#i'll likely also post it to ao3 tomorrow

[kalied0skull]

twas the night before ficmas, when all thru the house

you could hear arcade squeaking and rolling around, just like a mouse.

[writingboutbrainrot]

All of Me Loaves All of You [ch2]

[ch0 | NOW ON A03]

Today was the big day. Louise was woken up way too early for her taste, 6 a.m., to go to the wedding venue. To save on costs the whole thing was very DIY - aside from renting a ballroom and hiring a caterer, no way was Bob Belcher catering at his own daughter’s reception and missing out on the important stuff. Besides, he still hated catering. 

So Louise had to be up at the buttcrack of dawn to go and help make sure everything was perfect. Which of course she was the perfect person for the overseeing of...just not for another few hours. Or at least 5 or so shots of espresso. Which she halfway downed on the drive with her parents and Gene.

Zeke’s cousin Leslie was already unfolding chairs outside when the Belchers arrived, a gaggle of children running around and not really helping. Who was helping though was a very tired looking blonde. Louise grimaced as Logan spun around, swinging a chair like Leatherface as he tried to not hit any of the children dashing about. He was very off balance and Louise sipped her caffeine and hoped she’d see him fall. Maybe he’d twist his ankle and someone else would have to stand it as best man. Leslie would be a suitable choice, he could even dance.

No such luck. Brown eyes squinted as the man righted himself and managed to set the chair down without incident. They then looked down at her just as dark coffee as the blonde started walking over with one of those smarmy little smirks of his.

“You gonna help with the labor or just stare at the workers?” he chided, arms crossed and that left brow of his raised so high Louise thought it may get lost in his bangs. Not bangs she could hide under like an umbrella if it rained, but a jungle that her fingers would probably get ensnared in if she- 

She blinked. Then she scoffed. “Unlike yooou, I have the all important job of making sure the bride doesn’t lose her shit. This means that I don’t have to do manual labor, thank you very much.”

Logan rolled his eyes and huffed a little, but then he motioned to the building. “Bride-not-zilla is in there with Susmita already.” He looked like he was about to say something else, but Louise spoke first,

“Great well you keep doing a mediocre job out here and I’m gonna go crush it in the dressing room.” 

She pushed past him, a little bit of coffee splashing his shirt and giving a “ha!” when he called out her name in an accusing whine. 

Dodging way too rambunctious children, Louise crossed the lawn and the ballroom. Then she cracked the door open for a decency check before sliding in. Linda had beelined when they arrived and was flitting about while Susmita handed a robed Tina a thermos.

“Bit early for vodka ain’t it?” Louise cracked. Her sister gave a sleepy glare. She shrugged and muttered, “Tough crowd,” and went to the pile of bags. She and her mom had put their stuff in the same bag and now was the time for Louise to dig around. They had a couple of hours before they were needed for the photoshoots, but Louise knew if she wanted to avoid manual labor she should get ready asap.

“Louise don’t you wanna lounge for a bit in the fancy robes?” Linda asked, waving a fluffy pink robe around. The question stopped Louise in her tracks. She stared at the cloth in question as it beckoned like a siren. If she put that on then not only would she not be forced out of the room, but she also wouldn’t have to use any effort to make herself up much earlier than she needed.

“Yes Mother, I would like to lounge in the fancy robes, thank you.” Louise agreed while putting down the bag. She took the robe from her mom and slid it over her pj’s. The microfiber fleece lulled her into a sense of security. How can Tina be grumpy in this?! she wondered for a moment. But then she remembered how little sleep everyone had gotten.

“Alright so. What’s the game plan Sus?” She decided it was going to be much better directing all inquiries to the bride’s maid who had it all together.

-x-x-x-

An hour of sitting around later and Louise found herself growing….bored. She was currently hanging upside down on the settee, scrolling aimlessly on her phone. Her coffee was gone and replaced with a mimosa flute. Which she was nursing because she felt like 8 am was too early for alcohol but Linda was still always ready to get a party started.

“Besides, Louise, a mimosa is a morning drink. It’s perfectly acceptable,” the older woman insisted while lifting her own flute up.

“It’s a brunch drink, Mom,” she countered with a smile. “Brunch starts at 11, 10 if you’re being generous.”

“9 am if you’re in the Philippines,” Susmita chimed in without looking away from her tablet. Louise heard a Level Up come from the device and caught Susmita grin.

Linda let out a tchk. “Ahhhh you girls and your cement-ticks.”

“Semantics, Mom,” Tina joined in. Her tea was finally kicking in, she still wasn’t allowed to have coffee after that whole espresso episode she had as a teen.

“What did I say?”

“Nevermind, Mrs. Belcher. Hey, do you know when Gretchen will be here?” Susmita asked, expertly redirecting the subject. Louise admired that. It was nice to have someone else who could handle the family.

And like magic, the door opened to reveal….Tammy and Jocelyn. Louise groaned the smallest amount. The two may have grown up over the years, and sure Louise and Tammy have had their fair share of “same wavelength” moments but... 

“Tinaaa, girl we’re heereee!” Tammy exclaimed with way too much energy for 8 in the morning. She made a type of shrill sound that Louise wasn’t sure she could describe. “I can’t believe you’re getting married today!”

“Yeaah you’re, like, making it so official today,” Jocelyn added in the same lilted monotone she’s always had. Her head turned to the minibar next. “Ooo is that orange juice?”

Some things don’t change and it was just too early. So Louise took this as her cue to stop hiding inside and flipped herself off the settee. “Whelp looks like you’ve got enough people to hold down the fort in here T, I’m gonna make sure everything’s going smooth on the battlefield,” she announced while straightening out her robe.

Before Tina could protest, Louise gave her older sister a quick kiss to the top of her head which was graciously washed this morning, and headed out the door with her mimosa in hand.

She didn’t immediately regret it, even if she had to quickly dodge a gaggle of scamps rushing by. But she did so without spilling mimosa, so that was a win. Smirking to herself, she noticed Gene shuffling by.

“Yo Gene, where’s the fire?” she called, already heading toward them. 

The middle Belcher looked around without stopping. “Oh Louise!” They gave an appraising up and down glance before pointing. “I do hope that I have a robe waiting for me in either dressing room.” When Louise just raised her eyebrow, they shrugged and turned back to watch where they were going. “The fire’s at Alex’s van. Not a real fire, this time, just that the equipment is there and it needs to be-” they flailed an arm in the general direction of the building, “there.”

Louise now regretted coming outside. Or at least regretted blindly following her sibling. Carrying equipment while holding a drink was going to be way more work than she planned on doing.

“Bob why don’t you trade m-” a voice grabbed Louise’s attention, shaking her from her musings. Not that she’d admit just whose voice did that. A little ways in front of them Bob was at a wizard painted van with Alex and Logan, waving the blonde away with one arm and clutching something that looked hefty in the other.

“I got it, Logan, don’t-” pause for straining noise, “don’t worry about it.”

Gene and Louise shared an eye roll and hurried a little faster to the group. Louise shouted out, “Dad come on you’re one wrong breath away from dying at any moment, let the middle aged guy throw out his back instead.”

Close enough now, Louise could see Logan huff and roll his eyes. “I’m not even 30, Four Ears.”

“And?” she quipped back, not having any real backup. Which she cleverly hid with a sip of her drink. Seeming to pick his battles, Logan just shook his head. Louise thought she saw the corner of his lips tug up. But that’s something neither of them would admit.

Turning her attention back to her elderly father, Louise tutted. “For real, Dad, let someone else get that. I’ll trade you,” she said while holding out her half empty flute. The fast action caught the patriarch off guard and he precariously handed the cargo over in exchange. Louise finished the transaction by taking a careful step towards Logan. 

“And now you take this,” she chimed while lifting the luggage by the handle. When the almost-30 year old took it without a second thought Louise prided herself on not cackling right away. The double take he did when he realized what happened caused her to burst, however.

Of course she had expertly weaseled her way into carrying the smallest thing there was. “You were really going to make the father of the bride carry a cd case? You monster,” she teased. 

Logan let out a single bark of a laugh. “You should’ve been out here earlier when I handed him the extension cord.” The twinkle in his eye as Louise reached for imaginary pearls was not to be missed. And Louise thought she caught that too. “This is the last of it though. So classic Louise-timing.”

“Pssh, it’s an art, really,” the young woman boasted. She tried to block out Gene and Alex behind them. But when your sibling only knows stage whisper as a lowest setting that was difficult, especially when that skill is extended to their platonic soulmate.

It was Alex who spoke the question, “Do you think we’re going to perform at their wedding soon?” 

And Gene who answered, “Not for another 7 years.”

“Right, right. In their 30’s,” Alex concluded, referring back to Gene’s ancient prophecy. 

For the millionth time in 3 hours, Louise rolled her eyes. Gene said a lot of things off the cuff, and that was just one of those things. Her sibling was not a prophet, and she was never going to reconnect and marry Logan Barry Bush in her 30’s. For one thing, they had already reconnected now, before Louise’s 20’s. So that was already not going well in Gene’s favor. 

Still, she cast a quick glance at Logan and noticed that his face was just the slightest shade of pink. An impish smile took her face.

“I don’t know Logan, I think we should see if Hall and Oates would get back together for us. If they’re still alive in 7 years that is,” she said a little louder than normal. The blonde had the briefest moment of confusion before that rusty gear in his brain clicked over.

“Awh but I was really looking forward to Beyonce,” he pouted.

“I don’t think we’d be able to afford her baby,” she consoled. Cue the indignant gasps from the peanut gallery in the back, and a confused noise from Bob up front. Choosing to leave the former suffering, Louise called out to the latter, “Nothing, Pops!” Then shared a snicker with Logan.

And that really helped pass the steps back to the main area. Thankfully because Louise was thinking that she needed a refill-osa after that. God maybe I am turning into Mom a little. 

“So has anyone checked on Zeke?” she asked, setting down the cd case and opening the door to the building. Gene went right on past her, presumably to cash in on their own pink fuzzy robe. Without answering, so she assumed that was a “no”. So she looked directly at Logan.

“Yeah I’ve been checking in between tasks. He’s got the rest of the party in there with him for company.”

Satisfied with the answer, Louise gave a nod and went inside. Sure enough, Gene was walking out of the “girl’s room” in a fluffy pink robe and two flutes of whatever concoction they made. Louise knew one was non alcoholic for Alex, so it was probably just orange juice and Spryt. The two passed with a nod. However Gene paused and caught Louise’s attention.

“You’re not really gonna hire someone else to do music for your wedding, are you?”

The youngest Belcher sighed with a smile. “Of course not. If I ever get married you’re the first person I’m hiring. Third person I call. If I don’t dual-call Tina and Millie first I’m pretty sure they’d materialize and murder me.”

Gene laughed and gave a thoughtful, “That does sound like them.” Then they were out the door and waving one of the flutes around, splashing the contents everywhere. Louise chuckled and re-entered the bridal world once more.

Before she knew it, it was wedding time.

[ ch3]

[presumenothing]

so we all know the drill, yeah? my keyboard slipped etc etc and thus i present: 吉祥纹莲花楼 aka LOTUS CASEBOOK (the novel) CHAPTER ONE: TASTER EDITION further aka "the first chapter, but minus the Case Exposition bit because wow noooope". note also that this is not as serious nor thoroughly-edited as some of my other TLs (nif fandom alumni may remember me from known, unknown aka this absolute unit/research spiral of a post-canon fic; this is Not That and also, hi!!). and now with that out of the way, enjoy! ETA: fixed some missing bits that got eaten while posting to tumblr + only maybe 30% on-topic footnotes over here

PART THE FIRST: A GHOST, MURDER, IN THE GREEN GAUZE WINDOW

Changzhou City, Xiaomian Inn.

The seventeenth of the sixth month, just around midnight.

It had been two days since Cheng Yunhe, the head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company, started escorting these sixteen boxes of precious goods. Though all had been well so far, he felt tight-strung with exhaustion, and despite having fallen asleep he woke up without quite knowing why.

Silence permeated the dark room.

Outside the window… there was singing.

Faint waves of sound, barely discernible, as if someone was singing; and apparently quite in earnest, too, but in an incredibly odd tone… just as if… someone was singing with their tongue cut out. 

He opened his eyes, and looked at the window directly across from his bed.

Amidst the darkness, green flecks flickered dim and sudden across that window, now far then near, and only on this one window across from him.

Outside the window, the faraway song continued, that broken tongue singing a tragic melody that no-one living could possibly understand…

He’d already practised almost forty years of martial arts, and though his hearing and sight might not be the top in the jianghu, it could hardly be weak either, but he… could not make out the sound of anything human.

As the wind whistled through the slightly-ajar window, he stared at that window with its flickering green shadows – and for the very first time in his life, he thought of a word – ghosts?

–

ONE: LUCKY PATTERN LOTUS PARLOUR

The broad daylight of a sunny day.

Bingshan Town was not a remarkable place by any means; it had neither rare treasure nor great legends, and just like the vast majority of places in the jianghu, its denizens were a little boring, its crops a tad skinny, its rivers a tinge dirty, and its post-meal conversational topics a touch lacking… far too lacking, actually, so whenever there was something everyone had to delight in it for the longest time – not to mention how that recent happening was an odd one indeed.

The tale so far: on this day, the eighteenth of the month, when the people of Bingshan Town opened their doors to sweep their stoops, they abruptly found that their only-too-familiar main street had suddenly sprouted a two-storey wooden building. This building was hardly a short one, either, fully capable of housing people inside, and in spacious lodgings no less; it was made fully of wood, and engraved with patterns unusually fine and ornate, that even a blind person could recognise by touch – none other than lotus flowers and auspicious clouds.

After a good half-day’s worth of discussion, some eagle-eyed people recognised at last how this building had “suddenly appeared”: though its structure was that of a building, it turned out that it was not connected to the ground… at any rate, this building had been pulled by someone with a cart, here to the main street of their Bingshan Town, and put it there. Everyone expressed their amazement at this, but nobody could comprehend why anyone would bother dragging over such a large building in the dead of night just to leave it on the street, or what it could possibly be for. Perhaps as a shrine for their town god? Though speaking of which, their local shrine had indeed fallen into disrepair and gone unworshipped for many years now…

Such debate continued for three days straight, up until an express convoy working at some company who happened to be coming home was struck dumbfounded upon seeing it, screeched “The Lucky Parlour!” and there and then turned to run madly away without even returning home, still yelling “Lucky Parlour!” along the way – and thus the building abruptly became a haunted house, that would drive anyone who saw it right mad.

Only seven days later, when that express convoy suddenly brought the entire convoy company back to Bingshan Town, did the masses discover that said building was not in fact some haunted house. 

Not only was it not a haunted house, it was actually an auspicious building, a super-duper auspicious building. 

The “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” was a medical clinic.

Its master was of surname Li, named Lianhua.

What kind of a person was Li Lianhua? As a matter of fact, nobody in the jianghu knew either. Whether his master, his background, the level of his martial arts, his age, or even the matter of his looks: all of it was unknown. Six years had passed since this person appeared in the jianghu, and in total he’d done only two things, but just these two things alone had been enough to turn the “Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour” into the single most fascinating legend in the jianghu.

The two things Li Lianhua had done: the first was bringing back to life the martial scholar “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, who’d been buried for many days after dying from major injuries after a decisive duel. The second was bringing back to life “Ironflute Hero” He Lantie, who’d also been buried for many days with all his bones broken after dying from a cliff fall.

Just these two incidents alone had already made Li Lianhua the one figure in the jianghu that people most wanted to acquaint themselves with, but there was also the matter of his strange house that he always brought along with him – this only made Li Lianhua more of a legend amongst legends.

The head convoy of Hexing Convoy Company led every last one of his men on swift horseback to Bingshan Town, and after three days of clean baths and devout incense, finally delivered on great tenterhooks a letter of greeting to that building carved of precious softwood: Cheng Yunhe of Hexing Convoy Company wishes to consult on an important matter.

Said letter was pushed in via a window gap.

All forty-odd men of the company waited alongside Cheng Yunhe, as if it was the King of Hell inside of that building, passing judgement––

Soon after, that building that had been so silent as to seem unoccupied let out the faintest of creaking sounds. All of Hexing Convoy held their breath, and even the rubbernecking passers-by caught theirs, too, widening their eyes to better await whatever creature could possibly emerge from this building.

The door swung swiftly open, and not in the slow swing of everyone’s imagination.

A large cloud of dust burst forth with a bang, blowing all over Cheng Yunhe, and the figure in the door made a sound of dismay, saying with great apology: “I was tidying up odds and ends, and didn’t even realise I had guests, my apologies, apologies indeed.”

All of Hexing Convoy, now covered in dust and sawdust, stared in astonishment at the one who’d opened the door with a broom in one hand; the very same broom where that bright red greeting letter was now stuck on. He looked very young, no older than twenty-seven or twenty-eight, and perhaps even a little younger than that if not for the much-mended grey robes he was wearing; his skin was fair and his looks refined, but neither was he so beautifully handsome as to be unforgettable from a glance. He held the broom in his right hand and a dustpan in his left, and looked out at the dozens-strong line outside his door with a face full of apology.

Cheng Yunhe gave a heavy cough, and saluted in greeting: “I, “Thousand-Mile Crane” Cheng Yunhe, humbly greet Li-xiansheng of the Lucky Parlour; may I perhaps request that you pass a message to him that there is a matter I wish to consult him on?”

“Ah,” said the grey-robed young man. “A message?”

Cheng Yunhe spoke gravely: “I fear we must meet with Li Lianhua, Li-xiansheng himself, for there is crucial business to discuss.”

The young man set down the broom. “I am indeed Li Lianhua.”

Cheng Yunhe’s eyes widened abruptly, mouth falling open, and in that moment every last bystander wanted nothing more than to toss three or five eggs into his mouth. Very swiftly he shut it again, and gave another heavy cough. “Your good reputation precedes you, Li-xiansheng…” 

And then he found himself at a loss on how to continue, for he had already detailed the ins and outs of the matter on the greeting letter, but that same letter was now stuck on Li Lianhua’s broom.

Li Lianhua said: “Apologies, apologies… my residence is covered in clutter at the moment…”

He raised a hand to invite Cheng Yunhe inside.

The Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour was indeed covered in assorted junk; from nails to hammer, saw to axe, dustcloths to broom, sawdust and dust everywhere, and a few boxes holding who-knew-what. The front room held only one table and chair each, both made of bamboo and not worth even twenty bronze coins. Cheng Yunhe felt heavy doubt in his heart, but what with the sheer reputation of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, and this grey-robed man to be sitting in it, he dared not to suspect him to be a fake, either; and thus he was left with no choice but to sit respectfully across from Li Lianhua and recount every part of those fearsome events he’d encountered a half-month ago.

[––CASE EXPOSITION CUT FOR SANITY––]

Such was the tale of the “Green Window Ghost Murder” that had thrown the martial world into heated debate over the last half a month. Yu Mulan, heartbroken over the senseless death of his beloved daughter, flew into a rage and commanded the death of all the swordsmen who had been escorting Yu Qiushuang that night, alongside a kill order for the entirety of Hexing Convoy Company. Cheng Yunhe, pushed to his wits’ end, had been about to bring his family and disband the company for a scattered escape when he heard the news of the Lucky Parlour.

Li Lianhua could bring the dead back to life – and so Cheng Yunhe suddenly thought: if Li Lianhua could resurrect Yu Qiushuang, wouldn’t that resolve everything? Resurrection was not something he would have ever believed in, just a half-month ago, but with matters the way they were now he could only work with what he had, dead or otherwise, and since the heavens had seen fit to let him come across Li Lianhua, why not give it a try? After all… if the legends were true, all could not but be well.

But even until he’d finished recounting the “Green Window Ghost Murder” incident, he hadn’t heard any startling insights out of Li Lianhua, only an ah and a nod of his head.

After finishing his tea, Cheng Yunhe had no choice but to leave. He truly could not think of any good reason to remain any longer in that empty building of Li Lianhua’s, full of assorted junk and Li Lianhua’s expression full of gentle incomprehension. 

Cheng Yunhe departed.

From the second storey of the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, someone said, leisurely: “Even five years later, you’re still plenty famous, aren’t you…”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, drinking tea. “Ah…”

Who even knew what he was ah-ing about.

“Actually I’ve never been able to figure it out.” That figure descended slowly from the second storey. He was thin and pale, all skin and bones, and perhaps if he gained twenty pounds he’d be a elegantly beautiful young man, but as it stood he mostly just resembled a victim of starvation. Yet this particular hungry corpse also happened to be wearing a set of rich white robes of particularly meticulous workmanship, with the tassel and jade ornaments favoured only by those fine young masters untouched by worldly troubles, and a long sword with an unusually elegant shape to its hilt. “How could anyone in this world possibly believe in something like resurrection? It’s been five whole years, and yet nobody has forgotten those two scandals of yours…”

“Because none of them are as smart as you.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly, stood up to stretch, then picked up his broom and resumed sweeping the floor.

“Can you not sweep the floor?” The hungry corpse from the upper storey suddenly glared. “How can you possibly keep sweeping when I, the great Fang-dagongzi, am here right in front of you? Do you realise that if Cheng Yunhe had known I was in here just now, he’d definitely kneel down and beg me too ask that old geezer Yu not to slaughter his entire family? You have a young master of my handsome looks and eminent status in front of you, and yet you’ve been doing nothing but sweep the floor?"

“I can’t.” Li Lianhua said: “I haven’t cleaned and repaired this building in too long. It’s very dirty, and leaks when it rains, too.”

The white-robed corpse kept up the wide-eyed glaring for many moments longer, before suddenly letting out a sigh. “Someone like you who can’t fight and can’t treat diseases, who doesn’t plant crops or commit theft either – how have you even managed to survive all these years in such fame? I really don’t get it.” 

This white-robed hungry corpse was “Melancholic Young Master” Fang Duobing, the eldest son of the of the Fang martial family. He’d known Li Lianhua for an entire six years, long enough that he even knew exactly how this same person had come to fame – Shi Wenjue had suffered major injuries in his duel and used the Turtle’s Breath method to close his qi and recover, the local villagers had taken him for dead and buried him, Li Lianhua had gone to dig him up, and thus Shi Wenjue had naturally come back to life; He Lantie, on the other hand, had staged an entire cliff jump after failing in his pursuit of a wife, played dead and buried himself in the ground, and Li Lianhua who’d just happened to be passing by dug him out yet again. The whole world was wondering how Li Lianhua had managed to bring the dead back to life, while all Fang Duobing wanted to know was how he knew where on earth (or under it) there’d be a live person to dig up.

“I did still have some silver coins, a while ago.” Li Lianhua carefully swept the front room, then put away the dustpan. “As long as you plan well, you can still make do.”

Fang Duobing rolled his eyes. “And how much silver do you have now?”

“Fifty taels.” Li Lianhua smiled faintly. “That’s enough to use for a lifetime, to me.”

Fang Duobing tsked. “To think that there’s losers like you in the martial world, who only plan to spend fifty taels in their whole life, it’s practically a shame upon the jianghu. Had Cheng Yunhe known what kind of person you are, I’d like to see whether he still would’ve come asking for help… heh, asking a ‘miracle doctor’ who doesn’t know a drop of medicine and has to go everywhere with his house on his back because he’s too stingy to stay in an inn, to go treat the dead, I can’t believe he thought of that.” Fang Duobing rolled his eyes again for good measure, and eyed Li Lianhua up and down. “Though I can’t actually tell whether you are going to help him go treat the dead or not.”

Li Lianhua sat on the chair, fingers still meticulously fiddling away with the interlocking joint on that squeaky bamboo table of his, and gave a small smile upon hearing this. “Why wouldn’t I go? After all, I don’t know how to plant crops, or sell vegetables, and I’m not in want of coin. Wouldn’t life be incredibly boring if I didn’t have something to do?”

“When that old geezer Yu finds out that you’re a fake miracle doctor and decides to kill your entire family, Fang-dagongzi is absolutely not going to save you,” Fang Duobing said, leisurely. “Go on then, don’t expect this young master here to see you off.”

And so it was that Li Lianhua spent a whole three days tidying up inside the Lucky Pattern Lotus Parlour, packing who-knows-what into that small parcel of his, and after meticulously writing a lengthy missive temporarily entrusting the parlour to the care of “Lifelong Learner” Shi Wenjue, he set off at last.

He was headed to Yu Fortress, to see the corpse of Yu Qiushuang.

[kangaracha]

you guys are insane, why are we three people away from having to create part 4 of the queenmaker taglist 😭😂 what is happening

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

I regret to inform everyone we're back in the white space. Expect the fire alarm to go off periodically in typical fashion of whenever it detects a steaming pile of garbage on the way. Like me! [i'll give a cookie to whoever recognizes where the sfx is from!!]

[extralively]

So these are the inspirations for Yura's dress in chapter 1 of Deeper in the Dark and the extended scene oneshot! It's kind of a mix between the two, though definitely more of the first one, what with Satoru's choosing a strapless one on purpose lol

(The oneshot is out now, by the way ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°))

[azzibueckers5]

i want you to need me (need to want something more)

part 2: in which paige is so up. like so fucking up.

(ao3 link) (part 1) (wc: ~ 8k) (read iwkpa before this series)

cw: sexual content

AN: i hope this fixes the heartache adequately? if not don't let me know I'll cry <3 ummm I wrote the majority of the smut having been up for like 36 hours straight and then edited it after three glasses of wine? so uh good luck— ill go through and edit again in a couple days lmfao but im warningggg you i got really lazy towards the end like. i’m sorry <3333333 also pls suspend your disbelief about the wings theoretically making the playoffs in 2026 cause... whewwwww not looking likely. also this is literally twice as plotless as the last chapter of iwkpa... and three times as nonesensical and ridiculous so just like. keep that in mind. also it wasn't supposed to be this smutty man idk it got away from me. happy day!

+1 october 2026, dallas, texas

paige’s phone finally rings with the familiar ringtone she’s been waiting on for what feels like hours, just as she’s ushering her straggling teammates out of her apartment. she’d hosted a watch party after practice for the final game of the liberty–mystics semifinals, and though she loves her teammates, she’s been subtly (and then entirely unsubtly) trying to kick them out since the final buzzer in dc’s overtime loss. 

nai and lyss had tried valiantly to cheer her up, but not being able to be there for azzi and having to watch her expression crumple through the television screen had been entirely awful and she’d just wanted to sit on the alone couch in silence until her girlfriend called. 

the silver lining of their loss meant that azzi might be able to make it to her semi game tomorrow night, but she puts that thought on the backburner when she answers the facetime, jumping straight into sympathetic girlfriend mode. 

azzi’s already talking on the other side of the line, hammering on angrily about “the fucking shit ass refs” and how it was a “rigged ass fucking game,” and paige fights to keep her smile at just seeing azzi’s face on her screen a secret. post-loss azzi is a force to be reckoned with and she won’t jeopardize putting herself as the target by showing positive emotion.

it seems azzi has skipped being sad about it entirely and jumped straight into being pissed, which is precisely paige’s post game specialty, and she lets her ramble, chiming in here and there with indignant comments on how bad the refs were and agreements with how poor their screens had been. 

azzi had, surprise surprise, played spectacularly, and had unofficially locked in rookie of the year with a 27 point effort, but paige knows the competitive nature of her girlfriend is cut from the same cloth as her own, and her main goal is to try and keep azzi’s anger directed away from her very few mistakes and make sure she doesn’t veer into self-deprecation. 

she’s mostly successful, and by the time azzi leaves the facilities, she’s calmed down enough to let the loss sink in a bit more. when she finally climbs onto the bus that will take them back to the hotel, she seems to relax even further, and lets out a quiet “i miss you.” 

paige’s face softens immediately. “miss you too, az. so bad.”

“booked a flight already for tomorrow morning, but i might not get in early enough to see you before the game.” she says it apologetically, like she’s sorry she can’t charter a flight there herself, and paige smiles a little bit at how in sync they are, how much she can tell they both just want a hug. 

seeing each other four times over a four month span wasn’t exactly conducive to a honeymoon phase, and though they were putting up a valiant effort anyways, she craved azzi’s physical presence more than anything. paige doesn’t think she’d ever been on facetime this much, and that’s including the month before she’d quarantined with the fudds and had been stuck inside all day, on the phone with azzi every millisecond. 

it still isn’t enough, though, and her heart rate speeds up at just the thought of having azzi within arms reach in only a day’s time. 

“s’okay, i’ll play better even just knowing you’re in the stands,” she says, and means it. azzi has always been the best motivator.

“you better. one of us has got to wi-”

“shhhh,” she cuts azzi off, “don’t jinx me.”

“yeah, yeah.” she pauses for a second, just looking at paige through the screen, and then there’s commotion on the other end and she gets distracted for a bit, clearly trying to negotiate seating arrangements. when she turns back, she sighs, “listen, baby, i’m gonna hang up so no one kills me for being on the phone on the bus, but i’ll text you when i get to the hotel.”

paige pouts. “how about you call me when you get to the hotel.”

azzi’s face is soft and knowing when she says “you’re gonna be asleep by the time i get there.”

“nuh-uh,” she claims, fighting a yawn. “gonna wait right here, awake, on the couch till you call.”

azzi just laughs. “if you say so. i’ll see you tomorrow, baby. love you.”

paige hangs up with an i love you too and a smile, and is only a little guilty when she thinks about how excited she is that azzi is coming to dallas tomorrow, instead of having to wait longer for their teams to arrange it.

she wedges herself further into her couch cushions, and puts on a random show, determined to stay true to her word and wait up for azzi’s call. 

she must fall asleep like that, though, nestled into the couch, because she wakes what feels like hours later to the gentle sensation of hands in her hair and the murmur of her name. 

she blinks, disoriented and disbelieving, to the sight of azzi standing above her, looking soft and delightful and angelic. 

paige stares. 

“hi,” the vision before her says, bashful, and paige’s brain suddenly registers that she’s not dreaming and that azzi is in fact, standing in front of her. 

in her living room. in dallas.

she shoots up from her position on the couch to sit up and pull azzi down into a hug, and the brunette sinks into her, pressing her face into paige’s neck like she’s needed the contact just as badly. 

“az, wh- what’re you doing here?” 

her words are slurred into azzi’s shoulder, voice thick with sleep and confusion, and she can feel azzi’s laugh at her bewilderment against her chest, because azzi here. in paige’s arms. 

what.  

“changed my flight, couldn’t wait until tomorrow,” she says, and paige’s heart swells. she doesn’t think she’ll ever get used to hearing azzi say things like that and knowing that she means for them to come across exactly as paige’s heart interprets them. “needed a consolatory cuddle.”

paige just hums and burrows closer, relishing in her presence. “what time s’it.”

“little past three. told you you’d fall asleep.”

paige slides her hands up underneath azzi’s sweatshirt just to feel more of her skin and ignores the opportunity to argue with her about how she’d only fallen asleep because azzi took too long to call, and instead leans back to press a gentle kiss to her mouth. “missed you.”

“mmhm.” azzi knocks their foreheads together in agreement, kisses her again, short and sweet, and then climbs off paige’s lap, ignoring her grumbling protests.

she holds her hand out, waiting, and says “c’mon. more of that after but in your bed.”

and well. paige would be crazy to refuse. 

she latches sleepily onto azzi’s back as they stumble down the hallway, and paige knows azzi has missed her because she doesn’t complain when she stays tucked up against her side throughout their entire nighttime routine– even while they brush their teeth at the same time, knocking elbows– and making the process of getting ready for bed highly inefficient. 

they shed their day clothes simultaneously, and paige bats a t-shirt out of azzi’s hands when she goes to put one on, pressing her now naked front up against azzi’s bare back and running her hands down from her ribs to her hips, grunting in protest at the idea of azzi covering any skin. azzi glares, entirely non-threateningly, over her shoulder.

“s’too late for that. sleep only. save it for tomorrow.”

“yes, ma’am.” she presses a kiss to her shoulder, “just like to feel you.”

azzi melts immediately– score– and when they climb into bed, paige instantly pulls azzi into her arms, relishing in the skin on skin contact and burrowing them under the covers.

she curls closer, trying to crawl inside azzi’s skin, and presses a contented sigh into her shoulder as their legs tangle. “goodnight, rookie of the year azzi fudd.”

her responding giggle is soft and just for paige, and she wants to bottle up the sound and keep it for a day when she’s desperately missing this. “night, p. love you.”

they drift off in seconds, and paige sleeps better than she has in weeks. 

…

when she wakes, a second time, it’s to little rays of sunlight slipping through the cracks in her blinds and the vision of azzi sleeping peacefully next to her, head pillowed on paige’s bicep and face relaxed. 

her heart clenches in her chest at the view and she takes a second to imprint the sight to memory, eyes tracing the slope of azzi’s nose and the birthmark on her jawline and the dark smudge of her lashes. it feels peaceful in a way that waking up first in their dorms in storrs and watching azzi sleep had never been.

aside from the fact that she’s only gotten to wake up next to her a measly four times since july, she also relishes in the security of an azzi that was entirely hers in her arms. 

she’d spent years stirring to the same sight, but never for the reasons paige had so desperately dreamed of, and it was surreal, in a way, to know that she could gently shake azzi awake and kiss her as much as she pleased. 

she’d done just that their first night together, in this very bed. paige had jerked awake before dawn with wet eyes and the crippling fear that she’d dreamed up the entirety of the prior day's events, and even the sight of azzi sleeping steadily beside her hadn’t been enough to stop the racing of her heart. she’d coaxed azzi awake, gently, just to kiss her, to cement it as real, and azzi had caught on immediately to her insecurity, whispering reassurances and apologies into paige’s skin until they’d both drifted off again, appeased. 

paige loves her so much. 

she’d almost forgotten, in the year they’d started referring to as the between, how well they could read each other's thoughts, and she’d missed the intimacy and comfort of just being so wholly understood by someone else. 

they’d slotted right back together as if they’d never been separated, except this time with awesome things like blatant flirting and sex and transparent feelings, and after spending so many years pining after azzi and thinking hopelessly that she’d never have her in the way that she truly wanted, whenever she’s reminded that she does have her, she gets a little bit breathless.

her attention is pulled from her nauseatingly sappy thoughts when azzi begins to stir, blinking awake slowly, and paige watches, enraptured, trying to catalogue every flutter of her eyelashes, every shift of her brow. she opens her eyes briefly, and glances at the way paige is unashamedly observing her, before closing them again and nestling closer, smile growing on her face. 

paige curls the arm azzi’s been using as a pillow tighter around her side, wanting her even closer, and is delightfully reminded by the bare skin of azzi’s lower back that they opted out of clothes the night before. beautiful. past paige was so thoughtful. 

“s’rude to stare, y’know,” azzi mumbles into the skin of her shoulder, eyes still shut. 

paige debates if she wants to be sentimental or annoying in response. being strictly sentimental might have quicker morning sex odds, but why choose one path when you can have both? 

“can’t help it, you’re too beautiful.” her voice comes out raspy in the way she knows azzi loves, and she fights to keep her smirk internal when the brunette’s cheeks flush. incredible. she’s so in there.

azzi pokes her gently in the stomach, yawns (extremely cutely), and says “corny this morning.” 

“s’not corny if it’s true.”

“that just made it doubly as corny.”

“whatever. missed you while we were sleeping.” paige’s grin is wide and pleased, and azzi fights a smile, nose scrunching. paige wants to bite her nose. mornings apparently give her cuteness aggression. 

“how’s that possible when you told me on facetime last week that you dream about me every night.” 

paige brushes a thumb over the smooth skin of azzi’s cheekbone, soft and fond. “s’not the same as the real-life thing.”

azzi rolls her eyes, disbelieving. “alright prince charming.” 

paige flicks her forehead affectionately, and they lapse into a comfortable silence for a minute.

and then azzi makes a point to be a pest and drags her frigid toes up paige’s calf, nudging at the back of her knees, and it’s extremely annoying, and entirely unsexy. 

in an completely unrelated turn of events, heat pools like lava in paige’s core, and her abs clench on instinct. 

azzi laughs, disbelieving and gleeful, and pushes up on her arm a little bit to look down at paige. “there is no way that turned you on.” 

paige has been more or less half turned on since the second azzi got here last night. 

“bruh,” paige turns her face away from azzi in defiance and grunts, “it didn’t.”

“really,” the brunette’s fingers tease down paige’s stomach, and she grins, taunting, when goosebumps erupt across paige’s abdomen. “so you’re saying if i move my hand down-” she drags knuckles lower and ghosts a touch over the apex of her thighs “-here, i won't find you wet?” 

her voice comes out low and intentional, and paige doesn’t know how the mood switched so fast but she’s absolutely not complaining one bit. 

it’s too early to come up with a quick response, so instead paige just surges up to kiss her, tongue slipping in almost immediately, and she shifts azzi fully on top of her when she returns the kiss with the same fervor. 

it’s languid and heated all in one, and paige lets herself bask in the feeling of having azzi on top of her for the first time in weeks, dragging her hands across her back and down to grip her ass, swallowing her moan at the contact. 

“g’morning,” azzi says when they break apart to breathe, smile radiant and achingly beautiful, and paige can feel her own answering grin splitting across her face. 

“excellent, fantastic morning.”

azzi giggles– paige wants to wake up to that sound for the rest of her life– before dragging her mouth down to paige’s neck and trailing kisses down her throat to her collarbone, careful not to leave any marks. this cautiousness must fly out the window when she gets to paige’s tit, however, because she immediately sucks a bruise into the soft skin of her flesh, before continuing on a warpath down across paige’s abdomen. 

she starts at her navel, biting a mark into the muscle of her stomach and pausing to admire, before repeating the process twice more, moving down. by the time she gets to paige’s pelvis, she’s downright dripping, hips twitching against azzi’s arms and begging for contact. 

“azzi, baby, you’re killin’ me,” she slurs, when the younger girl sucks a particularly deep bruise into the meat of her inner thigh, so close to where paige needs her. 

“i’ll get there, be patient,” she says, voice unfairly clear in comparison to paige, eyes dark and teasing. paige has never been particularly patient to begin with, and if she expects her to start now, she’s sorely mistaken.

“need it now, please,” she keens. it seems she’s not above begging this morning, and she’d be embarrassed if it weren’t for how hot the brunettes gaze is, how affected she looks from between paige’s legs.

“need what?” she simpers, the bitch, breath blowing across paige’s cunt in a way that must be intentional. 

paige nearly cries at the ghost of sensation, arching her back in search of more, and whines out “your mouth, please azzi, need it,” hands coming down to tangle in her hair.

it seems azzi is feeling accommodating this morning, because she smiles, bites at the mark she’s just left high on paige’s quad, and then dives in, flattening her tongue immediately and lapping at paige’s dripping center like she’s starving for it. 

and jesus christ, paige is so super not gonna last if she keeps this up. because paige is worked up from the teasing, and from azzi’s general presence, and from the fact that she just slept naked next to her after almost a month of not seeing her. and also the fact that azzi has decided to fucking devour her, hands pressing into paige’s thighs to keep her steady, tongue dragging down to her hole and circling before tracing back up to suck at her clit. 

she repeats that motion several times, before moving down to focus at paige’s cunt, thrusting her tongue inside and letting her nose brush the bundle of nerves above, and. 

and usually, under normal circumstances, paige takes a minimum of ten minutes to come. usually, also, however, paige is not being given the most attentive head of her life, and isn’t coming off a month of being touch starved.

thus, it only takes a few minutes before she’s slurring out  “fuck, azzi m’gonna come fuck,” hips trying to grind up into the younger girls tongue. 

azzi nods, the movement nudging paige’s clit, and breathes out “want you to, please.”

she sounds almost as desperate for it as paige is, like she needs her to come this instant, and this thought combined with another purposeful lick at paige's entrance has her coming with a cry, the world falling away beneath her. 

her vision goes white, hips twitching as her orgasm crashes down onto her, and her legs tighten around azzi’s head. 

but azzi keeps going, flicking her tongue around to trace at paige’s entrance as she spasms, and she whines when paige tugs her off, like she’s actually upset. 

jesus fuck.

if paige hadn’t come literally seconds prior, the sound alone would’ve pushed her off the ledge. 

her whole body is buzzing, limbs lax against the sheets, and she grins lazily down at azzi when her body begins to resume normal functioning. 

“be honest, are you cheating on me?”

“baby, what,” azzi laughs, full and surprised, as she crawls up paige’s stomach and returns to prime kissing range. 

this means that paige has to kiss her for a second, slow and intimate, and she gets distracted by the taste of herself on azzi’s lips and how hot it is to have her in her lap again, nerves still buzzing with her release. 

and then they part for a second, and paige remembers her question. she elaborates,“how did you get better at that. gonna make a girl suspicious.” she pairs this thought with an exaggerated pout for good measure. 

“you’re ridiculous,” azzi says, smiling, trying to lean back down and slot their lips back together, but paige holds her still, stubborn.

“you didn’t deny it.” 

“oh my god. there’s only you, p.” 

“swear?”

“swear,” she says firmly, indulgently, and pairs it with another lingering kiss. 

and then azzi shifts on top of her, but she’s too distracted by her mouth to notice the new placement of azzi’s legs until she grinds down, and paige’s brain shuts off when she realizes that azzi has maneuvered their hips so that their cores are aligned, clits grinding together whenever she rocks down. 

it should be too much sensation– and it is, she’s just come– but she chases the feeling anyways with a strangled cry, feeling her entire body shudder when she realizes what azzi’s goal is.

she wrenches their mouths apart when azzi grinds down again and her head drops back against the pillows. “azzi, fuck,” she moans, and her hips move away from the feeling on instinct, still reeling from her first orgasm. 

“s’it too much?” azzi breathes, and. isn’t that a great question. 

because it is– she’s so sensitive that the pressure of azzi’s hips on her own hurts a little bit– but she doesn’t really want azzi to stop, despite that, so she just chokes out a groan and holds the brunette’s hips above hers for a second, giving herself time to breathe.  

azzi’s kneeling, a little awkwardly, above, and it would be an uncomfortable position to hold steady if it weren’t for the strong muscle of her thighs, flexing a little bit as she hovers, looking like a fucking godess-sex-demon-angel-creature. or something. 

she’s looking down with half-lidded, knowing eyes, and she keeps eye contact as she drags two fingers through the slick at her own core and then grazes paige’s, hips twitching, before mixing their wetness together on her fingers. 

paige watches, in a trance, and her blood gets so hot at the vision that she has to look away for a second to contain herself. 

“fuck, azzi.” 

she doesn’t think she’s said anything but those two words for the past ten minutes. 

“you wanna taste?” she asks, and before paige answers, she’s moving her fingers up to paige’s mouth and asking for entrance and jesus fucking christ. 

paige’s body might ascend to a higher plane

she opens, immediately, and the taste of them mixing together on the pads of azzi’s fingers has her moaning, desperately and without restraint, hips moving up to find azzi’s again despite the sensitivity. she licks at azzi’s two fingers, sucking them further into her mouth and watching the azzi’s expression, her eyes stay transfixed on paige’s mouth. distantly, she appreciates how turned on and wild the other girl looks too, her composure slipping with every movement of paige’s tongue, every meeting of their hips.

“we taste good together?” she asks, voice low, before removing her finger from paige’s mouth to allow her to answer. 

paige can only nod vigorously, though, not sure that she’s capable of words right now considering azzi is trying to kill her. 

the brunette grins wickedly. “wanna taste it.”

she repeats the process from before, dragging her fingers– still damp from paige’s tongue– through her own slick, before sliding them briefly into paige’s entrance. the intentional stroke leaves paige gasping, but she doesn’t get a chance to catch her breath because instead of bringing her fingers to her own mouth, azzi returns to paige’s, pressing them down on her tongue and ensuring their mixed wetness coats her mouth before she’s dipping down to kiss her, hungry and desperate. 

holy fucking shit. 

the action has paige already close to the edge of another orgasm like it’s nothing, hips grinding together and mouths moving messily. she doesn’t know where azzi learned this, doesn’t even want to know, but she just counts her lucky fucking stars that she gets to experience the hottest thing in the universe. 

in an ideal world, paige would wait for azzi to work herself up in tandem with her, would be able to stave off her own orgasm until they could come together. this simply is not possible, however, with how keyed up she already is from getting eaten out, and how hot it is to have azzi moving above her, just as desperate, and the vision of her, fucked out expression and curls bouncing as she grinds their cores together with reckless abandon. 

she grips azzi’s hips to assist her, adding more force to her thrusts, and azzi must be able to tell that she’s close from the noises she’s making– paige has long since stopped paying attention to the string of needy whines coming out of her mouth, too pleasure drunk to care– because she asks, voice desperate, “you gonna come for me again, paige?”

paige keens an affirmative “yeah, gonna come, fuck,” and azzi makes an approving noise in the back of her throat, reaching down to tug at one of paige’s nipples. 

the new sensation, combined with a particularly delicious grind of their hips and the view of azzi’s concentrated, pleasure-ridden expression has paige arching off the bed and coming with a scream, azzi’s name tearing from her throat. 

blood rushes to her ears, muscles spasming, and she tugs azzi off immediately, pulling her up to straddle her abs as paige’s body tries to catch up to the earthquake that just tore through her. 

she’s sure she takes a minute to come down, and when she blinks her eyes open, she’s met with the sight of azzi hovering over her, looking like she’s desperately trying not to grind too hard into paige’s stomach, biting her lip, and the view almost makes her come again on the spot. 

she looks angelic— in a demonic, sinner sort of way? if that’s possible?— curls framing her face, lips bitten raw, a flush spreading down from her cheekbones to her chest. 

“you back with us?” she asks, self satisfied and teasing. which is like. fair, because she’s just absolutely ruined paige, twice, but also. paige needs to even the playing field a little bit. can’t have her getting too big a head. 

there’s a reason paige usually gets her off first– more than just for her own enjoyment of seeing azzi fall apart. because if she doesn’t fuck an orgasm out of the younger, coax out the needy side, she gets an ego like this. paige is determined to fix that. 

she raises an eyebrow and tightens her hold on azzi’s hips in response, before pulling her down so her cunt grinds hard, on the taught skin of paige’s abdomen. 

immediately, she keens, head thrown back, and her hands fly up to her chest to play with her own nipples, fingers tracing the skin of her areola and squeezing. she’s dripping, slick pooling on paige’s stomach, and the feeling of it makes paige dizzy with the desire to get her off.

she keeps her hands rocking azzi down into her stomach and back up, watching the arousal echo across her face and down the rest of her body, and when azzi moans particularly loudly at the feeling of her clit pressing down, paige smirks. “you wanna come, baby?”

azzi keens. “yeah. please.”

paige just hums, and stops the movement entirely, holding her still and relishing in the broken whine that she releases when paige prevents her from grinding down again to get friction. 

she curls her hands behind azzi’s thighs and tugs, almost moaning at the feeling of the strength of her quads and the drag of azzi’s wetness up her navel and in between the valley of her breasts. she looks confused for all of two seconds before realization crashes over her face, and she keens, even before paige tugs her over her mouth. 

she pulls azzi fully over her, gazing at her fluttering cunt, the soft pink just begging for her mouth, and when azzi whines again, waiting, paige listens, settling her over her mouth and immediately getting to work. 

she drags her tongue through her soaked folds, and she feels like a dying man in a desert who’s just found an oasis, moaning at the taste of azzi on her tongue and relishing in the answering moans she can hear above her. 

she sucks at her clit for a few seconds, and smirks into her when azzi’s thighs twitch, before switching to her entrance, tracing slowly and then thrusting in, slick dripping down her chin. 

“please, paige– i need it please– love your mouth so much–” azzi sounds absolutely wrecked above her, and paige thinks that if she could pick the way she dies this would be her choice in a heartbeat: azzi, needy and pliant above her, blissed out expression on her face and moans of paige’s name tumbling from her lips, the muscle of her thighs caging paige in and the taste of her, sharp and sweet, flooding her senses. 

she knows she’s close, can feel it in the tremor of her legs and the grind of her hips and the clench of her walls around her tongue, and when azzi breathes out “so close, please,” and throws her head back, paige drags one of the hands that’s been holding azzi’s thigh to her entrance, curling two fingers immediately into her cunt to press down on her g-spot and sucking at her clit, hard. 

and azzi positively sobs above her, clamping her legs down firmly and cutting off paige’s ability to breathe as she comes, wetness flooding out of her. paige keeps at it, licking her through it, watching as she keeps her head tipped back, fingers still clutching her breast. she looks positively sinful. 

azzi slumps backwards when the last of her orgasm washes away, and paige reaches up to maneuver them into her desired post-sex cuddle position– fronts pressed together and legs tangled. 

it’s a little sweaty, and there’s slick all over paige stomach and thighs, and more on azzi, but they curl into each other anyways, contentment settling deep in their bones. 

“missed that,” she says, pressing a messy kiss to azzi’s forehead, “solid elven out of ten.”

she mumbles “fourteen,” in response and bats at paige’s shoulder lazily, somehow pressing even closer, and paige laughs softly at how needy azzi always gets after sex, wanting to be practically inside paige’s skin. she’s never once minded, knows with certainty she never will. 

she wonders if there will ever be a time when she gets used to the sex– both how good it is, always, and just how unreal it feels to have azzi like that, under her or above her but always wholly paige’s. 

she doubts it. 

she thinks that if she had to pick a moment to hold on to forever it would be this one, them tangled together, skin on skin, just basking in the warmth of each other, and the intimacy of it makes her feel light headed in the best way possible.

they doze for a bit, sun casting shadows through the blinds over azzi’s back and making her look holy in the morning light. 

azzi starts drawing lines, softly, over her stomach at one point, and paige glances down at where her fingers are tracing the marks she’d left on paige’s abdomen and then back to azzi’s self satisfied face. “possessive, hmm?’

“yeah,” she breathes, and then presses down on the biggest one. “mine.” 

and. well. paige is wet again. 

she rolls her eyes a little bit at azzi’s conviction, like she has the need to scare everyone else off, which is absurd. “been yours since we were, like, sixteen.”

“yeah.” azzi smiles and nips paige’s shoulder. “been yours too, y’know. even if i didn’t know the depth of it.” she laughs a little before continuing, “used to get so fucking jealous when you would flirt with girls in front of me, but i convinced myself it was cause they didn’t deserve you.” 

“yeah?” paige grins, wide and happy, something settling in her stomach at the idea that azzi had been just as possessive as her in college even if she didn’t know why. 

azzi nods in paige’s shoulder. “mmhm. i was so stupid. teenage paige was much smarter, should’ve just listened to her.”

“maybe, maybe not. she was a little overeager,” paige says, wistfully. her sixteen year old self had thought they’d be locked in by the time they were twenty, probably would’ve, like, proposed by twenty-two. she’d definitely be a little disbelieving at how long it took them to get here, but she’d think it was all worth it if paige gave her the details. especially if she emphasized how pretty azzi sounds sitting on paige’s face. 

azzi breathes out a laugh, seemingly agreeing. “true. it’s probably a little soon to be married with like, seven kids which is i’m guessing what we’d be according to her life plans.” 

she says it so casually, like the thought of marrying paige, having kids with her, isn’t some ridiculous idea but instead a given. as if it was obviously part of their future one way or another. paige’s heart flutters sickeningly in her chest. 

her grin is a little soft on her face when she asks “yeah? gonna let me put a ring on you?”  and it’s supposed to be teasing but she just sounds entirely soft and hopeful. whatever. 

“yeah,” azzi smiles radiantly right back. “if the ring’s big enough, probably,” she adds airly. 

paige laughs, bright and disbelieving. “liar. you wanna marry me so bad.” she basks in the thoughts of their future, giddy. “an’ imma put at least seven kids in you, mama. prolly more.”

azzi hums happily in agreement. “i’m maxing you out at ten.” 

“so we can run five on fives?”

“exactly.” 

they sit in contented silence for a minute, and paige lets herself revel in the future that azzi is laying in front of them as the other girl curls closer, hiding her face from the blonde. 

“speaking of like- putting a baby in me,” azzi starts, and paige’s ears perk up. this promises to be a delightful sentence. 

she fiddles with paige’s fingers and stays buried in her shoulder, shy. “could we maybe- if you like- if you like wanted- maybewecouldgetastrap.”

the last part comes out jumbled together, and it takes a second for paige to process. and then.

her brain whites out. 

wow her life was awesome. like so, so awesome. 

despite the fact she just came, twice mind you, heat pools immediately in her core, and she feels a little lightheaded from the idea. her imagination is having one of its best days in a while. oscar worthy film productions are being written. 

they are so having sex again before they get up. 

a slow, obscene grin drifts across her face. “azzi fudd, you’re filthy.”

“whatever. your hips just twitched.” she burrows further into paige’s neck.

“i’m ordering one as soon as we get out of bed,” paige agrees, and then, just to be annoying, “gonna get a neon green one for the wings.” 

“absolutely not,” comes azzi’s indignant response, though paige can feel the smile against her skin.

she gasps in mock offense and rolls them over so she can look down at azzi’s wonderful, flushed face beneath her. she pouts.  “you sayin’ you won’t love our children if they turn out a little green? i can’t help what i am.”

it says something about how sickeningly in love she is, probably, that they’re discussing sex toys and she’s focussed on the thought of how endearing it would be to have imaginary little green alien kids of theirs running around. whatever.

azzi rolls her eyes, affection seeping out of her pores. “i’m saying that if you come anywhere near me with a chartreuse dick i’m calling the police.”

paige is sure her grin is enormous. “yeah, baby? what’re you gonna tell ‘em– that your incredibly hot girlfriend wants to fu-”

azzi cuts her off with a kiss. “shut the fuck up.”

they absolutely have sex again before they get up. 

…

paige has to be at the practice facilities at one, so they eventually drag themselves out of bed around eleven, the blonde grumbling the entire time about leaving the warmth of her comforter. 

they bicker in the shower over where they should go on vacation during the offseason (they settle on azzi’s idea, hawaii, because paige relents immediately when she mentions the word bikini), argue about how many vegetables azzi puts in paige’s omelet while they’re cooking (“you need nutrients, paige, they’ll make your muscles stronger.” “you seemed to think my muscles were plenty impressive earlier, given the bite marks on my abs.” “just shut the fuck up and eat your eggs.”), and fight over who has to sit on the rickety bar stool while they eat (they compromise with azzi on paige’s lap on the good stool, and only feel half as ridiculous as they should.)

it's the best morning paige has had in quite some time. 

and then azzi drops her at the facilities, driving paige's car, with a lingering kiss over the console and a “love you, baby, gonna kill it,” before promising to go grocery shopping and stock up on even more vegetables to torment paige with, and she could cry at the domesticity. 

she doesn’t, but. it's a near thing. 

she walks into their shoot around with the most lovesick smile on her face, feeling like she’s floating on air.

the aces won’t know what hit ‘em. 

…

the game is physical in the way only the knockout game of a playoff series can be– elbows jabbing with a little more force than usual and boxing out more aggressively than strictly necessary. paige is expecting this, is prepared for this, and even knocks in her own unusually rough shoulder bump when an aces player throws too much weight behind a screen. 

it’s a close but winnable game by the time the fourth quarter rolls around, and paige can taste the championship finals. she’s proud of her efforts, 21 points overall and 12 from the three. (she always shoots threes a little better when azzi is near, like her impeccable form rubs off on paige).

the wings start really trailing away after a three from maddy puts them up by 9 with four minutes remaining, and las vegas goes from physical to downright reckless, trying to do anything to get a block, a steal, some points. 

young gets the ball to start the aces next play, and paige narrows in to guard her, aware that there’s a screen incoming. it still catches her off guard, however, when a player– she can’t even tell who it happens so fast– collides with her back and gets tangled with paige’s already moving body, somehow catching on her jersey and sending them both tumbling, hard, to the ground. 

paige lands smack on her back, head thumping against the floor, and she takes a second to evaluate the damage. her head is throbbing, dull ache already spreading through her skull, but her limbs seem to be relatively fine, and her jersey is rucked up high on her chest somehow from how the aces player– whose identity is still a mystery to paige and who is lying in a heap a foot away. she covers her face with her hands in an attempt to block out the noise of the crowd and decipher if this feels like a minor annoyance type of injury or a big fuck up. 

nothing seems broken, which is good. 

a little deliriously, she wonders if maybe this clip will go viral, what with her abs being out and her head tipped back in pain. is that weird to be thinking about? she doesn’t really care. 

when she establishes that she’s pretty sure she doesn’t have a concussion, she widens the fingers over her eyes and peeks up at the circle of teammates around her. 

she’s expecting to see some concerned looks, considering she just fell pretty hard and might have hit her head, which is why she’s bewildered by their smirks of amusement, and only a few concerned comments.

“you okay there, lil’ paigey?” says nai, who’s squatting to her left, positively gleeful, and instead of gesturing at her head, like a good, concerned teammate, pokes paige in the stomach, laughing. 

“bruh, what the fuck,” she grits out, and covers her eyes fully with her hands again. maybe if she acts more injured, dijonai will stop being so annoying. 

but even maddy, usually a little more motherly in that regard, looks at paige a little funny when she asks sympathetically, “how bad does your head hurt?”

before she can respond, jj piles on immediately with shit eating grin on her face, saying “her head or her stomach,” and paige finally sits up enough to glance down in confusion. 

distantly, she hears nai say “we should ask azzi,” but she’s too busy looking at the unmistakable trail of marks starting from her navel and sensually trailing down past her waistband from where azzi had been focussed this morning. 

and ohmygod. 

paige now understands why everyone is trying not to laugh at her. 

she jerks her head back up in panic, frantically shoving her jersey back down across her stomach, and generally contemplates how bad it would be to try and hang herself from the basketball hoop. 

jesus fuck she is going to kill herself. 

the hickies were, like, so extremely visible. to everyone. for at least fifteen seconds.

to like. the entire arena probably. and the millions of people watching on tv–

“i don’t- um. it’s not,” she stutters, hands trying to shove her jersey back into the waistband of her shorts while still sitting, eyes wide and cheeks burning. 

this might be the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to her. probably. 

azzi is going to murder her. 

the medical staff crowd in just as arike whistles out a low “she claimed yo ass reallll nice huh, paigey. gotchu all marked up.” fucking bitch. 

and paige has no response, couldn’t even give one if she wanted to anyways because their trainer is helping her onto her feet, and grilling her about her fall. 

she actually thinks she might collapse from the humiliation. 

her ears and cheeks are probably redder than a tomato. 

as the medical staff usher her over the bench to get her evaluated, she glances involuntarily over to where her family and friends are sitting courtside. nika and kk are on either side of azzi absolutely cracking up, and surely saying something exceedingly inappropriate, while azzi stands in the middle, hands over her face. 

awesome awesome awesome. 

it's not like they’d been trying to hide their relationship– it’d be kind of hard to come up with excuses as to why they’d been spotted flying to random cities just to get less than 24 hours together and posting random funny anecdotes from their time together on social media– but this is a level of out there that was sort of undeniable if you were paying attention. it was quite clear that someone had given paige those marks– she supposed a cupping excuse wasn’t going to cut it– and it wouldn’t be hard to put the pieces together on who that had been, especially given the fact that azzi had been spotted in the dallas airport the night before. the plausible deniability of the nature of their relationship had sort of just crumbled into nothing.

cool cool cool cool cool. 

like azzi can feel her eyes from across the court, she lifts her hands for a second and makes eye contact with paige. her cheeks are crimson, concern and embarrassment warring across her face and eyes wide like she can’t believe that's just happened, and yet. 

she looks like the prettiest girl in the arena, prettiest girl in the world. 

and paige can’t help the lopsided, guilty grin that spreads across her face. she’s sure this will be clipped a million times, but she doesn’t even care because the embarrassment is sort of fading away. 

because everyone with half a brain cell now knows that paige definitely belongs to azzi fudd. and that’s the best thing she’s ever accomplished– certainly not something to be ashamed of– and. whatever. let people talk. 

paige can see azzi roll her eyes from all the way in her spot on the sidelines, and her smile only grows, pleased and unabashed, and then turns to give the poor trainer her full attention. 

the short rest of the game involves paige enduring a litany of comments from the bench while trying to convince the training staff and coach to let her back in, insisting that she’s not concussed. she’s unsuccessful, but the wings pull off the win anyways, and then she gets to bask in the glory of a trip to the league championship, which is fucking awesome.

she breezes through the post game handshakes and celebration with her head held high, humoring the comments about making sure she ices her head and her stomach, and simply sits with the euphoria of winning the series. 

when her friends and family are finally allowed onto the court, she’s still sweating, confetti sticking to her jersey and grin wide across her face as she catches drew when he leaps into her arms. 

“you and azzi are nasty,” he says, instead of congratulating her. of course. brotherly love in all its wonderful glory.

“bruh shut up,” she says, shoving him off with a hand to his forehead. “fuck outta here.” 

he just cackles maniacally, and runs off, surely going to find dijonai, his favorite. 

and then azzi herself is in front of paige, smiling small and proud, a little sheepish. 

paige’s grin turns impossibly fond, a little cocky. “hey there, baby.”

“hi,” she says, eyes furtively looking around to see who’s paying attention to them. she must either not realize that the answer to that is everyone or decide she doesn’t care, because she brings a hand up to paige’s cheek and asks earnestly, “you okay? it's not a concussion, right?”

paige smiles at the concern- it's ridiculous how a simple gesture like that can make her cheeks flush– and shakes her head. “nah, we chillin’. you can still kiss it better though.”

azzi just groans, and pulls the older girl in for a hug. “bro. imma kill myself. or you. haven’t decided which yet.”

“nooooo,” she drags out, wrapping her arms tighter around azzi’s back and pulling her closer. “don’t do that, i like you possessive. gotta make sure everyone knows i won jus’ for you.”

azzi huffs, sending goosebumps skittering across the skin of paige’s shoulder, and pokes paige’s side. “makin’ it real hard to want to congratulate you.”

paige grins into her shoulder. “you gonna let me kiss you as a prize since everybody knows i’m yours now?”

“no,” azzi whines, emphatically, and then hums like she’s reconsidering, smile pressed into her skin, and paige knows she doesn’t really care that everyone will be in their business now either, can feel the humiliation in azzi falling away. “beat the liberty for me and i’ll think about it.”

as motivators go, it’s a fairly good one. 

(the wings do not win the championship, and it’s a heartbreaking, well fought loss, but azzi kisses her anyways– wet cheeks and cameras around them be damned– and as consolation prizes go, it’s pretty up there. paige promises sweetly that they’ll win it the following year against the mystics and gets an elbow in the stomach as retaliation.)

(a clip of that interaction goes almost as viral as the tv clip of paige’s fall in the semis: her, getting dragged to the floor by her jersey and immediately covering her face in pain, the hickies ridiculously visible to the camera, and carrying an undeniable insinuation. the broadcast must desperately want to change the stream to a less graphic display because they immediately switch it to the camera view of paige’s family and friends, who begin to realize what’s on paige’s abdomen and who immediately turn to azzi in amused disbelief. the announcers stumble through a comical explanation of the people in frame, and one laughs when the other says and that is azzi fudd, probable rookie of the year for the mystics and paige bueckers’ uh. close friend.)(it's not the worst thing that’s ever been part of paige’s digital footprint, even if her mother disagrees.)

AN: badda bing badda boom. such concludes this journey fr fr fr this time. this was ridiculous I'm. deeply sorry if you wanted plot. if you give me a comment/ask/anything I will personally kiss you on the mouth I'm so serious they make me so happy and motivate me so much. ily for reading <333333 ok bye

[creamecafe]

Fate by "Design" | Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Summary: While doing art in a subway, the Salesman offers you to play Ddakji, a chance to win money. But you wanted his number. When you win, your acquaintance with the salesman becomes much more.

Pairing: Salesman x Artist!Fem!Reader

Warnings: fluff, flirting, allusions to smut/sex, but not explicit

Word Count: 2.9k

Author's Note: This was requested by Crazy4herluv on my Wattpad book Squid Game Imagines/One-Shots. This is also my first Salesman work, so I hope you enjoy!

*Icon used for this header above that I made in PicsArt is from Pinterest. Divider is from @cafekitsune in this post*

Want a request for a Squid Game character like this one? Check out my post, read my request guidelines and send a request!

Read on Wattpad & AO3 here

The sounds of the almost isolated subway and people walking is the highlight of your daily routine. You had moved to Korea to work for a art company and you do sketches by hand.

It paid very good money but in your free time you liked to be in the subway and do art for others like New York. People would walk and stop to see what you possibly could be doing.

A lot of the time, couples, parents with their kids or even old people would ask for a drawing each day and you get paid at least $130-200 at the end of the day.

Your art simply consisted of charcoal sketches of the person who requested for the art as semi-realistic as possible with a watercolor splash in the back if they ask.

Sometimes you notice while you're drawing or sketching away looking for people to draw, you would see a man in a black suit.

He had black hair and was always carrying a suitcase with him. He was also very handsome, you thought. When you took the time to actually analyze him or look at him, not in a creepy way you thought, you noticed that he would throw something on the ground and slap people.

This guy must be insane, you thought. Slapping people everyday, but it didn't stop you wondering who he really was. You thought of going up to him and asking if he would like his own portrai. But you were nervous of asking such a good looking guy and you are an artist in the subway, so he was way out of your league.

Today felt like any other day. Until one person, the guy in the black suit came up to you. You were going to pack up for the day when you accidentally dropped pencils and other supplies on the floor, then rolled around. As you were on the ground picking up the supplies, you saw polished black shoes stop and turn in front of you.

You look up and see him. The guy in the black suit looks down at you while you're trying to pick up your stuff.

"Good evening ma'am. I have a question for you."

You got up from the floor and brushed off the germs from yourself from the subway ground.

"Hello sir. I finished my hours for the day drawing so I can't accept any art requests right now I'm sorry. You could always come back tomorrow if you like."

"I'm not asking for a drawing. I'm asking if you would like to play a game."

A game? Is this guy Billy the puppet you thought?"

"What game?" You asked?

"It's called Ddakji. Have you heard of it before?"

Ddakji. It should sound familiar but you felt like you don't know it.

"I don't think so. What is it?"

"It's very simple. You fold two pieces of paper, usually of bright colors as it's a children's game like an envelope and the goal is to throw down the paper as hard as you can so the other person's paper flips over."

"What's the point of playing the game?"

"If you win, I'll give you money. A hundred thousand won."

Your eyes widened at what he said. A hundred thousand won? That amount of money to get while doing art in a subway could take a year or two. Yet here's this handsome well kept money offering to you.

"And if I lose?"

"Well usually I slap people until they win or just give up." That explains why you see this man in the subway grounds slapping people and throwing stuff down.

"But seeing how creative you are. How about a portrait of me? Use all your creativity and imagination you can and give me something."

"Ok. I'll play. But I can change something?"

"What is it?" He turns his head to express curiosity. It's rare that people would ask for a change of things while playing, conducting he's the one in charge.

"If I win, I get to have your number."

The salesman is surprised at your boldness to ask him out.

"My number? You could walk out with a hundred thousand won. What could my number offer to you?"

"Well I might see a better prize than money. I see a real piece of art right here." You raised your eyebrow smirking

He smirks at you. This was going to be interesting he thought.

"We have an agreement then?"

You nodded. "I lose, you get a portrait. But if I win..."

"You get my number." The salesman nods smiling. "Five in a row you have to win." He then pulls out two colored orgami tiles of red and blue from his suit jacket.

"What color would you like?"

"Red/blue" you said.

"Alright then. Ladies first."

You look at him and then the ground. 10 in a row you can do this. You took a deep breath and slammed the envelope on the ground. The guy then slams his envelope on the ground flipping yours around.

It created a loud slapping sound and echoed that it startled you. You look up scared he was lying to his word and might actually slap you. You close your eyes and prepare for it.

"What are you doing?" The salesman asks

"Aren't you going to slap me?"

"You don't have to worry. I wouldn't slap a pretty face like yours. I only want a drawing."

Opening your eyes you took a deep breath. At least you wouldn't be slapped.

"1-0" The guys says. You assumed that was his keeping score

You pick up your envelope and roll up your sleeve. You threw it down but it didn't flip the salesmans. He picked his up and slammed it down flipping yours again.

"2-0". Now the chances of getting this guys number seems low and you might look like a fool. You were weren't to give up just yet. You relied on your skills of carrying an easel and so many supplies per day to the game.

Taking a deep breath, you slam down the card and it flipped the guys. You were smiled wanting to jump for joy.

"2-1" You put up 2 fingers with one hand and 1 finger to the guys face.

He said nothing but smirked. Talking wasn't his thing, you noticed. Probably why you found him attractive.

The salesman picks up his card and slams it and your flips over. It was a continuous picking up and flipping cards. You were getting better as the points were getting higher.

Now the score was "7-8". You were becoming tired and kinda wish you were home right now, sleeping. But

The salesman threw down his card and flipped yours. Now it was 8-8. A tie. Just two more and you get his number. You threw yours down and it flipped over. 8-9. Another slam from the guy and it was 9-9.

This was it. You weren't sure you would have enough energy to draw that portrait of his that he wanted. But you needed enough energy to finish this game.

You slammed it down and saw it flipped over. I won, you thought to yourself. Did I actually win? You thought.

"Congratulations. You won ma'am." The salesman smiled.

Those words felt unreal. "Yes! Yes!" You jumped around happy.

"Now, you asked for my number. I suppose you wouldn't have a piece of paper to write down my number, would you?"

What kind of question was that? You were a artist. Blank papers is all you carry. You grab your sketchbook from your bag and a pen to give to him.

He took it from your hands and wrote down his number fast. He gave it back to you and you saw it.

"What do you plan to do with that number, Miss?"

"I was wondering maybe you want to go out?"

"We can do that. Can I pick the place?"

It was the least you could let him do as he offered you money and kept true to his word to give you his money.

"Sure. I'll text you when I'm available. I might see you here too. Who knows?"

He nodded your response smiling.

"You have a good day madam"

"You too" God how you loved how formal he was and calling you madam and ma'am, even though you weren't really that old.

When you went home, you were exhausted but still smiling and excited that you got the guy's number. You texted your name so he could have yours saved as well. You went to bed, wondering what it could lead to. Possibly just one date or even more.

The next day, was the same thing. Wake up, eat breakfast, pack your things and head to the subway. You kept fixing yourself up for the salesman, wondering if he would come by.

He always comes by, you thought. He just has to. You scanned around the subway to see where he is as you didn't want to move your spot. After an hour had passed, it looked like he hadn't been around.

Maybe asking for his number was a bad idea, that he was avoiding to talk to you, you thought. A man walked by and dropped something not that far from you. It looked like money. Seeing this you get up, pick up the bill and try to call out for the man. But it looked like he was already gone. It was

Written in a black permanent marker, it says “Look at your phone ma’am”. Without thinking you check your phone and see a message. Meet me at the park at 4:30 PM. No need to dress so fancy but wear something you feel pretty in.

Blinking your eyes rapidly, you couldn’t believe what’s in front of you, more likely what’s on your phone. He’s actually texting you. The weird quiet but handsome black suit guy is texting you. You packed your things and went home and went to get ready to meet him in the park.

It was nothing special that you wore. Just a simple sundress/pantsuit but it was still one of the nicest outfits you had in your wardrobe. You kept wondering just what the man in plan for you. Walking around the park, you see the man still in his suit, hands in front looking around, possibly waiting for you, you thought.

Smiling, you walk up to him. When he sees you, he smiles with no teeth but still showing joy. He reaches out a hand. Looking at it hesitantly, you took his hand. The salesman then took your hand, bowed a little and kissed the back of your hand gently. You felt your heart skipped a beat when he did that.

“Hello ma’am. We meet again.”

“Hi. Were you the person that gave me the bill?”

“Maybe, a beautiful woman like you deserves more.”

Was this a dream? Were you dreaming or is this real. This man seemed to good to be true. You two walked to what would be your first date. The place he picked out for the first date was an art museum. It displayed the finest arts across the worlds and many different paintings. The salesman would ask about each piece and how did it make you feel. You responded to many of his questions but kept looking around. You guys kept talking and asking each other questions to get more acquainted with each other.

After the museum, he took you a some place to eat. Then you guys went to get ice cream. He paid for everything and asked if there’s anywhere else you would like to go. If you tried to pull out your card or even cash to pay for your own things, he would refuse so and said he got everything and that anything you wanted he’ll get for you. It had been late, so he dropped you off home and asked how was everything and if you enjoyed it.

You couldn’t thank him enough for the wonderful day you had comparison to just drawing in a subway for hours. Before you left his car, there was a slight tension between you guys that it could be cut with a knife. The man wanted to say something else but couldn’t stop looking at your lips. Looking at him, you see his hands reach towards your face and cup it as his lips softly touches yours.

His lips were so baby smooth and his cologne was so sharp from his neck, it felt like a gas hyptonixjg you. You cup his face, grazing it with your thumb. He pulls away, still looking at you with such yearning. Your thumb still on his face grazed his lips as you said goodbye and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ever since that night, you two have been dating. He would take you on dates to other places. Mostly just walks in the park or art related stuff that you like. Your small kisses would turn into small makeouts into something more. He would sometimes, well mostly go over to your place and sleep over. In the mornings he would make breakfast in his underwear. You wish you could draw him right then and there.

He loves to pose for your art or whatever reference you need for your assignment in class. Once a month, he'll take you out to the art store to get whatever supplies you need. Your messy clothing consisted of paint or oil pastel stains is opposite of his clean, ironed and steamed suit. But he loves it either way.

The only time that he was out of the suit was when he was in bed with you. But other than that, you wanted him to be a bit more fun. You wanted to him have more color. Seeing those videos of online of couples doing painting of each others to see both of your art skills.

You begged the salesman to do wit you and he finally agrees. Squealing you get everything ready, canvas, paints, brushes, water and paper towels. You had 10 minutes to try to get each other’s features as accurate as possible

Time passes and both of you guys are done. You show your art of him and it’s him in his suit, pretty accurate and semi realistic but some details were missing. He nods and says it’s impressive of how much you can get done in less than hour.

You ask for his painting and he turns his Canva around and you see you in an almost renaissance like painting. Your mouth dropped and all felt like years of your art skills go away to just 10 minutes.

“What! How’s that even possible? Why didn’t you tell me you were good at art?”

“Well two people can’t be the artists in a relationship. One has to be a muse, to inspire the other.”

You scoffed at his bullshit. He just didn’t want to brag. An idea came in your mind. You grab a paintbrush and leave a stroke of red paint on his face.

“If you want to be a muse, why don’t you have some color on you?”

Smirking, the salesman takes this as a challenge and grabs his paint brush and paints across your face too.

Now you guys were having a paint battle. You tried to paint him more but he lightly grabs your arm and stops you. He leads you the floor, where he’s now on top of you. Seeing this as an opportunity, you grab a bottle of paint that’s open and smeared on his white shirt. He laughs at this and rolls you over where you’re now on top of him, straddling him.

Nothing was said between you both as you kept looking at each other. Like that night of your first date when you guys first kissed. Putting your head down you kiss him and he put his arms around on your back. The paint on your guys’ face mixed with each other. Breath was running out so you decided to stop. Your heart was beating so much just as he was trying to catch his breath too.

Now you’re forever grateful you asked for his number then taking the money. It’s a better reward than what the salesman had to offer you, as you got him, yourself. It felt like a dream come true. Even if it was, you didn’t want to wake up. Everything of being with him was like straight art. Maybe it was meant to be. That day you accidentally dropped your pencils and he came up to you. It could be called fate by others. Fate by design you like to call it.

He was right, one has to be the muse in a relationship and the other an artist. But to him, it was the thing he was missing the most. An new reason to be in the subway that fateful day.

Taglist:

@deffreal, @cocofia143, @sorry-meme, @elizabeth-hatake, @nini-0808, @hobinistaworld, @ineedsmootching, @alittlebitofeverything , @happyfrog7681 , @tiuhiatus, @goofiestgoober27, @jayyyourbabe, @ninahorikoshifr, @ikeithy , @vampiregirlxoxo, @ouwioworuuu, @cloudysxkura, @l4venderia, @anthea1239, @iidontwannadiealone,

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[buckymorelikefuckme]

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can��t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn���t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[echoesintheravyne]

fic recs, but with fangirling ('cause i can't stfu) (thg, part one) .ᐟ

short message to the authors i'm about to tag: if you somehow recognize my rambling from the tags in my other reading account ,, let's just not mention any of it pls and thanks ( ily all have a good day )

@joluvsfinnick - "what was never mine (part 1)" , "the role i played (part 2)" , "before i forget you (part 3)" , "sandcastles and second chances (part 4)"

the latest fic series that made me bawl at 2 AM in the morning ... but also has one of the most beautiful and heartbreaking writing that i've ever encountered. every emotion was framed beautifully to the point that you don't even have to experience what happened to reader just to relate, you just can, and it's an example of such wonderful language use that results in drawing out both the emotions of the characters and readers (also scared the shit out of me when you followed back .. UHM! HI)

2. @ssweeterthanfiction - "orbit (series)" ; whole masterlist

ORBIT IS ONE OF MY PERSONAL FAVES EVER! one of my favorite tropes is the estranged childhood best friends and oh my goddd, they delivered! it's so cute (admittedly, i have yet to read chapter 5 because i saw "angst" in all caps and i got scared so now i've been putting it off HAHAHA) also, also, on one of the many authors in the finnick tag whose masterlist i binge-read because their au's are so good.

3. @humaling - "two victors, one closet (discontinued for now)" ; "mother's day special" ; whole masterlist

oh god, where do i even start? angst-wise, humaling is my best bet when it comes to that. she's really amazing with words and one of my inspos in coming back to writing. love her use of figurative language, similar to how i liked joluvsfinnick's. "two victors, one closet" is just seared into my brain because it was the first fic i read from her, and "mother's day special" is so cute because finnick would be such a cute manliligaw. and also another author whose masterlist i binged.

4. @ivymirrorball768 - "hey, little songbird"

I JUST FOUND OUT THE AUTHOR OF MY FAVORITE FINNICK FIC IN AO3 IS HERE ... i don't know if this tag is still alive, but i'm gonnna ramble either way ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i love the fic sm enough to talk about it again. every character and the arena is so fleshed out to the point that you can actually tell me that this was in the books and i'd believe you. i'm a sucker for slowburn, so i'm invested in this fic fr fr. ADDITIONALLY, "hadestown" references ... as a musical nerd that spoke to me it called my name like a siren REAL

5. @ellecdc - "allies and torment" ; "blood rain" ; "still? always." ; whole finnick masterlist

girl atp i'm out of words because all i'm going to say is she's another amazing writer. i also read her other fics besides the finnick ones, and they're really good. part of the reason why i like her writing so much is that the flow is really smooth and natural, and an example is "allies and torment" because as a shy person - how'd you take my mind and describe it exactly the way i would react? "blood rain" is also really good dialogue work because you can hear them as in-character conversations that could actually happen. "still? always" need i say more? a wonderful take on the hijacked!reader prompt.

note : i'll post part two either tomorrow or ... next week :3c i have more authors that i really like here. maybe i can rec some ao3 fics if anybody wants, i'll see ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[vettelsvee]

GOODBYES ARE BITTERSWEET | Sebastian Vettel ✩₊˚.⋆ PART 5: I'LL NEVER LEAVE... NEVER MIND [PREVIOUS PART] [NEXT PART]

goodbyes are bittersweet masterlist | wattpad f1 masterlist | ao3 | ask anything or let's talk!

ferrari sebastian vettel x ex gf!female reader

word count: 4437

summary: after not seeing each other in almost five years, seb and y/n finally meet with just one purpose for her: telling seb they have a 4 year old daughter. will y/n be able to tell him?

warnings: mentions of sex. i think nothing else but i literally cried while writing this. i recommend that you listen to loml by taylor swift while reading this hehe

taglist: [ @saltycomicsanimalssalad @hc-dutch @mycenterfold @simplyamberj @spitesfvl-blog @jaydaaasworld @lottalove4evelyn @zoeyjadetice2010 @jehun @ferralari @cosmoscoffeee @mcmuppet @myescapefromthislife @sleutherclaw @youre-on-your-ownkid ]

a/n: i'm finally back! sorry you had to wait this long to get a new chapter but writers block had me going like crazy, as well as my mental health in general. i had something else planned for today BUT be aware of what I'm posting tomorrow since you might like it! christmas is coming soon and i have a surprise ready for you. let me remind you that feedback and reposts are truly appreciated. and also comment me your thoughts and theories on the story pls! missed you so much guys, thank you for everything, love you all <3

© VETTELSVEE (2024). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

May 15th Heppenheim, Germany

“Y/N, remember that you need to be careful with what you say to Seb. I know you want to tell him about Emily, but also consider whether today is the right time. Imagine if…”

You stop listening to Hanna the moment her lips utter your daughter’s name. Instead, your mind started creating a thousand different scenarios about what could happen when you saw your ex-boyfriend today. Your gaze remained fixed on the mirror in your room.

You only returned home five days ago, but it felt like an eternity.

You knew perfectly well why, or rather, you knew perfectly well who was to blame for your distorted sense of time: Sebastian Vettel, of course.

The trip to London felt like a fresh start. While the main reason to go was your meeting with Capital Records to discuss what your near future might hold, you considered it as an opportunity to rethink what you wanted to do with your life from now on. 

You had just turned 30, and the only thing you longed for was to start this new decade with a clean slate in every possible way. That, of course, included facing your past mistakes and recognizing your faults, one of which you might be about to commit today.

Hanna acted as some sort of mediator between you and Seb because, no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t bring yourself to send him even the simplest of messages. The driver seemed to understand, as he told Hanna not to worry, that he understood, and that all you needed to do was show up without standing him up. 

Despite having agreed to meet at your house, you decided to dress up a little to present yourself in the best way possible. After spending far more time than you’d like to admit choosing what to wear, you settled on a light blue knee-length dress and white Converse sneakers, with a bracelet your daughter made (or better said your mother made, just Emily took credit for).

"Y/N, are you even listening to me?"

The reflection of your best friend in the mirror startled you. You turned towards her, trying to maintain the calm you’ve lacked since returning from London. Exactly five days that have felt like five years.

Like the five years since you last saw Seb.

"Hey, cat got your tongue or what?" insisted the blonde. "Seriously, Y/N, I want you to be speechless, but preferably when you and Seb take the conversation from the couch to the bed and he makes you scream his name again just like he used to do when..."

"Hanna, for God's sake, shut up! Seb and I are only going to talk about..."

"I know, I know, I was just trying to make you laugh. You know I like to..." 

Suddenly, the doorbell rang.

If you were restless before, pacing back and forth in your room, checking that there was no trace of Emily in the house for Seb to find, now you were frozen like a statue.

You looked at Hanna, and she looked back at you. You shrugged, but Hanna just put her exaggeratedly unfriendly faces.

"Hanna, no..."

"It's Seb, Y/N! It's just Seb, for heaven's sake," she interrupted, and you cut her off just as fast.

"It's the Seb I haven't seen in five years!" you stammered, feeling the anxiety taking over. "Seriously, Hanna, this was a very, very bad idea. I don’t even know why I asked you to tell him to come and..."

"Because he's the father of your daughter, and your only goal is to tell him!" she yelled, trying not to raise her voice too much but failing miserably. You hoped to God Vettel didn’t hear that.

"Hanna..."

"Since I know you're not going to open the door, I'll do it myself. Stay here or come down, do whatever you want, but I'll tell Seb to come find you because clearly, you can't handle welcoming your guest," she declared.

Without saying anything else, she strided out of your room. You could only follow her, practically tripping down the stairs, legs trembling like a teenager on her first date. Your pulse was pounding in your temples, while your mind kept screaming at your body to calm down.

As soon as you stepped onto the ground floor, you saw Hanna opening the door. Her cheerful voice broke the silence, asking Seb how he was and, to your surprise, inviting him in.

You inched closer, not quite enough for them to notice you. Then you stopped, inspecting Seb from head to toe, as if you didn't already know every inch of his body by heart. Even though you were used to seeing him on TV and social media daily, it felt like you haven’t seen him in all this time you’ve been out of touch. He was wearing a slightly worn-out white t-shirt and jeans. His hair was perfectly trimmed, though a bit longer on top, and his beard, probably several days old, was what caught your attention the most, looking just the way you liked it.

But what really captivated you was the bouquet of yellow tulips he was holding, just like he used to bring you for dates or whenever it was a special day for either of you back when you were dating.

You swallowed hard, guilt washing over you as you thought, for a fleeting moment, about him handing you a flower bouquet before you told him you were having his baby.

"Hi..."

You thought your whisper was too soft to be heard, but it was quite the opposite.

Both Seb and Hanna turned to look at each other, then focused on you, still standing in the entryway. Your best friend tensed up slightly, but you tried to reassure her with a slight movement of your hands. The expression on your ex-boyfriend’s face seemed to light up at your small intervention, even if it was minimal.

“Well, Seb, I'll leave you with Y/N. I have a few errands to run…” Your friend tried to excuse herself, though both of you knew it wasn’t true. “See you later for a drink guys!

She winked and quickly slipped out, shutting the door behind her before either of you could even say goodbye.

Now, it was just the two of you, alone.

Seb looked at you again, and you couldn’t help it but get lost in the blue of his eyes. The situation felt strange. You used to cherish every moment of being alone together, but now you didn’t even know how to say a simple "hello." 

You once trusted him completely, and now you were unsure whether to offer him a drink or tell him that you have a four-year-old daughter.

“Hi, sunshine,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Hi, Seb.”

He took a step towards you, slowly moving closer. You noticed how his gaze shifted from the flowers to your eyes, as if he was searching for some kind of answer from you. His eyes reflected a mixture of nervousness and tenderness, stirring a whirlwind of emotions inside you. 

He didn’t have to say it, you could see it in his eyes. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture, this little detail that used to drive you crazy, but now… you didn’t know how to feel about it.

You, on the other hand, were utterly stunned. 

How, after all this time and how cold you ended things, could he still do this? How could he still remember?

“These... are for you,” he finally said, his voice low and shaky. He handed you the bouquet, his hands trembling.

You met his gaze, and the way he looked at you was filled with fear, insecurity, and maybe, just maybe, a bit of tenderness. He didn’t need to say it out loud because you knew him too well. He was afraid of how you’d react to this gesture.

“Thank you,” you managed to say, taking your time to smell the flowers.

You couldn’t hold it in. Tears began to blur your vision, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you.

He noticed. Even though you didn’t want to, even though you didn’t feel capable of getting close enough to give him a kiss on the cheek or maybe even a hug, Seb did it anyway.

“It's okay, Y/N,” he whispered. “It’s okay...”

But it wasn’t okay… it was far from okay.

Sebastian Vettel was here, once again, standing in front of you, and possibly back in your life. The boy you once considered your best friend, the best friend you fell in love with, the driver you always supported, and most importantly, the father of your child, was back in your life in such an unexpected way that it still felt surreal.

“I don’t know...” you tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out. “It feels surreal that after everything, after such an empty goodbye, here we are, together again,” you confessed. “It’s weird seeing you in front of me in the flesh and not as pixels on a screen.”

“Y/N…”

“I’ve missed you, Seb. So much.”

You knew your honesty didn’t catch him by surprise, because he felt the same way. That’s what hurt the most.

“I missed you too, Y/N. I really did...” he said after a moment, wrapping his arms around you, and you pressed your face against his chest.

“Seb…”

“Don’t overthink it, really,” he interrupted gently. “I’m not here to talk about the past or blame anyone,” he paused, letting out a breath before continuing. “I just want us to go back to who we were before we were together. But, if I’m being honest, we’ve been in love with each other for so long that I can’t remember a time when you weren’t my everything.”

Your lips trembled. The weight of his words was too much for you to handle, at least today, in a first encounter where you haven’t even spent ten minutes together.

You felt awful. You felt shattered inside knowing that if you were in this situation, it was because of you.

“Well, Y/N, tell me…”

“No, no,” you quickly interrupted, grabbing his arm and guiding him to sit on the couch. Immediately after, you rushed to the kitchen to grab the drinks and snacks you spent all morning preparing. “You tell me first. Even though I’ve seen you on TV, I know you’re very private about your life, you know... You never share anything with the media, and well, you don’t even have social media so… How are you?”

He let out a short laugh as he picked up a bottle of water and a cheese-and-salmon toast.

“Well, to be honest, I’m doing much better than when you left me,” he revealed. It didn’t surprise you. After all, it was what you expected him to say. “You must have had your reasons for breaking up with me, and after all these years, I’m not going to ask why you did it. But I won’t lie to you… you left me shattered, Y/N.”

“Seb, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

“I know,” he cut in softly, making a gentle gesture with his hand to calm you down. “Like I said, I’m not looking for an explanation or an apology. I just want you to know how I felt. Mentally… damn, Y/N, you broke me, and I completely lost myself, but at the same time, that’s what gave me the strength to win the championship in 2013,” he looked away from your eyes, shifting his gaze to the wall. Nervously, he started playing with his fingers. “All I could think about was you and that, maybe, there was a chance you were watching...”

“Of course I was, Seb,” you said softly, trying to hold back the tears and keep your composure. “No matter what happened, I never stopped watching or supporting you. I’ve always been, and will always be, your number one fan.”

He nodded, a bittersweet expression crossing his face.

“That year, everything I did was with the thought in mind that you were watching and, somehow, it helped me move forward. But… 2014 was when everything fell apart,” he admitted. “Red Bull wasn’t the same anymore, or at least, I didn’t feel the same way. I wasn’t winning, Daniel was beating me… I felt like I had lost everything, including you and, with time, I started to feel like I had no reason to stay with the team or maybe even in Formula 1. Until Ferrari offered me the contract.”

You remembered it like it was yesterday. Unlike any regular sports fan, you found out through Heike when you were out for a walk with Emily.

“When I was given the chance to sign with Ferrari in 2015... Y/N, really, that’s when I realized it wasn’t the end. That’s what I needed to move forward. I think I mentioned it to you on WhatsApp, but I don’t know if you remember…”

You swallowed hard. Of course, you remembered. He told you just before the news became public, before his mum told you, but you didn’t know how to answer him or if you really should do it. The demons in your head made you think it was a joke, even just an excuse to get closer to you. And you also felt that if he did sign with Ferrari, it would open a door you had closed because you weren’t ready to face the truth.

Just like you were doing now.

“I remember, yes,” you murmured, unable to look him in the eyes.

“When I didn’t get a reply from you I decided not to push it. That’s when I realized you didn’t want anything to do with me. Yet I kept sending you stuff as you might know…”

“That’s not it…” You could barely speak. You were as broken as he was. “I read the message, Seb, but… I burst into tears and didn’t have the strength to reply. I didn’t want to give you false hope when I wasn’t ready to… I didn’t want to hurt you more than I already had,” you confessed. “I knew that if I spoke to you again, I’d hurt you again. And I’d hurt myself too. I couldn’t do that to you, Seb.”

He nodded, looking for some kind of affirmation in your gaze.

“At first, I felt really out of place on the team, you know? And I felt that way for a long time,” he revealed. “It was completely out of my comfort zone, and I felt like I’d never fit in. But little by little, Kimi, Maurizio, and the team made me feel like family. It’s strange to think about it now, but I can’t imagine being with any team other than Ferrari.” You agreed with him, from what you had seen on TV, it was clear he felt that way. “Fighting for the world title with them this year and having a real shot at beating Mercedes… I never thought I’d get to this point.”

You looked at him with a mix of admiration and nostalgia. This was the Seb you knew, the Seb with ambition, who always desired more and more. The Seb who never gave up.

The Seb who didn’t break down, even when he had every reason to.

“I’m so proud of you, Seb. I’ve always been, and I always will be. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course, Y/N,” he looked uncomfortable. Quite a bit, actually. “Well… enough about me. You know I don’t like talking about myself… What about you? What have you been up to all this time? My mom told me a bit, and I’ve seen you a few times, but…”

More than not knowing what to say, you sensed he didn’t want to intrude too much into your life.

You swallowed, trying not to get more nervous than you already were, because now, you supposed, was the moment to tell him about Emily.

“Well, not much has changed, really,” you started, unsure of what to say. “I’ve been in Heppenheim the whole time, except for a couple of trips to Berlin, but nothing unusual,” you tried to smile, but your mind kept circling around the fact that you had to tell him you had a daughter. “I’ve been working at the bar and writing music. To be honest, since we broke up I’ve had a lot more inspiration.”

And since I gave birth to Emily, you thought.

Seb didn’t say anything. You figured he understood. After all, he had thrown himself into his career to cope, while you had poured your emotions into writing songs about the story you shared to cope with grief.

“Now things have changed a bit,” you continued, trying to sound more upbeat to push away the painful memories. “Ever since Red went viral… I swear, I uploaded it without expecting anything, but the reaction…”

“The song is amazing, Y/N. Of course it went viral.”

“I’ve been offered a record deal,” you blurted out. “A few years ago, I met Niall Horan at the bar. You know, the guy who was on that band, One Direction…” Seb nodded, his eyes wide, encouraging you to continue. “He told me he was traveling to find some inspiration for his solo career, and I guess Heppenheim seemed like a good place for him to visit.”

“Wait, wait… a record deal?”

“Apparently, Niall told his label that I was the voice behind Red, and, well… Capital Records offered me a contract,” you explained. “They called me to have a meeting in London, which is why we couldn’t meet up last time…”

His face was calm, unreadable, though his mouth had curved into a big smile. He didn’t seem surprised, and you knew there was a strong chance Hanna had told him everything.

If that was true…

“I hope you accepted, Y/N.”

“Well… actually, I didn’t. I turned it down.”

His smile faded for a moment, and his expression became completely serious.

“You turned it down? Why? Sunshine, this is an opportunity…”

“Yes, I know it’s an amazing opportunity, but I can’t accept it. Not right now.”

You figured this was the moment you should tell him the real reason behind rejecting such a big deal, which included a tour if you sold a certain amount of CDs.

Sebastian kept staring at you, which only made you more nervous. You tried to gather your thoughts, searching for the right way to tell him you had a four-year-old daughter, but you couldn’t find the moment.

You couldn’t just drop it on him now, after all, this was your first real conversation in almost five years.

“Y/N, darling…”

“I can’t take the risk when the only thing I’ve managed is to get one song out of all the ones I sent to the label to go viral,” you half-lied. It was true that you didn’t want to talk about it yet, but you were also insecure about your music. “As much as I’d love to have an album, to fill stadiums and have people singing along to my songs, I can’t take that risk.”

“But, Y/N…”

“I’m not sure all the songs on the album would be successful, Seb.”

“Y/N, you have no idea what you’re going to regret if you let this go....”

“No, Seb, I know exactly what I’m doing, really,” you shook your head, firm in your decision. “This is the best thing for me.” 

And for Emily too, though you didn’t say that out loud.

Seb remained silent for longer than you would have liked, as if trying to process what you’d just told him. Then, he stood up, crouching down to your level, and taking your hands in his, he said:

“Alright. If you think your songs aren’t good enough, sing one of them to me.”

“What?” you asked, confused.

“If you turned down the record deal because you think your songs aren’t good enough for the world to hear, sing one of them to me.”

His tone, though calm, was direct and insistent.

“Seb… I can’t. I’m too embarrassed,” you laughed nervously.

“Come on, Y/N,” he said, gently rubbing your hands with his thumbs, just like he always did when your anxiety was at its worst. “It’s just me. I’m still the same after all these years.”

You sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to let it go until you gave in. It was Seb, and he always got what he wanted from you, even when you didn’t want to. In the end, you gave in, carefully standing up from the couch and heading towards the piano at the back of the room, gesturing for him to follow you.

You carefully slided the bench back, lifting the lid as you sat down. You positioned your hands, starting to play the first few chords to warm up, ensuring your memory flawlessly recalled the piece.

“This is song number 5, like your driver number... It's called loml.”

You continued playing, finally giving way to the song.

Who's gonna stop us from waltzing   Back into rekindled flames?   If we know the steps anyway   We embroidered the memories   Of the time I was away   Stitching, ‘We were just kids, babe.’   I said, ‘I don't mind, it takes time.’   I thought I was better safe than starry-eyed   I felt aglow like this   Never before and never since.

Your voice shook as you began to sing, but you kept going, holding on to what your ex-boyfriend had told you about how he knew it was about him. As you settled into the song, you started feeling more comfortable, just like you did when you used to sing for Seb. Though you couldn’t look at him because you were absorbed in the key, your fingers delicately moving over it, you could feel his eyes on you.

You shit-talked me under the table   Talking rings and talking cradles   I wish I could un-recall   How we almost had it all   Dancing phantoms on the terrace   Are they second-hand embarrassed   That I can't get out of bed?   Cause something counterfeit's dead.

Tears started falling from your eyes as you approached the final part of the song. Memories of your shared history flashed through your mind like a movie. Your vision was completely blurred, and you felt a tightness in your chest that was overwhelming, making it hard to breathe, almost impossible to keep singing. Somehow, though, you fought to hold it together, just as you did the day you said goodbye to the man now sitting beside you.

Oh, what a valiant roar   What a bland goodbye   The coward claimed he was a lion   I'm combing through the braids of lies   ‘I’ll never leave’... ‘Never mind.’   Our field of dreams, engulfed in fire   Your arson matches your somber eyes   And I'll still see it until I die   You're the loss of my life.

Silence filled the room as you played the final notes. With your hands still resting on the keyboard, you looked at Seb. Once again, you didn’t know what to say to him, and you knew he didn't either. He was motionless, running a hand through his hair, probably trying to process what he just heard.

Y/Ni, this song... it’s about us, isn’t it?”

“It might be,” you admited, unable to lie to him, at least not about this.

He sighed. You could tell he was affected; you knew it the moment his tears began to form, just as yours continued to flow.

“You should rethink the contract,” he said firmly. “This song deserves to be heard by more than just me, your parents, and Hanna.”

“I can’t, Seb. I just can’t…”

“Can I sit next to you?”

You looked up and saw him gesturing to the bench. Confused, not sure what to do or say, you shifted a little, making space, and he sat beside you. Seb didn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around you, offering a comfort that felt wonderful but also caused you to crumble a bit more inside. 

You surprised yourself by resting your head on his shoulder.

“Why are you so determined to convince yourself you don’t deserve this opportunity?” His tone was soft, just like the way he stroked your hair. “Do you really think you're not good enough to be a successful singer?”

“It’s not about being good enough, it’s that I’m not,” you whisper,ed your throat tightening. “I’m not a good person, Seb, and it’s only a matter of time before I screw up again and hurt someone, just like I hurt you.”

“Does this… have something to do with the second date in your YouTube channel username?”

You stood your head up, staring at him in confusion while trying not to panic.

“What are you talking about?”

“Your username,” he repeated, moving closer. “I figured out that the numbers represent two dates. I know for sure that one of them is June 15, 2006, the day we started dating, but the other one… I don’t know what January 12, 2014 means for you because we weren’t talking by then, but it must be important. And based on what you just said…”

Your eyes widened in shock. You were paralyzed, not knowing how to react. 

How could he have noticed something so… insignificant? How had he connected the dots and figured out the dates you had in mind when you created that account?

You thought this would be the perfect moment to tell him that the second date marks the birth of your daughter, the daughter you had together; that on that day, while you were in labor, he was at the hospital waiting for some exams results and he was talking to your dad, who couldn’t contain his excitement about his granddaughter’s arrival and had to keep it a secret from him.

But you couldn’t. Not yet. You need to regain his trust first. You and Seb needed to rebuild the kind of relationship you had before you became the love of each other’s lives.

“Seb…” you trailed off, unable to continue. “I swear, on everything that matters to you, I’ll tell you, but right now… I just can’t.”

He looked at you for a few seconds that felt like an eternity. You knew him better than you knew yourself, and you knew he was persistent, that he needed an answer, but you also knew he was respectful and wouldn't push you.

“That’s okay,” he said finally, a bit resigned. “I understand, it’s fine. I’m not asking you to tell me now if you’re not ready, but I want you to know that when you are, I’ll be here to listen.”

You looked at him, grateful, and nodded without saying anything else. 

You both sat at the piano bench for a while, in silence, listening only to the sound of your breathing and the melody of the song replaying in your mind, as intrusive thoughts overwhelmed you.

“If I waited almost 19 years of my life to be your boyfriend, I can wait a little longer, it doesn’t matter the time you need, for you to tell me,” Seb finally spoke, and his words broke you a little more than you already were. “Let’s be friends again, what do you think?” he offered, giving you a small smile. “Let’s take things slowly, like maybe we should have done when we first started dating. You know…”

“Slowly, no problem,” you repeated, smiling back at him.

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders at his words. Maybe you were not at the peak of your relationship, and maybe you’d never got back there, but at least you were working together to turn your story into something new.

“You know what, Y/N? I’ve always felt like our story wasn’t over. I don’t just mean that romantically, but in a broader sense,” he said quickly. “We have a whole lot of history, and now is when we’re going to start writing our second book.”

“I know, Seb. I’ve been thinking the same thing ever since I said goodbye to you,” you confess. “That day, goodbyes were bittersweet, but I knew it wasn’t the end and that I’d see you again.”

Before the year ends. I’m telling Seb Emily is her daughter before December 31st.

[maxthelordagain]

FIVE PEBBLES!!

recently got into Rain World (like 6 months ago) and i've been into it LIKE,, REALLY INTENSELY. unfortunately for me, i've also been enduring an 8 month art block, so i wasn't able to do much fanart for it either, BUT HERE WE ARE!! I'M DOING REFERENCE SHEETS FOR ALL THE CHARACTERS (INCLUDING THE SLUGCATS, STARTING WITH PEBBLES, because he has favorite character privileges.

CLASSIC MAIN OUTFIT, decided to add a bit of cyan to the design, due to it complimenting the pink really well, plus cyan seems to be his color anyway

probably my favorite campaign story-wise. i have learned that i cry really damn easily, i'm practically bawling my eyes out every other campaign, this definitely being one of them. anyway, i read Backwards through the Snow on AO3 quite recently, and the idea of the cyan cloak resonated so deeply with me, i just HAD to add it to my design. i literally ordered a custom Pebbles slugcat plush with a cyan cloak, CAN YOU TELL I REALLY LIKE THIS IDEA? if the writer of this fic is by chance reading this, this may not be direct fanart of this fic, BUT I LOVE YOUR FIC SO MUCH, THANK YOU FOR WRITING IT

okay so i said i cry really easily,, i uhhh,, i really went through it in Saint's campaign, LIKE GUYS. YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND, I WAS LITERALLY SITTING ON THE FLOOR CRYING ABOUT SILLY PIXEL GAME. i am so weak for this stuff, i really put myself through it by having to draw this. i finished it earlier today, i've lived today off of a coffee, a soba and 3 hours of sleep and you can probably tell by this post. uhmmm anyway, this post was meant to be me talking about my design, but i definitely did not do that. I HOPE YOU ENJOYED MY RAMBLINGS ANYWAY, maybe i'll actually go in-depth on this design tomorrow, WE'LL SEE

[arc852]

3. Hollow

Summary: Grian is feeling the effects of prolonged loneliness.

Word Count: 900

Warnings: Feeling lonely and general angst

AO3 Link

I was hoping AO3 would be back up by now so I could cross-post as usual but it looks like it's going to be a while longer. I'll post to AO3 hopefully tomorrow though!

This one is a bit of a shorter one but I hope you guys enjoy it still!

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 Grian felt alone.

 He tried his best to ignore it, going through his daily chores and borrowing trips with as little thought towards how he was feeling as he could manage. But the loneliness was starting to weigh on him, no matter how hard he tried to push it down.

 The thing was, he hadn’t even been alone for that long! It had only been a year since he and his siblings, Pearl and Jimmy, had gone their separate ways from their parents’ place. But maybe that was the problem. Grian had never been alone this long before. He’d always had his parents, or Pearl and Jimmy by his side. He’d always had someone to talk to, someone to pull pranks on…

 Now, he lived in silence. There was no chattering coming from the next room or someone sleeping in the bed next to his. He was all by himself and it was slowly killing him.

 In fact, he probably would have gone completely crazy if it hadn’t been for Scar.

 Scar was the human who owned the apartment Grian lived in the walls of. Of course, Scar didn’t know about Grian, but though Scar lived alone, Grian found him more than once talking to himself or his cat out loud. It was nice to listen to sometimes and gave Grian a sense of companionship, like he wasn’t actually alone. It helped, however sad that was.

 But then Scar had up and left. He had taken his cat with him too and he was just…gone. Grian panicked a bit when he noticed but soon calmed himself down enough to realize that since all of Scar’s things were still in the apartment it was more than likely he hadn’t moved out. He was probably just going on a trip or something. Which was still weird since he hadn’t heard Scar mention anything like that but it could have just been one of the things Scar didn’t bother to mention out loud to himself. 

 All that being said, he had to be back soon, right? A trip only lasted so long, after all.

 A week passed though and the loneliness was hitting Grian even harder than normal. His usual routine of combatting the loneliness by watching Scar was interrupted by the fact that Scar still wasn’t back. It was getting harder and harder to ignore the empty hollow feeling filling up his chest the more days passed.

 Because of all this, Grian had been going a lot slower while out borrowing. Not only did he feel like he just didn’t have the energy to go any faster but there was also no real reason for him to. After all, Scar was gone. There was no reason for him to rush, since there was no fear of him being seen.

 But as he was taking his time borrowing from up on the kitchen counter, he only barely registered the sound of the door unlocking. But he did jump and freeze as the door swung itself open.

 Now, he had time. Plenty of time. The kitchen was not visible from the front door and his entrance back into the walls was only a few feet away. If Grian had been in a better headspace, the run there would be nothing and he’d be long gone before Scar even walked fully into the apartment.

 But the thing was, Grian wasn’t in a good headspace.

 “Ah, home sweet home!” Scar let out as the door closed behind him. Scar’s voice sent a pang right to Grian’s heart. And a low meow sent a similar, if smaller, pang. “I know Jellie, I’ll let you out of there in just a second.” Scar said and Grian could just picture the soft smile on the human’s face. The soft smile that he reserved especially for Jellie.

 The soft smile that Grian desperately, dangerously, wished could be directed at him.

 Even if the idea of such a thing would mean he was caught.

 Grian needed to leave. He still had time. If he just moved himself he’d be out of there with nothing to worry about. He just. Had. To. Move!

 He didn’t. Scar rounded the corner, hands full with the cat carrier. Scar’s eyes didn’t dart to him right away, it was a slow, painful thing where Scar’s eyes swept over everything in his apartment, ending at the kitchen and finally, finally settling onto Grian.

 Scar’s eyes widened and Grian didn’t dare to breathe. But being looked at for the first time in a year was turning his legs to jelly rather quickly.

 “Um…hello there?” Scar spoke, spoke to him. Grian felt choked up.

 “...Hi.” He managed to get out, even if his voice was a bit raspy due to not using it for so long.

 Scar still looked shocked, and confused, but a small smile was also twitching at the edges of his lips and Grian felt his heart elate at the thought.

 Yes, he wasn’t supposed to be seen.

 But being seen was all Grian ever wanted. To have someone see him, talk to him, know him. And he hadn’t even realized it until he was without it for the first time.

 And though Scar was a human, Grian didn’t really care. Because Scar was seeing him and spoke with him and so far things were okay.

 And maybe, just maybe, things would continue to be okay.

[honeysorwell]

a ring and the (Super Bowl's) ring

pairing: Restaurant!AU Melissa Schemmenti x fem!Reader

Super Bowl's prompt by anon + Valentine's Day idea by me.

Synopsis: When the chef and owner of the traditional Italian Restaurant Schemmenti’s Cucina says that she will never get married again, few people really understand and respect her. Y/N is not only one of the people who understands her, but she is also the one who matters the most to Melissa. And the ring she gave the redhead on Valentine’s Day is just a bonus.

Tag list: @janeyseymour @italianaidiota @chloeelou02x (I tagged you all because you are all on my tag list for my other Melissa's fanfic, so since this is also a fanfic for Mel here you are!) (and if you want to be tagged too just let me know.)

Warning (for Melissa mainly): marriage proposal!!!

Words: 2,3k

Synopsis of the story + Chapter 1 + Chapter 2

Link on AO3

The inspiration for this is also the fact that: no one writes AUs for Melissa even tho our lady has a lot of potential for AUs thanks to how many interests she genuinely has; the fact that she thought Gary was buying her a replica of a Super Bowl ring; no one writes fanfics about Melissa finding someone who genuinely accepts that she doesn't want to get married at all and is happy with her just like that; and Valentine's Day is just around the corner;

and yes! part two will be posted tomorrow, because I wrote two parts (one where the Eagles win and one where they lose) so just stay tuned for the game hahaha… (I won't be tho, and that's why I'll only post this part two tomorrow.)

Enjoy!

“Chef! Chef!”, the young waiter called loudly as he entered the kitchen looking for the red-haired woman, keeping a smart distance from Melissa when he found her amidst the chaos of the pens in the hot stove where she was browning some onions.

The kitchen that the redhead had dedicated her time, heart, and soul to, and that until seconds ago was vibrating with the nervous energy of the orders in her restaurant but that now stopped completely, was just taken over by the nervousness that transformed the energy there into a pressure cooker ready to explode.

Although she was in her element, Melissa found it strange that her waiter had called her directly, and her restless feeling was, justifiably, mirrored by all her workers. Some dish was wrong? Was the poor waiter there to inform her of a client's complaint?

"Yes, kid?"

“The table reserved for a party of 20 in the center of the restaurant! They’re here and they’re asking for you.”, the waiter, whose name she refuses to remember since they always give up, smiles at her as he explains, so the redhead imagines that no one was exactly asking to talk to her because of a bad thing, “Oh... And the guy with the mustache told you to take off your apron before talking to them.”

It wasn’t common for Melissa Schemmenti (the talented chef and owner of the traditional Italian Restaurant Schemmenti’s Cucina, who delighted the clientele with her dishes every day) to leave the kitchen to greet ordinary customers. Only the most famous, or food critics, or those really kind people who waited until the restaurant closed had the privilege of meeting her, but when she looked out the kitchen window in search of who was sitting at that prominent table in the middle of the restaurant, a sweet smile painted her lips when she saw all those sitting there.

Her family is there.

At least a good part of it.

Her mother, Marie, Mary Camille, Maria Cristina, boy Tony and John Anthony are all looking at her expectantly as she goes out of the kitchen to stand next to Gary. It's rare to see her siblings looking at her with such happiness, and for just a second Melissa wonders if she's forgotten something important.

Looking closer, the redhead notices that even two of her cousins ​​are there. Rocco, with his wife and two children, and Annette with her husband. Wow.

But, some part of the table was empty and the redhead couldn't be more confused to notice that three of her siblings are not there – Seamus, Toni and Kristen Marie – but as she approached the table in question, the thought just slipped from her mind. After all, not even she knew why they were there so maybe it wasn't that important.

"You know you don't have to book a table when you come here, right? Especially when all these parasites are here almost daily.” Greetings and complaints begin to sound throughout the table instigated by her arrival, but the talented chef of Schemmenti’s Cucina just ignores everyone’s words with a smile, placing a loving kiss on her boyfriend’s lips before reprimanding him affectionately, “You just need to show up here and we’ll find a table for you, Gary.”

“I know.”, the man in question says, delighted with the fact that even on a busy Tuesday night for the restaurant, Melissa still looked as beautiful as on her days off, “But I wanted this one today.”

Before the redhead has time to question him why, Gary stands up from their table with a nervous smile, gently tapping the inside pocket of his leather jacket that held a small velvet box, not wanting to draw Melissa’s attention to it after all, he was just checking to see if the precious thing he handpicked himself was still there.

Leaving behind a distraught redhead with her hip propped against the wooden table, Gary made his way to the restaurant's small stage, where musicians played softly in the background. All the customers' eyes turned to him curiously as the man positioned himself under the soft light. And there, Melissa panicked.

Neither of them could say whose heart was beating faster.

"Sorry to interrupt," Gary began speaking into the available microphone with a shaky voice, "I just want to say a few words about the wonderful person who graces not only our stomach but also our sight tonight."

When he looked at Melissa, and although her eyes were already glued to his, the head chef's mind could not be further away.

Her mind was in denial, working hard to remember if that day was their anniversary, or perhaps the day they shared their first kiss, unable to accept the need to realize the trap that was unfolding dramatically in front of her.

The tension in the air was palpable, but with a gentle and loving gesture, Gary asked for Melissa to come closer.

Confused, she looked back at her family, just lost and confused, but the eyes of those who shared her surname shone amidst smiling faces, and there, as she walked carefully toward her boyfriend, her heart raced, not with happiness, but with apprehension.

He wouldn't do this.

He can't.

Right?

“Melissa,” Gary said, taking her hand and finally kneeling down, to Melissa's desperation, “You are the reason I wake up every day with a smile on my face. You bring color to my life and I can't imagine a future without you. I know you told me you don't intend to get married again but I just need to know if you would do me the honor of being my wife?” His words echoed through the space, full of love and hope as a deep silence momentarily settled in, where everyone there awaited the chef's answer.

But Melissa, with her hand being gently caressed by her boyfriend, for the first time in his own restaurant, felt like she was going to vomit.

The desire and expectation in his eyes were palpable, but she had been clear so many times.

She didn't want this. Not again.

She didn't want marriage or the commitments that it entailed.

And he knew it.

She made that clear to Gary again and again. And he knew how painful her divorce had been. The redhead remembered nights when painful memories would eat away at her mind until she shared them with him. How could he have the courage to ignore her feelings so easily? In the midst of her clients? In her restaurant? And invite her family to watch?

But then, only then, she recognized the looks in their eyes.

They knew. Her family knew.

The same ones who had heard her say over and over again how much she didn't want to get married again.

Ever.

The feeling of being disregarded took over her. A weight that made her wish, even if just for a second, that she had burned herself in the kitchen the day before so she could have stayed home instead of going through that.

She was so embarrassed.

Her boyfriend didn't listen to her. Her family didn't listen to her. No one listened to her.

When Melissa opened her mouth to respond, her words failed to come out. She fixed her gaze on Gary's anxious, hopeful smile, trying to find a way to express the turmoil that was forming inside her. But she knew that only one word would be enough.

“No.”, and when she finally said it, her voice cracked.

She knew that her answer had hit him like a crash.

The murmur of the audience grew around them, mixing disapproval and empathy. Gary stood still for a moment, the ring box slipping from his hand as he searched for some light in the eyes of the woman he loved. And Melissa was also on fire, but with pain and guilt for disappointing him.

“I understand,” he finally murmured after a while, forcing a smile that definitely didn’t reach his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how I feel… And maybe you…”

“I understand. But I can’t. I’m so sorry. It’s better if we end it here,” she interrupted, her voice firm, despite the pain.

The thick tears began to slide down his face, and Melissa felt her heart break inside her chest, but she knew there was no going back.

It was necessary, she knew it was. And she also knew she would cry herself to sleep that night.

Looking around the restaurant, feeling the eyes of her customers burning her back as some of them left their tables, overwhelmed by the weight of the scene they had witnessed that night, she wanted to disappear.

But instead, even when she heard her name being called by her entire family, especially her mother whose voice sounded more enthusiastic than all the others, Melissa silently returned to the kitchen. After all, she still had a kitchen to run.

Only after the end of the workday, when everyone had left and the redhead was drinking a worrying amount of wine in the closed kitchen of her restaurant, footsteps were heard by the redhead in the dining room.

Melissa had made it clear to everyone in the restaurant how much she didn't want to see anyone. But maybe her words also didn't mean anything to her employees too.

"Does everything I say just turned meaningless now?" she shouts towards the dining room, but when her eyes find the three people who were missing earlier today, her voice softens even amidst the confusion of alcohol, "How did you all get in here?"

Seamus, Toni, and Kristen Marie are moving too fast for the redhead to see with the amount of alcohol she consumed, and if Melissa were a little more sober she would notice how all three of them are looking at her with a huge amount of sadness. So maybe it was for the best.

“You’re almost cute when you think a few well-done locks can stop a Schemmenti. Imagine three!”, Toni says softly with a sweet smile as she approaches the redhead, gently placing a kiss on the chef’s forehead and looking for a clean, dry glass to fill with water and force her sister to drink.

Irritated by the unsolicited contact, Melissa thinks about greeting her by calling the owner of the brown eyes Antoinette, but oddly enough, the touch of the younger sister caresses not only her temple but also her soul.

“Hey Mel.”, Seamus says, but he doesn’t lean in for a proper greeting. The middle brother of all the women, whose existence was discovered only after everyone was adults just approaches his older sister to confuse her. The man's clumsy approach makes the redhead focus on the tall, blonde figure who is now once again trying to put the hairpins she used to break down the back door of her sister's restaurant back in place. Knowing that the mere sight of Kriste Marie being the one responsible for invading her property would cause enough distraction, Seamus takes both the bottle and the glass of wine away from his older sister while Toni replaces it with water without her noticing. At least not now.

"Kristen Marie.", is said with as much disdain as affection, which makes the blonde one let out a small smile at her older sister before responding with the same intonation:

"Melissa Ann."

The three Schemmentis who have just arrived gently sit down next to the redhead, who strokes the rim of the glass of water in front of her with the tip of her index finger after rejecting it.

"You're late for the shit show, ya know? It was during dinner.”, she says stammeringly but is quickly cut off by her brother.

“I guess we arrived just in time then.”, he says softly before directing a particularly disappointed look at Kristen Marie when he sees that the blonde one has taken the glass that used to belong to her sister and is now drinking the wine left there by her.

“I knew you would say no! We all knew!”, Kristen says angrily, as if ripping off a particularly stuck band-aid on the redhead’s skin, but one that everyone there knew needed to be changed.

“He warned us a month ago, sent a message in a group with all of us and asked us to be here for the proposal.”

“I said it wouldn’t work out, which obviously started a fight with Ma. Antoinette agreed with me and Seamus here said he would let you know.”, Kristin says again, monopolizing everyone’s attention for a few seconds, but as soon as she finishes, Melissa can see out of the corner of her eye that Seamus lowers his head in shame.

“Mom got really furious, she said we were rooting against your happiness.”, Toni says in a soft voice, but the redhead knows better.

She knows that “we” is not really “we”, but it is Seamus. Ma probably told Seamus that he was rooting against her happiness, and that’s probably why he didn’t tell her, and when she realizes it, the head chef gently stretches her right hand toward her brother.

He, in turn, gently kisses her fingers, still in silence.

“As if Kristen wouldn’t love to see you get engaged just to plan which white dress she’ll wear to your wedding.”, Toni tries to make a joke with a nervous smile, but she quickly regrets it when she sees the tear that runs down her older sister’s right cheek.

“What if… if…”

What if no one wants me?

What if no one accepts me on that condition?

What if I’m alone forever?

“No.”, Kristen interrupts Melissa almost like a growl, as if she can understand all the horrible questions that are going through her sister’s head right now, “Eventually they will understand this too. All of them.”

“Promise?”

“We promise.”, is said in unison by all three siblings, and this sound alone is capable of softening the redhead’s mind and heart.

[tj-dragonblade]

[FIC] Customer Service

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4460 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, oral sex, no deep throat, just normal skill-level bj, face-fucking, not rough, coming in mouth, facial, dirty talk, hand job

Notes: Originally inspired by this post and also for the Day 5 prompt 'dirty' for Dreamling Week 2024 organized by @mr-sadman

Summary: Mechanic Hob's just trying to fix the rich guy's Porsche but the rich guy is looking at Hob like he's a five-course meal

On AO3

It's hot, in the garage.

Hob's got the windows open, fans at strategic points to stir the air, but it's still warm enough he's stripped off beneath his coveralls and left them open to the waist, only his underwear beneath. It's just him in today, replacing the clutch on the rich guy's Porsche; technically he could be working naked if it weren't for the possibility of customers dropping in. And it's warm enough he's tempted.

The Porsche is secured up on the ramps and he's on his back on the creeper half underneath it, singing along with the retro rock he's got playing on the shop speakers as he works, when suddenly there's the sound of a throat being loudly and deliberately cleared and a nudge to his foot.

"Bloody—" Hob starts, fumbling the wrench without dropping it and grabbing the side of the car to scoot himself out. "What—?"

It's the rich guy, Mr. Ateleíotes, and Hob is abruptly conscious of the figure he cuts, sprawled on his back with a wrench in one hand, legs splayed and his coveralls open, no shirt, sweat and grease smears all over him and his clothes.

And his greasy fingers planted on the pristine smoky-grey paint job of this guy's car.

Oops.

"Don't worry, I'll give her a good cleaning 'fore I give her back to you—"

But the guy's not even looking at where Hob has dirtied his Porsche. His eyes are fixed on Hob, or rather, they're sweeping over his body, lingering on his exposed chest, the grease smears on his torso and the sweat-damp trail of hair disappearing into the open vee of his unzipped coveralls. It's a tangible gaze, and Hob can feel his body responding as the guy sweeps it back up to his face.

He's as pretty as Hob remembers, prettier with that hungry look in his eyes; porcelain-pale skin, artfully-messy black hair, casual tailored black suit with the jacket open and Hob swallows, feels his body flushing under the attention.

"I am sure you will." That voice is as pretty as Hob remembers too, deep and melodious and captivating. He speaks, and Hob wants to drop everything and listen. "I was in the vicinity, and thought to stop in, to see how the repairs are progressing? No one was at the desk."

"Uhm." Get it together, Hob. He sets the wrench aside, sits up, which puts him eye-level to the guy's crotch and oh, hello, he's not the only one with a growing 'problem'. "Yeah, 's just—just me today. Repair's coming along as expected; should be ready for you tomorrow." He stands as he speaks, grunting with the effort. "Clutch replacement will be done before I leave tonight and then I'll do the full tune-up in the morning, so. Like I said—by tomorrow afternoon." His eyes drop to the guy's lips and he jerks them back up, licking his own lips briefly. He shifts his stance, cocking one hip, acutely aware of his open coveralls and how the zip doesn't come together until a good three fingers beneath his navel; he drags the back of his arm across his face, shoving sweaty hair off his forehead and leaving a smudge of grease behind, not blind to the way that blue eyes darken as they follow the movement. "Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Ateleíotes?"

He only half-meant it to sound like a come-on; it's a perfectly plausible customer service question, but he's also seen half a dozen pornos that start just like this and Mr. Ateleíotes certainly seems interested. Hob's a professional and not about to proposition a customer outright, but if possibilities are on offer, he's not one to let them pass him by.

"There is, indeed, Mr. Gadling," Mr. Ateleíotes purrs—and Hob's dick jumps as the guy reaches to touch him, one pale fingertip tracing through his chest hair, through the grease smear just below. "The mechanic repairing my car, he is absolutely. Mouthwatering." He casts a molten glance up through his eyelashes. "And I would very much like. To suck. His cock." He rubs his thumb against his finger, spreading the grease between the two, and smiles at Hob, simmering and invitational. "Might your shop accommodate such a request?"

Fucking hell— Hob takes a sharp breath; the heat of the shop and the concentration of blood away from his brain are doing him no favors and he fears for half a delirious second he might pass out, but he rallies quickly. "Absolutely," he grins, dick throbbing. "We are a full service garage, after all. Did you want to see about that now, or make an appointment?" He winks.

"Immediately, please," Mr. Atelíotes replies, and there's a spark in his eye, a glint of delight at Hob's carrying of the customer-service bit, and Hob is giddy with it all.

"Right then, let me just clean up real quick—" He's pulled a greasy rag from his back pocket, which won't actually do much but take off half a layer while he heads to the shop sink, but a slim pale hand on his arm stops him.

"No. As you are now, please." The guy steps closer, hungry and intent; Hob's pulse trips into double time.

"I'm kind of filthy though?"

The guy's blue, blue eyes glitter darkly. "I am aware, yes." And then those slender hands are curled in the open edges of Hob's grimy coveralls and the sinful pink of his mouth is pressed up against Hob's.

The sound Hob makes is a little embarrassing, but then there's a supple tongue slipping in next to his own and Mr. Atelíotes gives his own little moan and that's alright then, the guy's a damn good kisser and Hob finds it's really easy to stop caring about dignity in the moment. He surges into the kiss, hands coming up and hovering, painfully aware of the dirt and grease that clings to him and the probable price tag of that tailored suit.

"Touch me," Mr. Atelíotes says, flush against his mouth before kissing again, and it is very much not a suggestion.

Hob pulls away just enough to answer. "Sorry, my hands—don't want to mess up your clothes, love—"

Mr. Atelíotes grabs both of his hands by the wrist and, much to Hob's shock, plants them firmly on the pristine white of his shirt under the suit jacket, guides Hob's grease-stained fingers to clench in the fabric. "Touch me," he repeats, low and heated, winding his hands back beneath Hob's sweaty hair. "Dirty me, dirty my clothes, my skin; I wish to be. Marked by you, stained, with your ardor—"

Hob whimpers, just a little, clenches tight around the fistfuls of now-sullied fabric and pulls him back into a kiss.

Mr. Atelíotes makes a sound of approval, maneuvers him around the front of the car and presses forward, backing Hob against the bonnet. His hips push insistently into Hob's and the feel of his hard-on in those tailored trousers is so fucking gratifying; Hob grinds against him in return, still kissing fiercely, and fumbles at the placket of the ruined shirt.

"Can I unbutton you, love?"

"You needn't ask permission," the guy pants, both hands around the back of Hob's head, his mouth dragging wetly along Hob's jaw. "The shirt will not be salvaged." His teeth latch onto Hob's earlobe, joined next by his tongue, and then warm lips ghost over the shell of Hob's ear, a low murmur following after. "Tear it from me, if you like."

Hob would like, very much, and so he does. He realizes that he has perhaps made a mistake as he hears the buttons pinging and bouncing in every direction; he will never find them all and in the back of his mind he imagines Matty returning from his trip home to the states, asking why he keeps finding these pearly buttons all over the shop, staring Hob down with his beady little all-knowing eyes while Hob burns with the mortification of being Known.

But that is a problem for future Hob; present Hob is occupied with reverently smoothing his unclean hands over the snowy-white skin exposed beneath the torn-open shirt of the gorgeous man who wants to suck his cock. The shirt took a lot of the surface grease but there's still enough on Hob's hands to leave grey-black smudges across the guy's smooth chest that seem to turn him on as much as anything else Hob is doing, which. Okay. Not even close to the strangest sex thing he's ever encountered, and he can definitely work with it.

"God, you look good, sweetheart—" He smooths his hands around bony ribs, smudging dirt and grease and grinning warmly as the guy's eyelids droop almost imperceptibly. "Bit of grime suits you, I think—"

He's cut off as Mr. Atelíotes kisses him again, hot and wet and demanding. Hob's very sure that he's been slotted into this rich guy's fantasy of slumming it with the working class, and that's more than okay too. He'll gladly play it up; not like he's never entertained that sort of idea himself.

He sucks in a breath when the kiss breaks at last. "How am I so lucky that a posh pretty thing like you wants to get your knees dirty for me, hmm?"

"It was not my intention when I arrived," the guy says, panting, forehead resting against Hob's. "But then you rolled out from beneath my car. Gleaming, and. Dirty. And I could think of little else."

Hob chuckles, shivers as slender hands delve back into his sweat-damp hair. "No complaints from me, darling. Delighted that all my natural glory does it for you."

"Dream," Mr. Atelíotes says, fingertips scratching lightly along Hob's scalp.

"Uh?" Hob blinks, not sure quite what he's meant to do with that word.

"My name," Mr. Atelíotes clarifies, leaning in to mouth wetly beneath the corner of Hob's jaw. "Call me what you wish, I am not averse to your endearments—" his tongue takes a path down the sweat-damp curve of Hob's neck "—but should you like to use it. My name—" his lips drag up Hob's throat, over the cleft of his chin "—is Dream." He plunges his tongue back into Hob's open mouth.

"Dream," Hob manages, when he's let up to breathe a moment later. "Beautiful name for a beautiful man—"

"Silver tongue," the guy says, nipping hungrily, helpessly at his mouth. "Such uses I have in mind for it…"

"I'm game, love, anything you like," Hob breathes, enchanted with the possibilities. "Sure you just wanna suck me off? 'Cause you talk like a bloke who'd like to get proper fucked."

That earns him a full-body shiver and a sharp inhale. "I would very much like to be fucked by you, Hob Gadling, in this garage, over this car. But as I did not have the foresight to prepare for that possibility, I will content myself with having your prick in my mouth and your hands in my hair and my name on your lips when you spill."

"Fucking christ," Hob swears, as Mr. Atelíotes—Dream, as Dream slides to his knees in his neat tailored trousers on the dirty shop floor, lips dragging down Hob's stomach as he goes, hands following behind. He glances back up as he reaches the zipper, smiles coyly as he grasps it and draws it all the way down so the coveralls flag completely open down past his crotch. Hob makes no move to take them any further off; Dream has shown no hesitation to tell him exactly what he wants up to now and Hob figures if he wanted them off-off, he'd say so.

Dream curls his fingers in the waistband of Hob's underwear and pulls it low, reaches around to tug it down past his arse cheeks so it stays put and dips into the front with both hands to draw Hob out. Hob shudders at the touch, bites his lip with a stifled sound and leans back on the bonnet. Dream just smiles wider.

"You are as magnificent as I had hoped," he murmurs, cradling Hob's cock to his face, delicately kissing the tip. He grasps it underhand and pulls it down, laves the flat of his tongue along the thick vein on top from crown up to base in a long slow lick, exhales his pleasure on a decadent moan. He reverses his grip, points Hob's dick skyward and nuzzles into his balls, breathing deep. Hob has a flash of self-consciousness—he's been working all day in a shop with no AC, he's got to be a bit ripe—but Dream doesn't seem offput in the least. Rather the opposite, in fact; he buries his nose in Hob's sweat-damp crotch with another moan, mouths wetly at his testicles and sucks each in turn. "Exquisite," he declares to the base of Hob's cock, and drags his tongue lovingly up the underside all the way back to the tip.

Hob's never had his dick worshipped quite like this, he thinks feverishly, every muscle in his thighs and buttocks tensing and flexing against the car as Dream mouths and licks at the head of him with all the enthusiasm of a kid on a melting ice lolly. The heat of the shop and Dream's attentions to his dick have him panting, covered in a fine sheen of sweat, trembling with anticipation as Dream finally opens wide and takes him in.

It's so fucking good, the soft wet warmth enclosing him, the slide of plush lips down his shaft and back up, again, and again, and Hob is so, so grateful to be in the right place at the right time. Never had he imagined he would find himself here, leaning back against the bonnet of some rich guy's Porsche with that self-same rich guy on his knees on the dirty shop floor, pretty pink lips stretched around him. Dream sucks with skill and enthusiasm and his tongue is positively magical and he's really into the eye contact, gazing up adoringly like having his mouth full of Hob's prick is all he could have wished for when he woke up this morning. It's heady and exhilarating and he's so fucking beautiful, looking at Hob as he glides up and down, hands wrapped around Hob's hips beneath his coveralls, and Hob. He's not always the brightest but he's definitely caught on to the theme of this tryst by now, and Dream's face is entirely too clean.

He lifts a thumb to his chest, smears it through the grease still adorning him there, lowers it to Dream's face. He watches as Dream's eyes widen, rubs a light smear of black across Dream's cheekbone and smiles at the way Dream's pupils dilate, the way Dream whines around his cock. He strokes his other hand through Dream's hair, gently holds him still, drags his greasy thumb down along the corner of Dream's mouth stretched wide around his girth; that earns him a whimper and Dream shivers, eyes fluttering briefly closed. He sucks harder, tongue flicking delicately against the tip, eyes pleading now with Hob, and he takes Hob's free hand, guides it to rest in his own hair like the other. Hob takes the hint, holds Dream's head still in both hands and gives a gentle roll of his hips; his cock slides out of Dream's mouth and back in and that's. Yes. Another roll of his hips, out and back and Dream whimpers and fuck, but it's good—

"God you're gorgeous," he moans, carefully combing his fingers through Dream's hair, heat blazing in his belly as he watches his dick sliding between Dream's luscious lips. Dream is making the sweetest little sounds now, cheeks flushed beneath the grease stain, eyes heavy-lidded as he gazes up at Hob like this is everything he could have wanted; he drops his hands to undo his belt, to pull himself out and start stroking, and that's just. That's it.

Dream splays his free hand across Hob's thigh over the coveralls and Hob fucks, careful and shallow, driven by the view before him and the thought of how they look together and the hungry eager noises Dream makes around him. He can feel himself climbing, soaring up to his peak, sweet and steady; the hot-wet slide in and out of Dream's mouth and the way his tongue wriggles along the underside on every stroke are making short work of the journey and Hob is panting out sharp desperate grunts and moans as it looms closer and closer. His balls are drawn up tight and full and he's close, so close, and he can't just—he's got to give him warning—

"Dream, sweetheart, I'm about to pop—"

But Dream only moves his hand from Hob's thigh to wrap around Hob's cock and doubles down on whatever he's doing with his tongue, and Hob moans, hips stuttering, Dream working him masterfully up to the crest; helpless, with a breathless grunting cry, Hob tips over the edge.

Dream takes the first shot of his come with a delighted little moan and then quickly pulls off of Hob's dick as he spurts again. It lands across Dream's face, white against the black smears of grease; the next shot falls a little shorter, half on his cheek and half in his open mouth and then Dream is diving back onto his cock for the rest, sucking hard with a desperate needy little whimper. The tip of his tongue worries at Hob's slit in search of every last drop and Hob groans, body clenching and spasming again and again to give this insatiable hungry creature everything that he wants.

But at last he has nothing left to give and his cock is shrinking from Dream's ravenous mouth, overstimulated by the way Dream still nurses at the tip, the grip Dream's got around the base of it. Firmly but gently Hob flexes his hands in Dream's tousled hair and eases him back, off. Dream gazes up at him, flushed and heavy-eyed, panting with his shirt and suit and trousers open, stroking himself steadily.

His tongue curls out to lick Hob's come from his upper lip, and his smile is sultry, hungry.

"Get up here, beautiful." Hob pulls Dream to his feet, slides a hand around the back of Dream's neck, smears his come liberally across Dream's grease-stained cheek with his thumb on the way. Dream's mouth opens and Hob plunges in, kissing him fiercely, tasting himself with a heady sort of satisfaction. Being wanted feels so good, whatever the reason.

Dream is still stroking himself, his easy rhythm speeding up, fist bumping against Hob's hip each time, and Hob breaks the kiss after a moment. "D'you want me to suck you off?"

"No, no—but touch me—" He seizes Hob's hand, brings it down to his own dick.

Hob hesitates for half a second—scrubbing automotive grease off your chest or hands or even your face is one thing; scrubbing it off your dick would be quite another and he's not interested in putting Dream through that sort of grief. But his hands have touched enough in the last fifteen minutes that all the easily-transferable grime is gone; it's really just the deeper-level staining going on and a bit of heavy petting shouldn't create a problem. So he takes Dream in hand, slides his other arm around Dream's back for support and strokes his lovely cock with relish, claims his sticky mouth in another kiss.

Dream whines into it, eager and open, and brings his hand to Hob's chest. He plants it in that grease smear that's still got some substance to it and splays his fingers wide, spreads it around like it's lotion and okay, maybe it is kind of hot Hob decides. Maybe it'll be a bitch to clean up but he's not about to stop the gorgeous creature in his arms from making a bigger mess of his body hair if it's getting him off. He's enjoyed being the fantasy this pretty posh thing needs, is still happy to play his part until the end.

He starts stroking a bit faster and breaks the kiss, drags his lips across Dream's messy cheek to his ear.

"God I'd love to fuck you, spread you open and pound you senseless, leave my dirty handprints all over your pretty white arse—"

Dream makes a raw little sound of want and buries his face against Hob's throat, panting open-mouthed. He smears his greasy hand down Hob's torso again, slips it around beneath the open coveralls, fingertips sliding into the sweaty dip of Hob's spine, hanging on as Hob works him up to the edge. His other hand clings to the grimy fabric at Hob's shoulder.

Hob flicks his tongue along the shell of Dream's ear, a soft tease, speaks again. "I would make such a sweet sweet mess of you, darling, fuck you until you've had enough and then pump you so full of my come that it runs down your beautiful thighs—"

"Hob—"

"Sure I can't get my mouth on you?" Hob tightens his fingers around Dream's cock, stroking faster, caught up in the thrill of the fantasy he's spinning. "I'll bet you taste amazing, Dream, especially after I've had my filthy hands all over you—"

Dream is tense in his arms, breath shallow and rapid and he shakes his head, trembling. "Hob—ahh—Hob—" He dips, pulling the shoulder of Hob's coveralls aside and nudging desperately beneath their edge until he finds Hob's armpit; he mouths at the crease of it, wet and open with the most wanton little sound. He inhales and whines, high and sharp and short; he gasps out another whine, and another, higher and more urgent each time and then he is coming, head lolling back with a broken cry as he throbs and pulses in Hob's hand.

Hob pulls his cock tight, lets Dream shoot all over him, his arm and his belly; he keeps his other arm around Dream as he sags a long instant later, forehead falling against Hob's shoulder, panting, spent. Dream's hand twitches against Hob's spine and his fingers drag sensually slow around the curve of Hob's waist.

Hob wipes his messy hand on the side of his coveralls—best he's gonna get right now—and then curls his knuckle under Dream's chin, tipping his pretty face up.

"Alright then?" he asks, as those gorgeous blue eyes blink open, and Dream gives the faintest nod into Hob's gentle touch.

"Mmh." His face is soft, sated and open and inviting what with the way his lips are parted, and Hob can't quite stop himself dipping in for a kiss.

Dream welcomes it, meets him halfway with mellow eagerness and Hob sighs into it, awash in his own post-orgasmic high. This kiss. This kiss. It's sweet, and languid, and god but Hob could lose himself in it, in the thought of keeping this guy.

Dangerous, that.

So he breaks the kiss at last with a grin, then steps back and pulls his underwear up where it belongs again. "Come on, let's get you cleaned up here." He moves toward the shop sink, hums a little distractedly along to the music on the speakers that has just filtered back into his awareness.

Dream follows, but makes no move to clean the smeared grease from his skin.

"No, I think not," he says, in that low effortlessly-sensual voice that plucks quivering notes of interest all along Hob's spine even now, in the aftermath. "I should like to carry your marks home with me." He takes up his pristine shirttails and wipes his hands deliberately on them, eyes on Hob all the while.

It's not his business if Dream wants to show up at home dirty and disheveled with his shirt torn open and looking absolutely debauched; maybe he lives alone and there's no one to comment, maybe he wants to flaunt his dalliance in the face of a parent or sibling or servant or who knows—no concern of Hob's at all, he reiterates, but damned if the idea of Dream proudly showing off the mess Hob's made of him doesn't turn him right the hell back on again.

"As you wish," he says, but plucks one of the many sample-sized bottles of Matty's favorite Orange Goop off the shelf and holds it out. "But take this with you; whenever you are ready to clean up, it'll be a big help."

Dream takes the bottle, slides it into the pocket of his trousers, which he has just re-fastened; he draws his suit jacket together over the ruin of his shirt and buttons it, making himself semi-presentable for his drive home. His eyes linger on Hob, however, on grease-smeared chest hair and the remains of his own orgasm on Hob's belly, on the shape of Hob in his underwear where he still hasn't bothered re-zipping his coveralls.

Dream's eyes flick up to Hob's, dark with banked heat.

"I really ought to learn more about the proper care and maintenance of this vehicle," he says, ostensibly about the Porsche, but his gaze stays fixed on Hob. "Will you be working alone tomorrow, as well?"

Hob hooks his thumbs in the pockets of his flagged-open coveralls, lets his hip jut forward just a little. "Yeah, Matty's out all week, so it's just me for a couple more days."

"Then perhaps I will. Arrive early, to pick up my car, and you can show me your best techniques for finishing the job."

The warm weight in his tone, the smouldering heat of his gaze, the way he'd talked earlier about getting fucked over the bonnet—his intent is crystal clear, and Hob is one hundred percent on board.

"Brilliant plan," he says, with a broad smile, and Dream's lips curl sweetly in response.

"Should I book an appointment, to ensure your availability?"

Hob waves a hand dismissively. "If you like, but it's not necessary? Just show up when it's convenient and I'll fit you right in." He winks.

"Truly, you take excellent care of your customers." Dream's smile is positively feline at this point.

"I'm just delighted I can help you out with all your maintenance needs." Hob lets a hint of mischief seep into his own smile, just enough to promise this pretty posh thing that coming back is definitely worth his while.

Dream's eyes lower and he inclines his head, an old-fashioned little bow of farewell that suits him perfectly. "Then I will see you tomorrow, Hob Gadling. My thanks for your…irreproachable service."

And he sweeps back out of the shop, Hob watching him go every step of the way.

= Started: 5/4/24 Drafted: 6/1/24 Posted: 6/4/25

[phoebe-delia]

Four Years in Fandom!

Hiii! It's been four years since I posted my first fic on AO3, and while I started reading fic before that, I consider April 25 my fandom anniversary.

To celebrate, I want to talk about my favorite fic I wrote each year. And I'm going to make it a tag game! Y'all do it too if you feel like it! Make a list of your favorite of your own works, one from each year you've been a creator. It can be fic, art, podfic, etc.—anything you made. I'll start by tagging some folks (but no pressure): @basicallyahedgehog @getawayfox @kittycargo @phdmama @peachpety @lqtraintracks @greattemptation @written-in-ash and @cailynwrites

2021 (Year 1): this is me trying

Rated T, 12.6k

This is still my favorite thing I've ever written. If you read only one of my fics, I'd want it to be this one. It's one of the more personal stories I've written, and it means a lot to me. It was also, at that point, the longest fic I'd written, and I feel it marked a turning point for me as a writer. I'm also so grateful for the friendships it's brought me, and I am always humbled when people tell me it helped them through a difficult time. It helped me, too.

2022 (Year 2): Goodnight, and Have a Pleasant Tomorrow

Rated T, 1.4k

This was for LCD in 2022. I won't lie, I am very proud of this fic. It's an SNL AU with Drarry as hosts of Weekend Update. I wrote all the jokes myself based on real news headlines at the time. It was difficult, but probably the most fun I've had writing a fic. (Note: Lyssa @written-in-ash made some lovely art for it, but I think the image host link isn’t working).

2023 (Year 3): Just Take Me Home

Rated T, 4.7k

This was a fun one, too. I love it because it feels like the kind of fic I'd love as a reader, especially when I was first getting into Drarry. I was also really happy with the idea/concept, not to mention how fun it was to come up with a, let's say, unfortunate acronym for this fake Ministry department. AND the incredible @cailynwrites made a podfic of it and made it sound 10x better.

2024 (Year 4): I Could Never Rescue You

Rated M, 1.6k; (mind the tags!)

This has a VERY different tone than what I usually write. It falls into the category of: Fics I Enjoy Writing but Wouldn't Like to Read, mostly because it's angsty and I am very selective with the angst I read. Mind the tags on this one, if you do read it. I won't spoil it, but all I'll say is, it is structurally (and somewhat thematically) inspired by the musical The Last Five Years by Jason Robert Brown. (There are a few major differences; if you're familiar with the show and you want to be spoiled/know the plotlines I changed for the fic, message me!) I had the idea when I first started writing fic, but I put it off for so long because I knew how hard it would be to make the unique structure of the show translate to fic form. I also hadn't figured out how to honor the angst of the show without making myself too sad and/or writing Drarry in a way that felt inconsistent with how I view them.