#i am so sorry for just going radio silent

[inavagrant-a]

Fighting with the IR/S over money you could have sworn you paid them a month ago is the most stressful fucking thing I have ever done in my life.

[pyrothecary]

hey gamers if you're here from tgp holy SHIT i'm so sorry. i have actually a negative amount of updates i'm currently in the process of replotting it because the story i had before got so unnecessarily complex, there were like 10 subplots and i'll be honest it just sucked ass. so i'm simplifying and starting from scratch

[eriophorumcallitrix]

ignore this post I’m venting my disappointment in the tags abt twitter LMFAOOO

[fern-fully]

I've been workin on a teeny space roguelike in my off-time. It doesn't have any massive formula-changing mechanics or anything like that, but I have had a lot of fun tinkering on it!

It has the typical roguelike pieces (procgen, tile-based movement, permadeath, etc.) The basic idea in my head is that you're a scrapper in deep space, dismantling derelict spacecraft and abandoned bases for cash. I have some ideas for neat things I could add as time goes on but for now it's just a little fun project to work on when I have enough time outside of my day job.

(The noise/screen filter is toggleable in the settings!)

[gghostwriter]

Out of Sunshine

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Summary: Having forgotten your dinner date, Spencer comforts his usually sunshine girlfriend Trope:Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.2k a/n: been very overwhelmed with responsibilities and wants lately that I just needed to write a self-indulgent fic. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

Spencer’s knock on your apartment door was met with silence. It was a starry Friday night and he had arranged a dinner reservation with you, his girlfriend for a year and a half, to the newly opened French restaurant along the main street. With a certain spring in his step, he settled with Hotch, and by extension the team, that he couldn’t be disturbed unless an emergency case comes in—something he silently wished not to happen. He had also picked up a bouquet of your favorites from the local florist. An array of whites that reminded him of the dress he first saw you wearing at the park.

He knocked again, ears straining to hear anything behind the dark wooden door. There was nothing. He balanced the bouquet on one hand and reached for the phone inside his satchel. It was quite unlike you to not answer the door.

The number you dialed is either unattended—

“Strange,” he muttered under his breath. During his morning phone call with you, a much needed routine to tide him through the macabre of his job, you sounded so excited about the dinner he’d planned and had even promised to wear the same white dress that had plagued his eidetic memory. He chuckled in reply before asking any plans for the day. There was a slight pause on your end, no doubt thinking of ways to pass time before night winds down, and you answer—

The studio, he remembered. You mentioned passing by your art studio to occupy time. He sighed in relief as he enters his vintage blue car parked on the the sidewalk, bouquet placed securely on the passenger seat. The clock on the dashboard tells him there’s still time to make it to the reservation, granted he wasn’t sure if you were ready to go.

A non-descriptive tune played from the radio as he turned left to enter the designated parking space of your studio building. It was a mixture of soft piano keys that sounded like spring and sunshine, both adjectives he loved to use to describe you.

When he finally found the courage to fumble his way in asking for your number, the smile that flashed on your face was blinding. It was as if he stared directly into the sun with little to no protection for his vision.

Over the course of multiple dates, he found himself waxing prose about you in his head. The pinking of your cheeks reminded him of strawberries ripening, so tempting to touch with his own pair of lips. The twinkle in your eyes, full of adoration and trust, made him feel strong and protective—like he was some kind of crow guarding his loot of sparkling treasure. And the bounce in your step wherever you’d go had him envisioning a sprig of wildflowers growing from each footprint, the nymph of his very own Spring.

He let himself in the studio, grateful you’ve trusted him with a spare key. “Sunshine,” he called out.

The light inside the four cornered room was on, windows all open for the paint fumes to escape, and there you were, hunched over an easel, furiously painting without any care of your surroundings.

He called your name, softer this time, as if to slowly ease you out of the artistic trance. The timber of his voice and his sudden presence led you to squeak in surprise, paintbrush dropping on the wooden streaked floor.

“It’s me, sunshine,” he raised his hands in front of him in surrender. “It’s me.”

Your nose scrunched up in question, a streak of blue dried paint on your cheek, adorable. How adorable you were in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” you bent down to grab the brush before resuming your old position.

“It’s 7:50, love.”

You swiveled to face him, eyes wide in distress. Hands promptly reaching to turn over the faced down phone. “No, no—oh my god, I am so sorry!”

“It’s alright,” he tries to placate you but his words of comfort seem to fall on deaf ears. “Really, it’s alright. It happens to everyone.”

Tears were starting to build up in your eyes. Your hands were wrangling with the apron tied around your waist as you mutter a series of apologies again and again. “I’m sorry. So sorry—we can’t make it to our reservation now, can’t we? Spence, I’m so so sorry. I—I forgot,” a sob escaped from your throat. “I don’t know what to do.”

He puts down the flowers on the nearest available space, your stool, and steps into your space. Filling it with his perfume and warmth meant to comfort you. He could see how distressed you were—rocking on your heels, hands unable to stay put, and lower lip sandwiched in between your pearly teeth.

“Breathe. It’s completely fine, love. No harm done. Really, it’s alright.”

The tears come rushing down, staining your flushed cheeks with its tracks. “It’s not—how could I forget?”

“Sunshine, it’s okay. It happens to all of us and I know you’re quite busy, it’s understandable.”

You burrow into his chest some more, afraid of separating from him and the haven he brings.

He continued on. “I also know you’re overwhelmed, the exhibit is just around the corner and I know how important it is to you, I understand.”

Laying your cheek near his beating heart, you mutter a reply. “It’s really not—I don’t want you to think you’re not important to me too.”

His hands cupped your face to stare into your saddened eyes. Spencer couldn’t see the warmth and brightness that was always present in his sunshine. There was a cloud of rain and doubt covering its’ greatness. He understood no one could always be happy all the time but it bothered him to see you breaking down from stress.

“Shouldn’t I be the one worried about that?” he lightly joked. “I’ve cancelled on dates so many times and did those ever make you feel less important to me?”

“No. Never,” you sniffled.

“Then what makes you say I’d think that, sunshine? I would never, I promise.”

The corners of your lips lifted up to a small smile. There it was, the rays of sun peeking behind the clouds, bringing warmth back to the dark crevices of his being.

“I’m sorry about your shirt,” your lower lip jutting out in a pout. The air of anxiety slowly dissipating around you.

Spencer laughed, noting the tear stained marks littered on his purple button down. “That’s alright. Why don’t we order from your favorite Indian place down the block? We can get your favorites and have our dinner date here instead?”

“You’d be okay with that?”

He leaned in to kiss your temples, taking in the twinkle back in your eyes framed by your wet long lashes and the flush on your cheeks from emotion—good and bad.

For Spencer, you had never looked more beautiful. The reason behind of your breakdown was raw, intimate, and it made him see you in a new light. Heat bloomed in his chest, like a series of red roses, filled with love for you.

“Anywhere with you is good for me, sunshine.”

Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

You'll Be Home For Christmas

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: You agree to do a favour for your coworker but it might be more than you can handle.

Character: Clark Kent

Day Nineeen of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - fake dating becomes too real.

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

"I know it sounds weird, but, my mom's getting up there..." Clark looks away as he pokes his tongue into his cheek. 

You're not sure how he does it. How someone like him can make himself look pathetic. He's a big man. Mountainous really. He dwarfs just about everybody in the office. Even the desks look tiny next to him. And the chisel of his face is so sharp yet in that moment, he looks heart-wrenchingly soft. 

"It's just you two this year?" You ask. 

"Um, yeah," he rubs the back of his neck then drags his hand around and down his chest. He shifts in his chair and clears his throat. "Look, I know I can be nosy but I overheard you and Maggie. You said you don't have any plans this year--" He cringes and leans forward, putting his elbows to the desk as he covers his face then peeks out between his fingers. "It's a dumb idea." 

"It seems like you're pretty stressed," you fold your hands behind you. You don't want to agree with his last statement and make him feel worse. 

"Yeah, after Lois..." he shakes his head, "my mom's convinced I'm going to be alone forever and she keeps telling me how old she's getting. Says she wants to live long enough to see me happy." 

"Wow, sounds worse than my mom," you kid but quickly deflate. "Sorry, I'm not trying to make light." 

"No, it's ridiculous," he heaves and drops his eyes. "I've asked two of my neighbours, I asked my mail lady, and oh, yeah, the girl who made my coffee today. I'm all out of shame." 

"Can I think about it?" You ask. You know you're going to say no, but you don't want to do it right away. 

He perks up and his blue eyes flick to meet yours. His brows rise hopefully and he rolls forward in his chair, "really?" 

"I didn't say yes." 

"But you're the first person not to say no," he smiles. 

Oof, there it is. You've always had a hard time in situations like these. You're a people pleaser in the worst way. 

"Anyway, I should get back to work," you say. 

"When-- when will you know?" He asks. 

You hesitate. 

"End of today?" He suggests. 

You nod. Alright. You just need to get out of there before you cave to that puppy dog sparkle in his eyes. A man who looks like that shouldn't be able to make himself so pitiful. 

✨

You don’t know why you said yes. You really were going to say no but when Clark came back to check in, you weren’t prepared. So absorbed in your work, that you forgot about the odd request. 

So here you are, right beside him, wound as tight as a spring as you try not to show it. It’s not how you imagined spending Christmas. When your typical traditional obligation felt through, you were almost relieved. Now that dread has returned but in a new flavour. Meeting someone else’s family is somehow more intimidating than your mother’s judgement. 

Clark’s own anxiety pales in his knuckles as he drives silently. Only the radio provides some softness in the tension between you. It’s always strange to spend time with coworkers outside the office and now you’re jumping headfirst into their most personal facet. 

You fidget in your seat and let your eyes blur out the window. You didn’t expect his mom to live this far, yet you should have. He’d mentioned before he grew up on a farm. It must have been nice in a way, peaceful, out where you can’t hear the city honking and hollering. 

The snow thickens as you get further into the country. His large truck doesn’t falter as he steers cautiously through snowed over tire tracks. Would the plow even get this far out here? If it did, you don’t imagine it would come very often. 

Your mind latches onto those random things to avoid the obvious. You’ve always been this way. Instead of worrying about your mother lecturing you about your stagnant work situation, you’re usually more concerned with how your hair lays or if she’s going to the like that bottle of wine you spent too much money on for her. 

“Thanks again,” Clark’s baritone rolls over you like thunder. “Really. I know it’s... strange. I’m just not ready to date again but... my mom...” 

“Trust me. I get it. My mom can be... a lot,” you chuckle, though it’s really not that funny. 

“Oh yeah? I didn’t want to be nosy, but...” 

“Right, uh, you know, my brother asked if we could have dinner on Christmas Eve instead and the rest of us agreed. She insisted that Christmas Eve isn’t Christmas...” Your heart picks up with the anxiety you bury deep down. “Well, she cancelled Christmas since no one agreed with her.” 

“Wow, really?” 

“Uh, yep,” you can’t look at him. It’s embarrassing. It’s like when your mother dumped your birthday cake in the garbage because you pointed out you were 13 not 12 that year. Or when she walked out of your graduation because your grandmother wouldn’t switch seats. “It’s whatever. Family, right?” 

“I guess,” he says. “My parents always loved holidays too. Especially when dad was around.” 

“I’m sorry about your dad,” you murmur. 

“Don’t be. Sorry if it seems like I keep bringing that up,” he sniffs. 

You look ahead to the sole structure as it looms closer and closer. A farmhouse that comes clearer through the drift of flakes, and a barn like a shadow near its rear corner. It’s like one of those classic festive paintings printed on an advent calendar or some 1950s domestic dream. 

He pulls up to the house and shifts in his seat. Concern needles in his cheek as he squints over the steering wheel. He wrenches the shifter into park and kills the engine. You sit futilely and let him take the lead. 

“Lights are off,” he mutters. 

You nod, unsure what to say. Is something wrong? 

He gets out and you watch the snow dust into his dark hair and across his broad shoulders. He is unfettered by the deep snow. You zip up your coat and turn to your door. You push it open and look out into the perilous carpet. 

Clark surprises you as he comes around. “Here,” he puts his arms out, “it’s deep.” 

You grab his hand and his other goes to your waist. He as good as lifts you and sets you down in the path he’s stomped through the piles. You thank him and awkwardly detach. He shuts the door and moves around you closely. 

He leads the way to the porch so you can walk through his footsteps. Your lashes catch the snow as you look up at the grey sky. You don’t think you’ll make it home that night. Shoot. 

Clark kicks off his boots as he digs in the pocket of his coat and pulls out some keys. He unlocks the door and gestures you in ahead of him. You try to clear off your treads before you enter. He reaches around the frame to flip on the light. 

He crowds you as he enters. You try not to step off the mat and make a mess of the floor. You slip free of your Adidas, not the best choice for the weather, and shuffle aside. He hangs his jackets and combs his fingers through his hair to clear the flakes out. The dark strands glisten with the moisture. 

“Give me your coat,” he reaches for you. 

“Oh, yeah,” you unzip your jacket and hand it over. It isn’t exactly climate appropriate either. You’ve been meaning to invest in winter gear. A lot of times your intentions are only ever that. “Thanks.” 

“Quiet...” he mulls as his eyes skim the ceiling and he hooks your jacket on the rack. 

“Yeah, a little.” 

“Ma’s probably laying down,” he utters with a hint of concern. “I’m gonna go check and see what’s going on.” 

“Oh, I hope she’s okay.” 

“No worries. She stays up all night reading,” he shakes his head. “Feel free to make yourself at home.” 

“Right, er, okay.” 

You back up as he passes you. He heads upstairs and you slowly pivot to take in the interior. The pale wood is marked with knots which give it an even more rustic atmosphere and the decor is simple but in a quaintly traditional way. The details etched into the slender drawer of a side table or the dainty trim of the area rug give a lived-in effect. 

You tiptoe into the front room and hug yourself as you feel a draught whisper in around the window. You find the light switch and flip it on to cast more light across the neatly arranged furniture. There's an old-fashioned iron firestove in the middle of the room, the flue built up to the ceiling.�� 

You can hear Clark moving around above. The rest of the house is silent. You look at the old grandfather clock standing against the wall. It’s just after eleven in the morning. 

You turn as the stairs creak. Clark appears in the doorway with a sober expression. “Mom’s just waking up. It might be a while. She... she’s having a tough day.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry. Is she sick?” 

“She is and she isn’t. Just getting older, you know? Ever since she broke her hip last year, she’s been a bit slower,” he explains. 

“Oh, gosh, Clark,” you say. “Is there anything I can do to help? You said she was planning on dinner but I can get all that started for her.” 

“Sure, she usually thaws the turkey in the sink overnight,” he says. “We should probably start there.” 

“Right,” you chew your lip. 

“It’s nice of you to offer but if it’s too much--” 

“No, no! It’s cool. I’ve just never stuffed a turkey on my own,” you say. “I was always just an observer.” 

Your mother never believed anything was done right unless she did it herself. Then she’d complain about having to do it. 

“I can help,” he offers. 

“Sure, sounds like a plan. I think she might appreciate the help, huh?” 

He smiles but doesn’t answer right away. For a moment, he only stares. He clears his throat and nods at last, “she would—will.” 

“Show me where it all is,” you show your palms, not wanting to presume too much. 

He beckons you after him as he leads you through the doorway perpendicular to the one you came through. He turns on another light. This place feels desolate with them off. 

“So uh...” he begins as he goes to the counter and peeks in the sink, “yep, turkey’s in here.” 

“Great, hopefully it’s dethawed,” you say. “Alright, do you mind if I poke around?” 

“It’s all yours. I’ll try to help but gotta be honest, as a kid, I was out in the field,” he stands back to watch you. 

“Right,” you come forward to look the turkey over. Good thing is it won’t need extra time due to being half-frozen. 

“Hum... do you know if your mother does stuffing from scratch or a box?” You turn back to him. 

“Scratch, probably,” he shrugs. 

“Cool, uh, I need bread,” you declare. It’s almost nice being in charge. A very new but refreshing feeling. 

✨

The smell of turkey wafts from the stove as you work at the other fixings. You follow the list on the fridge. The paper is a bit yellowed but you can read it nonetheless. At least Clark’s mother is a planner. Although a few of her ingredients are a bit... aged. Nothing you can’t use but the spices have a little extra dust on the caps. 

Clark appears again. He’s been pacing in and out, helping where he can, but he seems too restless to focus. You tap pause on your phone to stop the music. You don’t get any signal out here but you have a bunch downloaded. It helps ease the silence that thickens with the fall of snow. 

“So, how’s mom? She doing okay?” You ask. 

“Mom?” He hesitates, “yeah, she’s getting there. Sorry about this. I know the whole reason you did this was to make her happy. For me. I just didn’t expect--” He blows out a heavy breath and leans on the counter. “It’s hard when you get older and everyone you love starts to leave. Or change.” 

Your heart flickers. You try not to frown too deep, “I’m sorry, Clark.” You look back down at the bowl of soaking cranberries. You take your family for granted. The might be a little toxic but they’re there. 

“Not your fault. I just... I thought I had it figured out with Lois. Everyone was happy and my mom was ecstatic,” he clutches his hands together. You meet his eyes sheepishly. “I just wanted her to be that way again. And you’re so sweet and nice.” 

“Aw, Clark. Well, you know, I should thank you. At least I’m not alone on Christmas,” you try to pep yourself up. “Um, I gotta wait for these cranberries a little long. Could I use the bathroom?” 

“Right, er, it’s just down the hall,” he points towards the second doorway that interconnects with the same hallway that leads back to the stairs. 

“Thanks,” you wipe your hands on a dishcloth and leave him with a thin smile. 

As you flit out, your chest sinks. You think of everything you’ve said since you got there, how insensitive it must have seemed. And back in the car when you complained about your mom. Ugh, he must think you’re so ungrateful. 

You close yourself in the bathroom and tend to your business. You’d been holding it since he picked you up from your building. You wash your hands, pumping the soap bottle hard to dislodge a clog in the tube. You finally finish up but find the smell of mildew stuck to your hands from the towel. 

You come out of the bathroom and look up and down the hallway. You shift to see the framed picture a bit better. Those must be his parents, and little Clark. You can’t believe he was ever that small. 

There are other pictures across the table below. A cluster of frames; class photos, impromptu snaps of memories, and posed family shots. Beneath one, there’s a slip of paper. You try not to be intrusive but the fading font catches your eye. You lean in as you tilt the frame to see the full letter, the card bent and forgotten beneath. 

‘Our condolences. We were so sorry to hear of your mother’s passing. Please do let us anything we can do for you.’ The message is signed Mallory and Chuck. You blink in confusion. Maybe it’s an old card meant for his mother; for a grandparent. 

“She died last year,” Clark startles you so you whip up and nearly tip as you stand straight. “It’s my first Christmas without her,” he continues. “I’m sorry I lied but I didn’t want to be alone.” 

You shake your head. Confusion swells through your stomach and clouds your brain. The fog clears and your eyes wander up to the ceiling. 

“Your mom?” 

“I miss her,” his voice cracks. “She took care of me.” 

“Oh, well, yeah,” you quaver unevenly. You’re reeling. Why would he lie about that? And to get you here? You’re just coworkers. “That must be hard.” 

“Mhm,” he nods and pouts. As he comes closer, you tense, wavering with his steps. “You’re not mad at me?” 

Your lips part then close. The wind whistles outside and reminds you of how isolated this place is. Clark drove you here... 

“I’m just... wondering why you need to lie,” you eke out. 

“I know it’s wrong but... if I told the truth, you might say no.” 

You nod and as he reaches for you, you wince away. You hug yourself and push your shoulders up. You swallow, “Clark, what is the truth? Why am I here?” 

He tilts his head and his eyes drift to the side. The light fades in his pupils and his jaw clenches. His fingers twiddle by his leg. 

“To be with me,” he looks at you again and smiles. A smile shadowed sinisterly beneath the worn bulb above. “You’re alone too.” 

You stare at him. Terror floods your veins and paralyses you. You want to turn and run but you won’t get far. All you can do is bide your time and hope that you can find a chance and way to get out. But for now, with him so close, so much bigger, you have to pretend. That is exactly what he asked you to do, after all. 

[qwimchii]

i was hoping to put forward a request, if that’s okay? 👉🏻👈🏻 angst (or hurt/comfort?) and smut with ghost? and i’m totally not projecting here but — reader has a hard time finishing, either by themselves or with someone? and when they’re with someone, they get so worried about taking too long and not being able to finish or even feeling good and they apologize for taking too long and it dissolves into them crying and apologizing more and mentioning how they think they’re broken and there’s something wrong with them and it kinda makes them think ghost will leave for someone else because that’s what everyone else has done and basically just ghost being soft and sweet and understanding and taking his time with reassurance and praise and yeah… gonna go hide now 🥲

𝘴𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 — 𝘚𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘙𝘪𝘭𝘦𝘺

𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘹 𝘤𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘯!𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺 — 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘯𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘣𝘰𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘭𝘱𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘣𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘤 — 5k

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮𝘦 — 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘴𝘵

𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴/𝘵𝘢𝘨𝘴 — 𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘯 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵𝘥𝘰𝘮!𝘨𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘵, 𝘣𝘦𝘨𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘱𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘴𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘬, 𝘤𝘶𝘯𝘯𝘪𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘴, 𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘶𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺, 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵/𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘴𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘴𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘯, 𝘴𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘱𝘦𝘵 𝘯𝘢𝘮𝘦𝘴, 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘧𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥…

note: omllllll!!!! 💞 i am so sorry for taking so long to write this request but this is so sweet and cute 😭 thank you sm for requesting!! ><

pt 2, pt 3

Simon Riley had been your boyfriend for maybe a month now. or maybe two weeks. or maybe three months, you decided finally, sipping your water with closed eyes, willing the frustrated bounce of your knee to settle.

of course, picking your head up and looking at the entrance of the restaurant one last time, that frustration redoubled, and you watched your knee bounce with a mind of its own.

setting the drink back on its coaster, you drew random patterns into the floral tablecloth with a pout. Simon had chosen this restaurant. Simon had initiated communication with you—mindblowing as it was—just last night when you were scrolling through instagram in bed. 

the notification had ballooned over a post of an old friend from college traveling in europe, and immediately, you had squealed, pressing your phone to your chest to stop the race of your thrumming heart. you made yourself count out two minutes—at least two, before you responded.

— Dinner tmrw at the diner on 6th ave?

— sure!! good to hear from you :))

— what time??

— 7.

it was curt, it was short, it was sweet, but it gave you all the motivation you needed to power through the day and weasel your way into the diner, earlier to the occasion than usual. now, it was half past seven. now, you were playing with the tablecloth of the booth and feeling stupid and sorry for yourself.

stupid because you had sorely missed Simon since he went radio silent for over a month. sorry for yourself because you had thought you were at least close enough for him to text you beforehand.

definitively, you knew you had met the brit five months ago when he moved into the empty apartment adjacent to your own. he crowded every entrance he stood in, so massive and hulking when the elevator doors that you startled with a squeak, dropping the cardboard box and all the items scattering out over the carpet floor.

you had flushed with embarrassment, whole body heating up as you scrambled to stuff all the items back into the box with a string of apologies. he had dropped to your side without a word, putting back a pair of socks, your old band t-shirt from high school, and tennis shoes that had gone gray with discoloration. he hadn’t even bothered to one-over your personal items, but you were scrambling for an explanation anyway.

“donations for vets,” you said with nervous laughter. “i donate every year.”

“vets?” he reiterated, and you looked up into his face, eyeing the black surgical mask on his face carefully, brown eyes a murky kind of gray-ish beneath blonde eyebrows and his hood drawn up above that. 

“mhmm,” you squeaked, suddenly wary of the stranger in front of you.

when he said nothing more, you asked him, “any veterans in the family?”

then he just stared at you and you blushed, feeling stupid for saying anything at all but—

“my grandfather,” he said slowly. “and my great grandfather.”

“nice,” you choked out, unsure what to say as you searched the carpet of the last of your remnants.

then, he added, “i’m in the military as well.”

just when you were about to bolt, intimidated by the sheer size of him and his eerie unfamiliar presence in your apartment complex, it was like he read your mind to introduce himself.

“Simon Riley. new neighbor.”

you nodded slowly, giving him your name back and edging your fingers under the cardboard box, heaving it up into your arms.

“nice to meet you,” you said, giving him a weak smile from over the top of the box. he tilted his head at you, eyes flitting from the box to you.

when a prolonged silence ensued, you turned on your heel and stepped toward the elevator before you jerked around again.

“thank you for your service,” you squeaked, scurrying toward the elevator and feeling awkward when he just watched you from the hallway. you waved as the doors closed, watching him slip his hands into the pockets of his jeans. 

with one long look, he turned and prowled down the hallway.

that was five months ago. two months later, after endless awkward encounters of wordless greetings with him, the plumbing in your bathroom sink had exploded, flooding the floor in a puddle of water and spraying over the front of your white dress.

in a panic, you went to your next door neighbor Simon who opened the door upon your third set of rapid knocks.

you looked up to his massive form in the entrance, suddenly aware of how the front of your soaked dress had become sheer when you asked him to help you. 

he helped. and then you asked him to get drinks at the bar around the corner as a thank you. then when that became a regular occurrence, things just got more confusing.

it felt exclusive. maybe. you thought it felt exclusive when a man approached you in the bar, gearing up for a casual conversation with a sly smirk, but Simon was always at your back in an instant, a large, warm hand on your waist and his words in your ear.

she’s taken.

your mind spun after the first time it happened. taken?

whirling around on your heel after the man left with a low grumble and scowl, Simon just blinked down at you from behind his surgical mask, squeezing your waist with both hands before he was sinking back down into his seat, hulking as he leaned over the bar.

when the same happened a few more times, you didn’t question it, thinking it was maybe just a perk of the friendship. he staves off a couple creepy men at the bar and you pay for drinks. 

or at least that’s how you thought it worked until he started sliding his card across the counter to the bartender to claim the tab before you could even get a word out.

you were especially confused when he knocked at your apartment door one night. you opened it to find him void of the hoodie usually slung up and over his head, blonde hair hanging down his forehead, and a black shirt in its place. that’s when you saw the thick black ink winding down the tattoo sleeve of his arm, and your eyes darted over it with a blush, before you were inviting him in.

he had smelled something baking, he clarified, craning his neck into the kitchen. that made you giddy because you hadn’t taken him for someone nosy, but you entertained it nonetheless, assuming he just had an insatiable sweet tooth for cookies.

another part of you hoped he just had a sweet tooth for you.

then the baking became a regular occurrence. you’d bake him all sorts of sweets while he watched you from the little table in your kitchen, staring from behind that black mask of his while you prattled about your day and he took it all in silently. somewhere along the way, after so many nights of him chewing behind the mask, he ditched it completely, and you could watch him devour your brownies in a few bites without the annoying fabric in the way.

the new schedule had become very regular until it was baking night and he didn’t show up to your door. rolling the tenseness from your shoulders, you sent him a quick text, saying you would bring over the sweets in the morning to his apartment.

when he didn’t respond to that, a little nervous bubble of anxiety rooted in your chest. you found out from your landlord days later that Simon would be away for work, and that hurt more than you wanted it to. if he had taken the time to at least notify your landlord, he could’ve done the same for you… couldn’t he?

unless he didn’t think about you that way. but you were so sure—from the quick glances you shared, his gentle touches as he brushed past you in your kitchen, or the possessive grip on your waist at the bar, or just the way he was so relaxed around you meant something.

those were your thoughts that ran in circles as you sat at the diner booth. the waiter checked on your table every once and a while, sending you nervous glances ever since you said that you had a date… or a friend. or something like that.

you felt stupid for accepting Simon’s proposal so quickly, even after he had ghosted you for weeks. even then, you had dolled yourself up anyways, picking out the new dress you got last weekend and doing your hair and makeup. you buried your face in your hands, not looking up when you heard the chime of the diner opening.

when you heard a familiar, low and grating accent, your head snapped up to see Simon standing by the entrance and talking to the waiter, gesturing to you as the waiter just nodded.

Simon strode over to you, a duffle bag slung over his shoulder and dressed in his military fatigues, half his face behind in a black surgical mask.

you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped you when you reached your senses, heart soaring as you scrambled to stand. your hands twitched against the table when he stopped in front of you, dropping his duffle bag to the floor.

had he come straight from the airport? for you? you felt like your mind was spinning, but you forced it to still, desperately not wanting to jump to any strange conclusions…

swallowing down your thoughts, you said slowly, “it’s been a while.”

looking up into his murky brown eyes had never been so comforting.

“it has,” he affirmed, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides.

for a long moment, you both just stood there in silence, staring at each other and unsure what to do.

eyes darting down to his torso, you could feel the warmth of his body in the close proximity, and you felt so tempted to just touch him.

you outstretched a hand to brush over his clothing, and when he didn’t move away, you pressed your knuckles into his abdomen, amazed to feel him solid and real. then you wrapped yourself around his torso, giving him a tight hug, cheek pressed against his strong chest.

immediately, he engulfed you, squeezing you back.

“missed you,” you admitted, screwing your eyes shut.

you felt his nose press into the crown of your hair. “m’sorry m’late, love.” 

“s’fine,” you sniffled, feeling stupid when tears pricked up in your eyes. when you pulled back, you swiped at them with the back of your hand, startled when he reached forward to brush his fingers across your wet cheeks, squishing the chub of your face lightly.

he looked at you with such a softness that you almost melted, feeling nervous because you had never seen him look at you like that before.

then, as you both slid into the booth, you chided him in between sniffles, “don’t do that to me again.”

don’t leave me in the dark again, was what you meant, and you knew he understood what you meant when he nodded curtly.

the dinner went smoothly. more than you could imagine. or maybe you were just overwhelmed with the exhausting joy that Simon was still just the same since before he left two months ago—lowly grunted non-verbal responses as he munched on a platter of fish and chips, stealing a couple of your fries after he devoured his plate at a startling pace, and some rumbles of half-sentences, leaning on his elbow as he watched you ramble with excitement and sip on your milkshake every now and then.

when you accidentally got a smidge of whipped cream on your nose, he reached across the table to wipe it off, cutting through your words mid-sentence. you thanked him with a blush, shifting over the booth, just blushing harder when your shoes knocked against his under the table.

leaving felt smooth too—walking back to the apartment complex just a couple blocks away. even in the darkness of the night, you felt safe tucked near his side, enjoying his presence so close to your side and feeling disappointed when you reached the hallway you shared in the apartment complex.

he stopped by your door and you fumbled with your dress, struggling for words.

“come inside,” you offered, though it sounded more like a plea. your eyes flitted from his face to the duffle bag on his shoulder, hands twisting into the fabric of your dress.

“i know you must be tired but—”

“m’not,” he assured, squaring his shoulders. you nodded dumbly.

“i can bake brownies?” you squeaked, and he blinked down at you.

“s’reason why i’m here, love.”

at that you blushed, opening the apartment and throwing your jacket on the couch, moving to rifle through the kitchen.

“it won’t take long i promise,” you called from behind the fridge door, snatching the butter and eggs from it.

closing the door to turn to the counter, you jolted when Simon materialized beside you, boots, mask, and the jacket of his fatigues off, reaching above you to open a cabinet. your eyes darted over the ink designs of his muscled arm.

“flour and sugar’s here, right?” he asked, and you squeaked a yes, ducking beneath his arm to put the butter and eggs on the counter before grabbing a mixing bowl and baking pan from a lower cabinet.

once all the necessary items were strewn across the counter, you measured out the dry ingredients, dumping them into the mixing bowl. beside you, Simon leaned back against the edge of the kitchen sink, arms crossed as he watched you.

you were hyper-aware of his presence, hands jittery, confused because he always sat at the kitchen table to watch you. he never got this close and personal, uncrossing his arms to slide a hand over the counter right by where your hip leaned against it.

from your peripheral, you glanced at him, finding him already staring down at you.

“can i help?” he asked, voice gruff, and you turned your head to stare at him in dismay. this was new. very new.

“sure,” you choked out, scooting over so he could help you measure out the ingredients. he filled the space easily, arm pressed against yours in the little space.

you blushed. this was very very new.

he cracked an egg on the edge of the bowl, and you watched the yellow glop plop into the flour.

playing off the whole situation as a joke, you laughed nervously as you mixed the wet ingredients into the bowl. “miss my baking that much?”

you bit down on your lip, unable to look at him, just focusing on the churn of brown batter in the mixing bowl. when you felt him lean in, his strong bicep against yours, you muffled a yelp.

“‘course.”

“really?” you asked, pouring the batter into the greased up pan.

for good measure, you dipped a finger into the batter and tasted it, eyes flickering up to Simon. it was sweet.

he stared down at you, an imperceptible, dark look on his face as he leaned over and dipped his thumb into the batter, then swiped the gooey brown substance over your cheek.

“oops.” there was a smugness in his voice that his face smothered, expression blank when he gripped your jaw tight. 

you gasped when he turned your face and leaned down to lick you.

the textured muscle of his tongue pressed into the curve of your flesh, licking away the sweet taste from your cheek.

then, he leaned back with a hum. “i like sweet things.”

you clutched at his wrist keeping your jaw firmly in place, wide-eyed and heart beating out of your chest. you watched his finger dip back in the batter and reached up to your lips, spreading the sugary sweet batter over your lower lip.

you squeaked, unable to look anywhere but his bare face, rugged and handsome in the low light.

“may i?” he asked, eyes flitting down to your lips, and you couldn’t even nod in his hold, just a low, breathy yes on your lips that he swallowed, tongue sucking the traces of batter on your lips. 

you whimpered into his mouth, clutching at his shirt as he angled your head with a soft touch, sliding his hand on your jaw to your neck, just resting there. that spurred on a familiar burn in your stomach, and you squirmed in his hold.

when he leaned back, you were breathless and panting with flushed cheeks.

“sweet,” he rasped, like he was approving the taste as he licked over his lips.

from that point on, you didn’t really remember how you got to your bedroom, Simon’s hands edging up the hem of your dress beneath him, knuckles drawing a warm trail up to your hips as he sucked on the skin of your neck.

the only thing you could do was whine and squirm under his weight, legs and arms pinning you down as he did what he liked, giving you sweet kisses that made you feel all hazy.

you watched his head dip beneath the fabric of your dress and you gasped when you felt his lips against your thighs, skipping where you needed him most, and then against your stomach and the flesh of your breasts.

and all throughout the pleasurable haze, your fingers curled into the sheets, nails digging into the bed because you were beyond nervous.

you knew this would happen eventually—that Simon would end up in your bed or the other way around. kissing him was a dream. having him caging you against the bed with his heady weight was a dream.

sliding a hand over his back, his rushed movements slowed against your skin, taking the time to suck carefully around your pebbled nipples that had your hips bucking up with a whimper.

your mind spun. but you were so nervous.

it was all you could think about as he descended back down between your thighs, both of his big arms curling around your thighs to lock you in place against the bed.

words rung your mind loud and clear—what the hell is wrong with you?

when Simon dipped a thumb beneath the top of your panties, the words shook you again.

what the hell is wrong with you?

you hadn’t even noticed how still and quiet you had grown until his head perked up between your thighs, pupils blown wide. he swiped a thumb over the soaking entrance of your panties, drawing a whimper from your throat.

“what is it?” he asked, voice so throaty and rough that you shivered with want. you had wanted this for so long.

“nothing,” you whispered, tugging his head back down between your thighs, but he didn’t budge, frowning at you.

“tell me,” he probed, “m’not touchin’ you if you don’t, sweet thing.”

sweet thing.

swallowing hard, you shifted against the bed. “m’just nervous.”

“yeah?” he stroked the plush, soft skin of your inner thigh, before pressing his lips to it. “don’t worry. i’ll make you feel good.”

you nodded, biting down on your lip, though his words didn’t quell any of the raging anxiety thrumming within your chest, even when he kissed the wet fabric stretched over your cunt, nosing through your folds and his hot breath against you.

lifting up your hips with ease, he tugged a pillow beneath you.

“comfy?” he asked, hooking two fingers beneath your panties and sliding it down your thighs.

“uh-huh,” you gasped, back arching when he ducked between your legs and pressed the pink muscle of his tongue flat against your cunt.

“good,” he grunted against you, pecking your swollen clit before swirling his tongue around it, and building a steady, delicious pace that had you hiccuping moans.

your hands snaked through his hair, gripping the blonde curls tight and pulling, startling when he groaned in response, the tremors going straight from the back of his throat and into your clit.

you ground against his face and he purred in approval. “tha’s it, sweet thing.” 

you took the pleasure and rode it, pushing yourself further and further to the edge, or at least you thought you were, seeing no end in sight for the sensations wracking your body. every passing moment felt too long, and you could practically feel the irritation roiling off Simon in waves.

even though you couldn’t see his face, just could hear his soft noises of approval against your cunt, it was like you knew he was growing impatient.

frustrated, you huffed a whine, that anxiety in your chest squashing half the pleasurable experience. he reached up and pressed down on the lower part of your tummy, intensifying it all over again, making you gasp as your head fell back.

“relax,” he mumbled, playing with your clit as he pressed his tongue into your cunt, humming as he tasted you.

it was overwhelming. too overwhelming, and you couldn’t help the tears that pricked up in your eyes as you were torn between finishing and feeling good and pleasing Simon and—

a little sob broke from your throat, and he went still between your legs.

you covered your face with your hands, digging your palms into your eyes and muffled the sounds falling from your lips.

why were you crying?

brows pinched together, you scrunched up your face. “sorry, sorry, just keep going—”

you cut off when a sob choked your throat, refusing to look at Simon and withering when he stayed silent, feeling really fucking stupid as you just cried in the bed.

“i don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you whimpered, feeling him tug your dress back down over your thighs and hike your panties back up your hips.

you expected him to leave, ready to feel the weight of him against you on the bed disappear, and his heavy footsteps through the apartment, then the slam of the door behind him.

and you did—the dip in the bed lifted and you heard his footsteps edge around the bed.

then, you gasped when he slid into the bed beside you, arm circling beneath your waist and pulling you flush to his chest, breath right against your ear.

“what’s wrong, sweet thing?” he sighed, though it didn’t sound irritated, just tired as he sunk into the bed beside you.

your breath stilled, the cries dying in your throat as you twisted to look back at him. his gaze was soft as he peered over your shoulder, squeezing you between both arms.

“what?” you croaked, and he leaned over you to press a kiss to your cheek, squishing you into the bed.

“what’s wrong?” he repeated, thumb drawing circles against your clothed tummy.

“nothing,” you said, and he made a low noise of disapproval, pressing his face against the side of your head.

clutching at his arms holding your waist, caging you to him, you choked out the words. 

“i just…” you turned your head from him, tears spilling from your eyes and onto the sheets. “i wanna be good for you.”

he hummed against your ear, squeezing you tighter. “you are so good for me, love.”

“no, i meant…” you huffed, sniffling with a frustrated sound in the back of your throat.

“i take too long,” you squeaked, avoiding his eyes. “there’s something wrong with me.”

a sob pierced your chest. “i think i’m broken.”

you turned in his arms and buried your face in his chest, embarrassed as you soaked his shirt with tears, muffled the sharp noises of your throat against his solid body. he curled around you, hand rubbing down your back.

“who put those ideas in your pretty head?”

his voice was deceptively soft, though you heard the threat that lay under it, and you shivered.

“my ex boyfriend.”

his body went tense against you.

“look at me luvie.”

you lifted your head and let him kiss you, tasting salty and sweet from the slick of you still in his mouth, as he brushed away the tears on your face.

when he pulled back and you looked over the curves of his face, the depth of his dark eyes, you admitted to him softly, “i don’t want you to leave me.”

it was such a small whimper that you don’t think he would’ve heard you, but from the way his face crunched into a frown you knew that he had.

“m’not going anywhere,” he promised, pushing the hair from your forehead. “m’right here.”

you whimpered, pulling him back down for a kiss that was wet and hot, teeth knocking against yours when he pressed you further into the bed.

“lemme make you feel good,” he whispered, and you clutched at his arm wound tight around your waist, the other creeping up to cup your breast.

“please,” you whimpered, and he hummed into your lips.

“when’s the last time you touched yourself?” he asked, lips trailing down to your neck, his large hand edging down to brush over your pelvis.

“long time,” you squeaked, gasping when his hand snuck beneath your dress, rucking it up so it pooled around your waist.

“c-can’t do it myself,” you admitted, screwing your eyes shut when his fingers slipped beneath the band of your panties. “doesn’t feel good.”

“yeah? bet your ex couldn’t make you feel good either,” he mumbled, either to you or yourself you couldn’t tell, mind dizzy and somewhere up high when his forefinger gently brushed over the shell of your clit. “bet your he didn’t even know how to touch a woman. how to make her cum.”

you whimpered, hips bucking into his hand, and you could feel him smile against your neck.

“s’okay, baby. i’ll make you cum.”

his fingers circled your swollen clit, other hand fondling the sensitive plush of your tits. as you squirmed against his touch, little breathy noises leaving your lips, you could feel his hard cock pressing into the curve of your ass. you whimpered at the sheer size of it.

“please, Simon,” you gasped, clutching at his wrist as he played and flicked at your clit, speeding up then slowing down and dragging you through a slew of different body wracking sensations, leaving you so whiney and sensitive that your thighs started to shake and twitch.

your ex boyfriend had never given you so much attention like this—just honing in on his own pleasure, degrading you when you tried to chase your own. it became something you dreaded. something you didn’t want and forced yourself through, faking orgasms and artificial, pitched moans.

it was so different from Simon that you felt delirious, blissed out as real, loud whines broke through your throat, riding his hand just wanting more and more.

“more,” you sobbed, burying your face into the sheets, jolting when he played and pinched at your swollen nipples.

“want you to cum on my hand first, sweet thing,” he whispered, and you almost cried real tears.

he huffed a laugh into your ear.

“feel that good?” he cooed, and you nodded against the sheets, wiggling your hips in his hand.

“c-can’t,” you whined, shivering when he made a noise of disapproval.

“yes you can,” he said, low and throaty, licking over your ear. “i don’t care how long it takes, baby. i can play with this pretty cunt all night.”

you moaned, grinding down into his hand, eyes rolling back into your head as he abused your clit, crushing it beneath his fingers.

“you’re gonna cum on my hand, and then i’m gonna stretch you out with my fingers, yeah? then you’re gonna cum on my fingers, and i’m gonna fuck two more orgasms out of you. how does that sound, sweet thing?”

“Simon—” you choked, whole body going still when you finally reached a sharp peak, shaking and twitching and moaning softly through your whole orgasm that made you see a blinding white.

he groaned in your ear, so filled with pleasure it sounded like he came alongside you.

“there you go, baby, good girl. so good f’me.”

your hearing felt muffled when you resurfaced, blinking your eyes open, sleepy and muscles lax against the bed. he was petting at your naval, peppering little kisses and kitten licks along your neck and shoulders.

“see? that wasn’t so hard, luvie,” he whispered in your ear, making a shiver slither down your spine.

“mhmm,” was all you could get out, pliable as he slipped from your side and moved you to your back, tipping your knees open as he dove between your legs.

you looked down, watching him drink up the cum from your pussy, slurping loudly and sucking on your twitchy clit, your hips squirming in his hold. 

“so sweet,” he practically growled, and you whined in response, trying to push his head away.

when he finally relented, he sat back, licking over his lips before tugging the shirt over his head. in the dim lighting, you could see scars littered over him, naval blessed with dark hair and a toned stomach that made your mouth water.

“think you can do that four more times, baby?”

when you shook your head, he only smirked, crawling back over you and pressing the crotch of his fatigues against your sopping pussy, grinding his painfully hard, big cock against your aching entrance.

“yes you can,” he said, low and throaty. “m’gonna make you, sweet thing. you’re gonna be coming on this cock all night long.”

taglist: @ivybeeloved

[potofsoup]

i love your fourth of july comics every year but this years feels extremely optimistic about biden’s abilities in the face of him letting roe get overturned and funding a gen*cide at worst or letting it happen at best by taking the bare minimum of regulatory action… i mean can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands? and how do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?

Hihi! Thank you for reading and enjoying my July 4th comics every year! I am in a non-US airport en route to a month-long trip in a place with sketchy internet, so sorry in advance for sloppiness in my response (and potentially going radio silent).

But:

I don't think he "let" Roe get overturned, since that was the Supreme Court's overwhelming conservative majority, which really started with Mitch McConnell refusing to approve Obama's appointee and forcing it into a 2016 election issue. The fact that Trump got to appoint 3 Supreme Court Justices is what got us here.

Re: Biden and the Israel/Hamas war ... on the one hand, there's definitely more that he could have done, but on the other hand, they are a whole other country over there. It's Hamas that initiated the Oct 7 attacks and took the hostages. It's Netanyahu and his right-wing government who decided to retaliate to such extreme extent. Biden can talk about how he would really like Netanyahu to stop fighting and step down, but at the end of the day that's not his call, any more than he can stop the Sudan fighting that is near-genocidal either.

So, to come to your question #1: "Can he really be trusted at all anymore to do the right thing or act in line with the people’s demands"?

For me, it's a resounding YES. Guyz, he has passed so much good domestic policies. My spouse works in green energy and the passing of the Inflation Reduction Act halved his anxiety and gave him legitimate hope. The tumblr post I linked to in my comic has links to many of the other great things that Biden has done. Tbh I voted for him in 2020 because "a moldy onion is still better than Trump", and I've been pleasantly surprised. Like how he tried to cancel student loans, the Supreme Court overturned it, and then he came back 6 months later with a different way to do it that didn't lead to a court challenge.

Is he perfect? Hell no. There's tons of stuff that I wish he did more about, or he went further on, but also he's just one guy heading one branch of government who is heading into an election year. (Just like FDR promising not joining WWII, while behind the scenes doing all the Lend-Lease Act stuff). And "the people" have lots of demands, many of them conflicting.

I'd also like to push at the unspoken part of your question... "Can he really be trusted to do the right thing..." compared to whom? Because right now the answer is "compared to Trump." And compared to Trump... I don't even trust Trump to respect the results of a legitimate election. Heck, he might just take his favorite state secrets, sell them to the highest bidder (or just show them off to someone for funzies), and then claim Presidential immunity. A decent Democrat who got stuff done vs someone who probably wants to pardon himself and all his friends and do Project 2025 stuff is not even on the same level. (Do I wish that there was a viable Democratic alternative to Biden? Sure! But who?) Heck, at this point -- imagine if it's Kamala Harris vs. Trump. Who would you vote for?

As for your question #2: "How do we know the people behind project 2025 won’t just rig the election again to get in under false pretenses?"

We don't. But also what can we do besides showing up to vote?

Actually, I need bullet points for this:

The 2022 midterm elections brought in fewer-than-expected election-deniers into crucial electoral offices at the state level, which means that hopefully most state electoral boards will continue to have integrity

Yes, voting is harder but at least we can still vote. So it's about getting out there and getting your vote counted. For some states, it involves waiting in 8 hour lines. For some states, it involves bringing 2 forms of ID. Document. Track. Make sure it's dropped off in a real ballot box and not a fake one. Don't believe messaging that the voting is happening on a different day or location, etc.

A 50.1% majority is easily challenged. A 55% majority, less so. Which means getting people out to vote.

The more people know about and think about the reality of a second Trump term (versus being disappointed by a Biden term), the more they will be motivated to vote against Trump.

Finally, let's be real here: I'm braced for a 2nd Trump term. That said:

I'm still going to go and vote for Biden, because the only way to prevent a 2nd Trump term is to vote.

A Trump term where either the House or Senate is controlled by the Democrats will be *very* different from a clean Republican sweep.

Even with a clean Republican sweep on the federal level, States have so much more power now, and voting the state level stuff will help shore up Democratic goals for the future. States get to draw voting districts however they want. States get to decide on abortion policies. If you live in a deep Red state, there still might be things to vote for that make it easier to live in now, and turn it purple a few elections down the line.

So at the end of the day, it's "Vote AND". Vote and keep living your best life. Vote and tell others about Project 2025. Vote and have hope. Even if Trump wins, at least you'll have voted against him. Vote and stay to build up a progressive wave for the next election.

[mintmatcha]

I am so soft for father figure Shinsou, thank you for giving me something I didn’t know I needed. Just doing everyday things with him and him being soft towards you child is giving me life.

Casual. That's the word you used to describe what the meeting should be. Casual.

"He's a good boy, for the most part." Your bag is already stuffed full of toys and towels and other miscellaneous things that Shinso can't imagine you'll need. "His dad spoils him, so he might be a little bratty at first- we're working on it. Well, I'm working on it. His dad is--"

You kneel down and start rummaging through your things.

"Uh, don't let him guilt you into buying him snacks, please. He's got a severe nut and seed allergy and it's just easier if I take care of it all. There's snacks in here, along with two epipens. There's two more in the red cabinet in the kitchen, just in case we ever need them. "

Somehow, you manage to wiggle out the sunscreen for your bag without collapsing the whole pile. You dollop a bit on your fingers.

"Once they get here, we'll go straight to the park and hang out there for just a little bit. The book says the first meeting should be short and we should give him other things to focus out so he doesn't stress out." Your shoulders are bunched by your ears. "It'll be super casual. Easy. No stress."

Shinso kneels down next to you and dips a finger in the sunscreen.

"No stress," Shinso repeats back, dotting the sunscreen on your nose. It's enough to urge a smile out of you.

"Sorry, I know I'm--" You toss your hands in the air, frazzled, but with a smile. "This is a big deal."

"I know it is."

"We've only been dating for eight months," you say/ "What if we're jumping the gun? I don't want to put him through this if-"

"I'm not planning on breaking up with you." Ever. Shinso wouldn't have agreed to this if he wasn't completely sure that you were the one for him. It's not that he doesn't like children, it's that he's never spent time with any. Only child, no cousins: he doesn't know anything about kids other than the fact he used to be one.

You reach other and dot Shinso's nose with sunscreen. Now, you're matching.

"You might break up with me after you see what I'm dealing with."

Shinso takes your hand. "I'm not going to leave because you have a kid."

"I was talking about his father," you heave out a sigh. "They'll probably be late, by the way."

-

They are late.

Significantly.

It's six hours past the allotted time, filled with weak excuses from you. The television has rolled into the second season of some trashy show, but neither of you are really watching.

"He always loses track of time," you repeat for the twentieth time, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. Shinso is long past disappointed, well into the area of 'pissed'. Mostly at your ex, partially at you, for letting it happen.

"He's still not calling you back?"

"No," you say, just like you've said before. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let him know about you, he's just-- I dunno. Playing games with me again."

It contextualizes a lot of your behaviors, actually. The anxiety about getting home, the days you go radio silent, the dates where you suddenly have to run off and collect your child: he imagines there's a lot of bullshit games that happen between you two.

"You let him treat you like this?"

"He's my baby's father. I can't just..."

[itsraceweekbitches]

BRAT TAMING

summary: Charles has a bad day, but you know how to handle it. ✤ pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader ✤ wc: 0.8k ✤ tags: fem!reader, race engineer!reader

It’s easy to see that something is different today. Charles arrives wearing a hoodie, hiding from the outside world and staying in his comfortable little bubble for most of the day. When he has to change into his Ferrari shirt, he suddenly looks almost fragile, uncertain, yet he does his best to act like everything is fine. 

It’s a little concerning, but you decide not to press him to open up about whatever is going on with him. He knows that if he wants to talk, you’re always there to listen. You like to believe that you’re not only his race engineer, but also a good friend, at least the fact he often invites you to parties or to visit him in Monaco tells you exactly that. 

But when he gets in the car during FP1, you realize that he’s annoyed, snappy even, so you just keep taking deep breaths and flashing everything’s fine smiles at Fred when he looks at you with raised eyebrows. It’s only during sprint qualifying that you realize just how bad the situation is.

Charles is complaining. A lot. The car, the other drivers, the track’s condition–really, everything seems to be a problem. At one point, you snap at him, telling him to suck it up and focus on driving, which works like charm, because the Monegasque falls silent for a minute or so before speaking up again. What he was probably saying under the helmet without pushing the radio button is a mystery, though. 

“What’s your problem? Why are you so mean?” he asks innocently, as if he hasn’t been acting like an annoying idiot all day. 

Rolling your eyes, you glance over at the others before saying, “Maybe I’m taking GP’s Handling brats 101 class.” There’s silence on the radio, and you can feel your colleagues’ eyes on you, which makes you turn to them. “What?”

They shake their heads, deciding not to comment on this sentence, although you all know this will be shown to the fans and viewers. Well, at least they’ll have a laugh. Hopefully. Damn it, maybe that was a mistake, you think as you bury your face into your palm. 

And then, out of nowhere, Charles speaks up. “How bad am I today?” he wonders, and you know exactly what he wants to know. 

“Max in Hungary last year,” you reply.

“Fuck.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to stop the laugh that wants to erupt, and you eventually manage to talk without your voice giving away what you wish to do right now. “Language,” you warn him kindly.

“Yeah, yeah, sorry.”

Not long after this conversation, the sprint qualifying ends with Charles in P4, which isn’t as bad as it looks. If anyone, he can move forward, although you all know there are a lot more factors that need to be considered. Factors like strategy and the car itself.

You wait for him in the garage, smiling to yourself as you listen to a piece of Red Bull radio conversation, and you honestly can’t wait to tell your favorite driver about it. Social media is of course full of memes already, but you truly hope he hasn’t heard about it yet, because you want to see his face when you tell him.

But you have no luck, he returns from his media duties looking exhausted, but otherwise surprisingly giddy. When he stops in front of you, biting his lower lip so he wouldn’t burst out laughing, you already know it’s a lost battle. You’re in this mess together, and he’s right, laughing is the only thing you can do at this point.

“Max came over in the media pen and said, ‘Welcome to the dark side.’ I’ll never hear the end of it,” he tells you through a giggle. “And my chronically online little brother took the time to bombard me with memes about this whole conversation, including even the one between Max and GP later on.”

You watch him for a while in silence, but then you signal him to follow you, and as you walk to the back of the garage, you begin to talk. “GP messaged me, he’s willing to give me lessons,” you tell him with a laugh. 

Suddenly, Charles grabs your wrist and pushes you against the wall, leaning close enough so his lips can brush yours. “By the way,” he begins with a playful smile, “calling me a brat is a… unique way to tell me you love me.”

You flash a wicked smile at him. “Who said that’s what I meant?” 

He lets out a laugh. “I know you,” he informs you before kissing you softly, taking his time with you despite the risk of the possibility of someone walking in on you. 

[bonkybuchananbarnes]

The Campaign 

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x personal assistant/PR!manager Reader

Synopsis: Hired as Barnes’ personal assistant and PR!manager, he was constantly pushing your buttons when it came to maintaining his public image and managing his day-to-day routines. But as much as he stresses you out, you find yourself falling head over heels over your boss.

Content warnings: fluffy and crack, small angst, swearing, mentions of smoke and drinking, a little steamy but not smutty, no use of y/n, you are so tired of his bs but he loves you, pining, boss x employee relationship, friends to lovers situation

a/n: this might be my favourite piece I have written for Bucky. I also tried to keep it gender-neutral. I also apologize if I get stuff wrong about how voting and congress works, I am not American lol. also i did not proof read this sorry!

word count: 5k (whew)

It was only 7:30 am and you could use a glass of Bourbon and a cigarette. 

You ought to just go radio silent one of these days. Clearly, you were not paid enough to be James Buchanan Barnes’ glorified babysitter. Everyday, there was something new going on with the former Winter Soldier and today was the worst one yet. An early morning call from Sam Wilson always meant bad news, but whatever he had to say gave you a raging migraine and it hasn’t reached 9 am yet.

‘You’re kidding me. What got released to the public?’ you screeched over the phone.

This is how you found yourself marching into your boss’s apartment with a bedhead you barely cared to fix, and a poorly done business causal outfit, with a hefty pile of files bound together with several manila binders under your arm. 

‘James, you open this door right now!’ you hollered, accompanying your anger with an booming knock on his door. 

An exasperated sigh was heard through the thin walls. You were soon met with a tired Bucky Barnes who was wearing nothing but grey sweatpants. ‘Y’know, it’s really unprofessional to address your boss by their first name.’

Shoving the mental image of his delectable half-naked figure in the back of your head, you shoved the man out of the way and stomped into his kitchen island. You were too mad to ogle your boss that you unfortunately found very attractive.

‘You got a Scotch? I could really use a glass right now.’ you murmured, grabbing the nearest glass and scattering the files onto his marbled counter.

Bucky checked his watch on his wrist. ‘The fuck do you need a glass of Scotch for? Sweetheart, it’s only 7:50am!’

You resorted to a cold glass of milk, since there was no liquor to be found. ‘Look at the files I dropped and you tell me, James.’ 

The super soldier shuffled his way toward the pile of paperwork. As he quickly scanned around, a growing smirk grew on his lips. Noticing this, you groaned, rubbing your fingers over the deepening crease on your brows.

‘Do you know what I woke up with, James? I woke up with Captain America panicking over the phone because someone decided to leak the information I worked so hard to bury!’ you fumed. Swirling your glass of milk like it was hard liquor, you gulped it down, trying to calm your steaming head.

Bucky’s vibranium, fingers grazed over the paper and picked it up. It read ‘POTENTIAL CONGRESSMAN JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES RESPONSIBLE FOR THE ASSASSINATION OF JFK?’

He inquisitive tilted his head in confusion. ‘I thought everyone knew this?’

A nice smooth roll of tobacco sounded so good right now. 

‘Are you KIDDING me?! What part of ‘I worked so hard to bury the information’ don’t you understand?!’ you bellowed, startling the man in front of you. Slapping both of your palms on the marbled counter, Bucky could see you heaving and seething from anger.

A quiet sigh escaped his lips. He carefully made his way towards your side and wrapped you with a side hug. His fleshed fingers slowly rubbed your arms up and down in an attempt to soothe your anger. ‘Alright, alright. I guess I slipped up that one interview where I jokingly said ‘the president better watch his back.’ Someone probably took that to heart and found out that I might’ve assassinated JFK.’

You turned your head and squinted. ‘You need to learn how to keep your mouth shut.’

‘Maybe you can shut it for me, sweetheart.’ Bucky teased.

You rolled your eyes and sighed, fighting the growing blush on your cheeks. It was safe to say that your relationship with Bucky has gone past strictly business professional. The two of you grew close for the past year, and you felt that there was something more. But, for the sake of the job nature and your sanity, you couldn’t act upon it.

A gentle smack on his chest caused him to let go of you. ‘Alright you smooth talker. That might've worked during the 40s, but you’re asking to get smacked by women if you say that.’ 

‘But Sam taught me that last week.’ Bucky shrugged.

‘That’s it. I don’t care if he’s Captain America, I’m limiting his visitation hours with you, Mr. Barnes.’ you scoffed. Grabbing the glass that was sitting on the counter, you reached for the milk carton to pour another.

The super soldier gave you a knowing look. ‘Honestly? I’ll be glad if you did. He talks too much sometimes.’

A grin donned your features as you downed another glass of milk. ‘Didn’t expect you to agree to that. Go get dressed Barnes, I called for another press conference at 10am and you better explain yourself.’

‘Yes ma’am.’ he saluted. As he made his way to his room, he paused, and looked back at you. Pursing your lips in anticipation, you expected him to throw a snarky comment at you. And that’s exactly what he did.

‘Y’know, this information coming to the public isn’t that bad. I heard the Gen Z were into that kind of thing.’ Bucky teasingly quipped.

He was met with a flying salt shaker to his head.

✪✪✪

Your ‘Days Bucky doesn’t tarnish his public image’ counter reset to 0 two days later.

A few hours ago, Bucky appeared at a charity gala that was hosted by Stark Industries. It surprised you, knowing the history between his time as the Winter Soldier and him being responsible for the murder of Howard and Maria Stark. Alas, you learned a long time ago that politics was a messy, dirty game, and you were just a personal assistant to yet another political candidate.

Yet, Bucky wasn’t just another politician you assisted, he was basically a dashing 110-year-old dashing man who always found himself leaving a mess wherever he went.

And tonight was one of those nights. It was going so well during the gala, all he had to do was sit pretty and make mindless talk with the other important figures. You knew that he didn’t want to go in the first place, so you made a deal with him; if he went and did not make a commotion, you would treat him to your favourite Shawarma spot in New York. He complied, and was doing so well.

Until you found yourself catering to his wounds back in his apartment.

The super soldier grunted in pain as your fingers pressed antibiotics into his open scratch on his forehead. 

‘Hey, are you trying to hurt me more?’ he whined.

Paying no mind to his complaint, you continued to apply more, digging into the wound even further.

‘Jesus, sweetheart! At this point you’re hurting me more than trying to patch my wounds!’ Bucky moaned, wincing as you finally put a gauze on the wounded area. 

‘Yeah right.’ you finally shot back. ‘You have super soldier serum running through your veins Barnes. You’re a big boy, you can deal with it.’

Looking away from the man, you rummaged through the first aid kit on lap as you searched for more gauze. As your eyes raised up to face him again, Bucky gave you an apologetic stare, like a whimpering puppy.

‘Save it James.’ you huffed, continuing to patch the wound on his flesh arm. ‘You broke your promise, so you’re not getting Shawarma with me tonight.’

‘Aww, come on! I really didn’t mean to!’ he pouted. James Buchanan Barnes. Pouting at his personal assistant. If only the world could see that.

‘Oh really?’ your voice dripped with sarcasm. ‘You didn’t mean to uppercut John Walker in the face in a public event?’

‘Listen sweetheart, he started it!’

‘I find that hard to believe Barnes.’

Bucky pleaded to you with his sky blue eyes. ‘You have to believe me. There’s a reason why I did it.’

A sarcastic laugh escaped your lungs. ‘Do you really live to annoy and stress me out all the time James?’ You bit the medical tape, ripping a piece and placing it on top of the gauze that was placed on his arm.

Silence filled Bucky’s living room before he finally confessed. ‘I didn’t like the way he spoke about you.’

Your eyes widened with his revelation, and halted your actions. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Dropping your hands to your sides, you stared at the super soldier in disbelief. ‘What?’ 

Bucky pursed his lips before he continued. ‘I know, I know. He was taunting me. Walker came to me wanting to make small talk and I guess he was getting cocky and started to talk smack about you. Degrading you and your abilities. Called you names, diminished your accomplishments. I couldn’t stand there and let him do that to you sweetheart.’

It was like Bucky squeezed your heart with his mechanical arm. Blood started to rush towards your ears, with your neck heating up. Your boss cared enough to defend you, even when you were absent.

His eyes gazed down to your hands as he took it with his fleshed ones. ‘I know it seems that I make your life a hundred times harder. Always cleaning up my messes, always making sure that I can win my campaign. It’s the least I can do for you while you do so much for me.’

You continued to stare at him. His confession knocked your breath away. All this time he genuinely cared for you.

He looked up once more and gazed upon your eyes. ‘I’ll fix this myself sweetheart. Go get rest tonight.’

He quietly searched your eyes for some sort of answer, while you continued to sit in silence.

After what seemed an eternity, he was met with your answer.

‘Bucky, you absolute idiot.’ you whispered, with tears pricking your eyes. ‘Thank you. You’re a good friend.’

The word friend stung his heart, but it was for the best. Wanting to pursue a relationship beyond friendship would be selfish on his part. He always wanted to, since he harboured a little crush on you ever since you first entered his life. But Bucky knew, he should know, that he can’t have everything in life. It would be too selfish. After all, he didn’t deserve it.

‘Yeah.’ he croaked. ‘So, am I off the hook now? Can we get some shawarma?’

A shaky sigh escaped your lips. Resuming your task to patch him up, a small smile adorned your lips as you shook your head.

‘After this, change to something casual. By the way, you’re paying.’ you jested.

A low chuckle escaped Bucky’s lungs, and you laughed with him in response. Although you wished for something more, you were content with the way things were right now.

✪✪✪

Tonight was the big day. It was election day. The results of your hard work will determine if it was enough for Bucky to be elected as a congressman. After today, you could finally rest easy, and possibly continue working for him as an assistant to a congressman. After all, you found yourself attached to him after a year of working with him. 

However, as soon as you walked into his apartment, you wished that you worked for someone else.

‘Alright Barnes, are you ready to go? The car is waiting-’ your voice faded as your eyes landed on the frazzled super soldier.

His medium cut hair was a mess, with strands sticking up in every direction. His navy blue blazer was scattered on the floor. The white long sleeve dress shirt he wore was unbuttoned, unironed and stained with red sauce. However, the white wife beater he wore underneath was miraculously unstained. The notebook, which had the speech you wrote, was lying on the counter, smothered with pizza sauce. Most of all, his other arm was missing.

Bucky froze midway from biting a pizza slice as you barged in. His wide eyes stared at you in shock, with the pizza bending down and dripping onto his white garment. He looked down with his mouth hanging open once he realized that he messed up his outfit of the night.

Your feet felt like they were stuck on the ground as you stared at your boss incredulously.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, are you shitting me?! The election gala is in one hour!’ you scolded him. 

Slamming the front door shut, you angrily sauntered into the kitchen area, picking up his fallen blazer and draping it on your arm.

‘Hey sweetheart.’ Bucky said casually, continuing to munch on his pizza as he glazed over the notebook once more. You look stunning.’

‘Sweet talk isn’t going to get me less angry Barnes! I literally got that dress shirt last week, and you stained it!’ you fumed, walking to his side and grabbing the shirt by the collar, forcing him to shed it off of his body, leaving him with just his navy blue dress pants and wife beater. ‘Please don’t tell me this isn’t the only dress shirt you have!’

‘Well, can I wear my black one?’ he innocently asked, gobbling up the last piece into his mouth. Bucky looked at your form, and stepped back as he saw you vibrating with anger.

It was your turn to stare at Bucky Barnes. This man was supposed to be all ready to go for his campaign night. Instead, you were looking at the feared ex-assassin stuffing his cheeks like a chipmunk in his apartment complex. If it wasn’t for the given circumstance, you would’ve laughed and snuck a photo of him.

You let out a loud groan in response, and dialed for a cleaner to expedite an urgent laundry order. Once you finished with the call, Bucky made his way towards you, and stuck out the notebook you made for him.

‘This speech is too long.’ he declared.

‘You had a week to learn it James. Not my fault you were procrastinating.’ Tilting your body to the side, you eyed the area where his vibranium arm should be. ‘Also, where is your arm?’

Bucky nervously pursed his lips shut as your eyes squinted at him. Thinking about where he could’ve placed it, your eyes wandered to the dishwasher behind, seeing it was running a cycle. Putting two and two together in your head, your eyes slowly glanced back at the man in front of you.

‘James-’

‘Listen sweetheart’ he started. His fleshed hand nervously rubbed against the back of his neck.

‘James Buchanan Barnes, did you put your fucking Wakandan-made vibranium arm in your dishwasher?!’ you sputtered in disbelief. 

‘Hear me out! I couldn’t put it in the washing machine, it would tumble around and break it! The dishwasher cleans it very well!’

‘So you casually put Wakandan tech that’s probably millions of dollars in a machine that’s meant for washing dishes?’ A growing headache was creeping up. Good thing you brought Tylenol.

‘I got it for free.’ he mumbled. 

Scoffing in disbelief, you raised your arms in frustration and stomped towards the front door. ‘Whatever! It feels like I’m arguing with a child. You’re a grown man for Pete’s sake!’

‘Technically, I’m 110 years old-’

‘Right. You’re the perfect age to be running for congress.’ you snarked back. It was Bucky's turn to stare at you incredulously. 

The man huffed with exhaustion. You had enough, you were going to leave him be and wait for him in the car. But before you could turn the doorknob, he spoke up. ‘Sweetheart, listen! I’m nervous as hell for tonight. Everything that I worked for, everything you worked for is happening right now, and I don’t want to fuck this up.’ 

Upon hearing his confession, your hand paused midway from grabbing the knob. A deep sigh left your lips while you looked down, before facing him once more. The worried expression in his beautiful bright blue eyes was enough for you to cave in.

Sighing once more, you gently smiled at him. ‘Oh, Bucky. What would you do without me?’ you breathed, walking towards him.

A breathy chuckle came out of his lips as you made your way in front of him. Gently fingers combed his greasy hair, and he glanced down at you, looking at you with unspoken endearment. ‘Not much, I’m afraid. You’re basically the glue holding me together.’

A mischievous glint shone in your irises. ‘I hope you’re not referring to me as your mother figure James.’

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Lowering his head towards your ear, he lightly blew air, causing you to shiver. ‘Oh sweetheart, you’re much much much more than a caretaker for me.’

His words caused a squeezing sensation in your abdomen. Refusing to fall for his lacy words as you had to keep a professional boundary between the two of you (which was blurring by the second), your palms gently pushed him off.

You had to draw the line between you and your boss. ‘Save your sultry words for the event tonight Barnes. Pretty sure there’s some beautiful women who’s willing to throw themselves at you.’ 

Bucky paused, and you saw a storm of emotions brewing in his expressive eyes before he answered. ‘I don’t need that-’ he started, before he cut you off.

‘Tick tock, Barnes! We have to get going here, you’re lucky that the laundromat is willing to do an express order for you!’ you blurted out, trying to extinguish the awkward atmosphere. ‘I’ll head there right now. In the meantime, get dressed, fix your hair, and for God’s sake James, get your fucking arm out of the dishwasher.’

Bucky licked his lips and huffed out of frustration. Shoving his hand in his pocket, he obeyed your command and silently cleaned up the kitchen area. He threw a knowing look towards you, as he watched your figure promptly leave his flat. 

The super soldier made a mental note that tonight was the night he was going to finally make a move, if he won the election.

On the other side of the door, your sweaty palm clenched the fabric of your dress that was covering your chest. Too close, it was too close. You wanted to keep this job, to keep being close to your friend and crush without compromising the ethicality of it. It hurt, but with the given situation, it was the best you could do. You were content with being with him, even if you were just the personal assistant-pr manager-and glorified babysitter of Bucky Barnes.

Shaking your head out of your thoughts, you slapped both your cheeks together, then made your way towards the elevator at the end of the hall.

You deserved a smooth glass of Bourbon tonight.

✪✪✪

He won.

He actually won. A little part of you didn’t believe it, but Bucky won a seat at the congress. The former Winter Soldier who probably assassinated a dozen American politicians and presidents, was now a politician himself. Now that you thought about it, it was ironic, but nevertheless the way American politics worked.

You were also sure that Gen Z voters were solely responsible for his win. After all, no one could resist a handsome and buff super soldier running for congress. It was like offering the best piece of candy to a child.

But now that your task was complete, you weren’t sure whether you would continue your job as his personal assistant and PR manager. With all things considered, you were the perfect person for the job. You knew his routine and schedule with the back of his hand. Sure, there were moments that caused you to rip your hair out from stress, but in the end, you genuinely enjoyed being by Bucky’s side.

With your cheek on your palm as it rested on the window of the car, you zoned out as your eyes followed the streetlights. You were so deep in thought that you failed to notice that Bucky was grazing his real hand over yours, which was resting on the leather seat. He glanced at you, with eyes wavering with concern.

‘You alright sweetheart?’ Bucky murmured, gently caressing your hand.

‘Hn? Yeah, just tired.’ you answered listlessly, still not noticing his touch.

The rest of the car ride back to his apartment complex was silent. Once the two of you made it inside, Bucky carefully closed the front door shut as you shrugged off your coat and plopped yourself on his couch. You stretched your neck back and looked up to the ceiling and sighed with exhaustion.

The super soldier let out a chuckle at this sight of you. He had never seen you this exhausted, and honestly found it cute.

‘Long day?’ he quipped, sitting beside you.

You felt the couch dip to your left. ‘Tell me about it.’ you sighed.

Blinking your eyes open, you turned your head to face your boss. Gazing softly into his eyes, you smiled. ‘Congratulation on your win Bucky. You deserved it.’

Bucky’s eyes crinkled with a smile. ‘It was all thanks to you sweetheart. Couldn’t have done it without you.’

The two of you laughed, then sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company.

You looked down at your lap and nervously rubbed your fingers. Pursing your lips, you gained the courage to let him know that you wanted to continue your work as his assistant. 

While you were lost in your head trying to figure out the words, Bucky was in his own personal debate. It was either tonight or never. He had to let you know how he felt.

After a lingering silence, you spoke up first.

‘James, I want-’

‘You’re fired.’ he said bluntly. 

The words faded from your lips, slowly reeling in the words he had said. Your eyes widened in shock, with the corner of your eyes prickling with tears.

‘Fired?’ you echoed back. ‘You’re firing me?’

Your worst fear came true. He didn’t want you anymore. You trembled with anxiety, taking in the sinking feeling that you weren’t needed anymore.

Realizing that his words were coming out wrong, Bucky tried to explain himself. ‘Wait! Sweetheart let me explain-!’

Rage filled your being as the usually endearing nickname rolled off his tongue. ‘You have the balls to call me sweetheart when you’re firing me?! After all I have done for you Barnes! The sleepless nights, the anxiety I endured for your stupid campaign! You’re just going to throw me aside now that you’ve won?! I can’t believe-’ you exploded as you got up from the couch and started pacing around the living room.

Bucky growled your name in frustration, causing your rambling to stop. Walking up to you, he placed a firm hold on your shoulders as he directed you to come face to face. His pupils wavered as you bore his eyes straight into yours, with tears starting to prick in the bottom of his eyelids.

‘I’m firing you because I’m in love with you.’ Bucky quietly professed.

A tidal wave of emotions washed over you upon hearing his words. The angry expression that you wore immediately melted into confusion, mixed with hope.

‘You’re firing me because you’re in love with me?’ you slowly drawled.

An exasperated airless chuckle left his lungs. ‘I know how stupid it sounds. God, sweetheart, you make me so stupid with love.’ A gently warm hand cupped your cheek carefully.

Bucky’s eyes stared into yours with a longing expression. ‘This past year, all you’ve done is take care of me. You fixed my fuck ups. Made sure I was well rested and prepared. I would be lying if I said I would’ve gone through this gruelling campaign without you. Because my love, you held me together, even when I wanted to fall apart.’

Your lips slowly parted, with your eyes glossy with tears. ‘Bucky-’ you muttered, before he cut you off.

Bucky rested his forehead into yours as he shut his eyes. You could feel his hot breath nervously wavering as he continued his confession. ‘Sweetheart, you took care of me this whole time, even when I didn’t deserve it. Now it’s my turn to take care of you, and the only way to do that is to fire you.’

His eyes opened once more, revealing his sky blue eyes that were now glossy. When you didn’t answer him back, he heaved a heavy sigh, his pupils wavering even more as he tried to look for your answer in your eyes.. ‘Please say something.’ he begged.

Finally convinced that you weren’t daydreaming, you gave Bucky an answer.

Leaning your head close to his, your lips gently grazed over his plush ones, sweetly pressing your lips on him. He slowly returned your kiss, lips parting slightly to capture his over your bottom lip. Your hands wandered to his blazer, grabbing the collar as you brought him close to your body. His vibranium arm cradled the back of your head, inhaling deeply as you parted your own lips to kiss him once more. 

Bucky tilted his head and partially opened his lips, urging you to open your mouth as he poked his tongue through, licking your teeth in the process. A low moan escaped his throat as he messily massaged his tongue against yours.

Maybe you did deserve this after dealing with his bullshit for a year.

However, while the two of you were busy inhaling one another, his pressing weight was causing you to lose your balance. Once you realized however, it was too late. You and Bucky broke the kiss as you tumbled onto the carpeted floor, with him falling on top of you.

‘Woah!’ you yelped, expecting your head to hit the ground. Your eyes squeezed shut, expecting an impact, but was met with Bucky’s warm hand cradling the back of your head, absorbing the fall.

He may have cushioned your fall, but his body landed on yours, knocking the wind from your lung in the process. Bucky’s chest rumbled with laughter as you squeaked in discomfort. ‘You’re heavy, James.’

‘Sorry.’ he hummed amusingly. The super soldier brought himself off of you, lifting his body inches away from yours as his elbows rested on your sides.

If you told your past self that a year from now, that your boss confessed to you the night he won his election campaign, they would’ve slapped you silly, telling you that you’re delusional. But here you were, gazing into his eyes lovingly while he stroked your head endearingly. 

‘So.’ you started.

‘So.’ he mimed back.

‘Now that I’m unemployed thanks to you, you’re going to help me find a new job.’

Bucky pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. ‘Already done and taken care of.’

Your eyebrow shot up. ‘What did you do now, James?’

A mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. ‘I cashed in a favour from Sam. You’re going to be his PR manager now.’

Your face twisted into frustration. ‘Oh god. Working for him might be slightly worse than working for you.’

‘Excuse me!’ he scoffed out of offence. ‘Working with me is a pleasure!’

You sniffed in sarcasm as you pushed him off to sit up. Bucky took it as an opportunity to tackle you into the floor once more.

‘Bucky stop it!’ you shrieked as he poked his fingers to your sides.

‘Nope.’ he said, popping the ‘P’ on his tongue.

The super soldier found himself facing you once more, and peppered your face with kisses. His stubbled beard tickled you.

‘You know Bucky, there were several times where I wanted to quit working for you because you were unbearable.’ you joked as he continued to smother you.

‘Well,’ he started between kisses. ‘Now that I fired you and promoted you to my partner, you’re stuck with me. I’ll be taking care of you now.’

A bright smile appeared on your lips. Bucky took notice and mirrored the same smile as he dipped down to kiss your lips once more.

What was thought to be the most stressful night of your life ended up with you sprawled out on the floor with your ex-boss-turned boyfriend. 

Not that you could complain. For once in your life you were glad that you got fired from your job. The average working person would never say that.

But then again, your boss was far from average. He was an unbearable and incredibly sassy 110 year old super soldier turned politician who consistently pushed your buttons when it came to setting him straight for the sake of his political career.

With all things considered, it was no wonder that you fell in love with him. And you couldn't have had it any other way.

[pastlivesxpastlie]

I see in a different light...the object of my desire

what happens when you accidentally text Bestfriend!Vessel instead of your Tinder hook up?

Tags/CW/Head's Up: vessel x you, fem gendered language, brief dubcon, briefly jealous!vessel and possessive!vessel, sending nudes, verbal teasing, spanking, cunnilingus, prone-bone, smut interrupted by fluff then back to smut, barely revised argue with the wall, fuck boys mentioned

MDNI 18+

it's one of those nights where nothing is going your way. you're still fuming about getting ghosted on tinder earlier this week. things were going so well and if *insert douchey fuck boy name* hadn't gone radio silent, you'd probably be going down on him right now! it's been entirely too long since you've had sex, let alone received some kind of non-platonic male attention. that's why you joined tinder this past month, even though your best friend, Vessel's, voice echoed in your ear saying...

Plenty of men want you! I don't get why you don't see it. You don't need the apps, just get out of your head. 

wow. so helpful. thank you, sir. you rolled your eyes when he said that as you edited your profile. if he's so good at noticing when other guys were checking you out, why did he never point them out? or was he just being nice?

at any rate, you feel cheated out of a fun night with a hot guy and want to make him feel sorry. so, you do what any sane, horny girl would do--send him a nude. you don't show everything right away. not you. never. you took the selfie so quickly you didn't have time to feel shame.

You put your PJs on and start to make yourself a little snack when you hear your text tone. Hah. Finally! He’s back in your messaging…groveling. pleading. Another ding. HAH! You must have really got him.

Vessel: Send another one xx 

5 minutes earlier

Vessel was tempted to pull an all nighter. He knew if he just put in a liiiiiitle more work, this melody would be golden and maybe he could pat himself on the back. Right as he was about to rage quit....ding ding. Very very few people's texts are allowed to bypass his DND settings...except for his best friend.

you: this could be yours, you know?

Vessel nearly dropped his phone as he made sense of the picture in front him. It only showed her lips down to her soft tummy, but he knew it was her. This wasn't some weird spam text masquerading as his dearest friend. She looked angelic. Dreamy. Delicious. Her free hand covered her breasts...her lips in a flirty smirk as she lightly bit her plush bottom lip. Vessel knew she was beautiful. Aren't all women beautiful, though? Surely every man feels his head cave in and his stomach clench with butterflies when his best female friend is near. Right…?

"Fuuuuuuuucccccck" he intoned, letting his hand drift down to his crotch to try and calm himself. He shook his head and repeated himself, putting down the phone. More than likely that text wasn't meant for him. There was no way. His face burned. His cock throbbed between his legs as he felt these strange, lustful stirrings for his best friend. What the fuck was wrong with him? The track he was working on quickly became the least important thing in the world…his frustrations slipping away as soon as his zipper was undone.

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? How did you click on Vessel’s name instead of *insert douchey fuck boy name*?! They aren’t even close in spelling…oh…but they’re close on your “Recents” list. And now your hastiness and inattention has lead to you receiving a flirty response from your best friend who has been nothing short of a little brother to you.

You: OMG VES I AM SO SORRY!!! I didn’t mean to send that to you. FML. You: It was supposed to go to this guy from Tinder. Let’s just delete the thread and put this behind us, yeah?

...

It’s been 20 minutes. No response. Your stomach is in knots from the unknown. It’s really late…maybe he fell asleep. Maybe he was just kidding? Yes. That’s it. He was drunk and messing about and then passed out. That will help you sleep…just keep telling yourself…

Knock knock knock 

There have been two times now that you wish the tinder fuck boy was here. First time was when you were so horny you couldn’t see straight after your shower, and the second time was now, as someone knocked on your door at 1:30 AM. *ding ding*

Vessel: hun, come on. It’s me. 

Christ. What is this? You get off your bed and peer through the peep hole. Sure enough, it’s Ves in a hoodie and sweats, looking cuddly and kissable and WAIT. No no no no. Get it together. He probably just wants to hang out to show you that nude incident doesn’t change anything. 

“Well hello there young man, does your mother know you’re not in bed?” You say with a dry laugh as you open the door.

Vessel walks right past you into your place. You close the door behind you and lean your back against it. 

“Have I repulsed you into silence, hm?” 

Your normally boyish, quiet, sarcastic best friend looks practically ravenous as his eyes trail down your body. Now he knows what you look like naked, and the sight of you clothed right now borders on sacrilege. He takes a step forward. His doe eyes, which still brim with charm and platonic affection, bore into you as he grasps your chin with his hand.

“How cruel…to dangle such a tasty treat in front of me and then not take a compliment and act like this was such a terrible oversight on your part,” he growls.

“And which compliment are you referring to?”

He pulls you by the chin enough so that your back is off the door, though you’re certain he will just pin you back against it when he sees fit. This is not your closest friend. This is a man possessed. 

“Stop playing dumb, it’s beneath you. I asked you to send another immediately after receiving the first. Is that not a compliment? That I’m not merely satisfied with one image. I could have you in countless ways…I need to know what that would look like. Do you really want me to take you on your back every time? Always with your arm covering your tits like that? Hm?”

Your inhales are sharp gasps now as the butterflies in your tummy churn to get out. You’ve never seen him like this…never seen him as a prospective lover…never seen him horny even…but this…wait…wait why is he…

He gently chuckles and presses you back against the door, shaking his head and stepping away. 

“Oh my god…” he chuckles, “the look on your face. I really had you going, eh?”

You scoff, laughing in disbelief. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You say shaking your head and walking towards your kitchen. Just fall into the old routine. Get your usual drinks and plop on the couch for shit tv. You don’t make it far and suddenly you’re being pulled backwards by your sleep shorts. 

“This is what the fuck is wrong with me.” His hands keep your hips still as he presses his bulge against you. “You’ve ruined me. You have actually ruined my perception of you.”

“Tsk,” you try to wriggle from his grip but he ends up clasping you in a tight bear hug from behind, “slut shaming me now?”

“You sweet, silly, little wanker….shaming?” God it was weird to hear his playful nickname for you as he gently grinds against you. The resolve you worked so hard to build is dissolving as your head falls against his shoulder and allow him to knead your hips and stomach. He continues in hot, breathy whispers, “babydoll…I encourage it…as long it’s saved for me. Can you do that? Hm? Can you promise to only share that with me?”

Now your body betrays you and you grind back into him. 

“You’re no better than me. Look at you,” he says he plants soft, needy kisses on your neck. “You want this, don’t you? Please…please tell me you feel it too.” His grip is no longer firm. It’s hard. You're able to snake one of your hands up and behind his neck…you’re desperate to touch him anywhere at this point. 

“I…I feel it…”

Suddenly you’re being steered towards your bedroom. Ves is strong, perhaps not enough to hoist you up and throw you on bed, but he enthusiasm is evident when you’re pushed on the bed on your stomach. Immediately he’s out of his hoodie and his warm, bare torso presses against your back. He’s clinging to you from behind and letting his hands roam under your shirt. 

You let out a breathy moan and chuckle. “So you liked what you saw?”

“Mmmmmph,” He lets out gruffly as he gently bites your shoulder and licks the indentions from his pearly whites. 

You let out another moan but with a cackle now. “Oh ew. Sorry that wasn’t hot.”

He leans up and gives you a swift smack on your plush ass. “I’m realizing now that everything about you is hot.” But you don’t feel him touch you anymore. You roll over and look up at him. He sighs. 

“Ves, you ok? Did I do something wrong?”

“No…no…I just…kind of dropped back into my body. What are we doing?”

You smirk sadly. What are you two doing?

“We can stop if you want. Just talk. Whatever you want.” You sit up and caress his arm feeling the warmth and texture of his skin as if for the first time. He looks at you softly.

“Please don’t take my…enthusiasm…as some kind of…I don’t know…disregard for you. I’d…I’d do anything to be on the receiving end of those texts…I realize that now. It’s not just sex I want. It’s not just…your body. Don’t get me wrong…it tempts me beyond belief…now that I’ve seen it. But I get it now.”

You smile softly and maybe even proudly as he soothes your fears. As much as you would have loved to be prone-boned a minute ago, you were scared it was only because of the newness and craziness of the situation. “Get what, Ves?”

“Why I feel the need to do this.” And with that he presses deep kiss into your plump lips. His hand slips down shyly to your collar bone as your hand tangles in his hair. 

You let him undress you. Of course, he had just seen you practically naked. But here you were…in the flesh before him. You two spent a considerable just touching…caressing...tasting. But it became frenzied again after you let your hand mindlessly trail down your body to rub your clit. It wasn’t long before you found yourself folded in half with his face between your legs. His tongue flicking and massaging your clit as you squeal and buck your hips against him. His strong arms keep you still for the most part, but you don’t know what to do with your hands. First they’re on your tits…then the back of his head…twisted in his hair. He gives in and sticks his tongue out to let you grind against it. With your hand holding his hair tightly, your hips grind against his precious face. You look down…met with those same doe eyes. As if you weren’t mewling and blubbering enough…that little shit chuckles dryly and presses two fingers into your hot pussy. 

“Ffffffuuuuuccckkkk you. Oh my GOD,” you groan as you reach your climax. The white-hot knot in your tummy unfurls and your folds ache with pleasure as he presses your insides firmly and watches you reverently. “Holy fuck…ok…fuck…get off me now,” you say quickly because otherwise you’ll be completely overstimulated. He backs off immediately. What a good boy. His chest heaves up and down as he looks at you. You suddenly feel very small. Vulnerable with your soft belly and pussy exposed to him. What’s the worst that could happen…letting your best friend rut into you?

“You’re on birth control, yeah?”

You nod. Your IUD was still good for two more years. But you half-think you’d give him whatever he wanted, even if it meant being risky and stupid. He takes your legs firmly and pulls you down to him. He pats your clit with his heavy cock a few times. You shudder. 

“How long’s it been, love? Hm?” You don’t even want to answer. He caresses your cheek and moves to press himself inside you. Your body clenches as his thick cock stretches you. “Oh…oh it’s been awhile. Poor, little love. Let me fix it…let me make it better.”

As soon as he starts fucking you, you’re moaning his name and clasping his forearms. Your soft body jiggles in little waves as he presses into you with a gentle, patience force.

“Fucking hell…” he moans as he moves his hands. One settles on your ribs under your breast while the other collapses and lazily circles the top of your head. He leans down to kiss you…your taste still on his lips. 

Despite being so worked up, he keeps his wits about him and is able to fuck you without completely blowing his load in his new favorite place— your heavenly, warm, pussy. 

“God…god…such a pretty girl,” he whispers huskily. “My pretty girl is so good at taking cock. How did you get so good at taking cock, hm? You’re so good. So pretty.”

You can’t take it. You pull him in and make out with him roughly. All the feelings and thoughts you’d repressed flow out of you via your mouth and hips rubbing against him pathetically. He holds you impossibly close as he whines in your neck. 

“Babydolll….mmm…my little doll… stay still…stay still for me.”

Suddenly he flips you onto your stomach. An impressive feat given he was just balls deep in you. He pulls your hips up like he owns you and presses back into your pussy. He immediately whimpers pathetically. You’re desperate to throw it back but he gives your bottom a swift spank. 

“I said be still.” 

And with a hand firmly between your shoulder blades and another on your lower back, he drills into you until he’s shaking and blubbering about how he’s cumming inside you…how there’s no one like you…how you’re made for him…

The next morning, you wake up with Ves draped across your chest, snoring softly. You pet his hair softly and rub the sleep from your eyes as you check your phone. Hmm. Three missed calls and a string of pathetic texts from *insert douchey fuck boy name* acting like he never ghosted you in the first place. You toss your phone to the foot of the bed and curl up to Ves, who groggily wakes up as your kiss his head.

“Mine.” He says holding you close. 

“Mine.” You respond…groggy…sore…and lovesick.

[emeraldserenade]

Waiting ~ Joaquín Torres

synopsis: you would always wait for Joaquín to get home, no matter how long it's been.

tw: fem!reader, limited use of y/n, Joaquín goes missing, reader get verbally harassed, barely edited.

fic, ficlet, drabble, request

So, I was listening to EPIC and, like Hadestown, I got inspired.

➽──────────────❥

You knew Joaquín couldn't always tell you where he was going or for how long. You just waited and sent him messages when you could. He had been gone for days now, you had yet to get a message from him except the first one telling you he had to go radio silent.

There was a knock on your door that had you running to open it, you didn't expect Sam to be standing there.

"I'm so sorry, he's missing," Sam held you as you sobbed, he cried with you. He expected you to be angry at him, but you held onto him like a life line. Begging him to tell you the last thing Joaquín did before going missing. "He said to tell you that he loves you, and that no matter what he would always love you."

You and his family refused to have a funeral for him, you would wait until he showed up. Dead or alive, you didn't know which one you wanted more. Dead means he didn't suffer, but you were selfish. You wanted him alive, you wanted to be able to hear him again.

"It's been months," your friends would tell you. "Maybe it's time to move on," you would yell at them, telling them that you couldn't move on. Not until you knew what happened, not until you either held him in your arms or you held his dog tags in your hands.

His family never gave up either, believing he was out there. They stopped hounding people to look for him though, wanting to just keep him in their thoughts and prayers.

It became public quickly, you dealt with men everywhere trying to get into your pants. You ignored them, you would hold your head high. They would make themselves comfortable around you, you overheard a group talking about their plans to harass you once. You went to the bathroom and waited on Sam to get there so you knew you were safe.

"Sam?" Joaquín's voice came through Sam's comms one day while he was out looking for Joaquín.

"Joaquín?" Sam called out, both into the comms and the real world. Sam looked everywhere and found Joaquín holed up in a cave. The two ended up flying out of there as fast as possible, both wanting to get Joaquín to you.

It was on the roof of your apartment you saw Joaquín. You were up there looking at the stars when you heard footsteps land behind you.

"Y/n," Joaquín's voice had you spinning around, disbelief written on your face.

"Is it you?" You took a step towards Joaquín. "Have my prayers been answered?" You were right in front of him now. "Is it really you standing there, or am I dreaming once more?" You reached up and placed a hand on his cheek. Your eyes roamed his face and yours twisted in concern.

"It's me, Amor," he pressed his lips to yours and you happily reciprocated. He would tell his family he was back in the morning, for now he just wanted to be with you. He wanted to make sure you knew he was going to try to never scare you like that again.

➽──────────────❥

Masterlist | Requests

[sturnioz]

hello…

fuck me. i did not expect to be gone as long as i have. it was supposed to be a few days and it turned into almost three weeks lmao.

some things happened within my personal life with my mental health and i just got completelyyyyy thrown off track. i don’t feel comfortable getting into it, but i am in the middle of trying to get the help that i’ve been needing again :)

i am not abandoning this blog. im still going to write, and i have been writing here and there just to keep up my motivation and not lose interest !! i have a few things completed but i will be posting those once i’m ready. (im currently in the middle of finishing up the mini frat wedding series)

also, my bday is this month !! (22 feb) and cos im not doing anything with my family, im hoping to be active by then and spend it with you guys talking abt literally whatever — or how bad i wanna fuck matt cos like i really do like i need him in ways thats concerning fr.

anyways, im so sorry for being so radio silent, but thank you for being so patient with me. and thank you to those who have checked up on me !! i really appreciate your kindness <3 thank you thank you thank you

[seungfl0wer]

*Han Calling You Clingy*

Pairing: Han x Reader (GN)

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Cursing, Alcohol, Reader Gets drunk, Not proof Read

Buckled up for this one yall it hurted me ngl. I also while putting it all together realized i in fact of course messed up a part of the messages. So I am sorry in advance 🥲

This is part of a series. Find the others here:

Bangchan, Changbin, Minho, Hyunjin, Han, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

-🩵

Today was Han and yours 3 year anniversary. You had planned a nice dinner and a surprise for him after you both got home. You made reservations at one of his favorite restaurants and even got a new outfit for it. Hans been busy with the new album the last few weeks, he’s been super stressed and you know this would definitely help wind him down a bit.

You had told him a few times about the dinner because he forgets things easily. He was doing some work at the studio right now but he said he’d meet you there for dinner since he had to finish some things up. You put on your cute outfit and got yourself all ready to leave the house. You texted him “I’m leaving the house now! See you soon😘” before heading out.

About 15 mins had passed since you had gotten there for your reservation. You had gotten seated and gotten a drink. You were getting nervous that he had forgotten so you texted him a simple “hey babe did you leave yet?” It was radio silent after another 10 minutes you texted again.

Everything in you wanted to cry I mean you had a few tears but you quickly wiped them away. You sat there for a moment in honest shock of what to do. The love of your life is standing you up, yelling at you and forgot your anniversary. What the actual fuck. You waved the waiter over, got the check for your drink and left. You didn’t wanna go home you wanted to find jisung and punch him in his cute stupid face.

Driving home you stopped at a park close to your house. You sat there and cried. You cried hard your chest heaving feeling like your heart was thrown at the wall and smashed with a bat. You punched your steering wheel and just deflated. You had gotten a call from a friend of yours who asked if you and ji wanted to go to the bar with him and his gf. You sniffled trying not to cry on the phone but he knew something was up. He drove to where you were, him and his gf both were friends of yours. So when you saw them you just bursted into tears again.

The consoled you for a bit before asking what you wanted to do. “You know what- fuck it let’s go to the bar” you said. You wanted to numb the pain just wanted to drink everything away. To come home and just puke all of jisung stuff. The both nodded, they followed you to your house to drop your car off and drove to the bar. It didn’t take long for you to start taking shots back. You just wanted to forget the night and to forget Jisung.

It was late, you were plastered you had gotten a text from Jisung who must have just gotten home to see the surprise you had laid out for him. You had gotten him a new guitar that he’s been wanting it was placed on the bed with a note. The note read.

“Hannie! The actual love of my life. I can’t believe it’s been 3 years! Were you surprised? I bet you were! I just wanted to tell you I love you so much. I appreciate you and I know you’ve been working so hard so I hope today relieved some of that stress. I love you my sweets. Happy 3 years! I hope for many many more. -love your amazing loving girlfriend.”

Han choked back tears realizing what he had done. He had forgotten your anniversary but most importantly he had yell at you when all you were trying to do was make him happy. He broke down in tears, curled up on the floor in a little bawl. He could feel his chest tightening, he was scared. He didn’t know where you were, what you might have done or if you were safe.

Your phone ended up dying not knowing the floods of texts you were about to get. You didn’t know it but you started to cry. Your friends helped you to the car, the boy not drinking at all that night drove you to their place. He put you in the guest room while the girl put some water by your bed, a bucket and put your phone on the charger. You curled up knocked out cold from crying and the alcohol. You woke up around 5am feeling your head pounding. You couldn’t remember much of anything from the night.

You picked your phone up not even looking at the texts and called Jisung. He answered it immediately in a frenzy. “Y/n!” He said his voice horse from crying. Your head spun as you slurred “ji can come to (friend’s name) I wanna cuddle.” Jisung was confused but he didn’t ask questions “of course I’ll be there in 5.” He said basically sprinting to his car. “Mkay, ima gonna walk down to the door.” You said fumbling to get to your feet. Jisung drove like a madman he even ran a red light.

His heart dropped seeing you slumped over trying to stay awake at the door “hey I’m here” he said as he opened the door taking your hand. You fell into his chest holding onto him with a death grip. You started to sob, you cried so hard but in your dazed state you didn’t know why you were crying.

Jisung clung to you rubbing your back trying not to cry himself, he pulled you to the car getting you to sit in the back. Where you promptly laid down and just cried. Jisung drove just as fast as home one hand on the wheel and the other rubbing your head to try to calm you. Your cries had almost completely stopped as you pulled into your place. Jisung left out a soft sigh the tears he was choking back were bursting at the seems. He held them back until he got you safely into the room laying you down.

He wanted to leave you alone knowing you were hurting still but you quickly pulled him into bed with you. He curled up with you as you both laid there, your eyes half opened “I’m sorry for being so clingy” you said. Your voice sounded so sad so meek. “I don’t wanna ever be a bother to you” you kept going on. The tears he had choked back finally broke and it started to flood.

He held you close crying hard trying to get out the words he wanted to say “don’t you dare apologize” he croaked out. “You did absolutely nothing wrong, it was all me” he said rubbing your head. “Don’t you think for a second you did anything.”

You both ended up drifting to sleep both of your heads spinning as you woke up. You looked over at jisung his eyes puffy and his chest still heaving from the nights happenings. You read through all the messages he had sent and sighed softly. You were still hurt by his words and it was gonna take some to comeback from but he was genuinely sorry. The way he clung to you told you that alone. He was afraid you were gonna leave. That thought really never crossed your mind but he knew he fucked up bad enough that it could be a reason to leave. He’s never yelled before let alone said anything mean towards you. You knew he was hurting from what he said but so were you.

You thought to yourself though laying there in his arms “i do very much love him but he’s gonna have to do some heavy groveling to make it up to you” you smiled a bit.

💙 if you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open feel free to send me something🩵

[kiemiu]

marshmallow world | ( fem!reader ) angst + comfort. established relationship drabble wc 1.2k warnings -> mentions of alcohol + daddy issues ( kiemiu's fluffmas masterlist )

You and Chris had decided to visit your parents for a small Christmas dinner before you went and spent it in Boston with his family, and in the beginning you were excited for your family to meet the love of your life. You had raved on and on about him to your parents, specifically your Mom, and had pure adrenaline coursing through your veins throughout the entire evening seeing them interact and laughing with each other.

Truth be told, that's all you wanted. Was for your family to welcome your partner with open arms, but as soon as your Dad had a few drinks and decided to chime into conversations, things quickly started to spiral downhill.

First it started with joking about Chris's profession, then it led on to how he would take care of you physically and financially, and then off to making snide comments about how he wasn't a "real man". Both you and your mom tried to mediate the conversation as it got more heated, you begging your Dad and Chris to stop once they both stood up at the table as if they were ready to put hands on each other at any minute.

The evening turned sour so fast, curses and shouts echoing throughout the entire house as they had to be taken to different sides of the house to calm down. You didn't waste any time for your Dad to cool down before you grabbed your belongings with Chris and walked out.

You were conflicted in your emotions. A part of you embarrassed, ashamed in a way, that you had introduced your lover to a man that you knew could turn any situation into a bad one. While another part of you was enraged, and annoyed because of the way Chris spoke back to your Dad.

The car ride back to your hotel was filled with arguing. You yelling at him, telling him he should've had better control, and not talk to your Father the way that he did, while he yelled back exclaiming that your Father was completely in the wrong and shouldn't have even been there in the first place.

After driving for a while your car broke down sooner than later, a harsh snowstorm left you stranded on a deserted highway coated in snow that only grew higher and higher by the minute.

The tension was thick between you two, the radio remained untouched even as you sat on the side of the road and waited for help. Only the occasional sniffle and ruffle of your coats, paired with the low hum of the heater was heard through the deafening silence. A mix of emotions concurred in both of you, it was all just so overwhelming and not where you wanted the evening to go at all.

"I'm sorry." you whispered. You were turned the opposite direction from him and couldn't even look him in the eye as you said it, not that it would make any difference considering he was turned away from you as well looking out of his own side window.

He didn't respond, not that you really expected him to anyway. "I knew I shouldn't have let him drink. But for some reason, something in me fully believed that-that he would have some type of control over himself, and...that was stupid of me. So, I'm sorry. I really am." you softly mumbled, even as your throat burned with a ball of nerves and your eyes started to water, you pushed out your apology with full sincerity and faced him when saying so.

He still remained silent, his hands mindlessly picking at the nail polish on his nails as he blankly stared out the window, most of his body shifted away from you with only a small fraction of his face in your view.

You didn't want to pry an answer out of him, or even the smallest reaction, even if it would help to calm your nerves. Instead you turned back to your original postion of staring out of the window, your fingers now anxiously playing with the cuffs of your jacket as you waited and hoped for the tow truck you called to arrive soon.

"You'd tell me if you felt— unsatisfied being with me, right?"

His question threw you off guard, you slightly threw your head back with furrowed eyebrows before turning toward him. "Why would I-" "Just answer, please." he muttered, his knee now anxiously bouncing as he turned towards you for the first time since you started the car ride back home.

With that, you were able to take in his appearance and see the prominent frown on his face, adorned with glossy eyes and knitted brows.

"Yes, I would." You confessed, your eyes still trailing over his face to gauge his next reaction.

He sniffled, turning away and wiping his nose that slowly started to leak with his sleeve before he brought his hands to shield his face away from you. A harsh gasp of air paired with a muffled sob escaped him, his body slowly starting to tremble from his repressed frustration and tears.

Your eyes slightly widened in shock before you reached over, gently grabbing his arm and slightly tugging him closer to you. Chris didn't fight it, he let you reach over the console and leaned into your touch, resting his head on your chest as you pulled his beanie off and tenderly carded your fingers through his hair.

He wrapped his arms around you, his hands clinging onto you for dear life as he tried to catch his breath and regulate his emotions. You did nothing but hold him close and wait, softly swaying as you continued to run your fingers through his hair.

"Fuck- I just..something about what he said just really got to me, man." he murmured, a few sniffles leaving him as he finally started to calm down and sink further into your touch. "He's an asshole, he knows how to get under any and everyone's skin. Chris–Baby, you did nothing wrong. You do all of the right things, and he could only wish to be half of the man you are. Honestly, I don't even know what my Mom sees in him but, he could never amount to what you do for me, and I mean it." You assured him delicately.

You stopped rocking and leaned into the back of your seat, releasing your hold on him when you felt him start to move. He rested his hands on your thighs, before resting his forehead on yours. "I love you so much, and I'm-I'm sorry for causing a scene at dinner. You and your Mom deserve to have a good evening, and I shouldn't have let my emotions get the best of me, even when confronted like that." he whispered, before leaning in and pressing a soft peck on your lips.

"I'm sorry for sticking up for my Dad when he was obviously being the shitty one. You were just defending yourself." you replied back before pressing a soft kiss on his lips, a small smile growing on his now pouty lips as his shoulders relaxed and he fell into you.

"Next time, let's just skip the Christmas dinner and bring your Mom with us to Boston." he jokingly avowed, his comment muffled from being smushed into your chest. You could only laugh in response before holding him closer. "Sounds like a plan."

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