#i have better things to do with my time than this but hey if the person in charge is listening! ill write your damn essay

[luveline]

𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

Spencer gets a bad bout of amnesia. Or, your boyfriend forgets he’s your boyfriend, but he still has a crush on you. [3k]

c: fem, bombshell!reader, head injury, hospitals, amnesia, fluff, spencer can’t believe he bagged you, requested here 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

Spencer wakes to an empty room. 

He lays on a pillow too flat, neck twinging, the back of his eyes throbbing when he moves.

He struggles to breathe through his nose and lets his mouth open for a few achy breaths, his mouth dry like he’s been sucking on cotton balls. 

Spencer’s alarmed, without a clue what it is he’s done. He wonders where Gideon is, if the older man has come to see him yet. He hopes somebody told his mom he’s okay. 

Maybe Hotch will come. He and Hotch have grown closer while Gideon was on his mandated recovery time; Gideon spends far less time in the office, sticking to lectures, seminars and consults, while Hotch, Morgan and Spencer handle the away cases. Spencer might go as far as to say Hotch likes him. And Morgan can tolerate him now, less grudging when Spencer offers a random fact or statistic to further the case. 

A stab of pain at the back of his head makes itself known sharply.

Spencer doesn’t want to move, but he needs to assess things. He frowns at his arms, naked as they are. His silver watch is missing. A t-shirt that he doesn’t remember buying stretches over his chest. What state are they in, and who dressed him? 

He’s scowling at the window with it’s wide-open blinds and all the sun when the door opens. 

You’re looking at the bags on your arm as you come in. Spencer startles in his blankets —what are you doing here? Agent L/N, Morgan’s friend and a candidate for the open position on the BAU team. You’re from the Sex Crimes Unit, like Greenaway. 

Spencer flusters every time he sees you, not just because of how kind you’d been the first time you met, or even the easy flirtation you send his way when you cross paths. It’s because you’re the prettiest woman he’s ever seen. He’s not talking about the golden ratio or statistical beauty, you’re just stunning. You stop him in his tracks whenever you steal into the office. It’s better when you notice he’s awake and light up like he’s the winning numbers for tonight’s lottery pull. Everything about you illuminates. 

“Hey, babe!” you say, not not yelling as you drop your bags in the seat by the bed and reach for him.

He doesn’t think to move away as you take his face into your hands.

“I’m so glad you’re finally awake, you almost slept for the full twenty four hours.” Your hands are soft. They smell like neroli. When you stroke his cheek and lean down to give him a chaste peck, he almost passes out there and then. “It's a good thing, obviously,” you say, and then kiss him again distractedly. Spencer squeezes his eyes closed. “You heal more when you’re asleep. Or so I’ve heard.” 

You pull away, Spencer blinking for his life. You have such a nice mouth, but Spencer’s never thought about what it might feel like on his. He doesn’t have the audacity: in what world would you ever kiss him? That’s the joke, right, when you flirt with him in the office?

“How are you feeling?” you ask, losing some of your pep. “How’s your head, handsome? You know, there are easier ways to get a haircut.” 

“They cut my hair?” he croaks. 

“Shaved it at the back to stitch you up. Not much, don’t worry. They were pushing for a buzz cut but I put my foot down on that one,” you joke. You nudge his legs aside without worrying about sitting on him as you get comfortable. “It’s not much. You can’t tell.”

“I…” 

“You feeling okay?” you ask softly. Your nice mouth purses. Your eyebrows pinch. They’re cute eyebrows. 

“You look different than the last time I saw you.” 

He doesn’t mean to say it aloud. He’s noticing things now. You’re wearing less powder under your eyes than you used to. You seem to have gained a little weight, and you look good. You didn’t look bad before, but this is different. Your hair isn’t too different, nor your brows, but you’ve begun lining your lips in a new way. Your blush is a subtler hue. Spencer doesn’t claim to know everything about you, but he can say that you look neatly the same each time you visit. Why the sudden change?

“It’s hard to sleep when your favourite person in the world gets his head cut open,” you say, taking his hand where he’d left it loose in the blankets. 

Your fingers slip into his with ease. 

“Can I tell you something?” he asks, attempting to swallow his nerves. 

“Of course you can.” 

He licks his lips. “Uh, I think I’m confused. I don’t– I don’t remember what happened, and…” 

“Oh, right. They told me this might happen.” You draw yourself up with a breath. He’s fascinated by the movement, an air of heat around him as you begin rubbing the back of his hand with your thumb. “You got hit in the back of the head with a cinder block, honey. Went down like a lead balloon.” You turn your face to show your cheek. “We’re even now on good scares, yeah?” 

You have a scar on your face he’d missed, carefully concealed but yet not invisible. Your hand in his feels so alien he holds it wrong, fingers twined but palms apart. 

“What happened to you?” he asks. 

Your brow crinkles. You go very still. “My cheek?” you ask. 

“What…” 

“Spencer, what’s the last thing you can remember, honey?” you ask, all the horror in the world to be found in your eyes. 

“Uh…” He feels sick to his stomach.

“Spencer?” 

Without having to be told, you slip off of the bed with two taps of your shoes and reach for the bedpan, thrusting it into his lap. 

His mouth fills with spit. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“No, I don’t think so. Let me get a doctor.” 

“Wait,” he says, clutching the bedpan and pushing his wave of nausea as far down as he can. “Please don’t go.” 

“My face was months ago, honey. I got hit in the face with a hammer by a UnSub, you don’t remember?” you ask incredulously. 

“Why do you keep calling me honey?” he asks. He knows the answer, but it’s not computing. 

Your face drains of any happiness. “I’m going to get a doctor,” you say, shoulders rigidly tight as you exit the room, leaving Spencer in your wake wishing he’d just pretended he knew who you were, just until you kissed him again. 

—

“And he really can’t remember you at all?” Morgan asks. 

You’re a little less startled than you had been, and you’re trying not to punish poor Spencer, but realising your boyfriend forgot years of flirting, and yearning, and friendship —years of kissing in secret and otherwise, years of holding hands, and staying at each other’s places to get that extra time together, even if it was just getting to sleep in the same bed between cases— was a slap. 

“He remembers me,” you say, leg crossed over the other, arm over the railing of Spencer’s bed to hold his hand. “He just doesn’t remember a thing after Gideon came back, after Boston.” 

“I remember when you had hair,” Spencer says to Derek. 

Derek glares at him, “This Spencer doesn’t get to sass me.” 

“But I do eventually?” 

“How come you’re holding hands if he doesn’t know who you are?” Derek asks pointedly. 

You shrug. “We talked about it, didn’t we?” you ask Spencer, who perks up every time you talk, which isn’t unlike your usual Spencer. Whenever he catches himself doing it he flusters. Every time you call him baby he loses his mind. “He doesn’t remember me, but he wants to. And I remember him.” 

“This must be pretty weird for you, kid,” Derek says. 

“Sort of,” Spencer says. 

It’s funny. Now you know Spencer thinks he’s twenty three again, you can’t not notice his shyness and his awkward tries at casualness. You’d forgotten what he was like back then. 

“Wait, does that mean you don’t remember Emily?” Derek asks. 

Spencer frowns. “Uh, no?” 

You sit up in your chair. “Emily’s one of your best friends, honey. She joined the BAU when Greenaway left.”

“Not you?” he asks. 

You dramatise your pain as Derek laughs. “Not me. I didn’t transfer for a long time, unfairly. It’s okay, though, you’ll remember Emily eventually.” 

When you realised Spencer wasn’t as okay as you’d thought, you gathered a gaggle of agitated doctors to assess him. He knew his name and birthday. He was wrong about the date, the president, and the state. You’re in Arizona where he’d thought Indiana. Your bag talks to the heat: Spencer’s fan, his sunblock, his antihistamines. He couldn’t believe it when he asked where his stuff was and you passed him your handbag. 

You’re trying to drive home to him that you’re not just dating, you're common-law partners, Spence. He adores you. You’d spend life in his lap if you could afford it. 

“How’d she get you to believe her?” Derek asks Spencer. 

“Uh.” 

“I kissed him a couple of times before he came clean about the amnesia,” you say. “So I didn’t have to explain.” 

“I didn’t mean to lie,” Spencer says. 

He’s looking less haggard now you’ve brushed his hair. It was sweet to watch his shoulders relax. He shuddered when you tucked a strand behind his ears, and didn’t flinch when you asked if you could kiss his cheek. It’s hard to have him vulnerable here and not be allowed to lick his wounds for him. You feel better the better he feels. You’ve fluffed his pillow, wrapped him tighter in blankets. When he got up to pee and you offered to help, he gave a resolute No Thank You, which in hindsight is hilarious but at the time made you wanna squeeze your eyes out. 

“It’s okay,” you say softly, “I don’t mind kissing him, even if he doesn’t remember me. Just so long as he doesn’t mind it back.”

Spencer manages to squeeze your hand. It’s a soft one, but it’s real. “I don’t mind.” 

“You dog,” Derek says. 

“Stop, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong, is he?” you ask. “I’m the evil one, forcing kisses on him when he doesn’t know me.” 

“I do know you,” Spencer says. 

“What’s it like to have a crush on your own girlfriend?” Derek asks, unwilling to quit his teasing where he’s crossing his arms in the chair opposite, his cup of coffee drained on the side table. 

Spencer swallows. “Uh, nerve-wracking.” 

“Believe it or not, that’s not so different to now,” Derek says. 

Spencer looks to you for confirmation, which you love. You slide your chair closer to him and clasp his wrist with your free hand. “Sometimes you're still a little shy, but it’s not so bad. Full of myself I may be, Spencer Reid, but you do love me. It’s easy with us.” 

“Do we really live together?” he asks. “You said common-law.” 

“Not technically. I stay at your place four nights a week. You stay with me for the weekends.” 

“Every week?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

“We’re never apart?” he asks. 

His face is turning pink. You could kiss every bit of colour on his cheeks. 

“Derek, would you get Spencer something to eat from the cafeteria? Please?” you ask, levelling your friend with a pleading gaze. 

Derek gathers himself up. “Sure. We gotta feed the string bean something, don’t we?” he asks. 

Alone again, you draw lines up and down Spencer’s arm with your nails. You’re going to be indulgent in yourself, and ask him everything you’d ever wanted to know. And then a little extra, too. 

“You’re not as skinny anymore, have you noticed? You’re quite lean.” You stand to sit where you’d put yourself before he confessed. Your hand falls to his knee. “Solid, sometimes. You and Derek go for walks occasionally.” 

“We do?” 

“Mm-hm. And me and you do yoga in the living room when we can summon the energy. We tried couples Pilates, but Pilates is hard.” 

“We did?”

You smile warmly. “It’s nice to be in love with someone who loves in the same way.” 

“How do you love?” 

His ears are bitten-red. “Oh, you know. I’m too affectionate. It’s hard not to be with you. Everyone used to think we were… I don’t know, playing a game.” You slide your hand up his thigh, leaning on him to watch his pupils blow. “But I love you for far more than your constant propensity to blush. You get me flowers every time you see my favourites, and you never let me go to sleep without a kiss. Usually here.” You poke the skin beside your eye. “But sometimes you’ll surprise me and kiss my nose.” You're going lax with love, remembering things he’s done, and does every day.  “On a Saturday morning we make tea and I put my hands in your t-shirt. You do the crosswords for fun. Sometimes we time them.” 

“That’s not how you love, that’s what you love,” Spencer says. 

“Oh, you want a play by play of things?” He ducks his chin, but he smiles when you laugh. 

“I just can’t believe this is happening.”

You try to think of things you don’t think about anymore. “You love my sugar lip gloss, so I always wear it.” 

He reaches out tentatively. Shy as a wren in a hedgerow. You let him curl a hand over your elbow, feel the crook of it with his index finger. 

“I buy you stamps, and t-shirts for bed, and stupid stuff you wouldn’t get yourself. We’re… it’s like, it doesn’t feel like gift giving anymore because we’re always getting stuff for each other. You’re just as sweet, you know? When I first started sleeping over you bought me this huge pack of socks ‘cos yours are all odd,” you laugh. “I knew I loved you already, but…”

It’s a little sad, actually. He can’t remember all the stuff that makes you the couple you are. It’s not what you’d meant to get into. 

“Can I ask you something?” you ask. 

“Anything.” 

He’s slept-in and breathless, like he ran laps in his dreams. 

“What do you think of me now? I always wondered if you liked me back then, or if I just caught you off guard.” 

“Who wouldn’t like you?” 

“But did you?” 

He looks away hurriedly, his hand dropping from your elbow. “I guess so. But it’s not– not real. I have a crush on you.” His mumbling is sweet. “I have no idea why I’m telling you that.” 

“I had a crush on you, too, back then. It wasn’t anything serious, but it wasn’t a joke. And the more time we spent together, the more I thought we could fall in love,” —you take his hand and put it back on your arm— “and we did.” 

You toy with his fingers. Without looking, ashamed of your own self-indulgence, you ask another question. “What do you think of me now?” 

“I can’t remember,” he says sorrily. 

“What do you think?” 

“You feel like a dream.” He shakes his head. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world. I don’t really get how this is real.” 

You shouldn’t be surprised that he’d say it, you practically begged for it, but you can’t stop yourself from sitting up to kiss his forehead gently. “It’s real. Promise. And for the record, you’re handsome. They stopped saying ‘aged like fine wine’ a while ago. Now they just say ‘aged like Spencer Reid’.”

He gives a choky laugh. 

The door opens again. You lift your head expecting Derek and find a weather worm Hotch in the doorway. “Reid, you’re awake,” he says, not bothering with a smile. “Morgan said you have amnesia?” He directs it at both of you. 

Spencer’s looking at Hotch in clear shock. 

“He hasn’t aged that badly,” you chastise teasingly. 

“Hotch, you’re– I thought you would’ve– You’re still–?”

Hotch squints. “You didn’t think I had the stamina for it?” 

Spencer squirms under his gaze. “No, sir, it’s not that–”

“Sir,” Hotch says, and then he smiles. “I forgot when you both used to respect me.” 

“I have the utmost respect for you, sir,” you say through your own smile. 

“Has she been kind to you, Reid?” 

“Uh, yes? Is she not usually?” 

Hotch presses his lips together rather than answer. There’s a sympathy in his expression you resent.

—

It’s a thankfully quick bout of amnesia. The memories start to draw in like a dusting of powdered sugar, his head finely silted, one particle at a time. He finds that the more you talk, the quicker his memory is jogged. You tell him about your first kiss —I tried to kiss your cheek but you moved, it was the funniest thing— and your second. You spin stories of cases, the worst ones and the best, all the times you held hands without people knowing, the times you’d been caught. He can’t imagine it, goes hot with the memory, picturing kissing you as you’d described and the mortification of being walked in on. 

You tell him about your vacation to Nevada a few months ago and he thinks about how you’d fallen asleep on the plane. Your nose in his arm, your unhappy sigh at the tight leg space. 

Remembering you is more than half of remembering himself.

Your hands —his hands. Your smile —his laugh. The way you fold his hands in your lap —the urge to catch your chin for a kiss. 

He doesn’t know how to deal with it, and then suddenly he feels like Spencer. Your partner, your love, his proudest title for years. You’re standing at the end of the hospital bed in pajamas folding your clothes, allowed to stay the night while he’s so urgently confused and upset, you can’t make him stay here alone, please, I know you guys have those little cots for the kids ward, and he just knows you completely. 

Hours of diligent if embezzled storytelling gives it all back to him. 

“I like the lipgloss because you used to wear that perfume that smelled like sugar donuts,” he says, scratching a hand through limp hair. “And every time I crossed the square by the station–”

You let out a surprising squeal of joy. “Spencer!” you say, racing to take his hands, “Yes! The donut truck!” 

You go in for a kiss he gladly returns. “Oh, you remember,” you say, softening as he takes your neck into his hand. “I was getting worried.” 

“Some of it’s still hazy, but not so much you.” 

You wrap your arms around him for a hug, careful of his sore head. “I missed you, Spencer. I still loved you when you couldn’t remember me, but I missed you. Do you remember you?” 

He traces the scar on your lower cheek with his thumb. He’s genuinely relieved to be able to say he does. He’s not scared of what you think of him anymore, ‘cos he knows that everything he feels for you is mutual. “I remember you telling me my bad feeling was just a case of the heebies.” 

You bend into his touch. “Honey, I’m sorry. How was I supposed to know you’d get your skull whacked with a cinder block? It was a bakery. I thought the worst that could happen was getting a face full of red velvet or something.” You kiss his nose quickly. “I’m so glad you’re you. Now I can sleep in the bed with you, and not that collapsible camping cot.” 

He shushes you. “Don’t give us away. They’re not gonna let you stay if they think I’m fine.” 

You giggle excitedly, arms around him again for another squeeze. “I missed you so much. You’re so devious now.” 

He rubs your back. “I missed you too. And I still have a crush on you, I swear.”

“Thank you, honey, that means a lot to me.” 

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚⋆

thanks for reading!

[pikahlua]

Oh? Please, Madam

What Izuku rejects is the opportunity to be Katsuki's SIDEKICK. He doesn't reject being a hero or competing with Katsuki. He rejects working FOR/UNDER Katsuki. Which is hilarious because Katsuki accepts (apparently multiple times) showing up as a guest lecturer to help out Izuku's class. Katsuki tells Izuku that "If everyone is special, no one is special," which has the potential for SO MUCH DOUBLE MEANING. But what there is no ambiguity about to me is he's basically telling Izuku "Hey, notice this. I'm treating you special. You're special to me. NOTICE."

It's also implied that Izuku sees Katsuki more regularly than he sees most others from their class, which is emphasized by the previous chapter when Aizawa complains to him about Katsuki's behavior in public affecting his ranking. Katsuki basically tells Izuku he needs to start thinking about himself more, and he also ends their final interaction with a "See ya [later]." Katsuki is NOT talking about Ochako, but Izuku takes some of his advice as the impetus for going to talk to Ochako (specifically they just wanna talk more after the dinner since the dinner is now over and they didn't get to talk). So what was Katsuki thinking of? I personally read his "See ya later" as "You'll figure it out, just go handle what you gotta right now and you can catch up to me later."

Hilariously, Izuku calls Katsuki out for being the one to say "If you don't start thinking a little more highly of yourself, you won't notice the things you should." Izuku's response is basically, "Look who's talking." Again, the potential for double meaning here is painfully obvious. He could be referring to SO MANY THINGS and we're meant to infer what that is. WE GET TO GUESS. Izuku could be saying "You did stuff just as bad as what you're saying," or "You're STILL not noticing something, Kacchan."

And Izuku taking inspiration from Katsuki's words to go talk to Ochako is meaningful in another way--IT MEANS IZUKU LISTENED TO HIM. Katsuki is having an influence on Izuku in a way to improve who he is just like Izuku did for him in high school. Izuku takes Katsuki's advice seriously. NO ONE HAS EVER GOTTEN HIM TO UNDERSTAND THIS LESSON BEFORE NOW. It ends with Izuku and Ochako deciding to talk more, but what it shows us is the beginning of Izuku considering himself more. If Izuku follows Katsuki's advice long enough, he'll end up back in the competition with Katsuki just like Katsuki expects him to. That is just as easy of a conclusion to make from the theme of "inevitability" that Shouto gives us (and that Izuku also takes to heart).

This ending implies that inevitably Izuku's gonna catch up again, basically. Things will continue to change. So yeah, we get a beginning where he and Ochako meet up to talk, but it's just a beginning. It's one night of chatting. They're seeing if something's there now (which kind of implies that there wasn't much there before), but it's left open-ended. And I think it's left open-ended what happens with Ochako on purpose because anyone can read how that ends up however they like. You just have to decide as a reader what's "inevitable" for Izuku Midoriya from this point on. Me? I've decided Izuku is taking Katsuki's advice to treat people who mean more to him better. Ochako is just the beginning. Izuku has other people in his life he needs to show love to as well (because that's what this is, Izuku is learning to show people that they're important to him, that he loves them, because saving people doesn't do that--he saves EVERYONE). And then maybe he'll start to see how the people who love him treat him special too, like guest SPECIAL (same kanji) LECTURER KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

tl;dr there is a lot left open to interpretation and it's probably on purpose, read the chapter however you like, just like we did with the last chapter.

...and my interpretation which is the correct one is that Katsuki tells Izuku, "Here let me show you how to love people, damnit!" to give him the character development everyone has been begging for him to have for years, to realize that saving people doesn't mean they're special to him if he's known for saving everyone ever, so like, maybe go show them you care in OTHER ways, Izuku, and also I'll be waiting right here for you to come show you love me you jackass (and he does, he does come show him that)

[reignpage]

Piercer!Geto

Ducati 350 Desmo : rev my engine

Contents: 18+ mdni, huge foreplay, teasing, insight into that one text between modern au!Suguru and reader, inappropriate workplace behaviour, not proofread (literally wrote this just now and felt an urge to post immediately)

A giggle escapes you. 

Your boss just texted you to come to his office for a consultation on a possible tattoo. And you’re biting your lip, walking over to his door, weaving around the different stations of your fellow co-workers who simply grin at you. They have eyes, they can see he treats you differently, see that he’s softer, more patient around you. 

And they definitely see the blush that stains your cheeks every time he winks at you or breezes past. You just hope they can’t see you press your thighs together when he places his large hand on the small of your back and whisper an ‘excuse me, pretty’ in your ear.

It’s a little silly to be getting so worked up over your boss — your sister would certainly not approve, but she’s not much better than you — but your boss is tall, dark and handsome. Anyone in your position would feel the same way. 

You hear him say ‘come in’ when you knock, so you slip inside and close the door with a nervous smile. Suguru is sat behind his desk, hair tied up into a bun at the back, flicking through a portfolio. His leather jacket is strung on the back of his chair, tight black shirt clinging to his lean but muscular body in a way that makes you jealous. 

“Hey, boss.” Your voice has a slight waver to it, a nervous tremor that catches his attention. He looks up through his thick lashes, a small smile pulling at his lips. Beckoning you to sit across from him, he leans back in his chair, seemingly taking in your figure. 

Thank goodness you stole your sister’s pink sweater with a low v-line dipping to your cleavage. The simmering look he gives you makes facing her wrath so worth it. 

Sitting down, you clasp your hands in your lap. You’ve been in his office many times, but those were quick moments: giving him coffee, informing him of an emergency or a sudden cancellation, grabbing something from his shelves. But you’ve never quite sat and basked in the slight vanilla smell in the air, never been on the opposite side of his desk like a client, and you’ve certainly never faced his flirtations head-on like this. 

Suguru sits up, leaning on his elbow and tilting his head at you with a patient smile. A lock of hair follows with him and you want to feel it. Gosh, his hair looks so pretty. You wonder if it’s as silky as it looks. 

“How have you been finding working here, Y/n? I hope you’re finding it easy enough to balance your studies with your part-time job.”

You pout at the paternal tone he’s taken on. “It’s great. Everyone is so nice. No matter how many times I mess up, no one gets mad at me. Everyone’s so patient, I really feel at home.”

He nods, smile widening ever so slightly. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear that.”

The pink polish on your pointer finger is flaking off as you scratch. You’re fidgeting, suddenly feeling alert and aware of every movement, every shuffle outside the door as people walk past. It feels wrong to be hidden away like this with everyone still working just behind that door. It isn’t even locked. 

“So,” Suguru begins, a teasing lilt to his voice, “you want a tattoo.”

“I want to be tattooed by you,” you hurriedly correct. Why did you do that? That sounded so desperate. You wince but he only smiles wider, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. 

You’re too obvious. 

Suguru opens a drawer and places the leather sketchbook you found the other day. It’s thick, with scraps of paper poking out, and held together by an elastic band. The only thing in his entire office, and in his entire studio, that is messy. It feels scandalous, like you saw a peek through his soul and he had let you. Your heart clenches. So does your pussy. 

Nope.

Behave, you tell your body.

When you catches his gaze, he motions you over to his side. So you stand, pulling your short skirt down as discreetly as possible, and round his desk. This feels even more scandalous. You’re on the boss’ side, seeing the world from his perspective. He’s still sat down whilst you stand beside him, shuffling on your feet awkwardly. 

Then he pushes his chair back ever so slightly to give you space to lean forward and look at the page he’s opened. It’s of the dragon you saw. A pearly white, elegant looking creature with captivating yellow eyes. Its body is twisted, curling as it takes flight, rising through the heavens. You had no idea tattoos could be so beautiful. 

“I’m happy to broaden your perspective, pretty girl,” he replies. 

You hadn’t even realise you said it out loud. You blush again. 

You’re looking down on him, and he’s leaning back in his chair, legs spread in the loose trousers he wears, but it’s settled on his thick thighs, revealing the delectable muscles there and the bulge you’re trying not to look at. 

When you glance back up at him, he’s pressing his lips together like he’s trying not to laugh. Heat rises up your neck to your face. You should be fired.

Clearing your throat, you point to the dragon. “I want that one.”

“Yeah?” He’s studying you, no doubt trying to determine if you’re worthy. “Can you handle being tattooed, pretty? You’ll have needles poking you, will you manage?”

It’s clear he’s trying to test your limits, which is fair because you don’t have a single tattoo, unlike everyone else in the studio. You stand out with all your pastels and pinks contrasting with the sharp metals and ink of the place. But Suguru thinks you’re a scaredy cat. He thinks you’d tap out immediately and cry home about how he was too rough or too mean. 

You raise a brow, trying to imitate that arrogant look your sister always has. “I think I’ll be able to handle whatever you give me,” and then you add, almost like an afterthought, “boss.”

Always smiling, Suguru lifts a hand and curls two fingers. You shuffle between his spread legs, slotting in so perfectly it makes the tips of your breasts tingle. It’d be so easy to just kneel between them, to take out that part of him you’ve been dreaming of since he interviewed you, and ask for his cum like a good girl. Or better yet, to just plop yourself down on his lap and ride him to oblivion. 

You don’t do either, of course. 

It’d be wrong to do any of that with your boss, though you’re sure you wouldn’t regret a thing. But you have no experience with men. Your fingers, and a couple times a pillow, have been your only company on night where the frustration has boiled over. 

Suguru runs his gaze up the length of your body, from the smooth thighs peaking from your skirt, to your waist, to the nipples pebbling under your thin sweater, and the curves rounding out beyond the neckline, your neck, and your face. Then back down again. 

You gulp. 

There are phantom grazes running along your skin, tickling your skin wherever it goes. It’s making you ache between your legs and you want to rub yourself along his thigh, or his face, or both. How is he doing that?

Slowly, like a panther stalking its prey, he straightens his posture and his hand lifts. You’re both watching his fingertips graze the side of your thigh at a snail’s pace, as if intent on carving the feeling of your skin to memory. 

Your heart is pounding in your ribcage, threatening to burst out and dance on his desk. It’s pulsing at a beat that matches the down at the apex of your thighs. Can he hear it?

His eyes meet yours. His smile is gone. That cool temperament has disappeared, replaced with a strain in his eyes, in the way it flickers between yours. And when you gasp as his fingers reach the hem of your tight skirt, feeling the soft pudge, his eyes narrow. 

“Where do you want it?”

Through the haze, you barely hear what he’s saying. You stutter out, “Anywhere you want, boss.”

That was the wrong thing to say apparently because in a flash he’s standing behind you, pinning your hips to the desk with his own. Oh goodness, his body feels so firm against yours. And he smells so good, like thrill and danger wrapped in one. 

Your head falls back against his chest when his hands grip your hips, fingers splaying over your tummy, so close to where you want them but still not close enough.  

His lips scrape the shell of your ear and his deep timbre enters you and vibrates your very being. “Be careful, angel. I might just brand you everywhere.”

Head tilting to the side, you’re gasping at him. “Brand?”

You breathed it out like it was the dirtiest word in the English vocabulary, like he had just suggested he spit in your mouth in front of the clients. But when you make eye contact, he raises his hand to lift your sweater just a little, thumb settling on your bare skin, all warm from the blood rushing through you. 

You’re growing dizzy, so lightheaded you hardly remember where you even are. That must be why he has an impression that looks so innocent, like he hadn’t said anything at all. You’re mistaken. The rush is ruining your perception. 

Suguru leans down and he’s so close, you’re just a tiptoe away from feeling his lips against yours, from tasting him and exploring anything and everything he’s willing to give. His hands are burning his imprints and you already know you’ll feel them later when you’re no doubt sliding your own hand into your soaked panties. 

But then he pulls away just as there’s a knock at his door. 

You hear Miguel’s muffled voice and you scramble back from Sugar, who’s gracefully sitting back down like nothing’s happened. Your mind is frantically trying to catch up, and it leaves you breathless. 

Stumbling over to the door, you fix your sweater and pull down your skirt hurriedly before opening the door to see the man polite smile at you and then at the boss. 

He enters and you exit, the door remains open. But when you sneak one last glance at the room, you see Miguel admiring something on the wall, and then you catch Suguru’s heated gaze, his stare not faltering even as he presses a hand to his crotch and adjusts himself like a promise. 

You walk back to your desk at the front of the shop and desperately try to catch your breath just in time as a pink-haired man you recognise as being a member of the student council and a friend of your sister introduces himself and ask to see Suguru on a ‘personal matter’.   

It’s as if you’re moving on auto-pilot, nodding with a polite smile and gesturing to the direction of his office unnecessarily because the man’s already walking off. Your phone pings and you open it to see a text from your friend about how she’s on her way. 

You exhale one last time, replying something to her and ignoring the embers flickering on the places your boss has touched. 

And then you giggle. 

[ultraericthered]

#i got to screen Wish before it released during a school trip and let me tell you something #even though we noticed the glaring problems with that movie immediately #i also noticed something i dont think many others did at that time #there was so much talent and potential being held back. if you read closely you can pick up on a cry for help from the creatives behind it #i want to elaborate but i think if you know. you know #and if you don't.. this post does a good job of shining a light on a small part of that cry for you #despite its many issues i think i still liked Wish. Not because i think it was a good movie but bc i think it could have been a great one had circumstances been different. #my heart goes out to those who put their souls and everything they had into that movie and others in similar situations #some of the creators had given a small talk before the screening and to me they seemed very emotional about it #i think what many people forget is that nobody can see a project's flaws better than the people who worked on it #but what they also see and you can't is everything more it was meant to be #please remember that the core of many issues in any project is that the people with the talent often do not have power to call the shots

Yes, all of that. And I find it ironic that the gifed scene is the one that got people saying "Hey, King Magnifico's not really much of a villain, he's got a good point! He's just upholding his part of a social contract with his citizenry and doing what he, as king, needs to do to protect their wishes but also protect Rosas by ruling out granting any wishes that might backfire and have dangerous repercussions for the kingdom and the lives of the people! Asha's just an ignorant spoiled brat for demanding anything more of him! Magnifico Did Nothing Wrong!" So when you take that position on what you're being shown by the story and not scratching the surface to look at what Magnifico is doing in-universe by not giving back the wishes he knows he will not grant and knows the people who gave them to him cannot remember and what the out-of-universe subtext of this is, you're siding with the Disney Corporate Executive Overlords. You're siding with Bob Iger's "they're not being realistic with their expectations" argument. You're siding with Chapek and Iger's practices done under excuses like "It doesn't fit the Disney brand", "mass appeal stories over personal ones", "people don't want to go and pay to see movies with girly princess titles", etc. You're siding with their practices of dumping content straight to streaming (or onto Disney+ not too long after they've hit theaters or TV) even when that actually limits profits that the actual creative teams can make from their own work, of tampering with the artists visions and how the finished product turns out and then punishing those artists if it doesn't turn out well, and of ignoring ideas for original creations in favor of contiunally milking their popular (and profitable) existing IPs. You're siding with people who make up an entire entity that say loudly to the faces of all those who put in the work, the skills, the talent, the passion and dedication to create art and content they feel people deserve to enjoy, in the forms they deserve to enjoy them "I decide what everyone deserves!"

Capitalism errodes into a force for human evil when the people at the top prove susceptible to three things in excess beyond mere greed and self-interest: unchecked power, irresponsibility, and indecency. King Magnifico is allegorical for that evil, with a bit of a communist dictator angle to him too since that's the end point of those exact same excesses and extremes for socialism. He's a major problematic fave for all kinds of reasons, but anyone who wants to tell me he's a good guy can kindly GTFO.

Wish (2023) dir. Fawn Veerasunthorn, Chris Buck

hey do you think the overworked creatives about to go on strike are trying to tell us something

article sources under the cut

Mattson, Kelcie. "How Disney Almost Killed 'Nimona.'" Collider, January 2 2024.

Earl, William. "Shelving Batgirl Was the Right Decision, Says New DC Studios Head Peter Safran: 'It Would Have Hurt DC.'" Variety, January 31 2023

Couch, Aaron. "Warner Bros. Reverses Course on 'Coyote vs. Acme' After Filmmakers Rebel." The Hollywood Reporter, November 13 2023.

Ridgely, Charlie. "Scoob! Sequel Director Revealed Film Was 'Very Close' to Completion Before HBO Max Cancellation." comicbook.com, August 2 2022.

Clark, Travis. "Staffers at the animation studio Blue Sky say it's 'heartbreaking' that Disney canceled its final movie, 'Nimona.'" Business Insider, February 18, 2021.

Harrison, Mark. "Why was the Batgirl movie cancelled?" Yahoo! Entertainment, January 31 2024.

Amidi, Amid. "Warner Bros. Shelves Fully-Completed 'Coyote Vs. Acme' For Tax Write-Off." Cartoon Brew, November 9 2023.

Lee, Alex. "Why Netflix keeps cancelling your favourite shows after two seasons." Wired UK, September 28 2020.

Tyrrell, Gary. "We All Knew It Was Coming." fleen.com, February 10 2021.

"Warner Bros. Reverses Course on ‘Coyote vs. Acme’ After Filmmakers Rebel." see: 3.

Bergeson, Samantha. "Warner Bros. Will Let 'Coyote Vs. Acme' Filmmakers Shop Movie to Other Distributors." IndieWire, November 13 2023.

Strapagiel, Lauren. "Disney's First Feature Animated Movie With Queer Leads May Never Be Released." BuzzfeedNews, February 24 2021.

"We All Knew It Was Coming." see: 9

@/scottderrickson. "I think it’s absolute bullshit that a studio can and does shelve the creative work of hundreds of people for a fucking tax break." Twitter, 10 Nov. 2023, 4:52 p.m..

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

Pairings: PornStar!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Themes: Game of Cat and Mouse. Bucky being stubborn as shit. Summary: Things have turned awkward. You and Bucky hasn't spoken with each other for a few days now. But is the much needed space making things better or worse? A/N: Sorry this took so long lmao. My boy got sick and needed my undivided attention my poor baby but he's better now thank god. A/N: I honestly don't know how to top-up the previous parts but shit, I need them to connect to a deeper level first before jumping into full on smut okay? maybe in the next part. The song sums up the whole fic to be honest lol.

You’d become a master at memorizing Bucky’s schedule, knowing exactly when to leave your apartment to avoid any chance of running into him. But lately, it seemed like Bucky had developed the same strategy, and you couldn’t help but notice the way his presence around the building had become increasingly scarce. It was almost as if he was avoiding you instead.

Today, though, you decided to switch things up by taking the stairs. Sure, it was three flights down, but anything was better than the awkward tension of waiting for the elevator and possibly bumping into him. You clung to the faint hope that the odds would work in your favor, that the stairwell would be empty and uneventful.

But as you descended, the sound of footsteps echoed from below, growing louder with every step. Your stomach flipped, an irrational hope bubbling up before you could quash it. Maybe it’s not him, you thought, though deep down, you already knew better.

Rounding the corner, your heart sank and raced all at once. There he was—Bucky, just a few steps below you, pausing mid-step with his hand gripping the railing. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, neither of you moved. His expression shifted, a flicker of surprise quickly replaced by something guarded, his jaw tightening as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“Oh,” you breathed, your voice softer than you’d intended. “Hi.”

His lips pressed into a tight line before he offered a stiff nod. “Hey,” he replied, his voice low, carefully neutral.

You stared at each other for a beat too long, the air between you thick with unsaid words. He looked almost annoyed—not at you, but at the situation, as if running into you had thrown him off his game. And maybe it had, because for the first time, it wasn’t you avoiding him. It was him avoiding you.

“So…taking the stairs now?” His tone was casual, but his eyes betrayed a hint of tension, a wall firmly in place.

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “Yeah, um… decided to switch things up. Exercise, you know.”

He nodded once, his grip tightening briefly on the railing before loosening again. “Right. Exercise.”

Another awkward silence settled over you, the sound of distant voices from above faintly filling the void. You shifted on the step, clutching the railing a little too tightly, your mind scrambling for something to say—something that wouldn’t make things worse. But before you could speak, Bucky cleared his throat and took a step to the side, making way for you to pass.

“Alright,” he said, his voice clipped. “I’ll… see you around.”

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, hesitating for a moment before you stepped past him. “See you.”

As you descended the stairs, your pulse pounded in your ears, each step feeling heavier than the last. You risked a glance back, only to find him already climbing upward, his shoulders tense, his head down. The image lingered in your mind, the sight of him retreating, the weight of his silence pressing down on you like a stone.

You reached the bottom landing, gripping the railing as you let out a slow breath. Part of you wanted to turn around, to call after him. But the words stayed stuck in your throat, tangled up with your own doubts and fears.

If he didn’t want to talk, you wouldn’t force him. But that didn’t make the ache in your chest any easier to bear.

× × × ×

You arrived at work, your mood sour and your thoughts tangled up in that awkward encounter with Bucky on the stairs. The usual morning chatter of the office greeted you. Trying to focus, you went to your desk, arranging your things in a futile attempt to bring some order to your day.

But then you heard them—Trish and Amy, huddled at the corner near the coffee machine, voices low but still clear enough to reach you.

“I just don’t get it,” Trish was saying. “It’s been days, and there’s still no new uploads from SergeantBarnes. Maybe he’s got a new project or something?”

“Or maybe he’s seeing someone?” Amy added with a conspiratorial tone. “I mean, think about it. He’s been off the grid lately. That’s got ‘new fling’ written all over it.”

You clenched your jaw, trying to block out their conversation. It was the last thing you wanted to hear today, and every word just stoked the frustration simmering inside you. You took a deep breath, attempting to rein in your annoyance, but they just kept going, their words grating at you.

“Honestly, it’s like he’s gone quiet for no reason,” Trish went on, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What am I supposed to watch while I’m waiting for Dan to finish his gaming marathons?”

“Is that all you two talk about?”

You couldn’t help it; something inside you snapped. Before you knew it, you turned around, your voice sharper than you intended.

Both Trish and Amy blinked in surprise, their expressions shifting from confusion to embarrassment. You continued, unable to stop yourself now that you’d started. 

“You both have partners, for crying out loud. Do you really need to spend every second gossiping about some guy online?”

They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback. “Jeez, sorry,” Trish muttered, looking both defensive and a little hurt. “We didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

“It is when we’re supposed to be working,” you replied, more irritated than you’d intended. “Maybe keep the fan talk out of the office? Or, I don’t know, find a hobby that doesn’t involve obsessing over someone else’s life?”

Silence fell as they looked at you, wide-eyed and a bit stunned. Realizing how harsh you’d sounded, you took a step back, immediately feeling a pang of regret. But the frustration from this morning was still fresh, and you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize just yet. Instead, you turned back to your desk, jaw clenched, hoping the tension in the office would dissipate as the day went on.

At the end of your shift, the weight of the day felt heavier than usual. The tension with Bucky hung over you like a cloud, lingering in your thoughts despite your best efforts to shake it off. It shouldn’t even be this deep—so why were you so affected? It’s just a casual thing, you reasoned with yourself. We’re barely even… whatever this is.

Yet, no matter how many times you told yourself to move on, the thought of Bucky—the way he’d looked at you, the frustration and hurt in his eyes—gnawed at you. You found yourself mentally bargaining, trying to find some middle ground, some way to keep your guard up but let him in a little, too. Maybe if I didn’t overthink it… if I just let it be whatever it is, I wouldn’t feel this way.

As you gathered your things, ready to head out, Trish and Amy approached with hesitant smiles. 

“Hey, you okay?” Trish asked gently, her earlier excitement replaced with genuine concern.

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

“I’m so sorry about this morning,” you said, glancing between them. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you both. Just… a rough few days.”

They nodded in understanding, exchanging a quick look before Trish turned back to you. 

“No worries, but hey, if there’s something bothering you… maybe we can help? What do you say to grabbing some dinner with us? We can talk or not talk about it?”

Amy’s face lit up as she chimed in. “Yeah! You shouldn’t have to stew over whatever it is alone. Come on, let us treat you to some comfort food.”

Their unexpected warmth and support tugged at something in you, and you felt the weight on your shoulders ease just a little. 

With a small smile, you nodded. “Sure, that sounds nice. Thanks, guys.”

They grinned, and without missing a beat, each linked an arm through yours on either side, leading you toward the door as if they were determined to help you shake off every ounce of stress you’d been carrying. As you walked together, their chatter filled the air, and you let yourself settle into the easy companionship, hoping that maybe tonight would give you the reset you needed.

× × × ×

Across town, Bucky was pouring everything he had into the punching bag in front of him, each hit landing with a force that reverberated through his whole body. The gym was nearly empty, giving him the space to unload, each punch fueled by the frustration and confusion that had been building inside him for days. His jaw was clenched, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead as he moved, his muscles tense and coiled with pent-up energy. The sharp sound of his fists colliding with the bag echoed through the room, filling the silence as he worked to dump every complicated thought he’d been grappling with.

He had no reason to be as affected as he was, but the whole situation with you had hit him harder than he expected. He’d thought he could brush it off, ignore the strange ache that crept up every time he thought about your last conversation, but it stuck with him.

After a final, powerful jab, Bucky took a step back, breathing heavily as he let his hands drop to his sides. His mind was still a storm of thoughts, the adrenaline from his workout doing little to clear his head.

When he wasn’t working off steam in the gym, Bucky’s day-to-day was far less chaotic than most people would assume. As an automotive engineer at Ford, he spent hours each day under the hood, designing, testing, and refining high-performance engines. His focus had always been on innovation, on precision, on building something that could withstand any test. It was work he loved—real work, with real meaning, where every bolt and every part had a purpose.

The other job, his work in front of the camera, was different. It was an outlet, a separate side of himself he’d chosen to explore. People saw it for what it was on the surface, but it never felt like the core of who he was. You, however, had somehow managed to blur the lines between the two worlds in a way that left him unsteady. And for the first time, he found himself wondering if keeping his other job had been the right one.

The memory of your face—surprised, hesitant, almost wounded—came rushing back to him, making his chest tighten with something more complicated than he was prepared to face. 

Why did it matter so much? She’s just my neighbor, he thought. 

He sighed, pressing his gloved fists to his forehead as he tried to shake off the ache that had settled there. For now, all he could do was keep hitting, keep moving, hoping that maybe, at some point, the weight of it would finally start to lighten.

Later that evening, Bucky found himself in his kitchen, mindlessly stirring a pot on the stove. The rhythmic motion and steady bubbling should have been enough to distract him, but his thoughts kept drifting—inevitably back to you.

He remembered the first time you’d crossed paths in the building, how you’d barely glanced at him as you carried a pile of boxes through the hallway. It had amused him, how determined you were to act unaffected, especially after that sudden recognition flashed in your eyes. That little double-take when you realized who he was had been priceless. He’d leaned into that reaction ever since, throwing little teases and comments just to see your reaction, to see the way your cheeks would flush or how your gaze would flit away, only to sneak back.

There was something refreshing about the way you seemed to care so little about the reputation attached to him—so different from others he’d met. And maybe that was why he couldn’t resist teasing you, why he went out of his way to bump into you, to throw in a bit of banter just to see if he could make you smile or throw him a comeback.

But he never expected it to go beyond that. He didn’t expect that somewhere along the line, those little interactions would turn into something he looked forward to. And now, somehow, it had gotten tangled up with feelings he wasn’t prepared to deal with.

Bucky stirred the pot a little too vigorously, and a few drops splashed over the edge, hissing as they hit the stovetop. His hand stilled as he sighed, feeling the frustration bubble up all over again. This is my fault, he thought, jaw clenching slightly. I shouldn’t have come onto her too strong.

He hadn’t realized he was stirring so absentmindedly until the pot suddenly began to overflow, the liquid spilling over the edge and sizzling against the hot burner. With a muttered curse, he quickly grabbed a towel, lifting the pot off the heat and wiping up the mess, the sharp smell of burnt food pulling him out of his thoughts.

As he turned off the stove, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would take to make things right with you.

× × × ×

After a long day, you found yourself standing outside Bucky’s door, nerves twisting in your stomach. Just apologize, you told yourself, trying to gather the courage. Get it over with and clear the air. But as you stared at the door, words rehearsed in your mind, you found yourself hesitating. You’d been standing there so long that you’d lost track of time, each second stretching as you cycled through a list of possible things to say, none of which seemed quite right.

Taking a deep breath, you raised your hand to knock when a light, feminine laugh floated through the door, catching you off guard. You froze, your hand mid-air, as the laughter was followed by a familiar deep chuckle. Bucky’s.

"Alright, alright,” you heard him say, sounding more relaxed than you’d ever heard him with you. There was a warmth in his voice that sent a pang through your chest, the kind that came from comfort, closeness.

“Oh, come on, don’t act like you didn’t miss me,” the woman teased, her tone playful and affectionate. “I know you. You’re never this nice to anyone else.”

You swallowed, something tightening in your chest as you listened.

"Alright, guilty," Bucky’s voice softened, almost shy. "Guess you’ve always been a bit of a soft spot."

Your heart twisted, her words and his response echoing in your mind, each line pulling you deeper into a sense of unease. Soft spot? Nice to her in a way he wasn’t with anyone else?

Your mind jumped to the worst possible conclusion, and your cheeks heated as your throat tightened. You felt silly for standing there now, silly for even considering coming over to apologize. What were am I doing? Of course he's with someone.

Just then, you heard footsteps approaching the door, and panic flared. You turned, bolting toward your own apartment, fumbling with your keys as you heard Bucky’s door open behind you. Just as you managed to close your door, you caught a glimpse of him glancing down the hall, his gaze lingering on your door with a curious look.

Bucky’s sister, Becca, caught him glancing toward your door, she raised an eyebrow, nudging him with a knowing smile. 

“What’s up with you?” she asked, a touch of teasing in her voice. “Is everything okay?”

Bucky gave his head a quick shake, trying to dismiss the worry that had settled there. 

“Yeah, yeah… it’s nothing. Just thought I saw something,” he replied, though his gaze lingered a moment longer on your door before he finally turned back to Becca.

She didn’t look convinced. Folding her arms, she tilted her head, giving him a look that only an older sister could manage—the kind that saw right through any attempt to hide. 

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed a little off tonight, Bucky. I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Bucky held up his hands defensively, a hint of a grin tugging at his lips as he tried to brush her off. 

“Nothing! Really, it’s nothing. Now go home, seriously,” he insisted, ushering her toward the elevator with a slight push.

Becca rolled her eyes, clearly not buying it for a second. 

“Right. Nothing,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she gave him a knowing look. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, a bit more forcefully this time, though he couldn’t quite hide the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Go on before you start reading my palm or something.”

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

“Alright, alright, I’m going,” she said as she stepped into the elevator, though she gave him one last pointed look as the doors began to close. “But, Bucky? maybe figure out what you want before you drive yourself crazy over it.”

With that, the doors shut, leaving Bucky standing in the quiet hallway, he sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets as he glanced back toward your door.

Later that night, Bucky found himself slumped on his couch, phone in hand as he stared at the search bar. He let out a huff, rolling his eyes at himself as he typed: signs you’re into someone.

The results loaded quickly, and he clicked the first article, skimming the list with a mixture of skepticism and, admittedly, nervous anticipation.

Sign #1: You can’t stop thinking about them. 

He paused, frowning at the screen. “Okay, that’s… kind of obvious,” he muttered, mentally ticking off that box with a begrudging sigh.

Sign #2: You go out of your way to see them.

Bucky narrowed his eyes at his phone, a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“That one’s just stupid. I mean, we live in the same building. I don’t go out of my—” He paused, remembering all the times he’d “accidentally” found himself in the hallway when you’d get back from work, or when he’d gone to the laundry room at oddly specific times. “Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes.”

He kept scrolling, and the list grew more absurd—do you get jealous when they talk about other people? Do you go out of your way to impress them? By the end of it, he’d mentally checked off nearly every box, his expression morphing into a blend of reluctant acceptance and amusement.

Bucky sighed, tossing his phone onto the couch beside him. 

“What am I, sixteen?” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. Here he was, a grown man, looking up articles about crushes and ticking off boxes like he needed some random website to validate what he already knew.

But as he sat there, he realized it wasn’t the checklist itself—it was the fact that, for the first time in a long time, he felt like this. Like he actually cared about where things went, enough to drive him to ridiculous measures for some kind of clarity.

With a sigh, he leaned back, staring at the ceiling, the weight of realization settling in. Bucky stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, letting out a deep sigh before grabbing his phone again and pulling up his contacts. Scrolling down to “Steve,” he hesitated for a beat before tapping the call button.

It rang twice before his friend picked up with a cheerful, “Yellow?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, smiling anyway. “Hey, punk.”

“Bucky!” Steve’s voice was light, clearly amused. “What’s up? It’s been a while since you called just to say ‘hi.’”

“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I… actually had a question. Kind of. For… a friend.”

“Oh, a ‘friend,’ huh? Sure, I’m listening.” Steve chuckled on the other end, and Bucky could practically hear the grin in his voice.

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

“Right. So, uh, hypothetically speaking… how do you know if, you know, if you’re into someone? Like, in a way that’s… not just friendly?” His words tumbled out, each one feeling more absurd than the last.

“Your ‘friend’ wants to know how to tell if they’ve got a crush, huh? Didn’t realize we were back in high school, Buck.” Steve snorted, not bothering to hide his amusement.

Bucky sighed, feeling his face heat up. “Look, if you’re gonna be annoying, I’ll just—”

“No, no, no, I’m sorry,” Steve said quickly, though he was still chuckling. “Okay, seriously. Well… I guess if your ‘friend’ can’t stop thinking about her, or if he finds himself looking for reasons to be around her, that’s usually a sign. Or if he’s, you know, protective, feels that weird jealousy thing… you know how it goes.”

Bucky was silent for a second, swallowing as he mentally ticked off each of Steve’s points. “Right. Yeah. Hypothetically, that makes sense,” he mumbled, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“And,” Steve continued, now sounding suspiciously entertained, “if your ‘friend’ is calling up his actual best friend in the middle of the night to figure it out… well, that might be a bit of a giveaway, too.”

Bucky groaned, falling back into the couch with a scowl. “Alright, alright, I get it. Thanks, Steve.”

But Steve wasn’t finished. “Hey, Buck? If you’re asking for yourself—which we both know you are—maybe just tell her how you feel. You’re not as subtle as you think, and if she’s worth this much thought… she’s probably worth the risk, too.”

Bucky was quiet, swallowing the mix of nerves and excitement that Steve’s words stirred up. “…Yeah. Thanks, pal.”

× × × × 

The next morning, you were practically sprinting down the hall, head ducked and heart racing, when you heard him call out, “Hey! Y/N—wait up!”

You didn’t dare look back, only quickened your steps, praying he’d let it go. But his footsteps grew closer, and just as you reached the lobby, you felt a hand gently graze your shoulder.

With an awkward yelp, you dodged sideways, almost colliding with a potted plant as you called over your shoulder, “Sorry, Bucky—gotta go! Late for work!” 

You bolted through the doors, ignoring the bewildered look he gave you as you disappeared into the morning rush.

You turned off your phone completely, just to avoid the constant notifications. His messages had started out simple—Hey, can we talk?—but quickly escalated. Each ding had become a taunt, a reminder that, even though he seemed persistent, there was no other reason to face him now. You left your phone off for nearly a full day, and by the time you turned it back on, there were over a dozen missed calls and messages waiting for you, each one a pinch of guilt you tried to ignore.

And just when you thought you’d mastered the art of dodging, fate had other plans.

Untik one bleary-eyed morning, as you rushed out of your apartment with a coffee in one hand and your bag slipping off the other shoulder, you came face-to-face with Bucky at the end of the hallway. There was no escape route this time; he was standing right in your path, his arms folded and an expression somewhere between concerned and utterly frustrated.

You tried to step to the left, but he mirrored you, stepping right into your path.

You shifted right, and he stepped left, blocking you again.

You both paused, sizing each other up. Then, in unison, you both moved left, only to collide shoulders. You exhaled in frustration, darting to the right, but he sidestepped with you again.

“Bucky, please,” you groaned, your patience wearing thin, feeling the minutes tick closer to being late. “I have to go.”

His eyes softened just a little, but he didn’t budge. “Not until you stop running away from me. Can we just talk?”

You scowled, giving him one last sidestep to the left, only to be blocked again. With a frustrated sigh, you finally did the only thing left: you placed both hands on his chest and gave him a firm push, slipping past him before he could react.

“I’m late,” you muttered, not looking back as you all but jogged down the hallway, leaving Bucky in the wake of your retreat, his gaze following you with an expression that told you he wasn’t giving up. Hell no.

× × × ×

Until one day, when you were in the middle of work, a receptionist from the ground floor called up to tell you that someone wanted to see you. Curiosity and irritation flared as you made your way down, a frown already forming on your face. And the second you spotted him—standing in the lobby, arms crossed, looking as frustrated as you’d ever seen him—you felt your heart drop.

You turned on your heel, muttering to yourself, “Unbelievable…” But before you could make it far, he called out.

“Y/N!” His voice echoed across the lobby, and you turned back with a glare.

“What the hell are you doing here, Bucky?” you hissed, stepping closer so your conversation stayed private, though part of you just wanted to get him out of the building before anyone noticed.

His jaw was set, his gaze determined. “Can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “Nothing should have happened between us. Let’s just… leave it at that.”

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

“How can you say that?” he demanded, his voice low but intense.

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

“I need to get back to work,” you said, not meeting his eyes. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you once again.

“I’m not leaving,” he said firmly. “I’ll wait right here until you clock out if that’s what it takes. We’re going to talk, Y/N.”

You groaned, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. “Bucky, go home.”

But he didn’t budge. Instead, he took a seat in one of the lobby chairs, crossing his arms and settling in as if he were prepared to stay all night. Despite the receptionist’s raised eyebrows and curious glances from passing employees, Bucky stayed put, a stubborn expression on his face that only grew more determined with each hour that passed.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried to focus on your work, but every so often, curiosity and frustration got the better of you. By mid-afternoon, you found yourself messaging the receptionist, unable to resist asking, “Is he still there?”

The reply was quick and confirmed what you feared: “He hasn’t moved. Just sitting there, staring at his phone.”

You sighed, feeling a pang of guilt despite yourself. “Could you… maybe offer him a drink or something? He’s not going to leave, is he?”

The receptionist’s response was amused. “Already tried. Said he’s fine, but he appreciates it.”

The next day, he was there again, seated in the same chair, his arms crossed and his expression set like stone. This time, he came prepared—there was coffee waiting on the front desk with your name on it. When Trish and Amy teased you about the mysterious admirer, you convinced them to sneak out the back exit with you after work.

The day after that, he stepped it up. Roses. A beautiful arrangement of vibrant blooms appeared on your desk, the receptionist delivering them with a knowing smile. Your coworkers were relentless, whispering about your "secret boyfriend" and giving you sly grins every time they passed your desk. Again, you dodged them and Bucky, slipping out the back exit before he could catch you.

But no matter how much you avoided him, Bucky didn’t give up. Each morning, he was there, as stubborn as a mule—or more appropriately, as stubborn as Bucky Barnes. His persistence was unwavering, his resolve impossible to break.

Finally, on the fourth day, the receptionist herself came up to your floor, pulling you aside with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smirk.

“Y/N,” she began, her tone friendly but firm, “you’ve got to talk to him.”

Your stomach twisted as you glanced at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“Your man. He’s down there again. Same chair, same determined look. And he’s got flowers. Again.” She folded her arms, her expression softening slightly. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but he’s been here every day for the past four days. He’s polite, patient, doesn’t bother anyone, but... it’s obvious he’s waiting for you.”

Your cheeks burned, and you felt the weight of her words settle over you. “He’s not my—”

“Y/N.” She cut you off, giving you a pointed look. “Just talk to him. If for no other reason than to put him out of his misery. I’ve worked here for five years, and I’ve never seen anyone that persistent. Trust me, most guys wouldn’t even wait an hour.”

You sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “He’s... complicated.”

The receptionist chuckled, shaking her head. “Aren’t they all? But the way he’s sitting down there, looking like a kicked puppy one minute and a stubborn bulldog the next? That’s not complicated. That’s someone who cares.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Don’t let something good slip away just because it’s messy.”

Her words lingered long after she walked away, leaving you standing in the hallway, your heart thundering in your chest. You peeked toward the elevator, debating whether you could sneak out through the back again. But deep down, you knew she was right.

Bucky was waiting. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

With a deep breath, you grabbed your things, bracing yourself for what was bound to be another conversation you weren’t sure you were ready for.

× × × ×

You stepped into the lobby, your pulse quickened. There he was, sitting exactly where he’d planted himself hours ago, looking a little rumpled, maybe even tired, but every bit as determined as ever. His gaze lifted the moment you appeared, and for a second, his whole expression softened in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Relief, warmth, maybe even something more—it was all there, clear as day, and somehow it made this moment feel… different.

Bucky rose, a small, boyish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth as he approached. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, letting the silence between you speak. The noise of the lobby faded away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a quiet, invisible bubble.

You forced yourself to stay steady, trying to keep the upper hand. Arms crossed, you raised an eyebrow at him. “So… you camped out here all day?”

His smile turned a little sheepish, but there was no hint of apology in his tone. 

“Told you I’d wait. Figured you’d come down eventually.” He took a half-step closer, his voice soft and warm, laced with that casual mischief that made it impossible not to smile.

You rolled your eyes, biting back the smile creeping up. “Could’ve just… I don’t know, texted? Called? Like a normal person?”

He tilted his head, his grin widening just enough to make your heart trip over itself. 

“I tried that, remember? Didn’t seem to work on you.” He shrugged, completely unfazed. “So I figured I’d go old-school. Sometimes persistence pays off.”

“Persistence,” you muttered, pretending to sound exasperated. “You mean showing up uninvited?”

Before Bucky could answer, the unmistakable chatter of Trish and Amy echoed from the elevator behind you. Your heart jumped into your throat. Oh no. Absolutely not.

Without thinking, you stepped closer to Bucky, practically pressing yourself against him as you yanked your bag off your shoulder and lifted it up like a makeshift shield to block both of your faces.

Bucky froze, his body stiffening at your sudden proximity, but his expression quickly shifted to pure amusement. His lips twitched as he looked down at you, your bag wobbling precariously on the side of your faces.

“Um… what are you doing?” he whispered, his breath brushing against your forehead.

“Shhh!” you hissed, tilting the bag slightly to peek over it. Trish and Amy were slowly walking toward the front doors, their voices growing louder. “Just… don’t move. They can’t see me with you.”

“And why’s that?” Bucky asked, his voice low and teasing, though he didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned down a fraction, his face hovering closer to yours. “Afraid they’ll get the wrong idea?”

“No, I’m afraid they’ll get the right idea,” you snapped under your breath, glaring up at him.

His eyes sparkled, and his grin widened. “Oh, really? And what idea would that be, sweetheart?”

“Bucky,” you warned, the heat rising in your cheeks as you tilted your bag higher, completely covering his smirking face.

But Bucky didn’t seem fazed. If anything, he seemed more amused, his gaze dropping to your face like you were the most fascinating thing he laid eyes upon. His voice softened, the teasing edge replaced by something warmer. 

“You know, you’re really bad at hiding.”

“Shut up,” you mumbled, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling.

He chuckled, his chest vibrating lightly against you. “Not gonna lie, this might be the highlight of my day. You, using me as a human shield. Very flattering.”

“Oh shut up,” you whispered, but your voice wavered, betraying the way your pulse was racing.

Trish and Amy finally passed by, oblivious to the two of you tucked against the corner. You let out a breath of relief, slowly lowering your bag. But before you could step away, you realized how close you were—Bucky’s face mere inches from yours, his eyes locked on yours with an intensity that made your heart stutter.

His voice dropped, soft and almost reverent. “You can hide from them all you want. But you can’t keep hiding from me, Y/N.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare back at him, caught in the pull of his gaze. The noise of the lobby faded again, leaving just the two of you in your own little world.

“I told you,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly gentle. “I’m not leaving until you talk to me.”

You tried to ignore the thrill of butterflies that his words sparked. “Like I said, there’s nothing to talk about, Bucky. We should just keep our distance from each other okay?”

He took a steadying breath, his brows drawing together, his voice losing that playful edge. 

“How can you just decide that?” he asked, his tone almost pleading. “You don’t even know…”

You shifted, heart pounding. “Because I know you’re already seeing someone else. I don’t need to be another complication in your life.”

He blinked, visibly taken aback. And then, just as quickly, his face softened, an incredulous, almost disbelieving laugh escaping him. 

“Seeing someone else? Where did you get that idea?”

Heat crept up your cheeks as you tried to hold your ground. “I—I heard her, okay? When I was at your door the other day. The laughing, the… the way you sounded with her…” You bit your lip, looking anywhere but at him.

“Oh.” 

He let out another breathy laugh, shaking his head as if you’d just told him the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. 

“Y/N… that wasn’t a date. She’s not—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of exasperation and utter amusement. “She’s my sister.”

Your mouth dropped open, the realization hitting you like a freight train. “… what?”

“Yeah, my sister, Becca. She was just in town visiting.” He gave you a look of pure, amused disbelief, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. “God, you really thought I was seeing someone?”

“Well, what else was I supposed to think?” you muttered, cheeks flaming with embarrassment.

Bucky’s smile softened, and he took another step closer, until there was hardly any space between you. 

“You should’ve just asked,” he murmured, his voice low and warm. “Instead of. . . I don’t know? Avoiding me like the plague?”

You tried to summon a retort, but your heart was racing, your thoughts jumbled by his proximity and the way his gaze seemed to hold you captive.

Bucky chuckled, the sound soft and full of affection as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. 

“All this because of a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, his hand lingering, fingers brushing against your cheek. “I’ve been going crazy trying to figure out why you’re dead set on ignoring me.”

You managed to look up at him, heart pounding as you searched his eyes, suddenly feeling like all the air had been sucked out of the room. 

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

“There’s only one person I want to see,” he murmured, his hand dropping from your face and now brushing against your arm. “And I thought I’m making that pretty clear?”

Your mouth opened and closed then opened again, “Okay. . .”

“Okay. . .” Bucky chuckles and steps back, “Shall we. . . restart?”

A flicker of surprise crossed your face, and a warmth bloomed in your chest at his invitation. You’d spent so many days tangled in your own assumptions, convinced things between you were over before they even began, and here he was, offering an olive branch with that disarming smile.

“Restart?” you echoed, your heart skipping a beat as you met his gaze.

He nodded, his expression softening even more. “Yeah.”

You gave him a small, hesitant smile, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves. “Yeah… I think I’d like that.”

Bucky’s grin widened, relief and something warmer sparking in his eyes. “Great. Let’s go home?”

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

The streets were alive with the hum of the city—cars rushing by, distant chatter from groups of people, and the occasional burst of laughter from passersby. But despite the liveliness around you, there was an unspoken tension in the air.

You noticed the way women’s heads turned as you passed, their gazes lingering a little too long on Bucky. It didn’t help that he looked effortlessly handsome, his casual outfit somehow drawing more attention than it should have. A part of you wanted to roll your eyes, but another part couldn’t blame them.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. His focus remained on you, his stride matching yours, though there was a slight hesitation in his step.

“You’re quiet,” you murmured, glancing up at him as you adjusted the bouquet in your arms.

He let out a soft hum, his hands sliding into his pockets. “Just thinking,” he said, his voice low.

“About?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening slightly before he finally spoke. “About that night.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you instinctively looked away, focusing on the ground ahead of you. 

“I thought we weren’t going to bring that up,” you said softly, your voice tinged with both unease and curiosity.

“We have to talk about it eventually,” he replied, his tone steady but gentle. “I don’t like leaving things unresolved, Y/N.”

When you finally reached the corner of your block, you slowed your steps. Bucky noticed, his own pace matching yours, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

The two of you moved to the quieter steps of your building, sitting side by side. The soft hum of the city buzzed around you, but it felt distant, like it belonged to another world entirely. Your bag rested on your lap, your face soft under the streetlights, but the tension in the air was anything but light.

Bucky broke the silence first, his hands clasped together as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. 

“I’ve been wanting to say this for a while,” he started, his voice low but steady. “That night… I wasn’t mad at you. I was mad at myself.”

You blinked, turning to him in surprise. “Mad at yourself?”

He nodded, his jaw clenching for a moment before he continued. “Yeah. I thought I’d scared you off, made you feel like I wasn’t taking you seriously. The last thing I ever wanted was for you to think I was just… using you.”

Your fingers tightened around the bouquet, the ache in his voice tugging at something deep in your chest. 

“Bucky, it wasn’t just about you,” you admitted quietly. “It was me, too. I panicked. I wasn’t sure if I could handle…” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “Handle what your life looks like.”

His head tilted slightly, his blue eyes softening as he looked at you. “Because of my job,” he said gently, not as a question, but a statement.

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

“It’s hard, Bucky. I hear my coworkers talking about you—about SergeantBarnes—all the time. They don’t know it’s you, but it’s constant. They treat you like… like you’re this fantasy, this unattainable thing. And it’s not just them. It’s everyone who sees you online, who only knows that part of you.”

He stayed silent, letting your words settle, his gaze never leaving your face.

“And then there’s me,” you continued, your voice wavering slightly. “I don’t want to be another name on a list or someone who gets overshadowed by… by the version of you that everyone else thinks they know.”

Bucky leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees as he turned his head to look at you. The streetlights cast a soft glow over his face, highlighting the sincerity in his expression.

“I get that,” he repeated, his voice quieter now, almost contemplative. “And I hate that you feel that way. But Y/N, you’re not another name on a list to me. You’re not someone who gets lost in all of that… noise.”

You held his gaze, the weight of his words settling in your chest. His patience today, his persistence—it wasn’t the action of someone who saw you as fleeting or inconsequential. It was the effort of someone who cared, deeply.

Bucky sighed softly, rubbing a hand over his face. “Look, I’ve kept my work and personal life separate for a reason. It’s always been easier to compartmentalize, to keep everything from bleeding into each other. But now? Now I realize that I didn’t think about what would happen if someone—if you—became significant to me.”

Your chest tightened, his words chipping away at the insecurities you’d been holding onto. “Bucky…”

Bucky turned toward you fully, his blue eyes locking onto yours, raw and unguarded in a way that made your heart ache. 

“If I told you that I want to spend every day and night with you—not just because I like you, but because you’ve become the one constant person I can’t stop thinking about. If I told you that you’re my sanity when the world feels like chaos, my laughter, my desire, my comfort, my day and my night, my cold and heat—If I told you that, would you think that translates to only wanting you as ‘one of my girls’?”

Your breath caught, the raw honesty in his words shaking you. “Bucky…”

“I know my job makes things messy,” he continued, his voice quieter now, like he was almost ashamed. “But I get it—I get why it’s hard for you. I hate that it’s something that puts distance between us.”

He looked down at his hands for a moment before meeting your gaze again. “If I could go back and change things, I would. I’d do whatever it takes to make this easier for you.”

Your throat tightened, the sincerity in his voice making it hard to speak. 

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to change who you are for me,” you said softly.

“It’s not about changing who I am,” he replied, shaking his head. “It’s about making sure I don’t lose something.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hands fidgeting as he leaned back against the step, staring up at the night sky for a moment before turning his gaze back to you.

“I’m gonna be really honest with you, Y/N,” he started, his voice low, hesitant. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do about the… other stuff yet. It’s not as simple as just walking away. I’ve got contracts, commitments—it’s not something I can just drop overnight.”

Your chest tightened at his words, but you nodded, appreciating his honesty even as the knot in your stomach grew. 

"And that means... what exactly?" you asked, even though deep down, you already knew.

Bucky’s jaw tightened, and he let out an exasperated chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Do you really want me to say it? Do I have to say it?”

You didn’t flinch this time, your voice cutting through the tension with unsettling clarity. “It means you have to keep having sex with other porn stars… right?”

Bucky winced at the bluntness of your question, the words hitting him harder than he expected. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze dropping to the ground as he wrestled with what felt like shame.

You sighed heavily, pressing the heel of your hand against your forehead as you shut your eyes tightly. Your mind was spinning, your emotions tangled in a knot you couldn’t untie. Out of all the men that could catch your interest, why did it have to be him?

“You are the most complicated guy I’ve ever met,” you said, letting out a short, humorless laugh that carried no amusement, only exhaustion. “Oh my gosh, I honestly don’t even know—” You paused, your voice faltering as you opened your eyes and looked at him, the frustration bubbling to the surface. “How would you make it easier for me, Bucky? How?”

Bucky swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his lips parted, his gaze flickering over your face. He was clearly thinking, his mind working furiously to find a solution, any solution.

"Do you… not like the idea of me with other women?" he asked tentatively, his tone cautious.

You snorted, narrowing your eyes at him. "That’s a stupid question, Bucky."

"Just say yes or no," he pressed, his gaze intent.

"Yes, I do not like the idea," you snapped, your tone sharp with irritation. "But I can’t prevent it, can I?"

Bucky took a deep breath, his jaw tightening as he stared at you. Then, his next words came out carefully, almost testing the waters. 

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

Your eyes widened, disbelief flooding your expression as his suggestion hung in the air. 

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

"Are you joking? You’re out of your mind if you think I’d showcase my body to the world like that!"

"I’m not saying you have to," he said quickly, his hands raising defensively. "I just thought… maybe it’d feel different. Less like I’m with strangers. Maybe it’d feel like I’m with you."

"Bucky," you said, your voice heavy with disbelief, "that’s not a solution. That’s… whatever that is, it’s insane."

His shoulders sagged slightly, and he ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tugging at the roots in frustration. 

“I know it sounds insane,” he muttered, his tone rough. “But I’m trying to find a way to make this work. To make this easier for you.”

You shook your head, letting out a long breath. You stared at Bucky, your frustration and disbelief simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Me… doing that with you? Just so I can handle this better?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“I know it sounds crazy. Trust me, I know. But I hate the thought of you being upset every time I have to perform. And yeah, maybe it’s a selfish thought, but if it were with you… at least it’d feel real. Like it means something.”

You bit your lip, his words tugging at something inside you. But the idea of putting yourself in front of a camera, of having your body displayed for the world—it made your stomach churn. "Bucky, that’s not… I don’t know if I could ever do that. It’s not me. It’s not what I want people to see of me."

He nodded slowly, his hands fidgeting in his lap. "I get that," he said softly. "But if it’s the only way to make this easier for you… I just thought—"

"You thought what?" you interrupted, cutting him off. "That I’d suddenly be okay with the idea of putting my body out there for millions of people to see? That I’d somehow be okay sharing you like that, even if it’s just on-screen?"

Bucky flinched at your tone, his jaw tightening. "I don’t want you to share me. I don’t want any of this to be a problem for us. But you don’t trust that I’m serious about you, and I’m just trying to find a way to show you."

You let out a shaky breath, your thoughts spinning. He wasn’t wrong—it was hard to trust, hard to believe that someone with a job like his could be serious about anyone, let alone you. But his suggestion… it wasn’t the answer. Was it?

For a moment, you considered something that had never crossed your mind before. The idea was ludicrous, insane even, but it lingered in the back of your thoughts like a whisper. Your lips parted hesitantly, the words tasting strange on your tongue as you said them.

"If I agreed… hypothetically," you started, your voice faltering slightly, "would I… would I have to show my face?"

Bucky blinked, taken aback by your question. For a moment, his expression softened, a mix of relief and regret washing over his face. 

“It’s only a suggestion. . . you don’t have to do this, if you’re uncomfortable." he said, his voice quiet but firm. “I just… I threw it out there because I’m desperate to find a way to make this work.”

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

“I don’t know. But the thought of you with someone else… it makes me sick. And now I feel like I’m stuck, like there’s no winning in this situation.”

Bucky studied you for a long moment, his blue eyes filled with understanding. You could see him weighing his next words carefully, as if they could tip the balance in either direction.

Finally, he broke the silence, his voice soft yet steady. “You know what? Forget I said any of that,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, almost sheepish smile. “It’s too much for tonight. For both of us.”

You blinked, caught off guard by his sudden shift in tone. “Bucky—”

“No,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head. “I’m serious. I don’t want you to feel like this has to be some big, impossible decision right now. We’re both exhausted from this conversation, and I don’t want to mess it up any more than I already have.”

You felt a lump form in your throat, a mix of relief and guilt swirling in your chest. He was giving you an out, a way to step back from the overwhelming weight of it all, and you weren’t sure whether to thank him or cry.

“How about this,” Bucky said, leaning forward slightly, his tone softer now. “Let’s just… hit pause for tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll do something normal. Something simple. Let’s go on a date—no heavy talks, no complicated feelings. Just us.”

Your eyes searched his, finding nothing but sincerity in his gaze. It wasn’t an easy fix, and it wouldn’t erase the doubts or the fears that still lingered between you. But it was a step forward, a way to reconnect without the weight of everything else pressing down on you both.

“A date?” you asked, your lips twitching into a hesitant smile.

“Yeah,” he said, his smile growing a little. “Somewhere fun, somewhere we can just… breathe. No drama, no cameras, just you and me.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “You make it sound so easy.”

Bucky’s grin widened, and he shrugged, a teasing glint in his eye. “That’s because it can be. We don’t have to solve everything at once, Y/N. We just have to take it one step at a time.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the tension in your chest loosen ever so slightly. 

“Alright,”you said, your voice steadying. “Tomorrow, we’ll go on a date.”

Bucky’s smile was warm and genuine, and for a moment, the weight of the evening lifted. 

"Awesome," he said, standing up and offering you his hand. "Now, let me walk you up. Can’t let you carry bag on your own."

You laughed softly, taking his hand as he helped you to your feet. As the two of you walked back into your building, the night air seemed a little lighter. Although at the back of your thought, a question lingers. Should you agree to his suggestion?

tags: @bohoooitsme @barnescamboy @strangefunthornqueen @mayusenpai666 @seven0714

@rabbitrabbit12321 @alexsl-universe @xunquish-blog @hzdhrtss @winchestert101

@alyana-luvs-u @itsbuckysworld @eternalwinters @am-3-thyst @vaneyvfs

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

@morganlolitta @openup-yourmind @urbanleftovers @fallout-girl219 @awenita

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

@leighta @formulas-bitch @waywardhunter95 @cereal6666 @gg-trini

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

@antiartemis @imagoddessinmystories @let-it-sn0o0ow @mostlymarvelgirl @crdgn

[luxcuriousao3]

Fevered Mistakes

Summary: Ghost, a formidable Alpha, is captured and dosed with rut inducers. You are the omega he's tossed into a cell with. WC: 3429 Warnings: a/b/o, graphic nonconsensual sex, nonconsensual drugging, unprotected PIV sex, referenced torture/experimentation, blood, vomit, death, hurt no comfort, background ghoap, POV switches denoted by triple asterisks (***) Notes: Based off the first half of this post that I made a bit ago. Ngl, I don't really like how this one turned out, but y'all were begging for it so, so I feel bad just letting it rot in my google docs lol. There are two scrapped versions of a second chapter that would make this fic farrrrr less angsty, but idk if I'm ever gonna continue this, so I'm treating this like it's a one-shot with the warnings. If I ever do post a continuation, it will be linked on my masterlist, so you can check for it there. And hey, maybe if y'all share your thoughts about this in my inbox or whatever, it might entice the brainworms again lol. Taglist: @captainsherlockwinchester110283

There was a girl in the cell.

She was small and soft in the way that almost all omegas were, though it was her scent that really gave her status away. Sweet and alluring but soured by fear, it invaded his nostrils and made him all the more dazed. The blow to his head, the one that had landed him in this situation, would have been hard enough to kill him, had he not been an Alpha.

He’d been sloppy. Let his feelings for Johnny get in the way of procedure. But seeing his beta, laid out on the floor, bleeding from his head, still as a corpse… he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. And at that point, he hadn’t wanted to try.

He’d gotten distracted, and he’d paid the price.

It had been three days since he'd been captured, by his best estimate. It was hard to measure, between the head injury and being kept in a room with no windows. All he had to go off of was how often someone came in to torture him for information. He never gave any up, of course. Even compromised, he never would. He'd been trained far better than that.

Still, he wasn’t in very good shape. Beaten to hell and back, his head scrambled… his feet dragged uselessly as he was pressed up against the bars, one of his captors unlocking the cuffs on his wrists while the other two kept him restrained. The fourth jammed a syringe into his neck, injecting him with some unknown substance. Ghost tried to break free, to throw a punch or a kick, anything, but his reflexes were sluggish, his thoughts painfully slow. All he succeeded in doing was annoying them, and he got an elbow to the back of his neck for the trouble.

He was no omega, couldn’t be immobilized by a simple scruffing, but fuck if that shit didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He collapsed to the concrete floor of the cell with an animalistic howl, and the sourness in the omega’s scent spiked, her heart rate speeding up. Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care—the very last of rational thought was beginning to abandon him as the pain spread from the back of his neck throughout his entire body, growing unbearable as it reached his groin. He felt like there was fire raging just beneath his skin, and his senses sharpened as his dark gaze locked onto the wide-eyed omega curled up in the corner, neck cracking unsettlingly with the speed at which he turned. He had time for only one more thought before instincts took over, his heart dropping out his ass as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice before it began to boil all over again.

Rut inducers.

***

When you woke up, you were escorted to the cell in which you spend your heats. That confused you, since your next heat wasn’t supposed to be for another month at least.

It also terrified you.

Though you didn’t remember much of what happened during your heats, you did remember the pain. The desperate, burning need for an Alpha’s knot, and the aching, gaping emptiness when you were denied it, the only thing that could bring you any relief. This cell held nothing but bad memories, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

But you had no choice. For as long as you could remember, you did as you were told, the way a good omega should. In your sleep, you thought maybe you saw glimpses of a time when things were different, when there were no scientists in white coats and men and women in military uniforms controlling your life. But you knew those were just dreams. None of it was real.

You sat on the thin mattress in the cold, dank cell for hours before something finally happened that could explain why you were there. A man was brought in—massive and with a terrifying skull mask on his face—and you barely had to take a whiff of him as he was shoved into your cell with you to know that he was an Alpha. There was that familiar smell of damp, scorched earth after a lightning strike, and you knew from the intensity of it that he was angry. No, not just angry. Furious. The very air reeked of electricity and burning plastic, overwhelming any hint of his natural scent. This was an Alpha that was ready to rip, rend, tear, kill. And you were stuck alone in a cell with him.

“Не сопротивляйтесь,” one of the uniformed men told you, expression entirely unsympathetic. It was almost worse than the look of sadistic, scientific glee on the face of the white coat next to him. “Ты сделаешь только хуже.”

Don’t fight back. You’ll only make it worse.

Your eyes widened, and you barely had a chance to shake your head before the unfamiliar Alpha was on you, grabbing your ankle in a brutal grip and dragging you away from the corner you’d curled up in. You screamed in pain as you felt the bone snap like a twig under his large palm, instinctively hitting your hands against his broad chest as you tried to fight him off. If you had been in heat, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even felt the pain from him breaking you, would have spread your legs and begged him to knot you. But you weren’t, and so your survival instincts overtook those of your omega. You knew you would be punished later for disobeying, but at the moment, you didn’t care. Anything was better than being knotted by the feral Alpha on top of you. He would maul you to death while he fucked you, you just knew it.

The Alpha grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. The other ripped your shirt off, causing your back to arch and your tits to spill out of your bra. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied growl. You tried to headbutt him, and he snarled in your face, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing tight enough to make your vision go black around the edges in less than ten seconds. By the time you caught your breath and were able to think again, his hands were busy yanking down your pants and underwear in one harsh tug. You let out a hoarse shriek of fear, flipping onto your belly to try and crawl away, ignoring the searing pain in your shattered ankle. But that was your fatal mistake. His beefy palm met the back of your neck, fingers digging in as he lifted you slightly by it, his other hand coming around to roughly grope your breasts.

And you stopped.

You stopped moving, stopped screaming, you nearly stopped breathing. You were limp as a ragdoll as he scruffed you, utterly and completely paralyzed. You could do nothing but take it as he shoved your face into the dirty concrete, pried your legs apart, and forced himself inside you. You could feel the agonizing pain as his cock practically tore you in half, could feel the ice cold fear freezing every cell of your body, could feel his blunt nails digging into the ultra-sensitive skin of your nape. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet take no time at all. One second, you were pliant and supine beneath the Alpha as he pounded into you, his weight constricting your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The next, the restrictive grip on your neck was gone, replaced by a sharp pain at the junction of it and your shoulder as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Into your mating gland. Your own screams were echoing in the tiny cell, now, no longer confined to your head.

“M’sorry, M’sorry, M’sorry,” a rough, wet voice chanted in your ear. It was the Alpha, speaking to you in English. You could understand it, even if you couldn't speak it. He was still on top of you, still inside you, his knot stretching you far beyond your limits. And yet he was… apologizing? You stopped screaming in your confusion, the terrified screeching replaced by the sound of your heaving sobs.

“M’sorry, M’so sorry, they dosed me, M’sorry,” the Alpha continued, voice slurred. You struggled to focus on his words, distracted by the liquid you could feel dripping down your thighs. It was probably blood, you realized distantly. His knot wouldn’t have let any of his seed escape. That’s what it was there for.

That, and to keep you from running.

The Alpha’s voice grew more and more gravelly as his knot began to deflate, his apologies interrupted by grunts as he began to move his hips again, thrusting in and out of you shallowly. You whined, clawing at the floor, trying to wriggle free, but he just settled nearly his entire weight on top of you.

“Don’ fight,” he growled, and you could tell from the strain in his voice that he was at least trying to resist his instincts. It didn’t make you feel any better, especially not when his fingers inched closer and closer to your nape again. “Don’t, or m’gonna have to— fuck, I don’t— fuckin’ be a good omega an’ take it— m’sorry, fuck— don’t fuckin’ fight me—”

You were still sobbing, shrieking like a dying thing with every quick, brutal snap of his hips against yours. Too out of it from being scruffed, you missed the warning in his jumbled plea threat, continuing to struggle underneath him. You felt your ribs crack as he pressed the rest of his considerable weight onto you, and the strangled, stuttering gasp that left your throat was the kind of sound that elongated in a horror film.

The Alpha seemed to think so too, as he moaned in a horrid mixture of pleasure and abject misery before he scruffed you again. You went still, once more trapped in your own body. It was the worst sensation you’d ever felt, worse than the experiments the white coats ran on you, worse than your punishments, worse than your heats spent alone. Worse than the shattered ankle or broken ribs, worse even than the feeling of him ripping you apart from the inside. You were always helpless and vulnerable, being an omega, but this… when you were scruffed, you were no longer a person. You were just an object, to be used as your Alpha saw fit.

Your Alpha.

The man on top of you—who was knotting you for the second time now—was your Alpha. He’d claimed you, the pain in your shoulder was proof of that. You would wear his mark forever, now. You would belong to him for the rest of your life.

You prayed that it was short.

Your Alpha released his painful grip on your nape again, but you didn’t try to get away this time. You were far too disoriented. Being scruffed once was bad enough, but twice in as many minutes? You could easily go into shock from that. You probably were in shock, but you didn't panic, feeling too distant and floaty. The ice in your veins was numbing you from the inside. That was nice… you leaned into it, letting your blankly staring eyes flutter shut—

“Omega!”

Your eyes snapped back open and you whimpered, trying to curl in on yourself. That only caused pain to flare up all over your body, the burning between your legs as you tugged on his knot pulling another scream from you.

“Stay still,” the same harsh voice ordered, and your instincts forced you to obey. The command was a little more collected this time, a little more coherent, even if he was still groaning and slurring.

“Don' move,” your Alpha panted, each word sounding like it was dragged out of him. He started to fuck you once more. “Don’— don’ wanna scruff you ‘gain.”

You didn’t have it in you to be grateful. Didn’t have it in you to be sympathetic to his situation either, not while he was still rutting into you like an animal.

They dosed me, he’d said. You wished they’d dosed you. At least then you wouldn't feel the pain…

***

Simon had never hated being an Alpha more than in that moment.

Bollocks deep in a pretty little omega, one already stuffed full of his come and wearing his mark… he wished fervently that this was just another of his nightmares, the ones that stuck with him like a bad smell even after escaping Roba.

Between the disorientation from his forced rut and the nasty head injury, he almost let himself believe that it was. If it was a dream, he could give in, and he wouldn’t actually be hurting anyone. He could just ride it out, come in trousers wherever he was sleeping, and hopefully, it would end faster.

But her screams were far too real.

She wailed like she was being flayed alive as she struggled underneath him, and his Alpha—after being denied a partner for his ruts for over a decade—was brutal and swift in its response. Scruffing her like a scrappy mutt, growling in pleasure at the way she submitted to him—the way she was forced to submit to him.

It was nearly impossible to think around how fucked his head was—by instinct and injury both—but after he'd knotted her for the second time, he was able to act a little more like the trained soldier he was, and not like a panicked civvie.

He didn’t argue with himself any longer. He accepted the reality of the situation as it was. He was in rut. He was trapped with an omega. He had brutalized and claimed her. If he kept focusing on trying to stop himself altogether, he was going to kill her. He needed to give up on that and instead just try to minimize the damage.

Starting with stopping her from going into shock, and then stopping her from fighting back. It only made his Alpha all the more eager to dominate her—by any means necessary.

It sickened Simon that that part of him existed. Deep down, he feared that it always had. That Roba hadn’t created it, back in the desert. That he’d just unearthed it. All of Simon’s evilness, all his wicked desires…

It was why he’d never taken an omega before. Never even let himself date one, back when that was something he did.

Johnny was perfect, in that way. In many ways, really, but him being a beta—it soothed Simon’s fears. The fears that were being proved true.

He didn’t know how long passed before the rut inducers wore off. It had to have been hours. The omega—his omega—was still facedown on the ground when he pulled out of her for the last time. She was bleeding from where he’d bitten her, and where he’d bred her, his cock drenched in her blood, her own thighs stained with a mix of it and his come.

Simon threw up at the sight. He told himself it was just from the head injury.

He was naked, except for his mask, which was pushed up past his nose. He didn't remember taking off his trousers, though he recalled that his shirt had been cut to shreds the first day of his captivity by his torturer. He didn’t remember a lot of his mini-rut, as was common when it was induced. But the evidence of what he’d done was right in front of him. The omega—not mine, not my omega, not mine—was clad in nothing but the scraps of her clothes. Her side, hips, wrists, and the back of her neck were bruised. Her ankle was bent at a funny angle. A small patch of hair near her nape was missing, leaving her scalp red and raw. Simon looked at his hands, and found the strands woven between his fingers.

She didn’t move.

Simon pulled his mask into position and Ghost took over. He moved towards the girl, feeling for a pulse. She flinched violently when he touched her neck, and he felt relief—and guilt—reverberate through him. Ghost was good at ignoring his feelings, though.

“S’over,” he told her, voice gruff. “S’done now. Promise.”

The omega didn’t acknowledge his words, just kept her shoulders tucked up by her ears, guarding her neck. Ghost didn't protest, simply felt along her spine for any breaks. He didn’t find any, so he carefully rolled her over.

Her breasts were red and raw, nipples bleeding from being scraped back and forth across the floor. There was a hand shaped bruise around her throat, and petechiae in the whites of her glassy eyes. Ghost ignored his horror at the sight, and began to palpate her ribs. She inhaled sharply when he touched the eighth and ninth ones, a pitiful, pained whine escaping her.

The ribs were probably fractured, if not broken. The bruising above them was clue enough. There was another massive bruise low on her belly, and Ghost swore. Internal bleeding. He may have actually fucked this poor omega to death. There was no way she survived the night if she wasn't treated soon.

He got his pants and trousers on, hoping it would help her believe the worst was over, and then got to work doing what he could—wrapping her ribs with the dirty blanket in the corner, and holding the scraps of her shirt between her legs to try and stem the bleeding there. It wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He didn’t even know if it was really worth the discomfort it caused her—but he couldn't bring himself to just let her die. She was his omega.

Not mine, not mine, not mine.

He talked to her as she faded. Tried to keep her awake with the sound of his voice, though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He told her stories from his childhood—the few good ones there were—told her the plot of the last film he and Johnny had watched, told her about Johnny. That was the topic he lingered on the longest. It was far easier to talk about his beta than himself. And by the time her eyes slipped closed and her shallow breathing stopped, it was Simon that was holding her, not Ghost, despite the mask on his face.

It was Simon that watched her die.

It was Simon that realized he didn't even know her name.

And it was Simon that howled with grief and rage, clutching the broken body of the omega—my omega, my omega, mine—against his chest.

Footsteps rapidly approached the cell, and Simon snarled like a rabid animal as he turned towards the bars. He barely had a second to pull his omega—dead, dead, dead, she was mine and I killed her, she was innocent and I killed her—behind him before a familiar voice rang out. The only voice that could have possibly reached him in this state, that could stop him from giving into his instincts completely and going feral.

“Simon?”

“Johnny,” Simon growled, sounding desperate and broken. He felt broken. This little omega had managed to do what Roba and a hundred others had failed at. And she hadn't even tried.

“Let us help her, Si,” Johnny coaxed, moving closer while Price and Gaz hung back. Wise, because Simon could barely keep himself from baring his teeth at his own beta. Johnny didn't back down. “Si. Let us help her.”

Simon hesitated for a long moment, fighting his overwhelming instincts, before moving away. Johnny rushed in, immediately checking the omega’s pulse and starting compressions when he couldn’t find it. Simon tried to struggle to his feet, but he nearly fell over, Gaz and Price catching him. He snarled, weakly pulling away from them, but they held fast.

“We got you, soldier,” Price’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Stand down.”

Simon slumped, unable to hold himself up anymore, all his injuries catching up to him.

“I killed her,” he whispered raggedly, eyelids falling shut. He felt Gaz shake him to try and keep him awake, but he simply didn't have the willpower, anymore. “She was mine and I killed her.”

The mantra rang in his head even as he lost consciousness, and her screams of pain and the look of fear on her face as she lay dying followed him into his dreams.

[dreamscapeee222]

Could you write how Arcane characters react to reader having autism?

A/n: I had to do my research with this request. I hope my work had suited what you had in mind :)

You have Autism

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi’s protective instincts kick in immediately when she sees you struggling in sensory-heavy environments. Whether it’s the overwhelming noise of Zaun or an overcrowded market, she doesn’t hesitate to step in.

“C’mon, we’re out of here,” she mutters, shielding you from the chaos with her body as she guides you to a quieter space. Her hand never leaves yours, grounding you through her steady presence.

She’s quick to pick up on your boundaries and preferences, always respecting your need for personal space or silence. If you stim, she finds it endearing and will sometimes mimic your movements to make you smile.

On tough days, she’ll invite you to box with her. “Punching things is my therapy. You’re welcome to join,” she says with a grin.

Jinx

Jinx is fascinated by how your brain works, asking endless questions that range from thoughtful to downright bizarre. “Wait, do you think in pictures or words? What’s it like in there? Can I see?” she asks, tapping your temple with a playful smirk.

When she notices you getting overstimulated, she whisks you away with a manic energy that’s surprisingly calming. “Let’s ditch this mess. I’ve got fireworks to show you.”

She builds you sensory-friendly contraptions—colorful toys with spinning gears or soothing textures. “Made this for you! Better than scratching your arm, right?”

Jinx is chaotic but deeply empathetic. She’ll always find a way to make you laugh, even on the hardest days.

Caitlyn

Caitlyn’s keen observational skills make her a perfect support system. She notices your discomfort before you even say a word. “It’s getting loud in here. Shall we take a walk?” she offers, her voice calm and reassuring.

She prepares in advance for any outing, ensuring you have a clear plan and an escape route if things become overwhelming.

If you’re ever nonverbal, Caitlyn communicates with patience and understanding, offering written notes or gestures to bridge the gap.

She values your input, often seeking your perspective on investigations. “You have a way of noticing details others overlook. That’s what makes you exceptional.”

Ekko

Ekko embraces your differences, seeing your unique perspective as an asset. When you point out patterns or offer insights others miss, he grins and says, “See? That’s why I need you around.”

If you’re overwhelmed, he’ll take you to his favorite rooftop hideout, where the chaos of Zaun feels far away. “Breathe. Just look at the stars with me,” he says softly.

He encourages you to express yourself however you feel comfortable, never rushing you. If you stim, he joins in, turning it into a game to lighten the mood. “Is this how you do it? Am I doing it right?”

Jayce

Jayce is eager to learn everything about autism, spending hours researching how he can better support you. He’ll excitedly share his findings. “Did you know stimming helps regulate emotions? I think that’s amazing!”

He’s openly affectionate and quick to reassure you when you feel out of place. “Hey, you’re not ‘too much’ or ‘not enough.’ You’re perfect as you are.”

When you have sensory issues, he makes adjustments without a second thought. “We’ll dim the lights, lower the volume, whatever you need. Just say the word.”

His enthusiasm for your quirks makes you feel truly appreciated and loved.

Viktor

Viktor admires your unique way of seeing the world. “Your mind is extraordinary,” he says earnestly, often seeking your input on his projects.

If you struggle with overstimulation, he creates a peaceful environment in his lab, complete with soft lighting and gentle music. “This should help ease your mind,” he says, offering you a small, intricate gadget to fidget with.

He’s incredibly patient, always encouraging you to take your time. If you have trouble communicating, Viktor never pushes, quietly waiting until you’re ready. “There’s no rush. I’m here,” he assures you.

Viktor finds your differences inspiring, often expressing how much he values your perspective.

Mel

Mel approaches your needs with quiet sophistication, ensuring your comfort without making a spectacle of it. At formal events, she subtly arranges for a private space where you can retreat if things become too much. “I thought you might appreciate some quiet,” she says with a knowing smile.

She takes the time to understand your boundaries, always respecting them while gently encouraging you to step out of your comfort zone.

If you’re overwhelmed, Mel’s calming presence helps you refocus. “Breathe with me,” she says softly, her hand resting lightly on yours.

Mel celebrates your unique traits, often remarking, “Your perspective is a gift. It’s what sets you apart—and I wouldn’t change a thing."

See pinned.

[theemporium]

hiiiii cece… for a stocking stuffer i would like to perhaps request building gingerbread houses with Oscar (:

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

.

“This feels mathematical.” 

“It’s supposed to be fun.” 

“Then why do you have a ruler?” 

“Because I need to make sure the edges are straight.” 

“Right,” Oscar said, sounding the least bit convinced as he watched you fuss over the massive gingerbread slabs. “Because that is a very normal thing to do for a fun activity.” 

“You’re sounding awfully judgemental for someone who said they had never built a gingerbread house before,” you murmured, a crease forming between your brows that he had the strongest urge to smooth his thumb over. 

“I didn’t realise I needed a degree for it,” Oscar deadpanned, but his lips twitched upwards when your head snapped up to glare at him. “Ouch, tough crowd.” 

“I hope your gingerbread collapses,” you grumbled with a small huff, but let yourself be pulled towards his side as he wound an arm around your shoulders.

“You don’t mean that,” Oscar murmured, his lips brushing against your temple before he pressed a placating kiss to the side of your head. “You would be upset if my gingerbread family had no home.” 

“It would be their fault for leaving their house in the hands of a builder who mocks a ruler,” you retorted, your lips twitching when Oscar let out a laugh. 

“No, you would help me,” he said confidently. 

And he wasn’t wrong. You would help him. To be completely honest, you went into this with the expectation that you would have to help salvage whatever mess he made whilst he nibbled on the sweets you had off to the side to decorate the houses. 

“Not anymore,” you lied, rolling your eyes when he placed another—and longer—kiss on your cheek this time. “Okay, okay, Piastri, you’re wearing me down.” 

Oscar grinned. “I’ll give you half my jelly tots for your help.” 

“Just some jelly tots?” You teased, eyebrows raised as Oscar reached for one of the tubes of icing. 

“You got some other demands, baby?” Oscar asked, his eyes dropping to your lips for a short moment.

“I think…” You paused, leaning a little closer. Just enough to hear Oscar’s breath hitch a little. “You can do better than that.” 

His eyes widened as you pulled away suddenly, taking the icing with you. “Woah—hey!” 

“Thought you were meant to be fast,” you taunted, giggling when he lightly poked at your side. “You snooze, you lose, baby.” 

“I see how it is,” Oscar mused, reaching for your ruler before you could grab it back. “You’re on, baby, you’re on.” 

You snorted. “Hm, sexy and competitive. Just how I like my gingerbread building contests.”

“Laugh all you want but I am taking my jolly tots back.” 

“Hey, we had a deal!” 

“You snooze, you lose, baby!”

.

[katsu28]

comfort

pairing: george russell x reader

summary: bad days are inevitable. luckily, you've got george to come home to, who always knows just what to do to make those days a little bit better. (2k)

warnings: george is the sweetest boyfriend to ever exist, an ungodly amount of fluff. literally just pure fluff. i think i got a cavity writing this actually!

a/n: this one's for the lovely @postracehair, who has successfully converted me into a george girl <3

You should’ve known the kind of day you’d have when you slept right through your alarm this morning. 

From then on, the hits just kept on coming. No time for breakfast, morning rush hour traffic adding forty five minutes to your usual twenty minute commute, upcoming deadlines at work with projects nowhere near done and coworkers who can’t tell apples from oranges. 

By the time you manage to clock out of work and head home, you’re dead on your feet.

You drive home in complete silence, knuckles tight on the wheel, teeth digging into your bottom lip to keep the tears threatening to fall at bay. All you need to do is make it home in one piece, and then you can break down, if that’s what it’ll take to put the horrors of today behind you. 

The first thing you notice as you push open the front door when you finally get home is a pair of shoes tucked off to the side in the entryway, a set of keys in the bowl on the little table.

George is home early. 

Relief washes over you at the realization. After the shit day you’ve had, seeing George sooner than you thought you’d get to is your saving grace. 

You trudge further into the flat, towards the living room where you can hear something on TV.

Your boyfriend is sprawled out across the couch watching a rerun of some old football match, but pauses it to focus his attention on you as soon as he hears you moving around behind him. You toss your bag onto the floor, your phone on top of that, rounding the couch slowly. 

“Hey, you’re home!” He exclaims, smiling warmly. “I was just thinking of starting dinner, what d’you think of—” You flop on top of him before he can finish his sentence, face planting directly into his chest without a word. “Oh! Hello there.” 

Despite his surprise, George’s arms wrap around you without hesitation, cocooning you nicely in his warmth. 

He smells like the fancy fabric softener you keep on the top shelf of the laundry room, and body wash you think might be yours rather than his, fresh and clean and so achingly familiar it brings you some much needed comfort right now. You inhale deeply, letting yourself melt against George’s sturdy frame. 

“Bad day?” He asks, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

You huff out a humorless chuckle. “The worst.” 

“Sorry to hear that, my love,” He murmurs. “What can I do to help?” 

“Build a time machine?” 

George’s chuckle vibrates through his chest. “I’m afraid that’s one thing I can’t do. But what I can do is make dinner while you wash up and change into something comfier. Sound good?” 

“Sounds perfect,” You mutter with a sigh. “In five minutes.” 

He laughs again and you scoot yourself a little higher up, finding that perfect cozy spot between the hard plane of his shoulder and the side of his neck for your chin to nestle in. George curls an ankle around yours, patting around for the remote to resume the match he has on. 

He’ll do his thing while you soak in his presence, that’s usually how things go on nights when you’re both home. 

Five minutes ends up turning into a lot longer, because by the time you manage to muster the energy to even think about getting up, the match is long over and the TV is off. George still lies perfectly content underneath you, long fingers stroking down your spine gently. 

“I stink,” You say bluntly. George snorts. 

“Do you? I didn’t even notice,” He muses, an amused smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“That’s such a lie.” 

He has the audacity to look completely and overdramatically bewildered. “What? I would never lie to you. You smell wonderful.” 

“Yeah, yeah, alright. I’m going to go shower now.” On your way up off him, you dot a kiss to his lips that takes him by surprise and makes him follow after you, chasing to keep that contact until you push him back down onto the couch with a gentle hand. Even then, he wraps his fingers around your wrist loosely to stop you leaving. “Try not to miss me too much?” 

“Darling, you’re asking the impossible of me,” He chides, letting his head tilt to the side. He looks up at you through his lashes, ocean eyes twinkling in a very enticing invitation for you to stay. 

As appealing as having another cuddle with your boyfriend sounds, a hot shower calls your name even more. You kiss his cheek this time. “Do your best, darling.” 

You don’t catch whatever George grumbles after you on your way to the bathroom, but knowing him, it isn’t anything outrageous. 

George’s self care collection sits meticulously organized on one side of the sink in the bathroom, a total juxtaposition to the mess of yours over on the other. In a way, you suppose it does well to describe the way you both are in real life. 

The stream of nearly scalding water does a wonderful job at starting to soothe the ache in your tense shoulders the moment you step under it, raining down on you like something heaven sent. You could stay in here forever if you wanted to. 

The bathroom door swings open while you’re washing the conditioner out of your hair, then you hear George’s voice. “Not looking! Not peeping in on you, just wanted to drop off a fresh towel.” 

“You’re allowed to look, you know,” You say from behind the wall of hot steam fogging up the glass doors. Through it, you can vaguely make out him with a hand over his eyes, blindly navigating where to put the towel with the other hand. It makes you laugh. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!” 

George lets out something between an approving hum and a click of his tongue. Finally, his searching hand finds the bar of the door, carefully draping the fluffy material over it. “I popped it in the dryer for a bit. Should still be warm when you finish.” 

Something warm thrums in your chest at the thought of George taking enough care to go that one step further and make sure you have a warm, fresh towel waiting for you. 

“Love you!” You say gratefully. You can almost picture the happy little smile on his face at your words. 

“Love you. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything else.” He’s gone soon after that, but still lingers in your mind as you finish up. George is always on your mind. 

Once you’re out of the shower and wrapped in the toasty towel, you wander to find some clothes, beelining straight for George’s side of the closet to find your favorite jumper of his, the soft one he usually wears on long flights. It still smells like him when you put it on. 

You pull the sleeves over your hands on your way out to join him in the kitchen. Soft music pours from the speaker next to his phone, filling the flat with his easy listening playlist. He likes to play that one on flights too, sometimes so often that you’ve come to associate the songs with him. 

George hasn’t noticed you yet, and you take the opportunity to just watch him do his thing. 

He has that ‘Kiss the Chef’ apron you’d gotten him as a joke a few years ago tied around his waist, kitchen towel draped over his shoulder as he scoops whatever food he’s made into two bowls. His shoulders do a little shimmy along to the beat of the song like an absolute fool, and it makes you smile, because he’s your fool. 

You get to love him and all the things he does—big and small. Doing the most to make you feel better after a terrible day, and dancing terribly in the kitchen when nobody is watching. Both describe loving George Russell perfectly. 

It isn’t until he does a half turn for his big finish at the end of the song that he spots you leaned up against the wall and nearly jumps a foot into the air in surprise. 

“Blimey!” He exclaims, pressing a hand over his heart. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” 

“I wasn’t sneaking! You just didn’t see me.” 

“I ought to put a bell on you one of these days.” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“Eh, food for thought.” George shrugs, shedding his apron. “Speaking of food, dinner’s ready.” He pushes one of the bowls towards you.

At first, you’re not sure what you’re looking at. Then, slowly, realization dawns on you. 

He’s made your favorite meal from your childhood, the dish your mum used to make every time you needed that extra bit of comfort after a not so great day. 

There’s that feeling in your chest again, that gooey warmth spreading from behind your ribcage up your neck and to your cheeks at the thought of just how much George cares. About you, about the little things he can do to make you feel better.

He always takes care of you, even if you don't ask. You don't need to ask. George knows what you need without you even having to say a word. 

“Georgie, how…” You trail off, at a loss for words. “How’d you know?” 

“I got the recipe from your mum the last time we had dinner with your parents,” He admits sheepishly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “She said it was your favorite. That it always made you feel better when you were a kid. I thought it might come in handy for days like these.” 

“You asked my mum how to make my favorite meal.” It isn’t a question so much as a statement that confirms what’s already been said. It takes a second time for it to really sink in. 

“I did, yeah. It might not be exactly the way she makes it, but I gave it my best go. Give it a try, maybe? Tell me if I did good?” 

He watches you carefully as you take a bite, smiling hopefully as you chew. It tastes exactly the same as you remember, and for some reason, it draws up a lump in your throat.

“It’s perfect,” You say softly. 

George beams, looking thoroughly satisfied with himself. “Thought maybe we could eat and watch the sunset. I know how much you love the pretty ones.” He juts his chin over towards where your dining room table overlooks the Monte Carlo cityscape, and you follow his line of sight to see it already set up with place settings and candles. 

The sun is just starting to go down, blues and pinks and oranges all swirling together into a beautiful view over the water. George is right. You’re a total sucker for a good sunset, and this one is absolutely gorgeous. 

You don’t even notice the tears welling in your eyes until George does. 

“Oh goodness! Are you crying?” He asks, borderline frantic. He’s quick to fold you into another hug just in case he’s upset you, when in reality the opposite is true. These are happy tears, grateful tears, what did I ever do to deserve you tears. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” 

“No. No, it’s perfect,” You say again, smoothing your palms over his shoulders. He lets out a visible sigh of relief. “George Russell, you are such a cheesy romantic.” 

George laughs, something clear and bright, your favorite sound in the world. “What can I say? You just bring it out in me.” 

“I love you,” You murmur, voice muffled into the fabric of his sweater. His lips press into your hairline to drop a kiss there. “Thank you for all this.” 

“It’s the least I could do to put a smile back on that lovely face of yours.” 

“What, this old thing?” You joke, beaming up at him. You’re not looking for a kiss, but he gives you one anyway, and hey—who are you to deny either of yourselves the pleasure? 

“Prettiest face I’ve ever had the privilege of making smile again.” 

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new fic :)

[rosemariiaa]

𝘾𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 02, 𝘽𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙩𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙨

“Some things are better left unsaid.”

rosie’s note: hi :), sooo don’t yell at me y’all know i’m sensitive, but yes apologies this was supposed to come out wayyy sooner but i’ve had a lot going on with my personal life i barely had time to write but luckily i finished this up! ik almost people were confused on the cliffhanger so i hope i explained it well in this chapter :) happy reading lovelies 💌

pairing: Paige x Azzi

themes: hurt/comfort, guilt, angst

enjoy!!!

march 21, 2014

The cursor blinked at me, expectant. Judging.

Her name sat on the tip of my tongue. Not the one she introduced herself with, not the nickname she had tossed at me under the swing set like it was armor. Her real name. The one she’d trusted me with just days before everything shattered.

I hovered over the keyboard. How many times had I visited this account in the past two months? More than I could count. The anonymity she clung to should have been enough to keep me from connecting the dots. But the username—UnicornPuppy35—was a clue I couldn’t ignore, not after that rainy night, not after the slippers and the shirt that practically screamed it.

Azzi.

The realization should have made me stop, made me put down my phone and walk away. She didn’t know it was me. She didn’t know I was the one lurking, soaking up every word she wrote, piecing together her sadness, her anger, her loneliness. And she couldn’t find out—not like this.

If she did… God, if she ever found out, I wasn’t sure what would happen. She’d hate me more than she already did, and I couldn’t stand to see that look on her face again.

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand over my face. The memory of her tears still burned, sharp as glass.

flashback ⤑ february 13, 2013

The rain came down hard that night, the kind of downpour that soaked through your skin and left you raw.

I didn’t know why I left the house. Maybe it was the yelling, or maybe it was the silence that followed. Either way, I ended up at the park. The swings creaked under the weight of the wind, and the only other person there was huddled on one, head bowed as rain dripped from her curls and onto her bright pink unicorn shirt.

I almost walked away. She looked like she wanted to be alone, and honestly, so did I. But something stopped me—a tilt of her head, maybe, or the way her shoulders shuddered even as she sat still.

“Hey,” I said, stepping closer. The ground squelched under my shoes.

She looked up, startled. Her eyes, wide and brown, met my baby blues for half a second before darting away. “What do you want?”

I hesitated, shrugging. “Nothing. Just… didn’t think anyone else would be out here.”

Her laugh was bitter, like she didn’t believe me. She didn’t say anything else, just looked back down at her feet, the tips of her sneakers brushing the muddy ground.

I should’ve walked away. Instead, I sat on the swing next to her.

Over the next two weeks, those nights at the park became a ritual. When the lights in our houses went out, we met under the cover of darkness, sharing pieces of ourselves with kind of fully unraveling almost everything.

She told me about the girl at school—the one who dunked her head in the toilet and called her the f-slur. Her voice cracked when she said it, and my chest ached with something I didn’t quite understand.

“She’s just a bitch,” I said, reaching out without thinking. My hand landed on her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie rough and wet under my palm. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She didn’t pull away, but she didn’t look at me either. “It’s not just her,” she muttered. “It’s… everyone.”

The night Azzi told me about the girl at school, something in her broke. Her voice cracked, a sharp edge slicing through the usual monotone she used when talking about her day.

“I didn’t even do anything,” she said, hugging her knees to her chest. Her breath came out in shivers, her curls dripping rainwater down her back. “She just—she said I was looking at her skirt, and the next thing I know, I’m—”

Her voice wavered, and she stopped. She didn’t have to finish. I could picture it: the cold porcelain, the laughter, the humiliation.

“She has to be insecure or something,” I said quickly, fumbling for the right words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Azzi. She’s just taking her misery out on you.”

Azzi didn’t look convinced. Her lip trembled, and she pressed her face into her knees, hiding the tears I knew were falling.

I sat there, helpless. I wasn’t good at this—comforting people, saying the right thing. But I didn’t want her to feel alone.

“You wanna egg her house?” I joked, my voice soft. “Or, I don’t know, slash her parents tires?”

She huffed a wet laugh, the sound muffled by her hoodie. “She’d probably call the cops.”

“She’s a snitch, too?” I gasped dramatically, hoping to coax another laugh out of her. “That’s it. We’re definitely egging her house.”

Azzi peeked up at me, her eyes red and puffy but lighter somehow. “You’re stupid,” she said, but there was a ghost of a smile on her face.

——-

A few nights later, that’s when things fell apart.

I was at the park first, waiting for Azzi, when a group of girls from my neighborhood showed up. I didn’t know them well, but they were loud and funny in that kind of way that made you want to laugh along just to fit in.

We were sitting on the picnic table, their chatter filling the silence, when one of them asked, “Hey, Paige, why do you always hang out with that girl?”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Who?”

“You know, that Azzi girl,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Nobody hangs out with her.”

My stomach twisted. “Why not?”

The girl snorted. “Her mom’s, like, weird. Always with a new boyfriend or whatever. It’s embarrassing. She’s just a weirdo and looks weird.”

My jaw tightened. Before I could respond, another girl chimed in, laughing. “And her hair! It’s like, doesn’t she know what a brush is?”

The table erupted in laughter, but I couldn’t bring myself to join in. I glanced at the path leading to the swings, my heart sinking.

“Paige,” a voice said behind me.

I froze.

Azzi stood there, her face pale and her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Her mouth opened, then closed, and she shook her head, stepping back as if I’d physically struck her.

“Azzi, wait—” I started, scrambling off the table, but she was already turning away.

“Don’t,” she said quietly, her voice trembling. “Just… don’t.”

I ran after her, catching her arm as she reached the edge of the park. “Azzi, I wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what?” she snapped, whirling around. Her eyes were brimming with tears, her voice rising in anger. “Wasn’t laughing at me? Wasn’t sitting there while they trashed me?”

“I didn’t say anything!” I protested, my chest tight.

“That’s the problem!” she shouted, her voice breaking. “You just sat there, Paige. You didn’t even try to stop them, you let them say those things.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the words stuck in my throat.

“Forget it,” she muttered, yanking her arm free. She wiped at her face angrily, her curls sticking to her cheeks. “I should’ve known better.”

“Azzi, come on,” I pleaded, my voice softer now. “It’s not like that—”

“What’s it like, then?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. “Because from where I’m standing, it’s pretty clear. I just don’t understand after all those nights I cried to you P.. how could you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer. By the time I found the words, she was already gone.

present day 2014

It’s been weeks since Azzi and I started talking online, just the two of us, anonymously. We’ve gotten comfortable—well, as comfortable as we can with the fake names and hidden identities. I try not to think about the lies I’m keeping from her, but I know deep down it’s the only way I can stay connected to her. She has to trust me, or she’ll leave. And I can’t handle that. Not again.

It’s the last day of school, and I’m practically buzzing with excitement as I head to the bus. I can’t wait to get home, and send Azzi a message—anything really. I don’t care if it’s about her puppy or the weather or something ridiculous. I just want to talk to her.

I find a seat on the bus and pull out my phone. As the bus rumbles on, I open up Blogspot. I scroll through the messages Azzi and I exchanged earlier, just before school started. I can’t help but laugh at the part where she told me her dog, Stewie, peed in her shoe. That image—her tiny, brown wiener dog peeing in her brand new sneakers—was so perfectly her. Her humor, her frustration, her charm.

I giggle, but then it hits me. The guilt. It crashes over me, sudden and sharp, like a wave I didn’t see coming. My thumb freezes over the screen, hovering over the keyboard. I look at the conversation, at the funny banter we shared this morning, and my chest tightens. I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve her.

If she knew who I really was, if she knew the truth about why I was pretending to be someone else… she would never look at me the same way again. She’d leave me. She would never trust me again.

I feel the tightness in my chest grow, and I look out the window, trying to distract myself. But it’s no use. The guilt is like a weight on my shoulders, pressing down harder the longer I sit with it. Every word I’ve typed to Azzi, every moment I’ve shared with her—it’s all a lie. And I hate myself for it.

But I can’t stop. I can’t let her go again. It pained me the first time…it won’t happen again.

I stare at the phone in my hand, biting my lip. What if she finds out? What if she figures it out before I can come clean?

What if? What if? What if?

The thought is too much. I set the phone down on my lap, staring out the window, hoping the weight in my chest will ease.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrates in my lap. A new message.

unicornpuppy35: p, i just got home and stewie’s tryna eat my shoelace again. i swear this dog’s scheming.

I smile, but it doesn’t reach my eyes. My thumb hovers over the screen again. I want to reply, want to send something funny, something comforting, but all I can think about is how this isn’t real. None of it is real.

boogers_p: obviously. stewie’s prolly like, “shoelaces are phase one. world domination’s next.”

unicornpuppy35: no fr, this little dude really thinks he runs the place.

boogers_p: i mean… does he not? u literally pay rent in shoelaces and snacks.

unicornpuppy35: and socks. don’t forget the socks. he got one of mine this morning smh.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh too loud as I typed back.

boogers_p: rip to the sock. gone but not forgotten.

The typing bubble popped up and disappeared a few times before finally settling on:

unicornpuppy35: ur so ridiculous, p. u know that?

boogers_p: i’ve heard rumors.

I paused, smirking at the screen. Then, a thought hit me, and her fingers flew over the keyboard.

boogers_p: ok, real question. what’s stewie short for? or did u just look at him and go, “yup, that’s a stewie”?

There was a pause before Azzi’s response came through.

unicornpuppy35: named him after breanna stewart.

I blinked at the screen, my smile softening. Of course she did.

boogers_p: oh damn, respect. stewie’s a legend fr but no surprise you chose her.

unicornpuppy35: p, language. and duhh, hence the name.

boogers_p: my bad my bad, but u really said, “lemme name my dog after greatness.” iconic move, puppy.

I knew the nickname would get to her. It always did. The reply came fast.

unicornpuppy35: stop calling me that!!!

boogers_p: nah. it fits too good. also, it’s cute. like u.

Shit. There was a long pause before I saw the typing bubble flicker again.

unicornpuppy35: u really know how to get on my nerves, huh?

boogers_p: talent, tbh.

Azzi’s response came slower this time:

unicornpuppy35: sometimes i wonder why i even talk to u.

Paige snorted, her thumbs moving fast.

boogers_p: cuz i’m funny. and charming. and u lowkey love me. just admit it.

The reply took a moment.

unicornpuppy35: …maybe stewie loves u. that’s as close as ur getting.

I barked out a laugh, the sound drawing a curious glance from the kid across the aisle.

boogers_p: i’ll take it. tell stewie i’m his #1 fan.

unicornpuppy35: he’ll probably steal another shoelace to celebrate.

boogers_p: a king. truly.

I stared at the screen for a second longer, my chest feeling warm and tight in a way I couldn’t even describe.

unicornpuppy35: u good, peanut? u seem kinda off lately.

My fingers hesitated over the keyboard, my mouth forming into a small smile at my nickname. Azzi always asked. I didn’t know how she managed to carry so much and still notice the little things about me. God.

boogers_p: yeah, i’m straight. just tired, you know?

unicornpuppy35: don’t let it get to u p. me and stewie got ur back.

Paige swallowed the lump in her throat, her reply coming slower this time.

boogers_p: thanks, puppy. u and stewie the real mvps fr.

Pup- I mean Azzi’s reply was just a string of eye-roll emojis, but I could picture the grin on her face. I wish I could just see it for myself.

boogers_p: love u too.

So much.

I send the message, knowing I can’t keep lying forever. But for now, I’ll hold on.

——-

Paige walked into her room, shutting the door with a quiet click, as if any louder might let her thoughts escape into the world. Tossing her bag into the corner, she kicked off her shoes and peeled off her clothes, leaving a trail toward the bathroom. The hot water scalded her pale skin, but she barely noticed, the familiar ache in her chest louder than the pounding spray.

When she came out, dressed in an oversized T-shirt, her damp hair sticking to her neck, she flopped onto her bed. She should sleep. She needed sleep. But instead, her hand reached for the scrapbook tucked under her nightstand.

Opening it, her heart clenched as she stared at the first photo—Azzi on the swing set, caught mid-laugh, her curls bouncing wildly as she leaned over, her dimple deepening with every giggle. Paige could still hear the sound of it, bright and free, almost as if Azzi were right there in the room with her.

The second photo wasn’t much better. Her and Azzi at the diner for her 15th birthday, Azzi’s arm slung around hers like it belonged there. Paige could almost feel the ghost of Azzi’s touch, the warmth of her hand on her arm, the way Azzi’s voice would soften when she scolded her for cussing too much.

She flipped the page closed before she started crying again. It didn’t help.

Her fingers brush over the closed scrapbook, tracing its edges. She knows it’s pathetic to feel this way, to let herself get so tangled up in someone who probably doesn’t even think about her anymore. It’s dumb, she knows that. But it doesn’t change the way her heart clenches at the thought of Azzi laughing somewhere else, with someone else, as if Paige never mattered.

Because the truth is, she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Not like this. Not about their friendship, or whatever it used to be. Friendship doesn’t even seem like the right word anymore. It feels too small, too simple for something that made her feel whole in a way nothing else ever has.

Will you miss me, Azzi? Paige swallows hard, her jaw tightening as tears blur her vision again. Will you miss what we had? Because I do. I miss you so much it hurts. It fucking hurts.

Her voice dropped to a whisper, her eyes closing as the words spilled from her heart. God I think I’d miss you even if we never met.

Paige dragged a hand over her face, trying to will the tears back, but they came anyway, hot and relentless. She clutched the scrapbook tighter to her chest. I miss you. Every day. Every second of every day. I miss you so much it’s pathetic.

She let out a shaky laugh that turned into a sob halfway through. “It’s so dumb,” she muttered, shaking her head. But no matter how many times she said it, it didn’t make it any less true. It’s the realest thing she’s ever felt.

Because no one had ever made her feel like Azzi did. Not before, not since. She wasn’t sure anyone ever would.

She wipes at her face, but the tears won’t stop. Because no matter how much she misses Azzi, Paige knows it’s her fault she’s gone. She clings to the scrapbook, the pictures inside the only pieces of Azzi she has left. And as much as it hurts, she knows she deserves this. Every ache, every tear, every lonely second.

Because she let her go. And that’s something she can never take back.

——-

Azzi sat quietly in the backseat, her hands clammy as she rubbed them over her shorts, trying to calm the nerves that had been with her all morning. Her brothers had hyped her up about making the team, calling her the coach’s “princess,” but it didn’t help. She was still terrified. What if she didn’t make it? What if she wasn’t good enough?

She whispered to Stewie, who was in her lap, his small body a source of comfort. “What if I don’t make the team, huh? I know it’s stupid, but it keeps running through my mind… what if I mess up?”

Her mom glanced back at her from the front seat, a soft smile on her face. “You’ll do fine, Azzi. You always do.”

But Azzi couldn’t shake the unease, the thoughts spinning in her head as the car pulled into the gym parking lot. Her stomach twisted into knots, and her heart raced in anticipation. They arrived early, her mom wanting to meet the coaches first, so Azzi was the first one there.

She stepped out of the car, still trying to calm her breathing. As her mom led her inside, Azzi forced herself to smile and greet the coaches, though her mind was a hundred miles away. She excused herself once the introductions were made, eager to find the locker room and settle in before tryouts started.

The gym was empty when she walked in, the silence amplifying her every step. She meandered down the hall, her fingers grazing the walls as she took in the pictures of past players, their smiles frozen in time. She felt her nerves rise again, the pressure of what was to come weighing on her.

But as she rounded a corner, her body collided with something—or rather, someone.

“Sorry!” Azzi blurted, quickly stepping back. But when she looked up, her breath caught. There, standing in front of her, was Paige. She froze, heart pounding in her chest. Her mind screamed for her to move, to say something, anything, but her body just wouldn’t cooperate.

Paige stood there too, her mouth slightly open in disbelief, her eyes wide. The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Then, almost as if the world had shifted, Paige finally spoke her name.

“Azzi?” she whispered.

Azzi’s stomach churned, but she couldn’t stop staring at her. How? How could she be here? How had she found her, of all places? This wasn’t supposed to happen, not here, not now. Not ever.

But Paige was looking at her like she hadn’t missed a beat, like the time apart hadn’t meant anything. Azzi could see the recognition in her eyes, the same as she felt in her chest.

It was instant. Her face was older now, sharper, but it was still her. Those blue eyes. The way she stood. Even the slight tilt of her head when she was unsure of herself. Azzi hadn’t expected it to hit her this hard.

A year ago, she swore she’d move on. Swore that she’d forget what Paige meant to her. But now, standing here, all she felt was the sharp twist of memory and the burn of anger.

How could she not recognize her? Paige had been the first person to make her feel seen, to make her feel like she mattered. But she had also been the first person to hurt her more than anyone else had. Azzi couldn’t forget that. Not the way she laughed with her, not the way she’d come after her with apologies she could never quite believe.

Azzi had convinced herself she was past it. Past Paige. But now, here she was, staring at her as if nothing had changed. It was too much, too fast. Does she really think I’ve forgotten?

Paige stepped forward, her movements tentative, unsure. Azzi almost wanted to take a step back, to run, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, feeling the weight of everything that had happened between them pressing in on her.

“Azzi,” Paige said softly, her voice almost hesitant.

Azzi blinked, her heart racing. She forced herself to act like she didn’t know her, even though everything inside her screamed that she did. “Sorry,” Azzi said, her voice steady despite the tightness in her chest. “Do I know you?”

——-

rosie’s note: well..yeah!

taglist ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @imaginespazzi @pazzilover101 @makethemhoesmad @pboogerswbb @kmoneymartini @mrsarnold @absolutelydreadful @authentic-girl03 @melpthatsme @ashortyluvsports

[onlyhereforpazzi]

Let me be your rock 🪨 (get to because my last name is stone.. I have crippling debt..)

Warnings: NSFW contains smut (finger A!r Eating out p! Scissoring) angst mentions of running away from home.

A sort of fluffy fic :)

Enjoy :)

It started off small. Sharing little moment’s in Azzi’s room, hugs from behind, little pecks to the cheek, cuddling late at night, long welcoming hugs that were a bit more than just friendly, and hand holding everywhere they went. Azzi’s dad Tim would make jokes that Paige and Azzi were attached to the hip since birth, Paige would just laugh at that. But then they got risky with the end of the year coming soon they felt and needed to rush things, Azzi became just as clingy as Paige and they got a lot less demure with their touches and acts of effect.

 Paige laid next to Azzi in her queen size bed rubbing her stomach softly as she pecked her lips against Azzi’s every few seconds whispering sweet nothings into her ears, such as.. “Such a pretty girl Az..” “Look at my princess..” “Gonna dream of you every night ma..” Until Azzi finally put a stop to it by pinning Paige down with a slick move. “Whoa ma-” A startled Paige said looking up at the younger girl, adjusting her hands so one was on her ass the other on her hip smirking in that cheesy way she knew Azzi loved.

“Oh you are such a dumbass..” Azzi mumbled softly, moving a hand to the blonde’s cheek leaning down and pecking her lips in such an easy motion like banking a layup or a floater to the two hoopers. “My dumbass though..” The younger girl smiles and pecks her lips again. 

The blonde looks up at the younger girl. “Love being your dumbass,” She paused for a moment before adding “as long as I get to see that ass shake ma.” Paige was then met with a playful smack from her best friend on her arm. “What Az it is true!” Paige laughed and rolled over so the younger girl was under her.

“Yeah but is it so inappropriate!” Azzi said as if half of the stuff they have done in this very bed (or in the shower) was any better. Luckily Azzi used her brains and covered her mouth with her hand. “Don’t you even think about it Bueckers..”

“You love me Az, I know it..” The blonde smiled and pecked the younger girl's lips before whispering playfully in a seductive voice. “But you know maybe later I can show you inappropriate things.” She ran her finger down to the younger girl's shorts with a smirk, before doing her classic ‘rizz-hands’ grinning ear to ear. “Dork..” Azzi mumbled pecking her lips again, a knock at the door prevented Paige from deepening the kiss. Paige groans and rolls off Azzi so she can get up. Azzi opens the door to find Tim, the man was tall standing at 6 '7 and was a stocky man developing a bit of a dad bod from being off the court for so long, most guys didn’t ask Azzi out because her dad was so scary. Deep down he is like a big old teddy bear. “Hey girls, dinner is ready! Azzi you need to clean up your room after dinner hun.” Azzi nodded and Paige smiled before standing up and following Azzi downstairs to the dining area. The Fudd house was well kept and generally clean, except for the couch which was covered in Azzi’s two younger brothers controllers and such. Paige sat next to Azzi and placed her hand on her thing, rubbing gently as they waited for the dinner to be set in front of them. “So how was your day y’all?” Azzi’s mother Katie asked, her voice had a twang to it that made her seem more stern then she was. She looked at her two younger sons who instantly stopped messing around with each other. “Jose, remember to put away your clothes. I have asked you three times this week alone.”

Paige had grown used to this, it was nice having siblings in the house all the time and two loving parents even if they weren’t actually hers. Paige was only three when Bob and Amy got a divorce, it took her till she was seven to figure out why. She used to blame herself. It was a bad habit she developed, someone was to get hurt in court. She must have not tried enough to prevent that. It was horrible, when she found out Azzi tore her Azzi she blamed herself for not being there and not kissing her all better, not holding her in person (all they did was Facetime), not having Azzi squeeze her thighs around Paige’s head as she.. When Bob and his current wife had Drew, Paige was so happy to have a younger sibling she could treat like a little baby. Often Azzi was sent photos of Paige and Drew, in return Paige would get silly pictures of Azzi or her brothers, which she always kept in case she needed to make a quick roast on them. “My day was good Katie thank you for asking..” Paige smiled looking at the women who helped bring life to this goddess next to her currently. She held Azzi’s hand under the table while they ate and enjoyed the food. Soon they finished eating and Paige took the honor of taking Azzi’s plate to the kitchen and washing it well. Azzi watched Paige do so, before trailing behind her holding her mother’s and father’s plate. “Oh hello there madam Fudd..” Paige grinned at her cheesy words, taking the plates and pecking the younger girl's cheek. “I must say madam Fudd you look absolutely delicious in those jeans.” The blonde's eyes drifted down to her ass in those jeans smirking. 

“My eyes are up here Bueckers..” The younger girl hopped onto the counter looking at her best friend washing the dishes before walking over placing her hands on her thighs rubbing softly looking up at her. “Hm?” The younger girl hummed in a questioning tone looking at the older girl. “Nothing, just admiring this beautiful girl in front of me..” Paige grinned and pecked her lips softly against the younger girl who returned the kiss before pulling away. “Mmm, love those kisses..” The blonde began to kiss the curly haired girl's cheeks and jawline. “So perfect..” Eventually Azzi pushed Paige off of her and they went back up to Azzi’s room. Paige began to get ready for bed which included taking off her clothes. Azzi had seen Paige naked a few times but that didn’t matter. Paige undresses quickly before helping Azzi undress. It was difficult for the younger girl to deal with her injury. “Thank you P..” The blonde nodded and kissed the younger girl in a ‘your welcome’ fashion. The older girl helped Azzi get dressed until her body was dressed in short shorts and an oversized shirt, Paige got dressed in some flannel Pj pants and an oversized shirt that read ‘Hopkins basketball’.

Paige laid down next to Azzi in her bed rubbing her back gently, her touch soft against her even softer skin. “There you go Az..” Paige mumbled quietly, “Love you so much.. Gonna be here forever for you..” Azzi smiled before rolling over and kissing Paige, kissing her until her lips were swollen and she needed to catch her breath. The blonde moved down and kissed her neck softly. “Love this girl..” Paige mumbled softly kissing down her neck. Paige backed off studying her neck, looking at the slight mark on the neck of the girl. “Look at that baby..” Azzi rolled her eyes, pinning Paige to the bed smiling as they cuddled and tickled each other, acting like the teens that they were thrown into adulthood at 17 and 18 due to picking the career of basketball called the next greats hold back due to the injuries. Giving them a wider view of the world, being thrown into the world of live television during the USA basketball olympics or even just being told you are the greatest in the country added pressure, and pressure, and even more you guessed it pressure until they couldn’t take it. They were lucky to have each other to be each other's crunches, that supported their legs that held them back. “Paige?” Azzi mumbled and Paige hummed softly in reply. “What college did you choose?” “Oh um.. I have chosen Uconn, Geno seems like a great coach. He has coached the greats like Sue Bird, Taurasi, Stewie..” Paige smiled at Azzi before continuing. “Soon to be great Paige Madison Bueckers..” Azzi punched her arm softly, rolling her eyes. “Yeah.. Azzi isn't that far away from Virginia or Minnesota, I mean it is quite a bit away from Washington and like Montana but that doesn’t matter really. It isn’t like I will get drafted and go to the Storms or Wings..” “Yeah I know I just..” Azzi began but didn’t finish looking up at Paige whose blue eyes had an understanding look. “I just am scared P.. what if I don’t get drafted if my injury holds me back. I have my good grades but basketball.. It is my life P..” “Hey hey no you will get drafted in the future and I will be right there watching you cheering you on.” Paige held the younger girl's face in her hands. “We can be roommates in college, we could share a bed and have some fun every few nights.” Paige raised her eyebrows and pecked Azzi’s nose softly. “Azzi nothing is holding you back, you are the greatest player of your class. Prove it to the world, and you know maybe I will take that stupid fucking elderberry stuff again just for you.” 

Azzi laughed at the last thing Paige said before leaning in and kissing her softly. “Mmm okay but you can’t run out of the house..” Paige kissed her back gently smiling as she rubbed the hand of the younger girl. Paige pulled away gently. “No promises on that..” She leaned back and kissed her again. “Do you know when your parents are going to your brother's little thing?” Azzi shook her head before grabbing her phone to check her calendar. Paige kissed her neck gently as she did so, wanting the younger girl to feel loved. “His thing is in an hour and he wants to be there like 30 minutes early so probably in 10 minutes they will leave..” Azzi said, stroking the blonde hair of the older girl. The blonde groaned complaining that it was too long of a wait and Azzi should just let her have some fun right now. “Paige you can wait ten minutes..” Azzi smiled at the older girl, kissing her lips softly.

 “Ugh you are so mean to me..” Paige mumbled kissing the younger girl back acting as if they didn’t go four months before even having the conversation. “I love you Azzi but man you bully me..” the blonde joked and teased the younger girl.

Azzi pulled out her phone and scrolled through it while Paige clung to her, once they heard the garage open Paige grinned ear to ear. “Oh man are you excited babe?” Azzi asked, looking up at her Paige who nodded eagerly kissing the face of her best friend with eagerness. 

“Look at this face ma..” Paige mumbled the roar of the engine in the background gave Paige a signal it would be okay to take Azzi’s shirt off of her tossing it somewhere between the bed and dresser not really caring where it landed. “These motherfuckin’ abs ma..” She leaned down and kissed her stomach softly rubbing it gently between kisses. Paige kept complimenting her body, kissing down and down until she reached her shorts. “May I?” Azzi nodded and Paige pulled her shorts down to reveal the pretty underwear she watched Azzi put on. “Paige, stop teasing..” Azzi mumbled and watched as Paige pulled down her underwear letting out a moan at the sight of the younger girl's pussy. Her eyes tracing around the folds, to the clit, and then back again in a constant cycle she looked up at Azzi and smirked. 

“Prettiest fuckin’ pussy ma.. Wet for me, yeah?” She kissed right above it as her thumb found her clit and rubbed slow circles around it. Her head lowered as she kissed her clit softly, spitting a bit she ran her middle finger up and down her soaking folds waiting for Azzi to give some sign of not being able to take the teasing anymore. She got what she wanted soon after when the younger girl's thigh twitched rubbing against her hand. “Want more?” Azzi nodded eagerly and Paige slipped her finger in teasing her with her slow sliding in and out. “Like that?” She smirked and added a second finger speeding up a bit as she began to stretch her out. “P.. Paige.. Fuck..” Azzi moaned her eyes on Paige struggling to hold in her moans against her bottom lip which she bit. “Paige fuck your fingers.. Need more..” “Oh yeah ma? Well then I will give you more..” She lowered her head and sucked her clit while Azzi kept moaning her hands gripping her sheets tightly scrunching the normally perfect surface. Paige's fingers curling into Azzi with a steady rhythm.. “Yeah Paige.. Paige Paige.. Fuck I am close..” Paige grinned and leaned up pecking her lips before spitting on her still moving fingers. “Damn damn.. Fuck P..” “Yeah baby let it go come on cum for me..” Azzi’s hips bucked up to meet Paige's fingers until they faltered before crashing right back down. Paige let her ride her high out until she laid there breathing heavily.. Paige pulled her fingers out and sucked on them softly. “It tastes so good ma..”

“Yeah I bet..” Azzi mumbled as she looked at Paige, “Alright my turn..” Azzi laid back against the bed while Paige stripped down to nothing but her sports bra. Paige gripped the head board as she lined herself up. “There you go..” Azzi mumbled gripping her thighs as Paige lowered herself on Azzi’s face with a moan, her folds opening around the younger girl's tongue. “Damn Az..” She slowly rose up and back down a few times before sliding against the younger girl's face as she lapped up her mess. She began to imagine what Azzi’s mother's reaction would be if she walked in and saw her daughter’s best friend sitting on her face. She was about to laugh when she was interrupted by a moan coming from herself. “Tastes so good P..” Azzi mumbled as her chin became covered with Paige’s slick and her own drool.. “Could eat this pussy every day…” Paige groaned as she rode her face fast, craving that high. She moaned again followed by some swearing as Azzi helped her reach her goal. Paige’s actions slowed and followed every few seconds till she cummed on the younger girl’s tongue. “Damn..” Paige lifted her hips and sat next to Azzi smiling at her. “So what position next hmm?” Paige rubbed Azzi’s thigh as Azzi cleaned up her face, with the back of her wrist. “Uh we could do some scissor action you know..” Azzi suggested smiling at Paige who nodded and took a deep breath before beginning to align their weak pussies, Paige slowly lowered herself to the point where they met. The two girls moaned at the touch and grinned against each other and Paige’s eyes rolled back in overstimulation of her clit touching Azzi’s folds. “Wow.. wow Azzi..” “AZZI (enter Azzi’s middle name) FUDD!” A voice called out, opening the door to find them in such a position. Paige, not knowing what to do, froze, luckily Azzi had some brains and pulled a blanket over them. Azzi’s mother stood in the door, her face must have been as red as her hair. “YOU TWO GET DRESSED AND BE DOWNSTAIRS IN 5 MINUTES..” Katie was furious this was not something Paige wanted to happen. Paige quickly got up once the door closed, pecking Azzi’s forehead before getting dressed helping Azzi get dressed. “Fuck Azzi what are we going to do.. What if they kick me out.. I can’t go back to my dad’s yet..” Paige stared at the younger girl's brown eyes until they answered her. “They won’t Paige I promise and if they do we will move out together.. I have enough money to buy a hotel or something. Come on, we can do this..” Azzi answered as she pulled her shirt over her head standing slowly using Paige as her support, her rock. Paige was her rock always was. “Come on, let's go..” Paige mumbled as they made their way down the stairs to the living room, the caring and gentle Mr. Fudd at a stern expression as he looked at the two girls, but he wasn’t the one they were worried about. They watched as Katie reentered the living room, her expression sterned as she pointed to the couch telling them to sit. “Mrs. Fudd I can explain..” Paige began but was shut down when Katie raised her hand up.  “So Azzi why when I come home from your brother's event do I find you and the girl you swore to me was just a friend in bed together doing certain acts?” Katie asked, staring them down like a hawk. “Explain to me why I found you in such a position hmm..” “Mom, I really like Paige..” Azzi’s voice was timid so Paige held her hand rubbing the back of it with her thumb. “I have liked her since we met. She is the best thing to happen to me, please don’t take her away…” Tim spoke up, “How long has this been going on?” His voice was rough like gravel in a driveway. He stared at the two girls, his eyes flicking to each as he rubbed his forehead softly.

“About 8 months but we only started doing that like a month ago..” Paige responded quickly, still holding onto Azzi’s hand.

“Unbelievable..” Katie mumbled before Tim put his hand on her shoulder. He seemed like he wanted to reason with the girls. “Listen I get you guys are teens and all but that isn’t an excuse really.. Now here is the deal: no more sex under my roof got it? But you two can be all couple like..” Tim smiled at the two girls before his expression became serious. “Now Bueckers if I find out you broke my little girl's heart.. I will not hesitate to break you..” The large man grinned and smiled at the girls once more.

Katie jumped in, “I think you two can do a bit of cleaning to make up for this..” She looked between the girls who nodded, gratefully that they at least still had each other. Still had their rocks.

[marsandwich]

Oh my goodness this fanfic took WEEEEEKSSSSS to make! please enjoy!

Summary: You and schlatt have been dating for quite awhile, but never took anything further than just kissing and sometimes dry humping. You decide to change this.

Warnings: Directed towards female audience, P in V sex, super sweet schlatt because he’s just such a sweet boy, aftercare, fingering, hand job, cumming fast, overstim, nipple playing. (if i missed any please tell me!)

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

You come back home from the mall, you and schlatt have been dating for 8 months, that’s a good amount of time to have gained trust and taking things slow so your relationship isn’t toxic and rushed. You decided to pick up some lingerie sets for the big night. You were talking to some girl friends last week while out getting drinks with them and they sparked your interest of finally having full sex with schlatt. You guys usually just dry hump while you’re in your boring panties and he’s in his boxers, nothing too serious but good to get some stress out.

You walk into the kitchen and see schlatt making himself a sandwich. you quickly hide the Victoria secret bag and walk up to schlatt. “Hey baby how are you?” you smile and kiss his cheek lovingly and he quickly drops his bread and gives you the biggest bear hug.

“Hey toots, missed ya!” he smiles and lets go of you as you coughed for some air. He gets worried and runs his fingers through his hair. “Sorry.. got a bit excited” he smiles at you, how could you ever be mad at the sweet face he makes?

“it’s fine schlatt i promise, just didn’t expect to be suffocated today” you tease him and he chuckles at the joke you made. “So what did you get at the mall toots?” he smiles completely interested and ready to listen. That’s what you loved about him, he was such a good listener. You swat the thoughts away and answer his question. “That’s a surprise, you don’t get to know until tonight!” you smile, not indicating anything mischievous but just speaking sweetly to him.

“Oh yeah? i’m excited!” he smiles, “i better finish making this sandwich” he focuses on the sandwich now and you walk away ready for the night to come.

TIME SKIP

You hear schlatt enter the bedroom and you quickly look at him. He pauses and chuckles “what was that about?” he smiles. you chuckle nervously and stumble across your words “i.. i your gift! i need.. to get it.. from the bathroom..” you get up quickly and rush to the bathroom. Schlatt is slightly concerned at your nervous behavior but sits down on the bed and grabs his phone to scroll on twitter.

Meanwhile you’re in the bathroom absolutely freaking out. Mixing a vanilla and coconut perfume and slipping on the light blue lingerie set and fix up your hair, you put on some chapstick and walk to the door and take a deep breath. You open the door and show off your body to schlatt. He looks over and he drops his phone and sits up quickly.

“Woah… uh you look.. really good toots” he speaks softly, almost a whisper. His voice got way deeper than it normally is. “thanks.. do you like the color?” you smile and slowly move your hand down your body. You notice him gulp and he nods slowly. “Yeah.. i i like it a lot..” he speaks so sweetly to you.

You walk over to the bed and crawl onto schlatt, his hands quickly find your hips and he expects you to start grinding down on him, the same dry humping that you guys always did. but then he hears the magic words, “I wanna go all the way with you schlatt” and his jaw drops so quick just shocked and looking at you like you are a ghost.

“Is.. that okay with you schlatt..?” you whisper softly almost hesitant to even touch him. He gulps and whispers “I.. i would love to [your name]” he moves his hands to your breast but quickly stops. “is this okay?” he whispers so sweetly that you almost melt. “Mhm.. it’s okay” you smile and allow him to explore your body. he pulls down the bra and gently plays with your nipples. Watching you squirm immediately got him hard. Harder than he already was. You shudder at his cold fingers playing with your nipples. You unclip your bra so he has way better access and he immediately kisses your breast, leaving hickeys everywhere which your fans will probably ask about in the future since they’re so noticeable..

you pull away from schlatt and gently tug on his shirt indicating you want it off of him, he obeys and removes his shirt and you smile. “your so handsome j” you say while your hands rub all over his body to soothe any worries. And it worked a lot more than you’d think, you could feel his cock twitching in his loose shorts and his eyes so so needy. You decided to give him some attention where his.. problem was..

You moved your hands to the waistband of his shorts and pull them down and you could tell he sucked in air at that moment. You smile and massage his thighs. “it’s okay schlatt.. just relax..” you cooed. He nods and you move your hand to waist band of his boxers and slide them down and he quickly grabs your hand. “careful toots, it’s been awhile” he warns knowing he’ll probably cum way faster than he’d want to.

You smile and note this and take his hard in your soft hand. He groans so quietly, you smile at his reaction and move your hand very slowly up and down his cock. He almost finds it painful with how slow you’re being. “You can.. speed up.. ya know..” he shakily says, you know how bad he’s wants it, and honestly.. you want it too. You move your hand faster and he just zones completely out. He’s already overwhelmed with the amount of pleasure he’s feeling, he feels like a virgin all over again.

“Toots.. i.. i’m not proud to say.. but i’m c….oh…!” he gasps at the end of his sentence because he feels you rubbing and tightening your palm around his tip. He just can’t hold on anymore as embarrassed he’s gonna feel after. He just lets go and cums into your hand without any further warning. You gasp as you feel a warm liquid fill your hands and you remove your hand way too fast for his liking and he hisses at the overstimulation.

“You.. came” you say almost too happily. He groans and looks insanely embarrassed. “Yeah.. yeah.. sorry.. i was trying to warn you but you can’t just do that!” he looks so embarrassed “Sorry.. that was probably a big turn off..” he sighs and sits up expecting you to leave the room and never talk to him again. But when he looks up, he realizes you’re still there and looking at him full of love. “Now why would that turn me off? it’s good to know i did that to you” you say so sweetly to him.

“I dunno…” he sighs and then looks down at your panties and his eyes slightly widen with how wet a spot is on them. You giggle “you wanna slip these off of me?” you tease him by grabbing the top of your panties and pulling them down super slow. “If i do take them off i think im gonna rip them..” he whispers to you and watches as you now quickly pull them off. He moves his long fingers down to your thigh and looks up at you.

“could you.. maybe lay on your back?” he asks so politely you almost ravish him right there. You nod and lay on your back so schlatt is on top now.

“Spread your legs toots, i’ll be nice and slow for you” Schlatt smiles and he grabs your leg and kisses up it, from your knee right to your core. He lets go of your leg and presses his thumb against your clit, your back arches and he takes notice of that, it definitely boosted his ego because now he started rubbing in circles around your clit and he uses his other hand to rub around the outside of your hole.

“Is this okay [your name]?” he moves his fingers around your hole and thumbs your clit. “Yes.. fuck..it’s fine” you whine out. Schlatt smiles and slowly inserts a finger in you. He feels you tighten around his finger and groans “damn..” he moves his finger in deep and slowly curves, trying to find your g-spot, once he sees you gasp and moan a lot more louder he goes a bit faster.. he adds another digit inside of you, his hands are so much bigger than you’d expect. “Stretching you so good toots, right?” he smiles almost begging for validation that he’s among you feel good. “Mmhhmmm” you say already super close to your orgasm. “Faster…please…?” you whine out and arch your back, when you do that you feel schlatts finger go way deeper and that’s all you needed to cum. He feels your walls tighten a lot more and sees you making the dirtiest face, and hears you make the dirtiest sounds. He slowly removes his fingers and looks down at you. He wipes the sweat off your forehead, “you.. wanna go.. further.. or just.. wait till next time?” schlatt desperately needs to know what you want right now, he knows he’s acting like a horny schoolboy but he can’t handle it. He looks down at your sweating body and it almost makes him cum on the spot. “Let’s.. continue. please schlatt?” you whine out for him, something he’s gonna keep in the back of his mind forever. “atta’ girl” he smiles and smacks your thigh lovingly and sit up on his knees and looks down at you. “such a pretty girl, all for me yeah?” he has the biggest shit eating grin you’ve ever seen “all for you schlatt..” you giggle, slowly getting your energy up again “now will you fuck me?”. He chuckles and nods and grabs you quickly and he lays on the pillows and lines you up with his cock. “You alright with riding me toots?” He smiles and looks up at you, looking so handsome with the sweat glistening on his forehead and his hair being so messy from before. “I’m fine with that schlatt” you smile and sink down onto his cock and his hands grip your hips super hard. “oh fuck.. i’m still sensitive..” he groans and sighs “but.. it feels good so just keep going would ya?” he chuckles breathlessly and watches you bounce on his cock, he’s hitting every single right spot it’s almost sickening how long you guys waited to do this, but it definitely made your guys trust stronger by waiting. You notice how quick his breathing is, indicating he’s gonna cum way soon, he knows he is and he grabs your hips and stops you. “I’m.. so sorry toots.. this is so damn embarrassing on my part..” he doesn’t even bother looking at you, scared your laughing at him. “schlatt i was close too” you smile at him and kiss his forehead. “Let’s just cum together..” you smile and start riding him once again and he just lays back and groans at the feeling. “sounds.. oh fuck.. good..” his voice is so hoarse, he feels so damn good with you riding him. You both end up orgasming at the same exact time. Not having a worry in the world about him cumming in you. That will be taken care of later. You both just sit there panting and kissing, you stop kissing him and slowly slide off his soft cock. He hisses at the feeling and then smiles at you. “Was that.. alright?”. You kiss his cheek and nod, “that was amazing schlatt, let’s go take a shower yeah?” You smile and grab his hand and lead him to the shower.

After the shower you guys put on your pajamas and watch some random movie and cuddle.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

AAAAA THIS IS MY FIRST EVER GENUINE FIC SO PLS GO LIGHT ON ME…!

[ethicaltreatmentofcowplants]

part iii (part i + part ii)

(due to sims doing everything but what i wanted them to, this extended into night and the screencaps were terrible - i apologise)

“Avery, I feel like our potential isn’t necessarily reflected by your score, and much of that was my doing. You just seemed to catch me when I was in the middle of a Moment and was not exactly feeling receptive towards anyone. And among those who did… less well, you were one of the few who actually initiated flirting with me and who seemed to really try. So let’s take this as an opportunity to refresh and maybe have a second shot at things. I’ll be seeing you very soon.”

“Jayla, you’re clearly having a ball and I enjoyed being in a household with you. But so far you haven’t seemed all that drawn to me, and I feel that at least in terms of romance, I’m the one putting in all the work. You are one of eighteen, and it seems like you’re not sure why you’re here. Let me know whether you want this - or not - but let me know. See you for Round Two.”

the final four...

“You know how it goes. I have only one of my strawberries left, and I am not splitting it four - just who the plum comes up with these things…”

“Forest - considering your strong start, this is a long way to fall. We have potential and you’ve shown hints of sweetness, but you keep on pushing me away - and your autonomous mean interactions? Not okay. It wasn’t cute when boys did that in grade school, and it’s far from cute now. If your aim is to sabotage yourself, then you’re succeeding spectacularly.” (Forest: nervously sweating...)

“Lee - much like Forest, yet worse. While I get the sense that Forest has the potential - and maybe even the want - to be something better than his past behaviour, you on the other hand seem perfectly happy with just how you present yourself. Well, I’m not. I like the version of you who is friends with Tiago and who has some moments of vulnerability, not whatever this is.” (Lee: unbothered, totally convinced this is all a ruse...)

(Araminta: hoping to the old Watchers and the new that Forest is going home...)

“Piper - if only we had even a little romance, my dear. But at least with me - or perhaps even with life in general - that just doesn’t seem to be what you’re looking for, and that’s okay. You stepped out of your comfort zone to try something that doesn’t come naturally to you, and for that you’ll have my eternal admiration. But I’m afraid that this chapter of your story ends here.”

“Aubrey - you’re here for a good time, but sadly not a long time. One of the most gorgeous sims I’ve ever laid eyes upon, and I really enjoyed your sense of fun, your mischief and your creativity. As there’s no spark between us, however, let’s just say it’s been real and move on. You were a delight to get to know - I hope we can catch up again after the show.”

“Forest, something is telling me not to let you go just yet. And if I’m wrong, then more fool me. This is a second chance for… whatever you need it to be, I guess. Those don’t come around often, or at all. Make the most of it. And if there’s any more mean behaviour - I may no longer be a werewolf but I’m not completely without bite. Man up and grow up, or get out.”

“Lee, here’s your fifteen minutes. Best of luck in building on them. And as the autonomy settings are driving the Watcher crazy - Araminta, you absolutely don’t need to talk to your horse Every Five Seconds - we’ll say our proper farewells tomorrow.  Sorry for the lack of decent screencaps, everyone, but you only have your pixel selves to blame.”

“Hey beautiful, so I totally know this is all a stunt. You have to leave the audience on a cliffhanger, right? Don’t worry, I’ll play along. I am a supremely talented actor after all - I can even cry on command!” “Mhmm…” (reflects on how that’s only a Level 2 interaction in the ACTING skill)

how scores were calculated

Ooof, I really wanted to take more of the bottom three in particular, but I was also this close to ejecting my EA folder into the sun. They will however each get a proper farewell from Lilac (and a thank you from me to their watchers) and their very own shiny post in broad daylight when hopefully the in-game lighting is better cooperating.

Also now we know just what Forest was up to that very last day. That little so-and-so realised that he was on thin ice and thus was skillbuilding like there was no tomorrow - which for him was almost the case! I will be including Aubrey's, Piper's and Lee's score details in their farewell posts and you will see just how close it all was.

@x-digitaldollhouse-x @tipsy-clouds @riverofjazzsims

@plasmafruittree @sleepyselkiesims @fl0pera

[httpvomitello]

Fred Weasley x reader who hides their chronic pain/illness? With lots of comfort and reassurance. Thanks :)

YES, ANOTHER FRED REQUEST, I'M SO HAPPY! I hope you like it ~ ♡♡

In Sickness and in Strength *⁠.⁠✧

fred weasley x gn!reader

The cold wind of late December crept through the cracks of the Burrow, making you tug the thick quilt tighter around your shoulders. The chaos of the Weasley household had been a welcome distraction for most of the holiday, but today you were struggling to keep your usual mask in place. Fred was in the next room, regaling his family with an exaggerated tale about a rogue Extendable Ear mishap. His laughter rang out like a warm melody, but you couldn’t muster the energy to join him.

Your body ached from head to toe, the familiar, invisible weight pressing against your bones. It was the kind of pain that no spell could erase, the kind you’d learned to live with in silence. You loved Fred, more than words could express, but how could you burden him with this? He was sunshine incarnate, the kind of person who made the world brighter just by existing. You couldn’t dim that light by telling him about the storm constantly raging inside you.

“Y/N?” Fred’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, gentle but curious. You looked up to see him leaning against the doorframe, his trademark grin softening into something more tender.

“Hey,” you said, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Done telling tales already?”

He crossed the room in a few strides and plopped down beside you on the worn sofa, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “They’ve had enough of my genius for now,” he teased, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “You, on the other hand, have been suspiciously quiet all day. What’s going on?”

You shrugged, your pulse quickening. “Just tired, that’s all. It’s been a long week.”

Fred’s brow furrowed slightly as he studied your face. He reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. “Tired doesn’t usually make you look like you’re carrying the weight of the world. Come on, love, what’s really going on?”

You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you tried to come up with an excuse. But Fred wasn’t the kind of person you could lie to easily. His gaze was too steady, too sincere.

“It’s nothing,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Fred shifted, turning to face you fully. His hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Y/N, you know you don’t have to hide things from me, right? Whatever it is, I’m here. Always.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and before you could stop them, they spilled over, hot and unrelenting.

“I—” You took a shaky breath, unable to meet his gaze. “I’ve been dealing with this for a while. It’s… it’s chronic pain. Some days are worse than others, but I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to be a burden. You’ve already got so much going on, Fred, and I didn’t want you to feel like you had to take care of me too.”

Fred’s grip on your hand tightened, and when you finally looked up, his expression was a mix of heartbreak and determination.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice steady despite the emotion in his eyes. “You could never be a burden to me. Never. I don’t care how much you’re struggling or what you’re dealing with—I want to be there for you. That’s what love is, yeah? You’ve been there for me through everything, and I’ll be damned if I let you go through this alone.”

A fresh wave of tears spilled over, but this time, they were tears of relief. Fred pulled you into his arms, holding you like you were the most precious thing in the world. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back as he murmured soft reassurances into your hair.

“We’ll figure this out together,” he promised. “Whatever you need, i will make it work. If you’re having a bad day, you tell me, and I’ll do whatever I can to make it better. And on the good days, we’ll celebrate. But I need you to promise me something too.”

You pulled back slightly, meeting his gaze. “What’s that?”

“Promise me you’ll stop trying to handle this on your own,” he said. “Because you don’t have to, Y/N. You’ve got me, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You nodded, your heart swelling with a mix of gratitude and love. “I promise.”

Fred smiled then, his usual mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Good. Now, how about we sneak some of Mum’s mince pies and curl up by the fire? I reckon a bit of warmth and sugar might be just what the Healer ordered.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound lightening the heaviness in your chest. “That sounds perfect.”

[bucknastysbabe]

Rating: Mature

Tags: Love triangle but tragic, hey look I wrote the One, anyways Aegon (he love you and feels cringefail), Targtower Princess, incest what’s new, heartbreak, Aemondthing you’ll be safe dw

A/N: 1k words the drabblemaxxing is failing but we going w it

Aemond understood your intricacies vastly better than Aegon. Aemond was the silent presence at your shoulder, one who you stayed up for hours with discussing war, politics, and philosophy. You were there for him when his eye was cut, and he was there when the council decided it to be a better match for you to marry Aegon.

Sister for a sister. They feared Helaena may not do her duty— head in the crannies, searching for spiders and speaking of things that were neither here nor there. You were more feasible, a proper princess who didn’t speak up and relished in Valyrian custom.

You’d always imagined a Valyrian wedding with Aemond, sharing your life force, your blood with him. His eyes might sparkle in the way they did…rarely but beautiful nonetheless. You pictured his lovely hair cascading down. Blood on Aemond’s sculpted lips, he’d smudge his thumb between your brows. His thumb between your…

Your eyes snapped up to the exact opposite of anything you wanted. Aegon. A drunken fool. He had kicked his feet up on your settee, lazy violet eyes and mischievous lips smirking at you. His deep voice echoed in your incense-filled chambers.

“Don’t you get bored in here? Reading all the time? Have you ever thought about…maybe kissing a boy? You’re to be married you know.”

You put your quill back into the ink, frowning.

“Yes. To be married. Shall I go get more experienced for you?”

Aegon grinned.

You didn’t plan on coming to Aemond’s quarters disheveled. Your mind was spinning itself in circles and it screamed, *You cannot lose your maidenhead to your elder brother!” You knocked again, a low curse from within before Aemond answered, his perturbed look softened some.

You knew he had kept his distance. It was only fair. All you wished was that he was happy. As happy as an Aemond Targaryen could be.

He had his hair down, and eye-patch off for the evening. He cocked his head at your staring, waiting for a response. You babbled like an idiot, shoving yourself past his lanky frame. He stepped back with a displeased grunt, following along, calling, “Sister. Breathe.”

You whirled on him, the frantic feelings flowing out. He was stony— but you needed that. Something that wasn’t ever-flowing moods and manic giggles. Aemond wasn’t perfect himself, but he tried to be. You rubbed your nose, pinching it, “It’s Aegon.”

A particular iciness developed over his features. He looked to the side, jaw working. “The matter with Aegon is?” Aemond asked in a sharp tone, his usually soft tones with you erased. Perhaps it was his displeasure, you hoped. You had no choice.

“He’s a louse,” you began before grumbling, “Oh, you know that.”

Aemond’s lips turned up.

“I need- I can’t- I cannot have my maidenhead stolen but him. I’ve always wanted you, you know it, even that idiot they want me to marry knows.”

The second son walked to you, long legs across the stone floor, a hand gripping your chin roughly. He hissed, “You’ve been around him too much, sister. You aren’t thinking straight, he wouldn’t like deception…with a family member.”

You shook your head, hands gripping into his loosened tunic, eyes of fire.

“I am thinking straight. What will he do? He fucks as he pleases, I’m asking you, the one I love, to take me? Are you so craven to deny us that? If you feel as such,” you swallowed a weak noise, “Then I’ll leave and never bother.”

Aemond’s thumb swiped the corner of your mouth, boiling emotions barely hidden now, bright in the darkness. He huffed quietly, “Who am I to deny *us* such pleasure, sister, but do not ever assume me craven.”

His hard lips pressed against yours, long fingers curling around your waist. You felt you could breathe anew in the searing pleasure of his lips and tongue. You pressed yourself closer, breathing his name.

Aegon pulled off of you with a huff, rolling over. He murmured. “You’ve been fucking Aemond hm?”

Your eyes widened. Was this truly the topic after your second night of wedlock?

You rolled over to face his pouting lips and sullen eyes looking forward. His arms were crossed, a leg folded up. Aegon looked good. You’d grown a sort of kinship and attraction. It was dull but steady fire. Or so you thought.

“I…have,” you said quietly, shifting closer to him. Aegon gave a rather miserable look, you giggling a little. He stiffened, vexation in the eldest son’s eyes. You sighed, “Aegon, you need not be jealous. You do as you please. I have one, leave us be.”

“Yes, but it’s Aemond.”

You rolled your eyes, scoffing, “Yes, it’s Aemond. Your spend is still inside of me and this is how we shall act, brother?”

He grumbled further, eyes flickering toward you, pouting massively. You snorted upon realization. The curly-haired idiot wanted reassurance. Drawing near, you strung an arm across his chest, nuzzling Aegon’s full cheek. He mumbled, “I don’t like that it’s him. No more.”

You pulled away, raising your brows to exclaim.

He sat up to jeer, “I said no more. You aren’t going to make me the bigger fool having his children behind my back. I’ll be able to tell, I’ll have a guard follow you until you know who you belong to, until my seed has taken!”

You slapped him with a teary gasp, shaking your head as he pinned you back. You begged, “No, you cannot do that, you cannot, no, please, Aegon I will hate you.”

“No, you won’t.” He gritted out.

“You’ll love me, you’ll forget he was ever inside,” Aegon said softer now, a fear in his voice. You trembled, hot tears running down your cheeks, pleading with Aegon. He ignored the pleas, pulling you close.

And how did you tell Aegon you were late on your moonblood already? You didn’t.

[whorrorbvby]

an update:

hey friends a lot of people have been asking where ive been on other socials and im sorry for being m.i.a and ignoring everyone’s worries. im not getting into it right now and i dont know if i want to talk about the details publicly. 

i deleted tumblr from my phone about two and a half weeks ago and ive had a friend keeping a queue going on main for me. it might be that way permanently now i don’t know. I don’t know that I want to come back to tumblr if im being honest. a lot of things happened and i just can’t handle seeing certain people anymore so i’ve been hanging out on two of the more safer socials where tumblr people people generally leave me alone. not that im upset with you any of you or anything it’s more of a personal relationship and it just turned me off of basically everything and i just can’t handle a lot right now.  

i didn’t want to stop posting my own content for obvious reasons but i really can’t bring myself to come back it’s too hard and my heart can’t handle it right now. i also haven’t taken any new photos or anything and as of right now i don’t really feel super comfortable in sharing my body in that way. situations have made me feel disgusting as a person and i can’t look at myself. im trying to post more on ig to boost myself back up but i don’t know my self image is kind of ruined now. plus i’ve lost 15lbs from stress and inability to eat because of it and with how many people already harass and bully me for how scrawny i am i don’t want to subject myself in my current mental state to even the possibility of anyone saying anything. 

but like i said i have a friend running main for me and i might have them run this account too and my pepper page just because i do want to go back to making content i just dont know if i can handle posting or being in certain spaces right now. 

on top of what im currently dealing with in my personal life this is just a really hard time for me in general because of the holiday season and close to the anniversary of my best friends death so i tend to shut down a little anyway it’s just my entire world came crashing down again and im honestly starting to give up on even existing. i know im being melodramatic and i need to suck it up and just go back to status quo it’s just really hard this time and i cant force myself into a positive headspace like i used to even for a second. i have honestly never felt this empty and i barely know who i am or what my worth is anymore. 

i dont know if i’ll turn my asks back on. my friend offered to answer anything for me but its better for my mental health if i dont because i know people will ask questions and i dont trust myself to not completely go off on a tangent. im sorry i know im rambling but i feel like a proper update with zero room for misunderstanding is needed and i dont want to sugarcoat or lie to any of you to make myself seem or feel better cuz i respect the hell out of you guys and you deserve honesty if for nothing else. and i appreciate so fucking much you all continuing to support me and hype me up through all the bullshit life keeps throwing at me. 

im mostly on ig and threads right now and on threads im talking about games and movies with new people im meeting and it’s been really helping through shit. if you follow me on snap you saw me say im thinking about deleting everything. my accounts are still up and as long as my friend still wants to help me out i’ll at least have a queue running on main but i’ve deleted every social app other than ig and threads. i wholeheartedly planned on deleting snap last night but it’s the only way some of you get any updates from me so for now i wont delete it but i might make a new one instead just to get away from situations that are bringing me down. we’ll see. if I make a new snap i’ll post it everywhere n put it in my bios. that being said i don’t have a private/nsfw snap and i wont make one im sorry. i still wont sell content outside of what i post on peppers and i wont do customs im sorry. maybe in the future but right now i need to focus on myself and getting out of this headspace before i do anything else. 

but truly thank you for sticking with me and just genuinely being the best crew around. i promise to try my best to get out of this mess of a headspace im in as quickly as possible and im really sorry for basically abandoning everything again but i really am hopeful for the future and just trying to focus on myself and my happiness at the moment 🙏🏻🧡