#i wont settle for anything less!!!

[lilshykitty]

I just want a romantic, passion fueled love with such desire. Is that too much to ask!? I don't want materialistic love. I want a feral love where you can't help, but want to be around me and just touch me. Like you just can't help yourself. Like I want the kind of love that are in books.

[alice-in-hotel-land]

Oct. 15th, 2024

I was a little too high when I got to work tonight and my manager (whom I'm pretty sure thinks I'm cute and/or has a crush on me cause she lowkey acts flirty with me) was wearing a hella attractive fit with a new top that I haven't seen her wear yet & tbh she was serving hot eccentric corporate femme realness. I literally was just so focused on how good she looked & practically tuned out the work stuff she was filling me in on. All I could think was "She looks so fucking good I'm such a fucking lesbian oh my god...."

"Ok good to know," As soon as it was my turn to talk I didn't even bother addressing whatever work thing she was conveying to me and gave the blouse a quick look up, saying, "I just want to say I love that shirt btw! You look.....really nice in it." (had to pause for a second because my high ass opened my mouth to say like "you look good as hell/you look hella good" which i knew would be a little too inappropriate to say, especially considering one of the pm desk girls, May, was standing like 4 feet away from us at the other desk, and she hates Alice and is also a gossip so...) After i said that, her face immediately lit up with a beaming smile, she started saying 'thank you' and other stuff while sputtering, then she goes "I could kiss you for that!"

When I tell you it shocked me so hard and was so unexpected that my face instantly turned into the 😳 emoji, I'm not exaggerating in the slightest. I could feel my face getting flush (I turn pink really easily when I'm too warm, doing extraneous physical work, anxious, embarrassed, flustered etc. so its not like i could hide it from her.) Like exCUSE ME??? What was that, ma'am??? What to run that by me again?

I think she noticed my shock and the fact that it got quiet for like .5 seconds and she laughed loudly, backpeddeling, saying like "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!!! I'm so sorry, no seriously, I'm just joking. You're face was so funny though haha 😅" I'm just standing there shocked and trying to recover from that curveball, but in hindsight like.....it's ok girly, if you're gonna say it then say it with your chest. Like I'm sorry, what was that? I don't think I heard you very well. You're gonna have to speak up, don't be shy lmao. When she started apologizing I actually opened my mouth to say "It's ok even if you weren't joking haha," but I clamped my mouth shut because, again, gossipy coworker just feet away from us and I'm not trying to get Alice or myself in trouble. Needless to say that's what it took for me to finally be aware that like, oh shit maybe she actually has been flirting with me for months??

[rawme-price]

So, ghost and healer!reader, whos magic feels good, right?

(Pst here's pt 4 with price)

He's unfortunately heard plenty from soap and gaz about how good ur healing feels, but he by principle avoids medics anyways. If he can tough out the injury, he will.

Sucks though that his body decides to fall into the most brutal fever known to man the second yall settle into a safe house. It would be risky to go to an actual doctor, that requires documents and paperwork that could put the whole team in danger. Medicine wont work and ghosts fever is only rising.

Its actually you that suggested using ur magic. You took some med classes, you know if his fever gets any higher it will be permanently harmful. You also know just how uncomfortable ghost is with medics and being touched, so ur gentle as you explain "look, ghost, im worried for you. I wont touch you if thats what you want, but we can try and mitigate your discomfort."

You explain how he can keep his mask on, you wont even remove his shirt, just slip a hand under. Hell, you offer to kick the others out into the snow if it makes him feel safer. In the end, he agrees and just kicks the guys out into the kitchen.

You slip a hand under his shirt, looking at a wall to hopefully make him less tense, and allow ur magic to flow into his chest. Instantly, ghosts head falls back into a loud groan, fists gripping the sheets as his hips buck into nothing.

He comes with a whine, but you can still feel that sickness in his body and mutter "just a few more seconds, okay?" While tears start to gather on his lashes from the sheer pleasure of it all.

Except, when you finally move to pull ur hand away, his grips ur wrist in his palms. He seems just as shocked as you are by the movement, but carefully remains silent for ur response. You hum, brows furrowed, and feel around gently for any more injuries. There's a gentle undercurrent in his body that you dont recognize as normal, but its not blaring pain. Either way, you gently stretch you magic back out.

Ghost outright sobs

His chest is rising and falling rapidly, hand trembling where it holds urs against his chest. Youre a bit confused, unable to truly find the source of whatever u sense in ghost, but he seems to be having a good time. Its actually pornographic, the sounds hes making, and you have no doubt he can be easily heard from the kitchen.

Three more orgasm later and a wet "thank you- fuck- thank you, shit, I cant- thank you-" and u finally pull your hands away. There's a visible wet patch on his pants, but you decide not to say anything, silently passing a bottle of water.

When he finally calms down, ghost keeps his eyes locked to the ceiling "chronic pain." He explains gruffly, trying to settle his nerves at just having acted like a desperate slag in front of u "it just- went away, felt good. Thanks."

(Hope u guys liked this🤭 it got a bit away from me lol. Wonder what ill do for price🤔)

[the-best-bagel]

honestly crazy how hopeful ending A/B is compared to the starts of routes C/D. like 2b gets her happy ending where maybe someday she can just live in peace with 9s and then like a day later she's limping through her death march.

[dilemmaontwolegs]

just gonna put this here while its fresh in my mind but since lando has been wildin and wont stfu about OF... what if reader does OF 😏 faceless and lando makes a cameo once in a while😵‍💫😵‍💫 OKAY BYE WHY IS HE LIKE THIS LATELY

Your Biggest Fan || Ln4

Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, masturbating, only fans WC: 1.3k

One || Two || SMAU || Three

You were a solo act, that was your choice. Everyone who subscribed to your account knew the deal despite offers from some very big names in the industry - you were happy on your own - you couldn’t risk getting caught. Your parents would surely disown you, but you liked the danger that came with your side hustle. 

You could still remember the day he subscribed, top tier no less. The username was generic and he kept his camera turned off but that wasn’t unusual - you preferred to keep your face hidden too. A selection of toys lay across your bed and he hummed indecisively while he internally debated which one to watch you play with this time.

“If I was there, I know what I would do,” he mused, his voice dropping in a way that had your stomach flipping.

You settled amongst the pile of pillows surrounding you, keeping your face above the view of the camera, and teased your nipples while you patiently waited for his choice. “Yeah, what would you do to me?”

Your touch ran further down your body and you spread your legs for him. His breathing changed to slower, deeper intakes and you wished he had his camera on so you could see the effect you had on him. 

“Fuck, I would fill you so good, babygirl,” he groaned. “I would make you cum harder than any of those toys can. You don’t even have one big enough to stretch you like I could.”

Your pussy clenched at the threat and you grabbed the biggest dildo from the pile, running the tip through your slit. You moaned as you pressed it to your entrance and it slowly slid home, filling you completely as you pumped it all the way to the base. “This one stretches me pretty good, big boy.”

“Not as good as I could.”

“Brave words for someone who can’t prove it,” you dared. 

There was some shuffling before his camera lit up and half of your screen filled with a toned stomach, muscled thighs and a dick that put your toy to shame. You sat up straighter, wanting a closer look and salivated at the way he stroked himself, his thumb and fingers not even touching because of the girth.

“Fuck me,” you exhaled longingly.

“Don’t tempt me, babygirl.” He dragged his thumb through the bead of precum and his hand disappeared from view as he licked it clean, something you were completely jealous of. “Now turn around, I want to see you fuck yourself and pretend it’s me.”

You did as you were told, more than eager now that you had the image to use. You got on your hands and knees, reaching between your legs to pump the dildo in time to his strokes, moaning in unison at the sight. Wanting to give him the best show, you shimmied back so he had the best view of the silicone cock stretching your pussy.

“That’s it, come to daddy.” His filthy words surrounded you and your back arched as you fucked yourself for him. You were nearing your orgasm and the sight of his cum spilling over his fist and abs threw you into oblivion. His urging kept you going, even when your orgasm tried to squeeze the toy from your pussy, you kept stuffing it back in until the pressure grew too much and you fell panting to the bed, the blanket wet from the fluid that had gushed from you.

“Holy shit, babygirl, that was fucking amazing,” he praised as you struggled to catch your breath. “Fuck, I have to go. Same time next week?”

“Only if you have your camera on again, big boy,” you half joked, half wishing he would.

“For you, babygirl, of course,” he chuckled and wiped up his mess with a green and white shirt you were sure you had seen the logo for before. “I’m your biggest fan, I would do anything you said.”

“I’ll have to remember that, big boy. See you next week.”

You ended the feed and closed the site down for the night before cleaning up the toys and changing your bed sheets. You had never squirted like you had with L404 and you briefly wondered if you should invest in some waterproof bedding. 

It was late by the time you had showered and settled back into the fresh sheets but you weren’t able to sleep. With nothing better to do, you logged into Twitch and browsed the Just Chatting category for some white noise, eventually coming across a streamer with nearly 20k fellow viewers.

You were a little disappointed to see it wasn’t Just Chatting but playing Fortnite and you nearly left the stream. You weren’t interested in trying to sleep to the sound of gunfire. Before you could exit, you heard the voice. It was one you were intimate with, one that sent goosebumps prickling over your skin.

“Come to daddy,” Lando, that was his name, said. He laughed with his friends he was playing the game with and they joked while oblivious to the epiphany you were having. “Ohhh, doggy man.”

The handsome man in the tiny square of your screen was L404, your biggest fan. 

Hey big boy, you sent to the chat and watched it get swamped by the hundreds of other comments. 

“Ha, mate, someone called you big boy.”

Lando’s head snapped away from the game and he was quickly shot but he didn’t care as he scrolled through the chat to find your username. It was different enough that it wouldn’t be linked to your Only Fans but had enough similarities that he recognised the name. “Shit, I gotta go. Something’s come up.”

He logged off without a goodbye and the comments blew out with disappointment and questions.

Suddenly, your email pinged with a new message: L404 was requesting another private chat. 

“Hey big boy,” you answered as you sat up in bed, grateful you were wearing a cute lace babydoll nightie. “Back so soon?”

His camera was off but now that you had seen his face you could only imagine the confusion on it.  “Uh, did you…what you saw…did you…” 

You giggled at the loss of his confidence, such a stark change from how he was an hour ago. “You’ll have to finish your question for me to answer, Lando.”

“Fuck.” His camera came on and you had a much larger picture of him. He wasn’t just handsome, he was gorgeous. You desperately wanted to run your hands through his curls and tug on them, maybe while they were between your legs. “No one can know, please, it will ruin my career.”

Taking a deep breath, you tipped the camera back and looked him in the eyes. Realisation dawned on his face and his lips parted in shock. “Guess we both know each other’s secret now.”

“You…you’re…”

“Yup, that’s me.” Like most rich families, your parents had moved to Monaco for the tax haven it provided and you had fallen in love with the province too, opting to buy your own place in the city when you left home.

“So…” You bit your lip as the idea danced on your tongue and Lando remained in a state of shock. “I remember someone threatening to stretch a certain part of me…”

Lando swallowed deeply before licking his dry lips. “On camera?”

It was your turn to think before nodding. “If you’re up for it, I can make an exception to the rule. We might need to practice a few times, you know, compatibility wise.”

He nodded, the thought growing more and more interesting and he palmed his erection beneath the desk. “Practice sounds good. Tonight?”

The idea of sleep was long gone and your nipples were clearly visible through the lace, the stiff peaks begging for attention. “Come on then, big boy,” you teased as you sent him your address. “I’ll see you soon.”

Click here for part two.

[the-winter-spider]

I know it wont work | Part One

Bucky x reader AU

Word Count: 7.4k

Warnings: Drinking, angst,

A/N: I KNOW i said i wasnt posting this till Yours, Always was done buuuuuuut before i keep writing it because it is FLOWING for this fic i had to see if anyone was even interested lol soooo lemmeee know if you want me to continue this after Yours, Always

Masterpost

------

Saturday mornings in the apartment are sacred. The quiet is different, not heavy, not tense. Just still. Like the world finally decided to give you all a break, especially before you all get a little chaotic again…tonight. 

Sunlight pours through the dusty windows, catching in the floating particles of last night���s hangover haze. There’s an empty pizza box on the coffee table. Someone, probably Steve, folded a blanket and placed it neatly over the back of the couch like it makes the whole place less of a disaster.

Natasha’s curled in the armchair, black hoodie, hood up, headphones in. She hasn’t spoken to anyone since she woke up, but that’s not weird. That’s just Nat, communication through shrugs, smirks, and sideways glances. You’ve known her long enough to translate.

Steve’s in the kitchen, still making pancakes like they didn’t all come out slightly undercooked last week. He hums when he cooks. It used to annoy you, but now it’s like clockwork. Something solid.

Bucky hasn’t come out of his room yet. But you know he’s awake, the soft glow of his bedroom light slipped under the door before you even stepped into the hallway. You always notice these things when it comes to him. You wish you didn’t.

Most nights, you end up in each other’s beds not for sex, you've never taken anything that far, not even for anything romantic. Just comfort, a habit. A kind of wordless safety you’ve never really been able to explain.

But not last night.

You’re not even sure why. Maybe it had something to do with your father calling in the middle or your usual Friday night hangout. Maybe it was the way you stormed off after, slammed your bedroom door and locked it behind you. You didn’t mean to shut Bucky out, but you did.

He waited outside your door for hours. You found out this morning, Steve mentioned it casually, like it wasn’t a knife to the gut. Said Bucky kept checking the handle, said he looked wrecked.

You passed out before you could let him in.

Now, guilt settles in your chest like cement. But then you remind yourself, he has his own room. His own bed. You’re not together. You don’t owe him everything.

And still… you wish you’d opened the door.

You met Steve and Bucky first. Kids running around the same block with scraped knees and more heart than sense. Bucky was the wild one, fast, sharp, and full of charm even before he knew what to do with it. Steve was smaller back then, but you never saw him that way. He was stubborn as hell and kind to his core. You trusted him before you even knew what trust was.

Natasha came next, around eighth grade. She didn’t talk much at first, just kicked the shit out of a kid who said something about your clothes, and that was that. You were bonded. She didn’t let people in easily but she let you in and that’s never changed.

Sam came in during college. Met Steve in a politics class, argued with him for three weeks straight, and then showed up at your apartment one day with a six-pack and said, “I figured I might as well be friends with the guy who can’t shut up.” You liked him immediately. So did everyone else.

Wanda’s newer. A friend of Nat’s from her job. You’re still getting to know her, but she’s intuitive in a way that’s unsettling. Observant, soft-spoken but never passive. She watches the room like it’s a chessboard and she already knows how it ends.

You wonder what she sees when she looks at you.

You’re guessing it’s a mess.

The thing about your group is: nothing is simple, but somehow it still works.

Everyone’s got their stuff.

Steve can’t stop trying to fix things. He wants everyone to be okay so badly it physically hurts him when they’re not. He’s gotten better at boundaries, but only because Nat threatens him when he forgets to take care of himself.

Nat’s a vault. Loyal, razor-sharp, and terrifying when she’s angry. You love her like a sister. She loves you the same, even if she’ll never say it out loud.

Sam grounds everyone. He’s the calm in the storm, the first one to check in, the last one to judge. You don’t know how he does it, how he holds space for people without ever asking for anything in return. He just does.

And then there’s Bucky. Bucky, who always feels like he’s just on the edge of something. You’ve never known how to categorize him. Not really, he’s like glue, like the anchor holding the ship down. 

You’ve tried to shove him into the “best friend” box more times than you can count, but it never quite fits. The way your heart lurches when he laughs, when he looks at you across a room, when he throws his arm across the back of the couch and your skin burns just from being near him, that’s not best friend energy.

But it’s never been the right time or maybe you’ve just never been the right person.

You’re not like him.

Bucky comes from warmth. A single mom who never let the world make him hard. A younger sister he still talks to every week. He knows what love is supposed to feel like.

You don’t, not really, not at all. 

Your father was always two drinks too deep and one word too cruel. He didn’t raise you. He happened to you and you learned to flinch first, to run before you could get left behind.

That’s what you do. It’s what you’ve always done. And Bucky? Bucky stays. No matter how many times you’ve pushed him. No matter who else you or he has tried to date. No matter how many fights or false starts or awkward silences or almosts.

He stays and that scares the hell out of you. Because if he stays and you screw it up it’s not just losing a relationship. It’s losing him. Its hurt more because you know it's not a matter of if you lose him, it's a matter of when because you are self aware despite what people thing and that makes you selfish as fuck. And Bucky is good, he is so good. 

You are not the glue of the group.

You’re not the leader. You’re not the peacekeeper. You’re not the one people orbit around. You’re the space in between, important, maybe, but not essential. Not the reason this whole thing holds together.

You don’t fit a role the way the others do. Not the way Steve leads, or Nat protects, or Sam balances, or Bucky anchors. You exist somewhere off to the side, shoulder pressed to the wall, watching it all and trying not to feel the slow creep of loneliness that settles in even when you’re surrounded.

That’s the worst part. You’re never really alone. But sometimes it feels like you are. You wonder if they see it. You doubt it. You’ve always been good at hiding things in plain sight.

Your pain’s not loud. It’s not breaking plates or screaming matches. It’s biting your tongue so hard it bleeds. It’s brushing things off with a laugh. It’s slipping out of the room when your chest gets too tight and coming back like nothing happened. It’s saying, “I’m fine,” in a way that sounds almost believable.

They don’t see it because you don’t let them, and you know that’s on you but maybe it’s just what you learned. Because if you say I’m not okay, people start leaving. or worse they stay, but differently, carefully. They stop being honest. They stop touching you the same. They stop looking at you like a person and start looking at you like a project.

Bucky never did that. Not once.

That’s the thing, he knows. Maybe not everything, but enough. Enough to see the cracks. Enough to feel the weight when you start to pull away. Enough to wait outside your door for hours even though you never opened it.

You can still see the way his shadow stayed under the crack. How he didn’t move. How you did.

You always do.

It’s not fair. To him, to anyone. But you don’t know how to stop. You don’t know how to stay without feeling like you’re holding your breath.

How you can be more like him, like Bucky he breathes like it’s easy. He exists like he’s meant to be here. Like love is just something you do. Something you give.

You love him more than you should. More than you can handle. More than you’re ready to admit and it’s not a soft, storybook love. It’s sharp. It’s cracked at the edges. It makes you cruel sometimes. Makes you scared. Makes you push him just to see if he’ll come back.

He always does and you hate yourself for needing that proof so badly. Because he’s good. So fucking good.

You don’t know if you’re capable of being loved like that. Not without ruining it. Not without ruining him. So you just don’t give it, not all the way, never all the way. 

You get close. You offer pieces. Just enough to keep him there. Just enough to keep the line from snapping. But not enough to cross it.

You let him hold you when the nightmares come. Let him crawl into bed beside you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Let him brush the hair from your face when you’re half-asleep, fingers soft, reverent, like you’re something fragile.

But you never say the words. Not the real ones.

Not I love you.

Not I’m yours.

Not I’m scared shitless and you make me want to try anyway.

Because if you say it, really say it you don’t know what happens next. You don’t know how to be fully seen by someone and not flinch. Not run. You know Bucky deserves someone who doesn’t flinch.

He deserves someone who doesn’t carry years of silence under their skin. Someone who wasn’t raised in a house where love sounded like slammed doors and apologies that came too late. That felt like a burning red cheek and smelt like alcohol. 

He deserves warmth, ease. A love that says you’re safe here without ever having to prove it. You want to be that person for him. You do.

But wanting and being are not the same thing. So you stay stuck in this middle place. 

This half-space.

The almost. 

The ache.

The thing that lives between best friends and something else, you tell yourself it’s enough. You tell yourself he’s fine with it too.

But some nights, like last night when he waits outside your locked door, and you can’t bring yourself to open it, you wonder how many times he’ll do that before he stops. Before he decides that you’re not a thing he wants to wait for anymore, you know, deep down, that if that day ever comes, you won’t stop him.

Because maybe that’s what you deserve.

Maybe that’s what love looks like when it’s given to someone who doesn’t know how to hold it without cutting their own hands.

Nat pulls her headphones down and speaks for the first time that morning. “You’re staring into space like you’re watching your own funeral.”

You blink. “I was just thinking.”

“Don’t,” she says, dry. “You’re terrible at it.”

You smirk. “Love you too.”

Steve leans over the counter. “Are we doing anything today or just sitting around wallowing in existential dread?”

Sam walks through the front door with bagels and answers, “Both.”

It's like clockwork again. The laughter, the comfort, the distractions. The quiet place you’ve all built together.

“We gotta get this place cleaned up for tonight,” Steve says as he flips a pancake.

Natasha groans, “Why do we have to drink both Friday and Saturday?”

Sam steals a piece of bacon from Steve’s cooked plate. “We drink tonight to recover from last night, and so Sunday’s brunch is euphoric.”

Steve sighs. “That’s not how hangovers work.”

“Let me have my process, Rogers.”

You don’t laugh, even though they do.

You’re standing by the counter, half-dressed in your sleep shirt and socks, hair pulled back in a lazy knot. You smear peanut butter across your bagel with practiced, robotic movements. The coffee in your cup has already gone lukewarm. You sip it anyway.

You can feel him before you see him.

Bucky steps out of his room, quiet as ever, and you don’t even have to look to know his eyes go straight to you. You can feel the weight of it, soft, searching, familiar.

You don’t look at him.

You just keep working on your bagel like it’s the only thing tethering you to earth. You sit at the island and eat in silence, chewing slowly while the others talk around you about party themes and drink lists and whether anyone remembered to restock the Advil.

He doesn’t say anything either. But he lingers. You don’t know what’s worse when he pretends nothing is wrong, or when he tries to fix it.

You head to your bathroom once your plate’s clean and your coffee cup is empty. You don’t slam the door this time. You don’t lock it either.

You don’t have the energy for drama today. You’re just tired.

You’re standing at the sink, brushing your teeth with a sluggish kind of motion, when you hear the door click open behind you, the one that connects to Bucky’s room.

You glance at him in the mirror.

“Hey,” he says softly.

You nod, not meeting his eyes. “Hey.”

He steps in, closes the door behind him like he’s careful not to scare you off.

“You okay?”

You rinse and spit. “Yeah.”

He leans against the counter, arms crossed loosely. “What’d your dad want last night?”

Your hands still for half a second as you reach for a towel.

“I didn’t answer,” you say. “It rang and I just… freaked. I was being dramatic.”

Bucky’s quiet.

You keep talking, mostly to fill the silence. “I was sore and tired and kind of drunk and definitely didn’t think things through. I just needed everything to stop for a minute.”

He lets out a small breath of a laugh. “Well, you were definitely intoxicated. That’s not up for debate.”

You smile a little, not much.

He steps closer, gentle. Always gentle with you. His hand lifts and brushes a piece of hair behind your ear, fingers lingering just a second too long against your skin.

“I don’t deserve you,” you say, and it comes out smaller than you meant it to.

He doesn’t blink. “Yes, you do.”

You shake your head. “You’re too good of a friend to me.”

Something shifts in his expression just barely. But you catch it, of course you do because you know what you said. The flicker of hurt that dances behind his eyes before he drops his gaze.

“That’s because I’m your best friend.”

It’s quiet, it’s honest and it fucking stings.

You want to say that’s not what I meant. You want to say that’s not all you are. But you don’t.

He steps closer and wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a long, solid hug. His chin rests against the top of your head. Your cheek presses to his chest.

You let your eyes close and breathe him in, for a second, you let yourself imagine that this is enough. 

That it could stay like this forever.

Even if you know it can’t.

----------

The music hasn’t started yet. The living room’s still half-lit. Nat’s burning incense in the corner to cover the smell of tequila and whatever Steve tried to cook earlier that went sideways. Everything’s in that perfect, golden-hour chaos, lipstick on the bathroom sink, shot glasses lined up on the kitchen counter, Steve yelling at Sam for not helping clean, and Nat refusing to wear anything other than combat boots with her dress.

It’s your favorite kind of storm.

You’re in your room, touching up your eyeliner, when Natasha leans against the doorframe.

She raises a brow. “You’re gonna cause problems in that.”

You glance down at yourself. Short black dress, off the shoulder. Hugs in all the right places.

You paired it with heels you’ll definitely take off halfway through the night, and your hair’s doing that I don’t care but I care thing that always makes you feel a little dangerous.

You smirk. “Good.”

Nat crosses her arms, smirking right back. “Hot and petty. My favorite version of you.”

You roll your eyes but don’t argue. Because she’s right. You are feeling yourself tonight andd just maybe, that has something to do with the fact that Bucky hasn’t left his room since this morning’s bathroom hug.

The thing about Bucky is you’re addicted to him. To the way he looks at you like you hung the moon. To the way he never touches you without meaning it. To the way his voice softens when he says your name like he’s afraid it might break.

You’re addicted to the attention he gives you, even when you pretend not to be and you know, deep down, if you just let it happen, if you gave in, really gave in there wouldn’t be all this tiptoeing. No games, no passive-aggressive flirting. No lines that feel drawn in sand and rewritten every time you both breathe too hard.

If you opened the door, Bucky would walk through it without hesitation. But you’d probably lock it again the second he did.

Because that’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done. You cross the line, then backpedal like hell, and he stays. Every time.

But tonight, maybe you’re tired of being scared. Maybe you want to cause a little trouble. Just enough to feel something crack.

Nat’s still watching you, arms crossed, that little knowing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

“Are we doing the pre-party shots?” she asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

You follow.

Ten minutes later, the four of you are gathered in the kitchen, like you always are before a party. One bottle, five shot glasses, its tradition.

“Just one?” Steve says.

Nat’s already pouring the second round. “Don’t be soft.”

Sam’s first to show up, he practically lives here already. “Oh, we’re starting early, huh?”

You grin. “Fashionably toxic. You know how it goes.”

Bucky finally steps out of his room. T-shirt clinging to his chest, jeans slung low, rings on his fingers. His hair’s pulled back, and he looks good. Too good.

Your heart does that annoying thing it always does when he walks into a room.

He takes his place beside you at the counter, close. Closer than he has to be. You reach for your shot glass. He reaches for his and just like always, you don’t break eye contact.

Not through the first shot.

Not through the second.

Not when Nat bumps Steve’s arm and whispers something about “Jesus, just kiss already.”

An hour in, the apartment is packed. There’s a playlist running, windows cracked open to let out the heat. People are spilling into the hallway, drinks in hand, sweat glistening on collarbones.

You’re laughing with someone you think his name is Ryan or Riley. One of those, you’re not sure. Doesn’t really matter.

He’s charming enough. He leans in too close, says something that’s probably supposed to be funny, and brushes his hand against your arm like he’s testing the waters.

You laugh. Not because it’s funny, but because you know exactly what you’re doing and because you can feel Bucky watching you.

You don’t turn, you don’t need to, you know. You always know and you hate yourself a little more. 

Across the room, Bucky leans against the wall, nursing a half-warm beer he’s barely touched. His eyes haven’t left you since the second Riley-whatever walked up to you.

Steve’s next to him, trying to have a conversation, but Bucky’s checked out. Eyes narrowed, jaw tight.

“Earth to Buck,” Steve mutters, nudging his elbow.

Bucky doesn’t respond.

Sam walks up on his other side, clocking the look instantly. “Oh, come on,” he sighs. “You’re really gonna just stand here and watch her flirt with, what is that guy’s name?”

Steve answers. “Ryan, he goes to my gym, good guy.”

“Does it matter?” Bucky mutters, eyes still glued to you.

Steve snorts. “You’ve got that look, man.”

“What look?”

“The one that says you’re two seconds away from throwing the guy out the window.”

Bucky grunts, taking another sip of his beer. “If you two are trying to be helpful, you’re not.”

Sam raises a brow. “Helpful would be you walking over there and saying something that isn’t ‘you okay?’ or 'you need another drink?’”

Bucky doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smile. He’s stuck in it now, in his head. Because the thing is, he’s not mad at you, he’s never been and never will be.  He’s mad at himself. For waiting, for hoping. For standing here like he always does, watching you shine for someone else.

“It’s not that simple,” Bucky says, voice low.

Sam rolls his eyes. “It’s exactly that simple. You’re in love with her. She’s in love with you. End of math.”

Steve sighs. “We’ve been telling him for years.”

“No,” Bucky snaps, still not looking away from you. “You don’t get it.”

Sam raises his brow. “Then explain it.”

“She doesn’t trust it. Not the way I do.” He shifts his jaw. “If I say it out loud, it makes it real. That’s the part that’ll scare her.”

Steve softens. “Buck…”

“I’m not mad at her for that,” Bucky says, finally turning to them. “But I know her. If I push too hard, if I ask for all of her…she’ll run.”

Sam studies him for a long second. “And what? You’d rather live in the middle of this forever?”

Bucky looks back toward you. You’re laughing again, the guy leans in closer.

You don’t lean away.

“I’d rather have half of her than none at all.”

Steve exhales slowly, leans back against the wall. “There’s no pushing to do, Buck. You’ve been there since you were kids. Neither of you are going anywhere.”

That’s the problem, because maybe you should have gone somewhere by now. Maybe you both should’ve run when you had the chance.

But here you are still orbiting each other like you don’t know how to stop and he’s still standing there, with a full heart and empty hands, watching someone else reach for what he’s never been brave enough to ask for.

Bucky drains the rest of his beer, jaw clenched tight, then pushes off the wall and disappears into the crowd.

You don’t notice it right away. You’re too busy pretending you’re not watching for him. But eventually, your eyes drift…they always do.

You spot him in the kitchen, leaning back against the counter. He’s talking to some girl, dark curls, low-cut top, pretty in that effortless kind of way. She’s touching his arm, laughing then laughs, too.

Not the forced kind. The real kind, the one you always think is just for you, your stomach twists.

You smile too quickly at something Ryan (or Riley?) says, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. You’re not even sure what he said. Doesn’t matter. None of it does, except Bucky.

It always comes back to him. So you play your part.

You lean in a little closer. Let your fingers graze Ryan’s forearm. Let your laugh ring just a little too loud. You toss your hair over your shoulder like you’re in a movie scene you don’t believe in.

You know what you’re doing.

You’re not the only one.

Across the room, Steve groans under his breath. “Here we go again.”

Sam glances up from his drink. “Already?”

Steve nods toward the kitchen. “He’s doing the flirt-and-deflect.”

Sam squints. “Which one’s she doing?”

Natasha, sliding in beside them with a drink in hand, answers before either of them can. “She’s doing the ‘fuck it, I can flirt too’ thing. It’ll escalate in five minutes. Ten tops.”

Wanda, beside her, blinks. “Is this a regular thing?”

Natasha smirks. “Every time.”

Steve nods, resigned. “They’ve been stuck in this cycle since highschool.”

Sam chuckles. “They invented the cycle.”

Wanda frowns. “So what happens next?”

Steve and Nat answer at the same time.

“Shots.”

Sure enough, twenty minutes later, you’ve ditched Ryan (or Riley, he never stood a chance) and you’re lined up in the kitchen with Sam, laughing as he holds a beer funnel above your head.

Bucky walks over, still warm from the attention he let himself soak in, but his eyes are already back on you. He sees you, head tilted back, mouth open in a wide grin, beer spilling down your wrist as you finish the pour and slam the cup on the counter.

You’re glowing and a little reckless. He hates how much he loves it.

“Jesus,” he mutters to Steve, who hands him another beer. “She’s gonna feel that tomorrow.”

Steve shrugs. “You always do.”

Sam throws an arm around your shoulder, both of you breathless from laughing.

Bucky’s jaw ticks. He walks over, leans on the counter beside you, too close for it to be casual.

“Didn’t know we were reliving college tonight,” he says, looking you over.

You raise your brows, voice syrupy sweet. “Didn’t know we were competing for who could flirt harder.”

His smile is razor-thin. “You winning?”

You take a slow sip of your drink. “Obviously.”

You’re both playing the same game and you’re both losing. But neither of you backs down.

You break eye contact first not because you want to, but because staying in it feels too much like telling the truth.

So you slip away.

Back into the crowd, into the noise and the blur and the bass pounding through your chest. You find someone else, some guy with warm hands and a beer in one of them and a smile that’s trying a little too hard.

You let him talk, let him flirt. Let him touch your leg under the table with fingers that don’t mean anything.

You laugh at something he says and feel his hand drift a little higher, and for a moment, it almost works, you almost forget. Until you glance up and see him.

Bucky’s across the room again. Back with the girl from earlier. Only this time, he’s not leaning. He’s close. His body tilted toward her, head bent low, voice soft. She’s laughing, smiling up at him like he’s hers.

And then he reaches out, slow and deliberate, and tucks a piece of hair behind her ear.

Like it’s nothing.

Like it’s not something he’s only ever done to you.

Your chest tightens.

Something sour blooms in your throat. It feels like bile or  heartbreak. You can’t tell the difference anymore.

You stand abruptly, muttering something to the guy that even you don’t hear, and make your way toward the hallway.

You need to breathe.

You need to not cry.

You need to get out before it shows.

You slip into the bathroom, shut the door, and press your back against it. The silence hits you like a wave. You’re not even mad at him. That’s the worst part, you are not even allowed to be. 

You started it. You always start it and now you’re here again, locking yourself in a room because the only person who knows how to get under your skin is the one you’re supposed to trust the most.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Eyes too bright, chest rising too fast.

And before you can even try to pull it together, you hear the door on the other side creak open the one that connects to his room. You don’t even turn. “Seriously?” you say, flat, arms crossed.

Silence, then a sigh. “I could say the same to you.” He steps in, jaw set, closing the door behind him. “You don’t even know him.”

You throw your hands up. “Oh, I’m sorry, are you my keeper now?”

He steps closer. “You’re flirting with some asshole who only cares that you look good in that dress.”

You turn slowly, leaning back against the sink. “So now you care?”

His eyes flicker. “I’ve always cared.”

You laugh, sharp and bitter. “Yeah, until it’s convenient to touch someone else.”

His jaw tenses. “You were letting some guy run his hand up your leg in the middle of the living room.”

“So what?” You raise your brows, daring him. “You didn’t like that?”

“No, I fucking hated it.”

“Right,” you laugh, bitter. “But you? You get to flirt with every warm body in a five-foot radius and I’m supposed to just smile?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to act like you give a damn only when someone else looks at me.”

You scoff. “You think I’m acting?”

There’s a beat of silence, and then he adds, quieter, “I know why you did it.”

You go still.

“You wanted me to see.”

You scoff, look away. “You’re delusional.”

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “Don’t pretend like we’re not both playing the same goddamn game.”

“I wasn’t playing,” you say, voice hard.

His laugh is humorless. “Bullshit.”

You push off the sink, stepping closer. “And what about you, Bucky? You think you’re innocent in all this?”

“I never claimed to be.” He moves in too, closer, crowding the space. “But at least I own how I feel. You? You keep running, then blaming me for chasing you.”

“I never asked you to chase me.”

“You didn’t have to.” His voice drops. “I want to.”

You stare at him, breathing heavy. Your chest tight, eyes burning, it's quiet, the kind that means too much has been said or not enough.

His hands find your face before you can stop him, thumb brushing under your jaw, eyes searching yours, like gravity, like you’re not even deciding, you kiss him.

It’s messy, desperate. His hands on your waist, your fingers in his hair, his mouth on yours like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your pain.

Your back hits the bathroom wall. His hands are in your hair, your hands gripping his shirt, pulling him closer. He kisses like he’s angry, like he’s trying to prove a point like he’s been holding it back for years.

You bite his bottom lip, he groans against your mouth. His hands slide down, grip your waist like he needs something to hold onto or he’ll fall apart.

You press into him like you’re trying to crawl under his skin. He lets you.

His fingers skim the hem of your dress and you gasp into his mouth and then you both pull back. Breathing like you’ve just run a mile. He rests his forehead against yours. You both say nothing because that’s the rule.

You kiss him like you’re drowning, he kisses you like he doesn’t care if he drowns with you.

But then you hear it.

“Yo! Y/N, you  doing another one?!” Sam’s voice, faint from down the hall.

You pull back, breathless, lips swollen, and avoid his eyes as you fix your shirt. Bucky’s chest rises and falls, his hands still half on you.

You force a laugh, one that sounds like it might crack in the middle. “Guess I’m up.”

Bucky grabs your wrist, gently. “Don’t you think that’s enough for tonight?”

You pause. “You’ve never been in my head, Buck.” You try to keep it light, say it like a joke but it lands heavy. “You don’t get to tell me when enough’s enough.”

His eyes soften with hurt. He doesn’t fight you on it.

You stare at Bucky, still breathless from the kiss you weren’t supposed to want but always do. Your lips are swollen, your body still humming.

He steps back, barely. He won’t meet your eyes. His voice is low, unreadable. “Go first.”

You frown. “What?”

He nods toward the door. “Go. So it’s not… obvious.”

You let out a breathy, humorless laugh. “It already is.”

He flinches, just slightly. “Still.”

You linger for a second, but he doesn’t look up. So you leave.

You unlock the bathroom door, step into the hallway, and just like that? You’re back in the noise and the lights and the warmth of the party. You exhale. Fix your hair in the hallway mirror. You’re good at this. Pretending.

When you re-enter the living room, you make a beeline for Sam, who’s standing on a chair holding a funnel like a trophy. “You ready?” he grins.

You smirk and take your place beside him. “Let’s go.”

Bucky stays in the bathroom, staring at the door you just walked through.

He presses the heel of his palm into his chest like that’ll do anything. Like he can stop the familiar ache that’s been there for years, the one with your name carved into it.

He breathes in deep, hands braced against the sink. You’re poison and home all at once and he’d let you break his heart over and over and over again….If it meant he could keep even the smallest piece of you.

This is the part that always gets him, the in-between. The silence after your lips leave his and before you’re laughing with someone else.

The space where he remembers that he’s not yours, not officially, not fully. Not ever. He stares at the door for a long time. You’d live in purgatory forever with him if he let you. If he stayed and he always stays.

When he comes back out, the party’s louder, looser. The guy you were flirting with earlier is now talking to the girl he was talking to earlier, and Bucky actually chuckles at that. Inevitable.

He heads toward the kitchen where Steve and Sam are talking by the drinks.

“You alive?” Sam asks, handing him a beer.

“Barely,” Bucky mutters, taking a swig.

Steve raises a brow. “You good?”

“Great,” Bucky lies.

“You two playing or what?” Sam nods toward the beer pong table.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Me and her.”

Beer pong. Teams: You and Bucky vs. Sam and Steve.

You’re two drinks deep, flushed and laughing, heels long since ditched. Bucky stands behind you, guiding your arms. His hands are at your waist. They don’t move, you sink a shot. Turn and grin.

“Nice,” he murmurs, low in your ear.

You spin and wrap your arms around his neck, and he catches you without thinking. When you remove your hands from his beck they slither around his waist, your hand slips just under his shirt, thumb brushing the warmth of his stomach. You don’t even realize it until he tenses slightly. You don’t pull away and he doesn’t want you to.

You’re always like this. All over each other by the end of the night, but never too far and never far enough.

Sam just shakes his head. “Disgusting.”

Across the room, Wanda and Natasha are watching. Wanda takes a slow sip of her drink. “This is… normal?”

“Since we were kids,” Nat replies dryly. “You should’ve seen them at twenty, when we first moved here. Like magnets, messy ones.”

Wanda tilts her head. “So what’s the deal?”

Nat smirks. “There’s a bet.”

Wanda perks up. “A bet?”

“Been running almost ten years.”

Wanda laughs. “Who’s in?”

“Me, Steve, Sam. We all have different takes.”

Wanda glances back at you wrapped around Bucky’s back, squealing with laughter while he spins you through the living room. He’s smiling so big it almost hurts to look at.

“You want in?” Nat asks.

Wanda hums. “What’s the buy-in?”

Nat lifts a brow. “Fifty bucks.”

Wanda watches you a second longer. “Ask me in the morning.”

Nat clinks her glass against hers. “Smart girl.”

--------

You and Bucky vanish from the party somewhere around 2AM.

You’re both giggling, tipsy, bumping into doorframes as you stumble down the hall. You don’t even say goodnight to the others anymore. Everyone knows the drill.

You’re in your room first, slipping out of your dress and into one of Bucky’s old shirts. He knocks once, then opens the door and closes it behind him.

You crawl into bed, he follows. You lay there, back to chest. His arm finds your waist like gravity. Neither of you speaks, until he does.

“I don’t think anyone’s ever felt more like home than you do.”

You don’t breathe, you don’t say anything. You just find his hand under the blanket and hold it a little tighter.

-----------

You wake up slow.

The kind of slow that feels like safety. Like warmth, like something you don’t get to keep, but you can hold onto for a few more minutes if you stay very, very still.

Bucky’s arm is still wrapped around you, his body curled along your back, his breath warm against the side of your neck. His chest rises and falls steady, grounding. You shift just slightly and his grip tightens instinctively.

You don’t move again. You just… take him in.

The weight of his arm. The shape of his hand resting at your waist. The way your legs are tangled under the blankets like they always end up this way.

You shouldn’t feel this way about your best friend, but you do.

You know you love him. Not the way you’re supposed to love your best friend. Not the safe kind, not the platonic kind. The kind that could gut you if it ever turned the wrong way.

And that’s the problem because love, for you, has never been clean. It’s always been a little cruel. It showed up in raised voices. Slammed doors. Silence used like a weapon. It made promises it never kept. It came with strings. With people who said, I’m doing my best as an excuse for not doing better.

So somewhere along the line, you learned not to trust the word at all.

You learned to leave before you could be left. To withhold before anyone could take too much. To build your walls higher than your expectations. To call it strength when really, it was fear.

Bucky makes all of that harder to hold onto.

Because he doesn’t demand anything. Doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t punish you for the days you go quiet, or shut down, or need more space than anyone else would understand.

He just stays and somehow that’s more terrifying than all the people who left. Because you can trust Bucky with your life, you already do.

But trusting him with your heart? That’s something else entirely. That’s the kind of trust you’ve never been brave enough to give. Not because he doesn’t deserve it.

But because deep down, you’re scared that if he ever really saw the mess of you, the parts you hide, the sharp edges, the soft places turned hard from too many years of being let down he’d walk too and that would wreck you in a way nothing else ever has.

Because he’s not just anyone.

He’s Bucky.

He’s home.

You don’t know how to let yourself have something that feels like that. You only know how to ruin it before it can leave on its own.

So instead, you stay here. Pretending you’re not already in it deep, and fully, and hopelessly in love with someone you’ve spent your whole life calling a friend.

You close your eyes.

You try not to want too much.

He shifts behind you, breath catching, arm tightening just a little.

You feel him wake before he says a word.

Your fingers lift on their own, tracing lightly down the line of his cheek. He stirs, blinks. Opens his eyes. His voice is soft. Rough. “Hi.”

You smile. “Hi.”

He tightens his arm around you, pulling you a fraction closer. His thumb rubs a lazy circle into your side.

You just… look at each other. A long, quiet moment. Then your stomach growls, loud.

His lips twitch. “Hungry?”

You close your eyes and laugh into the pillow. “Apparently.”

He grins, voice still low. “All right. Let’s go yell at everyone to get up. Get some brunch.”

You nod. “Okay.”

He repeats it back. “Okay.”

He shifts onto his back, pulling you with him so you’re suddenly straddling him, and his hands land on your hips like muscle memory. His eyes rake over your face, your messy hair, his own t-shirt hanging loose on you.

“What a sight,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t mean for it to come out loud.

You blink once. Then lean down and kiss his cheek. “Yeah. What a sight.”

You climb off of him and he lets you go, head falling back against the pillow with a soft groan as you head into the bathroom.

You’re in the shower when you hear him move around your room. Hear the door shut quietly behind him a few minutes later. You close your eyes and lean your head against the tile, let the water rinse last night off your skin, but not out of your mind.

When you emerge, he’s already dressed, running a towel through his hair. You pass him on the way to your room, trade a glance and a small smile like you’re not both still spinning from whatever the hell you are.

The house is awake now. Loud, chaotic, full of movement and coffee and half-shouted plans.

Sam’s standing in the living room holding a speaker. “I swear to God if someone plays that sad indie playlist again—”

Natasha sips her coffee without looking up. “It’s Bucky’s playlist.”

Steve enters with his phone out. “I found two good spots. One’s a walk, the other has bottomless mimosas.”

You grab a hoodie and slide it on. “Lead the way, Stevie.”

Steve groans, “I told you I’m too close to 30 for that nickname.”

You smirk. “Okay, yeah sure Stevie.”

He rolls his eyes.

Outside, the air is cool and bright.

The six of you fall into formation like you always do. You and Sam walking up front, shoulders bumping, laughing about something dumb. You’ve got your own rhythm, your own jokes, your own language. He sees you in ways the others don’t, and he doesn’t ask about the night before.

You love him for that.

Behind you, Bucky and Steve are deep in some low conversation probably about sports or politics or something overly philosophical because it’s them.

At the back, Wanda’s walking with Natasha, watching all of you like she’s watching a sitcom unfold in real time.

Wanda glances between you and Bucky, her brow creased in quiet disbelief. “So it's a regular thing?” she asks.

Natasha links arms with her. “You’ll get used to it, my friend.”

Wanda shakes her head, stunned. “They sleep in the same bed.”

Nat shrugs. “Mmhm.”

“They kiss.”

“Mmhm.”

“They act like a couple.”

“Exactly.”

Wanda frowns. “So… what are they?”

Natasha sighs. “Stupid.”

Wanda laughs.

Natasha goes on. “So the bet started ever since we all moved here when we were twenty. Steve thinks they’ll figure it out before thirty. I think they’re gonna marry other people first.”

Wanda blinks. “That’s… dark.”

“I’m not wrong.” Natasha shrugs. “Sam said before 25 but that's gone and past, so he had to buy in again but double the price to place a new bet, he now says before 32.” 

Wanda hums. “I give it a year.”

Nat nearly chokes on her coffee. “Excuse me?”

“I give it a year.”

Nat raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

Wanda reaches into her pocket, pulls out a crumpled fifty, and slaps it into Nat’s hand.

Nat grins, holds it up like a flag. Steve and Sam are now walking together, glance back, see the money, and groan.

“Really?” Steve mutters.

Sam just laughs. “They’ll never know.”

But neither of you notice.

You’re too busy jumping on Bucky’s back, laughing in his ear, while he hoists you up with zero effort and carries you the rest of the way to brunch.

[helliloveit]

Heavens

First fanfic ever, didn’t proofread and on top of that my english is not that good so pardon me please, and let me know if i need to fix something.

Benjamin “Dex” Poindexter x reader

Warnings: Dark!Dex, reader is kinda dark too, fluff(?, Dex is obsessed with you, he stalks you.

W.c: 800

Summary: Your coworker enters your home while you’re asleep; you don’t know what to think.

You move swiftly the key in the lock of the main door of your house, your steps always so light, your body so relaxed, the lack of sleep turning down your system even before you allowed it to do. The purse landing on your kitchen aisle, the sound of your shoes tackling no-sense on the floor as you take them off. Then the shower, your work is so damn tiring, he knows, cause little later you fall on the bed in a deep, very deep slumber.

It is so deep you can’t hear him entering there, your room, to look at you sleeping peacefully, your chest rising and falling rhythmically, your skin so soft he is aching to manhandle it between his fingers, but he’s better than that, right?

It’s okay if he tracks all your schedule, know all your friends, your likes and dislikes, your eccentric music taste, the name of your last cat that, by the way, disappeared last year when he escaped into the streets, a rainy night, just like this one. None of this had you told him, but for Dex, it doesn’t matter as long as you don’t know, after all, he’s keeping you safe.

He does remember your teary face, the way those brows contorted and the eyes, red and glassy, he did his best consoling you, yes he did, cause since then, you haven’t stop greeting him with a hug and a smile at the office, your beautiful smile, yes, he’s sure, you may love him.

———————————————————————————

You have known him for a while now, looked like the type of person who knew what to say and how to say it in the exact moment needed, weird thing cause he doesn’t talk much and that certainly made you like him, he reminded you of yourself, calm, silent yet observant, you were taught that the less you talk, the less you expressed yourself, the better the people around you will treat you. You weren’t sure if that was his reasons though, sometimes, when your eyes met his briefly, his own orbs, blue and colorful, looked empty, colorless, void, once bright teals turn themselves into dark greys without any emotion, any hint of humanity in them. And then you felt something like…dread, your mouth dry but your treacherous heart would be at the pit of your throat, and that described perfectly how you feel for him just right now.

You suspect that a rough thumb grazing your lower lip made you stumble outta your dreams, you were quick when the light coming from the window parallel to your bed faltered. A broad figure stood right by your side, you didn’t scream, or shoved him away, your blood froze inside your veins, and you was left there, like a small cat who knows that the best thing to do was stay quiet and hold together until the predator loses interest in them. This wasn’t the case.

—“I’m sorry-” His voice cracks the chill silence of the room.

“Dex? How could you-” a humid breeze grazes your skin and you suddenly don’t need any answers. He turns himself back to close the window when he notices your squint. That was the perfect opportunity to knock him down, the base of your lamp is hard enough to make him fall for a good 3 minutes, which will help you get out of the house and shout for aid, but a part of you didn’t want that. Hell if you weren’t twisted too, if you didn’t want to know how deep the emptiness of his soul will lead you.

—“Im so sorry princess i- just needed to see you.” Your face contorts in confusion, you left your shift 4 hours ago, last time you saw him.

—“Dex this is so weird i-”

—“No.” His tone is severe, stops you from settling seated on the bed. —“Please just-… i wont do anything to you just…” his knee rest tentatively on the soft mattress, you gulp, your eyes fixed in his, he seems troubled, debates with himself, fighting his urges inside his mind. A hand crossed the little space between you both to caress the side of your neck, his head tilts until his forehead is resting on yours, his shallow breathing tickling your skin.

—“Let me stay here a little longer, please…” he almost whimpers, his hand growing cold in your cheek, He must be nervous, like the world is one step away from crumbling beneath his feet.

—“This won’t happen again, i promise-” How could you say no when he is rambling and begging like this? You knew this is twisted but this isn’t like he assaulted you, is it?

You scoot over to make enough space for him in your sheets, he trails back but he catches it soon, you are offering him a warm space in your bed, a scene he has only witnessed in his most intimate dreams. He’s not dumb to let it slide so he takes off his not so wet jacket now and kick his boots away.

Sweet heavens, he feels your respiration on his neck now, so warm, so vulnerable, so his. He got it done, he got you, his method pretty away to be conventional, but that doesn’t matter anymore, no when you have your leg and arm draped over him.

Anyways he wasn’t going to leave if you told him no. Maybe he needs to put some flowers in that kitty’s grave.

[winteringdream]

golden retriever!leehan x black cat!fem where they’re less than lovers but more than friends! neither of them realizes their true feelings for each other until something (idk what) brings them together

PULL AND PUSH ! ──── kim leehan

✩ ⋅ pairing. kim leehan x gn!reader ✩ ⋅ genre. fluff ✩ ⋅ warnings. mentioning of a party and drinking ✩ ⋅ wc. 774 ✩ ⋅ a/n. hi anonnie i love writing black cat characters so tysm for the request!! arghh also idk if anyone is on tumblr pc but the pictures wont line up so sorry if it looks weird 😓

Leehan has always been bright, warm, and annoyingly persistent. He’s like a puppy, never minding that you’re all sharp looks and dry remarks.

“You never text me first,” he whines one evening, sprawled across your floor like he belongs there. “I could be dead, you know.”

“You text me every five minutes,” you reply, flipping a page of your book without looking up. “I’d know if you were dead.”

“So you do see my messages!” he exclaims. He grins and reaches out to poke your knee. “Admit it. You miss me.”

You shoo his hand away. “You’re insufferable.”

He pouts but doesn’t move from his spot, watching you with that familiar, expectant look, like he’s waiting for you to acknowledge him. 

You sigh, setting your phone down. “Obviously, I’d notice if you were gone.”

Leehan beams, triumphant.

“See? You love me.”

“Debatable.”

“Not at all.” he huffs, rolling over onto his stomach, chin resting on your bed. He looks at you, but when you don’t look at him he plops down on the ground again.

Leehan never takes your quietness as distance, never misinterprets your sharp remarks as something meant to push him away. If anything, he’s always been the one closing the gap.

And maybe you’ve let him.

It’s a strange kind of relationship. You don’t go on dates, but he drags you out for late-night convenience store runs. He doesn’t call you his, but his arm always finds your shoulder in a crowded room. You never say you miss him, but the space beside you feels empty when he’s gone too long.

Less than lovers, more than friends.

But you don’t question it, until someone else does.

It happens at a party. One you hadn’t planned on going to, but Leehan had been particularly insistent, throwing an arm around you and saying, “You never go, just this once pleaaasseee.”

It turns out his idea of fun is getting pulled away the second you both step inside, swarmed by his friends. You roll your eyes and make your way to the kitchen, figuring you can at least grab a drink and then leave the place in half an hour.

“You came with Leehan, right?” you glance up. A girl is standing beside you. She’s pretty, but you’ve never met her before.

You nod. “Yeah.”

She hums, stirring her drink. “Are you guys, like, together?”

The question shouldn’t catch you off guard, but it does.

“No,” you say automatically, but something in your heart twinges.

“Really?” She tilts her head. “He talks about you a lot.”

That makes you pause. Before you can figure out what to say, she continues, “I was thinking of asking him out, actually. He’s so sweet, you know? Like a cute puppy.”

Your fingers tighten around your cup. There’s no reason for that uneasy twist in your stomach, no reason why the thought of Leehan laughing with her, leaning in close to hear her better, makes your chest constrict.

You don’t own him. You know that.

And yet, when you glance toward the living room, searching for him without thinking, you feel something unfamiliar settle beneath your ribs.

It takes exactly ten minutes for Leehan to find you again, grinning as he drapes himself over your chair.

“Having fun?” he asks with a wide smile. 

“No.”

He chuckles, like he expected that. “Wanna get out of here?”

You should just say yes. Ignore the feeling, move past it, keep things the way they are. But the question is on your tongue before you can stop it.

“Are you interested in anyone?”

“What?” Leehan blinks, straightening his posture. He leans into you, trying to hear you more clearly. 

“That girl,” you say, trying to sound indifferent. “The one by the kitchen. She said she wanted to ask you out.”

Leehan turns, spots her, then looks back at you. “Do you want her to?”

You freeze. “That’s not—”

“Because I don’t,” he says simply.

“Why not?” you ask, quieter this time.

Leehan exhales, sitting up properly. His voice loses its usual lightness when he says, “Because I already have someone.”

“What do you–”

“I didn’t realize it at first,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours and he leans in even more. His head is next to yours, and whispers into your ear. “But it’s always been you.”

The room feels too loud, too warm. You think about the way he always waits for you to catch up, the way he never lets your silence push him away. The way he’s always been there. Maybe you should’ve realized it earlier, too.

“Okay,” you say, heartbeat hammering. “Good.”

Leehan smiles, slow and knowing. “Good.”

bonedo taglist: @ihruaz

[metallicames]

i actually cannot get this idea out of my head it’s haunting me 💔💔

older james x younger reader fs where after yall went in a FREAKY ride in one of his expensive ahh cars, there’s def a bit of a mess

nd he has u clean it in a skirt with all the spankings you could possibly dream of

IT WONT LEAVE ME ALONEEEE

Uhhhn that's HOT. Thank u for your request hope you like it!

Imagine,

It's evening, James pulls up outside your house in his roaring Chevrolet Camaro, impeccable in his suit. You’re heading to an event together, and you’re feeling a bit nervous. You haven’t been together long, and you’re definitely much younger than he is. You already know all eyes will be on you and that thought makes you anxious, but also powerful. You’re a confident, strong woman, and you know you can handle it.

The moment you step outside, you feel his gaze devour you. You chose that outfit, on purpose. The black miniskirt barely skimming the tops of your thighs. The white blouse, thin, slightly unbuttoned. The sheer thong that hides nothing. You know you’re playing with fire. And that’s exactly what you want.

As you walk toward the car, he looks at you. Eats you alive with his eyes. The car door opens. The engine purrs quietly, but the tension between you roars like thunder.

You settle into the seat and you look at him: James is staring at you like he’s forgotten how to function. He doesn’t say a word. His eyes do all the talking.

You try to break the tension, say something about the event you’re heading to. Maybe it’ll be boring, maybe there’ll be interesting people, maybe just one drink will make it all bearable. But even as the words leave your mouth, you realize—he’s not hearing any of it.

Every sentence you speak is just something he has to wait through. A bridge to cross with the quiet patience of someone who already knows what’s on the other side.

Right now, there is no event. No street, no city, no world outside this car.

There’s only you.

And he wants you.

Now.

His hand instinctively lands on your bare thigh. “Do you realize how you’re dressed? You’re trying to provoke me, aren’t you?” he murmurs in a husky voice, his sharp gaze drifting from your chest to the edge of your skirt.

You laugh, tilting your head slightly.

“I hope so. Otherwise I’ve wasted this beautiful lingerie.”

James swallows hard, your words are gasoline on the fire.

Your eyes lock, and in that split second, you both know you’re not making it to the event on time.

Less than ten minutes later, the car is hidden off-road, parked near an overgrown field. He doesn’t ask, he hauls you into the back seat, his mouth crashing into yours. You’re biting, gasping, devouring each other.

His big hands are all over you, rough and desperate, yanking up your miniskirt. The sheer thong you wore just for him barely hides anything.

“You wore this on purpose” he growls, breath hot against your ear.

“yes.. only for you Daddy” you whisper, voice trembling as heat pulses through you.

He pushes you down hard against the seat—no teasing, no waiting. His lips trailing down your neck, fingers already between your thighs, feeling how ready you are.

Your moans are muffled against his mouth as he pins your wrists, grinding against you, hard and demanding. There’s no slow build, just raw, frantic need. Bodies colliding, breath hitching, every touch setting you on fire.

He strips you without hesitation, ripping your clothes away until you’re bare beneath him. Then he drives into you in one hard, deep thrust that knocks the breath from your lungs.

Every stroke is deliberate, deep, feral—like he’s losing himself in you.

“Look at what you do to me… how fuckin’ insane you make me” he growls, panting, eyes locked on yours as he slams into you again.

You feel it—the control slipping, your body trembling, the fire between your thighs blazing hotter with every word, every punishing thrust.

His hands grip your hips like a vice, pulling you tighter against him. His teeth sink into your shoulder, then your breast, leaving raw, aching bites that sting and thrill you.

Your name escapes his lips in a growl, a desperate snarl of need.

His rhythm turns brutal—fast, hungry, relentless.

You dig your nails into his arms, your back arching, lost in the rhythm of his body crashing into yours, over and over.

You can’t hold back. Neither can he.

With a guttural moan, James spills inside you, thick and hot, the release pulsing so intensely it overflows, slick between your thighs, dripping down onto the seat beneath you.

He doesn’t stop, he can feel that you’re close, and with every last ounce of strength, he thrusts deeper inside you rubbing his pubic bone against your swollen clit. Your moans spill uncontrollably from your lips as waves of pleasure crash through your body. Heat coils deep inside, tightening your muscles around him, your legs locking him in as your climax rips through you like a storm, leaving you breathless under his body.

You end up sprawled across the seat, utterly spent, your skin still tingling from the heat of it. The car is a total chaos: clothes tossed everywhere, smears on the glass, marks on the seats the scent of sex hanging thick in the air. James lets out a low laugh, running a hand through his sweat-damp hair.

“Look at this mess… this is all your fault, baby.”

You glance over at him with a wicked little smile as you start pulling your clothes back on, foolishly thinking you might still make it to the event.

“Shall I clean it up, Sir?” you ask, voice soft and dripping with suggestion.

“Oh, definitely. You have to do it, like a good girl.”

You crawl forward toward the front seats to grab some tissues, deliberately slow. Your already-short miniskirt rides up completely, exposing the sheer thong stretched over your ass and cunt, practically nothing left to the imagination. James falls silent, eyes locked on you, hungry.

Then he moves in, hand landing with a sharp smack on your ass, making you gasp.

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me… and to my car?” he growls, voice low and thick with lust.

“I’m just cleaning, Sir,” you reply, innocent but teasing, your tone begging for more.

“Oh, really? Then maybe you deserve a reward… or maybe a punishment. What do ya think mh?”

Your body is shaking, your thighs clamped together in a hopeless attempt to contain the heat pulsing between them.

His hands are back on you, rougher now, each sharp slap echoing in the silence, followed by words whispered against your ear, dark and dripping with hunger.

“You really wanted to drive me insane, didn’t you? Well, you fuckin did.”

Another smack lands, harder, making you gasp — but before the sting fades, his fingers slip beneath the soaked strip of lace between your legs.

You automatically arch your back, inviting him, you love the way he spanks you, the way your skin burns under his rough touch.

“God… you bend over for me like that again and I’ll destroy you.”

You glance back at him, defiant, biting your lip, but your eyes give you away, already begging.

He grips your hips, leans in to kiss along your spine, slow and claiming, his hands sliding under your skirt with maddening patience.

You try to speak, to tease him— but your voice catches in your throat the moment his fingers find your folds again. You’re soaked. Needy. And you know he can feel it.

You’re already clenching, already aching for more, because he knows your body too well, knows how to keep you on edge and desperate.

And when he finally thrusts into you again, rough, possessive, bending you over between the seats, your skirt bunched up and your cheek pressed to the fogged glass, you give in. You’re his. Entirely. And you never want to be anything else.

[xislyns]

˓𓄹 ࣪˖🌄 ๋࣭ cruel summer 𖥦 ˑ ֗ ִ

<<taylor swift x bluelock>>

Prompt masterlist ! : ᶻ 𝘇 🍙 ⋅

Michael Kaiser x F! Reader

HC's + MINIFIC

Kaiser was just supposed to be a summer fling ,it wasn’t supposed to mean anything. untill one day at 2 a.m., he whispered “I love you.”

It was reckless, and unforgettable.

totally a cruel summer you’d never regret.

𖦹✦⁺◟⁎⁺ based of taylor swift's = "Cruel summer"

contrary to popular beliefs, i believe when kaiser finally settles down, i feel like he would totally be a bit less snotty and mean . but still expect him to be egotistical asf 🙄🙄

The type of guy who would keep his relationship a secret untill he knows you can takr the pressure! he just wants you to be comfortable:((

i feel like hes the type to only peck you on the lips, based of his upbringing and his personality i think he totally is insecure about how he expresses his love

He LOVES the thrill of stealing a kiss when no one’s looking, interlocked fingers behind a bench, or giving you a spesific look after scoring a goal.

with the way his training is, expect him sneaking into your room after curfew, still in his training gear

if he gets jealous? he would get quietly possessive snake an arm around your waist, lips by your ear, a soft “hey , you should look at me instead.”

michaels love language is GIFT GIVING and WORDS OF AFFIRMATION (he wont admit it lol)

𖦹✦⁺◟⁎⁺ It all started during the summer tournament the one that had the whole world watching.

You weren’t supposed to get involved with anyone on the team. and DEFINITELY not him.

But somehow..

He kissed you on the first night like he already knew you’d let him. Back pressed against the cold hotel elevator wall, his breath tasted like heat and pride. all he did was grin when you didn’t stop him.

“This’ll ruin us,” you had whispered to him.

“I already ruin everything, whats one more thing to ruin gonna do?” he said. and that was that.

𖦹✦⁺◟⁎⁺ In public, you everything was normal. He barely looked your way,just enough to make your pulse spike high when he did.

One night, after scoring the winning goal,during celebrations , he pulled you into a stairwell before the cameras found him.

“Hey, You gonna congratulate me?” he asked, voice low, teasing.

“You want praise?”

He leaned in, smirking. “Nah, i'd settle for you.”

𖦹✦⁺◟⁎⁺ It wasn’t supposed to last. He was all ego and you werent someone who was up to putting up with that . But somewhere between stolen glances and unspoken things, it started to feel like more.

One night, you found him alone in the hotel gym at 2 a.m, just sitting there. no music, no ball. Just pure silence.

the silence was suffocating.

“You okay?” you asked him gently.

He didn’t even look at you.he just spoke

“I can’t lose,” he said. “Not just the game. Everything.” head now resting in the palm of his hands, visibly vulnerable.

You crossed the room, and made your way to him. knelt in front of him, you took his hand from his head, gave it a light squeeze and said. “You’re allowed to want something more than winning, misha"

His eyes met yours. and for once, the gold in them didn’t gleam with arrogance.

“you're the something,”

𖦹✦⁺◟⁎⁺ he never said I love you , not directly.

Instead, he kissed you like he tried proving it. he Held your hand like it was a secret he’d kill to protect. Told you to “stay” like it was the only word he believed in.

By the end of summer, you were both sunburned and exhausted and in too deep.

One night, lying beside him in a too-small bed in a too-fancy suite, he murmured to you

“I love you.”

It was almost too quiet to hear.

You stared at the ceiling, heart pumping, eyes too tired to react

Then he added, like it physically hurt to say it out loud, “Ain’t that the worst thing you ever heard?”

You just turned to him, scaning his face for sincerity

you saw his smile , a real, small, tired smile.

for once, you saw michael.

Not Kaiser the emperor ,

Just Michael.

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ ･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚

honestly after i make this taylor swift masterlist, i will probably make a self-indulgent reverse-harem !manager reader x bluelock boys . LIKE CLASSIC HAIKYUU SMAU STYLE 😭😭😭 , so uh stay tuned fir that ig?? still debating if i should make it text styled or fic styled lol

-islynn , 2025

･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ ･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚ ⋆･˳ . ⋆ .˳⁺⁎˚

[lightlycareless]

I teased this a while ago and then never mentioned it again. The sequel for this work over here.

warnings: hs au. satoru is a jerk and naoya does not like him. he's like a ghost of your past he wont leave you alone. minimal proofreading.

enjoy!!

Your relationship with Naoya after the first date had been, fortunately, incredibly gratifying.

From the oceans of gifts he’d give you almost religiously, with many you have yet to open, to the weekly (if not daily, all depending of your school workload) dates in whatever place was trending…

It was safe to say that your parents were right. Something better does come along, and oh, did that notion make you happy.

But not more than what Naoya has made you. Throughout your whole life, you’ve never been happier than by his side—and you could not wait to see what the future held for the two.

Unless…

“Hey, Y/N—Can I talk to you for a moment?” Suguru says after appearing from what seemed thin air, interrupting one of the scarce moments you had with your boyfriend in between classes… much to Naoya’s annoyance.

“No.” he responds before you could even muster a reaction. “Can’t you see she’s busy with me?”

Suguru was briefly acquainted with the quickly growing rumors surrounding your and Naoya’s… fervent relationship. How both, even with less than a few weeks of being together, seemed virtually inseparable. To the point where if one was missing, all anyone needed to do is search for the other.

But was persisted the most out of these allegations was your beloved boyfriend’s possessiveness. Which you apparently did little next to nothing to control, except when it came to those you considered close ones and those he personally deemed trustworthy (in other words, nobody)

That included Geto, and his currently absent pair.

“It won’t take long.” Suguru insisted, now looking at you, as if silently urging you to put a stop to Naoya’s silly charade.

“I already said—”

“Why?” you interrupt Naoya, gently taking his hands with yours and squeezing it in reassurance. He dejectedly squeezes back, letting you know he was to calm down… but only if Suguru gave him a convincing reason to do so.

“Satoru wants to talk to you.”

Well, there goes his one and only chance.

“Leave.” Naoya says, peeling away from you and stomping over to him. “Now!”

“Naoya—" you gasp, holding him back by the arm. “Wait!”

Suguru isn’t intimidated by his anger, he’s had to deal with far more embarrassing instances via his everyday companion; if anything, he’s amused by how instinctively you reacted to his emotions. It’s like you’ve grown used to it, and truth to be told, he found it quite pitiful.

You always seemed a bit more… selective—no, dreamy when it came to your potential partners. If you were to settle down, Suguru suspected it would’ve been with someone like Nanami; and he wasn’t ignorant of the crush you once had towards himself.

Not that he was ever considering indulging those emotions, but this example serves to show just how vastly different, and better, your options were when excluding Naoya.

How can he know this wasn’t an elaborate prank, to… well, get a rise from those around you? Surely, you didn’t start dating the kid with the worst reputation at school for a whole month just because you actually liked him. Or to get back at the one that wronged you—with someone infinitely worse!

Did you?

No. He can’t believe it. No one can.

Not even Satoru.

“It’s not worth it” you quietly insist, and your words are what Naoya needed to finally calm down. Taking a deep breath as he returns to your side, but his annoyance still remained, as seen in his prominent frown.

 “Consider it.” Suguru adds. “He really wants to talk to you.”

“…Why now?” you slightly concede—you’d be lying if you didn’t admit that a part of you itched to know why Satoru decided to waltz back into your life after so long. After giving you all those indisputable, clear messages that he didn’t want anything with you.

Why now?

Now that you’re nothing but happy and loved, why did Gojo decide it was appropriate to come back?

“Just talk to him, please.” Geto insisted one last time before turning around and leaving the two to discuss what sourly transpired.

“You’re not going to talk to him, are you?” Naoya huffed, offended that not only Suguru dared to walk up to the two uninvited, but with the intentions to relay that stupid message from your ex, Satoru; he hadn’t forgotten all the vile things he’s had others enact on you simply because he wasn’t intelligent enough to appreciate what he had.

What he once used to partake in too, but those days are long gone—and he’d be foolish to let you go too!

Though what anguished him the most… was the likelihood of you accepting such invitation. His mind already spiraling into the worst possibilities yet whilst waiting for your answer.

“No.” you quickly respond, shaking your head as you appear to not even give the thought a second of consideration. ���I don’t want to know anything about him; nothing at all.”

Naoya exhales, as if a weight is suddenly lifted from his shoulders. You smile.

“Did I worry you there for a bit, Naoya?” you jest, standing on your toes and kissing his cheek. “You have nothing to worry about, you’re the only one in my heart.”

And while those words were intended to cheer him up, Naoya could still see that beneath your eyes, worry lingered. As if you hoped those words would also steer your doubts clear, or at least keep you from earning Satoru’s unwanted attention again.

But unfortunately, even when continuously rejecting Suguru’s insistences, Satoru himself did not dwindle. If anything, he became far more persistent, pushing you to finally agree.

“You’re wrong if you think I’m going to let you go talk to that idiot after all he’s done to you! You shouldn’t even give him the time of day!”

“I’m only doing this because I want him to stop, not because I want to…” you murmur. “I really couldn’t care less about whatever he has to say—but I’m not going to let him ruin what I have, again!”

Naoya’s still not happy about your decision, but at least he knows that your heart is in the right place, even if Satoru’s presence slowly began to chip away at the security he felt on his relationship with you.

…

He just hopes he isn’t right.

“I’ll call you when it’s over.” You say once dropped off at the place your conversation with Satoru was to happen, a café you chose—Satoru needed to budge if this was to happen, and thus, here you were. “…wish me luck.”

“I wish you didn’t have to do this.”

You give him a tight smile.

“I know. But… I don’t want you to forget that, no matter what happens, my feelings for you will never change.” You say, gently pulling him down to place a chaste kiss on his lips “Also! Don’t eat anything without me, I want to get lunch together.”

Naoya chuckles, before seeing you enter into the establishment, leaving him distraught, worried that his relationship might not be the same once you return, even with your reassurance.

The best thing he could do at this moment is get distracted, he supposes, clear his head a bit until your so-called meeting with Satoru is over. So, while silently wishing time went on faster, Naoya heads into the st0res with no real purpose outside of buying things he thinks you might enjoy.

Before deciding it was best to postpone such purchases for another moment, preferably when he knows for certain he will still have a girlfriend to dote on.

From there, though he promised to wait for you to eat, he still didn’t stop himself from getting a bite. Just a little something to control his rising hunger to when he inevitably meets up with you again—and so, he heads to one of the nearby food stands, waiting in line to order and subsequently pay…

Only to be pulled out of his thoughts by hearing a surprisingly familiar voice calling out his name, prompting him to swiftly turn around and inwardly groan when finding out who it was: one of Gojo’s friends. The one he never registered in his mind outside of ugly and unlady-like, as well as a heavy smoker that might be the first one to die in his generation if she keeps going at it like she normally does.

“Hey, Naoya. Didn’t think I’d find you here at the mall.” Shoko says, walking towards him. “Not without Y/N, at least. You always struck me as the kind of guy that would have an assistant or something to get him things.”

“Didn’t ask.” Naoya responds immediately, making Shoko widen her eyes before shrugging.

“Yeah, you’re right. Anyways… I guess Satoru did manage to get Y/N to talk to him, didn’t he?”

Naoya’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Did everyone just know about this???”

“Not really. I think I know around the same as you. If not a bit more.”

“You’re lying, you three are essentially inseparable”

“Alright, I’ll tell you everything I know—but not without payment, of course. Come, buy me something to drink and we’ll talk about it.”  

Naoya would rather not, but when in need of knowledge more so in these dire times, he couldn’t afford such luxuries.

“—Want anything?” Shoko asks, glancing back at Naoya once going through the menu of the nearby boba place she was once recommended to visit. Good thing she technically didn’t spend a dime if she ended up not liking it.

“To talk about my girlfriend.”

“Right.” And after getting her drink, the two head over to the nearest available table, with Naoya wasting no time nor curtesy to sit down first. There was no time to waste, the mere existence of his relationship was on jeopardy! “Well, what do you want to know that you don’t already know?”

“Why he’s so suddenly all about Y/N when he clearly didn’t appreciate her??”

“I wouldn’t say so necessarily.” Shoko responds, a statement that causes Naoya’s chest to tighten a bit.

“What do you mean? Didn’t he cheat on her?”

“Weren’t you his devout follower? Surely, you should know by now…”

Naoya wouldn’t call whatever relationship he had with him that of a follower, it was mostly a one-sided obsession that limited his knowledge to his insecurities and the sidelines, such as your presence, which he acknowledged through a subtle attraction but never more than that.

Not even now that the two are dating did you dare to talk, nor he to pry, about just how deep your relationship with Satoru went.

But he could imagine enough, and surely after all that… you wouldn’t accept him back, would you? After all the tears you shed for him—

Or did he underestimate his grip over you?

“Oh, so you really don’t know.”

“I’m not interested in other men’s business” Naoya responds with a half lie. “I simply don’t have time for that.”

“Ah, so you don’t want to know why Satoru is suddenly seeking her out? What their relationship consisted of? How they met, or… how they fell in love?”

“Love?” Naoya repeats, as if offended. No, more like… in disbelief. He’s not even gotten to hear such profession from you, but you already done so with him?

His fears weigh heavier on his mind.

What happened before him?

“I’m not saying that there are any chances of the two getting back together after that stupid thing he did, but you should at least know what brought them together in the first place—it might be a guideline for the future.”

“How… how did they get together?” Naoya eventually concedes, his pain and curiosity forcing him to do so. “When?”

They got together just short of you starting high school, but you knew him from years before. When you were nothing short of a child—and Satoru, roughly the same age, as well.

A mischievous, a bit crude, but somehow charming kid you soon became smitten by; there was just something about him that you couldn’t stray your eyes from, following him like a stray puppy to whatever adventures he’d get into.

Satoru didn’t give you much attention in return, though there were moments he’d come to appreciate your company; specially those where you’d follow his lead without much complaint, being one of the few kids that follow his every word and beyond that he could trust.

But feelings didn’t get involved until much later, after one small interaction with him made you look at him differently; thought him handsome instead of cute. Charming instead of funny.

“How do you know all this? Did she tell you?”

“No. I was there, kind of.” Shoko responds. “It was quite entertaining to see everything go down, really. But nice too, Y/N seemed really happy to follow him around, and I think he was quite happy with that too.”

Naoya’s heart tightens.

“I mean, they did everything together! I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone learn so much about a topic so quickly, or that they’d be able to keep up, just so they’d have something to talk about. Satoru went on and on and on about Digimon, and even though she didn’t like it, she became an expert for him!

Just a bunch of nerds gush about whatever geeky interest they haed, but it eventually gets tiring, you know? And a bit ridiculous too. But hey, if they’re happy…”

Naoya is aware of your enthusiasm when it comes to your preferences, you weren’t exactly the quiet one once becoming comfortable...

But almost as if this were Shoko’s intentions, Naoya couldn’t help but compare his experiences with Satoru’s; a perception that led him to wonder if you’ve done the same—when the two do things together, do you ever think back of those moments you were with him?

Conclude that you weren’t having much of a good time, like with Satoru?

Was Gojo a much better listener? Far more doting that he ever was…?

“I still remember how excited she was when he got a GameCube, Y/N virtually spent almost every day with him just to play.” She continues. “I don’t think I got to see either of them for a whole week.”

Naoya feels his heart become unbearably tighter, such a sharp constriction he felt lightheaded, out of breath.

Because whatever Shoko said, it just pushed him further and further into the undeniable truth, the one he never wished to accept…

It was a misfortune what happened between you and Satoru, but in the end, deserved each other.

It was simply a matter of time to see so.

“I really don’t know why he went ahead and did that. I mean, she seemed to be the only one capable of tolerating him—even the nasty bits, never putting up a fuzz! And believe me, not even the most desperate girls that swarm him are up to that task.”

He’d soon learn that most of the places you have taken him were initially introduced to you by Satoru.

Like the arcade, the fair, sometimes the mall but most definitely your favorite pastry shop which he’s become a frequent customer just to indulge your after-school cravings���

Naoya hadn’t done anything impressive to claim an “advancement” over the man he now despises.

Perhaps he hadn’t even done much to obtain your affections, after all.

“I don’t want it to sound like she’s not happy with you, I mean, I can see how much she enjoys being with you and all—it’s just…”

“I don’t want to hear anymore.” Naoya suddenly says, barely giving Shoko a second glance before he storms away from her, heading straight towards your location.

He’s careless if his reputation is tarnished, the talk of the school the day after once Shoko decides to divulge the tantrum he seemingly threw the moment he didn’t like what he heard.

But he just couldn’t do it anymore; he couldn’t take the constant belittling of his relationship—of him.

Naoya knew he wasn’t precisely the best person when it came to a lot of things; he’s not particularly likeable, nor popular (in the right sense, at least). Sometimes it’s straight up impossible to get along with him. But when it related to you, he tried his best.

To please you, to make you happy, to be a better man.

Because for the first time in his life, he wished to strive for more than his own selfish desires.

He wanted to create something where he could be happy, without judgment, without caring what others thought, and share it with you.

Yet, after these conversations… it was just too easy to understand you’ve already made up your mind, or that at least Satoru was trying to lean you towards him—Because why else would Shoko approach him in what seemed to be a feeble attempt of putting him down gently?

Naoya should’ve known that nothing good ever lasts in his life, if anything, he’s glad to have experienced what true love felt, even when fleeting.

And just as he arrived, you were already outside. Satoru’s presence nowhere to be seen, for which he was grateful; Naoya wasn’t sure he’d be able to handle another blow like this.

…

Might as well get this over with.

“Y/N, I—”

But before he could say another word, as soon as you catch notice of him, you rush to his side, swiftly and strongly wrap your arms around him, pulling him down to the level where you could crash your lips over his and kiss him—an action that feels desperate given the roughness of your hands, bittersweet behind your impatient lips, but overall desolate in the tears sliding down your cheeks.

Once you pull away and Naoya is able to discern something is wrong, worry does not hesitate to etch his features, your boyfriend more than ready to jump in and do whatever necessary to remove such anguish.

Yet, it’s not necessary—because your words will act as the final assessment, the last proof he needed to understand your heart is not easily swayed away from that it considers their soulmate.

“I love you.” You say, trying your best to hold back your lips from trembling, yet came out as a quiet sob. Naoya had to ask.

“Are you ok?”

“I… I’m just hungry.” You breathe, sniffling as you tried to quickly wipe your tears away—Naoya wins you to it by gently pressing his thumbs against your skin, cupping your face and keeping you close. “You—you haven’t eaten anything, right? Remember, you promised! let’s—Let’s get something to eat, ok? I’m starving!”

Naoya stares at you for a few seconds, but then, he smiles.

Undoubtedly, a part of him greatly wishes to know what happened, hear all that you had to endure in the form of that fool Satoru; know just what stupidities he dared spew at you in hopes of getting you back.

But just one look is all he needed to understand that perhaps, some things, are simply better left unsaid.

Because acts prove much stronger than words. And your continuous devotion to him in the following years, erases any doubt he ever had of his worth.

Obviously, only you would have such effect on him.

“Let’s get you something, princess. Before you get all grumpy on me.” He teases, making you chuckle; but instead of refuting him as you usually do, you simply take his hand, sighing as you briefly rested your head over his shoulder to then continue off where you left off.

also known as the shoko was trying to tell naoya that he's a much better boyfriend than satoru but came out weird lol. (essentially shoko was like: y/n had to cater to him, but now it's the other way around but she actually feels like it's reciprocal so good for you naoya)

y/n got a bit emotional at the end because satoru did come back to her with the intentions of rekindling whatever relationship they had but it just made her realize how happy she truly is with Naoya and even said I love you for the first time.

:) I hope you liked it nonetheless 💖

[eternalsnare]

hhhi. this isnt gonna be a normal ask, i hope thats ok. if it's not, then u dont have to answer

i wont go into details, but i had some trauma with hypno a bit ago. anything related to the kink was a trigger for that for a while. it's better now, ive done a lot of healing and growth, but i still don't really have an outlet to engage with the kink that feels safe. my current doms are inexperienced with hypno or scared to try it with me. a lot of hypno posts are really "up front," and trigger a defensive response rather than a trance state.

but your blog feels so subtle and gradual. i know what you're doing. i know how it works. i know there aren't any expectations or pressures, that your posts really just make me feel the way i want to feel. and that makes it so easy for me to feel safe. and to drift away to that space i've been missing and mourning for the last year and a half.

i guess what im trying to say is thank you, Miss Snare~

Oh darling..

You didn't have to say a word, and yet you offered me something so vulnerable and real. Thank you.

There's a wonderful kind of bravery in choosing to return, especially when something once hurt you.

To reopen the door and let the hum of words brush against you once more, that isn't small, that's tremendous.

I'm not here to push or prod you. I don't need your mind to drop on command, or your body to obey without question.

I merely care that you feel safe. Safe enough to breathe, safe enough to settle, safe enough to melt if you want to.

I craft my words the way some may tend a garden, no sudden snatching, no hidden traps. Just a soft invitation to come sit, stay and bloom for a while.

If I've given you even a sliver of that peace you've been needing.. Then I am truly honoured, deeply.

You are always welcome in my space. Exactly as you are. No more, no less.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Hello hi hey can I please request the DCA x Reader who gets overwhelmed easily and tends to shut down/lash out when it becomes too much?

DCA x reader who gets overwhelmed easily

I still need to check out help wanted 2... and help wanted 1...

Notes: gn reader, human reader, you work as an assistant and handler for the dca, sun moon and Eclipse are present, in eclipses part they're whole/au where sun and moon never split, they/them pronouns for Eclipse, short and written on puter, using my own experiences for this and I am not universal, pre virus moon

CWs: none? Maybe? If this needs to be edited let me know

SUN

i love him... you love him. lots of people love him. but unfortunately he can sometimes be a little overstimulating on some days- especially if youre already a little worked in from something else

he really does try to tone it done- even more so when he sees youre already having a rough time. but he feels so compelled to check in on you to make sure youre doing alright that he might just make it worse... he gives you space and lets you sit behind the desk while he handles the kids for the day

he does try to find a way for you to express your frustrations without lashing out at yourself or others- stress toys, breathing, venting in a more healthy manner, things like that. he even makes a more personal corner dedicated to you in the daycare so you have a space to hide away for a few minutes to recuperate before getting back to work... and you dont haaaave to rush- hes worked without a handler before and hes confident he can handle a day without you!

MOON

hes a lot more tolerable compared to his daytime counterpart- hes quieter, and doesnt move around as much... still moves of course but hes not bouncing all over the place! come lay down for a while with him during nap time- youre not going to miss anything and you look like you need a moment to reel yourself back in

sun is patient when you hit a breaking point but he tries to let you get that energy out before calming you... moon tries to quiet you as soon as possible. both for a need to help you but also to keep the children from being woken up- he takes you to the side and talks you through it

he focuses more so on checking on you quietly when hes out as well as picking up some extra work to take some of your load off your back- doing some extra cleaning around the daycare before naptime is over, setting things out for you and sun to use for the next activity, things like that

ECLIPSE

a balance of their counterparts- they let you feel your frustration but they work through it so you dont crash before your shift is over- as well as keeping it away from the children... sometimes seeing an adult in such a state can scare a kid and thats the last thing they want

headphones, warm drinks, have a spare blanket and settle down to the side for a few minutes and theyll be right back to you as soon as the kids are distracted enough for a few minutes-- you wont have all of their attention in that moment but theyre definitely trying to make sure youre okay between their work

not just on your bad days- in general- they will set things out and prepare as much as they can much like moon does so its less work for you. they dont really mind doing it + it gives them something to do before opening and your arrival

[otiksimr]

Hello hello hello I have returned once again, this time to ask for:

The name pronunciations!

Xerxees, would it sound like Zerzees? Zurksees? Kserksees? Would Ebrietas be Eh-brī-uh-tuhs, Eh-bree-eh-tuhs, something else? How would you even pronounce Rahuul and Yhtraah? Just all of them.

Also, if Abyss Children would be really interested in humans, how often do they actually come down to Earth? You said they're worshipped, so at least once, but do they ever just pop up looking somewhat non-human and just hang out?

Speaking of looking somewhat non-human, does anyone ever question Bob [Bob Beloved] about, like, his general lack of face? Or the fact that, in their eyes, he would seemingly never age? And was Bob [Bob Beloved] ever depicted in like, insanely old murals or anything? Could archeologists in Otiksimr lore find Bob [Bob Beloved] cave paintings?

And if Abyss Children "latch onto" whatever helped them, the ones that were pulled out I mean, does that mean there's even more creatures? And how would a creature help an Abyss Child out in the first place?

Also, when I asked about World Eater relations to other species, you mentioned B A T S that have to do with another character 👀 I am now curious about that as well

Ehem. Anyway. That was my daily question. (More like an interrogation atp but either way)

Tytytytyty

Also this is awesome. Anyway-

Yipe! Questions!

Whenever I pronounce names… I don’t have a real way of doing it. It’s more or less just pronounce it how it looked. Xerxees is Zurk-sees. Ebrietas is Eh-bree-eh-tahs. Rahuul is Rah-ool. For Yhtraah the ‘t’ is silent. So it’d be Yuh-Kraa. That’s the most odd the pronunciation gets though. Don’ worry about it for the most part.

Abyss Children aren’t big wanderers, if they find a place they like they just settle down there. There are two kinds, ones that just wander space (typically young ones who’ve yet to find a role model or older ones who do not take on a form), and ones that stay rooted to a live planet (like Earth). They just stay there, lol. For the most part, just for ease, they can all look relatively human if they want to. Just a majority of them don’t. (Ones who do present themselves as mainly human are Haruna, Yoru, and Zynath but they also interact with humans the most out of all of them). 

They have their own territories in the planets they choose to reside in. And those territories are heavily affected by their presence (for example if one of them was Winter Incarnate then the area they mainly reside would be under a constant blizzard :]). Their interaction with humans is based on if people ever wander into their territory knowingly or not. Just I mainly talk about the oddballs (The babysitters and sister twins) so that may not be very apparent. Lol.

Bob has a face. He can look like a completely normal person. I just never draw him as such because I don’t want to. That’s my fault. And Bob is good at making sure he didn’t get caught while he’s a worm (Correction, Rahuul is very good at making sure Bob isn’t seen at all when he’s worm). So you wont be seeing any ancient murals of Bobby worm. Sad.

There are a lot of critters. That I have in concept. Just none of them I give names because I am bad with names and I know I wont remember them so theres no point to it. I make it sound like Abyss Child ‘births’ are a very frequent thing. It isn’t. Maybe like. Once a million years on average, and that’s just how often it happens not how successful it is. (Success rating I’d say a solid 1% make it). And the chances that another being is around to notice it let alone do anything about it is very slim. I made a lil’ diagram to help show it, since it’s really hard to explain. Lol.

Alright! The bats! They’re relevant to a character because of his [L O R E]. Woo, spooky. So, you know how oarfish are also known as ‘doomsday fish’ because they surface during earthquakes? The bats are like that! But they are are way more specific, scarily so even! They sense disaster (just think of Absol the pokemon), and a week or so before the disaster actually strikes they all scatter and relocate in massive hoards, and after the disaster strikes they go back to their original home. (For example, a flood or forest fire. One flock will leave, a few days past, another flock will leave, and eventually the entire hoard is gone.) 

Thus people who live on this [specific island] that the bats are only located on build their residents near the areas that the bats are native to. As they are an extremely accurate forewarning. Basically, when the bats start leaving you gotta pack up and MOVE. When the hoard is gone ya gotta book it out of there fella! Heh heh. They got a long ass name that I don’t feel like repeating here, but yeah :). I think it was Yan Hyra or something like that. Don’t ask what it means because it ain’t mean shit. That’s just the naming system, ha.

Very glad to add to your brain eating amoebas! And brain worms ! ! :]

Please… my mice… ask about my characters… I must infect the rest of you as well.

[tupperwaretub]

A male reader who's super cautious around people because their queer identity has been an issue in the past, and so Negan being so explicit and flirty all the time just relentlessly getting on their nerves, and Negan just find it's so funny until he starts to realize how genuine the annoyance is, and just being like. Dude why would you EVER care about what other people think when we all know these people are horrible, and they're wrong about EVERYTHING Else, so they're wrong about you. And then they kiss 😈 (is this too cringe am i cringe bro)

(A/n): TYSMMM for the request, this is so cute!! ALSO PLEASE KEEP SENDING REQUESTS ANYONE!! I'll write almost anything as long as it's not noncon or fetish. If you're unsure just look at my character list I'll link a list of what i will + wont write for

(Warnings): snarky Negan being himself, harsh language (it's negan duh)

(Summary): Before Negan arrived it was really easy to hide your sexuality, but when he went snooping and found old photos with your ex boyfriend he obviously couldn't keep his mouth shut but it definitely went better than you can expected.

....

You hid your sexuality even before you got to Alexandria but getting to Alexandria didn't help, the way the older folk looked at Aaron and Eric made you want to curl up and wither away. So you hid yourself, you hid your family pictures, you hid your pictures of friends at pride events and your ex boyfriend in fear of them finding out and shunning you. In your dream world you'd have your family pictures around your house in Alexandria, being able to see the faces of loved ones you'd lost and reminisce on a time before the outbreak but sacrifices have to be made in the new world.

When Negan started showing up you'd only just managed to settle in Alexandria, a lot of those who may of judged you had died and your group from before such as Rick pretty much ran the show around Alexandria now. You weren't at the line up and you hadn't seen Negan kill Abraham or Glenn, you didn't know Abraham well but he seemed nice enough although you never got too close due to an itching bad feeling he was homophobic. Glenn on the other hand you got on with well, being around the same age you both instinctively became close and you'd even considered telling him you were gay but in the end you decided not to, you had known how bad he was at keeping secrets since Hershel's farm when he told Dale about Loris pregnancy and the Hershel families secret zombie collection in the Barn. You feel slightly guilty for not telling him now he's gone though, he would've always had your back.

Less than a week later Negan came banging on the gate, you were counting ammunition and had noticed missing guns but decided it would be best to stay quiet right now. He sends his men to strip peoples houses of mattresses and items he decided he wanted, you're suddenly struck with a horrid feeling of nausea knowing your photos are hidden under your mattress so you run off back to the armory to pretend to check stock.

Around your fourth time checking the stock of guns and ammo Negan bursts in, "Well hey there... Y/n?" You nod. "I believe these are yours sweetheart." He hands you your photos and you swallow hard, you can't tell if you're about to cry or scream. "Don't worry i won't tell a soul, I'm not as bad as prick makes me out to be I wouldn't out someone. Well, assuming you're not out by the way all these photos were hidden under your mattress." You hide the photos in your back pocket and shrug. "I had my men leave your mattress there and maybe we could... You know, in return for my selflessness." He gets close to your face and smirks but backe off when his men enter and you hand them the lists of stock.

The next few time's Negan visits he flirts with you relentlessly, subtle to obvious.

When you saw him walking through the gates this time you sighed knowing it'd just be another day of annoyance, he walks straight up to you and smirks, "hey handsome..." You glare at him.

"Lighten up hon' you don't like a man like me being interested in you?" He laughs to himself and you just look away, almost seething with anger but holding back for Rick's sake. Negan sees your anger and his face shows how hard realisation hit him that you were genuinely annoyed with him and not just playing hard to get.

"Look, you don't have to act all macho to make people think you're not gay. Plus, i don't understand why you're even bothered about people knowing! It's the end of the damn world, laws don't exist anymore if you didn't realise, so if someone makes your life hard over your sexuality do what i do, bash some skulls in." Your eyes soften, while he doesn't exactly have a way with words you do understand his point. "I'm not like you." You respond to him with an ounce of bitterness but he smiles, "no you're not, but you get what I'm gettin' at." His hand brushes yours and you finally look up at him and your eyes lock. "Yeah... Yeah i guess you're right." You mutter and he smiles, his face gets a bit closer to yours. "Loosen up and have a bit of fun doll."

Your lips meet, at first you're unsure and think about pushing him away but his words ring in your head "loosen up and have a little fun" So you pull him closer and the pair of you share a passionate kiss.

Wherever this is going to go, you're sure it'll upset people but you've decided that if you're going to live in a world where you could die any day you'd rather die happy than moping and hiding yourself from others.

..............

(A/n): I hope you liked it! I loved the request, sorry it took so long I've got ridiculous amounts of work to get done so squeezed this in as much as possible!

[buckbuckleykinard]

here's a little snippet from a fic i probably wont ever finish but may repurpose into something else

He curls his legs into his chest and presses the warm glass of his phone screen to his ear.  With his free hand, he drags his fingers across the rough, night cold grit of the stone beneath them, just to feel the scratch against his skin.  Little grits of sand and moss lift up and stick in the whorls of his fingerprints as his phone rings once, twice, three times–

“Evan?  Are you okay”

Tommy’s voice is drowned out a little by the distant but unmistakable sound of chopper blades whirring to a stop.  It’s only 6pm in L.A. and Tommy is still on shift.

“Shit, you’re at work.  Sorry.  I forgot about the time difference.  I’m fine I–”

“It’s okay.  We just got back from a call, just give me a second to get somewhere quieter and I can talk.”

Buck considers telling him it’s fine, that he’s fine, that his crisis can wait till Tommy isn’t at the tail-end of a 24 but the problem with that is that he wants. And maybe he’s selfish and childish and all the terrible things his parents think he is but maybe Tommy wants, too.  

Because Tommy answered his call.

“Okay, I’m in the bunks now.  How are you?  How are your parents?”

“I'm good.” A lie. “My parents are fine.  How they usually are.”  The painful truth.

A semi truck speeds by, blaring its horn at nothing, headlights cutting through the dusty blue evening.

“How are they usually?”

Mean, Buck wants to say.  Careless, oblivious, belittling.  Maddie always says they’re not bad people, just bad parents, and he has always parroted it back.  He feels like he’s said it so often that it had just become true, but at the time he hadn’t been around them.  It was easier to put on some rose-coloured glasses and pretend that things were better than they actually were, or at least less painful.

“I don’t think they like me very much.” Maybe it’s too honest but he finds the more they talk, the more he wants to be honest with Tommy.  Some wicked part of him thinks that maybe if he shows this man the ugly, jealous rot of his insides, that he’ll leave before it hurts too much.  That it won’t be like Abby, who he’d thought he loved, or Taylor who he knew he did.

His parents loved Daniel, and how fucked up is it that he’s jealous of someone whose dead.  Then again, maybe they're more alike than he thought because yes, they had loved him, but they erased him too.  They scrubbed their lives clean of him, threw out his things and painted over the glow in the dark stars on the ceiling.  Maybe the only difference is that Buck is still alive.

“Yeah?” Tommy says, a little probing but kind.  Buck knows that if he dropped it, if he moved on to something lighter, that Tommy would let him.

“They repainted my room”  He knows it's ridiculous as soon as it comes out of his mouth.

“They didn’t tell you they were going to?”  Tommy asks, like this is a completely normal thing for an adult man to be upset about.

“No, they didn’t say anything.  They threw out all my stuff too.  Not that there was a lot there, but stil–”

“They should have at least given you the opportunity to come get what you wanted to keep.”

“Yeah, exactly!”  He says with a chuckle.  “I mean, I’m pretty sure my skateboard was still in the closet up there.  They’re not cheap, you know.”

“You skateboard?”  Tommy asks.  Buck swears that he can hear the smile in his voice.  

“I used to, sort of.  I'm pretty sure I spent more time falling off than actually riding.”

“God, you were a total punk in high school, weren’t you?”  Tommy laughs.  It’s nice, like warm honey settling low in Buck’s stomach. 

“Oh, definitely.  I think I spent most of my childhood injured in one way or another.”  It’s hard for him, looking back, to find a memory that doesn’t include bandages or a cast or a sling of some kind.

“You know, considering that the first time we met was flying a helicopter into a hurricane, I’m really not surprised to find out that you’re incredibly reckless with your own safety.”

“I had a motorcycle, too.  Got it basically as soon as I learned how to drive.”

“God, Evan.”  His voice is still tinged with amusement.  It floors him a little, how Tommy had managed to steer the conversation away from his morose family musings toward something lighter.  It makes Buck want to run through every time he’s ever almost died.  Chase away the amusement and ruin this on purpose before he does it by accident.

“Does it bother you?”

“Depends on why you're doing it.”  Tommy doesn’t ask what he means, doesn’t need to.  Buck wonders if he can smell his insecurities through the phone line.  He waits for Tommy to continue.

“Every time you go into work, you put yourself in dangerous situations to save lives.  So do I.  That’s the job.”  Buck can hear some shifting from Tommy’s end, tries to imagine him sitting on the edge of one of the bunks at the Harbour station, phone pressed against his ear.  Maybe he’s gotten more comfortable, lying down, eyes closed as he tries to get a little bit of rest between calls.  They shouldn’t be having this conversation over the phone, but the thought of having to do this in person, to have to look Tommy in the eyes and ask to be soothed, sends a chill through him that's much stronger than the one caused by the rapidly cooling evening air.

Some kind of sports car speeds by, music thundering through the closed windows as it slows around the corner and disappears.

“But being reckless with your life because the only time you felt like your parents looked after you was when you were hurting?  Yeah, that bothers me.”

And there it is, The Breaking Point.  He’s found a way to push Tommy too far.  Tommy, who’d already given him far more chances than he deserved.

“I mean, I’m familiar with shitty parents, believe me, but if I made my kid feel so unloved that they thought they had to hurt themselves to get my attention, I don’t think I’d ever forgive myself.”

Huh.

That’s unexpected.

“Evan?”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m here.”  There is another beat of silence.

“Sorry, if I overstepped.  I didn’t mean-”

“You didn’t.”  Buck says, definitively.  “I’ve just never really had anyone see it like that?”

“Like what?  What do you mean?”

“Like my reckless behaviour isn’t some sort of defect of my personality.  Like maybe, I was hurting, too."