point.

He can’t deny how much he loves hearing you beg for him. He’s ready to pull you down onto his length the second he hears your eager little whimper. 

“Never knew you’d be so needy darlin’.”

He’s using his hold on your hips to lift you enough for you to subtly switch positions. You’re now straddling his entire lap, your center only inches away from meeting his. 

“Would’ve done this a long time ago.”

His voice is raspy as he brings his hand between your legs. 

Declan’s pointer finger finds your entrance and eases it’s way inside of you, causing a moan to spill from your throat. 

“Declan…” His name falls from your lips, but he could tell his fingers weren’t what you wanted filling you. 

“Beg for it.” He whispers between you, smiling like a pussy-drunk idiot. 

His finger is curling into your walls hitting just the right spot, but you want his cock stretching you out and filling you up. 

“Please” You’re asking him in the sweetest tone you can muster.

You still have a slight hold of his length, and you begin stroking it at a painfully slow pace. 

“God I want this so badly.” Your confession is breathless.

“I think about it all of the time.” You continue making sure to give him your best doe-eyes. 

That was it, he couldn’t take it anymore. You were too sweet, too perfect. He had been obsessed with you for months; watching you, thinking about you. He didn’t give a fuck how wrong it was– he needed you. 

In an instant his fingers were gone from your core and his hold was back on your hips, sinking you down onto him. 

You could feel his tip meeting your opening and you whined out in anticipation. The noise causing Declan to thrust into you, filling you with one deep push. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from squealing from the stinging pleasure. 

He waited a moment, allowing you to adjust to his size and giving himself a second to steady his breath. 

“This,” He spoke in a grunt as he fucked up into you again.

“Is all I think about every time I see you in my house.”

His voice is spreading warmth through your body as his thrusts ignite a fire in your abdomen. 

“You don’t even have to try. You’re just always so enticing.” The words coming from his mouth are intoxicating.

You’re swimming in a pool of ecstasy at his confessions. 

“I can’t get enough.” He’s panting as his thrusts pick up their pace.

You’re grinding down onto him meeting each of his thrusts with a wet squelch, taking him deeper with each movement. The way he’s stretching you open has you clenching around him. 

You lock your hands behind his neck leaning on his shoulders for some kind of control as you feel your body beginning to go limp.

The pressure building in you is almost too much to bear and it becomes even more difficult when Declan meets your exposed chest with open mouthed kisses. He’s licking and sucking at your skin greedily, causing your head to fall to the side in pleasure. 

“So pretty.” Declan is murmuring into your skin.

Your movements mixed with his are perfectly timed and hitting just the perfect spot.

Maybe it’s the fact that you were already soaked long before you had his dick in your mouth, or maybe it was because you had been dreaming of this exact moment for a long time– either way, you were close. Really close. Your walls were desperately squeezing Declan’s cock as it slid in and out of you, your chest heaving under his kisses. 

“C’mon darlin’.”

It’s Declan’s turn to look up at you through his lashes and the sight has you going feral. The tightening in your core finally letting loose. 

“Let go for me.” 

With his words you’re a whimpering, moaning mess. Your movements halt and your body tenses as you push through your release. 

Your pulsating embrace around him has Declan following your lead.

He’s holding your hips in place and bucking into you at a fierce pace. Plunging deep, fucking you right through your orgasm. It’s taking everything in you not to scream out in blinding pleasure.

Then he grows sloppy as he lets his own release take over him. 

He finishes with a string of moans that sound like music to your ears, and you think you might cum again just from the noises he’s making as he comes undone.  

You’re sat on him, both of you catching your breath, your eyes are locked on one another. Neither of you can look away.

There was a shared energy between you. Maybe guilt or shame– or perhaps triumph. 

You couldn’t help but remember the reason you were in this position in the first place.

Taggie.

She would be so disappointed in you but even more upset with her father if she knew what just took place. 

She couldn’t be too angry though. You did exactly what you said you’d do– distract him. 

Watching the man sitting beneath you struggling to steady his breath was a sign that you had done a pretty good job at your task of helping Taggie escape for the night.

You could only hope she’d had half as much fun as you did. 

my masterlist

[treatbuckywkisses]

this took me WAY too long to read and it's nobody's fault but my own

Fifth upon a time (I'm sad this is not ringy at all)

"She gave you about an hour before the hatch in the floor boards opened, even though for you, it was much longer. She didn’t know that, though. You sat very still, your breath finally silent again. Maybe she didn’t know you were in here." - THAT IS SO SAD WHAT THE FUCK I DID NOT EXPECT SADNESS IMMEDIATELY 

some real life good advice from strange ??? Where am I rn 😲 

SHUT UP HE GOT COFFEE 😭🥹

""You know me, doc," you answer, letting the power crackle again ever so slightly. It’s a thrill, getting to feel it again. "Careful’s basically my middle name."" - LIAR LIAR IM EXCITED SHES PLOTTING SOMETHING 

""What are you doing?" He doesn’t sound annoyed at all; more entertained. You take a step back, assessing, but his face doesn’t betray him whatsoever. " WE'VE BEEN MADE 😭

"Oh, you hate this. " - this interaction feels flirty and I'm ready to start yelling 

STOP BRINGING UP THE FLOOR DAMNIT IT HURTS 

"But you stop talking, because he’s already taking a tentative nip of yor drink, and then he licks his lips. And they curl slightly upwards." - this has me so soft ??? He likes her coffee order I'm so ?????????? UGH ?? HE LIKES HER FUCKING CODFEE BRO

"And then you realize what’s really happening, and the world chokes, like something falling into place." - I am the world and I am choking up .

GOD THE WAY THEY LOOK AT EACH ITHER AND YALK FO EACH ITHER UOU ARE SO BAD IM SO HSHSKSHAKHS AND YOU FUCKING MSDE THEM HOLD HANDS OHMYHFO ARE YOU JOKING RIGHT NOW 

"You’re going to fix this mess you’ve created, if it’s the last thing you do." - this is slightly worrisome (I'm scared of you)

LITERAL CHILLS for the whole ending sequence my God do you know how to write 😍 you're insane I hate this story 

How do you have me so emotional with some grand idea and some click clacking on a keyboard you have such talent i want to scream forever about

time after time [5]

series summary: After what starts out as a fairly normal mission, you find yourself stuck in a time loop. Which would already be bad enough in itself if it didn’t also mean having to watch Bucky die over and over again.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

word count: 10.9k

chapter warnings: nothing except the usual ones; another panic attack near the end; the riveting resolution of the coffee side quest? please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: after my week of technical difficulties (got shadowbanned, had a breakdown, bon appétit), this chapter finally made it to tumblr as well. thank you so much to everyone who reached out, it's meant more than you know!! <3 this one starts out fairly harmless and then i threw some punches again and for that i apologise

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

five: carousel

The first mission they took you on was nothing short of a disaster.

It should have been simple, was simple, a quick extraction to get a microchip from this decimated group of criminals operating out of an abandoned toy store that Nat had discovered through one of her contacts. You were only supposed to tag along to get a feeling for being out in the field, an additional pair of eyes just in case things went south.

Did they ever.

Not only was the chip accidentally destroyed, your ensuing panic got you stuck for a good twenty minutes until the world started spinning again. Steve fell down a full flight of stairs when you reappeared out of thin air next to him the moment it did.

Needless to say, you went into hiding as soon as you got back to the Compound.

She gave you about an hour before the hatch in the floor boards opened, even though for you, it was much longer. She didn’t know that, though. You sat very still, your breath finally silent again. Maybe she didn’t know you were in here.

"I know you’re up here, Y/N."

You pulled the cape off your head with a sigh. Natasha grimaced.

"Don’t do that, I’m not talking to a floating head," she said with a shudder. "You know how weird that is?"

You huffed and let her pull the fabric into her lap, watching your own limbs reappear, your arms hugged around your knees. She sat down next to you, leaning against the wall with her eyes closed. You watched a spider scatter away from you.

"How did you even find me?" you asked quietly after she made no further attempts to speak to you.

"My sister had a similar hiding spot when we were little." You could hear the smile in her voice as she said it. "And you kicked up quite a bit of dust."

She didn’t elaborate on either of those things and you didn’t ask, even though you wanted to. Anything that could get your mind off what happened.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Yeah," you said dryly. "That’s why I’m sitting in the supply closet."

"That’s exactly what I told Steve." Your face fell again, but hers didn’t. "He’s alright. Or he will be, once he forgives me for laughing at him for five minutes."

That didn’t make you feel any better. "I fucked up today," you said softly, your voice still rough.

"You didn’t do anything wrong."

"I did, though. I literally froze as soon as things went wrong, and the chip—"

"Is expendable," Natasha interrupted calmly.

You shook your head. "I only mess everything up for you guys. I’m not a real agent, and my powers just make things worse, and I should just—"

"Do you realize that this thing you were given can be a gift?" You cringed and started turning away, but Natasha reached out for you, a gentle hand on your arm. "I mean it. You think every time you’re unable to use your powers is your personal failure, but you don’t see how every time you are able to use them is precious."

There was a delicate hue to her green eyes, a weariness that was visible even in the dim light of the closet. For the first time, you had the feeling she let you see something she usually wouldn’t.

"Our lives … they’re hard," she went on. "Unpredictable. We live on borrowed time. And you get to have more of it. That’s …" You waited for the words you’d heard before. Invaluable. Instrumental. Priceless. "Beautiful."

You swallowed hard. "Is that why you took me on? For the team?"

Nat looked at you for so long you were almost sure she wasn’t going to answer your question. Then, she said, "I took you on because you needed a reason to get up in the morning."

You stared at her, your nails digging into the palm of your hand until it hurt more than the ache in your chest. Natasha kept looking at you as she continued.

"I lost a lot of people over the years, you know. But never like this. Never this many at once. Something like that …" She trailed off, her eyes wet. "The entire planet was grieving and struggling and blaming us, because at that point hardly anyone understood any of it apart from the fact that the Avengers were involved. And then one day, out of nowhere, a letter materialized on our doorstep, and the security cameras didn’t show a thing." Her grip on your arm tightened, as if she needed to steady herself. "Do you remember what you wrote?"

I’m sorry for your loss.

You’d struggled to put it down for days, because how else could you apologize for something you might have been able to prevent had you only been there instead of hiding? In the end, you’d only added your name and the address of that diner in Brooklyn where you picked up a few shifts after their waitress had been blipped.

You’d gotten a call less than twenty-four hours later.

"You were the first person to say that," Nat continued, because she could see the memories flit across your face as easily as others watched a movie. "And yet, when you got here, you looked as guilty as if you’d personally murdered every single one of the Vanished."

"Well, if I’d been with you—"

"Stop it." For the first time, her voice was sharp. Your mouth fell closed. "We’re all trying to do better, right?"

You could only nod.

"That’s all anybody here is ever going to ask of you. And sometimes 'better' is just getting one hell of a kick in during a mission. Don’t think I didn’t see that."

You smiled ever so slightly. "I have a pretty good teacher."

"Yeah, you do." She shoved your shoulder lightly. "You can’t do more than show up and do your best, honey."

"My best looks like a dead possum next to yours."

"Then stop looking at me." Natasha got up to her feet slowly, patting you on the knee when she did. "Unless it’s for a post mission wind down because I have a movie queued up and I know where Steve hid the cookies."

"Can I have my cape back?"

"Nope." She folded it up with the green side out, letting it hang loosely over her arm. "You’re supposed to use it to hide from your enemies, not your friends."

You didn’t attempt to argue further, warmth rising to your cheeks.

"Nat?" She turned again, halfway down the hatch, caught by the emotion in your voice. "Thank you."

Her smile told you that, as always, she understood.

*****

There simply isn’t a world in which you can do this even one more time. It’s too much.

"You need to sort out your priorities," Sam says, zero sympathy in his voice. Bucky has the audacity to look amused.

"I’m serious," you say, looking between the two of them. "My day is bad enough already. I don’t care where we order, but it’s not going to be Italian unless you want me to puke on your cat."

Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve eaten your way through the entirety of your pizza place’s menu. If you have to smell the rank cheese Sam likes to order one more time, you can’t be held responsible for your actions.

"How about sushi?" Bucky says, and you almost start protesting out of habit before you realize that for once, he’s not arguing your side. You turn to Sam with an expectant grin.

"Fine," he grunts, shaking Alpine off his trouser leg as gently as he can while his nose twitches. "I guess Russian Doll has the right to choose his last meal."

Bucky frowns at him, but you gasp in delight. "Are you finally joining us in dark humor land, Sammy?"

He flips you off wordlessly as he leaves the room and you chuckle to yourself, pulling up the sushi menu on your phone. Alpine starts nibbling on the bandage around your foot that’s stretched out on the couch and you wiggle your toes a bit. It seems to entertain her.

"What," you ask when the staring becomes unbearable.

"Nothing."

When you lift your gaze to meet Bucky’s, his jaw is clenched again, his eyes fixed on you with a distant expression in them. You tilt your head, and he lowers his.

"So what’s the plan?"

You send your part of the order to FRIDAY and put your phone to the side. "I have to get back to Strange to figure out how to stop this loop from happening again."

You’ve almost felt sorry to see your series of library heists break, even though you have no reason to feel his way. This is progress. Strange’s offer to help has been genuine enough so far, even though you hate paying him in answers.

Now that he’s not deliberately keeping you out anymore, getting to the astral plane has been a lot easier, at least, even though emptying your mind enough to cross over without a prior emotional breakdown has still proven somewhat difficult. Weirdly, it’s easiest on the couch.

Bucky nods shortly. "And what do I do?"

"Whatever you want."

He scoffs. "Right."

It makes your insides twist. "Bucky, as much as I hope that today is the last time we’re doing this, I can’t guarantee it. So you should just, I don’t know, enjoy yourself." You cringe even as you say it.

"I wanna come see Strange."

You blink, watching him clench and unclench his fists slowly, deliberating. The golden parts of his arm gleam in the sunlight. "Why?"

His voice, when he speaks, sounds haunted. "I can’t just sit around and do nothing."

Something in his voice sticks with you as you lie down on the couch and stare up at the ceiling. You’re not even sure if what he’s asking is possible.

"No, it’s not," Strange says bluntly. "Not as long as you’re in the loop."

"Why not?"

"Stop asking questions and focus."

With a roll of your eyes, you raise up your arms again. So far, you’ve spent most of your so-called lessons trying to make sense of the cryptic texts Strange makes you read and then summarize like you’re in fifth grade. If you’re not doing that, you’re talking him through the events of your July 4th, or explaining your powers to the best of your abilities, going through the motions and habits you’ve taught yourself over the years. It all feels like you’re revealing something very personal for someone else to judge.

You don’t care much for any of it.

"Again."

"Is this supposed to teach me something new?" you ask, turning your thumb and first two fingers upwards again while your other hand balls into a fist by your side.Threads of sunlight glittering like spun gold. You take a breath and shake your head.

"Do you feel anything?"

Annoyance. You bite your tongue and reach out, carefully, like you would to a scared animal, searching for that old familiar feeling.

It takes a while.

Dim, at first, but clearly there, vibrating deep in your veins, hesitantly stumbling towards your hands like it was suprised, too, to be called upon again. Softly glowing embers slowly filling the void you’ve grown so hopelessly accustomed to.

You open your eyes to find the tiniest green spark dancing across your fingertips and almost laugh in relief.

"Interesting," Strange says.

You flick your fingers softly, once, twice, letting the spec of power grow until it’s the size of a pinhead, cradling it softly with your other hand as if to protect it from a gust of wind. Slowly, bit by bit, it settles back into your skin, and you feel it tingling all the way up to your ears.

Strange contemplates you for a long moment. "When did you get that cut?" he finally asks.

At this point, you should be used to his unfazedness. "Yesterday," you say, the 'obviously' clinging to every syllable. Riff was putting up a better fight than usual; or maybe you’re getting sloppy again.

Strange moves his right hand in that circular motion you’ve seen him do before, and the air in front of you cracks. It’s weird to see your own slightly translucent reflection suspended in the middle of your room. The gash on your cheek has barely had the chance to scab. You subconsciously reach for your necklace again.

"Look at the wound, and hold your hands like this."

You try and mimic Strange’s gesture. "I feel ridiculous." Like a mime. Or a really bad stage magician.

"Good," he says. "Now focus your powers, and follow my lead."

You watch Strange move his shaky hands out of the corner of your eye while trying to concentrate on that little spec of power you’ve felt earlier. Slowly, itchingly, the wound starts knitting itself together, as if it’s been healing for days. The skin smoothes over as if nothing had ever happened.

A rush of excitement goes through you at the sight, and there’s a stutter. With a flash of pain, the cut tears up again and you flinch, your hands falling.

"Fuck."

"I told you to focus."

"Well, if only saying it made it happen," you snap, then try again. This time, you let go of your power more carefully, almost coaxing it down. The gash doesn’t heal completely, but at least it looks better than what you started with. Strange watches you closely, brow furrowed deeply in thought.

"Let’s try something different," he says, and with another flick of his wrist, the mirror vanishes again. "Sit down."

You bristle at the command, but obey. A sidelong glance confirms that your sleeping body’s cut on the cheek has somewhat improved as well. There seems to be something connecting the two of you after all.

"When is this here, anyway?" you ask.

Once again, he doesn’t give you an answer. With another quick movement he grabs something through a small portal and throws it at you without any regard to your reflexes. You grab it off the bed incredulously.

"That’s … a meditation CD."

"Congratulations," Strange says. "You can read."

"You’re not serious."

"Deadly." He unfastens his cloak, which flies over to drape itself over the reading chair like a blanket, and then joins you on the floor, crossing his legs as well. It’s bizarrely casual. "If you don’t learn to focus," he continues, "there’s no moving forward from this point."

You huff, holding the CD out for him to take back. He doesn’t. "I’ve tried meditation," you say impatiently. "It doesn’t work for me. My mind—it doesn’t work for me."

"Your mind what?"

"It’s too loud."

You put the CD on the ground with a little too much force, moving to twist your rings around again, but they’re still absent. Your nails dig into your skin, instead.

"Did you know I don’t really forget stuff? Did I tell you that?" You laugh humorlessly, because what else can you do. "Fun side effect of the traveling back and forth through time. I always know where I’ve been and what I’ve done, and what everyone else has done while I was there. All that information is in my head, all the time, and I can’t get rid of it."

"All the more reason to have it quiet down every once in a while," Strange says calmly.

You want to strangle him.

"Believe me, I’d love nothing more, but I can’t. It’s not like I’m a computer and you can do the whole 'Hello, this is IT, have you tried turning it off and on again?' It doesn’t work like that."

"You do know a lot about how things don’t work."

"Welcome to my world," you mutter, flexing your fingers and crossing your arms before you draw blood.

Strange sighs. "Your mind isn’t a hard drive. No matter what your powers entail, your brain is still human. And it needs to rest every once in a while."

For some reason, in the middle of this whole crazy situation, that thought settles. Maybe it’s because it’s possibly the first genuinely kind sentiment he’s shown you so far. Maybe you’re just tired of pushing.

"How?" It’s more a croak than a question.

"Just stay like that and breathe." You look at him incredulously and he raises an eyebrow. "What? No one said you have to think nothing. It’s fine if you just sit there with your thoughts."

There’s a short pause. "That sounds terrifying," you admit quietly.

Strange considers you for a long moment, as if he’s contemplating what to say, until he finally admits, "I know."

***

You blink awake slowly this time, as if gradually awakening from a deep sleep. The TV is on again, quietly chattering in the background, and a weight on your legs tells you that Alpine has found a new spot again.

A glance at your phone shows that surprisingly little time has passed. When you sit up, the white cat on top of you complaining loudly, you can see Sam leaning against the kitchen counter, laptop closed, talking to Sarah on the phone.

The fact that you’re not alone quite yet is weirdly comforting.

In a moment of sleepy contentment, you reach out to scratch Alpine under the chin like you’ve seen Bucky do countless times. Curiously, she lets you without immediately extending her claws. At least for a moment.

"You’re awake."

Immediately, Alpine loses interest in you and jumps onto the backrest of the couch to nestle her head into Bucky’s palm. You roll your eyes.

"Keen observation, sarge."

He slowly peels his gloves off, not quite looking at you. "What did he say?"

Right. There was that.

"Nothing, to be honest," you say, folding up the throw blanket Sam must have put over you while you were sleeping. "Apart from the fact that he really can’t actually do as much as one would think."

"Can’t, or doesn’t want to?"

You shrug. "Same difference."

Despite everything, somehow you feel inclined to believe that there really isn’t a way to get Bucky to the astral plane, though. After all, things haven’t been normal ever since this loop began; and since you’re the only one who can lift it, maybe that also means you’re the only one who can do things like that.

You can only hope that at some point, something—anything—you do is going to stick.

Bucky studies your face, but doesn’t tell you whatever is still clearly gnawing at him. You don’t know why for a moment, you thought he would.

It reminds you of something you haven’t asked in a while.

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

His mouth opens, but he doesn’t speak immediately. "Like what?"

"It’s just …" You struggle with the words, as if your mind is still half-asleep. "In some of the loops, it was kind of …" You trail off when you notice he’s holding something in his other hand. "Did you go get coffee again?"

Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah. I thought since you didn’t get one earlier, ya know …"

You’ve stopped getting caffeinated drinks for yourself in the mornings to make it easier to get to that voidlike state you need to be in to enter the astral plane. It’s been making you rather irritable; though, truth be told, that might also be due to Strange’s charming personality.

"That’s nice," you say, reaching for the paper cup with your name on it, taking a sniff before tasting it carefully. It’s perfect. "I should change my habits," you say lightly, "if Lucy knows my order even if I don’t pick it up myself."

"Who’s Lucy?" Bucky says, sitting down on the couch next to you.

You stop yourself from rolling your eyes. "The pretty one on register? Stars and stripes on her cheeks?" He hums noncommittantly and you decide it’s not worth the effort. "What did you get?" you ask with a nod to the second cup.

"Just … coffee."

You squint to read the sticker, but he puts his fingers over it in a motion so smooth it almost hides its defensiveness. There’s the slightest hint of a grin on his face as you scowl, trying to catch his sleeve to get him to twist the writing back in your direction. Your thumb grazes cool metal and you still. Bucky does, too.

"Did she actually give you her number?"

Your laugh comes out through your nose, somehow, as if it’s not much more than a breath. The expression on Bucky’s face doesn’t quite fit his widening grin, or the slight tinge of pink on his cheeks, but you couldn’t say why.

"So?" he says. Alpine stares at you accusingly, settling in his lap once more.

"Nothing!" It comes out quickly. "I’m not surprised. I mean, she thinks you’re hot."

His eyebrow quirks. "Does she, now?"

You take a gulp of coffee so large it makes your eyes water. "Her shift’s probably over by now. You should call her."

"Why," Bucky says wryly.

"To take her out." Should you be weirded out by the fact that this is happening as soon as Bucky entered the store without you? You tug at the ring on your pinkie.

"Why do you want me to take her out if I’m gonna die later?" Bucky asks.

"Well, it might take your edge off for one."

"And why does my edge concern you?"

"Have you met yourself?" You shrug, your ears drumming. "Besides, it might be fun."

He doesn’t look at you as he takes a sip from his own coffee, as if still determined not to let you see his reaction. "You have a strange definition of fun."

Alpine yawns as if to agree. You stand up abruptly, suddenly nauseated from drinking too fast.

"I’m just gonna …"

Again, you don’t finish your sentence, and Bucky doesn’t stop you from grabbing your takeout containers and taking them with you to your room, where you stare at the toilet for a good minute, waiting for the queasiness to pass. Your meet your own gaze in the mirror.

The cut on your face looks better than it did a few hours ago.

You walk back into your bedroom and take a critical look at your bookcase.The Wind in the Willows is back in its place where it belongs. What isn’t there is the CD Strange finally managed to force upon you.

The rules of this multiverse crap are going to give you another migraine on top of your current one.

You sit down on the floor next to your window to eat, but your cheek keeps itching until you notice yourself tapping your chopsticks against the plastic container so hard soy sauce is splashing everywhere. With a displeased twitch of your mouth, you reach for your phone.

It rings for a very long time and you realize it’s already past midnight in Seoul when finally, there’s a voice on the other end.

"This better be good, agent Y/L/N."

Her voice is quiet, tired, and you press the phone to your ear even harder. "Can I ask you a hypothetical question?"

Doctor Helen Cho sighs deeply on the other end of the line, and you can almost picture her leaning back in her ergonomic office chair. "Alright."

You toy with the edges of the building scab on your cheek. "Is it possible for someone to go through physical changes and … not go through them at the same time?"

There’s a pause on the other end, followed by a sigh. "Are you asking me if Schrödinger’s cat is real or not?"

A living being that simultaneously is and isn’t dead? That’s a paradox you have an answer for.

The problem, as always, is you.

"Sort of. I don’t know." You bite your lip.

"You realize quantum mechanics is not exactly my specialty, right?" Even while she says that, you can hear the clicking of her keyboard. "You are talking about a body, I presume. A human one?"

"Mhm."

"And the changes?"

You think of the cut and the writing and Bucky’s blood on your sheets. And your changed clothes. "They’re only to the body itself. Everything around stays the same. Pretty much like Schrödinger’s cat, I guess. Nothing about the box changes." Ever.

There’s another pause before Helen speaks again.

"Look, as far as I know—and with all these new and upcoming aliens and superheroes and so on that have been appearing over the past couple of years that’s less and less, mind you—but as far as I know, humans can only be in one state at one particular time. There’s ways to accelerate healing processes or even meddle with the body in other ways, but it’s still an either–or scenario."

"So, it’s impossible?" you ask, biting your cheek.

"It’s improbable, based on what I understand." Time has definitely started to bleed into itself, then. Great. "But like I said, that’s not really my area of expertise," she continues. "Speaking of, though, I got an e-mail from your new captain earlier."

"You did?" you ask, surprised. Sam hasn’t said anything to you, not today or any other iteration of it.

"You can tell him I’m hearing the same things he has," Helen says. "My lab wasn’t approached, but I have a colleague at a partner institution who left for Madripoor a couple of weeks ago."

You’ve barely thought about ULTIMATUM and their experiments since you laid everything out for Sam and Bucky earlier this morning. Another wave of guilt flashes through you.

"I’ll tell him," you say tonelessly. "Thanks, Helen."

"In this hypothetical of yours," Helen says before you can hang up. "Who’s the observing party?"

You watch the green symbols circle around your wrist, once, twice, three times. "I’m not sure yet."

You stare at them for a while longer after the call disconnects.

"There’s nothing to observe when the flow of time is reduced to a single day," Strange says when you relay the question to him the next day, his voice dripping with annoyance.

"So there would be, usually?" you ask, eyes narrowing as you try to channel the flow of your powers into the palm of your hand, like he’s told you.

"It’s not a perfect comparison," he answers. "The cat is only dead or not because time passes. Time is only our way of perceiving space dimensionally."

"Time and relative dimension in space," you hum with a light smile. Your palm starts tingling. "But if it’s not that, either, then … I still feel like there has to be something I’m missing here."

Every single review of the mission fills in another piece of the puzzle, the map of the lab you draw on the whiteboard growing more and more detailed each day, but still, it’s never enough. You miss the way Steve would draw out detailed building plans and escape routes before any mission, such ease to the stroke of his pen; your own talent for drawing is borderline abysmal by comparison.

The green shimmer around your hand dissipates again. Strange groans, fingers massaging his temple like he, too, is getting a headache from this stupid realm. His cloak wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead.

"What you’re missing," he says through gritted teeth, "is the point of this exercise."

"Enlighten me," you snap back.

You watch him take a deep breath before he answers. "Do you, or do you not realize that this isn’t all about you?"

You huff. "If you say something like this is the universe imparting a message upon me, I got that point. The message is that I suck at what I’m doing."

"If that’s the message, then how come you’re not the one who’s really getting knocked around every single day?"

The anger and remorse that wash over you make your power flare up like a bolt of electricity, your fingertips and the dark of your eyes flashing an eery shade of green. You can feel the little hairs in the back of your neck stand up. Strange only looks at you, his expression unexpectedly somber.

"At least he doesn’t remember," you say tonelessly.

Strange smiles, but there’s no joy in it. "Indeed," he says.

The rush ebbs off, bit by bit, and you blink to get rid of the last of the strange double vision you sometimes get when time stutters again.

"You keep telling a man he will die today because you think that’s best for him," Strange goes on. "Better than him getting to choose his own path. Have you ever paid attention to how he spends his last precious hours once he knows?"

Of course you have. Sitting around in the Tower, going over mission plans again and again. Getting coffee. Lurking in doorways, leaning against walls, thinking, talking, looking.

It’s all time spent with you, and Sam, and Alpine.

It’s weird that you shouldn’t have realized this fact when in the beginning, you kept wondering about the time he came back to the Tower. Because before you’ve started telling him, Bucky always left.

Maybe that’s what you’re missing.

"Careful," Strange says, noticing your change in expression.

"You know me, doc," you answer, letting the power crackle again ever so slightly. It’s a thrill, getting to feel it again. "Careful’s basically my middle name."

***

"Doesn’t matter," Bucky says when you ask him what he’d be up to if you hadn’t told him about the loop.

"Oh no, leave me out of this. That’s his thing," Sam says when you ask him about the whole thing, and he so clearly knows what it is and yet refuses to tell you.

"None of your business," Bucky says when you press the matter, his jaw clenched tightly, and you hate to do this, but you don’t exactly have limitless options here. Besides, it’s the first new idea you’ve had in a while, which means there’s an almost moral obligation for you to go through with it. And still.

This feels wrong, you think when Sam comes to knock at your door and you throw on your gym clothes, pulling the sweatband over your wrist tightly.

This feels wrong, you think when you climb into the ring as if nothing had ever happened, as if this was just a normal day. Your side is still a little sore, but you’re able to play it off as a scratch with ease. How would he know to call you out on it?

This feels wrong, you think when you close your eyes as you lie on the mat and wait. You promised.

"You look like shit."

Your head turns like muscle memory. "Hey."

"Hi." Bucky’s eyebrow raises at your silence, but you’re not sure if the words aren’t just going to come bursting out of you. You have a tell. "You alright?"

Your grin tastes just a little bitter. "Why wouldn’t I be?"

"Right." He doesn’t quite believe you, of course, but it’s fine. You can do this.

You turn your gaze back to the ceiling and try to recall the very first July 4th, the version of you that you were. She resists you slipping her back on, but you take another deep breath, just like you’ve been practicing. A chuckle slips free.

"Fuck you, Barnes."

Your heart is still beating fast in your chest, but he must chalk it off to the training, because you can hear him huff. "There she is."

You close your eyes with a petulant sigh, just in case he can see your conscience written all over them. Again, you remind yourself that you tried asking him, that you tried everything else, that this is the only option you can think of right now.

"You’re horrible." It’s more like talking to yourself out loud, but of course Bucky doesn’t know that. And the sad truth is, he’s used to your temper.

"Take the towel on the right, I already used the other one."

You give an affirmative hum, waiting until you hear the door close behind him. Then, you rush to the showers, wasting no time to get ready and dressed again.

Bucky walks out the door of the Tower at precisely 09:43, a fact you know thanks to the time stamps on the security footage from the lobby you had FRIDAY pull up early on in the loop. This leaves you with a pretty small window of time to clean up, add another line to the tally on your thigh, and get back to your room to grab your stuff without making what you’re doing to obvious to either him or Sam. You have FRIDAY call up the elevator with barely a minute to spare, going down to the second floor and quickly heading towards the stairs. Behind you, the elevator dings once.

You basically sprint downstairs, readjusting your backpack. You almost barrel into the fire door, peering through the window into the lobby after another glance at your watch. Only a few seconds later, you can see Bucky walk across the entrance hall, the usual resting scowl on his face as he looks around once and then ducks out the side door.

You tug the cap you found at the back of your closet deeper into your face and start after him.

This feels wrong, and it’s a terrible idea, you can’t help but think as you watch him head down Lex, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. His strides are long, but unhurried, and even though you know he’s the furthest thing from vulnerable, the fact that you’re seeing him unguarded like this doesn’t sit right with you. Nevertheless, you continue.

You expect him to head for the subway, but instead, he turns left after the Chrysler Building, going east. With a slightly confused frown, you briefly join a group of clearly lost tourists to cross the street and follow him back up Third Avenue. At least there’s just enough people around to make it easy enough for you to hide in a crowd, you suppose.

You’re going to follow him, and find out what he’s up to, and then you’re going to see if and how it all connects to this stupid loop.

Easy as that.

It’s about an hour and a half later when you seriously start cursing Bucky’s name. Inexplicably, he’s still just walking around the streets of Manhattan like a fucking peasant. Your clothes are sticking to your body in ways you don’t care to describe, and you’re sick of having to pretend to be interested in shitty Independance Day memorabilia and battered paperbacks on sale while trying to avoid eye contact with the people trying to sell them to you.

You’re also pretty sure you’re walking around in circles.

Letting your head fall into your neck, you blink up into the bright sunlight from underneath the shade of your cap. As always, there is not a single cloud in sight, a perfect Friday in July. It’s making your eyes burn.

You glance back at Bucky, who has continued walking after taking a look at his phone, and sigh. All of this would be so much easier with your powers.

"What on earth are you up to," you mumble to yourself as you watch him take another left.

You count to ten before rounding the corner as well—and then you yelp when you almost slam into Bucky’s chest.

"What are you doing?" He doesn’t sound annoyed at all; more entertained. You take a step back, assessing, but his face doesn’t betray him whatsoever.

"Going on a walk," you try cautiously.

"Yeah, right." He tilts his head, features despicably neutral. "Why are you following me?"

"I’m not?" He stares at you, and you groan. "Fine. I just wanted to see where you’re going?"

"Why?" There’s an edge to his voice that you can’t quite make sense of, but your thoughts tumble right over it, scrambling for an excuse and coming up empty. The glint in his eye is distracting.

"Because …" Because you don’t know what else to do at this point. "I don’t know, I was just curious."

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "That’s a lot of dedication when you could’ve just asked."

You look at him doubtfully. "So you’d have told me?" you say, already knowing the answer.

"No." He puts his hands back into his pockets and turns around, leaving you standing there staring at his back.

"Well, there you go then," you shout and start to follow along again. You take the stupid hat off with a sigh and stuff it into the backpack, wiping sweat off your forehead. "How long did you know I was there?"

Bucky shrugs. "About when I got outside."

"Seriously." He stares at you over his shoulder. "Seriously?!"

"You came down the stairs," he says, shaking his head. "And in a Yankees cap."

"So?"

"Don’t tell me you suddenly like baseball."

"I might like baseball," you mumble. "It’s a very fine … ball sport."

He snorts. "Sure ya do. I’ll remind you next time the game’s on."

"Circling back," you quickly change the subject, "why the fuck did you make me chase you halfway across Midtown if you knew I was there anyway?"

"It was funny." The shit-eating grin spreading on his face surprises you so much you stumble over your own feet. His arm extends to stop your fall if necessary, as if on instinct. "You know," he continues, "I thought you’d lost me on Times Square. Almost asked one of those guys in costume to help you out."

You slap his hand away. "You’re the worst, Barnes."

"And you’re a shit spy, time powers or not." The smile changes, but stays. Somehow, you’re glad.

Your fingers twitch inside your own pockets, your thumbs tracing along your rings. "So," you say, suppressing the nervous chuckle. "Where are we actually going?"

"Don’t know yet." Bucky turns his head to look out for cars before he continues walking. It takes you a second to match his pace again.

"What do you mean, you don’t know."

"Well, I had to cancel my plans because I got an amateur stalker on my heels."

"Wow." You squint at him and the blinding sunshine behind his head. "And you’re calling me stubborn."

"To your face? I would never."

Oh, you hate this.

"So we’re actually just walking around town for the hell of it." And you’ve done all of this for nothing.

"Yup."

The realization that you wasted yet another day by thinking you could be sneaky around Bucky almost takes you down a spiral, and you don’t even notice he’s still talking to you until he ducks his head to catch your eye. "Huh?"

"I said I’ll buy you a coffee. Think you might need it." He pauses. "That is, if you wanna."

"I could always go for coffee," you say, and it’s true. First, though, you should tell him. Rip the band-aid off and get it over with. "Listen, I—"

But then he looks at you, his eyes impossibly blue in the sunshine, and for the first time in weeks, you don’t have to deal with that damn preciousness in them, because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what’s going to happen, and so he just looks at you like he has a thousand times before, the normalcy of it like a breath of fresh air after his eyes have dragged you under again and again.

How come you’re not the one who’s really getting knocked around every single day?

Maybe it’d really be a kindness to spare him the news, just once. It’s still so early.

"What?" Bucky asks when the silence stretches.

You think of the ever unchanging Tower and the neverending pizza delivery and the fact that you hate this. You hate lying to him. You do it anyway.

Just once.

"I thought of something, but it doesn’t matter now," you say. "We have time."

***

"Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?"

You pretend not to hear him, shuffling the straws around in their container until they look a bit more orderly. Even though you’re not working, even though this isn’t even your store, it’s hard to shake the need to feel useful. Particularly if you’re trying to ignore Bucky’s gaze burning into your neck.

You’re saved by your name being called out because your coffee is ready. For some reason, you half-expect him to swoop in front of you and take the drinks himself, but of course he doesn’t. Why would he?

With a shake of your head, you rid yourself of the ridiculous thought and hand Bucky his coffee without looking at him.

"You know," you say, stepping out of the crowded Starbucks into the sunshine. "I have a blanket somewhere in here." You point at your backpack. "We could try to fight for a spot in the park."

There’s a pause, and then Bucky sighs. "What else do you have in there, anyway?"

"Spy stuff."

You don’t expect him to find that funny, but he snorts slightly. Then, like a habit he can’t break, his gaze falls on your hands again.

"I’m just tired," you say wearily before he presses the matter.

"You should try the floor," Bucky says. "If you can’t sleep."

It helps, sometimes. "I’ll keep that in mind."

You take a sip of your coffee and scrunch your nose when you realize it isn’t what you ordered for yourself; it’s what you ordered for him. In your haste to change the topic earlier, you must have switched the cups.

"Sorry," you say, "this is actually—"

But you stop talking, because he’s already taking a tentative nip of yor drink, and then he licks his lips. And they curl slightly upwards.

He blinks a few times, as if he’s as surprised as you are, and tries again, less hesitantly this time. Then he looks at the writing on the cup. "Wait," he says, frowning, "I think you’ve got mine."

Your mouth closes, then opens again. "How do you know?" you finally say. "They both have my name on them."

"Yeah, but you always get the same thing," Bucky says, as if him knowing your order couldn’t possibly be news to you.

"It’s fine," you say when he tries to hand you your cup back. "Maybe I should try something different sometimes."

Bryant Park is already bustling with people, and it’s just about noon. The little green tables are all occupied by chess players and chatting families, the carousel horses manned with happily shrieking children.

Still, you find a place to spread out your blanket near the edge of the lawn, almost within talking distance of the Public Library’s security guard, who is currently on his first smoke break. You demonstratively sit down with your back to him. If ever a man took his job too seriously.

"Aren’t you hot in that?" you ask doubtfully when Bucky uncomfortably sits down opposite you, the collar of his leather jacket pushing up.

"'Course I am," he answers, not elaborating.

You let your eye roam through the park. "Terrible news," you say dryly. "Not a single person is looking at you, Sergeant Cool."

Bucky shakes his head, not looking at you.

"No one cares," you say, more sincerely this time. "Even if they did, they’re not gonna say anything. And they’ll have forgotten about you tomorrow."

He huffs again. "And you’re wonderin’ why I call you stubborn."

"I thought you didn’t do that to my face?"

He pulls his gloves off, throwing them on the blanket between you with his eyebrow raised. "Happy?"

In the bright sun, his left hand is gleaming, the inlets reflecting the light in a way that makes it dance across the cotton like swirls of pure gold. You smile and lean back, closing your eyes.

You don’t come to this park often, even though it’s not far from the Tower at all and it’s easier than returning to Central Park with all the memories it holds and that have turned more bitter than sweet after everything. It’s the same as with the library, you suppose. Sometimes you don’t even know you’re missing something until you find yourself in the middle of it.

It might have been a Saturday, you think, the last time you were here. What a concept; Saturday. You sit with the thought for a while, and then you let it drift away, just like you’ve been practicing.

It’s such an unexpected feeling, to get to experience this moment of quiet reprieve when lately, most of your time in this loop has been spent studying, or training, or fighting. You already know you’re getting another talking-to if you don’t return to the astral plane at all today; but it’s just the one day. Surely, you can be allowed one day.

Your brain craves it more than anything.

When you open your eyes again, Bucky is contemplating your backpack with a frown so oddly different than the one you’ve gotten used to in previous loops. He seems so … It takes you a while to come up with the right word, because somehow, it makes you think of Alpine, and that doesn’t make any sense at all. Comfortable. He seems comfortable.

His shoulders are relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and even though he’s still wearing the jacket, his eyes aren’t flitting around to assess everyone within sight. His head tilts slightly.

"Are you trying to see through it?" you say, and the dryness tastes wrong on your tongue.

Bucky nudges the backpack with his foot. "Just wonderin’ what you thought you were gonna be up to."

"I like to come prepared."

"Since when?"

Well, ever since resetting has kind of stopped being an option whatsoever. "This isn’t gonna turn into one of your 'constant vigilance' talks, is it, Moody?" you say lightly.

He looks at you again, and you’re not really sure if that’s better or worse. "You’re deflecting, doll."

"Well, what do I know!" you say. It’s worse, definitely worse, but you don’t know why. "You might have been off on a covert mission or visiting a secret girlfriend or buying a beehive to put on the roof or—"

He unzips the backpack. "So you brought a blanket, a baseball cap, binoculars and a banana?"

You try to bite your tongue, but it’s impossible. "I was kind of set on the bee scenario."

Bucky laughs.

Genuinely laughs. His nose scrunches up, his eyes creasing and his head thrown back a little, shaking with a quiet and almost childish glee as you blink at the unusual sight. It’s over almost as suddenly as it began, but … still. A warmth spreads from your chest to your cheeks as you watch him, your own smile almost hesitant by comparison.

Joy looks good on him.

It leaves a twinkle in his eye even as the laughter subsides, like specs of sunlight.

"What?" he says, his mouth still twitching.

"You seem happy." And it’s astonishing.

Bucky shakes his head slightly, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s blushing. "No need to sound so shocked about it."

"You sure?" you ask, your voice cracking only a little. "I feel like I need to call an ambulance."

"Shut up."

"Or Area 51. I think you might’ve been swapped with an alien doppelganger." You sit up properly. "Tell me something only the real Bucky would know. Oh, wait. He wouldn’t have told me, either."

"You are the most dramatic person I know, you know that?"

"You’re one to talk, Sergeant I Need Nobody’s Help, I Will Jump Out Of  A Plane Without A Parachute."

"So many rank drops today."

"Now who’s deflecting?"

"I take calculated risks."

Except he doesn’t even know his calculator is broken.

Bucky stares at you. "What’s that even supposed to mean?"

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. Not today. Your fingers twitch automatically to take it back, but of course, nothing happens. Nothing apart from his attention being brought back to your black rings.

"What did you do?"

The concern in his voice is quiet, but it’s there nevertheless, and it makes your heart ache, long desperately for it to go away, to be replaced by the joy that was there mere seconds ago. You want to make this day stop, make the world stop so you can continue living in that ease of just sitting here and laughing together without thinking about anything else.

And then you realize what’s really happening, and the world chokes, like something falling into place.

For a moment, you can’t breathe as you look at him, whole and confused and missing parts he can’t even remember leaving with you, and you feel as though your heart might stop because the only thought running through your head is Please, not now. Not now. Not now. Every single beat is an echoing no inside your mind.

You are so fucked up, you think, but you can’t find it in you to stop looking at his face, nearly flinching as you shove the feeling all the way down, down, down, until you can feel it like a brick in your stomach. It’s nauseating, like the vertigo you get at the very top of a roller coaster just before the car drops into freefall.

"Y/N?"

"I don’t know," you say tonelessly. He must have noticed your face change, he must have. So why doesn’t the frown deepen?

"Liar." Your heart is still pounding so loud he must hear it, even over the racket of children screaming in delight and cars blowing their horns in the distance.

Concern, you think again. Exact same thing that you see mirrored on Bucky’s face right now. You're concerned for your friend.

Roommate, really.

Colleague.

Guy you sometimes work with, professionally.

Exactly. That’s it. That has to be it.

You’re in deep enough shit already.

He’s still waiting for you to say something and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, the buzzing in your head getting louder, and the only thing you can think to say is, once again, "I’m sorry."

Before Bucky can answer, his phone rings, and there’s the flicker of annoyance you’ve been waiting for.

"Hold that thought," he says. "Sam?"

Your heart sinks as Bucky presses his phone to his ear, reality catching up with you again. You try to rearrange your features into a neutrally curious expression when he glances back at you, but you’re probably failing horribly.

"No, I’m good, I didn’t end up going.Yeah. Alright."

You clear your throat as he hangs up. "So. Sam’s about to give his big speech then?"

Bucky looks bemused. "I’d hope not. That was hours ago."

"What?"

Confused, you look at your watch. Then you look at Bucky’s watch. Then you look at your phone.

Even though you can’t have been sitting here for more than thirty minutes, every clock you look at tells you it’s past 4 p.m. Confused, you twist your rings around your fingers, one by one, but they’re as pitch black as ever, and yet somehow …

"Should we go?" you ask, your voice just a little pitchy.

Bucky gazes at you for a very long moment, and then gets up to his feet and holds out his hand to pull you up. He still hasn’t put his gloves back on.

You take it.

"You’re really off today," he remarks and you hum noncommittantly as you fold the blanket back up and unceremoniously stuff it into the backpack. He shoulders it himself before you can grab it. "You’re just gonna complain again," he says, even though the Tower isn’t that far.

You don’t say anything, though, just trudging behind him without a glance back.

Probably because of the time of day, 42nd street is packed. You watch Bucky pass through the crowd with his head downcast and his hands back in his pockets. If it’s been a struggle not to get separated from him earlier this morning, it’s near impossible now.

He looks over his shoulder when, for the third time, several people have pushed between the two of you, and you shrug helplessly as you try to catch up to him. Again, you can’t help but think this would be so much easier with your powers working the way they’re supposed to; just stopping everyone else for a second while you move past them.

"Sorry," you mumble when you reach him waiting for you at a crossing. All of a sudden, you feel how tired you’ve been for a while.

"Wanna just go home?" Bucky asks.

"That’d be nice," you say, cringing at the thought of having to change immediately once you get back. Sam is probably already impatient.

Bucky’s mouth twitches. "Don’t make this a thing."

And then he takes your hand again and links his fingers with yours as if he’s done it a thousand times before. The light changes to green, but you don’t move, and Bucky softly tugs to get your attention. His hand is solid and warm in yours, and it does nothing to ease the feelings of unease and contentment that mingle in your stomach with his touch.

Neither does the fact that as soon as the crowd disperses and you slowly, reluctantly let go of his hand, he steps out into the street with his head half-turned to you and—well.

You wake up with a start to the sun in your face and FRIDAY blasting The All-American Rejects at full volume, and it’s like the air is getting knocked out of your lungs.

After that, the days start to blur.

***

"Why would it have anything to do with the mission?" Strange asks, and you can’t decide whether he sounds condescending or genuinely confused.

"Because it’s never happened before then, maybe?" you say, throwing up your arms. "I don’t know!"

"The loop is tied to you, not the other way around. If Sergeant Barnes has only ever died during the mission before today, the only other variable in that equation is you."

His cloak curls at the seams in a way that’s almost apologetic. What a stupid thing to say about a piece of magical fabric, you think.

"Great," you huff, sitting down on the ground and crossing your arms in order to not shake violently. "So first time’s skipping and now if I spend time with him, he’s just gonna die earlier?"

There’s a pause as Strange frowns. "Show me your wrist."

You press your lips together tightly and hold out the arm with the swirling green symbols. Strange examines it with a particularly grim expression.

"Just say it," you mutter when it becomes unbearable.

"Time is a precious thread in the fabric of the universe," he says, dropping your hand. His silver eyes are very serious. "You don’t get an endless supply of it."

"I literally do," you reply, flourishing your wrist demonstratively. "That’s the whole problem."

"No." Strange shakes his head. "Your reality is going to collapse if time can’t move on from where it’s stuck. Not today, not tomorrow, but it will happen."

You stare at him with wide eyes. "What does that mean?"

"It means, no more distractions. Things are detereorating more quickly than I’d hoped." He sighs, and there’s something about his demeanor that lets real fear course through your bones for the first time in a while.

"Okay," you say, swallowing it down. "Let’s do some overtime, then."

"I’m afraid that’s not how it works. Look at her."

You glance at your sleeping body, stirring in her sleep.

"You asked when this is," Strange continues. "That’s the thing with this version of the astral plane. It’s unstable. It only exists between dreaming and waking, and so our time here is very limited. You are then, and now. Past and present and future all folded into each other and wrapped into one. The nature of time doesn’t like this."

"So, what?" You laugh humorlessly. "I go through an endless day, and then reality crumbles anyway?"

"Do you understand now why it’s so important that you get a grip on your powers?"

Because you’re the one who created the loop, and therefore the only person who can untangle it again.

"So no pressure then," you say tonelessly.

"All of the pressure, I’m afraid," Strange says grimly. "There’s really no time to waste anymore."

***

"When we live such fragile lives, it’s the best way we survive. I go around a time or two, just to waste my time with you."

Your head has started pounding to the beat of the song and Sam’s fist at your door, but you keep staring at the ceiling, unmoving. It all just starts over.

Even this godawful song.

"Tell me all that you’ve thrown away. Find out games you don’t wanna play."

You must admit, the universe has a certain sense of cruel humor. Not that that’s any news. It doesn’t fucking matter what you do any of these days, because the outcome stays the exact same, and there’s a moment each and every time where Bucky knows that, too. Only by then, it’s too late.

"Geez, I hate you."

You’re so tired.

"I know, Buck."

Fade to black. Back in with a blast and the sun in your face, FRIDAY blasting The—

"I’m coming in," Sam finally shouts from the other side of the door. "You better not be naked!"

You hear him enter, but you still don’t move. You’re busy replaying that look on Bucky’s face in your mind of the exact moment it goes wrong. It looks so pale, his mouth twitching downwards, a bit like with his coffee, but much more devastating.

Black out. Rewind. His eyes are on you, not even on the white jacket shooting him.

Black out. Rewind. The fingers on his metal hand grasp so tightly around your wrist you feel something move underneath your skin.

"What is going on with—Y/N!" You feel Sam rushing to your bedside in three long strides.

Right. You’re still covered in blood.

You can’t look away from his eyes until the last second. Black out. Rewind.

"FRIDAY, turn this shit off. Call an ambulance."

"Calling 911."

The sudden silence slams you back into the present with a start. "Cancel call," you say loudly, your voice only slightly shaking. "I’m fine, Sam."

"You don’t look fine!" He helps you sit up, looking you up and down, a sense of urgency still vibrating in his every movement, but of course, you’re not bleeding. "You look like you just shot a man and then rolled over."

"You’re not wrong," is all you get out before you start crying.

Black out. Rewind. God, you’re pathetic.

You shrink back from his arms, cradling your wrist to your chest. It’s starting to swell.

And yet, the green symbols swirl.

You’re not sure why you’re reacting like this now, after … you’re not sure. It’s not like this is your first time. Does that make you an even worse person? Probably.

Sam is talking to you, you recognize his voice, but you can’t focus on the words. You’re desperate to find something to focus your attention on, like you’ve been trying, training, grasping to do, but you’ve got nothing. Just numbness, a gaping nothingness, and the scars to prove you’re not just stuck in a nightmare but this is in fact your reality, and you are the only thing that remains while everything else resets in an endless cycle of hell, over and over and over again.

Nothing stays.

And you can’t help but feel like you’re running out of time, anyway.

This is ridiculous, you know that. You know you’re worrying Sam out of his mind, that you just need to focus, damnit, take a breath, stop crying, anything. Your incompetence to do any of these simple tasks is like another slap to the face.

Time passes, and doesn’t pass; it doesn’t matter at all whether you’re there for a minute or six hours, it’s all the same to you.

Through the fog of it all, Bucky’s voice is like your lighthouse.

And you despise yourself for it, even as you reach out for him.

"Hey," he says quietly, his hands rubbing circles into your back until he slowly, carefully pulls you out of your head back to earth. "It’s alright. Everything’s okay."

He says it over and over and over again until you nod slowly. It’s a pretty lie, after all.

"What happened to your wrist?"

You know what you have to do, but that concerned undertone makes it so hard. You’re still not used to it, but you want to be. Fuck, you want … No.

It doesn’t matter.

"I need to tell you something," you whisper, barely loud enough for him to hear. "One more time. And then … Then that’s it."

You have to do this. Have to close yourself off emotionally. Distance yourself from Bucky in order to stay rational about this situation and find your way out. Treat this like you’re not involved at all; like this is just another puzzle for you to solve, and nothing else.

It’s the only way.

You’re going to fix this mess you’ve created, if it’s the last thing you do.

*****

"If we die here tonight, I’m blaming you," you told Steve through chattering teeth, and he laughed at you. If you hadn’t still felt bad about his bruises—no matter that they’d already healed completely again—you might have kicked him in the shin.

You’d reached the point of wanting to kick Captain America on a concerningly regular basis.

This time, though, you felt completely within your rights, because you’d been training hard all week, and thanks to New York being just about the most disgustingly freezing place on the planet if they asked you, you really didn’t see the point of driving into the city to a random ice rink. Particularly not on an evening in early January when it was already dark outside.

"You’ll be warmed up in no time," Steve said and waved at Nat, who was already waiting for the two of you, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled up so the red roots of her hair stayed hidden.

"Couldn’t we have done this at the lake?" you asked, looking around wearily. The crowd was substantial.

"Sure," Nat said and put an arm around you. "Do you have about fifty friends we can invite so we can properly train your powers around other people?"

You grimaced. "There are children everywhere."

"Oh, yeah. Some of them went home early, but most opted to stay when I told them Steve would drop by."

You groaned. Of course they were Natasha’s Blip orphans; they had the same mischievous shimmer in their tired eyes. "Thanks for that, Nat."

"You’re so welcome," she answered, patting your shoulder. You narrowed your eyes when her coat shifted to the side.

"Is that my hoodie?" you said.

She looked down as if she hadn’t noticed what she was wearing at all. "Yeah, I think so."

"I was looking for that everywhere earlier!"

Natasha merely shrugged. "It’s your own fault for leaving your stuff in the dryer for anyone to take."

"Don’t pay attention to it, she does it to all of us," Steve said, putting an arm around her.

"That is not true."

"It is. You’re like a clothes hoarding dragon."

"Did you just call me a dragon?"

You didn’t listen to the rest of their bickering, because your eyes had started to water, and not because of the cold. It’d been a long time since you’ve felt this warmth inside, this feeling of belonging, of, well … family. It made your powers pulsate through your veins soothingly.

Still, the worry came back when they gave you a helmet and knee pads to wear.

"I’m a travesty on skates, but it’s not this bad," you told Natasha again when you shakily followed her to the rink entrance.

"We’re here to train, not to have fun," she said, taking your hands. Of course, she moved like a dancer even on the ice. "Well, both," she amended when you looked unconvinced. "Oh, don’t look at me like that, it was Steve’s idea."

"Then why is he sitting over there doing nothing?"

"He’s got the day off." She pulled you to the side of the rink. "Here’s what we’re gonna do," she said, pointing to the far end. "I’m going to close my eyes and you’re going to guide me straight through the middle to the other side."

You stared at her. "You’re insane."

Natasha ignored you. "One straight line, you tell me when to dodge someone. We’ll go slow."

"I don’t know how many times I can jump."

"It’s not exactly a life or death situation, Y/N. I can survive a few bruises and so can the kids."

"I’d rather not injure a child if you don’t mind," you say, trying not to sound hysterical.

"And I’m confident that you won’t. Do you trust me on this?"

You met Nat’s calm gaze and took a breath, even though the knot in your stomach tightened. "Fine."

"Such a vote of confidence," she snorted. "Just watch what they’re doing, and keep it in mind. Think of it like a dance recital. It’s all just a sequence of steps in a specific order."

You bit the inside of your cheek and nodded. Natasha closed her eyes. "Ready?" you asked.

She smiled. "I love this song."

You could barely hear the music over the thrum of adrenaline, but you supposed that was her way of saying yes. This’ll be the day that I die.

You pushed forward.

chapter six

thank you for reading!! you can follow my library blog @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications 💚

[wosos-stuff]

The journal of secrets

Chapter 3: A Public Appearance Together

The sun hung low in the sky as Y/N walked through the entrance of the event, her heart beating a little faster than usual. It was a casual meet-and-greet with fans, something the Arsenal team did a few times a year to stay connected with the community. Normally, Y/N enjoyed these events—they were light, fun, and gave her a chance to talk to the people who supported them every matchday.

But today felt different. Today, she wasn’t just Y/N, another player on the team. Today, she was *Alessia Russo’s girlfriend*.

Her eyes darted to the side, where Alessia walked beside her, casually adjusting her jacket as if this was just another day. Her calm demeanor made Y/N feel even more out of place, her nerves heightened by the knowledge that they were about to spend the evening acting like a couple in front of everyone.

“Relax,” Alessia said, her voice low and soothing. She must have noticed Y/N’s nervous energy because she gave her a small nudge with her elbow. “It’s just like we practiced.”

Y/N forced a smile, nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’m fine.”

But she wasn’t fine. Her heart raced with every step they took closer to the crowd of people waiting for them, phones out, eager to snap pictures and ask questions. This was part of the deal. They had to make it look real, and that meant staying close, holding hands, and—most importantly—acting like they were more than just teammates.

As they reached the first group of fans, Alessia slid her hand into Y/N’s, the gesture so smooth and natural that it made Y/N’s breath catch in her throat. She hoped the flutter in her chest didn’t show on her face. They exchanged smiles with the fans, signing jerseys and posing for photos, all while Alessia kept her hand firmly in Y/N’s.

Every now and then, Y/N would glance at Alessia out of the corner of her eye, trying to read her expression. Alessia was all smiles and charm, laughing easily with the fans, her presence warm and inviting. She was so good at this—so good at making it look effortless. But Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all too real, that the way Alessia held her hand wasn’t just part of an act.

It didn’t help that every time someone mentioned their “relationship,” Y/N’s heart did a little flip. The fans loved it—they cooed over how “cute” they were together, some even asking how long they’d been dating. Alessia would always answer with a playful smile, keeping it vague but believable.

“We’ve been keeping it low-key for a while,” Alessia said with a wink when one fan asked about how they got together. Y/N tried not to blush, forcing herself to smile along with the charade.

As the evening went on, the event started to wind down, but Y/N’s nerves never quite settled. She kept waiting for Alessia to let go of her hand, to step back, to put some distance between them. But she didn’t. Not once. And every time Y/N felt the warmth of Alessia’s fingers wrapped around hers, it was harder to remind herself that this was all just pretend.

---

After the meet-and-greet, the team gathered in the back of the venue, relaxing and catching up before heading home for the night. The mood was light—everyone laughing, joking, and teasing each other about the evening. Y/N stood off to the side, watching as Alessia chatted with a few of the girls, including Katie McCabe and Beth Mead.

She was still riding the wave of nerves from earlier, her mind replaying every touch, every glance, every smile Alessia had given her in front of the fans. It had all felt so real, and yet it wasn’t. She knew it wasn’t. But the more time she spent around Alessia, the harder it was to keep her emotions in check.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Katie’s voice, loud and teasing, as usual.

“So, Alessia,” Katie said with a playful grin, “now that you’re all ‘boo’d up,’ does this mean you’re off the market for good? I mean, I could always use a gorgeous date for a night out.”

The comment was harmless, just Katie being Katie, but Y/N felt a strange twist in her stomach. It wasn’t like Katie was serious, but something about the way she said it—the way Alessia laughed in response—made Y/N’s chest tighten.

Alessia waved her off, still grinning. “Sorry, McCabe. I’m a one-woman show now. You’ll have to find someone else.”

Katie laughed, pretending to look disappointed. “Ah, well. Guess my chances are shot, huh?”

Y/N should have laughed along with the rest of them, should have shrugged it off like she always did. But instead, she found herself glancing at the floor, trying to shake off the uncomfortable feeling curling in her chest. It wasn’t real. Alessia wasn’t hers. But for some reason, hearing Katie joke about it like that made Y/N’s heart sink.

Before she could dwell on it for too long, Alessia appeared at her side, her usual playful smile in place. “Hey, you ready to head out?”

Y/N blinked, nodding quickly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

As they walked out together, Y/N couldn’t help but wonder if Alessia had noticed the flicker of jealousy that had passed through her. She hoped not. This was already complicated enough.

---

By the time they made it back to Alessia’s flat, Y/N’s nerves had settled slightly, though the nagging feeling from earlier still lingered in the back of her mind. Alessia was all casual ease, tossing her jacket onto the couch and grabbing a couple of beers from the fridge.

“You want one?” Alessia asked, holding up a bottle.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

She took the beer and sat down on the couch, feeling a little out of place. This was the first time she had been to Alessia’s place since they started this whole fake relationship thing. It felt weird, sitting here like this—so normal, yet so loaded with unspoken emotions.

Alessia plopped down beside her, kicking her feet up on the coffee table as she took a sip from her bottle. “So,” she said, glancing over at Y/N, “I’d say we did pretty well today.”

Y/N smiled, nodding. “Yeah, I think we sold it.”

“Definitely,” Alessia agreed, her eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. “People were eating it up.”

Y/N laughed softly, taking a sip of her beer. “Yeah… they were.”

But as the conversation lulled, a comfortable silence settled between them, and Y/N found herself glancing around Alessia’s flat, taking in the small details. There were framed photos on the wall—pictures of Alessia with her family, her friends, and even a few of

 her younger self in football kits from her early days in the sport. It was a glimpse into Alessia’s life, a side of her that Y/N hadn’t really seen before.

After a few minutes, Alessia sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You know, it’s weird.”

Y/N looked over at her, curious. “What is?”

“This whole thing,” Alessia said, waving her hand around vaguely. “The fame, the attention, the pressure. Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe, you know? Like… everyone expects me to be this perfect version of myself all the time.”

Y/N’s heart clenched at the vulnerability in Alessia’s voice. It was rare for her to hear Alessia talk like this—open, raw, and honest. Usually, Alessia was all confidence and charm, always putting on a brave face. But here, in the quiet of her flat, she seemed… different. More real.

“I get that,” Y/N said softly, turning to face her. “It’s a lot to carry.”

Alessia nodded, staring down at the beer bottle in her hands. “Yeah, and sometimes… sometimes I just wish I could turn it all off, you know? Just be Alessia. Not ‘Alessia Russo, the footballer,’ or ‘Alessia Russo, the media darling.’ Just… me.”

Y/N didn’t know what to say. She had always seen Alessia as this untouchable figure, someone who had it all together. But now, hearing her talk like this, Y/N realized that Alessia had her own struggles, her own fears. It made her feel even closer to her—made her want to be there for her, to be the person Alessia could rely on.

But that wasn’t what this was. This wasn’t real.

“You can be that person,” Y/N said quietly. “With me. You don’t have to pretend.”

Alessia looked at her, surprised, but there was something warm in her eyes. Something that made Y/N’s heart skip a beat.

“Thanks,” Alessia said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I… I appreciate that.”

For a moment, they just sat there, the silence between them filled with unspoken words. And in that moment, Y/N forgot about everything—forgot that this was all supposed to be pretend, forgot that Alessia wasn’t really hers. All she knew was that right now, sitting here with Alessia, everything felt real.

---

Later that night, as Y/N lay in her own bed, staring up at the ceiling, her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. The more time she spent with Alessia, the harder it was to keep her feelings in check. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t let this fake relationship get to her—that she wouldn’t fall for Alessia. But it was too late for that.

She was already falling. Hard.

The problem was, she didn’t know if Alessia felt the same. She couldn’t tell if the moments they shared were real, or if they were just part of the act. Alessia was so good at pretending—so good at making it look real. But was it real? Or was Y/N just fooling herself?

She needed to talk to someone. Someone who wasn’t Alessia.

The next day, Y/N found herself sitting with Leah Williamson after training, her heart heavy with the weight of her unspoken emotions. Leah had always been a good friend, someone Y/N could trust. But even so, she wasn’t sure how much she could say without revealing too much.

“You seem a bit off,” Leah said, glancing over at her with concern. “Everything okay?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded slowly. “Yeah, just… dealing with some stuff.”

Leah raised an eyebrow, clearly not convinced. “What kind of stuff?”

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. “It’s… complicated.”

Leah didn’t press her for more, but she gave her a knowing look. “Listen, if you need to talk, I’m here. Just… be honest with yourself, okay? Don’t get stuck in something that’s going to mess you up.”

Y/N nodded, appreciating the advice, even if she couldn’t explain the whole situation. She had to be honest with herself—but that was the hardest part. How could she be honest when she didn’t even know what was real anymore?

---

The tension between Y/N and Alessia grew in the days that followed. It wasn’t obvious—nothing anyone else would notice—but Y/N could feel it. She was pulling back, trying to protect herself from the growing feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. And Alessia… Alessia seemed to notice.

One evening, after a particularly quiet training session, Alessia caught up with Y/N as they walked off the pitch.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “You’ve been kind of distant lately. Everything okay?”

Y/N’s heart raced at the question. She hadn’t expected Alessia to bring it up, and now that she had, Y/N didn’t know what to say.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Y/N replied, her voice a little too quick, a little too defensive.

Alessia frowned, clearly not buying it. “You sure? You don’t seem like yourself.”

Y/N swallowed hard, trying to keep her emotions in check. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t tell Alessia the truth—not when she didn’t even know what the truth was.

“I’m fine,” she repeated, avoiding Alessia’s gaze. “Really.”

Alessia stared at her for a long moment, as if she wanted to say something more, but in the end, she just nodded. “Okay. But if something’s going on… you can talk to me, you know?”

Y/N nodded, her throat tight with unspoken words. She wanted to talk to Alessia, wanted to tell her everything—how confused she was, how scared she was of falling for her. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

“Thanks,” Y/N said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

And with that, they parted ways, the tension between them still unresolved.

[martiae]

from me to you | pepe martí

“all of the girls you’ve loved before, made you the one i’ve fallen for” ♡ (inspired by to all the boys i’ve loved before!)

synopsis: you’ve been in love with your childhood best friend since you were 6. when you were 13, you decided to start writing love letters to him. you never planned on sending them but they somehow made their way to his house?

pairing: pepe marti x reader (y/n) adler | genre: highschool au, smau, fluff, slight angst | warnings: some cursing, suggestive jokes from christian (haha), gianna/gigi is an oc, y/n is kind of irritating because she assumes a lot !!

chapter 1 : ignorance is bliss

now playing : i think he knows — taylor swift

you waited at the bus stop a few blocks from your house, your mind totally occupied by the mortifying events that happened yesterday.

while you didn’t want to think about it at all, it was hard not to. your mind was constantly playing the moment back.

you wondered how much he read, how he felt when he read it, what his face looked like, his thoughts, etc.

but, a part of you also really did not want know. your heart was sadly fragile, super sensitive to anything relating to pepe.

you knew it was stupid; but, you really thought that you could just peacefully like him. you were waiting for your feelings to just go away, a confession seeming out of reach.

you had to get a grip, you needed to figure out how to go about this whole situation since you knew that he would most likely not drop it.

the bus began to approach the stop, a part of you feeling happy that you had some more time to put together a plan for today.

you sat down at the window seat, the seat feeling very comfortable, yet, undeniably cold.

it was nice though. you finally had some peace and quiet, and could focus on what was important.

that focus broke quickly when a familiar figure sat next to you, their head instantly looking at you.

“hi there”

you wanted to scream. no, you actually wanted to get off the bus and run back home. your plans of peace, tranquility, and happiness was totally interrupted by the guy.

your eyes widened, your mouth parting in a surprised expression. your guys eye contact and silence existing for a long time.

“you’re still not talking to me?” pepe asked, his eyebrow quirking up.

you stayed silent, trying to disassociate from the fact that the boy you’ve been in love with for 11 years is trying to talk to you after finding out you like him.

pepe smiled to himself as he looked down, a small chuckle coming from his mouth. your heart skipped a beat, his stupidly cute smile has always had some kind of effect on you. and you know very well that you probably wrote some very cringey (but true) things about it in your letters.

oh god, just thinking about him reading your bare emotions and feelings about him has you feeling like laying out on the road. this was torture!

pepe looked back at you, his smile not leaving his face yet. you returned back to looking in front of you, the bus coming to a sudden halt.

the force made you lean forward; but, pepe quickly put his palm in front of you and his other hand holding onto your shoulder.

you leaned back, looking at him in surprise.

he chuckled, “didn’t want you hitting your head on the chair..”

your face became slightly flushed, a very soft expression on your face, “thank you”

pepe smiled again, his hand letting go of you and returning to his lap.

“are you going to explain the letters now?”

you tried to not show your shock; but, it appeared on your face before you could control it.

you were praying for the bus to drive faster, you just wanted to go to school and avoid him at every opportunity. its hard to ignore him over text. but, it’s even harder to ignore him in person.

“one more stop” you chanted in your head.

pepe sighed with frustration, “come on..anything? as i said im not mad at all! i just really want an explanation or something! please give me something to grasp!”

you saw the bus begin to pull towards your school, your face relaxing.

“please? something?..” he explained.

the bus stopped, the door’s opening quickly. you looked at him before murmuring a small “bye” and speed walking towards the exit.

you could hear pepe calling your name from behind but decided to sprint to the campus, your adrenaline running.

that was the worst 7 minutes and 34 seconds of your life. (yes you were counting.)

pepe was a guy who was sweet, calm but also expressive, and passionate. he was strong willed and smart and honestly, perfect. he was the guy who every girl has had a crush on before, the guy who would be the best boyfriend and would never fail to impress your family, and just be the guy you’d plan on marrying.

he was all of those things. scratch that, he is all of those things. but because he’s all of those things, you know that it couldn’t work out.

“oh my god, i tried catching up to you but you were running for your life!” gianna said out of breath.

you were panting, still recovering from your very quick run to your class.

“he….was…at….the…bus…stop.” you let out with many breaths.

gianna’s face lit up in shock and excitement, her hands covering her mouth.

“no way! spill now!”

you went the whole school day on guard, observing carefully to not run into pepe. it was kind of pathetic, even you could admit it. you were practically on edge and running away from him because you knew that it was getting harder and harder to face him. you did not want to confess, hell, you didn’t want to do anything. you wished you could reverse time and stop your 13 year old self from beginning the disturbing trend of writing sappy love letters addressed to him.

gosh, this whole situation really made you feel insane! it was hard to just let it pass without feeling the pain of embarrassment.

“(name)!” gianna called.

“oh hey gigi!” you smiled.

“hey! any updates?”

you sighed before looking her in the eye, “i’ve been avoiding him all day.”

gianna groaned, “oh come on! you can’t ignore him forever!”

“i don’t want to ignore him. it’s getting really hard to do that. i just, gosh, i really just don’t know what to do.”

“i get it. but i also don’t. what are you so afraid of?” gianna questioned.

you wanted to say ‘everything’. it was true. you were scared of hearing his voice tell you that he didn’t feel the same, his reaction when you tell him it’s true, oh god, it seriously was the most embarrassing thing in the world.

“i’m afraid of the truth. i really wanted to hold onto my crush and just peacefully love him.”

gianna frowned before turning to stand in front of you, both of you guys stopping.

“the truth may be scary. you may expect him to not feel the same; but anything’s possible. while i know how crazy those letters are, trust me, i can say for sure that you shouldn’t ignore him anymore. he deserves an explanation.”

gianna was right, and she knew she was too.

with a sigh, you nodded.

to face him after this all is like opening mary poppin’s bag. there’s no certainty at all, and you knew that it was going to be so uncomfortable.

gianna’s eyes began to drift to behind you, your natural instinct telling you to look.

you turned to see pepe standing behind you, a shy expression reflecting on his face.

“good luck!” gianna cheered before walking out the gate.

“gigi!” you shouted.

she began to skip happily, an obvious taunt to your calling.

“gianna!”

you turned around to look back at pepe, who’s hand was touching his neck shyly.

oh god. you were done for. you could tell that he was annoyed, or maybe angry? fear began to make an appearance on your face, your body staying frozen.

“can we talk now?”

[kiefbowl]

even though I just made a joke about it killing the rain forest, I had to conclude my little foray into chatgpt land by asking it some things I know a lot about. so I asked it to "could you create a language" and it spit out some of the most unimpressive surface level stuff about the building blocks of language.

then I asked it: "Can you explain to me what happens in A Dance with Dragons" and it again just said the most cursory stuff that feels like reading a 9 year old's book report. So I said "explain in more detail" and it just used more words to say the same stuff like a 9 year old who can't hit the word count. So i said "explain in more detail" and it's just more of the same...besides the stuff it's wrong about in any case. I didn't read it all, but just from skimming I could see it got some things wrong. like:

Tyrion hasn't made it to Daenerys yet. Daario is missing for most of the book. Missandei is 9 years old. These are three prominent characters from the show, but they are not her most prominent advisors in the book.

The children of the forest creating the white walkers must be from the show because what?? Not only is that not in the book, there's no evidence or foreshadowing of that in the book. The white walkers don't need to be "created" by anyone, they are just living creatures in this world. Even if it's later revealed in a book or by GRRM that was the intention, it's just simply false that it's in ADWD.

But also, it's just unimpressive this "summary". It's just kinda saying vague things that kinda happened. I asked if it could explain things that happened in ADWD, and it just doesn't. I ask for more detail, it just gives more words. I asked for more detail, it just gives more words. Which to me is telling, as these are some of the most popular books of the past twenty years, with endless amounts of meta for free on the internet you could find easily. There is no way that if thousands of people are feeding chatgpt things to analyze, people haven't uploaded large chunks of the book itself. I'm not asking it to give me deep analysis, I'm asking it to explain the plot and it's saying things like "Jon struggles with his leadership" and "Tyrion struggles with his guilt." Okay.

So I asked it something specific:

This is a normal english question, and I get this:

The most important thing that happens to Daenerys and Drogon is that she gets on top of him and flies away. She flies a dragon. "After Drogon appears, Daenerys realizes how dangerous her power can be" like wtf are you talking about. I mean yeah sure, but what a generic ass thing to say.

No shit sherlock, this is a theme running through the books that dragons are dangerous and powerful. But what literally happens between them? And it just doesn't say it.

So I decided to use a more specific question, because maybe I asked incorrectly:

This is 1. wrong and 2. still doesn't mention that Dany gets on Drogon's back and flies away. Like she literally does control Drogon. It is absolute chaos when Drogon returns, and no she doesn't sit there and reflect. She runs into the pit, to Drogon, dodges fire, and instinctively climbs onto his back and flys away and he listens. This is the first time it happens. This is monumental. This is like the culmination of five books of waiting to see when Dany is finally going to fly one of her dragons. And this stupid ass thing cannot tell me it happens. From an insanely popular IP that had a tv show made of it.

This isn't impressive at all. You'd get better, more concise information reading the wikipedia page.