#it just came out a little late in the game

[cyberdollface]

╔══ ❀•° Daisy Chains °•❀ ══╗

Summary: You seduce your dad's best friend, the hound of the underground.

fem!reader x Vander.

Warnings: smut with a little tiny bit of plot; size kink; sexual frustration; sexual tension; masturbation; fantasizing; teasing; slightly bratty reader that torments Vander.

word count: 4.457.

Sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language.

Your dad asked you to take the order for the newest deal inside the store, as it was too heavy for Ekko, his new adopted kid, to gather from the spot you were on to the middle of the alleys 3 feet below.

Your dad’s best friend was there too. The big, mighty Vander was busy saving a small salesman from a beating and making the dealer pay the money. It was cute how caring he could be to the nation of Zaun—his people. It made you want him more. 

You were a teenager, barely 16 years old, when everyone followed him, marching to the other side of the bridge, and taking the first seat when it all came down. Now, you were standing in the same place as they did, but 10 years later.

You admired the old man, the best guy around Benzo. You even missed him while doing business away from home in the Noxus Empire, but you couldn't deny it. He looked even better now with his softer belly and pepper and salt hair.

You felt his gaze before you could see it. He had been looking at you since you got back to town. You pretended that you didn't see his longing eyes on you every time you went to the Last Drop with your friends in your short, pretty dresses, or whenever you hung out with Vi and the kids, teaching them to climb their way up to Piltover.

He always got himself together, though. One who wasn't chasing his behaviors wouldn't have noticed, but you did. You loved his attention; how couldn't you? Being desired wasn't new to you, but it being him made it different. All that authority and aura made you feel a little bit cogent. You couldn't help it; it was going to your head.

His eyes following you when you walked away for the day or even fixed your voluminous hair couldn't go unnoticed for you. Even around your poor, unaware father…  Benzo could not even suspect it. His own friend gawking at his older daughter, full family gatherings passing around more rapidly with your new game of catching his attention.

Vander approached you, cutting off your thoughts:

“Where are you going with all that heavy stuff?” 

It wasn't late, the sky had just got dark.

“I'm going to drop this off at the shop” You smiled at him. “I wouldn't mind some help, you know.”

He raised his eyebrows, contorting his face into a slight grin.

“Can’t deny helping a lady, right?” His posture straightened when he heard your giggles as if he was more sure of himself now.

You kept walking steady, even though one step of his equaled two of your own, he was ensuring that you were walking at the same pace. You guys even managed to make small talk now and then, cutting through the crowd.

“You’re going to the market tomorrow? Heard there's gonna be some good stuff there.” 

He said to you while minding his steps.

“Of course, I'm going, Van. Wanna buy some more skirts and dresses, you know? Quite like this one I'm wearing” You smiled again.

“It looks cute on me, doesn't it?” You posed for him the best way you could with the small box in your arms. Of course, he grabbed the bigger one to carry.

His eyes went momentarily darker as he stared at you. It lasted only for a few seconds before Vander averted his eyes. A trash can now looked really interesting at that moment.

“Yeah, it looks… good on you.”

You were having too much fun.

As you two neared the back of the shop, you thanked him, soon enough you would be putting the boxes away in the stock and closing its locks. 

“You know what else I want to buy at the store?” He leaned in closer to you to hear you better. 

“A new nail polish. It's green, kinda yellowish” You hold your hand in front of you, passing one finger atop a nail as to illustrate the act of painting them.

“Hmm, quite close to this color” you approached him, lightly touching the buttons of his shirt.

He stopped breathing, swallowing thickly while looking at your hand on him. He cleared his throat.

“I better get going, you know… open up the bar.” You couldn't help but laugh a little, looking up at him through your browns.

You had his full attention, Vander was radiating heat, and you could almost taste his want for you, for something.

“You wanna fuck me, right?”  You ask him while playing with the buttons on his shirt. You couldn't help but notice how big he was, standing at least 40 centimeters taller, his frame twice your size even though you weren't exactly a small girl.

His left hand goes to your waist, playing with the bow tied to your red dress. You lift your eyes to hold his gaze, raising an eyebrow.

"You know I would do anything, for it – for you. But we can't, you know it right? We shouldn't – I shouldn't"

It was working—hell, yeah, it was working. It made you feel powerful, how much of a reaction you could get from a man like Vander, especially when you knew he wasn't so easily charmed.

"Well, that's a real bummer, huh? I need someone like you...—" You made a show of tightening your arms together, showing more of your cleavage to his hungry eyes. "... Ya know, I've been thinking 'bout it, daydreaming, but it's never enough. Can't ever fill me deep enough with my fingers, it doesn't matter how hard I imagine it's your hand instead of my own." 

You pout at him, grabbing his fingers from his right hand just feeling how wide and long they are, not stopping your mind from wondering how they would feel inside. Could you even accommodate more than one? Hell, you would die to know. You let out a hot breath and realized that the hand you were holding was trembling. Did you just make the hound of the underground shake?

You grab him, making him press you more against the wall, one of his legs between your tights. The slit in your long dress gets higher and higher the more you flex your thigh.

Vander let his head lay low on the wall, his nose right in the curls of your hair. It smells good, he thinks, it's always good. He took a deep breath, no more fighting the hard-on he was growing.

"Think about you too, princess... Too fucking often" He pinches your waist then drags his hand lower and lower, reaching the skin of your thigh revealed by the slip in your dress.

You reach between your bodies and put your hand on top of his to ground him, making him grab the fat of your thigh harder. It made you gasp a little, eyes closed but you didn't need then to know he lifted his head to peek at your reaction. Fuck your face was pretty... Dark skin shone with the low lamplight of the street you were in.

The frenzy you two were in reached its end as you heard a loud crack on the streets, followed by voices.

It was like his mind returned to earth, his hands were more sure of themselves, Vander cleared his throat, getting off your hold and adjusting your dress.

As he distanced himself, you couldn't help but finally look at the obvious bulge in his pants. It was promising and Vander could feel the wet spot he made in his trousers with his precum.

You knew that he was close to breaking. You would eventually get what you wanted; you always did.

You watched as he fixed himself, trying to hide the taint but failing, his cheeks pink.

He tried looking at you over the wall, the disappointing expression on your features, damn you were pouting again. The sight made him throb in his pants so he looked away.

"I should go, fuck, should've never come with you in the first place–" he passed a hand through his hair, which was falling in his face and sighted "– Good night, I guess."

You will eventually get what you want, you told yourself. You always did. 

Vander avoided you for some days, never letting his eyes lay on you for too long, making conversation short. He could see that he was getting on your dark side by denying you attention.

He couldn't help it, he already had a good imagination by just flirting, your little escapade with him only served to feed into his fantasy.

In the late nights, he found himself palming his trousers, mind drifting to you. Vander wished he would have kissed you that night, smudging that pretty shiny lip gloss off your lips. He grunted slowly, he hated that he had to do that again, beating one off to his friend’s daughter. Fuck he was disgusting, but the kids were sleeping, he had time for this at the very least. Vander never thought he was being so obvious, but honestly, how could he help it? When you went to his bar on Friday nights you always wore the thinnest mini skirts ever, fuck that black one was his favorite, hanging low on your hips, your soft tummy lightly poking out… The memory made him throb. 

Suddenly his pants were too tight, he needed some relief, needed you. Sitting upright in his bed, he pulled his sweatpants down below his balls, just enough to free his cock. He let his imagination hang free, thinking about how easy it would've been to just bend you on one of the tables, making you feel him, how you made him feel. 

He spat on his hand, leading it to his dick, smearing it up and down. You would have offered your body to him, he knew that now. Fuck, what type of panties would you wear? One time he got a peek, white and frilly with some lace, really cute. Vander loved your thighs, he knew it would feel amazing between his hands, around his cock. His hands were working faster on his length, he was panting a little, biting his cheek to remind himself not to make too much noise, that the last thing he needed was some of his kids waking up.

You always smelled so good too, sweet, it was sweet. In his fantasy you giggled at him that way he found endearing, looking back at him and arching your soft body so the skirt would flip over your butt.

He was getting close, fuck his balls were aching so much, he needed that release.

You nodded at him, as to say ‘Go ahead, Van’ wiggling your bottom to encourage him, he didn't need to be rushed twice, he touched your ass, countering the fabric of the frills, when he got to the bottom he found the spot wet, it was so easy to imagine himself pulling the cloth aside and filling you up. You looked tiny under him. God, he tried his fingers around his fat tip in the upstroke to mimic the tightness of your hole, letting out a grunt. It was all he needed to cum in his hands, cursing your name under his breath. Fuck, he was disgusting. 

God, he prayed Benzo would forgive him. Vander can never let this fantasy of his come to life if he gets all worked up with just a few stolen glances and some dirty talk… Imagine what actually fucking you would do to him? 

“We are closed.”

You said when you heard the door from Benzo’s open thinking it was just a regular customer. To your surprise, it was Vander, and by his stunned face, you could see that he wasn't expecting to see you behind the counter.

He stood there awkwardly, sucking his teeth and gazing at his feet with a pack of papers in his hands.

“I thought Benzo was working today, I’ll… I’ll come back another time.”

You rolled your eyes at him and said: 

“My dad will come back at night. You should look for him around 8 pm, Van.”

You said while returning to paint your nails on the counter. He recognized the color, it was that green nail polish you had talked about that night.  You had indeed bought new dresses in the market, he had memorized your everyday clothes by now. That dress you were wearing right now was pretty, the pinkish color looked good on you.

He was already turning his back to leave when you dared to speak again:

“You have nothing to say, Vander?”

He sighed. You have always been stubborn since you were a teenager. He turned around irritated, his brows furrowed ready to scold you.

“I’m sorry about that, okay? Shouldn't have never gone that far.” His eyes were sharp as he was exasperated for just having to talk about that.

It made you even angrier. That day you played with yourself all night because that stupid man didn't want— no he didn't dare to finish the job. He left you hot and wanting in that damn alleyway.

“Now you say you didn't mean it? Hells Vander, now I am offended!”

You finished painting your nails and got off the bench, pouting as you made your way to the center of the store.

“We both know damn well what you did when you got home that night… You've been rubbing one off thinking about me for quite some time now.”  Now you were standing in front of him, trying to look mean, pointing at his chest with your manicured nails.

“Too bad you're too much of a pussy to do something with the real thing.” 

You waited for his reaction with a smug look on your features. Did you want attention? You would get attention.

He took a sharp breath and looked down at you. Vander was getting tired of this game of cat and mouse, if there was a proper time to solve the issue, it was now.

He sighed loudly before saying:

“Stop this shit, you know damn well we can't do this.” His voice was low, holding a bite to the words.

 It was a warning, he freed his hands from the paper and held your arm down. It made you smile, he was so much stronger than you, and you wondered what he could use that strength for.

He saw the grin on your lips and he tightened his grasp on you, face twitching into something dangerous. You pressed against him, closing the distance even more, not running from him.

You flexed your fingers in the air, your hand in an odd position with the way he was gripping you. It was like the world disappeared around you two, you wanted to kiss him, make him lose it, so you got on your tiptoes, your face closer to Vanders now, being able to feel his breath on your face.

“Not asking you to marry me, ya know? Just asking to be fucked…” You sneaked your other hand up to his side, grabbing the fabric of his shirt near his hips tight with your fingers. Oh, you hoped you didn't ruin your nails with all this playing.

He leaned down on impulse, only realizing his movement when you two kissed. Vander pressed you more against him, if it was even possible to get closer, now one hand was still gripping your arm as the other went to your waist. The hound tasted addicting, like mint and cigars. You moaned slightly in his mouth.

“Thought you could do this for me… Been wanting this for so long ” You said, making a trail of kisses from the corner of his mouth down his bearded jaw as his right hand kneaded your skin, feeling up your body.

“Know you want it too, old man. So why not just do it?”

You said with your lips grazing his. Vander couldn't escape your affection, you had him wrapped around your daisy chains. 

He brought you forcefully around the counter, getting you easily on top of it. 

He kissed you with purpose, as to compensate for how long he took to do it, even though he was still apprehensive to touch you.

You let your hands wander from around his neck to his big shoulders, down his muscled arms, finally reaching his hands and leading them around your bum.

Vander groaned, breaking your kiss away, and gathered your skirt past your hips, revealing your lower body. He broke the kiss away to take in the sight, his body between your legs with you on the counter. 

He could see your soaked panties from this angle. Damn, he was losing it. He gazed at your covered pussy intently, tracing his fingers to the outline carefully making you gasp.

He had grown a chub in his pants and it throbbed badly. He wanted to see it bare — needed to. You noticed him staring, dropping the weight of your body on your elbows behind you and chuckling at his reaction.

“You can take it off, Van.”

He eyed you, hating the expression on your pretty face, so full of yourself for what you accomplished. He wasn't himself now, he wanted to see it, your cunt felt chubby against his fingers, your wetness sticking to his skin.

He tried to still his hands while taking your underwear off, but failed. He noticed that you had seen it and yanked your bottom forward into him, kissing you to cancel his annoyance. You pushed him closer to you, making him bench a little as you left his tongue to dominate yours. 

Vander was so affected by the act that he started to grind his bulge against your folds, hands groping all your body with his big calloused hands.

You got out the kiss, letting lose a little moan against his ears, which turned him on even more, hells, you had him cursing under his breath. 

“Fuck me, please!” You whimpered under your breath. Vander opened his eyes he didn't notice were closed to look at you, your pouting face and doe eyes. It was wrong. The whole situation was fucking  wrong, he can’t fuck you in the damn shop, in your dad’s counter, what the hell was he doing.

“You don't need to put it in, Van!” 

You wiggled your hips to try to get more friction from the rough material of his jeans that confined his borderline painful erection. Your bare pussy leaving dots of slickness on the fabric, he realized he said that out loud when you answered.

“Just rubbing is fine!” You whined closing your eyes when it grazed your clit just good. 

“Take it off, please? Please!” You begged.

He grabbed your hips firmly, Vander couldn't help but gaze at your pussy again. "Stop the fuss, princess– fuck" He panted into the air.

You opened your legs wider, "Van, if you just use it to jerk off it's fine, right?" You used your hand to open the inner lips wider to his hungry eyes.

"I-if you just don't put it inside it's going to be fine, just rub your cock right here" 

You gathered slick in your fingers and ran them up and down your folds, which made you hiss, grabbing your bottom lip with your teeth.

You were giving him a headache, but when he returned to himself he was already taking his hard cock out of his trousers with trembling hands. You pushed him closer with your legs and put your hands on his member for the first time, your fist not quite closing from the thickness. It was feverish hot and so heavy it wouldn't even stand, instead, hang low right next to your center.

You stroked him to the top lightly, pushing it into your pussy, so he could feel your entrance. Vander let out a trembling sigh when you started to guide his cock up and down your folds, coating him in your essence.

His eyes closed when you started to moan for him, he was bumping your clit continuously with that big head of his cock. It was a shade darker than his skin and so fucking big... You know you were the one to propose to him to just use your cunt to jerk off, but you wanted to feel it inside, stretching you.

"Fuck, fuck, you're so..." he opened his eyes to see you shyly smiling at him.

"Is it good for you too, Van?" You meowed when you felt him take hold of his member, lightly shoving your hand off. He applied more pressure on it, so it was rubbing harder against you. You were so fucking wet and hot against him, he could barely speak, instead, he let his mouth open panting slightly.

His other hand found itself holding your right thigh open from behind your knee, sure it would leave bruises.

"Wanna feel it inside, please?" You moaned, your hands reaching the neckline of your clothes, pulling them down to reveal your chest to him. You knew what you were doing to him, turning his brain to mush.

"Can't do it, you know I can't" he grunted closing his eyes not to look at you in fear, he knew once he saw your pouting face he would listen to your every word. 

You got that quickly, lifting one hand to his face, pulling him atop of you so you could give him a smooch on his lips and moan into his mouth as his tip grazed just right against your folds. His hands are now caging you, arms successfully holding his weight so as not to crush you.

"Open your eyes, want to see you" He tried to say no, but you caressed his face in such a loving way... He'll be damned, you will be his downfall for sure.

When he stood comfortable still kind of hovering over you, he opened his eyes, and what a sight was you, sparred all over Benzo’s counter, opened wide for him with your tits spilling from your dress, one of your hands guiding his dick down your slit to your entrance. Fuck, Vander could feel you spasm around nothing trying to pull him inside.

"Just the tip, Van." 

You sighed, giving him your best puppy eyes as your right hand on his face caressed his jaw, your thumb firing his mouth agape, gathering his spit and bringing your fingers to one of your nipples, pinching lightly.

"Wanna feel the stretch…” You moaned for him. “Don’t you wanna feel me too?”

His hips jerked upwards, his eyes wide as his gorgeous tip stretched your opening. Your toes curled and Vander tensed on top of you, holding himself back from pushing all his length inside.

"Fucking hell, you're so, f-fuck" his eyebrows were scrunched. You couldn't help but smile drunkenly, haha, the big scary Vander was at a loss of words over you, because of you.

The thought made you clench, his hands flying to your hips as to make you still. All Vander wanted was to empale you on his dick, make that sly smile on your face disappear and give space to a scream.

You put your hands between your bodies again, he was more relaxed and that was the perfect time for you to guide his head slowly in and out of your cunt, tightening your fist around him a little.

He was all grunts as he manhandled you alone, taking your hands off him and putting it to his heart, that you realized later that was racing. Vander's eyes were moving intently between your cute face and your cunt glistened in slick.

You brought your other hand to your mouth gathering spit and dragging it over your soft belly into your hooded clit.

Vander was losing rhythm, "Gonna cum, ahh" 

He was panting like a dog, trying to pull himself out of your grasp, but you used your legs to cage him.

"Please, let me out, princess, can't do it like that." 

He was falling apart, too pussydrunk to do anything about it. His tip still going in and out of you in shallow thrusts.

You said: "No, no! You gotta do it in me, inside! Wanna feel your cum filling me up.”

You were stubborn, grinning between meows and moans, it made him irritated, you were always the brat, fuck now he was angry.

He shoved his whole cock inside you and gave you what you wanted, cumming deep inside with a grunt as your nails dragged across his arms.

You whimpered while he took his time being milked by you, as he worked your clit at a fast pace.

You finally came on his cock doing a final clench that made him shudder.

He got down to earth eventually, removing himself from inside you, and admiring the mess he made of you. You giggled shyly, waking him up from his stupor. Suddenly his brows furrowed, he remembered he was mad now, at himself for being fooled, at you for charming him.

He stopped his seed from spilling on the counter, which was already a mess with your slick, pushing his thumb slowly inside.

"Happy now?! You got what you wanted, just know it won't happen again."

He was putting himself back in his pants with a scow on his face.

"Let's see how you manage, old man.”

Your legs were trembling when you tried to stand to gather your underwear. He had to support you with one hand, then helped you fix your dress.

He got away from you, trying to find the bottle of water Benzo got at the shop, filling a cup and giving it to you.

He gathered his documents long forgotten on a side table, getting ready to leave.

"Oh Van, no goodnight kiss?" You approached him slowly, damn he could see his cum running down your plush thighs.

"Maybe if you play it nice I’ll let you fuck me again, this time properly."

He passed one hand through his hair while closing his eyes.

"That ain't gonna happen, I already told you"

Was he scolding you right now?

"Then I gotta have to look for another man to do the job."

He gave you a look, his eyes dark. Tormenting him was always so much fun! He turned his back to you.

"I should probably go, before... Before someone sees me"

Vander felt so upset, but when he closed his eyes he saw you, your body under him, the thought making him bulge again.

He knew damn well it was going to be another time, honestly, he could not wait for it.

Wrote this with my pussy btw. It was clapping in morse code, all I had to do was type it down.

Happy Christmas, guys!

The cute divider is from: @strangergraphics-archive

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello! Could I get a fic about Bucky accidentally finding the reader’s Christmas gifts to him? Maybe he tries (and fails) to act surprised?

Thank you (ps I know it’s after Christmas, sue me)

Aww~ I don't care that it's too late for the holidays. It's cute! Merry Christmas (belated)

Characters/Pairings: Bucky x reader (code name honey)

Content/Warnings: none it’s just goofy holiday fluff

Author Note: merry late Christmas, this may or may not be loosely based in the Fate Stone AU I have brewing. (which since you are my beta reader ;) you already know about it.)

You are a notoriously bad gift giver, Bucky had been warned many times. He didn’t really care. As long as it came from the heart it couldn’t possibly be that bad. He could put up with socks or a cheesy mug as long as it came from you. But this was worse, so much worse. 

“Sam, I don't even know what to do with it.” Bucky rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands, confiding in the only other person he knew that wouldn’t immediately tell Honey. “Can I be honest here, it’s hideous.”

Sam was keeping a pretty good poker face over his mug poker but the situation was undeniably funny. “It can’t possibly be that bad.” But Bucky’s mortified face said it all. “Why were you spying on her gift away?”

“I didn’t mean too! Necessarily. She hid it in the bottom of the closet, man. She didn’t even hide it well... I’m a spy, I notice things. Plus it was pretty hard to miss.” The blanket had been tucked away in the back of the walk-in closet under a few other things. But the obnoxious colors of the corner peeking out from under the folded jeans had caught his eyes. They didn’t own anything in orange. Anything.  

His honey had gotten him a blanket, which would normally have been so very sweet seeing how Bucky hated being cold, but it wasn’t just a blanket. It was one of those viral blankets, the ones that are loosely based on 70’s rock band merch with lighting and thunder clouds rolling in the background. It’s featured pictures of Alpine, every goofy spastic picture of the cat that his girl could find with her name in the boldest font Bucky had ever seen. Honestly it hurt his eyes, and as Bucky went about describing it to Sam the other man damn near fell out of his chair. 

“That is perfect. No really I think she might be a genius. I’m gonna need a video of you opening that one.” Sam goaded.

“You're not helping.” Bucky growls, guilt twisting in his guts like a worm, but Sam was too busy laughing to try and give a shit. “How am I gonna act surprised now? Let alone be excited?”

“I don’t dude, I guess you need to start taking an acting class.” Sam wiped the tears from his eyes.

~~~~

Bucky watched with crinkled eyes as you opened your gifts from him. A nice wool winter coat because all you owned was a puffer, and while it was adorable on you and always kept you warm you always said you wanted something dressier for date night. And in your stocking an assortment of your favorite treats, skin care you were low on, and that perfume that you had been drooling over since October but always talked yourself out of because of the price tag. Bucky had been making a list since your birthday, keeping tabs on what you lingered on in stores and what you sighed at as you scrolled. He knew his girl and he knew her well. And the way you lit up with every item told him he hit it out of the park. 

“Do you like it Honey?” he asked, his chin propped on his hand. His face couldn’t have been softer or voice more full of love as he watched you glow with joy. 

“I love it. How did you even know what eye cream I use?” 

“It wasn't that hard doll.” Bucky laughed, it sits in a clear box on your vanity of course he knows. 

“Here! Open yours.” You hand him his stocking and the present wrapped in pretty silver paper, looking so excited you may vibrate across the floor. He plastered on his best game face as his stomach did a little flip. Do not ruin this for her Barnes. 

He starts with the stocking. Pulling out body wash and a cologne scented with that smoky bourbon and apple scent you were fond of, along with a small batch roasted coffee and some new gloves. So far so good, and he made sure to kiss you. “I love it honey.”

“Yeah, but you haven’t opened your big one.” you say with a twinkle in your eyes that makes him wanna melt into the floor. Should he tell her, confess he saw it? Risk it and pretend he loves it? 

“You’re right I haven’t.” he corrects himself with a smile picking up the package. It was instantly heavier than he remembered and as he tears open the package he has a brief (very guilty) moment of hoping that maybe he was wrong…

But no there it is. That hideous blanket that he knows instantly from the look on your face he is gonna end up snuggling under for the rest of time just to see you smile the way you are right in this moment. He opened his mouth to tell you thanks as genuinely as he could muster but honey was already biting her bottom lip. A fit of giggles falling out of her. “You already saw it didn’t you!” she managed to get out between chitters. 

“What?! No- I…” 

A pillow from the couch flew at his head. “I knew you would. You little sneak, you do this every year!” Honey chastised as Bucky dodged another swing with the pillow. 

“Hey! Whoa!” Bucky's arms go up in a weak attempt at blocking her little onslaught. “I didn’t mean too!”

“Bullshit James Buchanan!” thump, a hit to his ribs. “You did it on your birthday.” Whack, a bump to the top of his head. “You somehow sniffed out the tickets I bought to Coney Island.” one more swing but this time Bucky caught the pillow, pulling you into his lap with it. 

“I did not do it on purpose!” he defended, but he was beaming. Eyes crinkling in the corner as she glared playfully. “I didn’t!” 

“Yeah, you just somehow stumbled upon the blanket I hid under the laundry in the back of our closet.”

“I was looking for my coat!” 

“On the ground?”

Bucky was caught, because yes he had been looking. He always did. The man couldn’t help it, he always was just too curious. “Yea, I thought so you little rat! Do you like it?” she asks earnestly. And Bucky feels that gnawing feeling again, trying not to let it show on his face. 

“It’s… super fluffy.” he tries to deflect, hating to lie to honey, but her face is already breaking into a grin. What the hell?

“You hate it.” she beams. “It’s hideous huh?”

Bucky frowns, slouching back in his chair. Did she want him to hate it. “Uh, yeah it is..” 

“Good thing it’s not your actual present huh.” 

Bucky's eyes narrow. “You little-” She did this on purpose, hid the most outrageous thing she could find just to punish him for spoiling presents. Clever girl. Weeks of fretting over how he was gonna pull this off and SHE KNEW THE WHOLE TIME. With a giggle honey climbs off his lap and back behind the couch, pulling out a slim package from the cavern behind, and Bucky’s face nearly splits in half. 

“Here. Merry Christmas.” She offers him the parcel with a kiss, sitting in his lap as he unwraps it, and he feels his heart flutter a little. It’s a scrapbook. Full of pictures of him, her, Alpine and their friends. Taken by everyone who has known them the last few years. There isn’t a lot, he doesn’t like taking pictures, preferring to take them. So she must have scoured their friends' phones to find all of these and Bucky can feel tear picking the backs of his eyes. Good tears. 

“Thank you Honey. I love it. I love you…”

[skipper1331]

Art // Leah Williamson

You loved playing football yet drawing and painting was your silent passion. A passion nobody really knew about.

It all started when you were a kid. After a bad day, lost match you would be so angry and disappointed that you would draw your anger away. It didn‘t matter if it was with pencils, crayons or acrylic, you didn‘t care if it was on paper or on a canvas. You just had to draw/paint.

Slowly, it not only started to reduce your anger but to become a daily thing. Over the years you got better and better and even sold some paintings.

When you moved to London, transfered to Arsenal from the german league you took your painting utils with you.

In your new apartment was an extra room which used to be a guest room - you didn't need it, so you set it up as a painting room. The floor was covered with foil as were parts of the wall while many canvases and tubes of paint stood on the newly built shelves. Your desk was full of paper, sketchbooks, pens, erasers, etc. everything an artist needed. It was your favorite room in your apartment.

As the weeks went on, you drew everything interesting. Such as the training facility, jerseys, the stadium and much more.

But If someone would have looked through your sketchbook they would‘ve noticed that there was one thing or rather one person which was drawn very often. Arsenals number 6. Leah Williamson. You couldn‘t explain why but she was incredible. Everything about her was perfect; her talent, her personality, her smile. You just could not not draw her. Often you only realized that you had drawn her after your drawing was already finished and when drawing number 12 of Leah was finished you knew you had a crush on her. What you didn‘t realize though was a) she also developed a crush on you and b) your face and hands covered in paint and pencil has not gone unnoticed. To find out why that was the team formed an alliance. When Rosa questioned why they simply didn‘t ask you her head was smacked from Kyra, Alessia and Vic. "It‘s much more exciting this way" Kyra replied mischievously.

Mission Colour had officially started.

On bus rides, plane flights, away games you would always have your 'away sketchbook' and one pencil with you just to calm down or to stay calm. Most of the time you sat next to Manu, your national teammate. She was like big sister to you and of course she knew about your drawing talent but what she didn‘t know was that a few teammates wanted to find out. As well Manu knew about your little crush, not because you told her but because she saw your sketch of Leah and connected the dots.

It was the next day when you came to training with a blue stripe on you forehead and hands covered with many shades of blue. This morning you worked on your current project (a painting of the ocean) and lost track of time. You hadn‘t had the chance to look in the mirror again after you rushed out of your flat to the car.

Fast forward, here you were in the training facility in bright red clothes while your skin was covered in blue.

"Looking like Papa smurf" Katie laughed, gently shoving you towards the mirror in the changing room.

Your eyes widened in horror, "Shit" aggressively you started to rub at the stripe of paint but it was too late. The stripe was already dry. Making your way to the bathroom, you wet the paper towel, not much hope about cleaning your face.

"Hey" you heard a voice beside you, your eyes locking with the blonde defenders through the mirror, "do you need some help?" Leah asked, already concerned by the way you aggressively rubbed your forehead, "hey, lemme-" the girl gently tugged at your wrist as she turned you to face her. She grabbed another paper towel, putting a tiny bit of soap on it before she put it under water. In silence, the taller girl started to clean your face. Her movements were slow and tender as she tried to stay cool while she was so close to you. In the meantime, you admired the blonde, scanned every feature of her face.

"Secretly a Chelsea fan, huh?" the gunner asked, trying to ease the obvious tension in the room.

"Gosh no," you chuckled, "I was working on my new proctect this morning and lost track of time" you admitted, Leah raising a brow in return.

"You must think I’m pretty unorganized, hm?"

"of course not!" She replied immediately, "i was just wondering, project? What project?"

"It‘s nothing much, just a painting project" you shrugged your shoulders, "the ocean."

"I didn‘t know you could paint" she stated, the dots connecting with all the paint stains that covered your clothes and body since you had arrived in London.

"Maybe you‘d like to see some of my works?" your voice was quiet, shy as you nervously scratched your neck.

"It‘s a date" the same moment, Leah dropped the comment, you heard Kim call, "training starts" which let Leah hurry out of the room, leaving you completely shocked and with a mix of nervousness and excitement alone. Was she serious?

-

"Leah, wait!"

Training had finished half an hour ago, the girls, including you, doing their usual routines, some had physio, some went straight to the showers or others that just changed their clothes happy to finally go home - Leah, one of the girls who preferred to shower at home after a particularly long cardio session.

"Were you serious about the date? Because if not that would be totally fine, but if so, I’d really like to go on a date with you" you rambled, "we could go out for dinner or i could cook for you or not, because I’m not the greatest cook, but maybe take out would be fine too?! whatever you like works for me!"

"Take a deep breath, love" she smiled, squeezing your hand, "i was serious" her cheeks slowly turning red, "sorry, could‘ve been a bit more romantic, i admit, but indeed, I’d be very happy to go on a date with you"

"Oh, really!" you were so surprised, shocked even that the Leah Williamson wanted to go on a date with you.

"Yes, really. What about this: I’ll go home for a shower and at-" she looked at her watch, "at 7, I’ll be at your front door with some food in my hands. Neither of us has to cook and we can have a nice and relaxed evening, how does that sound?"

"That sounds perfect, thank you"

"See you soon" she smiled, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she felt brave enough to do so in that moment.

Like in trance, you watched her walk away while your fingers touched the spot were lips had been a few seconds ago. Wow.

On the other hand as soon as Leah sat in her car, she did a little happy dance, finally getting the chance to spend some time with you alone and even better, being able to call it a date.

-

5 minutes early the defender stood in front of your door, two bags of food in one hand while the other hand held a bouquet of flowers.

With confidence Leah rang the door bell, she felt untouchable. She had a date with the prettiest girl and nothing would stop her from trying to be the best version of herself for you. She really wanted this to work out.

In all honesty, Leah had been crushing on you for quite a while. It all started with an international friendly where you both were captaining your nations. You fell in conversation easily, the blonde friends with some of your national teammates.

Since then the Lioness followed you on your socials, also enjoying watching you play football - something about your technic and brain for the game made her fall in love with football all over again.

When the announcement was made that you‘d join Arsenal, she was excited, overly so. She wanted to talk to you again, be your friend. But soon the thought of just being friends combined with her little crush on you that was getting bigger and bigger day by day was long forgotten. She wanted to get to know you, on a deeper level than just the typical friendly one.

"Hey! Welcome in" you said with a wide smile, stepping aside.

"Hi, these are for you" the defenders cheeks turned slightly pink as yours did too.

"These are beautiful, thank you so much" the bouquet was big mix of multiple flowers in multiple colours, "i didn‘t know what your favorite flower was, so i bought one of each they had"

"I love it and I really appreciate it" shy smiles were exchanged before your attention was brought back, "follow me. So this is my living room and as you can see, there‘s my kitchen. I hope you like wine? I found this one in my cupboard" you pointed at the bottle on your coffee table. "Here let me plate the food, make yourself a home" as you wandered off to the kitchen, Leah admired your home. It was tidy yet looked very cozy. Then her gaze fell to various of pictures and paintings you had in your living room. One in particular caught her attention, it reminded her of something that she couldn’t form in words, an familiar warm feeling filled her chest as she looked at it closely - something about this painting was special.

-

The night went on with an ease, everything felt so natural. Dinner was great, the conversation flowing, the tv long forgotten as both of your attentions were on each other. Throughout the night the two of you had moved closer, knees already touching as you shared jokes and stories about everything and nothing.

"I must say, i really like the paintings in here. This one especially" she pointed at your favorite.

"Thank you, that‘s very nice of you to say"

"How much did they cost you? They look so expensive!" she admired, quickly realizing what an rude question she asked, "oh I’m so sorry, that‘s not something I should be asking"

"No, don’t worry, you’re good" you assured her, "they didn‘t cost me anything, i did them myself" you said, "well, that‘s a lie, i had to buy the canvas and the paint but other than that i didn‘t cost me anything."

"No way! You really did these? Are you joking?"

You shook your head.

"Wow! These are amazing. Like seriously, you’ve got some serious talent!"

Soon you furiously started to blush, getting all shy as you looked away from the gunner.

"Can i see the ocean painting which you talked earlier about?" she remembered, hoping to get see more of your work.

"Sure, but it‘s not finished yet"

"That‘s fine. I‘d see anything you painted, really, this is so impressive"

"Stop" you buried your face in your hands, your cheeks as hot as ever, the tip of your ears a deep shade of red, "hey, no. Don’t hide that pretty face of yours" taking your hands out of your face, you stared at each other as everything around you fell silent. Both of you were so close, if you would just lean forward-

"Here follow me" you broke the silence, grabbing the lioness’ hand and dragging her to your art room, "don’t mind the mess" you said as you opened the door, showing Leah the inside of your heart.

For once, the defender didn‘t know what to say. Everywhere she looked where painting, sketches and drawings. It was like she not only stepped into your heart but also your brain.

"Wow" she whispered, in utter disbelief at what she saw. You did this. All of this!

Walking around the room Leah felt like she was at an art gallery, heavily impressed about the beauty she got to see in each painting.

"May i look in these too?" she asked once she was at your desk, sketchbooks across the table.

Slowly, you nodded. In that moment, you didn’t even think about the fact that you had sketched Leah too, and that more than once.

Every now and then, compliments slipped out while her fingers traced the lines and shapes of your art.

Then she stopped, silence deafening, "is that me?" she whispered, looking at more pages of herself.

"What? Shit, no, no, no." With a few quick steps, you slammed the book shut. Too embarrassed to even look at her, "you weren‘t supposed to see those" you muttered.

"So it was me?" she asked again, even though it was quite obvious that it was her indeed.

"Yes, I’m sorry. I‘m not a creep i promise! You‘re just- just so-" your brain went blank.

"yeah?"

"you‘re… you‘re just so amazing and i- I really like you. And i only realized that i sketched you once it was too late. I‘m really sorry! You weren‘t even supposed to see them. I‘m not a creep, I’m just in love with you and i never thought you‘d like me back and now you‘re here with me on date. Well at least that‘s what you said it was. But it‘s totally fine, if you don’t want it to be a date anymore or if you want leave now or-" in the middle of your ramble, Leah cut you off, with her lips gently pressing against your own, a perfect way to shut you up. Your body relaxed immediately as your lips responded to the new sensation. Leah’s hands fell to your hips while yours laid on her stomach, your brain not knowing where else to put them as it was completely consumed by Leah kissing you.

Here you were in the heart of your art with Leah, the most beautiful girl, who was kissing you, the artist.

And even though, most artist are only known for their work by everyone after their death, you weren‘t most and Leah surely wasn‘t everyone. She was the one.

"Wow"

"Indeed wow"

You both stared at each other in silence, loving the tranquil atmosphere you had created.

"So what should i call you now? Picasso? Van Gogh? Michelangelo? Da Vinci?"

You laughed at her comment, playfully hitting her chest while she pulled you even closer in return.

"While i did like Papa smurf, I’d eventually prefer my girlfriend" she smiled, leaning in once again.

[noncredible-naramon]

one thing i did find interesting about 1999, and the newer quests in general--we are really getting insight into the Drifter.

I have been playing warframe for a HOT second--and The Second Dream came out in 2015, so my operator has been a part of my experience of the game for almost ten years (WOW).

We really know/knew very little about the Operator overall--not just in the sense of not having seen the Zariman yet, but also, what was their personality? What was their life like before? What did they think of their experiences? They were in a sense a blank slate--they were a real self-insert kind of character, doing exactly what I would do if I were in the game. A lot of people went really in-depth into their backstory; I personally did not, which meant they remained (to me) a kind of mystery.

We've gotten much less time with the Drifter, but in that time there has been so much information given about them, and so much personality. I realized about halfway through 1999 that I wasn't only getting lore on the Hex, I was learning new shit about the Drifter, and by extension, the Operator!

It's very interesting to see the text-format be used this way. Obviously there is the real-world W insofar as, it's WAY cheaper than paying for thousands of hours of voice acting. And obviously this is true for all RPGs, but the preselected lines hit different when they are giving us new lore about ourselves after so long.

This update really did reignite my fascination with Warframe. The community cannot stop talking about the Hex as well--I hope we see more of them, that content feels like it really could be evergreen.

The whole WF team has been killing it lately; I cannot wait to see what they bring us after the holidays.

[ourhees]

THE SUNSHINE AFTER THE STORM ❨𝖲𝖤𝖵𝖤𝖭❩

𝒊𝗡𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗔𝗗 .. ❛ 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝖿𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍

𝑜𝑓 · 𝖲𝖧𝖮𝖶𝓉𝖨𝖬𝖤 ⦂ bf! ot7 x gf! reader── && slight angst and fluff + argument and mention of not eating ❔ 𝖶𝖨𝖲𝖯 & 𝖪𝖨𝖲𝖲𝖤𝖲

◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞ ╱ 𝑠𝑎𝑣 𝑠𝑎𝑦𝑠 : sav comeback did so well, had to spoil my dolls even more 💌 enjoy !

𝖫𝖤𝖤 𝖧𝖤𝖤𝖲𝖤𝖴𝖭𝖦

heeseung walked in late again. ever since he picked up a new position at his office, he’s been coming home late nonstop. you knew he’d be more busy, but coming home at midnight for weeks straight, you grew a little fed up. tonight, you couldn’t hold back your frustration.

“you’re late again..” you said, your arms crossed along your chest. “how many times is this going to keep happening?”

“i’m trying alright? it’s just really busy.” heeseung sighed, rubbing his temples gently.

“but i’m here waiting for you! every night. i stay up extra late to spend time with you, but i cant, because you’re tired and you want to sleep.” you shot back, your hands trembling.

“i didn’t mean for it to be like this..” heeseung said quietly, stepping closer to wrap his arms around you. “im sorry princess, ill try to come home early so we can be together.”

you look up at him, frustration and sadness still lingering. “i just need you to be here..”

“and i will be.. okay?” heeseung kisses your forehead, his arms never latched off you. ( 𝖱𝖤𝖠𝖣 𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖤 𝖴𝖭𝖣𝖤𝖱 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖢𝖴𝖳 )

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖩𝖮𝖭𝖦𝖲𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖦

you and jay were enjoying a quiet evening at home, you sat on his lap as the two of you got caught up in eachother’s affection. what originally was a night of laughter and affection quickly disappeared when jay would constantly check his phone.

“jay?” you asked politely, frustration lingering on your voice. “can you put your phone down for a second? we’re supposed to be spending time together.”

jay looks up at you, his brows furrowed. “im just checking something real quick. why are you making a big deal out of it?” his tone came out rather harsh than expected.

“im not making a big deal, i just want your attention for five minutes!” you snapped. “you’ve been looking at your phone from time to time all night.”

“im not ignoring you, honey.” jay watched as you got off his lap, sitting a little farther away now to collect yourself. “well it feels like it.” you muttered to yourself, unaware that jay heard.

jay pulls you back on his lap, holding your chin so your gaze is on him. “i didn’t know you were feeling that way. i’m sorry honey, i’ll put it down.”

𝖲𝖨𝖬 𝖩𝖠𝖤𝖸𝖴𝖭

jake had been playing video games all day with heeseung and jungwon. you didn’t mind, considering he worked hard all week and barely got some time for his favorite things. it was one thing for him to barely speak to you throughout the day, but it was another when you felt like he was ignoring your presence.

“jake..” you called out from the doorway, coming to sit on the shared bed. “can you stop playing for a five minutes and talk to me.”

jake glanced over, however his attention quickly went back to the screen. “just one more round okay mamas?”

“seriously?” you couldnt hide your emotions, especially your frustration. “you’ve been playing for hours, you act like i don’t exist.”

jake paused his game, his attention quickly went to you. “im sorry okay? i just wanted a few hours on the game. i didn’t mean to ignore your presence.”

jake got up from his gaming chair and climbed onto the bed. he pulled you close to him, snuggling you tightly. “im sorry mamas.. do you forgive me? if not, i’ll make it better.”

𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖪 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖧𝖮𝖮𝖭

recently, you felt as if your relationship with sunghoon was failing. some nights, you barely slept in the same bed. other times, you’d only have one worded answers to each other’s questions. sometimes when this happens, it causes you to barely eat. sunghoon silently picked up on it, he started to see how this was affecting you.

“you’re barely eating..” sunghoon speaks softly, his eyes soft but serious.

you avoid his gaze, silently surpised he picked up on your behavior. “im fine.”

“no you’re not.” sunghoon looked closer at you, his voice laced with concern. “we haven’t been doing well recently and now you’re not even taking care of yourself.”

you sighed, frustrated. “i cant eat when i’m upset, you know that..” you held your head, rushes of emotions hitting you at once. sunghoon could tell you’ve officially reached your breaking point.

sunghoon moved closer to you, his tone gentle. “i hate seeing you like this. we’ll fix things, but first you need to eat. you need to take care of yourself, and i’ll be here to help you,” sunghoon wrapped his arms around you tightly, as if he was afraid to loose you again.

𝖸𝖠𝖭𝖦 𝖩𝖴𝖭𝖦𝖶𝖮𝖭

jungwon has been going through a lot lately. either something hapoened with some friends, or his family, you couldnt point your finger on it. all you knew was your relationship was slowly declining because of it. jungwon felt more closed off, he wasn’t talking to you like he normally would.

“why are you so closed off?” you asked, your voice shaking. “you used to talk to me about everything.”

jungwon sighed, looking at you. “it’s not that i don’t want to talk .. i just don’t want to drag you into my problems.”

“well i’m here for you!” you snapped, your frustration boiling over. “you can’t just shut me out when you’re going through something.

“i don’t wanna burden you.” jungwon ran a hand through his hair, trying to process his thoughts.

“you’re not burdening me, jungwon. i want to be there for you.” you quickly responded, pulling him into your arms as you saw tears falling from his glass eyes. “im sorry.. for pushing you away. i really need you.” you heard his sobs, you tried to comfort him by rubbing his back.

𝖪𝖨𝖬 𝖲𝖴𝖭𝖮𝖮

sunoo wasn’t one to cancel plans with you, infact he always looked forward to the days he’d be able to see you. ever since you and sunoo began getting more busy at work as the days went out, it became difficult to see each other. even on days you both were exhausted, you didn’t want to cancel.

“you’ve been cancelling plans alot recently..” you sighed with frustration. “i feel i’m the last thing on your mind these days.”

sunoo looks at you, guiltier than ever. “i didn’t mean to make you feel like that.. work has just been draining me.”

“that’s all you’ll ever say.” you replied, your voice tightening. “i get that, but it’s not an excuse as to how you’ve been treating me lately.”

he sighs. “you’re right.. i’ve been distracted and im sorry.” sunoo runs his hands through his hair in frustration, yet understanding where you’re coming from.

sunoo pulls you into his arms, his tight embrace made you feel better. “i promise to treat you better, even when exhaustion creeps up on me.” you pull him flush closer to you, feeling bad you let your emotions out on him.

𝖭𝖨𝖲𝖧𝖨𝖬𝖴𝖱𝖠 𝖱𝖨𝖪𝖨

you didn’t know riki would have his friends over at his house today. you sat closely to riki, but no matter how close you say, he continued to ignore you. riki was too caught up in playing games with his friends, he forgot his own girlfriend was right beside him. you felt ignored, and most importantly you felt forgotten about. his friends left, which left you with some alone time.

“why did you do that?” you asked, standing up as if you’re ready to leave. “ignore me when your friends are here?”

“what do you talking about?” riki asks, putting the extra controllers away in a drawer.

“when you’re with them, you pretend im invisible” your eyes grew teary, you tried to look away to fix yourself before he saw you like this.

“oh baby.. i never meant to make you feel like that.” riki pulled you into his arms, you tried to push away wanting some space to yourself.

however, riki wasn’t taking that for an answer. he didn’t like seeing you push away when you’re upset, especially at him. “no baby.. no pushing away. i’m sorry for tonight and i’ll make it up to you.” riki kisses your lips gently, his thumb soothed your cheek.

[horoscope1078]

:) merry Christmas 🎄

The streets of Barcelona were aglow with festive lights, casting a warm golden hue against the chilly December night. Christmas was just around the corner, and the holiday spirit filled every corner of the city.

In a cosy little café tucked away from the bustling streets, Gavi sat at a corner table, fidgeting with the ribbon on a small, neatly wrapped present. His leg bounced nervously under the table as he stared at the door, waiting for you to arrive.

“Relax Gavi” Pedri had told him earlier. “It’s just a gift.”

“Easy for you to say” Gavi had shot back. “You’re not the one giving it.”

Now, as he sat there alone, he replayed the conversation in his head. Why am I so nervous? he thought. You were friends. Just friends. Sure, he liked you.. a little more than a friend probably should but this was just a Christmas gift. No big deal. Except it was a big deal.

The door jingled, and there you were, your cheeks pink from the cold and your scarf wrapped snugly around your neck. You spotted him immediately and waved, your smile lighting up the room in a way no string of Christmas lights ever could.

“Hey, Gavi!” you said as you approached the table. “Sorry I’m late. The metro was crazy.”

“It’s fine” he said, standing up awkwardly and then sitting down just as awkwardly. “You’re not that late.”

You slid into the chair across from him, pulling off your gloves and blowing on your hands to warm them up. “It’s freezing out there. I think my fingers are going to fall off.”

Gavi chuckled, though it came out more like a nervous cough. He pushed the small package toward you, his hands suddenly clammy. “Uh.. merry Christmas.”

Your eyes widened as you looked at the gift. “What? Gavi, you didn’t have to get me anything!”

“I.. I wanted to” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s nothing big, just.. you know, something small.”

You hesitated for a moment, then picked up the gift, your fingers tracing the edges of the wrapping paper. “Can I open it now?”

He nodded, his heart pounding like he was about to play in the Champions League final.

You carefully unwrapped the gift, peeling back the paper to reveal a small, delicate snow globe. Inside was a tiny scene of Barcelona at Christmas.. a miniature Sagrada Família surrounded by snow-covered trees, with tiny lights that twinkled when you shook it.

Your jaw dropped. “Gavi, this is.. it’s beautiful.”

“You like it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I love it” you said, turning the globe in your hands to admire the details. “How did you even find something like this?”

“I saw it a while ago and.. I don’t know, it just reminded me of you” he admitted, his ears turning red.

Your cheeks flushed as you looked up at him. “Reminded you of me?”

“Well, yea..” he said, staring at the table as if it held all the answers to the universe. “It’s, uh.. small and pretty. Like you.”

Your laugh was soft and sweet, and it made his heart do a weird little flip. “You’re so cheesy.”

“I know” he muttered, finally daring to meet your gaze. Your eyes were shining, and your smile was so wide it made him feel like he’d just scored a hat trick.

“Thank you Gavi” you said sincerely. “Really, this means a lot to me.”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool even though he felt like he might explode. “It’s nothing, honestly. Just a little something for Christmas.”

You set the snow globe carefully on the table and reached into your bag. “Well, now I feel bad because I didn’t get you anything.”

“You didn’t have to..”

“But I did” you interrupted, pulling out a small package wrapped in bright red paper. “Here.”

His eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you got me something?”

“Of course I did” you said, pushing it toward him. “Now open it before I die of suspense.”

He hesitated, then tore into the wrapping paper like a kid on Christmas morning. Inside was a sleek leather notebook with a small Barça crest embossed on the cover.

“I know you like to write things down after games” you said, a little shy now. “Your thoughts, strategies, whatever. I thought maybe you could use a new notebook.”

Gavi stared at the notebook, his heart swelling. “This is perfect” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“You like it?” you asked, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I love it” he said, looking up at you with a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you.”

You sat there for a moment, the air between you warm despite the chill outside. Neither of you spoke, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt nice. Comfortable.

Finally, you broke the silence. “So, are we just going to sit here being awkward, or are you going to tell me why you were so nervous when I walked in?”

“I wasn’t nervous” he said quickly, though his face betrayed him by turning bright red.

“Sure sure..” you said, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, you weren’t.”

“I wasn’t!” he insisted, though he couldn’t stop himself from smiling.

“Okay Gavi" you said, shaking your head with a laugh. “Whatever you say.”

You spent the rest of the evening sipping hot chocolate and talking about everything and nothing, the conversation punctuated by shy smiles and playful teasing.

As you stepped outside into the cold night air, Gavi found himself walking a little closer to you, his hand brushing against yours.

“Thanks for the gift” you said again, glancing up at him.

“Thanks for yours” he replied, his voice soft.

And as you walked down the brightly lit streets, neither of you seemed to notice the cold anymore.

[ouiouibaguettt]

New Beginnings

wbb masterlist

Y/N -> your name. Italics -> text

9,6k words (this one was sleeping in my draft for too long)

______________________________________________________________________

The UConn Huskies women’s basketball team had just finished a grueling practice session, one of many in the lead-up to their upcoming games. The air was thick with exhaustion, but there was an undercurrent of excitement. It was the kind of energy that came from knowing they were a championship-caliber team, but also one that came with the pressure of maintaining their elite status.

Azzi Fudd, the team’s shining star, was doing her usual post-practice ritual of shooting free throws, her focus unwavering. Her teammates, including the newly arrived Y/N, were gathered near the locker room, cooling down. Y/N had transferred to UConn from another university, and while she had quickly become a key player, there was something about her that stood out to Azzi—something beyond her skills on the court.

As Y/N grabbed a water bottle, she caught sight of Azzi, still on the court. Something about the way she moved, the intensity with which she practiced, was mesmerizing. Y/N had always admired Azzi from afar, but now being on the same team as her was a dream come true—and one that was quickly becoming more complicated.

After the rest of the team had headed to the locker room, Y/N stayed behind, taking a few extra shots to clear her mind. It had been a tough practice, and her body ached. She didn’t notice Azzi walking up beside her until she heard her voice.

“You staying late too?” Azzi asked, her voice casual but with a knowing glint in her eye.

Y/N glanced up and smiled. “Yeah, just working out some kinks. Practice was intense today.”

Azzi chuckled, stepping closer. “Tell me about it. We’ve got to be sharp if we want to win it all this season.” She paused for a moment, eyeing Y/N. “But you’ve got the skills. I’ve seen your game; you’re gonna make a huge impact here.”

The compliment made Y/N’s heart race a little faster. She had watched Azzi on TV for years before they were teammates, so to hear praise from her felt surreal.

“Thanks” Y/N said, trying to keep her cool. “It’s still a lot to adjust to, but I’m ready.”

Azzi grinned, walking toward the free throw line and casually taking a shot. “You’ll get there. We all have to work harder if we want to be champions.”

Y/N nodded, stepping forward to join her. The two of them spent the next few minutes practicing free throws together, pushing each other to make every shot. They didn’t talk much; instead, they communicated in the unspoken language of teammates—pushing each other to be better, always.

A few days later, UConn had their first big game of the season. The energy in the arena was electric, the stands packed with fans. The competition was fierce, but Azzi and Y/N were in perfect sync, moving as one, anticipating each other’s plays. KK Arnold was on the court as well, making sharp passes, while Paige Bueckers moved fluidly, executing her usual dazzling plays. But despite the solid teamwork around her, Y/N couldn’t keep her eyes off Azzi.

Azzi’s focus on the court was undeniable. She was a force to be reckoned with, but there was a quiet intensity to her that drew Y/N in. And every now and then, when their eyes met across the court, there was an unspoken connection between them that neither could ignore.

As the game went on, the intensity mounted. UConn’s opponent was tough, but the Huskies’ skill, especially Azzi’s leadership and Y/N’s sharp shooting, began to turn the tide. With just minutes left in the game, the score was neck-and-neck.

KK Arnold brought the ball up the court, and Y/N found herself in position for a perfect shot. Azzi, who had been leading the charge, drew the defense in and passed the ball to Y/N, who drained a three-pointer. The crowd erupted into cheers as UConn took the lead.

Azzi was the first to rush over to Y/N, throwing an arm around her in a quick hug. “That’s what I’m talking about!” she shouted over the noise of the crowd, her face lighting up with pride.

Y/N smiled, her heart racing. “Thanks for the assist, Azzi. You made that play happen.”

Azzi shrugged, her eyes shining with excitement. “We make each other better.”

After the game, the team gathered in the locker room, the excitement of the win still buzzing in the air. The coaches were handing out praise, but it was clear that Azzi, Y/N, Paige, and KK were the stars of the game. Everyone was buzzing, but there was a certain warmth in the air as the team celebrated their success.

Y/N found herself standing next to Azzi, the two of them smiling and laughing about the game. The tension that had been building between them, from practice to the court, seemed to ease after the win.

“I knew you had it in you” Azzi said, nudging Y/N playfully with her shoulder.

Y/N laughed, glancing at Azzi, her heart fluttering. “I couldn’t have done it without you. Your assists were on point today.”

Azzi grinned, stepping a little closer. “Teamwork. That’s how we’re gonna win it all this season.”

Before Y/N could respond, Azzi reached out and pulled her into a quick, but intimate hug, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s shoulders. Y/N hesitated for a moment, then wrapped her arms around Azzi’s waist, feeling a rush of warmth flood through her. The quiet PDA was not for the cameras or the fans—it was a moment just between them.

“We’ve got this” Y/N whispered into Azzi’s ear, her heart racing.

Azzi pulled back just enough to look at her, her eyes soft and sincere. “Yeah, we do.”

The team’s celebrations continued around them, but in that moment, it felt like everything was in perfect balance—basketball, friendship, and something more that neither of them was quite ready to define. All they knew was that they had each other, both on and off the court. And as the season progressed, it was clear that whatever happened, they were in it together.

As the season went on, the connection between Azzi and Y/N grew. On the court, they were unstoppable. Off the court, their chemistry continued to build. Between practices, games, and their growing bond, it became evident that their relationship wasn’t just about basketball—it was about understanding, support, and an unspoken trust that only teammates, and maybe something more, could share.

Their bond had only just begun, and with the season still ahead of them, Azzi and Y/N knew that no matter where their relationship went, they had something special that could carry them through any challenge—together.

______________________________________________________________________

The season was heating up, and UConn was ready to face one of their toughest opponents yet—Iowa. The arena was buzzing with anticipation, and the energy in the locker room was high. Azzi, Y/N, Paige, and KK were all locked in, determined to make their mark against a team known for its fierce defense and high-scoring offense.

As the team huddled together, Coach Geno Auriemma gave them his usual pep talk, reminding them of their strengths and the importance of staying composed. But for Y/N, there was an added layer of excitement—not just for the game, but for the bond that was beginning to form with Azzi. They’d been growing closer over the last few weeks, and the connection between them was becoming impossible to ignore.

The game started with an intense pace, both teams trading baskets and playing aggressively. Azzi, as usual, was a standout—her defense was sharp, her shooting precise, and she was leading the charge. But Y/N wasn’t far behind. They were playing with a confidence that had grown stronger with each passing game, making crucial shots and setting up their teammates with perfect assists.

In the first half, UConn had the lead, but Iowa was relentless. Their star player, Caitlin Clark, was lighting up the scoreboard, and UConn was struggling to keep up with her. The Huskies’ defense was getting tested like never before, and it was clear that this game was going to come down to the wire.

Azzi and Y/N were always near each other on the court, constantly communicating through eye contact and quick gestures. Their chemistry was undeniable, and the more they played together, the more they seemed to anticipate each other’s moves.

With the game tied and just minutes left, the tension in the air was palpable. The crowd was on the edge of their seats as UConn fought to hold off Iowa’s final push. Y/N was at the top of the key, waiting for the ball. Azzi, on the other side, was creating space with her usual quick cuts. When Y/N caught the ball, they saw Azzi’s movement and immediately passed it to her, giving Azzi the perfect shot to take the game into UConn’s favor.

Azzi drained the shot, and the crowd erupted. UConn had the lead with only seconds left on the clock.

______________________________________________________________________

The final buzzer sounded, and UConn had done it—they had beaten Iowa in a thrilling, back-and-forth game. The players spilled onto the court, celebrating their hard-earned victory. Paige, KK, and the rest of the team surrounded Azzi, high-fiving and shouting in excitement. But Azzi’s eyes immediately found Y/N in the crowd of teammates. Without a second thought, she made her way toward them, her heart racing from the adrenaline of the game and the sheer joy of the win.

Y/N was already smiling, their eyes locked onto Azzi as she approached. As soon as she was within reach, Azzi wrapped her arms around them, pulling them into a tight hug.

“You were incredible today,” Azzi said, her voice full of admiration. Her hands lingered on Y/N’s back, her touch lingering just a little longer than it should have. Y/N could feel their heart beat faster at the closeness.

Y/N laughed softly, brushing their hand against Azzi’s arm. “We were a team out there. You nailed that shot.”

Azzi grinned, her face flushed from the heat of the game and the joy of victory. She leaned in slightly, her lips brushing Y/N’s ear as she whispered, “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

In that moment, with the roar of the crowd still in the background, Azzi’s lips found Y/N’s, pressing a soft, quick kiss against them. The action wasn’t for anyone else; it wasn’t a display for the cameras. It was a moment between two people who had been building something special. A quiet declaration of how much they meant to each other, even in the chaos of competition.

Y/N pulled back slightly, their eyes searching Azzi’s. “I didn’t expect that” they whispered, their voice teasing but full of affection.

Azzi smiled, her fingers tracing the edge of Y/N’s jaw. “What? You thought I’d wait?”

Y/N chuckled, stepping a little closer, their breath mixing with Azzi’s. “I guess not.”

______________________________________________________________________

The locker room was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter as the team celebrated their victory. Paige and KK were joking around, and Coach Auriemma was offering his praise, though his tone remained firm, reminding them that the season wasn’t over yet.

Azzi and Y/N found themselves in the middle of the celebration, but they couldn’t help stealing glances at each other, their connection undeniable. Between the high-fives and the cheers, they found themselves inching closer again, quietly finding moments to touch—whether it was brushing hands, a brief arm around the shoulder, or a shared smile. The tension that had been building for weeks was finally starting to shift into something more comfortable, more real.

As the noise of the celebration continued, Y/N leaned toward Azzi, speaking in a low voice so no one else could hear. “You know, this season’s going to be unforgettable.”

Azzi nodded, her gaze intense but soft. “Yeah. And I’m glad I get to share it with you.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. It wasn’t about the game. It wasn’t about the championship they were chasing. It was about the quiet bond that had grown between them, something that neither was ready to fully define but something that both of them knew was going to be a big part of this journey.

______________________________________________________________________

Later that evening, after the celebrations had died down and the team was heading back to the hotel, Azzi and Y/N walked side by side, the city lights casting long shadows in front of them. The hustle and bustle of the streets seemed far away compared to the quiet moments they shared.

As they approached the hotel entrance, Y/N glanced at Azzi. “Hey, you want to grab a late-night snack?”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “You just want an excuse to spend more time with me, don’t you?”

Y/N grinned, their heart swelling with affection. “Maybe. Is that a problem?”

Azzi’s smile widened. “Not at all.”

They entered the hotel together, already anticipating the quiet of the night ahead and whatever came next, both on and off the court.

As the season continued, they knew that no matter what challenges they faced, they had each other to rely on—not just as teammates, but as something more.

“Together, Always”

With each passing day, Azzi and Y/N’s bond deepened. The season was long, and the games would only get harder, but they were ready for whatever came their way—both on the court and in the moments they would continue to share.

______________________________________________________________________

The holiday season had arrived, and with it, the much-needed Christmas break. UConn had a short window to rest before the next big stretch of games, and the players were grateful for the time to recharge. Azzi Fudd and Y/N, however, found themselves struggling to stay away from basketball for too long. The gym was quiet, but both were there, sneaking in extra workouts when the rest of the team took a break.

Even though they were in a festive mood, with Christmas lights twinkling outside and a blanket of snow covering the campus, there was a warmth between Azzi and Y/N that hadn’t been there before. The connection between them had grown beyond their teammates’ bond—there was something undeniably special blossoming in the spaces between their stolen glances and the quiet moments they shared.

______________________________________________________________________

It was Christmas Eve, and while most of the team had already left for the break, Azzi and Y/N had stayed behind to finish up some last-minute drills. The gym was almost empty, save for a few coaches doing their final rounds, and the quiet hum of the lights overhead.

Azzi was practicing her shots from the three-point line, her form smooth and fluid. Y/N was at the other end of the court, dribbling and running drills, but they kept stealing glances at Azzi, their focus momentarily slipping.

“Focus, Y/N!” Azzi called out with a smirk, her voice echoing off the empty walls.

Y/N rolled their eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “I’m focusing” they shot back playfully, dribbling the ball harder.

Azzi, sensing a playful challenge, tossed the ball toward Y/N. “Let’s see who can make more shots in five minutes.”

Y/N caught the ball and immediately shot it back, grinning. “You’re on.”

The next five minutes were filled with rapid shots, quick passes, and laughter. Azzi’s competitiveness was infectious, and Y/N couldn’t help but feel energized by her presence. Every time Azzi made a shot, she flashed a quick, teasing smile at Y/N, and every time Y/N managed to sink one of their own, they exchanged a playful challenge.

In the final moments of their competition, Y/N found themselves at the top of the key, setting up for one last shot. As they focused on the hoop, they heard Azzi’s voice behind them, playful yet sincere.

“You know, you’re kind of ruining my perfect streak here.”

Y/N grinned without turning, speaking just loud enough for Azzi to hear. “Better get used to it then.”

With that, Y/N made the final shot, and they couldn’t help but do a small victory dance. Azzi rolled her eyes, laughing, but then moved toward Y/N, standing just a few inches away.

“You win this time” Azzi said, her voice low and teasing.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the proximity, and they couldn’t stop the smile that spread across their face. “Only because you let me.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her gaze softening. “Is that so?”

Without warning, Azzi reached out and pulled Y/N into a brief but intimate hug, her arms wrapping around them. It was a rare moment of vulnerability, the warmth of Azzi’s body pressed against theirs, and the world outside the gym felt far away. Y/N didn’t pull away; instead, they leaned into the hug, savoring the quiet connection between them.

As Azzi pulled back slightly, she placed a gentle kiss on Y/N’s forehead, the soft pressure sending a shiver down Y/N’s spine. The feeling lingered, and for a moment, the only sound was their shared breaths.

After their practice session, both Azzi and Y/N decided to take a break from the team activities and spend Christmas Eve together. Y/N had invited Azzi over to their apartment for a quiet evening, away from the usual hustle and bustle of team life.

The small apartment was cozy, decorated with string lights and a Christmas tree in the corner. Y/N had prepared dinner—a homemade pasta dish—and the warm, comforting aroma filled the space.

Azzi kicked off her sneakers and sat on the couch, her eyes scanning the room. “This is nice. You’ve really got a vibe going on here.”

Y/N laughed, setting the plates down on the table. “Thanks. It’s just a little apartment, but I like it.”

Azzi smiled, looking over at Y/N with something soft in her eyes. “I like it too. Feels like home.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the words, and they felt a warmth settle in their chest. They sat down next to Azzi, their legs brushing. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The hum of Christmas music played softly in the background as the two of them sat in companionable silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence.

Azzi looked over at Y/N, her eyes thoughtful. “You know, I didn’t think I’d spend Christmas like this—just the two of us.”

Y/N chuckled, nudging Azzi lightly. “Yeah? You didn’t think I’d drag you into my low-key Christmas plans?”

Azzi grinned. “I’m glad you did. It’s… nice. Honestly, I haven’t had a Christmas like this in a long time.”

Y/N paused, looking at Azzi carefully. “I’m glad you’re here.”

Azzi’s smile softened, and she reached for Y/N’s hand, their fingers intertwining. It was a quiet gesture, but it felt significant—a small yet intimate connection between the two of them that spoke volumes.

After dinner, Azzi and Y/N went outside to get some fresh air, stepping onto the balcony of Y/N’s apartment. The night was cold, but the Christmas lights on the nearby buildings created a soft, warm glow.

Azzi wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stay warm, and Y/N moved closer, instinctively pulling her into a hug.

“Cold out here, huh?” Y/N asked, their breath visible in the chilly air.

Azzi nodded, leaning into the warmth of Y/N’s body. “A little, but this is nice. You’re nice.”

Y/N felt their heart skip a beat. “I’m glad you think so.”

Azzi shifted slightly, her face turning toward Y/N’s. The way she looked at them, her eyes soft yet intense, sent a spark of warmth straight through Y/N. Before Y/N could say anything, Azzi leaned in, her lips brushing softly against Y/N’s in a gentle kiss.

The kiss was slow and tender, like something that had been building up for far too long. It was full of quiet affection, a Christmas gift neither of them had expected but both needed. Azzi’s lips lingered against Y/N’s for just a moment longer, the world outside fading away as they shared the moment.

When they pulled back, Azzi smiled, her face flushed in the cool night air. “Merry Christmas, Y/N,” she whispered.

“Merry Christmas, Azzi” Y/N replied, their voice thick with emotion.

In that quiet, cozy space, beneath the glow of Christmas lights and the warmth of their connection, they knew that whatever came next—whatever challenges the season would throw their way—they had each other. And that, for now, was all that mattered.

______________________________________________________________________

As Christmas break came to an end and the New Year approached, Azzi and Y/N found themselves even more inseparable. Their bond was no longer just about basketball—it was about the quiet moments, the shared glances, and the way they made each other feel seen.

As they prepared for the next phase of the season, they knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together—on the court and off. The chemistry between them, both in basketball and in life, had only just begun to unfold, and it was clear that the season would be unforgettable, not just for their victories but for the love that was growing between them.

______________________________________________________________________

The excitement was palpable as the start of March Madness approached. UConn had made it to the Final Four, a feat that was no surprise to anyone who followed women’s basketball, but for Azzi Fudd and Y/N, it felt like a dream that had been slowly taking shape for months. The team had worked tirelessly, each player pushing themselves to new limits. And now, here they were, one step away from the national championship.

The buzz around the team was electric. Coach Geno Auriemma kept the mood light, but everyone knew that the stakes were higher than ever. UConn’s first game of the Final Four would be against a talented team that had been gaining momentum all season. The pressure was on, but the players were focused and ready. Azzi and Y/N, in particular, had been inseparable, both on and off the court. Their bond was stronger than ever, and there was a quiet sense of excitement when they looked at each other—something more than just basketball.

It was the night before the big game. The team had a light practice session to stay sharp, and the tension was building. Azzi and Y/N were staying in a hotel, the team scattered in different rooms as they prepared for the challenge ahead. But even amidst the pressure, there was an undeniable sense of calm between them.

They found themselves alone for a rare moment, sitting side by side in a small lounge area in the hotel. The rest of the team was either resting or preparing mentally for the game, but Azzi and Y/N had decided to take a few minutes to themselves.

Azzi, dressed in her UConn hoodie and sweatpants, leaned back in her chair, her feet tucked under her as she sipped on a bottle of water. Y/N, sitting beside her, couldn’t help but notice how at ease Azzi seemed. Her presence was calming, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of thoughts racing through their mind about the upcoming game.

“You ready for tomorrow?” Y/N asked softly, glancing at Azzi.

Azzi smiled, her eyes catching the light from the nearby lamp. “As ready as I’ll ever be. But, I think the real question is, are you ready?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking their head. “Oh, I’ve been ready for this moment since we made it to the tournament. It’s just… crazy, you know? One step away from the championship.”

Azzi nodded, her expression turning more serious. “Yeah, but we can’t think too far ahead. We’ve got to focus on the game at hand. We’ve worked so hard for this moment. And we’ve got this.”

The confidence in Azzi’s voice made Y/N’s heart swell. It was impossible not to believe in her—Azzi had always been the one to lift others up when the pressure mounted. But this time, Y/N wanted to lift her up.

Y/N leaned over, their hand brushing against Azzi’s. The gesture was subtle, but it was enough to send a wave of warmth through both of them. They looked at each other, eyes locking for a long moment.

Azzi gave them a soft smile, her fingers lightly tracing the back of Y/N’s hand. “You’ve been the best teammate I could ask for,” she whispered, her voice low.

Y/N felt a rush of emotion at the words. “I couldn’t do it without you,” they replied.

For a long second, neither of them said anything. The weight of their connection hung in the air, and it felt like everything around them—the upcoming game, the pressure, the noise—didn’t matter as long as they had each other.

Azzi’s lips parted slightly, and before Y/N could stop themselves, they leaned in, brushing their lips gently against Azzi’s. It was a kiss that spoke volumes—quiet, tender, and filled with unspoken promises.

Azzi’s arms wrapped around Y/N’s neck, pulling them closer as the kiss deepened. It was a moment of vulnerability, of love, away from the world of basketball and the expectations that came with it. For those few moments, there was no championship to chase, no opponents to face. There was only Azzi and Y/N—two people, lost in the quiet intimacy they had shared.

When they finally pulled back, both were breathing a little faster, eyes lingering on each other.

“I love you” Azzi whispered, her forehead resting gently against Y/N’s.

Y/N smiled softly, their hand finding Azzi’s. “I love you too”

______________________________________________________________________

The next day, the tension in the arena was palpable. The crowd was filled with energy, anticipation hanging thick in the air. UConn was about to face Stanford in the Final Four, and both teams knew what was on the line. The players had been through countless practices and countless games, but nothing could quite prepare them for the intensity of this match.

Azzi was in her element as usual, moving across the court with confidence and grace. Y/N, equally locked in, fed off Azzi’s energy, pushing themselves to be the best they could be. The game was a back-and-forth battle, with both teams showcasing their strengths.

It was an emotional roller coaster. Stanford had some of the best shooters in the country, but UConn’s defense, led by Azzi and Y/N, was relentless. Paige Bueckers was her usual self—creative, dynamic, and constantly putting pressure on the defense—but it was the bond between Azzi and Y/N that truly stood out. Their connection was unspoken, intuitive. Azzi would catch Y/N’s eyes across the court, and they knew exactly where to pass, exactly when to cut.

As the game neared its climax, the score was tied. There were only seconds left on the clock. The crowd was roaring with anticipation, and Coach Auriemma was giving the final instructions to his team.

Azzi dribbled the ball to the top of the key, where she was quickly surrounded by Stanford defenders. But she knew exactly where Y/N would be, cutting toward the basket with perfect timing.

With one swift motion, Azzi passed the ball. Y/N caught it, squared up, and released the shot—a clean, beautiful arc that flew through the air.

The buzzer rang, and the ball swished through the net.

UConn had won.

The arena erupted in cheers as the players rushed to each other, jumping and screaming in excitement. It was a hard-fought battle, but UConn had done it—they had made it to the national championship.

Azzi and Y/N found each other in the chaos, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to fade away. The celebration was still going on around them, but all they could focus on was each other.

Y/N reached for Azzi, pulling her into a tight embrace. Azzi laughed, her face glowing with the thrill of victory.

“We did it” Azzi said, her voice thick with emotion. “We really did it.”

Y/N smiled, their fingers gently brushing the back of Azzi’s neck. “We’re not done yet.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Oh, I know. We’ve got a championship to win.”

But before the moment could end, Y/N leaned in, their lips meeting Azzi’s in a soft, celebratory kiss. It was a kiss full of joy, full of love, full of everything they had worked for. And as the crowd continued to cheer, the two of them shared a moment of quiet victory, knowing that no matter what happened in the championship, they had each other.

The championship was within reach, but for now, they were content. They had made it this far, and nothing—nothing—could take away the bond they had created along the way.

As the team celebrated in the locker room, the countdown to the final game began. But Y/N and Azzi knew that no matter what, they were already winners. They had each other, and that was worth more than any trophy. The championship game would come soon enough, but for now, they had their moment—a moment to remember for the rest of their lives.

______________________________________________________________________

The national championship game was finally here. After weeks of preparation, sweat, and sacrifices, UConn had made it to the final stage of March Madness, and the stakes couldn’t have been higher. They were facing a powerhouse team in the finals, but no one doubted for a second that UConn had what it took to take home the title.

Azzi Fudd, Y/N, Paige Bueckers, and KK Arnold were all locked in, their chemistry undeniable. As they walked onto the court for warm-ups, there was a quiet confidence about the team. They had made it this far, and now, it was time to finish what they had started.

______________________________________________________________________

Back in the locker room, the mood was a mix of nerves and excitement. Coach Auriemma paced back and forth, talking strategy with the team. He was a master at keeping his players focused while also reminding them of their capabilities.

Azzi sat next to Y/N, both of them tying their shoes, occasionally sharing glances with each other. Paige, sitting across from them, caught their eyes and gave them a playful wink.

“You two are going to have to stop making eyes at each other” Paige teased. “We’ve got a game to win, you know?”

Y/N smiled and leaned into Azzi’s side. “I can’t help it, Paige. She’s distracting.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly grin. “I’m not the only one who’s distracting. Look at KK over there, talking to the water bottle like it’s her best friend.”

KK, who had been deep in concentration, looked up at the teasing and laughed. “Hey, hydration is important. Don’t mock my pre-game routine!”

The entire locker room erupted in laughter, the tension momentarily lifted by the lightheartedness.

Paige’s eyes softened as she turned to Y/N and Azzi. “Seriously though, you two have been amazing together this season. I’m proud of both of you.”

“Thanks, Paige” Y/N said, their smile genuine. “We’ve got this. We’ve been through too much to let it slip now.”

Azzi nodded, her expression determined. “We’re finishing what we started. Let’s get this win.”

______________________________________________________________________

The game was a battle from the first whistle. South Carolina came out strong, and the first few minutes were filled with aggressive plays from both sides. Azzi and Y/N were playing their best, moving fluidly across the court and communicating without speaking. Every pass, every screen, every shot felt perfectly orchestrated, like a well-rehearsed routine.

Paige, as always, was a force, using her quick thinking to find gaps in the defense. KK, ever the spark plug, was everywhere—making hustle plays, diving for loose balls, and pushing the pace. It was a team effort, and they were all in sync.

Azzi had the ball near the top of the key, looking for an opening. Y/N, setting a screen for her, flashed to the basket, knowing exactly what was coming next. Azzi made a quick pass, and Y/N caught the ball mid-air and finished with a beautiful layup.

Paige clapped and shouted from the sidelines, “That’s the way to do it!”

KK ran up to them, high-fiving both Azzi and Y/N. “I love how you two are in sync! Keep it up.”

As the game wore on, the intensity only grew. South Carolina’s defense was relentless, and the score remained tight. With just under two minutes left in the game, UConn was up by only three points. The atmosphere was electric—every possession mattered.

Coach Auriemma called a timeout to regroup the team, and the players huddled around him.

“Listen,” Coach said firmly, looking each player in the eye, “this is what we’ve trained for. We are the best when we play together. Stay calm. Trust each other.”

Azzi, Y/N, Paige, and KK exchanged looks of determination. There was no way they were going to let this moment slip away. It was time to finish the job.

______________________________________________________________________

The crowd held its breath as the final seconds ticked down. With only 10 seconds left, the ball was in Azzi’s hands. She dribbled up the court, eyes scanning the defense. Y/N, positioned on the wing, made a sharp cut toward the basket, signaling to Azzi that they were ready.

Azzi saw it. With the defense collapsing around her, she passed the ball to Y/N. Y/N caught it cleanly and, with a quick pump fake, got their defender in the air. The clock was winding down, and with a quick move, Y/N pulled up for a jump shot from the elbow.

The ball soared through the air.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still.

And then, it swished through the net.

The crowd went wild. UConn had done it. The game was over. They were the national champions.

The moment the buzzer sounded, the UConn players erupted in celebration. They had won the national championship, and it was a feeling like no other. Teammates hugged, jumped, and screamed in joy.

Azzi and Y/N found each other in the chaos, instantly wrapping their arms around one another. They both laughed, out of breath, and their faces lit up with pure happiness.

“We did it” Azzi said, her voice shaky with emotion. “We really did it.”

Y/N smiled, their heart racing. “We did. And we did it together.”

Azzi pulled them close, her lips meeting Y/N’s in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. It was a moment they would remember forever, not just because of the championship, but because it was theirs.

Paige, KK, and the rest of the team cheered around them, but for a few moments, it was just Azzi and Y/N—two players who had come together to achieve something incredible, who had faced every obstacle and overcome it, and now stood on top of the basketball world.

As they pulled away, Y/N rested their forehead against Azzi’s. “I love you.”

Azzi smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair out of Y/N’s face. “I love you too.”

Paige walked up to them, her eyes shining with pride. “You two are unstoppable. So happy for you both.”

KK joined in, giving them both a high-five. “Champions! You guys deserve this.”

Azzi grinned at Y/N, her fingers lacing through theirs. “We all deserve this. But this is just the beginning.”

With that, the UConn team celebrated their victory together, knowing that they had earned their place in history. And for Azzi and Y/N, this championship was more than just a win—it was the start of their future, both on and off the court.

The championship was over, but the bond between Azzi and Y/N was just beginning. They had achieved everything they had set out to do—together. As they stood there, surrounded by their teammates, they knew that this moment would be the first of many they would share as a team, as a couple, and as champions.

With the victory behind them, they were ready for whatever came next.

Or maybe they weren’t…

______________________________________________________________________

The days in UConn were slipping by quickly, the final stretch of the season creeping ever closer. Y/N had been playing the best basketball of their life, impressing coaches, teammates, and scouts alike. But as much as they loved their time at UConn, there was an undeniable feeling that a new chapter was waiting for them.

It had come from a conversation that had started with an unexpected email. A contract offer.

One morning, after practice, Y/N sat in their dorm room, staring at the email in disbelief. It was from Basket Landes, one of the top professional teams in France. They had watched Y/N play all season and, after much consideration, wanted them to join their roster. The offer was a dream come true, and the idea of taking their career to the next level in France was tempting. Especially if they can reach the international stage after that.

Y/N’s excitement was tempered by the weight of what they had just signed: a contract with Basket Landes. They had made the decision with the best intentions, believing it would be the next step for their career. But telling Azzi about it had been harder than expected.

When Y/N first shared the news with her, they’d hoped for a reaction of support, pride, and excitement. But instead, the conversation felt strained, and Azzi’s voice held an undercurrent of sadness that Y/N couldn’t ignore.

“You’re really going? To France?” Azzi asked, her tone flat, as if the shock of it all had hit her like a freight train.

“Azzi, I know this is sudden. I just… it’s a huge opportunity for me” Y/N said, trying to explain, but their words fell short.

Azzi paused, taking in the news. “I get that, but… we’re just supposed to be doing this together, right? I didn’t think we’d be so far apart.”

The words hung heavy in the air between them. Y/N could hear the hurt in Azzi’s voice. It wasn’t that Azzi didn’t want them to chase their dreams, but the distance felt impossible to ignore.

“I’m sorry” Y/N whispered, feeling guilty for the sudden separation.

The conversation drifted, and despite the promises to make it work, there was a sense of unresolved tension. As the days passed, the couple barely spoke, the distance not just geographical but emotional, too.

Y/N buried themselves in the intensity of life with Basket Landes, practicing hard and trying to adjust to their new routine. But there was a constant ache in their chest, a feeling that something was missing.

______________________________________________________________________

A month passed, and though life in France was busy and exciting, Y/N couldn’t shake the distance between them and Azzi. Azzi had stopped reaching out as much. The texts were sparse, and when they did speak, the conversations felt forced. Both of them had retreated into their own worlds, unsure of what came next.

One evening, during a team dinner at Basket Landes, Yohana Ewodo nudged Y/N playfully. “You look like someone just broke your heart. What’s going on?”

Y/N gave a faint smile, but it didn’t reach their eyes. “It’s nothing, just… trying to adjust here, you know?”

Sixtine Macquet raised an eyebrow. “Adjusting, huh? Or is it something else?”

Y/N sighed, setting down their fork. “I miss her. Azzi and I… we’re not talking much lately.”

Clarince Djaldi-Tabdi looked sympathetic. “That sucks, honestly. But hey, you’ve got us here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Marie Pardon gave a knowing smile. “And when Azzi visits, I’m sure we’ll all get to hear about how ‘whipped’ you are. I mean, the way you talk about her…” she teased, making Y/N blush.

Yohana laughed. “Yeah, we know you’re all about that Azzi life. But we get it. Relationships are hard when you’re this far away.”

Just when Y/N thought they couldn’t stand the distance any longer, a message from Azzi popped up on their phone. It had been a week since their last conversation, and Y/N had been growing increasingly frustrated and confused about where they stood.

Azzi’s message was simple: “I’ve been thinking a lot. I miss you. Can we talk?”

Y/N’s heart raced. After weeks of silence and a painful month of uncertainty, Azzi was reaching out. They quickly typed out a response. “Yes, please. I miss you too. Let’s talk.”

The call came a few hours later, and when Azzi’s face appeared on the screen, it felt like a weight had been lifted.

“I’m sorry, Y/N” Azzi started, her voice quieter than usual. “I didn’t handle this well. I was hurt, and I let that get in the way of us. But I’ve realized that I don’t want to lose you over something like this. I love you.”

Y/N exhaled, feeling relief flood through them. “I love you too, Azzi. I never wanted to hurt you. I just… I had to do this for myself. I didn’t want us to drift, but I wasn’t sure what else to do.”

Azzi smiled softly. “I get it. And I’m proud of you. I just didn’t know how to handle the distance. But now… I want to work through it. Together.”

They both sat in silence for a moment, taking it all in. There was still a lot of distance between them—physically, emotionally—but the connection that had once brought them together was still there.

“I’m flying out to see you soon,” Azzi said suddenly, her eyes lighting up. “I’m not letting this go. I want to be there for you. For us.”

Y/N grinned, their heart swelling. “I can’t wait.”

______________________________________________________________________

A few weeks later, Azzi arrived in France to watch Y/N’s game for Basket Landes. Her visit was like a balm to Y/N’s soul, and the moment they locked eyes at the airport, it was as if all the tension, all the uncertainty, melted away.

After the game, as the team celebrated the win, Azzi stood off to the side, waiting for Y/N. The moment they caught sight of each other, Y/N ran across the court, dropping their bag and wrapping their arms around Azzi in a tight hug.

“Missed you so much,” Y/N whispered, their voice thick with emotion.

Azzi pulled back slightly, her hands cupping Y/N’s face. “I missed you too. I’m so proud of you. You’re killing it here.”

The team watched from a distance, grinning at the PDA. Yohana leaned over to Sixtine and whispered, “Looks like they’ve got it all figured out now, huh?”

Sixtine nodded, smirking. “I knew it was just a matter of time before they’d be all over each other again. It’s hard to stay mad when you love someone that much.”

The girls of Basket Landes exchanged knowing glances as Y/N and Azzi shared a soft kiss before turning to join the team.

“Alright, alright, lovebirds,” Marie teased, “Save some of that for later. We’ve got a game to celebrate, and we all know how whipped you are, Y/N.”

Y/N laughed, rolling their eyes. “You guys are impossible.”

Luisa Geiselsöder joined in. “But you’re so cute together, we can’t help it. Glad to see you two worked things out.”

Y/N smiled, the warmth of their teammates surrounding them. It felt like a weight had been lifted—not just from their relationship with Azzi, but from the pressure of trying to balance a new life in France with their own ambitions.

As they walked off the court, hand-in-hand with Azzi, Y/N felt a renewed sense of peace. Despite the challenges and the uncertainty, they knew they would make it work. They had each other, and that was enough.

In that moment, everything felt right again.

______________________________________________________________________

The months in Basket Landes had been nothing short of magical. Y/N had found their stride, playing alongside a team that was as close as family. The first season in France had been a whirlwind of highs and lows, but it was capped off with something they had always dreamed of: a championship win.

The win was a testament to their hard work, dedication, and the support from their teammates, like Myriam Djekoundade, Clarince, Luisa, and Leila Lacan, all of whom had become not just teammates but true friends.

But just when they thought life couldn’t get any better, another surprise came their way.

It was a typical day of practice when their phone buzzed with an email notification. At first, Y/N barely glanced at it, thinking it was just another team update or a sponsor’s message. But then they saw the subject line: “France National Team – Olympic Call-Up”.

Their heart skipped a beat as they clicked open the email. The French national team had officially called them up for the Olympics.

Y/N froze, staring at the screen in disbelief. This was the opportunity of a lifetime—something they had dreamed of since they were a child. But even now, with the offer in front of them, they couldn’t quite process it. They had just finished a fantastic season with Basket Landes, and now the Olympics? It felt like a dream.

Y/N couldn’t contain their excitement, and they rushed to find Azzi, who was finishing up a workout in the gym.

“Azzi! Azzi, I got called up!” Y/N practically yelled as they burst through the door.

Azzi looked up in surprise, eyes widening as she took in Y/N’s excited expression. “Called up? For what? What are you talking about?”

“The French national team, Azzi!” Y/N couldn’t stop grinning. “They’ve asked me to join them for the Olympics!”

Azzi’s jaw dropped, and then a wide smile spread across her face. She crossed the room in seconds, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. “Oh my god, babe, this is huge! I’m so proud of you!”

Tears welled up in Y/N’s eyes as they held onto Azzi. “I can’t believe it. This is everything I’ve worked for. And now it’s happening.”

Azzi pulled back, her smile softening. “You deserve this. You’ve worked so hard, and I’m so happy for you.”

Y/N looked into Azzi’s eyes, feeling an overwhelming sense of love and gratitude. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Azzi. You’ve been my rock through all of this. I’m going to make you proud.”

Azzi kissed their forehead, a tender gesture. “You already have.”

______________________________________________________________________

As the news spread among their Basket Landes teammates, the teasing and excitement began. Everyone was thrilled for Y/N, but they couldn’t resist poking fun at how far their star player had come.

“You’ve really made it now, huh?” Destiny Slocum teased, giving Y/N a playful nudge as they walked into the locker room. “First a championship, now the Olympics? What’s next, a statue?”

Y/N laughed, rolling their eyes. “Come on, guys. It’s just a call-up. Still gotta prove myself.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louise Bussière chimed in, “We all know you’re going to crush it. Don’t forget us when you’re rubbing elbows with all those famous players.”

Sixtine leaned in, smirking. “Don’t worry, Y/N. We know you’ll still have time for us when you’re an Olympic gold medalist.”

Yohana added with a grin, “Just don’t forget to bring us all some Olympic swag when you’re there, alright?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking their head. “I’ll bring you all back something. But first, I need to survive this training camp.”

As the teasing continued, Y/N couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. Basket Landes had become home, and these women were more than teammates—they were family. Their support meant the world.

Later that evening, after a celebratory dinner with the team, Y/N and Azzi walked back to Y/N’s apartment together. The excitement was still buzzing in the air, but there was a quiet, intimate moment between the two of them as they settled on the couch.

“You’re going to be amazing in the Olympics, Y/N,” Azzi said, her voice full of pride. “I’m so happy for you.”

Y/N leaned in, cupping Azzi’s face. “I couldn’t have gotten this far without you. You were always there, supporting me, even when things were tough.”

Azzi smiled, her eyes soft. “And I’ll be there when you bring home that gold medal.”

Y/N kissed her softly, the tender moment wrapping around them like a warm blanket. The uncertainty, the distance, the challenges—they had all faded into the background. This was their moment.

“I’ll miss you when I’m away” Y/N whispered against Azzi’s lips.

“I’ll be cheering you on every second,” Azzi murmured, pulling Y/N closer. “And when you get back, we’ll celebrate together. I promise.”

______________________________________________________________________

As Y/N packed their bags for the Olympic training camp, their Basket Landes teammates rallied around them one last time, offering their congratulations and support. Marie and Clarince gave Y/N a big hug before they left.

“We’re so proud of you. Go out there and show them what you’ve got,” Clarince said, her voice full of emotion.

“Don’t forget us little people when you’re an Olympic star,” Marie teased, but there was nothing but sincerity in her words.

Y/N laughed, feeling the love from their teammates. “I’ll never forget you guys. You’re all a part of this.”

______________________________________________________________________

As Y/N boarded the plane for the Olympic training camp, they felt a mixture of nerves and excitement. The journey was just beginning, but everything they had worked for was within their reach.

And through it all, they knew one thing for certain: they had Azzi by their side, cheering them on every step of the way.

This was their dream, and nothing—absolutely nothing—was going to stop them from reaching it.

______________________________________________________________________

The Olympic Games had been a whirlwind of highs and lows for Y/N. After months of grueling preparation, the time had finally arrived for their team to play in the gold medal final against the mighty USA. The Arena de Paris was filled to the brim with fans cheering for France, and Y/N, now a key member of the team, could feel the weight of the moment. The crowd’s energy was electric, but they were focused. They had trained for this. Every drill, every practice, every sacrifice had led to this game.

Azzi, KK, Paige, and the entire Basket Landes team had flown in to see Y/N play, standing by the sidelines, ready to show their unwavering support. The weight of the moment didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, especially knowing that they weren’t alone in this journey. The love and support from Azzi made everything seem possible.

______________________________________________________________________

The final was intense—USA and France battled relentlessly, with both teams showcasing their immense talent. Y/N played a phenomenal game, as did Leila, who had also been called up to the Olympic team. But with only seconds left on the clock, it was clear that the game was slipping from their grasp. The score stood at USA 67, France 66 as the final buzzer sounded. A wave of disappointment swept over the team, as they realized they had fallen just short of winning the gold.

For a moment, Y/N stood frozen on the court, feeling the weight of the loss. Their teammates were already gathered, trying to console each other, but Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of missing something that had meant so much. As they walked off the court, their gaze met Azzi’s from the stands. Azzi gave a small, reassuring smile, her eyes saying everything that words could not. There was pride in her gaze, and she would be there to support them no matter the outcome.

After the game, as emotions ran high, Sabrina Ionescu walked over to Y/N, the player from the USA team, who had played an incredible match. As they stood by the locker room, Sabrina spoke up. “Hey, you played amazing out there. You deserve this,” she said, offering a genuine smile. “I’d love to swap jerseys with you if you’re up for it.”

Y/N smiled, a mix of emotions swirling within them. “It’d be an honor.”

They exchanged jerseys—Y/N now holding the USA jersey, a symbol of the fierce competition they had just fought—and for Sabrina, receiving the France jersey from one of the brightest stars in the game.

______________________________________________________________________

After the Olympics ended, Y/N and their teammates flew back to their lovely town. Though the sting of the loss was still fresh, the pride they felt in earning silver was undeniable. Luisa, who had also played brilliantly throughout the tournament, had secured the third-place medal for Germany, and Y/N together with Leila (who contributed immensely), they celebrated their collective success.

But what awaited Y/N at the apartment wasn’t just the quiet reflection of their Olympic journey—it was a celebration of what they had accomplished, and they were about to be surrounded by the people who had supported them all along: Azzi, Paige, KK, and the girls from Basket Landes.

The door swung open, and the first thing Y/N heard was a chorus of cheers. “Surprise!” Louise and Sixtine grinned as they popped open bottles of champagne. “We’re here to celebrate—Olympic silver is no small feat!”

Y/N grinned, feeling a surge of warmth as Azzi wrapped their arms around them, holding them close. “You were incredible,” Azzi whispered. “I’m so proud of you. Gold or silver, you’re a champion to me.”

As the night went on, laughter filled the apartment. The Basket Landes team took it upon themselves to tease Y/N in the most loving way.

Destiny leaned in, winking. “Okay, Y/N, now that you’ve got Olympic silver, when’s the parade for us in Basket Landes? We need a celebration of our own, huh?”

The entire room erupted in laughter. Myriam playfully added, “Well, at least now you’re one step closer to having as many medals as Azzi!”

Y/N rolled their eyes, though they couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, I see what this is. I leave for a few weeks, and now you’re all turning into comedians?”

Marie laughed. “We’re just trying to remind you that we’re still the OG squad. Don’t forget who got you here!”

The banter continued, with teasing and laughter flowing freely. The support from the team was palpable, and Y/N realized just how lucky they were to be surrounded by such an amazing group of people. And then there was Azzi, who stood by them through it all—celebrating the victories, comforting in the losses, and always showing love.

______________________________________________________________________

As the evening wore on, the celebration became more intimate. Azzi and Y/N found a quiet corner of the apartment, away from the noise of the party.

“Come here, you,” Azzi whispered, pulling Y/N close. Their lips met in a soft, lingering kiss, and for a moment, the world outside faded. It was just the two of them, holding onto each other, letting the love they shared heal the sting of defeat.

“I’m so proud of you,” Azzi murmured against Y/N’s lips. “This is just the beginning. I know next time we’ll get that gold.”

Y/N smiled, their heart full. “Next time,” they whispered back. “But for now, I’m just happy to be with you.”

______________________________________________________________________

As the night came to a close and the group celebrated the success of the Olympics, Y/N couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of gratitude. They had earned silver at the most prestigious sporting event in the world, they had Azzi by their side, and they had an incredible team waiting for them back in Basket Landes.

Though the game had ended in defeat, Y/N knew that this was just one chapter of a much larger story. They had come so far, and there was no limit to what they could achieve next. With Azzi and the Basket Landes girls by their side, and the promise of more victories to come, Y/N felt ready for whatever the future held.

It wasn’t about the gold. It was about the journey—and the people who made it worthwhile.

The night ended with a toast to Luisa, Leila, and Y/N—the three players who had given everything for Germany and France had emerged with medals to prove it. But most importantly, it was a celebration of love, friendship, and the unbreakable bonds they had formed along the way.

[gladdygirl18]

Cheer Up, Sis!

Happy Holidays, everyone! Surprise @ficsandgiggles! I was your Secret Santa for SquealingSanta2024! I cannot tell you how happy I was when I got you; gave me a chance to write a Marvel/Avengers fic again after so long! I know we barely interact, but I do hope you love this fic as much as I did writing it!

This fic contains zero spoilers for any show or movie, so happy reading!

Theme for this fic: Classic cheer up tickles

Summary: Yelena feels like an outcast after being disconnected from reality and society all those years, and it's hard connecting to the rest of the Avengers, but never fear! Big sister Natasha is here to cheer up a pouty and upset little sister!

Word Count: 1800

⚠️Warning⚠️: mild swearing

How long has Yelena been trapped within the Red Room? How long has she been under the influence and control of that sick bastard General Dreykov? Far too long. All those years of mindless killing was dreadful; Yelena hated it. She felt like she was watching the world through someone else’s eyes, trapped within her own body, unable to stop herself. She hates herself for being so weak that she couldn’t resist the mind control of the Red Room. Yelena thought there was no way out of this hell. She needed a miracle; she needed a sign; she needed her sister.

As if her prayers were answered, Natasha came to Yelena’s rescue. After taking down the Red Room for good, the sisters, along with the other Red Room-controlled operatives, lived out the rest of their lives, finally free from the anguish, torment, and bloodshed. Natasha took Yelena to Avengers HQ to get her situated. The Avengers welcomed the younger Black Widow with open arms, knowing her from the stories Natasha would tell. They would talk about how much Natasha missed her, longed to see, and hold her again, and most importantly, how much she loved her. Hearing all this made Yelena hopeful for the future, that things could get better; that things could change. Oh, how wrong she was.

It’s been a few months since Yelena came to stay at the facility, and while she was well-adjusted to her new surroundings, she still felt distant from everything, and everyone. Whenever there were game nights or movie nights, she felt so disconnected. Being disconnected from reality and not having control over her mind for years upon years did her in; the lingering effects of Dreykov. She may be free but at what cost. Her childhood was practically snatched away from her and was forced to fight and kill, but not out of her own volition. Even now, she feels like she’s watching the world through someone else’s eyes and feels awful that she can’t connect with the other Avengers like she hoped she would.

It was Christmas Eve, and some of the Avengers—Peter and his friends included—were playing in the snow. Inside, Tony, Thor, Bucky, and Stephen were hanging Christmas decorations around the facility, getting ready for their annual Christmas party. The Avengers have a tradition of doing Secret Santa every year and everyone would exchange one gift when the clock strikes 12. Natasha encouraged her sister to join, but she respectfully declined. Now, Yelena was in her room, laying on her bed, watching the snow fall from her window. It reminded her of home; she felt like she was in a mini snow globe.

“Hey, have any of you guys seen Yelena anywhere?” Natasha asked.

“I haven’t, no,” Bucky said, “We’ve been hanging decorations all morning.”

The Black Widow sighed and turned her head away with concern contorted on her face.

“It’s snowing outside and…” Natasha began, “We used to play in the snow all the time back home. I just thought she’d want to go outside and play with me and some of the others… She’s just been so closed-off from everything lately… and everyone.”

Tony walked up to Natasha and placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“Don’t stress over this, Nat,” Tony said, “She’ll come around when she’s ready.”

Natasha sighed and nodded before walking out of the living room. As Natasha’s walking to her room, she notices her sister’s door cracked open a bit. The Black Widow took a deep breath before lightly knocking on the door. Yelena’s head perked up to the sound before settling her head back on the pillows.

“Who is it?” Yelena asked.

“It’s Nat,” Natasha said, “Can I come in?”

Yelena sighed before humming her response. Natasha walked into the room and quietly shut the door, the room cloaked in a cozy darkness, the light from the afternoon sun illuminating the room. The Black Widow sat next to her sister and glanced at her. The younger woman wore a tired expression; many would assume that’s her “resting bitch face,” but no.

“Are you okay?” Natasha asked.

Yelena opened her mouth to speak but sighed and responded with a slow nod.

“Use your words, младшая сестра.” Natasha said softly yet sternly.

“I’m fine, okay?” Yelena retorted, a hint of malice in her words.

Natasha pulled back in shock as her shoulders slumped. The Black Widow stared out the window to see the snow softly fall, smiling to herself as she saw her and Yelena playing and rolling around in the snow. She was brought back to reality when she heard soft sniffling. Natasha glanced down at her sister and noticed small tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Yelena, what’s wrong?” Natasha asked, quickly sitting up her sister and hugging her.

When Yelena felt the warmth of her sister’s embrace, she pressed her face into her shoulder and sobbed softly. The Black Widow frowned as she held her sister close, slowing rocking her to calm her down.

“Am I… broken…?” Yelena asked suddenly.

“What? What, no,” Natasha answered quickly, “Why would ever think that?”

“Ever since you pulled me out of that God forsaken Red Room and brought me here… I haven’t been the same… I feel so out of place from everything, like I don’t belong in society anymore.”

Natasha felt her heart ache listening to her sister’s words. Dreykov’s influence really did a number on her, considering how long she was under his control.

“I want to be part of these little activities you and the other Avengers do, but I am so afraid of… fucking it up,” Yelena said sorrowfully, “I feel so… disconnected, from reality, society… and myself. It feels like I’m watching the world through someone else’s eyes and it’s scary…”

The Black Widow hugged her sister tight, trying to suppress her own tears.

“Yelena, I can assure you that you are everything but broken,” Natasha said, pulling away to see her sister’s face, “You are a smart, strong, and confident woman. Always have been, always will be.”

Yelena averted her sister’s gaze as she glanced down at the bed sheets. Natasha wanted to cheer up her sister, to remind her that she’s not broken. As Natasha scanned through her childhood memories, there was one thing the Black Widow remembered about her sister that would get her smiling every time. As Natasha repositioned her hands around her sister, she pounced, skittering her fingers all over Yelena’s sides. The younger woman yelped before giggling uncontrollably.

“Nahahahat! W-Whahahahat are yohohou doihihihing?!” Yelena asked through her giggles.

“Still as ticklish as ever, I see,” Natasha said, “But to answer your question, I’m cheering you up!”

The younger woman giggled as she tried to twist out of her sister’s grasp, but it was pointless; being a Black Widow, she knew how to handle people who squirmed around a lot.

“Natashahahahaha, plehehehease!” Yelena giggled, “No mohohohore!”

“Not until all of your poutiness is tickled away!” Natasha giggled.

The younger woman’s shoulders bounced as she giggled, trying to get out of her sister’s gentle yet firm grip.

“Ah, this brings back memories,” Natasha said, “I remember so vividly when you started to squirm around like this, I would grab your wrists…”

Natasha briefly stopped the tickling to grab her sister’s wrists with one hand.

“Pin you to the bed,” she continued, doing just that, “Straddle your waist.”

Keeping Yelena’s hands pinned above her head, Natasha straddled her sister, taking in the other’s attempt to escape.

“And once I have you right where I want you…” Natasha began, leaning in, “I… tickle you silly!”

She then started scribbling her hand all over the young woman’s torso with vigor, causing the other to buck and squeal with laughter.

“Nahahahat, nohohoho!” Yelena giggled, “Ahahahaha! This isn’t fahahahahair! Yohohohou’re bihihihigger than mehehe! Hahaha!”

“And you’re more ticklish than me,” Natasha retorted, “Evens out, don’t ya think?”

Yelena thrashed around as she tried to dislodge her wrist from her sister’s grip. When Natasha’s fingers found her belly, Yelena squealed and tried to turn away.

“H-Hehehehehey! Naahahahaha!” Yelena cried, “Not thehehere! Stahaahaap!”

“Are you gonna stop being mopey and enjoy the holiday festivities with me and the others?” Natasha asked.

When Yelena didn’t give and answer, Natasha started digging into the other’s ribs, causing the younger woman to snort.

“SHIHIHIHIHIT! NAAAHHAHAT *snort* THEEEHEHERE!” Yelena laughed, “NAAAAHAHAHAT! FUHUHUHUCKING STAAAAHAHAHAP!”

“Language, young lady,” Natasha teased, “And why would I stop? Your laugh is so cute!”

Yelena’s legs kicked behind the other as she laughed.

“Сестра, пожалуйста!” Yelena cried, “NO MOHOHOHOORE! IT TIHIHIHICKLES! AAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Are you gonna spend Christmas Eve with the rest of us?” Natasha asked.

When Natasha pinched her middle rib, Yelena squealed loudly before dissolving into silent laughter. This was the Yelena Natasha missed. She missed this side of her sister, only seeing it a few times before their lives were changed; she was happy to see this smiling and laughing face again.

“OKAAHAHAHAHAY! AAHAHAHEHEHE!” Yelena wheezed, “I CAAAHAHAHAHAN’T!”

Natasha chuckled before releasing her sister and halting the tickles. Yelena panted like a dog as residual giggles spilled from her lips.

“You… ahahare so fucking ehehevil…” Yelena panted.

“But you love me all the same.” Natasha teased with a wink.

The younger woman scoffed and lightly punched her sister’s arm as she sat up. A peaceful silence fell between the sisters as Yelena caught her breath.

“You feel better?” Natasha asked.

Yelena hesitated to answer, but after pondering for a bit, the younger woman looked at her sister and nodded with a genuine smile.

“Yeah, I do,” Yelena said, “I feel… lighter, like a huge weight was just lifted. Thanks, Nat.”

“That’s what sisters are for.” Natasha said, placing her forehead on her sister’s.

Yelena smiled as she lightly bumped her nose with Natasha’s before they embraced. When they parted, Natasha stood up and pointed outside.

“There’s still a little bit of light left before the sun sets,” Natasha said, “Do you wanna play in the snow for a while?”

Yelena glanced at the winter wonderland outside her window and smiled as she turned back to her sister.

“Sure, that sounds like fun!” Yelena said eagerly.

Natasha grinned as she walked over to the door.

“Hey, Nat.” Yelena called out.

The Black Widow stopped in her tracks and turned around.

“Я тебя люблю.” Yelena said.

Natasha grinned as she opened the door.

“я тоже тебя люблю.” she said.

When Natasha left, Yelena sat back on the headboard and sighed, pulling one knee to her chest as she watched the snow fall. It will take some time for Yelena to get back into the groove of how things were before the Red Room, but with Natasha by her side to guide her, she doubts she’ll ever lose her way again.

[firefly--bright]

sound//waves

jean kirstein x fem!reader, modern a.u.

summary ; each sound has its own shape, something tangible for you to feel. jean's shapes are weightless but important, and you find the importance of your own shapes through him. warnings ; reader being self-conscious of her voice :') idk what the trope is here. pining idiots who don't realise they're both in the same boat. a/n ; hehe,,, this fic was a pretty long time coming i think? but its for @/samepictureofjeankirsteverday on instagrams celebration for hitting 1k days!! so congratulations!! its also inspired by her own fic, quietude on ao3 :) pls give it a read its SO CUTE and i loved it sm <333 congratulations again :33 ALSO i have never done karaoke before so im sorry for any,,, errors. i genuinely dont know how they work and ive watched only like 2 animes with a very vague karaoke scene </3 just pretend that every inaccuracy is For The Plot taglist ; @holding-infinity-and-a-book , @mrsnobodynobody , @hopeless-anti-romantic-again , @jeanscremebrulee , @berrijam , @happxme , @cherrypieyourface , @imgayandshesanime , @moonmalice , @kivernova , @potaho3frog , @xakilicious , @katestrophes , @gojo-ana , @ppushable, @candleohappiness , @zombiefiedskeivy

masterlist is in pinned post ✿ enter my taglist ✿ requests for headcanons are open! ✿ playlist to listen to while reading! (it has a couple karaoke songs wink wink) ✿

right tile art credits ; @ppushable on tumblr!

you'd always been conscious of how loud your voice could get. 

a little annoying, you thought, because whenever you got excited about something, your voice would jump through octaves, creating an exponential curve on a graph. when you were with friends who knew how to make you laugh, your throat would make a weird sound - stuck between a guffaw and a choke of self-conscious laughter - if it was particularly funny. and your voice was always stuck between the contrasting spaces of either being too loud or too quiet, never really being able to gauge what was required when. 

you'd rather listen than talk. your voice would work around the right people, your mouth having a mind of its own, spilling contents you didn't agree to, but you'd regret the sound of it later. secrets would lie, open, barren, self-aware, in a disgusting pile of weird decibels on your table, in the space between you and whoever had to bear witness to it. you always cringed at the sound of your own voice after hearing it back in video, wherever it was captured. 

you grew up quiet, never growing used to using your voice until you were a late teenager. not knowing the importance of words until they were said, until after the reactions were met. 

and then you met jean. loud, boisterous laughter filled the room as he shouted the rules of the game, clearly drunk, at a party you couldn't remember the importance of, and you were next to your equally as loud and agreeing friend who shouted cheers and another one, her other half, she had loudly exclaimed, her twin, really, and you could hear the resemblance in the way they both chanted a cheer of “jean! jean! jean! jean!” continuously as the guy wearing a button-up shirt that was now soaked with wine with a bottle of the liquid held a considerable height away from him, drinking with twitching lips and shut eyes. He stopped with a spluttering cough, unashamed still, a large, cocky grin plastered over his lips - plump and red with the tint of the wine. Then he let out a loud whoop and you wondered how he didnt feel the guilt of being loud weighing down on him. Maybe it was the alcohol, you assumed, taking a cautious, controlled sip of your own. Sasha and connie soon joined him, and along with their arm came yours, linked in between sasha’s tight grip.

Introductions were made, voices inclining louder to be heard over the music. “Sash told us about you,” jean shouted, a surprisingly inviting smile on his intimidating face, and you joked around, “yeah shes in love with me!” jean all but nodded with an approving smile, and the rest of the evening by pounding music that you could feel your heartbeat on, and you don't hear jean’s presence until about two weeks after it all.

He was quiet then. Suddenly his face went back to being intimidating, and his voice was heard through a groan the first time you heard it after the boisterous party. “Marc, can you please-”

Marco continues about his day, and then you add on with your unfamiliar voice shrinking under the sounds of the cafeteria that was quickly filling in with tangible shapes of voices. The rest of them have to lean in a little closer to you to listen, and your voice shakes against your chest at the bearable effort just to talk about your mundane and frankly low-grade joke about stagnant coffee that you couldnt even remember after you said it, but somehow made them laugh.

“Oh hey!” marco spoke from beside him after he spotted your head approaching them from a distance, his voice a happy, upbeat version of it’s usual quiet and important self. You waved to them with a smile, not uttering a word until you were at their table. With sasha beside you, you let her do the talking at first. Consonants loud, slight country accent clear as the day above you, she spoke about the “boooorrriinnggg” lecture she just had to attend, her back slumping against the seat. Your face rested consciously on your palm, an unintentional look shared between you and jean that said mostly nothing but quiet and secret amusement. His eyes were pretty, speaking a thousand, weighted words against his lids, all of which were heard clearly by you. Hes a stranger, really, nothing more than a name and a scruffy but pretty face, but that didnt stop the bounds of familiarity working their way through the shared space between you. Marco snorts from beside him, and pushes his remaining fries to the brunette. Sasha hums approvingly, comforting, the waves travelling to you safely. Undisturbed, just how youd prefer them to be, and her voice floats above your body, letting it settle there, with you looking at it’s gentle remnants.

“Ackerman’s classes are always a terror-shock,” jean spoke, now, directly to  you, eyes on yours, and you had to stop yourself from being consumed by the tidal waves of sound - his voice, low, warm, joking, natural as if your presence was just enough for him to find comfort in.  

You laugh along with him and your voice - a hungry animal of itself - involuntarily, becomes more itself than you’ve ever found it to be. Which is a shock, but then sasha rests her head on your shoulder, asking you, “when’s your next class?” her voice vibrating on your shoulder, travelling through your bones. Your voice - the hungry animal - or whatever it gently became, replies with a, “in a couple minutes.” 

“What block?” jean asks, and marco checks his phone for his own calendar. 

You hum even if you don't have to think, “block-b. Just a bit of a walk.”

“I have class the same way. I can walk you,” he says, casually, picking his back up from the ground beside him, his knee knocking into yours for a moment. He doesn't apologize. You get up next, picking up the remnants of the trash left on your table and follow him.

His voice is a constant after that. Surprisingly, his voice becomes something you reach out to, the tendrils of waves asking you to stay a bit longer, to shed your coat, to give him your bag to hold. Gentle commands that all but fuel your hungry voice, lungs soaking into whatever has become of his laughter mixed with yours. 

“Karaoke night!” sasha shouts, entering the apartment with no remorse of her voice being louder than the howling dogs at night. You exchange a natural, knowing glance with jean who stands next to you in the kitchen, handing you a spoon. Connie follows her in, and his presence is just as loud, the shape being a little sharp against your palm, just enough to remind you that this is your friend. His bag flops against the table and he groans with each joint that moves in him. 

“Im going to sing the best songs-” he starts, but jean is quick to cut his voice off, as usual, “-you’re going to sing CPR by Cuppcake you crazy bastard, im going to hit you-” “im not going to sing that! I have taste and dignity and-” “-you have a will to make us suffer.” jean states, and the two of them go back and forth while you hand marco’s cup to him in the living room. “Thanks,” he says, whispered among the background, his lips pursed with an attempt of hiding his laughter. 

You smile back at him, but your laugh isnt hidden. You turn around, hands on your hips, exclaiming, “okay! Karaoke night in three hours. Then we go to mitras’ and eat something good.”

Sasha agreed with a mouthful of food and a muffled voice, and you reeled from the fact that you could project your own voice into the apartment with such force. You’ve always been loud, and your mouth always ended up working by itself, spilling contents you didn't agree to be spilt, and you grew quiet again with the consciousness of it all. You never knew how to strike the right balance between quiet and loud.

But then you met jean, who was looking at you, his mouth drawn between half smirk and half amusement, brows raised only slightly, enough to keep you questioning.

“What?” you asked him. Cornered him, really, and your voice was meant to be sharp but ended up being soft around it’s edges, a happy smile accompanying it, and jean’s smirk widened, just by a bit. He shrugged. “Nuffin,” he said, voice half-hidden and half-proud under the food he was chewing. 

Chips. Barbeque, the ones you bought especially for him, the one sasha was hoarding. You narrowed your eyes at him in faux suspicion, but let it go only a bit after, turning your back to him as his voice travels to you without hinderance. “Sash, stop eating th3e damn-” “i’ll do whatever i want to!” she says, turning her back on him as well, facing the marble countertop of the kitchen with jean’s - now her - bag of chips, crinkling under her fingers as she dug through them, feeding one to you.

Karaoke was set. Three hours timing, as you said - a little too loud, unconscious of it being that way - and your shoes squeak over the floor. There had been a significant wait, but connie’s rambling had done you good. “For once,” jean said, voice barely heard over the sound of all the other occupied rooms, “he’s useful.” “that’s not what you said last night.” connie says, but his voice is octaves higher than jean’s and impossible to ignore. You open the door to the room with a smile, and marco groans. “Guys, keep it in your pants for one night.” “im not the one-!” jean starts, but sasha clamps his mouth shut with her hand. “If you're not going to sing, i don't want to hear your stupid, neighing voice complaining,” she said, a murderous tilt in the sound, something you didn't want to mess with.

Sasha in a bad mood wasn't sasha at all - a learned fact that had been taught very unfortunately to you - and you tried your best to get her moods up with whatever means necessary, hopping next to the big screen and detangling the wire of the microphone as marco scrolled through the song options, humming under his breath. A round of lemon sodas was immediately ordered, and jean left a seat for you in the corner of the couch facing the screen, an unsaid determination to get you to sit closer to him. Connie slung his arm around marco’s shoulders and, like the demon on the former’s shoulder, guided him to choose Copacabana by barry manillow.

“Wanna duet, beautiful?” he asked you, hand flat open for you to hand him the mic. You raised your brows with a smile, “you cant handle me, springer.” even if in reality, it was you who couldnt handle him, his voice ten times louder and unashamed than yours, something you admired.

“sash! Connie’s challenging you!” you say instead, smile poisoning your sentence, making it irregular. “hey! I never said-” he starts, but sasha bounces off her seat to your voice, hugging your arm, taking up the challenge and squinting at connie with vitriol. “You're on, baldie.”

Connie’s not a competitive person. He’d never cared about grades, about being first in class, about races, in board games - it was all just that to him. A game, something to have fun about; an admirable trait if went unpaired with the rest of his jokes. But he liked doing things out of spite - a revenge that flowed so deep that he had to do something drastic. 

Even before the music turned on, before their cue, they'd started their serenading, making marco wince with an adoring smile as he grabbed sasha’s outstretched, inviting hand.

You made your way back to jean, as you always found yourself doing, licking your lips against the cold of the AC blasting in the room, the floors shaking under the weight of your beating heart to the thumps of the song, rhythmic and out of tune. Marco sang well, you knew this, but his voice got lost under the competitiveness of sasha and connie, shouting over each other and clambering over the lyrics as they ran away from the screen, still getting the words wrong. 

You laugh, sitting down, stealing a chip from the bowl jean held in his lap as he flipped through the book of remarks strangers before you had written in the same room, their handwritings messy and intoxicated with the extensive - and expensive - cocktail menu, hearts littered under the praises of their time. 

“I wonder if they added it,” you said, almost shouting as he leaned in as well, head ducking near your mouth to hold your words in his heart. Impossibly close, his cologne masking the smell of the leathery couch and the stinge of cold air, and he lifts his head, a curious glint in his eye only enhanced by the rotating, artificial, lights that played their colours on the wall along with the trapped soundwaves. “Wanna check?” his lips upturned into a smirk, a pink light bouncing off his hair, then green, then a blue, the same colours in the same order projecting onto you and the adoring afflictions of his voice were not lost on you.

Jean chuckled, the sound hiding under the unbearable symphonies, pointing his finger at one of the notes. “Someone wrote-” you had to lean in close to hear him, afraid that you wouldn't catch the waves woven so delicately and carefully for you, that you'd miss them, somehow, “-that they are sad that… oh shit, thats connie.” the note, scrawled with a blue ballpoint pen, complained about how there was a lack of the sonic movie soundtrack on the machine. You laughed, your shoulders shaking under the now weightless time, a physical proof of your smile. Jean held it in his heart, woven carefully, as if it would slip away somehow.

 

Something to do. Together, like a secret, because really, how else would he say it if not like this? Like the shape carved itself just for you, smooth and soft. How else would he say something unimportant so close to you, his hand encircling your shoulders, arm resting on the back of the couch, voice the only thing you hear even if the loudness of the setting is all too present and all too distracting. Because that’s what this was, even with the distracting and present and loudness of the setting, he asks you, and his words form their own shape and fall into your lap, a gentle, warm question with round edges, easy to hold in your open palms that eagerly closed over it to not let it go.

Your heart beats to the thumps of the song. Your teeth ache with the sweetness of his voice as you nod with the same glint in your eye, and the unsaid but well-heard command is enough to get him standing up and walking to the machine, checking and flipping over the songs that offered themselves, his white shirt tinted against the moody lighting, the old bracelet you made him hanging over his wrist with a poorly tied knot that somehow withstood the test of time and weather and temperatures of his warm body. His hand scratched the back of his neck, and the present song was almost coming to an end, not that you were paying attention to it, but it was hard to not remind yourself of the moment you were in when the moment included him, the same ground he stood on being the same ground your feet rested on, the same room his voice held and clung onto also being the same room your own voice was in, floating to his, something you found it doing a little too often.

Your name was spoken on the microphone, brightly, with a wide smile, something you hadn't been used to until you met sasha. Your eyes met hers, crinkled at the ends with a smile wider than her heart, as she pointed at you, “your turn! jean-boy, choose something!” met with another shared and important - because all of them were important - glance with jean, eyebrows raised, affection rippling over his features, and you relented, hopping up to the microphone as she handed it to you.

“Oh, but when i asked you to, you didn't sing? I see how it is," Connie said, teasing smile on his lips. Marco shook his head with a smile as you shrugged. “You dont pay the rent,” you said simply, and the opening to cant take my eyes off of you by frankie vallie clung to your clothes, spreading a wide and knowing smile over your face, glancing at jean again. Again.

Sasha watches. Seeing it play out - not rehearsed, a little clunky, your shoes creaking under your weight as you hop to the beat, looking at jean who, in turn, looks at you, and sasha watches. Your voice hums out the tune before you sing it, before the lyrics start rolling in, impatience staining your tongue because of excitement, and she watches. Connie gulps down his drink from the corner of the room and tries getting up, but marco pushes him back down with a gentle and forceful hand, “dont,” his voice says, lost again, and connie doesnt ask why. Sasha hands her microphone to jean, clunky and unrehearsed, and he takes it without reluctance because he could never refuse being near you. 

Your shoulders shake without effort or thinking, and the usual hesitance that comes to jean so easily, like habit, almost disappears, finding solace in god knows where but he’s just glad its not there right now, with you. Brilliant smile, voice usually small and a little uneasy now grows with the swell of the song and he cant help but not sing. His voice is nothing but background and really, all he’s doing is humming into the mic just as you were moments before, and he sees everything. Your voice makes it hard not to notice you, stark against the background of the four walled-room, head bopping to the beat. It's hard not to notice when something so tangible and breathing and beautiful is in front of him, singing, smiling towards him, looking at him like you do with your eyes all shiny and almost sparkling under the shitty lights, he thinks, how can someone make a karaoke room feel like a shrine? 

He's not poetic. He knows this - out of the two of you, you find more of the metaphors, the small but noteworthy variables with the phrases and words - but he’d turn into a poet just to make one of the songs you like to sing so much. Humming under your breath, kept there until future and important use while making coffee, lost lyrics that you couldn't remember building up at the back of your throat as your hand flew across the your computer’s keyboard but even then he’d choose your inexperienced and unpracticed voice over a well made concert. 

Your lips shine with the light, and he forgets how to breathe. His mic floats somewhere near his mouth, he’s sure of that much, but everything else is lost to him. Your voice becomes his guide, wavering a little at the higher pitches, careful of the lyrics. You mess up once, laugh it off, shrugging your shoulders, and your smile is etched onto the speakers, making their way across the room and into his ears and, god, he can feel it. The beat doesn't matter to him, his heart finds the way of your voice and beats to it. As soft, as careful, unhesitant and unrestrained until the three minutes and twenty-four seconds of the song are over. And all he did was blink.

You turn, handing the mic back to sasha, connie’s standing applause met with a wide, unbashful grin and a little bow, faux pride in your posture. 

Jean all but follows your footsteps only a little ways from sasha, as she chooses another song of her liking, and his eyes are on you, adjusting the sleeve of your shirt that had folded up. You look at him, lips moving under his gaze, sound travelling and only a little delayed because jean thinks about your lips for too long. “You have a good voice,” you remark, smiling, and he blinks. Thank god the place is only dimly lit because his face feels red, heart pumping dangerously close to his chest. 

“Yeah?” he asks, as if he needs confirmation. Really, he just wants to hear your voice again.

You hum. He leans in to hear it as if it's something more important. It is, to him, every molecule that's disturbed by your voice to reach to his ear is something that he needs to be accounted for. He’ll make a home there, he thinks, where your voice lives in between the atoms, the shape it makes mid-air, just for him to hear.

“HORSEBOY THIS ONES FOR YOU,” connie shouts in the already loud speaker, making jean wince, connie pointing his finger between jean’s brows, a scowl on the latter’s features. The starting notes of “my heart will go on” start playing, and jean groans, head tilting upwards, catching the way you laugh softly, and turning to you incredulously. 

“Y’know your bald head is shining like a disco ball right now?” he says in retaliation to the now belting-his-heart-out connie, his hand making a fist over his heart, eyes screwed shut, pinch between his eyebrows, knees bending at an almost-painful angle that will most surely make them hurt later, with marco doing the background vocals, eyes closed, and… was that a tear? 

“Jesus, and then? what did he say?” sasha’s voice loudly asked, uncaring for any sleeping neighbours that would surely be jolted awake by her, coercing you to tell her more about the terrible group project you had just gotten out of last week. “He said he’d just give the work to someone who owed him a favour.” you said with mild but mostly dissipated annoyance.

Marco winced from in front of you, legs crossing two steps at a time. Jean scowled, turning his face to yours from where he climbed beside marco, “what the fuck?” to which you could only shrug with pursed lips. Sasha’s arm was around your shoulders, her fingers tracing comfortable shapes on the cup of your shoulder. 

“Wait, who owed him a favour?” connie asked from behind you, two steps under yours. You spared him a glance and shrugged again, “no idea. And then, of course, he told me, last minute, that they couldn't do it and he didn't have the skills,” you put air quotations around the last word, clearing your throat for dramatic effect, “to complete it himself.” 

“What the fuck does that even mean-” “what a fucking dick,” “god, im so sorry,” jeans voice was the first one you heard, followed by sasha’s, and then marco’s. “I wish we could still guillotine people.” connie spoke up just after you crossed the last step, marco’s shoes squeaking to a halt before your door. You fished your keys out of your pocket, opening the door to its jingle.

“Guillotines are for rich people, dumbass,” jean said, rolling his shoulders back as if the sentence itself burdened him.

“of course you’d say that, you french fuck.” connie spoke, wiggling out of his coat the second he stepped through your door. Sasha went headfirst for the couch, collapsing into the cushions without any plan to remove her own coat. Her soft snores soon filled the apartment - a trait both her and jean shared. The two could fall asleep anywhere and anytime, state of their body be damned. Jean had told you, after a long nap, his voice a low hum, that he had insomnia as a kid. He didn't know how he grew out of it, but it ended up with him on the opposite side of the sleep spectrum - unable to wake up unless shaken very violently. He asked you to slap him awake once, and when you hesitated, connie stepped in with a loud smack to jean’s cheek.

Marco stretched out his arms while walking to sasha’s room. “Im taking her bed.” he says, a tired yawn stretching out at the end of his sentence. Connie groans, “where will i sleep?” he asks, looking at you with a smirk, “if only a beautiful girl with a pretty voice tells me i can use her room…oh, if only,” he sighs, placing the back of his hand on his forehead. 

“Yeah. if only, you bitchless moron.” jean says, and you shake your head with a smile. 

“Do you think women are bitches, jean?” connie asks, the hand on his forehead finding itself on his chest, gasping. sasha ‘s snores break through his sentence.

“No! I.. i love women. I mean, im not like, im not… like a slut or anything, but-” “sounds like something a slut would say. Fuckboy.” “I respect women!”

“Ladies, ladies. Stop fighting over me.” you say, walking towards your room without sparing either of them a glance, expecting jean to follow you. “Cuddle with marco, con, I know you want to.” 

Connie groans, again, a little too dramatically to be taken seriously in the first place. There’s no malice hidden in his voice, none of the usual complains you would've found, “fine. If you say so. See, jean? This is how you respect women.” 

“Youre only saying that because she’s pretty.” jean says. You try not to let it get in your head as you enter your room, your door creaking open. “Night, marco!” you whisper-yell across the hall, even though sasha’s eyes wouldn't open even a peek with any amount of sound. “Goodnight!” he whisper-yells back from across the hall, only a couple steps away from the door of your room. 

Jean and connie’s voices are still arguing about something, but you're too tired to make their words out, all of it becoming gibberish. You clear your throat - a sound that’s enough to get them to stop. “Goodnight.” 

“Hey, wait-” jean speaks, and connie snickers from behind him.

Your room is silent, save from the irregular sounds of the cars passing downstairs, gravel under their rubbery tires. Everythings been said and done; teeth brushed, face washed, pillows fluffed (by jean’s persistence). You collapsed onto bed, leaving enough room for jean to squish into, the sound of ruffling blankets and the plush, squishy pillow under your ear. He lays on his back for a moment, before facing his body towards you, the deliberate motion creating squeaks of spring from the mattress. Everything has its own sound. Jean’s hands tuck under his head, and you resist the urge to laugh at his position. He sees right through you.

“Whats so funny?” he asks, whispers, really. You're not sure why. Maybe it's the overwhelming silence, the inability of breaking the warmth that crosses across both of your bodies, sharing the same blanket.

“You look funny tucked in like that,” you say, imitating his hushed voice. Maybe it is too important, you think, to talk about things that are funny in the moment for no reason but to keep your heart steady against the faraway but present sound of his - just one of those sounds that didn't need to be heard to know it was there for you.

His sigh turns into a laugh. You're both laughing at nothing, soft puffs of air, carbon dioxide overlapping carbon dioxide. Sounds are science, right? This felt a lot like poetry. Maybe they all merge together, and Jean speaks up before you can think more about it, “do you think Connie is spooning Marco right now?” 

You laugh a little more. “Are you jealous?” “that we’re not…cuddling?” he asks, a little unsure, but with a small smile anyway. He's hesitating. You know him enough to know the way his voice - though soft and pliable right now, gaseous against your palms, shape unreadable - sounds when he's unsure. You shrug. “Are you?” you don't know if the whispering is making you bolder or if you're just tired. You’ve always been a little conscious of your voice, a little too in your head about needing to be soft, uncaring if your sentence goes unheard. It doesn't matter as long as youre peaceful, as long as your voice doesn't disrupt disrupt disrupt.

His cheeks go a little red. It's how you know you’ve got him. Your smile turns softer, a little more understanding. “I…okay,” he says. You're both not sure what he means by it, but you can't help but marking it as important, just as everything he’s said to you.

“Your voice is…really pretty, by the way.” jean states, eyes not meeting yours. His lips form a thin line after saying it, as if he’d been wanting to keep it a secret, as if the fact that it somehow got out was a fault. You don't have much to say to that, though, so the sentence lays there, between the space of the pillows, between the blankets. It’s weighed, careful but untamed, and it lingers there for a moment, soft and pliable and unconscious. 

“I mean… like everytime i hear your voice its… its nice. Not just when you're singing. I like that too.” he rambles, voice still a hush, words still soft and pliable - putty-like, shapeless but you catch them and you don't let them go, let them seep into your skin and against your bones and into your bloodstream. “When you pick up the phone, or when you're humming something. I know it's… i know you think it's not meant to be heard. But I hear you. And i… I like hearing you.” he says. He likes hearing you. He likes hearing you. The words don't have shape. They wave over you, not tidal, not forceful, but like the same warmth of the blanket that rests over your shoulders, crinkled at the edges, a little worn out as if he’s been saying it to himself before giving it to you. 

God, and youve always been conscious of your voice. So when you speak next, its a surprise to you when its not the same whisper he was speaking in, instead only a bit higher than it, enough to contain only bits of your voice, the carvings on the roof of your mouth and the back of your throat and behind your teeth have no use hiding, now, because your voice projects forward just enough. Just enough because he thinks your voice is pretty.

“I… i like yours.” you say. Your eyes slip a little shut, and you feel more than hear him shift towards you, his arm crossing over your waist. “Its beautiful. Peaceful. Even when you're…insulting eren.” you sigh into his chest. His breathing holds you just as his arms, and his warm chest stutters a bit as if he’s taking a deep breath, something that tickles the parts of your hair that are near his nose. Every sound has its feeling, every sound creates waves and its on you to make them twice more meaningful as they are despite the words they hold, and even as jean gives you wordless reactions to your senseless but meaningful words, they're all accounted for. They're all just as important, just as held as everything else he’s said because its him.

“Thank you. For speaking to me. For letting me hear you.” you say with finality, no room for argument. As if he’d argue you. His lips press to the top of your head, unmoving. His palm covers your ear, making the soft sounds of his breathing muffled, but his thumb traces shapes of his sound against your ear. 

It tickles a little, but you hear the movement clearly. 

Sound waves, importance given to them. By you and by him. 

✿

[mattyriddlesbitch]

Just A Game (Chapter Ten)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: Fighting, cussing

The rest of the weekend after the party was a blur. It felt too long and too short at the same time. Mattheo must’ve been hiding from you. You couldn’t find him around the castle at all.

You barely remember what happened that night. You remember drinking and dancing with your friends. You remember being shoved in a small closet with Mattheo and his lips on yours. You swear you remember hearing ‘I miss you too’ coming from him, but you can’t remember if that was your imagination.

Maybe you should stop drinking.

The feel of his lips haunted your days and nights. You had trouble sleeping and your mind would trail off, replaying that moment over and over.

You wondered if Mattheo had the same problem. Maybe that’s why he was hiding from you.

You knew he couldn’t escape you today though unless he skips class, which isn’t uncommon, but you were nearly praying he wouldn’t skip today.

You made it early to Herbology, taking your seat and nervously scribbling on your parchment. Why were you so nervous? Maybe because you drunkenly kissed the guy who sits next to you and he’s been avoiding you. You found yourself in an internal argument with yourself, only coming out of it when the other students started taking their seats too.

Mattheo was still nowhere to be seen as class started. You were a little frustrated now. It had been days. You just wanted to talk to him. That could also be why he was hiding from you, he knew you wanted to talk to him about the other night.

Suddenly, he came strolling into class about 10 minutes late, taking his seat by you like normal. He didn’t even look at you, but that was normal now.

The class was dragging on. You were patiently waiting for class to end so you could have a chance to talk to him.

The second you were dismissed, you shoved your stuff in your bag to make sure Mattheo couldn't get away from you this time. He was already almost out of the door by the time you even stood up. You weaved between the other students that were leaving to get to him. You finally caught his arm in the crowd of students, making you both stop as he turned to face you.

Another student ran into you from your sudden stop, making you stumble into Mattheo. He caught you and helped steady you.

“Watch where you're going.” The boy who ran into you said with a nasty attitude.

“You watch where the fuck you're going.” Mattheo spoke up before you even could. And as soon you turned around to face the boy, you saw Mattheo shove the boy away from you.

“She's the idiot who stopped in front of me!” The boy said, shoving Mattheo back.

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Mattheo spat back, stepping forward to hit him, but you grabbed his arm again.

“Mattheo.” You said his name to get his attention to stop him.

He stopped and glared at the boy before turning back to you.

“Yeah, obey your little bitch there.” The boy said, now with an amused tone.

Before the boy could even walk around him, Mattheo turned back to him quickly and punched him in the face with a loud crack. The sudden move and noise made you gasp and cover your mouth as you watched the boy fall to the ground.

“You ever call her a name again and I'll fucking gut you, understand?” Mattheo asked as he leaned over the boy.

“Mattheo! Enough!” You said, pulling him away by his arm, away from the crowd of students gathered around to watch the fight.

Mattheo let you drag him away without any resistance as he glared at the boy before turning back around to walk with you.

“Please don't hurt people for me again.” You said to him as he finally looked at you.

“He was a fucking prick! You should've let me.” Mattheo said, still clearly heated.

“Please, Mattheo.” You stopped walking to face him, making him stop to face you too, his hands now shoved in his pockets.

He exhaled sharply out of his nose. “What do you want?” His eyes flicked to the grass between you two instead of looking at you.

“I was kinda hoping to talk about Friday night.” You said, still looking at him, hoping he would look at you again.

He rolled his eyes, looking at you for a second before looking to the side. “It was just a game, (Y/N). That's all.”

“But you said you missed me.” You shifted on your feet, feeling your face heat from embarrassment now. Maybe you read it all wrong.

“I was drunk. I say stupid shit when I'm drunk.” He shook his head as he looked back at you.

“So that was a lie? And the kiss?” You asked, fidgeting with your hands in front of you.

“We were playing ‘7 Minutes in Heaven’, the whole point is to make out. Alright? I was playing the game.” He said, his face neutral.

“Oh.” Your gaze drifted down for a moment before looking back up at him. “I guess I misread it.”

“Yeah, guess so.” He said, sighing and looking back to the side.

“Why were you avoiding me this weekend?”

“(Y/N), just stop. Just stop. It was just a game. Don't read so much into it.” He said, shaking his head again, but refusing to look back at you.

“Right. You're right. It was just a game.” You said, looking back at the ground.

He stayed there for a few seconds before walking off back towards the castle.

“I meant my ‘I miss you’.” You called to him after a moment.

You saw him stop walking for a second before he continued, leaving you behind yet again.

Chapter 9

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[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: The sudden shift in living arrangements causes Charlie's behavior to take a turn for the worse. 

Word Count: 8,317

Warnings: Smut, suicidal thoughts, kids throwing temper tantrums, infertility, and polyamory.

Notes: Clarification for those just tuning in, Lucy is not Charlie's biological mother (she is unable to have biological children) but Tommy--and Grace, prior to her death--have always treated her as if she was. This chapter was a reasonable length, and then I decided that I needed to add a whole bunch of smut at the end, and I didn't wanna move it to the next chapter. So apologies in advance for the bloated word count!

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 3: Your Mistakes Loom

“Charlie, could you pick up your toys, please?” 

She said it offhandedly, not even really looking up from the cover of the book she was examining, one hand gripping the wooden ladder she was balancing on so that she could reach the upper shelves of the huge bookcase. 

Arrow House was packed to the gills with books on just about any subject imaginable. Lucy had gorged her mind on many of them. Climbing carefully down the rickety ladder, she tucked her most recent selection under her arm, looking up to find that Charlie hadn’t moved from where he was seated on the sofa, his toys still spread out all over the floor.

“Charlie? Did you not hear me?”

Still no response. Lucy frowned. Things had been tense lately. Charlie was still angry with Tommy over him shooting Dangerous, barely speaking to him at all and spending most of his free time sulking in his room. And then Lizzie’s announcement to Tommy of her and Ruby's departure went over about as well as Lucy had expected it to. There was an awful lot of shouting and insults hurled from either side, and when Lizzie finally left with little Ruby in tow, it was with a slam of the front door that seemed to reverberate throughout the entire house. 

Charlie had grown even more sullen after that. Lucy wasn’t sure how much of the fight he’d actually heard, or what Lizzie had told him before she left. But he clearly was angry with both of them. And missing his step-mum and sister. She tried to find ways to occupy his time or offer him companionship, but her attempts to get him to go out riding or play a game with her had all been met with a glower and cold shoulder, and she’d eventually given up and decided to just leave him alone.    

“Please don’t make me repeat myself, Charlie. Pick up your toys now before someone trips over them, yeah?”

It would only take him all of two minutes to do it. And yet he continued to just sit there, shooting a scowl her way, crossing his arms, and huffing under his breath.

“Charlie–”

“Shut up!” he suddenly shouted, little voice bouncing off the high walls of the room. Jumping off the couch, he stood in the middle of his pile of toys, face turning red. “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mum!”

She flinched back as if he’d hit her, eyes widening. “Charlie–”

“You’re just Dad’s whore! Everybody hates you! Mum says!”

Her jaw dropped open, recoiling even further from him. The boy she’d always thought of as her own stared at her with blazing eyes that were a perfect combination of Tommy and Grace’s, his mouth set in a firm line, little hands balled up into fists at his sides. 

He might as well have reached in between her ribs, and ripped out her heart. 

Lucy’s jaw worked, but no words came out; too shocked to be able to speak. Tears welled in her eyes, lips trembling as she tried to battle them back. 

“Charles Thomas Burgess Shelby!” 

The voice boomed throughout the room, roaring so loud it practically shook the stacks of books erected from the floors and lining the walls. It took Lucy so by surprise that she almost screamed.

And then Tommy was there. Tommy, who unbeknownst to both of them had been standing in the doorway. Tommy, who had heard everyone hurtful word his son had just hurled at her. 

He descended upon Charlie, taking him by the shoulders, looking down at him furiously. Charlie’s eyes had grown big as saucers, shrinking in on himself when faced with his father’s wrath. 

“You do not speak to Lucy like that. Ever. Do you hear me!? Ey?” He leaned in closer when Charlie tried to dodge his gaze. “Do you hear me!?”

“No, Tommy, don’t–” she tried, somehow managing to get the words out around the lump clogging her throat. Shouting at him will only make everything worse.

“No, Lucy! He does not get to say something like that to you without consequences.” He turned back to Charlie. “Apologize, Charlie. Now.”

“No! I want my mum! Why did you let her leave!? Why couldn’t Lucy go away instead!?”

She cringed, drawing deeper into herself, arms clutching in tight to her chest as if they could somehow shield herself from the words Charlie was erupting with. Tommy gaped at him, and she could see shock and horror at his son’s behavior leaking past the anger and protectiveness glimmering in his eyes.  

“Charlie, you don’t understand–” he tried. She could tell that he was working hard to not fully lose control of his temper. To remain calm and rational in the face of Charlie’s outburst. To not explode as he would in response to anyone else who dared speak to her like that. But Charlie wasn’t having any of it. 

“Yes, I do understand!” he stomped his little foot. Under any other circumstances it might’ve been funny. “You shot my horse! You shot my horse and you made my mum and Ruby leave! I hate you too!”

Tommy stared at him for a long moment. Lucy could see the tension standing out in the veins pulsing in his throat. “Go to your room,” he said finally, voice deadly calm. 

“No!” Charlie shouted, tears starting to stream down his cheeks now that he’d gotten all of his anger out. “No! I don’t want to!”

“Go to your room now!” Tommy bellowed, finger pointing towards the door, face contorting. 

Charlie let out a wailing, furious scream, head thrown back to the ceiling, and then raced out the door sobbing, little feet thundering up the stairs. A moment later, they heard the crash of his bedroom door slamming shut.    

Lucy let out a haggard, painful breath, rocking back and forth on her heels. Her chest heaved and her shoulders shuddered, face dropping to bury in her hands. 

“Lucy,” Tommy’s hand touched delicately at her arm just as the first sob managed to make its way past her lips. “Come here, love.” He drew her into his arms, hugging her to his chest and rubbing her back comfortingly while she started to cry. 

Her mind was completely trapped within that one singular moment, replaying it over and over, of her baby boy telling her how much everyone–himself included–despised her.  

“I’m so sorry,” Tommy said. “I don’t know why he would–”

“Why do you think!?” she burst out distraughtly, ripping away from his embrace. “His mother hates me. Who knows what she’s said about me when we aren’t around.” It was only then that she realized she was still holding the book she’d gotten down from the shelf. She set it heavily on one of the end tables by the couch. 

“Lizzie isn’t his mother…”

“Yes, she is, Tommy. She’s the one who’s always here. Who always takes care of him.” Sniffling, she scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her hand.

“That doesn’t mean–”

“It does to him. And isn’t that all that matters, in the end?”

Trouble, the tortoiseshell cat who had been living at Arrow House since Lucy adopted her after the vendetta, hopped up onto the couch, stretching and meowing at Lucy worriedly. She reached down a hand to stroke her soft black and orange head.

“I’ll talk to him.” Tommy was watching her with worried eyes. Lucy shook her head. 

“Scolding him about it will only make things worse.”

“I won’t scold him. But he can’t talk to you like that.” He took a step towards her, hand resting on her shoulder, thumb rubbing up and down. 

“I promised myself that I would never come between you and your children.”

“You’re not.”

She wasn’t really sure if she believed that. Trouble climbed up onto the armrest of the couch, angling her head in silent request for scratches under her neck that Lucy provided. Purrs rumbled in the small cat’s throat. 

“Lucy,” Tommy moved in a little closer to her. “Don’t…don’t take any of what he said to heart. He’s a kid. He’s just having a tantrum. He doesn’t really mean any of it.”

“Are you sure?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me that you meant everything that you shouted at your mum and dad as a kid?”

She couldn’t really argue with that. Tommy kissed the top of her head. 

“He loves you.”

She nodded, swallowing roughly. Trouble meowed, and she scooped the cat up, holding her like a baby. She purred, snuggling into Lucy’s chest. Tommy lowered a hand to the cat, letting her sniff at his fingertips, waiting for her approval in the form of bumping her head against his palm before he started to pet her.

“He called me a whore,” Lucy whispered. The hand Tommy still had resting on her shoulder tightened. 

“I heard.”

“Do you think Lizzie told him that?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to think that she just said it to someone else and he overhead. But…” he trailed off, then sighed. “She’s never done anything to actively try to turn the kids on you before. Not like that.” 

She nodded. That was what she suspected, too. Lizzie wasn’t that cruel. 

“Either way, she’s apparently forgotten what her previous profession was.” She could hear the edge of building frustration in his voice, and leaned back into him in an attempt to try to quell it. He slipped an arm around her waist, pressing his lips to her temple. 

“You really think that he didn’t mean any of it?” The buddings of insecurity had sprung back up inside her at Charlie’s words, doubt flooding her veins. She often worried that her presence at the house might have a negative effect on the children. A thought that made her feel so awful and guilty that she was half tempted to pack a bag and run far, far away. Or better yet, take a revolver to her head. 

Sometimes she wondered if everyone would be better off if she wasn’t around anymore. 

“He has no reason to.”

“He thinks I’m the reason that his mother is unhappy.”

“I don’t think that’s it.”

“But all that stuff about me leaving instead of Lizzie…”

“He doesn’t understand what’s going on between me and her. Not really. All he knows is that you and I both had arguments with her, and then she and Ruby left and he misses them. That’s why he’s lashing out. He doesn’t actually want you gone. I don’t believe that.”

She closed her eyes, trying to will herself into believing him instead of the cruel voices in her head. “He’s got your temper.”

She felt Tommy’s lips curl up fondly against her hair. “Yeah. We’re fucked once he hits adolescence, aren’t we?”

“Mhm.”

Sighing, he pulled out his pocket watch to take a glance at it. “What do you think? Has it been long enough for him to have calmed down yet?”

“Maybe give it a few more minutes.” 

He nodded, dropping his head to rest against the crook of her neck, laying butterfly soft kisses there. “You’ll see. By tomorrow he’ll have forgotten that the entire bloody thing even fucking happened.”

She huffed out a breathless laugh. “We can only hope so.” 

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who shot the horse. That’s what he’s really upset about.”

“No; you did the right thing. Dangerous was in pain; it would have been wrong to make him continue on like that.” 

“Yeah. He’ll understand. Someday.”

“Yeah. Someday.” She was deeply aware that they weren’t just talking about the horse.   

Would Charlie ever fully understand? She often had her doubts. Her and Tommy’s arrangement was unconventional, to say the least. Not even some of the Shelbys had ever fully been able to understand or accept it. 

Her eyes raised to sweep around the dim room, landing on a few framed photographs set up on a nearby table. In one of them, Grace was sitting with baby Charlie in her lap. Her head was turned away from the camera, looking instead upon the precious little boy clutched in her arms, cheek dimpling with a smile. Charlie’s eyes danced with joy, lips parted in the smile he was giving to his mother. 

Everyone would have been happier if I was the one who got shot that day at the charity dinner, Lucy thought, sniffling. Charlie would still have his mother. Tommy would still have his wife. They would be happy. 

Her boys; who she loved more than anything in the whole world. All she wanted was for them to be okay. To be happy.   

Trouble meowed at her, head angled up, watching her with those knowing green eyes. Lucy tightened her grip on the cat, holding her tighter to her chest. Tommy’s warm breath ghosted across her neck and shoulder where he was still resting his face against her. Leaning back into him, she closed her eyes against the warm press of her back to his front. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

Tommy stood in front of Charlie’s door, the dark wood seeming to loom over him forebodingly. He smoothed his hands down his waistcoat. Adjusted his cufflinks. Fiddled with his wedding ring. Well aware that he was stalling. 

He needed to remember to keep his cool, no matter what waited for him on the other side of that door. It was his knee-jerk response to act protectively whenever someone upset Lucy. But yelling or scolding like he did with Polly or Lizzie was unlikely to accomplish much in this situation other than make Charlie more furious with him. 

And, he really didn’t want to yell at his son.

Sighing heavily, he raised his fist, knocking twice against the door. “Charlie?”

No answer.

He opened the door anyway, stepping in and closing it softly behind him. Charlie was curled up on his side in his bed, back to the door. The stuffed horse that he’d had since he was a baby was clutched to his chest. 

Sitting down on the mattress beside him, Tommy folded his hands into his lap, despite wanting to reach out and smooth a palm across his boy’s golden hair. While he did not move or otherwise acknowledge his presence, Charlie’s eyes were open, red-rimmed and puffy from crying. 

“Charles,” he started after taking a deep breath, being mindful to keep his voice calm and soft. “I understand that these past few days have been hard, and that you miss Lizzie and Ruby, but you can’t talk to Lucy like that, mate. You hurt her feelings.”

Charlie didn’t respond, save for a small sniffle.

“Listen, Charlie,” he raised a hand to rest on his shoulder, then thought better of it and let it fall away limply instead. “I know you’re sad about Dangerous. But that’s not Lucy’s fault.” Hate me, he thought. If you have to hate anyone, hate me. But not her. “I miss him too.” 

Charlie began to sniffle again, chin trembling while a few more tears leaked out of his eyes. “He was a good horse.”

“Yeah.” This time, Tommy did rest a hand on Charlie’s head, stroking his soft hair soothingly. “Yeah, he was. But he was in pain, Charlie. And I wasn’t going to let him suffer. That would have been cruel. He didn’t deserve that; not when he’d been such a good horse to us. I know it’s hard to understand, but it was the best thing we could do for him.” He could still hear that final whinny that Dangerous let out as he pulled the trigger, see the way that his body twisted, hear the thud as he struck the hard ground. Just as he could still feel the weight of the gun in his hand, that moment of desperate, endless desire for relief as he raised it to point as his temple, holding it there. Just for a second. 

He could have pulled the trigger. And it would all have been over. No more pain. No more stress. No more unhappiness for those around him who he loved. 

No more Tommy. 

He jammed his eyes shut, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. “It was a kindness.”

Charlie started to cry harder,  burying his face in the worn material of his plushie. Tommy rubbed up and down on his small back as comfortingly as he knew how, just letting him get it all out. A good cry was probably what he had needed more than anything else.   

“I know. I know, my boy. It’s alright.” He drew in a rattling breath. “I’m sorry.” So many things he had to apologize for. If he tried to list them all, they’d have been there for an eternity. 

“I didn’t mean to hurt Lucy’s feelings,” Charlie finally said, after his tears had ceased into quiet sniffles. 

“I know you didn’t. But sometimes, we hurt people even when we don’t mean to. She loves you very much, Charlie. She only wants what’s best for you.”

Charlie sat up, rubbing at his eyes and still clutching his toy horse with one hand. “I know.” 

“You’re gonna need to apologize to her. And remind her that you love her.”

“Okay.”

Tommy nodded, a small, relieved sigh leaving his lungs. He tipped his head down to kiss his son’s forehead. Disaster averted, it would seem. 

“Where did you even hear those things that you said to her, ey? ‘Cos I know that you didn’t just come up with them all on your own.” He kept his voice light. Conversational. Easy going, even, so as to not upset him again.  

Charlie hesitated. 

“No one’s in trouble. I just want to know,” Tommy reassured. Charlie eyed him scrutinizingly, then looked down at his hands, fiddling with them in a way that reminded Tommy distinctly of how Lucy often fidgeted with her rings. 

“Mum was talking with Aunt Polly and Aunt Linda in the drawing room. I finished my spelling early, and I was going to ask Mum if I could go out into the stables. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but…”

Tommy closed his eyes, jaw tightening. But he pushed the anger down, not wanting Charlie to see it. “It was Lizzie who said it?”

“Yeah.” Charlie looked up at him with big, pleading eyes. “Please don’t be mad at her, Dad.”

A little too late for that, son. Putting an arm around him, Tommy craned his head to look down into his wide eyes. “Charlie…sometimes, Lizzie says things to or about Lucy that hurt her very much. Because she’s upset. Like what you did down there in the library.”

“But I didn’t mean it…”

“I know. And I don’t think that Lizzie often means the things that she says either. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt her, or that it’s okay to say those types of things to her. You understand?”

Charlie considered, then nodded. 

“It upsets me, Charlie, when someone makes Lucy sad. Because I love her.”

“Do you love Mum?”

The question caught him off guard, frowning. Portraits of Grace still lined the walls of Arrow House, photographs of her scattered throughout the various rooms. He’d done all he could to keep her memory alive. To make sure that bits of her lingered with them always.

“Of course, Charlie. I still love and miss your mother very much–”

“No, not Mummy,” Charlie shook his head. “Mum,” he said, with great emphasis on the distinction. “Lizzie. Do you love her?”

Tommy froze. The question pried open a well of guilt inside of him, dark and all consuming. Charlie looked at him expectantly, those eyes that were suddenly almost a perfect reflection of his own staring back at him, assessing. 

How? How did he tell his child that he did not love the woman tasked with raising him?

“You’re really missing her and Ruby, ey?” he asked instead, hoping that Charlie would allow him the reprieve of dodging the question. His son stared up at him for a beat, and Tommy could see him processing the sidestepping of the inquiry, and the silent admission that came with it. He held his breath, waiting for Charlie to start shouting or crying again. But instead he just looked away, head bowed towards the floor with his legs swinging back and forth where they dangled off the edge of the bed. Tommy thought he caught a glimmer of disappointment, but also an understanding, well beyond Charlie’s years, shimmering in his eyes.

“I guess so.”

Tommy let out a silent, relieved breath, reaching up to stroke Charlie’s hair again. 

“Why did they have to leave?”

He supposed that he shouldn’t be surprised at all these hard to answer questions being lobbed his way. Charlie was getting old enough to be able to comprehend, but not yet fully understand, that his father’s relationship with his wife and concubine was not exactly conventional.

“It’s…complicated, Charlie.”

“Are they coming back?”

“I…” I don’t know. But he couldn’t say that. Not to Charlie, at least. “I hope so.” But it was a hope not born out of missing his wife, but more so for Charlie and Ruby’s sake. He missed his sweet Ruby, with her joyful laugh and her bright eyes, terribly. 

As for Lizzie herself…she was a package deal with Ruby, and–outside of badmouthing his lover within earshot of his children–she was a good, stabilizing figure in Charlie’s life when he and Lucy weren’t home. So he tolerated her.

“Can I come out of my room now?”

Tommy looked at Charlie fondly, reaching down to ruffle his hair. “As long as you apologize to Lucy.”

“I will. Promise.”

“Alright, then.”

He followed Charlie out of his room and down the stairs, hands in his pockets, smiling a little to himself when Cyril came lumbering over to sniff and lick at Charlie’s palm, accompanying him the rest of the way to the library. Lucy wasn’t there, but Charlie’s toys were still scattered all over the floor. Tommy felt a small burst of pride as Charlie knelt down to start gathering them up and putting them neatly away. 

We made a good one, Grace, he thought, glancing over at the photograph of her on the table, a wave of the usual quiet melancholy that he always felt when he thought of her settling over him. Temper tantrums aside, of course. 

There was the soft click of nails on the floor, and then Asher was sniffing at his trouser leg, the big, black shepherd wagging his tail when Tommy reached down to stroke his head and give him a few scratches behind the ear. 

“Where did she go, Dad?” Charlie asked, finished with putting away his toys. Tommy cocked his head. 

“Ash, where’s your mum?” he asked the big black dog. His tail wagging increased. “Go find Mum!”

Asher made a little overexcited hop, and took off at a prance down the hall. Charlie took off after him.

Asher led them to the front drawing room, nosing open the door and trotting over to where Lucy was curled up on one of the sofas with Trouble. He flopped down on the floor beside her, eagerly knocking his head against her palm when she lowered it to pet him. The book she had been getting from the library when the whole mess transpired was propped up in her hands.  

Charlie hesitated a moment, looking nervous, glancing back at Tommy with wide eyes. Leaning against the wall by the door, Tommy gave him an encouraging nod. Charlie turned back to Lucy, shuffling forward.

“Lucy?”

She looked up from her book, sliding a bookmark into place and setting it aside when she saw him. “Hey, kiddo.”

Charlie inched closer until he was directly in front of her, fingers fiddling with each other again. “I…” his little brows pinched together, lips pouting. And then he flung his arms around Lucy’s neck, hiding his face away in her shirt. “I’m sorry, Lucy.”

She rested a hand on the top of his head, returning the hug strongly. Tommy felt warm affection for them both stir inside his chest.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“I didn’t mean it. I was just mad.”

“I know. I know, sweetheart.” Lucy pressed a kiss to the side of his head.

Tommy was about to go to them, when Frances appeared at his side. She glanced at Lucy and Charlie embracing, then leaned in to murmur quietly in his ear so as to not disturb them.

“Mr. Shelby, dinner is ready.”

“Thank you, Frances. We’ll be there in a minute.”

She nodded, and departed the room as quietly as she had entered. Tommy looked back at his son and his lover, crossing the room in a few strides to stand by the sofa. Charlie was still hugging Lucy tightly, and when she looked up to meet Tommy’s gaze, he could see that her eyes were a little glassy. 

“Dinner is ready,” he told her softly, reaching out a hand to pass over her shoulder. She nodded. Charlie didn’t seem to hear him, not loosening his grip around Lucy’s neck, not even when Tommy tousled his hair.   

“Charlie?” Lucy asked, gently smoothing her hand down his back. 

“I love you, Lucy,” he said, in a very small voice. Lucy leaned back, brushing away the few tears that had silently slipped down Charlie’s cheeks with her thumbs. 

“Oh, honey. I love you too.”

Charlie’s bottom lip wobbled. “I’m sorry I made you sad. I didn’t mean it.”

“I know you didn’t, sweet boy. It’s okay.”

He hugged her again, little head coming to rest on her shoulder. Lucy pecked his cheek. He was starting to lose more of the baby fat in his face, features giving way to the cheekbones that Tommy had passed onto him. 

Fuck, he’s getting older, Tommy thought, no small amount of panic interlaced with the words.

“Let’s go to dinner, kiddo, yeah? Some food will make us both feel better, I think,” Lucy encouraged, rubbing his back. Charlie nodded, but didn’t make any movements. She rolled her eyes fondly, and scooped him up into her arms, hoisting him up onto one of her hips like she used to hold him when he was a baby. 

He may have been getting older, but at least he wasn’t at the age yet where he did not welcome being carried. Tommy did not know what he would do when that day came. With either of his children. Holding them in his arms was one of the few joys in life he still had left. 

Ruby should be here, he thought mournfully, the ache of missing his daughter widening within him. And with it, another drop of resentment, to fill the already overflowing bucket that he held towards his wife, dripped in.

“You eating with us?” Lucy asked. Tommy nodded, hand finding the small of her back to help steer her towards the doors that led into the dining hall. It wasn’t an unfounded question. He’d been so busy recently that he often ate at his desk rather than in the dining room. And even then, Lucy usually had to scold him into consuming a few mouthfuls of whatever was on the tray that Frances brought him.

He had work to do. Calls to make. But they could wait until morning, he decided. Right now, he just wanted to spend time with his lover and their child.  

∗ ∗ ∗

He watched Lucy where she was standing at the window. It was dark out, and the expansive grounds of the mansion looked like a great black void surrounding them. They had come down to the sitting room after tucking Charlie into bed. It had made his heart ache with love, watching as Lucy sat down on the mattress with his son, the book he’d selected for her to read to him clutched in her hands while Charlie snuggled into her side. Tommy had stood leaning against the doorway, watching them until Charlie’s eyelids started to droop and Lucy put the book down, slipping out of the bed and kissing him on the forehead. Tommy had stepped forward to do the same, and then they’d flicked off the light and tip-toed out the door.   

Taking a step towards her, he set his glass of whiskey down on the table and wrapped his arms around her waist, tucking his head into the crook of her neck. She smelled sweetly of her rose and vanilla perfume, and he breathed in deep as he pressed a few kisses to her pulse point, drawing the scent eagerly into his lungs.

“Are you alright?” 

She brought one hand up to rest on top of his where he was holding her. “Yeah,” she said, in a voice not all that convincing. He kissed her neck again. 

“Come here.” Taking her by the hand, he pulled her with him to one of the nearby sofas. She let him maneuver her until she was laying on the couch with her head in his lap, his fingers stroking tenderly through her mussed curls while her cheek pressed into his thigh. 

“There you go,” he said when her eyes slipped closed. “Just relax. It’s okay. It’s all worked out.”

“Until there’s a next time.”

“There won’t be a next time.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“I’ll talk to Lizzie.”

She half lifted her head. “No, Tommy–” panic flashed in her eyes, but he urged her to lay back down on him.

“I’m not going to try to pick a fight over it,” he soothed, knowing how guilty she always felt whenever they argued because of her. “But she can’t talk about you like that. At least not when the kids are within earshot. I won’t have her trying to turn them against you.”

“I feel like I deserve it.”

He frowned. “What? Why?”

Her green eyes looked up at him sadly. “I’m having an affair with her husband.”

“I’m not sure what we’re doing can really be classified as an affair, love.”

“You’re fucking a woman who isn’t your wife. That’s the definition of an affair, Tommy.”

“She gave us her blessing…”

“Did she? I’d say that it’s got to be the most reluctant, begrudging blessing in the whole world, then.”  

He was quiet at that, still frowning down at her. “It’s not your fault that she’s unhappy. She knew what the arrangement between us was going to be like before we got married. She knows I’ll never leave you.”

“She changed her mind about being alright with it…”

“That’s not our problem. We shouldn’t have to upheaval our entire lives together because Lizzie decided to go back on the arrangement the three of us made. We’ve already made plenty of accommodations towards her.” He touched her cheek. “Her happiness is not your responsibility. You’ve done more than enough for her already. It’s up to her if she can figure out a way to live with us or not. And she doesn’t just get to take all her anger about a situation she got herself into out on you. I won’t allow it.” His fingers traced the shape of one of her cheekbones. “I promised I’d protect you from her”

Lucy turned her face to kiss the center of his palm. “What if she decides that she can’t live with us? If she leaves you…”

“Then I’ll deal with it.” With a sigh, he raised a hand to thumb at his brow. “I’ll try to get her to stay. For the kids, if not for anything else. I’d really rather not deal with the mess that a divorce would cause; at least not right now. Not on top of everything else. But if she really is set on leaving…I’m not going to hold her prisoner here.” 

Lucy looked down, index finger tracing over one of the buttons on his shirt. Tommy watched her shrewdly, still noting traces of miserable guilt in her eyes. He felt his heart twist at the sight of it.

“It’ll be okay,” he told her, hoping that she could see the love he had for her reflected in his eyes.

“He was right,” her lips trembled slightly. “Most everyone does hate me.”

“That’s not true.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I don’t.”

“You’re still horribly outnumbered, love.”

His fingers stroked delicately over her hair again. “Arthur doesn’t hate you. Neither does Ada. Or Uncle Charlie, or Curly, or Johnny Dogs, or Aberama, or the kids…there’s lots of people who care about you.”

A shaky breath left her lips, turning her face to hide against his stomach. Tommy put his arms around her, the embrace a little awkward due to their positioning of her laying across his thighs, but they managed. His sweet girl. His best friend. His lover. His Lucy. With her huge heart and her desperation to make everyone else’s lives better and easier even at the expense of her own. She didn’t deserve any of this. 

He wanted to gather her up, pull her into his chest where he could keep her safe and sheltered forever. 

“I love you.” His grip around her tightened, lips pressing to her neck, slowly working their way up to her cheek, brushing only just against her mouth when she turned her head to receive him. “I love you so much.” His body shifted against hers, holding her closer, suddenly desperate to comfort her in the best way that he knew how. “Let me show you.”

Her lips parted to his, hands latching onto his shoulders when he brought his mouth down more firmly on hers. A soft groan left his throat at the first slow stroke of their tongues against each other. Shifting them with a hand on the back of her head and the other at her waist, he pulled her up the couch a little so that her head was laying on the armrest with him hovering over her. 

“Should we go upstairs?” Lucy asked between long, slow kisses.

“No,” he shook his head, hands moving to open the buttons on her shirt. He heard her breath catch as he moved his face to start sucking love bites into her neck. “We have the house all to ourselves, tonight.” 

It was a rare occurrence. Where once they’d been free to fuck almost anywhere they pleased in the big mansion, after his marriage to Lizzie they ended up more often than not relegated to their room. Neither of them were particularly eager to have to face the sour mood that would likely follow if Lizzie caught them entangled together. 

A shudder went through Tommy, momentarily thrilled at the thought of being able to have her out in the open like this. His want for her was building steadily, trousers growing uncomfortably tight, not helped in the slightest when she opened her legs to let him lay in the cradle of her hips. 

Charlie almost always slept like the dead. He wouldn’t be up again tonight. And the staff had already turned in for the evening. There was no risk of them being interrupted. 

Clothes came off, tossed carelessly to the floor while they continued to kiss over and over again. Tommy’s hands threaded through her hair, feeling the soft red curls twine around his fingers, as if trying to cling to him as tightly as she was gripping his back and shoulders.  

“Tommy…” Her hand was on the nape of his neck, pulling his mouth down even more firmly onto hers. 

“Want to make you feel better…” he crooned, slipping a thigh between her legs. A needy sound left him at the slickness his leg was met with and the noise she made at the pressure he was putting on her clit. Her hips started to grind onto him, greedy hands groping at his naked torso, tracing the shapes of his scars and tattoos. He couldn’t help the delighted sound he released when she ran her fingers around the sun rays that circled his left pec, drawing the circles tighter and tighter until she brushed against his nipple.

“Fuck,” she arched her back when his hands moved to cup both her breasts. He gave each globe of flesh a firm squeeze, thumbs stroking over her hardened nipples and lightly pinching them. Her hips jerked, rubbing herself more firmly against his thigh, and he felt his cock throb in response to her wantonness. 

Propping himself up on his hands, he raised himself over her enough so that he could drink in the glories of her body. Soft, delectable curves, with full breasts and round hips, her fair skin covered in an array of freckles and scars and encasing strong, lean muscle. 

He could have stayed there just looking at her for forever. Drinking in her unfathomable beauty. He wanted to worship her. Claim her. Gorge himself on her. Lay himself at her feet and let her do what she pleased with him. Married to Lizzie or not, it was Lucy who he belonged to completely. Always. 

A growling noise sounded from low in his chest, dropping his head and beginning to slowly working kisses down her body. Taking his time lavishing her breasts with his mouth before moving lower. She whined when he had to retract his thigh from between her legs, but quieted when he brought both her legs over his shoulders. Looking up at her through the fringe that had fallen partially into his eyes, a smirk pulled at his lips at the shiver that went through her as he slid his hands up her sensitive thighs, reaching for her wetness. At the first brush against her folds he groaned, finding her already soaked and throbbing for him. 

“Fucking hell, love.” His swollen cock pulsed, aching with the thought of how easily he would be able to slide into her. Lowering his face, he pressed a kiss to her clit, tongue teasing over the sensitive nub before darting out for a taste of her folds. On either side of his head, her legs twitched, her fingers diving into his hair, hips lifting to chase his touch. At the first breach of one of his fingers into her, he felt his jaw flex with a gasp at the tight warmth that enveloped the digit. Lucy’s fingers clenched in his hair, and when he looked up it was to find her with her head lolled back against the armrest, eyes screwed shut, full lips parted with a moan, her fiery hair a mess of glorious curls around her face. 

He swallowed roughly at the sight, another shock of need traveling down his spine straight to his cock. With a soft groan, he lowered his head back to her cunt, and set to work. He knew her body better than he knew his own. Knew just how to roll his thumb over her clit to make her nearly scream. When to curl his fingers inside her to get her moans to raise a pitch. And when she was warmed up and ready enough for him to add a second finger to the mix, stretching her even wider in preparation for the girth of his impatient erection. 

He coaxed her to the very brink of orgasm, drawing her up, up, up…listening to her moans grow in frequency and pitch, feeling the way that her walls gripped and fluttered around his fingers and her clit twitched on his tongue. And then he withdrew, grinning cheekily when she let out a mournful cry, eyes popping open as he moved to prop himself above her once again. Tears welled in her eyes at her stolen orgasm, an adorable pout forming on her lips.

She looked so fucking cute like that, all pleasure-drunk and desperate. 

“Not yet, sweetheart,” he soothed, not letting her suffer for long. This was about making her feel better, after all. And he had always been incapable of denying her anything. He kissed her nose, chuckling fondly at the pleading look that crossed her face. With the hand that moments ago had two fingers knuckle-deep inside her, he grasped his erection, hard and thick between his legs. Flushed and oozing beads of precum from the tip. It ached with pent-up desire, every throbbing inch longing for her tight cunt. “Want to be inside you when you come for me.” 

He saw her pupils blow out even further than they already were, almost swallowing the green of her irises completely. “Tommy,” she reached out, pulling his mouth back to hers. He kissed her back desperately, each of them moaning into the other’s mouth as he lined himself up, weeping cockhead nudging at her entrance. 

“Ready?” he asked between long, wet kisses. He always liked to make sure. At her enthusiastic nod and mumble of consent, he pushed just the first few inches of his cock in, then withdrew completely, then pushed only the head back in again. She whimpered, nails scratching down his biceps lightly. 

“You’re such a fucking tease, you know that?”

He laughed, nuzzling at her cheek affectionately, as if his cock wasn’t crying out to him in protest each time that he withdrew it from her tight, wet entrance. Taking his chin in her hand, Lucy guided his mouth to hers, those pillow-soft lips of hers curled up into a smile as they brushed against his. Her other hand went to his ass, giving a gentle press to encourage him to go deeper, and this time he relented. Low moans were unleashed into each other’s mouths as he finally pushed himself all the way inside of her, until his balls rested against her and their hips were flush together.

Tommy’s head spun with the feeling of being buried to the hilt inside her. The fit was so snug, it made stars pop across his vision. He swore that there was no feeling in the world better than this. Being one with her. Having her in the circle of his arms. The warmth of her kiss sinking into his skin.  

He pushed himself up on his hands just enough to be able to brush a few tendrils of hair out of her face, caressing her cheek and smiling down at her softly. She smiled back at him, almost shyly. 

“I love you,” he punctuated the statement with a kiss. Her arms went around his shoulders.

“I love you too.”

He kissed her again, reaching down to take hold of one of her thighs to hook it around his waist, and then he slowly started to thrust.

Sex with Lucy had always been one of his greatest comforts. It served as a reaffirmation of the connection between them, that little invisible thread that seemed to tether them together only growing stronger with every touch. No one else made him feel so loved, so safe and free to simply be himself, as Lucy did. More and more these days, he found himself needing the reminder that she was still there. Despite everything. All the shit he’d put her through. All the monumental sacrifices that she had to make to be with him. She was still there, and she still loved him. 

It had never been lost on him how lucky he was. 

Most days, he ached both in and out with wounds that would never wholly heal. But her just being there made it all easier. She made him happy, even on the days when he started to think that he’d lost the ability to feel any sort of joyous emotion at all.  

“Lucy,” he grunted. Her walls were hugging every inch of his cock, squeezing tight enough around him to make him feel almost light headed. He watched her long lashes flutter, head falling back to expose the length of her pale throat to his kisses while she moaned as he found the right angle in his thrusts to rub right up against that spot that always had her coming in record time. 

“Right there. Right there. Don’t stop,” she begged, nails scoring down his back, no doubt leaving faint red scratches in their wake. Reaching a hand between them, he thumbed at her clit, drawing tight circles around it in time with their love making. 

He could feel the sensation of tingles starting to build at the base of his spine, his balls beginning to tense and draw up as they prepared to spill his load. He groaned deeply at the sensation of her hand gripping his ass so tightly he was sure that she left little crescent moon indentations from her nails behind. The idea of being marked by her in such a way was enough to make his eyes roll in his head, hips bucking more vigorously. 

“I’m coming,” she gasped, as if he could not already feel it in the way that she squeezed around him so tight that it felt like she was trying to draw his very soul out through his cock and into her. The hand she had resting on the back of his neck pressed his face down more firmly against where he was sucking at the place where her neck met shoulder. The flexing and tightening of her walls around him had Tommy careening right over the edge with her, cock twitching and then releasing as he let out a thunderous groan, rolling his hips a few more times to prologue the pleasure as he spilled into her. 

He stilled with a deep sigh, head coming to rest on her clavicle, arms wrapping around her, keeping his still slightly twitching cock buried deep in her body. Lucy draped her arms around his shoulders. They were both covered in a light sheen of sweat, chests heaving as they fought to catch their breaths. 

Tommy closed his eyes, peacefulness momentarily sweeping over him as Lucy started to absentmindedly trace her fingers over a scar on his shoulder, then reached up to stroke his hair. Turning his face, he pecked at one of the many scars that covered her skin, nuzzling before raising his head to find her lips once more.    

“Feeling better?” he asked, moving his mouth from her lips to her cheek. 

“Mhm,” she brushed a few bits of dark hair out of his eyes. “Thank you.” Cradling his face, she kissed him again softly. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He moved to kiss her neck again a few times. “You’re a good mum, you know.”

She averted her gaze, suddenly becoming very interested in rubbing a hand up and down his chest. Tommy’s fingers curled at her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes.

“You are.” His voice was stern, but kind. “Charlie adores you. They both do.”

Her hand flattened against the smattering of hair on his chest, and based on how still she suddenly became, he could tell that she was feeling the steady rise and fall of his breaths and the thump of his heart. 

“Thank you,” she said again, and he knew from simply looking into her eyes that she was talking about far more than just tonight or his words of reassurance. He gave her a soft look, brushing his nose affectionately against hers. Dropping his face to bury into the side of her neck, he breathed in the lingering scent of her perfume, enjoying the warmth of her skin. The weight of her tucked in his arms was incredibly comforting. He could have stayed there forever. 

But falling asleep on the couch was likely to cause her shoulders to bother her come morning. Even without her chronic pain, neither of them were exactly spring chickens anymore. Her remembered when they used to be able to fuck on the floor without issue. 

“Shall we go to bed?” Lucy asked, apparently thinking the same thing that he was. Tommy nodded, drawing himself up enough to kiss her once more before he pulled out, both of them wincing a little at the oversensitivity as he withdrew his softening cock. Sitting up on the couch, he began hunting around for their clothes, dragging on his underwear and passing Lucy her knickers. 

“Oi!” he huffed, trying–and failing–to hide his smile when she snatched away his undershirt, pulling it on to let it hang loosely over her body. She was short enough that it came down nearly to her mid-thigh.

“Mine now,” she said possessively, flashing him a cheeky grin. Tommy cupped the back of her head, drawing her in for yet another kiss. 

“Looks better on you anyway.”

She smiled, looking down bashfully, cheeks turning an adorable light pink. An undignified yelp left her lips when he suddenly stood and scooped her up, carrying her bridal style towards the stairs. 

“What about the rest of our clothes?” she laughed, looping her arms around his neck. 

“The maids will deal with them.”

She hummed, letting her head lean against his chest. His steps stuttered when she started to pepper firm kisses all across his skin, breath hitching when she let her teeth nip teasingly at his nipple, footfalls growing hastier, until he was almost speed-walking towards their room. 

She opened the door for him since his hands were full, and he didn’t bother turning on a light as he stepped in and kicked the door shut behind him. Moonlight snuck in through the sheer curtains, casting silvery-blue beams across the floor. Tommy captured her lips in his, movements creaking the floorboards as he managed to get them to the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows after he tossed her onto the mattress, and it was not lost on him how her eyes trained on his naked chest before lowering to fix on the tent already starting to form in his shorts. 

“Again?” she laughed, as he crawled on top of her.

“Again,” he affirmed, and descended on her with a playful growl.

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[koi-p0nd]

Came at the speed of gay for Anya! If I may, can I ask for a reader who’s the copilot instead of Jambalaya and is just a happy go lucky but overly curious ray of sunshine who has a mad crush on Anya? No crash and they offer to let Anya to be their roommate when they’re back. Thank you so much!!

Imma see what I can do!! (And hope you don't mind that I still had Jimmy in this but with a different kind of occupation and a little bit more inspired from the Nice Jimmy AU :p)

"Sunshine Eyes and Moonlit Smiles."

Before boarding the Tulpar.

After having met everyone a few days before boarding the ship, somewhat aquintanced with eachother and whatnot. Learning eachothers different titles.

Curly as the Captain.

You as the Co-Pilot.

Anya as the Nursa.

Jimmy as the Tech/Machinery Mechanic.

Swansea as the Tech/Electrician.

And Daisuke as the Tech/Electrician Intern.

After boarding the Tulpar.

Everyone took their time getting comfortable and all, settling in with their things in their rooms/cabins. Getting familiar of the Tulpars layout.

Not many of you bothered to actually socialize the first few days, other than Daisuke talking with everyone and Curly occasionally asking for help or handing out the days tasks and/or chores.

As the time went on, around a few weeks or a month so did all 6 actually start to spend time and get to know eachother.

But you already knew Jimmy and Curly from before, so you kind of hung out with them more than the others at first.

It was all decent and such, but you had caught some sort of interest in Anya without even realising it.

Poor poor you, Jimmy and Curly would quickly understand that you were crushing on the nurse without knowing it.

They're going to tease the ever living shit out of you for it.

Fr on god.

Relationship with Anya.

It started off as just familiars with one another at first.

Occasional small talk in the halls and cafeteria/lounge during breaks.

Got to know eachother a little more over time and bonded to be friends during the game nights that Curly had with the whole crew.

You actually found her as an oddly funny, outgoing and interesting lady, but still kept for herself and exhausted.

Fuck, you hated being down bad for women like that.

And without even knowing that you were down bad for women like Anya, you just fell for her. Head over heels puppy love style, minus the constant clinginess.

Jimmy and Curly is teasing you about this, even after realising your feelings about Anya.

Swansea had noticed this as well but chose to not make any comments, thinking that he's "too old to make jabs at others" regarding their persons of interests.

Daisuke were thankfully oblivious.

But now you were scared of ruining your friendship with her by confessing your feelings to her.

Lets just say that Curly (with your permission) had dropped a slight hint about your crush to her instead of you.

You would just be a nervous mess and talk about something else entirely.

Long Nights with Anya on the Tulpar.

You and Anya would often sit on the couch in the lounge, looking at the night time window screen and quietly talk about life.

It became sort of a routine by now. When both couldn't sleep, one would find the other in the small kitchen area and just decide to talk about random things untill exhaustion came.

Tonight was particularly rough. The day had been long, boring and a few but extremely tideous tasks.

Due to your tiredness, not noticing how the words had slipped passed your lips and broke the quite atmosphere.

"Hey, Anya? This might sound...weird and unprofessional, being colleagues and all... But I've had these feelings for you lately..."

Your face were a deep red, brain restirging what you just said.

Anya would just sit there, a little awkwardly and very caught off guard by your sudden confession.

You just muttered a quick apology and a silent good night berofe running off in embarrasment.

After the Sudden Confession.

Things between you two were a little awkward, but not noticeable to the others.

That was untill the raven haired woman had cornered you in the Medical Room one day and confronted you about it.

It took a few hours for you to be able to actually leave.

But things were no longer tense, and you were kinda giddy.

The tiny fuzzy feeling of that peck on your cheek stayed the whole two days afterwards.

You didn't dare tell anyone about this, so it was just a little secret between you and Anya.

Coming Back to Earth.

You had thought about asking Anya to be your roomate once you guys got off, but she beat you to it.

She asked you that instead, with that warm cozy smile of hers that you just can't resist. So you eagerly accepted her offer.

Not long after, you two shared a small but decent and cozy apartment together in a downtown area with cozy shops and cafes.

Anya would often times just stare into your eyes, always questioned by you as to why and would give the same answer or similar ones.

"Your eyes looks like a sunrise in early october."

October is her favourite season of the year. And to hear your eyes looking like a sunrise around that time always made you feel all putty and warm inside.

Bonus!

You two eventually started dating after a few months.

Anya miraculously got into a nearby nursing school while you got a job at a nearby restaurant.

So you would earn in the money for your halfs of the rent, bills and foods while Anya payed the other half with her study loans.

Once Anya graduates from nursing school and saved up enough money (this is like, a few years of dating), she started to plan yours two wedding. And how she's gonna propose for you.

You two had a small little venue and wedding, having invited the crew and some very close family members.

You two also got a sphynx and mainecoon.

Absolute couch potatoes and food motivated.

[sparks-and-smoke]

Hello!

What about an avengers reader and bucky fic where reader dosnt realize they are in an depressive episode but bucky or steve or both ( platonically or romantically) notices.

Haha I just surfaced from a major depressive episode so that's where the inspiration came from.

Also hi!

Hi <3 this one is a little longer because, well I guess I needed it too. Plus fluffy lovey Stucky is my bread and butter. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader, Bucky barnes x reader, Stucky (but not really the focus)

Content/Warnings: mental health, depression, anxiety, self care

Author Note: as someone who also struggles with mental health I personally loved this ask. Thank you, and I hope your feeling better sweets. Take care. 

(Bonus note from my editor @voice-of-velhart)

Editor Note: Depression is not an easy thing to make your way out of, but I'm proud of ya'll for pushing through it and I'm glad your here. <3

The brain fog was the thing that set in first. It was hard to fall out of a routine living in the compound. Day in and Day out it was training and meal regimens. Sparring and paperwork. Someone was always around and yet you felt like you were drifting. Going through the motions with little to no reason to do so other than if you didn’t what else would fill your day. No one seemed to notice your lack of enthusiasm, or how your typically attentive nature had been slipping lately. Your reports were still on time and you weren’t pulling your punches in training so you were probably fine… right?

It was burn out or maybe you were feeling under the weather. At least that's what you told them if they asked. And while your friends and team loved you, they were busy people with the literal weight of the world on their shoulders. So who could blame them when they didn’t keep tabs, or at least you thought they didn’t keep tabs. 

Bucky sat in the library trying to find a fantasy book he hadn’t already read. Tony was a brilliant guy but he had horrible taste in written fiction. As he perused, he kept you in his peripheral vision. You stared down at your now cold cup of coffee looking lost even though you weren’t moving. He had noticed you are like this a lot the last few weeks. You shower less and less, your normally shiny maintained hair more often than not on the greasy and dull side of the spectrum. And he hadn’t seen you touch the piano or your switch in days. He was getting concerned. 

He taps Steve with his foot. “What?” 

The big guy had been deep in thought, sprawled out in a lounge chair with his nose in a tablet. “Have you noticed Angel is different lately?” 

Steve glanced up, taking a look at their girl as she swirled the coffee in her mug, totally disassociating. “Yeah, she said she was under the weather. I tried to get it out of her what was wrong but she’s being cagey.” his brows knit together in a mask of concern. “Sure is lingering a long time to be just a bug, don't cha think?”

Bucky nodded, “Yeah I do… what are we gonna do about it.” 

Steve sighed heavily and set down his tablet, giving the issue his full attention. He thinks back to those long cold winters in brooklyn. When the snow was deep and his bones would ache so bad he didn’t wanna get out of bed. There were always little things that would help him get out of those slumps. Bucky making him get up and shower was always a good start, followed by warm food and if they could find it, sunlight. 

“I think we're gonna start by helping our girl feel human again..” 

~~~~

Steve and Bucky formed a game plan. The two men are nothing if not efficient and tactical. Steve went down stairs to start food. Something starchy and savory. Comfort food. Meanwhile, Bucky started operation Angel Self Care. 

“Angel.” Bucky's voice was soft, wrapped in warm velvet. And you barely registered it before he was crouching down and smoothing back your hair from your face. Taking your untouched cup out of your hand. “How long have you been sitting here, beautiful?” 

You shook your head as if you could wave away the mist behind your eyes. “Oh, I don’t know. Lost track of time I guess.” Bucky just hums. Yeah, he knows that feeling. He also knew it never led anywhere good. 

“Lost in thought?” 

You looked up to meet his gaze, warmth and concern mixing in the set of his jaw and the draw of his brows. “Yeah I guess. I’m fine babe. Don’t worry about it I’m just..”

“Feeling under the weather. Yeah, I know. You’ve been saying that a lot lately. I’m starting to think it’s a cop out.”

It is and you know it but you don’t know what else to say. “I just. I don’t know what wrong with me lately. I just… I don’t wanna do anything. Like anything ya know? It’s like sometimes waking up alone is all I have in me for the day. Do you know how that feels.”

If anyone knew how you felt it was Bucky. Hell sometimes he still felt that way, decades of torture and actions out of his own control had left him with more then his own share of depressive tendencies that drag him deep down under the current of reality pretty regularly. There are days he goes completely nonverbal, only going through the motions on autopilot. The only people who can pull him out are Steve, and you. And therapy, lots of therapy. “Of course I do. You know I do. But Angel, you can’t live there. It’s ok to feel it, but you need to acknowledge it and try to crawl back out. It’s ok if you can’t do it alone baby.”

You feel a thick lump forming in your throat that you can’t quite swallow down. The urge to argue, to tell him your fine and he’s being overbearing was there. But more then that you knew he was right. Something was wrong, and you couldn’t climb out on your own. But you weren’t ready to say it. Not yet. 

“Come on honey, let’s get you cleaned up and get some food in your belly. That might help a little.” Bucky didn’t wait for you to protest, he slid one arm under your legs and the other around your back and headed up to Steve’s quarters. Not caring in the slightest if teammates or recruits saw. That was a problem for later Bucky. 

~~~~

The big six had full apartments in the upper levels of the compound. Which means he could squirrel you away to Steve’s private bath and get you in the shower. Vetiver and pine, a familiar comforting scent. Gently and quietly he started the shower to an acceptable temperature for you (hot enough to turn your skin the next shade of blush.) and stripped you down to help you in. 

There was nothing sexual about the way he did this. It was all just about loving you. Helping you, as  he guided you into the water and let it wash away your stress. He pulled you back against his chest. “There’s my girl. That feel better Angel?” 

You nod as the smell of Steve’s body wash fills the small space. “Do you mind if I wash you?” 

With your permission he sets about cleaning you up. Slow loving strokes over your body as he pulls you back to lean on his chest. “You know you can talk to us about anything right. Steve and I love you. You’ve been here for us. Let us do the same.” 

“I would tell you… if I knew why I felt this way.” You confess. “If I had some inkling of what I needed to get out to feel better but I don’t.” 

Your voice wavers and it breaks Bucky's heart just a little. He wants to fix it. But he knows he can’t. All he can do is be there for you. “Well, I’m glad you trust me enough to help you.” He tilts your head back. Starting to wash your hair. “We’ll just take it one step at a time till we find ground again. Ok?

~~~~ 

Downstairs Steve fretted over the stove. Sweet potato pierogi and with onions and butter. It was easy, simple even. But it always made him feel better as a kid and the few times he had made it you liked it. He looked up as he heard feet pad down into the kitchen. Hair still damp, but clean. In fresh sweats and Bucky's shirt. 

“Ahh, there you are. Do you feel better?”

“Yeah… a little.” You admit, sitting on a stool across the island. 

Steve rounds the counter to kiss your forehead. “You look better.” He inhaled her skin, the longer scent of his soap and Bucky's touch still there, along with that sweet undertone that was all you. “Smell better too.” He teased. 

You breath out your nose with a half hearted huff. “Thanks.” 

“Always angel. Here. I made you some food. You don’t have to eat it all but at least a few bites would ease my mind. And then maybe we can go up to the room and get you some sun hmm? Would you be ok with that.” Steve slid the colorful pasta across the counter to you with a warm smile. Trying to coax you to follow his lead. 

“Yeah. Sounds good.” You eat mostly in silence. Steve and Bucky don’t push you to talk as you fill your stomach. You know they're worried. But even just these small gestures are helping you feel like maybe there is an end to this malaise. You see Steve smile and kiss Bucky softly in thanks as they wait for you to tell them you're ready. 

They spend the rest of the day trying to get you some sun. Fresh air and movement. 

“We’re gonna do this a little everyday till you start feeling better. And if you need it or feel up to it we can look into talking to a therapist too.” Steve assures. His hand firmly laced through your own. “You are not alone in this. We all feel this way sometimes. But I’m proud of you for trying love.”

A flicker of hope flies in your chest at his words. You aren’t alone, this isn’t forever. And your men are gonna love you through it till you can do it on you own.

[amethystarachnid]

Hiii, I'd like to request Winter Wonderland Date with tony, please please! Reader planning this cute date for him after he's back from a hard mission ❤️

CHRISTMAS DATE

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4.6k

ᯓ★ Summary: After Tony came back from an hard mission you decide to pamper him for a bit, after all he deserves it. So you organize a little date that...ended up as a snowball fight somehow.

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

It’s late December, and the world outside your window is a perfect postcard of winter. Snow drifts lazily under the soft glow of streetlamps, frosting the trees and rooftops like icing on a cake. Inside the warmth of Tony’s penthouse, it’s a stark contrast: cozy, intimate, and filled with the faint hum of Jarvis’ quiet vigilance. You wake up before dawn, your mind already set on the plan you’ve been hatching since Tony returned from his mission last night—exhausted, bruised, and trying to hide just how much it had taken out of him.

He doesn’t say much when he’s hurting. You’ve come to understand that. Instead, he makes jokes that don’t quite land or buries himself in the workshop, tinkering as if he can solder away his weariness. But last night, after you coaxed him out of the suit, patched him up, and pulled him into bed, he finally let himself relax against you, his breathing evening out as sleep claimed him. You stayed awake a while longer, watching his face, soft and peaceful in slumber, and you resolved then and there to make today about him. At least the morning—he’d insist on returning to work or starting another project in the afternoon, you’re sure of it.

Now, as the first hints of morning light begin to peek through the curtains, you slip out of bed as quietly as you can manage. Tony stirs slightly, his arm reaching instinctively for you, but he doesn’t wake. You smile to yourself and gently tuck the blanket around him before padding out of the room.

The kitchen is dim and serene, the kind of silence that makes you feel like the world is still holding its breath. You’ve become familiar with this space over the months—luxurious appliances gleaming in chrome, countertops that seem too perfect to actually cook on. But today, it’s not about gourmet meals or culinary experiments. Today, it’s about comfort.

You set a small pot on the stove, pouring in milk and a touch of cream, stirring gently as it warms. The rich aroma of melting chocolate fills the air as you add the cocoa, whisking until it’s velvety smooth. A pinch of cinnamon, a dash of vanilla, and it’s perfect. You pull out a plate of cookies you baked the day before—soft, buttery, and just slightly crisp around the edges. Arranging everything on a tray, you add a small vase with a single sprig of holly for a festive touch. It’s simple, but you know Tony will appreciate the effort.

Balancing the tray carefully, you make your way back to the bedroom. Tony’s still sprawled across the bed, one arm thrown over his eyes as if to shield himself from the world. His hair is a mess of dark, unruly curls, and his breathing is slow and even. For a moment, you just stand there, taking him in. He looks so vulnerable like this, so human, and your heart aches with the depth of your love for him.

“Tony,” you whisper softly, setting the tray on the bedside table. You sit on the edge of the bed and brush your fingers lightly over his hair. “Wake up, sweetheart. I’ve got something for you.”

He stirs, his brow furrowing slightly before his eyes blink open, heavy-lidded and still clouded with sleep. When he sees you, a slow, lazy smile spreads across his face. “Morning,” he murmurs, his voice rough and warm.

“Morning,” you reply, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. “I brought you breakfast in bed. Thought you could use a little spoiling today.”

His eyes drift to the tray, and he raises an eyebrow. “Hot cocoa and cookies? Are you trying to win the Best Girlfriend Ever award?”

“Maybe,” you tease, handing him the mug. “Taste it first. Then decide if I’m worthy.”

He sits up slowly, wincing slightly as he shifts his weight, and you’re immediately by his side, fussing over the pillows to make him more comfortable. He chuckles softly, the sound low and affectionate. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

“Drink your cocoa,” you reply, ignoring the way your cheeks flush at his words.

Tony takes a cautious sip, his eyes widening slightly as the rich, chocolatey warmth spreads through him. “Damn, that’s good,” he says, shooting you an impressed look. “Seriously, where have you been hiding this talent?”

“I have my secrets,” you say with a grin, breaking off a piece of cookie and offering it to him. He accepts it with a playful nip at your fingers, making you laugh.

For a while, the two of you sit in companionable silence, sharing sips of cocoa and bites of cookies. Outside, the world begins to wake, but in this little bubble of warmth and love, it feels like time has slowed down just for you. Tony leans back against the headboard, his expression soft and content as he watches you.

“You really didn’t have to do all this,” he says after a moment, his voice tinged with gratitude. “But I’m glad you did.”

“You’ve been through so much lately,” you reply, reaching out to trace a finger along his jawline. “You deserve to be taken care of, Tony. Just for a little while. Let me do this for you.”

He catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you quip, but your smile is soft, your heart swelling at his words.

The morning drifts on in a haze of laughter and warmth, with Tony’s humor making a grand appearance. After finishing breakfast, he insists on recounting the mission with an exaggerated flair, turning the most mundane details into a theatrical saga.

“And then, after I heroically deactivated the bomb,” he says, gesturing dramatically, “I had to fight off twelve—no, fifteen ninjas! All armed with lasers. And, of course, my suit was running on three percent battery.”

“Fifteen ninjas?” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “And lasers? Sounds totally plausible.”

“Hey, you weren’t there,” he counters, smirking. “I’m telling you, it was epic. You would have been swooning in the background, yelling, ‘Save me, Tony!’”

“Oh, absolutely,” you say dryly, throwing a pillow at him. He catches it effortlessly, laughing.

By lunchtime, the two of you are sprawled on the couch, the remnants of breakfast still sitting on the coffee table. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his head resting against yours. “So, what’s the plan for lunch?” he asks, his tone hopeful. “I’m assuming we’re not having cookies for round two.”

“Takeout?” you suggest. “I’m not in the mood to cook, and you’re not allowed to lift a finger today.”

“Takeout it is,” he agrees, reaching for his phone. After scrolling through a few options, he lands on Chinese food. “How about dumplings, noodles, and… oh, sweet and sour chicken? Classic.”

When the food arrives, there’s a knock at the door, and you’re the one who gets up to answer it. The delivery guy’s eyes go wide when he sees who the food is for. “Oh my God,” he says, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Tony lounging on the couch. “Is that… Tony Stark? Can I get a photo with him?”

“No,” you say firmly, stepping in front of the doorway to block his view. “He’s resting.”

“Resting?” Tony calls from the couch, his voice laced with mock indignation. “I’ll have you know, I’m engaging in a highly advanced relaxation protocol. It’s a critical part of my genius process.”

The delivery guy looks torn between disappointment and amusement, and you thank him quickly before shutting the door. “You’re insufferable,” you say, bringing the bags of food to the coffee table.

“Insufferably charming,” he corrects, sitting up to help unpack the containers. “Besides, I’m not above taking bribes. Maybe next time he shows up with extra dumplings, I’ll consider a selfie.”

Lunch is a leisurely affair, with Tony cracking jokes about everything from the fortune cookies to the absurd number of sauce packets. At one point, he grabs a pair of chopsticks and uses them to mime a kung fu routine, nearly knocking over a bowl of noodles in the process.

“You’re going to regret that when you’re hungry later,” you warn, rescuing the bowl just in time.

“True,” he admits, grinning. “But it was worth it for the laugh. Did you see that spin? I’m telling you, I’ve got moves.”

After lunch, Tony stretches out on the couch, pulling you down with him. “Alright, boss,” he says, his tone teasing. “What’s next on the itinerary? Another round of pampering? Maybe a foot rub?”

“Don’t push your luck,” you reply, though you’re smiling as you settle against his chest. His arms wrap around you, holding you close, and for a while, the two of you simply exist in the quiet comfort of each other’s presence.

“You know,” he says softly after a while, his voice losing its usual edge of humor. “Days like this… they remind me why I keep fighting. Why I keep putting the suit on, even when it feels like it’s too much.”

“Why’s that?” you ask, your voice just as soft.

“Because of you,” he says simply, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Because you make it all worth it.”

Your heart swells at his words, and you tilt your head up to meet his gaze. “I love you, Tony Stark.”

He smiles, that familiar mix of arrogance and tenderness lighting up his face. “I love you more.”

“Not possible,” you counter, and he laughs, the sound warm and genuine. In that moment, as the snow falls softly outside and the world narrows to just the two of you, it feels like nothing else matters.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the two of you are still lounging on the couch, cocooned in the comfort of the penthouse. Outside, the snow continues to fall gently, blanketing the city in pristine white. Tony’s arm is draped over your shoulders, his fingers idly playing with a strand of your hair as a cheesy holiday movie plays in the background. But as cozy as it is, a thought begins to creep into your mind: you’ve been cooped up indoors all day.

And while Tony deserves every second of pampering and rest, there’s something about the snow outside that calls to you.

You shift to look at him, a mischievous smile forming. “Tony,” you say, drawing out his name in a way that instantly makes him suspicious.

“What?” he replies, his eyes narrowing slightly. “That tone usually precedes something that involves effort.”

You laugh, swatting his chest playfully. “We’ve been inside all day. Let’s go out for a walk. The park looks beautiful in the snow.”

“A walk?” he echoes, raising an eyebrow. “In the snow? Are you trying to give me frostbite?”

“Oh, come on,” you say, tugging at his hand. “You spend half your life in a suit flying through ice-cold skies. You can handle a little stroll. Plus, it’ll be fun! We’ll bundle up, get some fresh air, maybe even build a snowman.”

He groans dramatically, but you can see the faint hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Fine,” he concedes, “but if I lose a toe, you’re carrying me back.”

Fifteen minutes later, the two of you are stepping out into the crisp winter air, bundled up in coats, scarves, and hats. The park is stunning, the snow covering the ground like a glittering quilt. Families are scattered around, children laughing as they build snowmen or sled down gentle slopes. The air smells of pine and winter, and your breath forms small clouds as you exhale.

Tony walks beside you, his hands shoved into his pockets. His usual swagger is slightly subdued by the weight of the snow boots he grudgingly put on, but his eyes are alert, taking in the scene around him. Despite his earlier protests, you can tell he’s enjoying himself.

“See?” you say, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Isn’t this nice?”

“It’s tolerable,” he replies, his voice dripping with mock indifference. “Though I think I should’ve brought the suit. Would’ve made the walk quicker.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re impossible.”

As you continue walking, the two of you pass a group of kids engaged in a full-blown snowball fight. One of them glances over and does a double take, their eyes widening in recognition.

“Hey!” the kid shouts. “Isn’t that Iron Man?”

Tony freezes for a moment before turning to you with a look of exaggerated horror. “They’ve spotted me,” he whispers. “My cover’s blown.”

You laugh, but before you can reply, a snowball whizzes through the air and splats against Tony’s shoulder. The kids burst into laughter, their faces lit with glee.

Tony looks down at his now-snow-covered coat, then back at the kids. “Oh, it’s on,” he declares, bending down to scoop up a handful of snow.

“Tony,” you warn, already laughing as he molds the snow into a perfect ball.

“What?” he says innocently, his hand twitching with barely restrained anticipation. “I’m just participating in a friendly local tradition.”

Before you can protest further, he hurls the snowball with unerring accuracy, hitting one of the kids squarely in the chest. The kid lets out a delighted shriek, and suddenly, you’re both in the middle of an impromptu snowball war.

Tony’s competitive streak comes out in full force as he dodges incoming snowballs with surprising agility, retaliating with precise shots that leave his opponents scrambling for cover. You can’t stop laughing, your cheeks aching from the cold and your own mirth as you join in, pelting Tony with snow whenever you get the chance.

“Traitor!” he cries dramatically when one of your snowballs catches him in the side.

“All’s fair in love and snowball fights,” you retort, ducking behind a tree as he launches a counterattack.

By now, a small crowd has gathered to watch the spectacle, their faces a mix of astonishment and amusement. It’s not every day they get to see Tony Stark, billionaire genius and Avenger, rolling around in the snow like a kid.

One particularly brave onlooker calls out, “Hey, Stark! What happened to saving the world?”

Tony pauses, brushing snow off his coat with mock dignity. “World’s fine,” he says, grinning. “Today, I’m saving this park from a severe lack of fun.”

His comment earns a round of laughter and applause, and you shake your head, a fond smile on your lips. He may be ridiculous, but he’s your ridiculous.

After what feels like hours but is probably only twenty minutes, the two of you finally call a truce. Tony brushes the snow from his hair, his cheeks flushed and his eyes bright. You can’t remember the last time you saw him look so carefree.

“Happy now?” he asks as you both sit on a bench, catching your breath.

“Very,” you reply, leaning your head against his shoulder. “See? I told you this was a good idea.”

He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “You’re lucky I love you,” he says, his voice warm with affection. “Otherwise, I’d be back in the penthouse with a hot toddy right now.”

You smile, your heart swelling with love for this man who, despite his sarcasm and dramatics, has given you more happiness than you ever thought possible. “I love you too,” you say softly, and as the snow continues to fall around you, you know this is a moment you’ll cherish forever.

The snow-dusted park begins to empty as dusk falls, leaving you and Tony to meander through the winding paths. The twinkling lights of the nearby Christmas market catch your eye, and you tug at Tony’s arm excitedly.

“Let’s check it out!” you say, your voice full of anticipation.

He raises an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “A Christmas market? Are we talking handmade ornaments and hot cider? Because that sounds dangerously wholesome for me.”

“Exactly,” you reply, grinning. “You could use some wholesome holiday cheer.”

He sighs theatrically, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he lets you pull him along. “Fine. But if anyone tries to sell me a macramé reindeer, I’m blaming you.”

The market is alive with the spirit of the season: stalls adorned with garlands of holly and fairy lights, the air filled with the scents of roasted chestnuts, cinnamon, and pine. Shoppers bustle about, their laughter mingling with the festive tunes of a nearby street performer. Tony, with his designer coat and slightly aloof demeanor, stands out among the crowd, but you can see his curiosity growing as you wander through the stalls.

You stop at a vendor selling hand-carved wooden ornaments, picking up a delicate snowflake. “Look at this,” you say, holding it up for him to see. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He examines it, his brow furrowing slightly. “Impressive craftsmanship,” he admits. “Though I could probably make one out of titanium that lights up and plays music.”

You laugh. “Sometimes simple is better.”

Tony hums noncommittally but pulls out his wallet and buys the snowflake anyway. “For the tree,” he says, handing it to you with a wink. “Consider it my contribution to holiday spirit.”

As you continue to explore, you sample hot cocoa from one stall and share a warm pretzel from another. Tony jokes about the absurdly large candy canes for sale and even lets you drag him to a booth where you try on silly Christmas hats. The vendors are visibly starstruck but do their best to act casual, which only amuses Tony further.

“I think they’re too scared to upsell me,” he whispers as you pass a stall selling scented candles. “Should I ask if they’ve got anything in the ‘cashmere and billionaire’ scent?”

By the time you’ve made a full circuit of the market, your cheeks are flushed from the cold, and your arms are laden with small treasures—a knitted scarf, a jar of homemade jam, and the snowflake ornament. Tony looks at you, his expression softening. “You’re glowing,” he says, brushing a stray snowflake from your hair. “I’d say this market has worked its magic on you.”

“It’s just nice,” you reply, leaning into him. “Being out here with you, enjoying the little things.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, his lips warm against your chilled skin. “You know what would make it even better?” he asks, his voice taking on a mischievous edge.

“What?” you ask, tilting your head to look at him.

“Dinner,” he replies. “And I’m not talking about another round of takeout. Let’s do this properly.”

You blink, surprised. “Tony, it’s Christmas Eve. Every decent restaurant is probably booked solid.”

He smirks, his confidence radiating. “Sweetheart, I’m Tony Stark. Give me ten minutes.”

True to his word, less than ten minutes later, the two of you are stepping into the opulent warmth of a Michelin-starred restaurant. The maître d’ greets Tony with a mixture of awe and brisk professionalism, leading you to a secluded table near a grand fireplace. The room is elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a view of the snowy cityscape, and the soft strains of a piano fill the air.

Tony pulls out your chair with a flourish, earning an amused look from you. “Look at you, all chivalrous,” you tease as you sit down.

“Don’t get used to it,” he quips, taking his seat across from you. “I’m only doing it to impress you.”

The server arrives promptly, presenting a leather-bound menu with a list of dishes so refined you feel like you’re reading poetry. Tony, of course, scans the menu with the ease of someone accustomed to such luxuries, but he pauses when he notices your hesitation.

“Anything catching your eye?” he asks, his tone gentle.

“I don’t even know what half of these things are,” you admit with a laugh. “But it all sounds amazing.”

He grins. “Then we’ll order a little bit of everything. Trust me, it’s the best way to do it.”

Over the next few hours, you’re treated to a culinary experience unlike any you’ve ever had. Plates of artfully arranged dishes arrive one after another: delicate scallops in a saffron-infused broth, a perfectly seared wagyu steak, and an impossibly light truffle risotto. Tony insists on sharing everything, leaning across the table to feed you bites of his favorites.

“Here,” he says, holding up a forkful of something that smells divine. “You have to try this. It’s like a symphony in your mouth.”

You laugh but let him feed you, the rich flavors exploding on your tongue. “Wow,” you say, your eyes widening. “Okay, you weren’t kidding.”

“Told you,” he says smugly, popping a bite into his own mouth. “I have impeccable taste—in food and in girlfriends.”

As the evening progresses, the conversation flows effortlessly, interspersed with Tony’s sharp wit and your teasing retorts. He tells stories about his escapades as Iron Man, carefully avoiding the grimmer details, and you share memories of past Christmases, painting a picture of simpler times.

When dessert arrives—a decadent chocolate soufflé served with a side of spiced ice cream—Tony leans back in his chair, looking completely content. “You know,” he says, his gaze fixed on you, “I’ve been to a lot of places, eaten a lot of fancy meals, but this… This is one for the books.”

“Because of the food?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

“Because of you,” he replies, his voice soft. “You make everything better, even a stuffy place like this.”

Your cheeks warm, and you reach across the table to take his hand. “I could say the same about you,” you reply. “You make life… extraordinary.”

The two of you linger at the table long after the plates have been cleared, basking in the warmth of each other’s company. Outside, the snow continues to fall, blanketing the city in a hushed serenity. It’s a perfect moment, one you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

When you finally step back out into the crisp night air, Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “So, what’s next?” he asks, his breath visible in the cold. “Midnight snow angels? Ice skating? Another snowball fight?”

You laugh, leaning into him as the two of you begin the walk back home. “Honestly? I’m happy just being with you.”

“Good answer,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

The restaurant's warmth lingers on your skin as you and Tony step out into the brisk winter night. Snowflakes drift lazily from the sky, shimmering under the soft glow of the streetlights. Your breath puffs out in little clouds, but the cold is a welcome contrast to the decadent, cozy atmosphere of dinner.

Tony slides an arm around your shoulders as you walk down the quiet street. “So,” he says, his voice light, “what’s next on the agenda, oh master of Christmas cheer? Back to the penthouse for eggnog and a sappy movie?”

You glance up at him, mischief dancing in your eyes. “Not yet. I’ve got one more thing in mind.”

He groans, though it’s more for show than genuine annoyance. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all,” you reply with a grin, tugging at his hand. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

The two of you wander toward the park again, now nearly deserted save for a few bundled-up couples strolling hand in hand. The snow crunches softly beneath your boots, and the world feels peaceful, like the city itself is holding its breath in anticipation of Christmas morning.

Finally, you reach a wide-open field, its pristine blanket of snow untouched. You stop in the center, looking up at the sky where stars peek out between the clouds.

“Perfect,” you say, your voice soft with satisfaction.

Tony looks around, then back at you with a curious tilt of his head. “Okay, I’ll bite. What are we doing here?”

You drop his hand and step back, grinning as you begin to lower yourself onto the snow. “Snow angels,” you announce, spreading your arms and legs.

Tony stares at you like you’ve lost your mind. “Snow angels? You dragged me out here in the freezing cold to roll around in the snow?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, scooping up a handful of snow and tossing it at his boots. “Come on, Stark. Don’t be a Scrooge.”

He lets out a long-suffering sigh but slowly lowers himself onto the snow beside you, muttering under his breath. “If I ruin this coat, I’m sending the dry-cleaning bill to Santa.”

You laugh as he begins to move his arms and legs, though his motions are halfhearted at best. “You’re not even trying,” you tease, nudging him with your boot. “Put some effort into it!”

“This is maximum effort,” he deadpans, though a smile tugs at his lips. “I’m not built for snow-based frivolity.”

“Liar,” you retort. “You were all-in during that snowball fight earlier.”

“That was combat,” he counters. “This is arts and crafts.”

Despite his protests, he stays by your side until your snow angels are complete. You sit up, brushing snow from your coat, and survey your handiwork with pride. “Not bad,” you say, glancing at Tony’s less-than-perfect angel. “Yours has… character.”

“Thank you,” he replies dryly. “I’ll take that as high praise.”

You both lie back down on the snow, your heads close together, and gaze up at the stars. The clouds have parted slightly, revealing constellations that twinkle against the inky black sky. The air is still, save for the occasional whisper of the wind, and the world feels infinite and small all at once.

Tony breaks the silence first, his voice softer than usual. “You don’t get a lot of moments like this, you know. Just… quiet. Peace.”

You turn your head to look at him, your breath catching at the rare vulnerability in his expression. “That’s why we have to hold on to them,” you say gently. “Make them count.”

He smiles faintly, reaching for your hand. His palm is warm against yours despite the chill. “You’re good at that,” he says. “Making things count. Making me stop and just… be.”

You squeeze his hand, your heart swelling. “Someone’s got to keep you grounded, Stark.”

“Good thing I found the best,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

For a while, neither of you speaks, content to simply lie there beneath the stars, your breaths mingling in the cold air. The snow beneath you feels like a cocoon, insulating you from the rest of the world. You lose track of time, the universe above you an endless tapestry of light and possibility.

Then, a nearby church bell chimes, its deep, resonant sound echoing through the night. You sit up slightly, startled, and pull out your phone to check the time. The screen lights up, confirming what you already suspected.

“It’s midnight,” you say, turning to Tony with a wide smile. “Merry Christmas.”

He sits up too, brushing snow from his hair, and grins back at you. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

Without another word, he leans in and kisses you, his lips warm against yours despite the cold. The world seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in this perfect, frozen moment. When he pulls back, his eyes are filled with a tenderness that takes your breath away.

“This,” he says quietly, gesturing to the snow, the stars, and you, “is the best Christmas I’ve ever had. Hands down.”

You smile, your cheeks flushing—not just from the cold, but from the overwhelming love you feel for the man in front of you. “Me too,” you reply. “And it’s only just beginning.”

Hand in hand, you walk back through the snowy park, the quiet joy of the moment carrying you all the way home.

[rainbowresurrection]

2D brain: TMP is sluggish and takes up way too much screentime on visual effects

3D brain: TMP is an acid movie

[goldensunset]

‘the children yearn for the mines’ is a little too real to me bc when i was a kid and my older siblings were trying to get me into pokémon i really never cared to try playing. BUT. i was obsessed with the underground mining minigame in dppt. i used to beg my sister to let me take a turn playing and set it up for me bc i didn’t know how to so i could go mine for gems nonstop until i cleared that entire cave section of glittering wall spots which always made me so sad bc i was having such a great time. i didn’t even understand the significance of what i was doing but 7 year old me was high off of it