#make sure to contact anyone you can about this

[valeisaslut]

⭒࿐COLLIDE - c. two

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credits for the fanart: nramvv - edited by me

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐖𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄.

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

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⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ synopsis: One TMZ headline later, and the internet is in a full-blown meltdown. You should’ve known that sneaking out of Ellie Williams’ hotel at sunrise was a disaster waiting to happen. Now the whole world thinks you and Ellie are dating, and there’s only one way out—lean into the chaos. Fake dating was never part of the plan, but if anyone can pull it of, it’s the two of you… right? 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ word count: 6,8k 𖥔 ݁ ˖

⭒ content: unserious and chaotic as HELL lmao, fake dating, mostly dialogue, memes and brainrot stuff, LOTS of cursing, pet names, fluff if you squint, use of y/n, modern au, smoking weed, mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, afab!reader, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖

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TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N’s MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

Los Angeles, CA – Buckle up, internet, because today’s tea is so hot it might spontaneously combust. Early this morning, global pop sensation y/n was spotted making a very interesting exit from The Four Seasons—an exit that screamed, “I made some choices, and I’ll be dealing with the consequences (happily) later.”

Let’s paint the picture: baggy jeans (very much not hers), an oversized tee (suspiciously familiar), last-night heels, and, most importantly, the kind of walk that suggests she just lived through an... experience.🔥

VIDEO ATTACHED: y/n stepping out of The Four Seasons with the posture of someone who just discovered new life-altering truths about herself.

And now, the cherry on top? The hotel in question just happens to be the same one where rock’s reigning heartbreaker and The Fireflies' frontwoman, Ellie Williams, has been staying during the band's sold-out tour.

Yeah. Let THAT sink in.

THE NIGHT BEFORE: PURE CHAOS

Last night, the musicians were first spotted together at a private club in West Hollywood, and the energy? Dangerous. We’re talking intense eye contact, whispered words, and a proximity that had no business being that close. 👀

Sources inside the club (who, let’s be real, were probably staring way too hard) claim the two were “all over each other the entire night.” And then, like clockwork—both gone. Together.😏

PICTURE ATTACHED: y/n and Ellie at the bar, drinks in hand, leaning in so close they might as well be sharing oxygen.

Fast-forward a few hours, and one of them is leaving a luxury hotel in borrowed clothes, while the other is nowhere to be seen. Hm...

THE INTERNET: INSTANTLY UNHINGED

It’s not every day that the two of the most famous artists on the planet accidentally break the internet with a single walk of shame. It took exactly 0.2 seconds for Twitter—sorry, X—to collectively lose its mind. #YNxEllie shot to the top of the trending list faster than lighting, and the reactions? Pure, unfiltered, internet gold.

Some fans are calling it the rock-pop crossover event of the decade. Others are in full denial, muttering “it’s just a one-time thing” like a prayer (lol, sure). And then there’s the fanfic writers, who are already on their second chapter about this very moment.

Meanwhile, our two leads? Radio. Silence.

No wry Instagram stories. No cryptic tweets. No emergency PR statements. Just Ellie, cool as ever, casually liking a meme about getting your clothes stolen from “the girl you spent all night ruining.” 😭🙃

SO, WHAT HAPPENS NOW?

We wait. Impatiently.

Is this just an iconic but questionable decision? Will y/n post a cryptic thirst trap in retaliation? Will Ellie respond with an even more cryptic Instagram story? Or are we witnessing the birth of music’s next power couple?

One thing’s for sure—this is a story we’ll be watching very closely.

Stay tuned. 😏🔥

What do YOU think? Drop your theories in the comments below! ⬇️🔥

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@: this isn’t just a hookup. this is the lesbians Super Bowl. 

@: tears in my eyes. full body worship. standing ovulation. whatever it’s called.

@: “mysterious walk of shame” NAH SHE CLOCKED IN, DID OVERTIME, AND LEFT WITH A RAISE 💀

@: not her texting the driver like “can’t feel my legs send help” 😭 icon.

@: someone check on the poor girl ellie this wasn’t a leave her paralyzed challenge

@: THE SECOND PIC. YALL. THEY LOOK SO GODDAMN FINE I’M CHEWING DRYWALL AND DRINKING THE DUST 😩

@: i need them to either hard launch or drop a sex tape at this point because my soul is restless

@: this is the most lesbian thing I’ve ever seen and I was THERE for korrasami and caitvi.

@: i just KNOW Ellie’s strap game goes absolutely feral and that walk was all the proof I needed #cravethat #scientificallyproven

@: pop mother got her back blown OUT

@: #elliehititrawandnowshestrending

@: they are either deeply in love or just HORRENDOUS at sneaky links. either way, I win.

@: tmz trynna act like we don’t instantly recognize Ellie’s entire wardrobe on her lmao

@: she defo picked those on purpose and you can't convince me otherwiseeee

@: the way we all clocked those clothes immediately like homegirl has worn that same fit 67 times this year and counting

@: Ellie dresses like a divorced dad at Home Depot but somehow y/n wearing her clothes is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen

@: one-night thing my ass. drop the collab album. drop the wedding invites. drop the baby name.

@: I have no idea what's going on but I support them!

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The studio is cold. Too cold.

You lean against the massive soundboard, eyes heavy with exhaustion as the producer fine-tunes the levels on your latest track. The bass hums through the speakers, deep and rhythmic.

You got home, showered, and walked into the studio like nothing happened. Like you weren’t still replaying everything in your head—the heat of her hands, the weight of her body, the way she— Nope. Not going there.

The only thing keeping you upright is sheer force of will and the coffee clutched in your hands, now lukewarm but still packing enough caffeine to keep your legs from betraying you in front of the expensive equipment.

But something feels off.

Nobody is looking at you.

Nobody is saying anything.

The thing is, your team is never quiet. They talk about everything—schedules, brand deals, what the fuck you’re eating for lunch—but today? Nothing. Just silence.

Not a single offhand comment. No teasing about the all-nighter you clearly pulled. Not even a glance in your direction.

Your producer is laser-focused on the track, nodding along like it holds the meaning of life. Your sound editor keeps his eyes glued to the screen, like looking anywhere else might kill him. And your assistant—sweet, terrible liar that she is—won’t stop sneaking glances at her phone, then at you, then at her phone again, like she’s watching a train wreck in real time and trying to figure out when to break the news that you’re the train.

Slowly, you set your coffee down, reach for your own phone, and unlock it, already feeling the creeping dread claw up your spine.

The second your screen lights up, it’s over. Notifications flood in. X. Instagram. Texts. Group chats blowing up like a damn stock market crash. Millions of mentions. Your name trending in bold, blaring letters.

And then you see it.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE: Y/N'S MYSTERIOUS WALK OF SHAME… STRAIGHT OUT OF ELLIE WILLIAMS’ HOTEL? 👀🔥

You suck in a breath—a sharp, audible gasp that cuts through the eerie silence.

Your assistant makes a tiny, distressed sound. Your producer visibly flinches, finally daring to glance at you. Your sound editor—wise, blessedly silent—just pauses the track.

Your fingers move faster than your brain, scrolling in blind panic. Pictures. Too many fucking pictures.

The first one is a grainy, low-lit shot of you and Ellie at the bar—bodies too close, drinks in hand, faces inches apart. The kind of tension that crackles even through a shitty phone camera. The next? A ruthless side-by-side comparison of Ellie’s Instagram post from last week. Same shirt. Same jeans. The exact ones you walked out wearing.

And then—because the universe is a cruel, twisted place—the final nail in the coffin.

A video.

Of you.

Sneaking out of her hotel.

You hit play, and instantly regret every life choice that led you there. Because why the fuck were you walking like that?!

Not just suspicious. Not just guilty. But the kind of unsteady, post-life-changing-experience walk that has the entire internet foaming at the mouth, legs barely cooperating like you just left the scene of a particularly intense crime.

Your soul exits your body, ascends to the ceiling, and refuses to come back down.

Your phone starts ringing. And you already know who it is. For a brief, fleeting moment, you consider launching the damn thing across the room.

Because of course it’s Rachel.

Your manager and professional-life mastermind. The woman who negotiates your million-dollar deals before breakfast. And, apparently, the bane of your existence right now.

You push through the studio doors without explaining a damn thing, the cool air outside hitting your face like a slap. Your head is pounding, fingers digging into your temples like you can physically massage the embarrassment out of your skull.

Your phone still vibrates in your hand. You don’t even have time to brace yourself before answering. The second you do, her voice explodes through the speaker.

“OH. MY. GOD.”

You flinch, yanking the phone away from your ear like it might physically protect you. It doesn’t. She’s still yelling, still fully spiraling, and honestly? She has every right to. Because you’re trending. Hard.

And not for your music.

“Before you say anything—”

“ARE YOU SEEING THIS? My phone has been BLOWING UP since 6 AM. Do you understand what you’ve done?!”

You sigh, shifting uncomfortably. Here we fucking go.

“Rachel, I’m so fucking sorry, I never meant for that to happen I didn’t know there were paparazzi outside the hotel! I—”

“THIS IS PERFECT.”

“—know I fucked up”

You pause mid-spiral. Blink. “...Wait, what?”

“You heard me! This is GOLD. This is EVERYTHING. Your fans are losing their minds, the internet is eating this up, and you know what that means?”

“…That I need to delete my existence?”

“That this is going to take both of your careers to the next level.”

Your head is spinning. “Whoa—slow down. The fuck you mean?”

Rachel lets out an exaggerated sigh, like she’s explaining shapes to a toddler. “You need to be interesting. She needs damage control. You both need the press. This relationship is everything you need.”

“Relationship?” You nearly choke. “Rachel, we just hooked up. It was a one-time thing, nothing else.”

“Oh... just a one-time thing?”

“Yes!”

“Okay.”

She says it so casually you instantly know she’s about to ruin your life.

“Then fake it.”

“WHAT?”

Your soul leaves your body. Again.

“A fake relationship!” She repeats, like it’s the most normal suggestion in the world.

“Oh my god. No. NO. That’s—that’s fucking stupid!"

“Oh, come on, girl.” Rachel groans. “You would be shocked to know how many celebrity couples are fake. Like, 90% of them, and people still eat that shit up like it’s their job. It’s the most effective PR stunt in the history of PR stunts.”

“I don't care! Even if it’s fake, I don’t wanna be in a relationship with her!”

Rachel, clearly unimpressed “Be so fucking for real right now.”

“Listen” she continues, slipping into full Hollywood mastermind mode. “It’s the perfect rockstar-popstar trope that people are gonna LOVE. Some staged dates, some Instagram stories, show up to a few award shows together, write some songs about her for the album—blah, blah, blah. Then, when you both get what you want, you drop a statement about breaking up on good terms because of ‘busy schedules’ or ‘long distance’ or whatever. Boom. Done. Headlines. History.”

You exhale sharply, dragging a hand down your face, but you can already feel her words getting to you.

“Okay…that does sound kinda iconic...”

You hear her scream.

“BUT” You snap. “I seriously doubt she’s gonna be on board.”

“She has to be. That girl needs to clean up her image immediately. If she wants to keep her career afloat, she needs to say yes." Rachel doesn’t miss a beat. "Honestly, it even benefits her more than it benefits you.”

You press the phone tighter against your ear, your free hand rubbing over your face over and over again as if that’ll somehow erase this chaos unfolding in real-time.

But honestly?

What could go wrong?

So you exhale sharply again.

“Fine, fine. We’ll… debate it.”

“PERFECT! Tell me how it goes!”

There’s a short pause, just long enough for you to think—maybe—this conversation is about to take a serious turn.

And then—

“…So, how was she in bed?”

You nearly drop your phone. “RACHEL.”

“What?! It’s a valid question! I mean, I saw the walk.” A beat. Then, way too smugly “People are even making edits of your limp.”

Okay.

This is officially the worst day of your life.

“We are NOT doing this.”

“Oh, we are ABSOLUTELY doing this.”

You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. There's no escaping this.

“Was it life-changing or life-threatening? Did she break your back or fix your scoliosis?” 

You stare up at the sky, silently begging for divine intervention. None comes. So, with the weight of someone who has lost everything, you exhale.

“…she made me see fucking Jesus.”

Silence. A beat.

Rachel screams so loud you nearly throw your phone at the window.

“I FUCKING KNEW IT.”

“HANGING UP NOW.”

“NO WAIT!—DID SHE—”

“BYE.”

You slam the End Call button so fast it’s a miracle your screen doesn’t crack.

Blissful, beautiful silence.

For exactly three seconds.

Buzz.

Rachel: COME BACK WE ARE NOT DONE.

Buzz.

Rachel: do I schedule a chiropractor or a priest? 😭

You turn your phone off. Permanently.

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It was late, the kind of night where the city hummed low in the background, neon signs bleeding color into the streets.

And Ellie Williams was trying to have a normal band practice.

Trying.

But it was pretty fucking hard when Jesse and Dina were staring at her like she’d just announced she was quitting music to become a full-time televangelist.

She adjusted the strap of her guitar, already irritated. “Can you guys, I don’t know, say something instead of fucking looking at me like that?”

“Oh, we’re just waiting...” Jesse said as he leaned against the drum set, taking a slow drag of his cigarette and grinning like the absolute menace he was.

Dina, perched on an amp, smirked. “Yeah. Just giving you a chance to come clean before we bring out the receipts.”

Ellie scoffed, trying to play it cool. “What receipts?”

Dina wiggled her phone in the air, smirk widening. “Seems like you’ve been very busy, rockstar.”

She barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “The fuck are you both talking about!?”

Jesse and Dina exchanged the look. The kind that made Ellie’s patience thin by the second.

Jesse sighed dramatically, putting out his cigarette on the plato like he was about to drop the biggest bombshell of the century. “Alright, since you’re playing dumb—”

He pulled out his phone with the enthusiasm of a man whose sole purpose in life was witnessing Ellie’s downfall. 

“Lemme just read the best part real quick—” And clearing his throat like he was about to give a Shakespearean performance:

“‘Global superstar y/n was spotted leaving Ellie Williams’s hotel early this morning after a rumored all-night rendezvous. Fans immediately noticed the pop star's unusually relaxed wardrobe choice—’”

Dina whistled. “‘—baggy jeans and an oversized tee, both belonging to a certain someone who was seen wearing them just last week—’”

Jesse shook his head, flipping his phone around. “Nah, this is crazy. This is some Oscar-worthy shit.”

Ellie groaned the second she saw the TMZ photo—you stepping out of the hotel in her clothes. And then there was her, leaving an hour later, hoodie up like it could shield her from literally everyone, rubbing the back of her neck like some dumbass who just realized they fucked up in a romcom.

She looked guilty as hell.

He zoomed in on her face, laughing. “Yo, you look like you just realized you caught feelings.”

Dina snorted, scrolling through her phone. “Oh, they are EATING this shit up. Listen to this” —dramatic inhale— “‘They are either deeply in love or just horrendous at sneaky links. Either way, I win.’”

Jesse howled. “‘Someone check on the poor girl—Ellie, this wasn’t a ‘leave her paralyzed’ challenge.’”

Ellie groaned. “You guys—”

“OH MY GOD.” Dina gasped. “SOMEONE JUST MADE A SIDE-BY-SIDE.”

Jesse leaned in. “Caption?”

“‘WHAT IN THE SCISSOR OLYMPICS. GOLD MEDAL PERFORMANCE.”

He collapsed against the drum set, howling even harder. “Nah, this is crazy. You really let her walk outta there like that?! You KNEW what you did. You knew EXACTLY what you were doing.”

Ellie covered her face with her hands. “I hate it here.”

Jesse was thriving, nearly bouncing on his feet like a kid on Christmas morning. “Dude. You bagged y/n. Like, THE Y/N. Pop princess herself. That fine-ass woman writes songs so good they make people crash their cars.”

Dina nodded solemnly. “I crashed twice to ‘Stay.’”

Ellie shot her a look. “First of all, you shouldn’t have a license.” Then at Jesse “Second, can you fucking NOT? We just hooked up. That’s it.”

He just snorted. “Yeah? Tell that to the 40 million people who liked the tweets about it.”

Ellie groaned so loud it could’ve been mistaken for a death rattle. “This is so fucking bad.”

Jesse ignored her, grinning like an absolute menace. “Like, do you even understand the cultural impact of what you’ve done? This is like—” He gestured wildly. “—punk rock meets Billboard Hot 100 hookup of the century!”

Dina smirked. “And judging by the way she was walking? You bodied that shit.”

Ellie scowled. “She was wearing heels all night!”

Dina arched a brow. “So were you gonna say that, or are you just making that up now?”

Ellie opened her mouth. Closed it. Dragged a hand down her face.

Jesse cackled. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She was this close to walking out.

Then, like a gift from hell, her phone started buzzing.

Your name flashed across the screen. Gasps.

Ellie panicked, immediately shoving it in her pocket.

Dina’s jaw dropped. “Did you just—DECLINE Y/N?! Are you fucking STUPID?!”

Jesse shook his head, dead serious. “No, no. Let her cook. Maybe she’s playing hard to get.”

Ellie groaned, yanking her jacket off the chair and making her way to the door. “Practice over. I hope both of you trip over a flight of stairs and eat shit all the way down.”

“Aw, so sweet of you!” Dina beamed. “We’re gonna start picking baby names as soon as you leave.”

Ellie didn’t even look back—just flipped them off on her way out like a parting gift.

The door slammed shut loudly.

A beat of silence.

Then, muffled through the wall—

“AND JESSE STOP SAYING LET HER COOK THE MEME DIED MONTHS AGO.”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP NO IT DIDN’T!”

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Ellie had barely stepped out of the studio, muttering “Fucking kill me” before calling you back. As soon as you answered, she was quick to be the first one to talk.

“Before you say anything—this is not my fault.”

Your voice came through immediately. 

“Ellie.”

Tone flat. Dead serious.

She hesitated. “…Yeah?”

“I’m pregnant.”

Ellie stopped dead in her tracks. Like, full-body malfunction.

Her entire fucking life flashed before her eyes. Marriage. A house. A tiny baby wrapped in a flannel onesie. Joel crying at the babyshower. Dina and Jesse as the weirdly invested godparents.

Silence.

Then—

“Oh, fuck off!”

You howled with laughter. “Not even a little panic? All I got was a one-second existential crisis?”

“Dude. Biology exists.”

Though, if she was being honest, you had her for a solid half-second. She could already hear Joel clearing his throat, preparing for his father-of-the-bride speech, could already see Jesse and Dina clicking through a PowerPoint titled "Ellie Williams: Accidentally Domesticated—A case study."

You scoffed “See, this is why you’re no fun.”

“This is why you're deranged.”

“You love it.”

“No. You need therapy.”

“I have therapy. On Thursdays. Shoutout to Linda.”

Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you actually need something, or was this just a drive-by psychological attack?”

“Oh, you know. Just the minor issue that the entire fucking internet thinks we’re dating?”

Ellie groaned, unlocking her car with a beep. “Technically, we could just ignore it—”

“Ellie.”

“…Yeah, yeah. What’s the damage?”

“Well” you started, voice syrupy sweet, “Not only do I look like I did the world’s sluttiest walk of shame, but people also figured out those were your clothes. And, fun fact! They say you dress like a divorced dad from Home Depot.”

“Yeah, I saw.”

“No, I don’t think you understand the severity of it.” Your voice got increasingly dramatic. “People have shipping spreadsheets. They have theories. Someone made a Google doc analyzing our astrology compatibility. Ellie, we are trending #1 WORLDWIDE.”

Ellie ran a hand down her face. “This is so fucking stupid.”

“Someone said—direct quote— that this is ‘the lesbian's Super Bowl.' ”

She paused. “That one might be true tho.”

“Oh, cut the bullshit.”

Ellie grinned, leaning back. “Alright, so what’s the move? Damage control?”

A pause. 

“Well…” you said, voice a little too careful, “my manager thinks we should… lean into it.”

Ellie’s eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

Another pause.

Then, your voice, even softer now. “Can we… talk in person?”

Ellie immediately clocked the hesitation. “Why do I feel like I’m 'bout to get scammed?”

“You’re not! I just… I’d rather explain in person.”

She exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “…Fine. Where?”

“My place.”

Ellie frowned. “Why yours?”

“Because there’s paparazzi crammed outside the Four Seasons, dumbass.”

…Fair.

She exhaled. “…Yeah. Alright.”

“Cool. I’ll send you the address.”

A beat. Then—

“…Wait” Ellie muttered. “How the fuck did you get my number?”

Silence.

“…Contacts.”

Ellie’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean? Who—”

“Doesn’t matter.” you cut in, then cleared your throat. “Anyway. Can you, uh… give me my dress back? It was custom.”

“Yeah, about that…”

“…Ellie.”

“It might still be on the floor.”

A sharp inhale. “You little shit.”

Ellie smirked as she pulled out of the parking lot.

“On my way, pop star.”

──────────── Ellie had barely knocked twice before the door swung open.

And there you were.

Standing in the dim light of your penthouse, arms crossed, drowning in an oversized hoodie and sweatpants. Your hair was slightly messy, like you’d been curled up somewhere before she got here, and your skin glowed just right under the soft, golden hue of your apartment lights.

“Hey”

“Hey”

She exhaled, stepping inside as you shut the door behind her. She barely had time to take in the space before she realized—this was money.

The penthouse stretched wide, the kind of design meant to make people feel small. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased the city skyline, headlights cutting through the night far below. The furniture was sleek, modern—gray couches, glass tables, designer pieces that looked both expensive and comfortable. A grand piano sat near the window, it's lid closed and a guitar leaning against it, used enough to make Ellie smirk.

But it was the small things that caught her eye. A candle burning low on the counter. A glass of wine next to a notebook cracked open on the coffee table, filled with lyrics. Scribbled, messy. Some lines scratched out, others rewritten in the margins.

“Jesus” she muttered, shoving her hands into her pockets. “Could’ve warned me I was walking into a fucking palace.”

“Says the millionaire.”

Her eyes flicked to you—leaning against the counter, arms crossed, mouth twitching like you were amused by her reaction.

She huffed.

“So.”

“So.”

The silence stretched, just a little too thick. A weight neither of you wanted to touch.

Then, finally, you exhaled.

“My manager thinks we should fake date.”

Ellie snorted “Yeah, no shit.”

“She says it’ll be good for both of us.”

She hummed, sauntering over to the couch before sinking into it like she owned the place. Her legs spread wide, hands rubbing over her jeans, shoulders sinking into the cushions. She looked up at you, unreadable.

“And? You wanna do it?”

You hesitated. “I don’t know.”  Your fingers tapped against the counter, your teeth dragged over your bottom lip. You looked… conflicted. “It’s just—ugh. The thought of staging something like this is so gross.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back. “Pretending to be into you in public? It just feels—”

A beat.

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

You hesitated.

And there it was. The shift.

“Pretending?” she repeated slowly.

You scowled. “You know what I mean.”

Ellie tilted her head, gaze flicking downward—brief, barely there—before dragging right back up like she knew exactly what she was doing. 

“Do I?”

Your skin flushed, irritation prickling down your spine. She was too comfortable—slouched on your couch like it was hers, fingers drumming against her knee, wearing that look. That lazy, lopsided smirk that made your stomach clench and your heart do backflips.

You muttered. "Cut the bullshit."

Ellie watched you, green eyes sharp, the corner of her mouth curling like she already knew what you were thinking—like she could see straight through you. And maybe she could.

That was the problem.

Because this wasn’t just some business deal, some harmless PR stunt. 

This was Ellie fucking Williams. 

A menace. A woman who flirted like it was her second nature. Who carried herself with the kind of reckless confidence that made people love her and hate her in the same breath. She was sharp, fast-mouthed, and annoyingly charming when she wanted to be. She kissed like she had something to prove and fucked like she knew she was amazing at it. 

She was the kind that didn’t just leave bruises—that left marks.

And now, you are supposed to pretend to be hers. In public. In pictures. In interviews. She’d make it look effortless, like every lingering touch and stolen glance meant everything.

Meanwhile, you’d have to grit your teeth and pretend she wasn’t already under your skin—pretend you don’t know exactly how this will end.

Ellie’s voice pulled you back.

“We can set rules.”

You blinked, exhaling sharply. “Rules?”

She nodded, resting her elbows on her knees. “Yeah. Lines we don’t cross. Shit we don’t do. Make it easier.”

You considered that. It did make sense. Setting boundaries meant this wouldn’t spiral into a complete disaster—just a controlled one.

“…Fine.”

Ellie grinned, tilting her head. “Great. Rule number one—no catching feelings.”

You scoffed, pushing off the counter and taking a sip of your wine. “Oh, trust me, Williams, that was never a problem.”

What a goddamn lie.

Ellie chuckled, dragging a hand over her jaw before settling back into the couch. She watched you a second too long, eyes flicking over you like she was deciding whether to call you on your bullshit. That fucking grin still lingered—lazy, amused. 

She was enjoying this.

You exhaled slowly, setting your wine glass down with a quiet clink. “I got my own rules.”

“Let’s hear ‘em.”

You leveled her with a look. “No strings attached.”

Ellie blinked, then snorted. “Starting off strong.”

“I’m serious,” you said, arms crossing. “No getting weird about anything. We do what we have to do in public, but behind closed doors, it’s our business. No jealousy, no possessiveness.”

Ellie tilted her head, her smirk growing. “So basically, we can do whatever we want?”

You hesitated.

A fraction of a second too long.

Then nodded. “Yeah.”

There was a shift in the air. Subtle, almost imperceptible, but there. Ellie’s eyes dragged over you—slow, measured, her expression unreadable.

“…Can we still fuck, though?”

Your face didn’t waver, but your stomach clenched, a tiny, unwelcome knot forming deep in your gut.

“Yeah. But it doesn’t mean anything.”

The words landed firm, like a line drawn in the sand, but even as you said them, they felt a little off. Like something rehearsed, something you were trying a little too hard to believe.

Ellie let out a low chuckle, shaking her head. “Jesus, babe. You’re ruthless.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not even a little.” She stretched out, arms draping over the back of the couch, looking maddeningly at ease. “Just didn’t expect you to be the one setting that rule.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, because deep down, you weren’t sure what would piss you off more—her calling you out on your bullshit, or the fact that she might actually be right.

Ellie hummed. “Fine. No strings attached. What else?”

You rubbed your temple, thinking. “Public stuff needs to be controlled. If we’re going to be seen together, it needs to be intentional.”

Ellie nodded. “So, no sneaky paparazzi pics of us at, like, McDonald’s?”

“Exactly.”

“There goes my dream of getting papped in the drive-thru with you.”

You ignored that. “Next—if one of us wants out, we end it. No bullshit.”

Ellie’s smirk softened slightly. “Fair enough.”

The mood had shifted—just a fraction. You weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a warning sign, but at least your shoulders didn’t feel as tight anymore.

You reached for your wine again. “We also need a reason.”

Ellie raised an eyebrow.

“For why we’re suddenly together,” you clarified.

She considered it for a moment, then shrugged. “Easy. We met through mutual friends, started talking, made it official recently.”

You nodded. “Good. Vague, but believable.”

Then Ellie grinned. “So when’s our anniversary?”

“I’m breaking up with you already.”

Ellie threw her head back, laughing. “Damn. Cold as hell.”

You just smirked, watching the wine swirl in your glass, but the humor faded when Ellie leaned forward slightly, her gaze a little sharper now.

“So, just to recap,” she said, voice steady. “No feelings. No jealousy. We can fuck, but it doesn't mean anything. And if one of us wants out, we’re out.”

“…Yeah.” You swallowed, the weight of it settling between you both. “...Are you actually okay with this?”

Ellie leaned back into the couch, dragging a hand over her jaw.

Was she?

She’d done PR stunts before—appearances, interviews, the occasional fake chemistry for cameras. But a fake relationship? That was a different level of commitment. A different level of risk.

At the same time… she wasn’t exactly in a position to say no. She needed something to get the media off her ass. Headlines about bar fights, reckless behavior, and being a bad influence were piling up like a rap sheet. A carefully controlled narrative—a shiny, clean distraction—might be the only thing that kept her from burning out entirely.

But then…

She looked at you.

Drop-dead gorgeous. Smart as hell. Sharp tongue. A little mean in a way that made people want to prove themselves.

And yeah, sure—this was fake. But Ellie wasn’t fucking stupid. Fake or not, this was the kind of shit that got under her skin, settled in deep and refused to leave.

She’d made plenty of bad decisions before, walked into things knowing exactly how they would end, knowing they’d chew her up and spit her out. That was the thing about trouble. It never felt like trouble in the moment. It started as a game, as a deal, as something simple—until one day, it wasn’t. Until it had its teeth in her, until she was in too deep to pretend she didn’t care.

And this?

This had all the makings of that kind of mistake.

But she still exhaled, still ran a hand through her hair, still met your eyes without hesitation.

“Alright,” you murmured, swirling the wine in your glass before taking a slow sip. Then, with a smirk just shy of reckless—

“This is officially the worst decision of our lives.”

Ellie leaned back like she had all the time in the world, legs spreading wider, her grin all sharp edges. “What you mean? This is already the most stable relationship I’ve ever had.”

You scoffed, reaching for your wine again. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

Ellie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, babe. The bar is in hell.”

You closed your eyes for a second, exhaled, then took another long drink. “God help me.”

After a few minutes, Ellie reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a pre-rolled blunt, twirling it lazily between her fingers. She glanced up at you, a grin tugging at the corner of her lips.

“You smoke?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

Ellie shrugged, biting the tip of the blunt. “What? It’s part of the rockstar lifestyle.”

You scoffed. “And I’m the popstar, so technically, I should be saying no.”

Ellie pulled out a lighter, flicking it open with a metallic click. “Live a little.”

You exhaled. “Fine. But if TMZ catches me high, I’m blaming you.”

Ellie grinned, bringing the lighter to the tip of the blunt, the paper curling as it burned. She took a slow, practiced drag, holding it deep in her lungs before exhaling smoothly, the smoke swirling toward the ceiling. Then she passed it to you.

You hesitated for a half-second before bringing it to your lips, inhaling. The burn was familiar, settling in your chest before you exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate into the dimly lit room.

Already, the tension from earlier—the ridiculous fake-dating rules, the push and pull of whatever this was—started to fade into something looser, easier.

Ellie watched you, her smirk deepening. “Damn. You’re not new to this.”

You took another hit before passing it back, lips quirking. “Told you. I just have a better PR team than you.”

Ellie chuckled, shaking her head as she took another drag.

Somehow, the conversation had spiraled.

You were both slumped against the couch, trading the last remnants of the blunt back and forth, locked in a heated debate over whether or not you’d survive a zombie apocalypse.

Ellie scoffed, waving a lazy hand. “C’mon, you wouldn’t last a week.”

“Excuse me?” You sat up, pointing at her. “I would absolutely outlive you.”

“You literally have, like, five personal assistants. You don’t even carry your own bags.”

“So? That doesn’t mean I can’t fight!”

Ellie raised an eyebrow, amused. “Alright. How would you kill a zombie?”

You blinked. “...Guns?”

Ellie groaned, shaking her head like you had just personally offended her. 

“What?!”

“You’d run out of ammo in, like, a week.”

You crossed your arms. “Okay, smartass. What’s your genius survival plan?”

“Baseball bat. Blunt force trauma. Reusable, no reload time.”

You wrinkled your nose. “That’s so gross.”

Ellie shrugged. “Yeah? So is dying.”

You huffed, sinking back into the couch. “I’m sure that if I were in a zombie apocalypse, I’d be the immune one.”

Ellie rolled her eyes, flicking the blunt towards the ashtray. “Oh, shut up. I'd be the immune one. And the main character.”

You huffed, dramatically flopping back against the couch, exhaling a long, exaggerated sigh. Ellie grinned, stretching her arms behind her head.

“All that contract negotiation made me hungry.”

You snorted, swirling the last sip of wine in your glass. “You literally agreed to everything in under five minutes.”

“Exactly,” Ellie sighed. “Exhausting.”

She pulled out her phone, scrolling. “What’s the most unserious meal we could possibly order right now?”

You barely had to think. “Taco Bell.”

Ellie’s face lit up. “God, I fucking love you.”

You shot her a dry look.

“Platonically. Obviously.”

You rolled your eyes, watching as she tapped aggressively on the app. “What do you want?”

“Crunchwrap Supreme, two Doritos Locos Tacos, and a Baja Blast.”

Ellie blinked. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“I take my Taco Bell order very seriously.”

Ellie hummed approvingly. “Respect.” She added your order to the already absurd amount of food in her cart and checked out.

By the time the Taco Bell arrived, you were both fully slumped into the couch, heavy-limbed and loose from the high. Ellie tossed the bag onto the coffee table with zero grace, nearly knocking over your very expensive candle.

“Jesus, be careful” you muttered, steadying it.

Ellie unwrapped her burrito with a crinkle of foil, smirking. “What, scared I’ll ruin your rich-person aesthetic?”

You leaned back, exhaling. “Yeah, actually. I have a brand to uphold.”

Ellie huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she took a bite. The two of you ate in a comfortable lull, the only sounds coming from the low hum of music playing from your speaker and the occasional rustle of food wrappers.

In that moment, you felt something you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time—at ease. Because being with her was effortless.

No need to pose, fake a smile, or worry if your hair was in place. You could just exist. And there was something dangerously comfortable about that, something weirdly domestic. Like slipping into a rhythm you hadn’t even realized you’d been craving.

Ellie spoke suddenly, pulling you back, like the thought had just slipped out before she could decide if it was worth saying.

“So, why’d you start doing music?”

The question landed between you like a weight, unexpected and heavy.

You paused, mid-bite, blinking at her. She wasn’t even looking at you—just lazily pulling apart her quesadilla, like she hadn’t just cracked open something raw and unplanned.

You swallowed, shifting slightly. “I don’t know.”

A beat.

“It’s the only thing I was ever really good at.”

That got her attention. Her fingers stilled against the tortilla, her eyes flicking up—steady, unreadable.

With a quiet sigh, you set your food down. “I mean, growing up, I sucked at everything else. School, sports, whatever—I just never stuck with anything. But music?” You tilted your head, feeling the thought click into place. “That made sense. I liked how it made people feel. You write something, and suddenly, some stranger out there feels understood in a way they didn’t before. Like, for three minutes, they’re not alone.”

Ellie’s chewing slowed, her gaze lingering. “Yeah.” Her voice had dropped, more thoughtful. “That’s kinda the whole point, huh?”

You hummed, watching her. “…What about you?”

She hesitated, then leaned back into the couch, stretching like she was trying to shake something off. “Not that different, honestly.” One arm draped over the backrest, fingers tapping idly against the cushion. “Joel was always into music. Taught me how to play guitar when I was a kid, and it just kinda stuck ever since.”

Your head tilted slightly. “Joel Miller? That’s your dad, right?”

A nod. “Yeah. He’s—” She paused, choosing her words carefully. “—intense. But in a good way, mostly. He gives a shit. Probably more than I deserve.”

Your brows knitted together. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Ellie let out a quiet chuckle, but it was dry, almost automatic. “Nah. Just being honest.”

Something about the way she said it made your chest feel tight.

You thought about pushing, about pressing your thumb against that tiny crack she’d let slip, but something told you she’d just deflect, maybe make some stupid joke to steer the conversation away.

So, instead, you sighed dramatically, letting the moment pass. “I think I’m too high for all this deep shit.”

Ellie huffed out a laugh. “Same.”

You grinned, swirling your drink. “Okay, new topic—what’s your favorite song?”

Ellie tilted her head, thinking. “Dunno. How’s that one song of yours go? That’s that me espresso?”

The room went still.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

A deep, soul-crushing betrayal settled in your chest, a wound so profound it might never heal. Your breath caught, fingers gripping your shirt like she had physically stabbed you.

Ellie, still chewing, barely spared you a glance. “What?”

Your hands trembled. “That’s Espresso.”

Your voice dropped an octave. Near-feral.

“BY. SABRINA. CARPENTER.”

Ellie paused mid-bite, brow furrowing. “Wait… that’s not your song?”

Your jaw dropped. “Are you out of your fucking mind?!”

Ellie shrugged, unbothered. “I mean, y’all sound kinda similar.”

You shot up so fast from the couch it screeched against the floor. “I HOPE YOUR AMP SHORT-CIRCUITS MID-SOLO.”

Ellie’s laughter rang through the room, loud and unbothered. “Jesus. Touch some grass.”

────────────

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the weight of an arm draped over your waist.

The second was the godawful dryness in your mouth, the kind that only came from bad decisions the night before and even worse hydration choices.

Squinting against the morning light, you shifted slightly, trying to piece together where the hell you were. Your head ached, limbs heavy, the air still thick with the scent of weed.

And then, as you turned your head—

Ellie.

Dead asleep beside you.

Face buried in the couch, hair a disaster, breathing slow and steady. One arm thrown over your waist like it belonged there, her entire body half-pressed against yours, radiating warmth. Her tank top had ridden up slightly, exposing just enough of the tattoos trailing down her back to make your already-dysfunctional brain short-circuit.

It should be illegal to look that good while sleeping.

You swallowed hard, painfully aware of the way her fingers twitched slightly against your stomach. Desperate for a distraction, you forced your gaze to the rest of the room.

The coffee table was an absolute crime scene—wrappers, crumpled napkins, open sauce packets, empty Baja Blast cups, and one lonely, half-eaten quesadilla clinging to life.

You groaned softly, rubbing your face, before muscle memory had you reaching for your phone.

And that’s when the real nightmare started.

Rachel (25 Missed Calls, 17 Texts).

Your stomach immediately twisted into knots.

Dreading whatever mess you’d apparently caused, you clicked the messages.

Rachel: WAKE UP Rachel: WAKE UP WAKE UP WAKE UP Rachel: CHECK TWITTER RIGHT NOW.

A cold dread crawled up your spine.

With the kind of slow, creeping horror usually reserved for slasher films, you opened Twitter.

And there it was.

Trending.

#y/nandEllie

#HARDLAUNCHOFTHECENTURY

Your entire body locked up.

“What the fuck?” you croaked, voice barely functioning.

Next to you, Ellie shifted, groaning as her arm tightened around your waist, pulling you in just a fraction before she mumbled into the cushion, voice thick with sleep, “Why’re you talking?”

You didn’t even process the fact that she was literally holding you because you were too busy trying not to pass out.

Instagram. You need to check instagram.

And then you saw it.

Your most recent story.

A photo of Ellie.

Sitting on the couch, head tilted down, scrolling on her phone. Messy hair, tattoos on full display, one leg tucked up like she owned the place. In front of her? The entire ungodly Taco Bell order. Wrappers, bags, napkins—absolute devastation.

And the caption, in bold, unhinged letters:

she eats like a mf frat boy but somehow still looks hot. life is unfair.

One hundred million people have already seen it.

“FUCK!”

Ellie shifted again, her fingers skimming your stomach as she let out a sleepy groan. “Dude” she mumbled. “What now?”

You turned to her, shoving the phone directly in her face, voice pure horror.

“You let me post this?!”

She blinked at the screen. Then blinked again. And then, as if the universe hadn’t already humiliated you enough, she started grinning.

It was slow at first, creeping across her face, her shoulders starting to shake—before she full-on lost it. Ellie fucking cackled. Like, sleep-rough, chest-shaking, burying-her-face-in-the-couch dying.

You smacked her arm. “THIS IS FUCKING SERIOUS!”

She barely lifted her head, still grinning like an absolute menace.

“We smoked another blunt, got drunk, and thought it would be funny.” She stretched lazily and patted your thigh, voice rough with amusement. “So, I guess we’re official now.”

You smacked her again.

────────────

← 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑛𝑒 | 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 | 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒 →

taglist (tysm for supporting, hope you enjoy <333): @st0nerlesb0 @willurms @vahnilla @mancyw1214 @rxreaqia @laceyxrenee @antobooh @tittielover-420 @annoyingpersonxoxo @haithone @lofied @sunflowerwinds @xojunebugxo @reidairie @piscesthepoet @elliewilliamskisser2000 @pariiissssssss @mxquelo @elliesbabygirl @xx2849 @kiiramiz @mikellie @brooks-lin @kaykeryyy @lovely-wisteria @marscardigan @elliesanqel @lovelaymedown @gold-dustwomxn @ilovewomenfr @seraphicsentences @mascspleasegetmepregnant @raindroprose23 @creepyswag  @jujueilish @elliesgffrfr @kirammanss @liztreez

࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ I HAD SO MUCH FUN W THIS ONE LMAOOO. I went so full out with brainrot memes i realized how much i need to touch some grass. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.

Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!

see ya'll soon, stay tuned ;)

[namsgyu]

when he’s your first kiss 💋

summary: how does it finally feel to kiss namgyu?

*established relationship!

a/n: based on the poll results! (part 1 LOL!) tysm for voting!! definitely will get around to writing the other options when i have time (≧∀≦) don’t be shy to send requests in!! hope you enjoy!! this was so fun to write!! maybe i’ll add a pt. 2 with kissing hcs. i’m obsessed with this man

you’ve been dating namgyu for a few weeks now, but physical contact between the two of you have been limited to hand holding, cuddling, and the occasional tuck of hair behind your ear when it gets in your face

you voice your lack of experience to him, saying that you’ve never kissed anyone before.

the way namgyu’s body stills as the words leave your lips. he would be your first kiss? he almost lets out a groan in anticipation

in following days, he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your lips

the way they curl into a smile in conversations, how they wrap around a straw, how your tongue flicks over them when you’re concentrating on something

when he’s alone, namgyu fantasizes about how it feels to kiss you.

your soft lips against his, feeling you close to him, the way you taste. he can’t wait!

when he catches you staring at his lips for a tad longer than usual and obviously fidgeting with your hands, he knows it’s time

namgyu will play it cool, displaying a smirk on his face “what, you finally wanna kiss me?” he’ll tease, making you flush with pink

when you nod your head with a little more enthusiasm than you should, it only fuels his ego “alright, you asked for it”

to keep you from running away, he’ll gently cup your cheek in his hand to keep you in place

this mf is a tease! he’ll bring his face close to yours “are you sure you’re sure that you want this?” you can feel yourself heat up from his words!

when he finally does kiss you, it’s gentle. despite the both of you knowing he’s done this before, it’s almost comical how slow he’s taking it with you. almost as if you’re made out of glass and he’s trying to not break you.

if you pull him closer, he will slowly melt at your touch, hands immediately wrapping around your waist as he deepens the kiss

namgyu’s heart is secretly pounding away in his chest but he hopes you can’t hear it

both of you pull away at the same time with glossy lips, catching your breath. if you squint, you can see a light pink dusting namgyu’s cheeks (≧∀≦)

“how was it?” he’ll ask with his signature smirk

now it’s your turn to catch him off guard by leaning in and pressing your own lips to his!!

thanks for tuning in!! feedback is read and appreciated (≧∀≦)

[blairxbear]

Boyfriend Headcanons - Tamaki Amajiki

What it's like dating Tamaki Amajiki

A/N: I will be doing these individual headcanons for each of our favourite MHA boys. Let me know if you guys have any specific requests or characters you want to see these boyfriend headcanons for!

The Shy, Flustered, Deeply Devoted Boyfriend

Dating Tamaki Amajiki is like experiencing the purest, most genuine love imaginable. He may be incredibly shy and introverted, but when he loves, he loves deeply, fiercely, and without hesitation. His devotion to you is absolute, even if he’s too nervous to express it outright. He’s the type of boyfriend who won’t say “I love you” a million times a day, but he’ll show it in a thousand small ways that mean even more.

Tamaki isn’t the kind of guy who falls in love easily, but once he does? He’s all in, and there’s no turning back.

The Flustered, Soft, Hopelessly Shy Boyfriend

Tamaki is the KING of getting flustered. The moment you show him affection, his brain short-circuits.

Hold his hand? Bright red.

Kiss his cheek? Visibly shaking.

Call him handsome? Completely malfunctions.

“W-wait, you actually like me? Are you sure?” (Yes, Tamaki. You are literally the cutest thing ever.)

He struggles with eye contact at first, especially when you say something sweet to him. He’ll glance away, mumble a flustered “thank you,” and try his hardest not to pass out from how much he loves you.

If you initiate cuddles, his whole body tenses up at first—but then he absolutely melts into you.

His arms wrap around you tightly, his face buried in your shoulder, and he’s so warm, so gentle, and so content just holding you.

The Sweet, Devoted Boyfriend Who Worships You

Tamaki may not say much, but he adores you more than anything. If he had to choose between saving the world or making sure you’re okay?

He’s choosing you. Every time. Without hesitation.

You are his safe space. Around others, he’s reserved and anxious, but with you? He can finally relax, finally breathe.

He remembers every little detail about you.

You casually mention liking a specific snack? He buys it for you the next day.

You say you had a bad day once in passing? He surprises you with something comforting.

He doesn’t always say what he’s feeling, but his love is so obvious in the way he treats you.

He always makes sure you eat, you’re comfortable, you’re happy.

He offers you his scarf when it’s cold without you even asking.

He waits for you after class, after work, after anything—just to make sure you get home safe.

The Extremely Flustered but Affectionate Boyfriend

Tamaki is so touch-starved it’s actually heartbreaking. The first time you hug him, he freezes completely like he doesn’t know what to do.

Then he slowly—shyly, hesitantly—wraps his arms around you. And when you don’t pull away?

He melts. Completely, utterly melts.

He actually LOVES physical affection, he’s just shy about it.

Holding hands? He gets so nervous at first, but once he’s comfortable, he loves lacing his fingers with yours and squeezing gently.

Cuddling? He LOVES IT, even if it makes him flustered. He likes being the big spoon because holding you makes him feel safe too.

Kisses? He gets so nervous the first time, but when you kiss him, he forgets to breathe.

His face burns, his hands shake slightly, but when he kisses you back? It’s soft, hesitant, and filled with so much love.

The Protective, Ride-or-Die Boyfriend

Tamaki isn’t the aggressive type, but if anyone disrespects you? He will step in immediately.

His usual nervous demeanor vanishes, and his voice gets sharp and commanding.

“That’s enough. Leave them alone.” (His gaze is cold, unwavering, and scary enough to make anyone back off immediately.)

If you ever feel unsafe, he doesn’t even ask questions—he just pulls you behind him and makes sure you’re okay.

If you get hurt, even slightly, he panics.

“Are you okay? Does it hurt? W-we should go to Recovery Girl, just in case—”

You have a tiny scratch.

“That’s still an injury!” (Yes, he is overreacting, and yes, it’s adorable.)

The Secretly Romantic Boyfriend

Tamaki isn’t the flashy type, but when he does something romantic, it’s unbelievably sweet.

Loves giving you little surprises that are deeply personal.

He won’t just buy you flowers—he’ll find out what your favorite kind is and bring those.

He won’t just take you out for a date—he’ll remember something you mentioned WEEKS ago and plan a whole date around it.

Writes you little love notes but gets too embarrassed to hand them to you.

You find one hidden in your bag that just says:

“I… uh… I hope you’re having a good day. If you ever doubt how amazing you are, please remember that I think you’re the best person in the world.”

Would absolutely get flustered if you flirted with him, but if HE ever flirts first? GAME OVER.

He’ll say something sweet out of nowhere, and when you blush? He immediately loses his mind.

“D-did I say that out loud? Oh my god—” (Hides his face in his hands.)

The “I Miss You Even When You’re Right There” Boyfriend

Tamaki doesn’t like being away from you for too long.

If he hasn’t seen you all day, he gets quiet, fidgety, and a little sad.

When you finally show up, he relaxes instantly—his whole body language softens.

Hates leaving you after dates.

He’ll hesitate at the door, shifting on his feet, until you finally say, “Tamaki, do you want to stay a little longer?”

“…Yes.” (His voice is so soft, so full of longing.)

If you fall asleep on him, he does not move. At all.

He just sits there, holding you, staring at you with pure awe and disbelief.

The Absolute Best Things About Dating Tamaki Amajiki

He may be nervous and shy, but his love is deep, powerful, and unwavering.

He will never take you for granted. Every time he sees you, he falls in love all over again.

He is your safe place, just as you are his.

Loves you more than he even knows how to express—but in every little glance, every soft touch, and every shy, hesitant “I love you”…

It’s so, so obvious.

Final Thoughts

Dating Tamaki Amajiki is like being wrapped in the softest, most gentle kind of love. He may be shy, flustered, and nervous, but his love is deep, unwavering, and endlessly devoted.

He loves you with every quiet moment, every lingering touch, and every shy, whispered word. He may not be the loudest person in the room, but when it comes to you?

He loves you louder than anyone ever could.

[bun-z-bakery]

Drunken Daze

Pairing. Nanami Kento x GN!Reader Warnings/Tags. Co-Workers to lovers, fluff, drinking/alcohol, suggestive, Drunken confessions

Words. 1,377

A/N. Helloooo!! i've been wanting to write something for kento for a while so I hope you enjoy! Also! This was posted earlier on my Ko-fi so check that out if you want! :3

Various Menu | Works Menu | Ao3 | Kofi

You and Kento have been friends for a while now. It was strange getting to know the man. At first, you thought he hated you. He was silent, always with his nose deep into his work, never one for work parties or get-togethers. Your mutual friend Gojo would often need to drag him out of his shell, but his demeanor would change as soon as you entered the room. 

Which is why setting foot into his home and sitting next to him, drinking the wine you had brought, felt so strange. This was a scenario you could only daydream of. 

Your conversation and drinking went on well into the night. He wasn't one for drinking such cheap alcohol. It was all you had on hand, yet, for some reason, he had agreed to it. 

"Man, this sucks. I'm sorry, Nanami." He lets out a low chuckle, swirling the wine before taking another sip. 

"No worries. I'm just glad you brought yourself along. Also, just call me Kento." He takes another sip. You stare at him with a raised brow, drinking in his features. You notice a blush adorned on his cheeks. He was drunk. 

"Kento, should we call it a night?" You were about to put your glass down, but he poured some more wine into your cup and his. Sloppily, he placed the bottle down before he spoke. 

"I don't want this night to end." Was this even the same man you spoke to an hour ago? 

"Kento—" he cuts you off. 

"You're so perfect in my eyes. How can anyone be so perfect? Maybe you're just a dream. Maybe this is all a dream. I'll drink myself to death if it is." 

"Kento, I think we've had enough for the night." Carefully, you take the glass from his hand and place it on the coffee table. Before you can sit properly, he catches your hand and holds it up to his lips, kissing your knuckles. 

You weren't sure what was going through his head, but you had been longing for the blond for oh so long. You weren't even sure if it was a dream yourself. Kento was a heavy drinker—one of the two needed to cut back on the drinks. Even with less alcohol than him in your system, you couldn't help but wonder if the reason why he was so distant in the first place was due to his feelings for you. 

"No. I've adored you from afar for too long." Even through his glasses, you could tell his hazel eyes were glossy. You knew alcohol had such effects on people, yet you never thought you'd see the day you'd have a drunken man confess to you in his own home. 

He raises a hand and ghosts your cheek. You can feel the warmth radiating from his hand; you want to melt into his palm. "May I?" you nod in response. 

"Words, darling." A blush creeps onto your face as you glance down at your hands, unable to make eye contact. 

"Yes, you may." 

With your confirmation, he touches your cheek, stroking it with his thumb, then down to your lips. 

"Kiss me." You were sure of your decision. However, he still asked,

"Are you sure? We can stop this now if you wish." 

"I'm positive, Kento." 

Without another word, his lips crash into yours. You can taste the sweet wine on his tongue as you melt into the kiss. His hands never touch your body. Instead, you move his hands to your shoulders, giving him silent approval for his hands to roam your body. With your approval, he slowly began to explore your body, mindful never to go to areas that might make you uncomfortable. 

Kento breaks the kiss and holds you close. 

"Stay," he whispers. 

"You're too drunk to drive. I'll sleep on the couch." 

You didn't want to argue with the drunk man, so you agreed. He was right. You were too drunk to even see straight. 

Before you knew it, you were hovering over the couch in Kento's arms. Carefully and wobbly, he carried you to his bed and gently placed you down, but he collapsed next to you. 

"Ken?" soft snoring was your response. You could feel his warm breath on your neck as he held onto you. You chuckled and stroked his hair. It didn't take long to drift off to his soft snores. 

In the morning, you find yourself wrapped in not one but two blankets, surrounded by pillows. You figured Kento must have been worried about your comfort and went overboard with the pillows. 

Your nose is hit with the smell of something delicious. Rising out of Kento's bed and making your way to the kitchen with a yawn, you see him in shorts and a wrinkled white T-shirt. 

"Good morning, darling. I made us breakfast." Your head begins to sting, and you are very hungover. Kento seemed to catch on.

"Drink that, and you'll feel as good as new," Kento says, gesturing to a cup filled with what you assume is a hangover remedy. Taking a deep breath, you approach the counter, bracing yourself for the taste. As you gulp it down, you cringe at the flavor and cough. 

"Oh, that's disgusting." 

"That's how you know it works," he points to you with the spatula before plating food for you and him. 

At the table, breakfast was silent. It wasn't until he spoke up that the air became tense. 

Your heart wanted to leap out of its chest. 

"I know we've already slept in the same bed." he cleared his throat, thinning his lips at his actions before he continued. 

"But I would like to take you on a date. If that's alright?" It sounded more like a demand than a question. Kento had his sights set on you. It was more evident now than ever. 

"I would love that, Ken." A slight red tint adorned his face at the mention of the nickname. He smiled and said, "Tomorrow, be ready by 8, and don't forget to wear your gift." 

He whips out his phone. You assume he's bought you something to wear. 

You weren't even official, and the man was already spoiling you. As breakfast came to an end, a comfortable silence filled the room. Kento's gaze lingered on you, and you couldn't help but smile at what tomorrow would bring.

Just as the clock turned 8, a knock was on your door. "Coming!" you shouted, ensuring you looked decent in the outfit Kento had gifted you. 

You open the door, revealing a well-put-together Kento standing with flowers and a slim black box with a beautiful gold ribbon in his hands. "Look at you! I knew you'd look absolutely stunning in that." Your cheeks heat up as you step aside, letting him into your home. You take the flowers and set them in a cup of water on the counter. They were a stunning red with smaller white ones and smelled wonderful. 

"Ready for your other surprise?" 

He holds out the slim black box. 

"Ken, you don't need to do all this for me." 

You kiss his cheek, 

"You're right. I didn't have to do this, but I want to. Every day, you will feel loved and cherished, know that." Little did you know he was serious about this, serious about you. He would do anything and everything to prove it. He didn't plan on losing you, not after secretly pining after you for so long. 

He opens the box, revealing a gold necklace that is too fancy to wear on a regular day yet matches the outfit perfectly. He must've been planning this from the start. You laugh quietly to yourself as you turn around, letting him out the necklace on you. His hands are warm and gentle. 

Once he's finished, carefully hold the gem between your fingers. "It's beautiful, Ken," you say, taking his hand and giving it a slight squeeze, earning a smile from him.

"I'm thrilled that you like it. We should get going now. You'll love what I have planned." 

His gaze lingers on you as you speak. 

"I'm excited to see what you have planned." 

Right then and there, he knew you were already his.

A/N. Thanks for reading! I love Kento so much he's just iwbiwbrbvi okay bye bye!

[bucksangel]

sugar and cream

pairing: alpha!steve x artist!omega!reader x alpha!bucky (poly) - omegaverse!au pt. 4

word count: 10.6k (i’m sorry😭)

summary: The second thing you notice is the bench seat by the living room window having been cleared off, leaving only a few pillows and a variety of Bucky and Steve's clothes. You're drawn to it like a moth to a flame, the potent scent of your Alphas clinging to their shirts pulling you in until you can reach out and run your fingers over the red Henley on top. "We, um - We thought you could have a nest... here."

or - you finally mate with your Alphas.

warnings: 18+ ONLY!!! the amount of fluff in here is unbearable, this is also very smutty, threesome (mmf), knotting, fingering (f receiving), oral sex (f receiving and also kinda m receiving), cum swallowing, praise kink galore, consent is sexy, cockwarming, mentions of bonding, mentions of m/m sex, dirty talk, omegaverse, omega is shy and inexperienced, stucky are extremely careful and loving, a slight amount of angst (bucky is insecure about his arm/scars), basically everyone is nervous, switching povs

a/n: part 4 is finally here!!! i want to continue this au so if anyone has any suggestions as to what to write then lmk!! beta’d by the ever lovely @perdidosbucky-yyo and @fandoms-writings <3 and, as always, this is dedicated to my heart and soul: @buckysbarne

milk and honey masterlist | main masterlist | tip jar | ao3

After days of not seeing your Alphas or having much contact with them, it sends a rush of adrenaline straight to your veins when Bucky texts you that they've finally made it home. Over the few months Bucky and Steve have been courting you, they've only gone on a handful of missions, and most only lasted a day or so with only one of them being gone, so you always had one of your Alphas by your side.

This is the first time they've both been gone for almost four days, and while that isn't that long in the grand scheme of things, you've been anxiously waiting for any communication from them that they're safe. And now that you know they are, you can't remember ever being so excited for something. You want to see them, to check them over and make sure their bruises and cuts are taken care of - even though you know they've already gone to the medical wing of the Tower to get everything taken care of.

It's also extremely nerve wracking because tonight is the night. The night you'll finally mate with Bucky and Steve and show them how much you love them with your body and soul. You haven't been with many Alphas, but you've watched a fair amount of porn with men that may or may not resemble yours in preparation for tonight. It was a little... embarrassing at first; you didn't even know what to search for. But the more videos you watch and accounts from other Omegas about their experiences with being with two Alphas you read, you'd like to think that you're ready.

Truthfully, you've been ready for tonight, even before they asked if you were. You've never wanted to give yourself over to anyone more than these men because you know they'll treat you right, they'll take care of you.

So, even though your skin is buzzing with anxiety, you don't dare and try to talk yourself out of grabbing your bags and jumping in your car. Your face almost hurts from how wide your smile is, the happiness at finally seeing your boys combined with tonight's events causing you to let out a little shriek. You can't contain your emotions right now, not that you want to, Steve and Bucky are very vocal about how they love that you've come out of your shell the longer you've been with them.

Just as you're parking, your phone dings with a text from your friend, Tori.

Have fun, be safe, and call me if you need me <3

Two seconds later, another text comes through.

And tell them that they better treat you right or else I'll come for them :)

Rolling your eyes, you quickly type back a response.

Thank you, babe. I'll let them know and call you if I need anything, ily <3

You don't bother waiting for a response before you grab your bags from the passenger seat and climb out of the car. You suppose you should feel anxious walking up their porch, but any and all worries immediately dissipate as soon as you reach the front door, to which it promptly swings open. Bucky is standing there, a wide smile stretched across his face, and a flush on his cheeks.

"Honey," He says, though it's more of a breathy whisper. His eyes sparkle, and you can't stop yourself from ducking your head and nervously giggling, making sure to hold your bag tight so as not to drop it. "Here, let me take that."

You hand him your overnight bags, to which he takes them in one hand and grabs your hand with his other to guide you into the house. It's decorated a little differently than how it looked when you were last here. The first thing you notice is the new large fluffy blanket folded and thrown over the back of the couch, enticing you to collapse onto it and wrap yourself in the fabric.

The second thing you notice is the bench seat by the living room window having been cleared off, leaving only a few pillows and a variety of Bucky and Steve's clothes. You're drawn to it like a moth to a flame, the potent scent of your Alphas clinging to their shirts pulling you in until you can reach out and run your fingers over the red Henley on top.

"We, um - We thought you could have a nest... here." Bucky's nervous voice makes you turn your head to look at him. Steve has come to stand beside him, lacing his fingers through his mates', and smiles at you with such fondness that it makes you want to drag them to their room right then.

-

"We thought you could have a nest... here." Saying it out loud is a little scary, but Bucky and Steve want you to know that you're welcome here, that they want you here any time you want to be here - which they can only hope is all the time.

And Bucky feels like he's floating on clouds when you smile at them, then take the Henley and bring it up to your nose. Your sweetened scent permeates the living room, and Bucky thinks he can make out the hint of a grin behind his shirt.

"Thank you, Alphas," You say when you lay the shirt back down, and Bucky is suddenly pulled back down to earth the closer you walk toward them, placing one of your hands on his cheek and grabbing Steve's hand with your other. "I - I'd love that."

If it weren't for the flush on your cheeks and the sparkle in your eyes, Bucky would've thought your micro stutter meant the opposite of what you said. But, as it is, he can't find it in himself to doubt you when you step up onto your tiptoes and place a lingering and loving kiss on his lips. And, after days of not seeing you, Bucky feels like he can finally relax and let out a big sigh of relief at knowing that he's surrounded by both of his loves.

Bucky's been on edge for the entire mission - not like Steve fared much better; they were both worried about not being able to keep contact with you. They absolutely know you can take care of yourself, but after months of doting on you and having you love them in return, they got used to it. Even if you didn't see each other every day, they never went long without texting or calling you, so it made both his and Steve's skin crawl at the circumstances.

But now they're back, and both men know that you are what makes their small brownstone a home, which is why they were even more excited to return.

Your kiss grounds him, the glide of your lips against his causing him to sigh into your mouth, and he can't stop himself from licking and then nipping at your bottom lip, desperate to hear that little squeak you let you whenever they give you things or do something that you like.

You'd all kissed before, including a few heavy petting sessions, but nothing further. They respect your boundaries and comfortability, and they'd hate themselves if they were the ones to hurt you like that. But, at their core, they're Alphas, and neither man can deny the rush of adrenaline whenever they're able to bring you even the smallest amount of pleasure.

The kiss comes to an end far too soon for Bucky's liking, but there's something inside him that loves seeing you and Steve together, so he pulls back, trying desperately to not feel bad when you whine and chase his lips.

"Why don't you give ol' Stevie a kiss too," Bucky murmurs against your mouth, smiling slightly when you suck in a breath and nod, your eyes glazing over a little. The look is mesmerizing, and he's anxious to see just how sweet you'll be for them.

When Bucky looks over to his Alpha, he sees the poorly disguised eagerness written all over his face, his puppy dog eyes shining. The brunette cups the back of your head, then disentangles his hand from Steve's so he can do the same to him, then guides your heads closer to each other until your lips are touching.

The kiss is easy and light, a few simple pecks, until they're both surprised by your boldness when you press your body into his and angle your head so that Steve is able to kiss you properly. He can see a peek of tongue slowly prompting you to open your mouth, then licking into it.

And Bucky can tell neither of you know, but your combined scents of arousal are emanating throughout the room and probably filling the entire house. He can feel his cock filling up in his jeans, twitching to life the longer the show goes on until he can't ignore it anymore, having to secretly reach down and grab his crotch to relieve the ache. Even without your mixed scents, he knows both of you are feeling it too by the little whines and gasps.

They'd planned on taking time to settle you into their house, take you on a tour of the rooms you hadn't seen before, maybe let you set up your nest by the window. But he doesn't want to wait; he's too nervous in the best way possible to worship you.

So, he saddles up behind you, wrapping one arm around your waist and resting it on your stomach, then places his other hand on Steve's waist. His movements knock both of you out of your trance, both of you pulling back with gasps and reddened lips, a bright blush covering Steve's cheeks.

"Sorry," Steve says breathlessly, chuckling a little when he realizes he got a little lost in the kiss.

"Don't be, Alpha," Bucky responds, leaning over your shoulder to peck Steve's lips. You whine at the sight, subconsciously squirming between their bodies.

"Alphas." Both Alphas groan, looking down at you with hooded eyes. "I - I'm..."

"Yes?" Steve asks when you don't continue, smiling when you nervously chuckle.

"I'm ready."

-

"I'm ready." You mean it with everything you have; you're ready to make love with them, to join your bodies, and show them that you trust them, that you love them.

Steve curses softly, gripping your hips as though he's restraining himself from throwing you over his shoulder. He doesn't; he actually puts one arm around your waist and loops his other arm under your knees and swiftly picks you up, carrying you bridal-style and smirking when you squeak.

No one says anything while you all head toward their room, a place you've never been. It makes you nervous, but you know without a doubt that you want this, you want to push through those nerves because you're even more anxious to really be with them.

Steve sets you down on your feet when they reach the end of their bed, letting you get a good look at how they live. Their room is spacious; a large bed with multiple pillows, a window with another bench seat, and a bookshelf that you just know is filled with Bucky's fantasy novels. You're smiling as you turn to look at everything, but your smile grows when you see more of their clothes on the lounge chair in the corner.

"We figured you could make a nest in our bed," Steve says nervously, and even without looking at him, you know he's shuffling in place, aching to reach out for you. "We want you to be comfortable here."

You can't seem to find any words to describe how happy you are right now, joy filling your body when you think about being surrounded by not only their scent, but their bodies too. It takes no time at all to walk over to the chair and look over the clothes, noticing shirts and sweaters and even a few boxers, causing heat to rise through your body and up to your face.

You don't even need to think about it, grabbing everything in the pile and carrying them over to the bed. The smile on your face is prominent with each article of clothing you place over the plush sheets, forming a semi-circle and fluffing it up until you're satisfied. Looking back to your Alphas, your eyes shine with a need to be praised, to be told that you did a good job, and that your boys are proud of you for your arrangement.

They do so very quickly.

"It's beautiful, honey," Steve says, not taking his eyes off of you.

"It's perfect, Omega," Bucky says next, reaching out his hand and beckoning you forward.

You go easily, walking toward them until you're once again sandwiched between them.

"You're really ready?" Bucky asks, caressing your sides and carefully slipping one of his hands under your shirt.

"Y-Yes." God, you're more than ready. But knowing that you're not as experienced as they are makes you question how tonight is going to go. However, they've always been careful with you, so you're at least comfortable knowing that they won't hurt you.

"We're going to go slow, okay?" Bucky asks, and you let out a small sigh of relief you didn't know you were holding.

"If we do anything you don't like, please tell us," Steve adds, cupping the back of your neck with a large hand. Guiding your head up to look at him, the seriousness in his gaze feels like the wind has been knocked out of you. The fact that they're so adamant about pleasuring you sends shivers down your spine.

"Yes, Alpha."

"We'll start with you telling us what you like," Bucky whispers in your ear, just loud enough for everyone to hear, but not so loud to disrupt the moment.

"Oh." Truthfully, you don't really know what you like. You haven't been with many Alphas, so you're not sure what you enjoy when having sex with one, but you have a general understanding as to what you like when you spend some time with yourself. "Well, I - uh. I don't really know, I haven't... been with that many people, so I don't really know. But, I... I like kissing. And I like touching."

"God, you're sweet," Bucky murmurs, kissing your cheek.

-

"God, you're sweet."

It's true, oh Lord, is it true. When Steve leans down to kiss you, he already knows what he wants to do. And since he and Bucky have talked about this in length, he knows Bucky is on the same page. They both know you're fairly inexperienced, so they figured you may not know exactly what you prefer with other people, but they both know they'll spend all night - hell, all weekend, exploring your body and getting to find out what makes you moan before they even think about their own pleasure.

"How about," Steve cut himself off with a groan poorly disguised as a clear of the throat. "How about we get naked first and get in bed. Is that okay?"

"Yes," You say quickly, leaning up and kissing Steve again. "I - I want that."

"Good," Bucky says, kissing the back of your neck and toying with the hem of your shirt. "We're going to undress you first."

Steve and Bucky talked about it, and came to a mutual decision to direct you through the night's events, telling you what they're going to do so they don't scare you. It also helps them and their primal Alpha urges to take care of you, to settle them into the mindset of giving you as much euphoria as they can without getting lost in their own heads.

Bucky and Steve kiss all over your face and neck, soft presses of lips against smooth skin, occasionally nipping and biting and licking. They pointedly ignore your scent gland, wanting to not only tease you a little, but also not put pressure on you with the idea of their marks. While they love to think about you being theirs forever, they want you to make the decision on if and when it will happen.

They're slow and methodical in taking off your shirt, Bucky working on your pants while Steve's brain short circuits at the sight of your covered breasts rising and falling rapidly with each passing second that their hands caress your body. When his Alpha chuckles, he's knocked out of his trance, kneeling down and steadying your legs to help you step out of your jeans.

Then, you're standing in their room covered only by your bra and underwear. Steve can smell your arousal even more here, the scent of your wetness making his head spin and lean into it. He stops himself before he gets too close, though, not wanting to move too fast. Looking up at you, he runs his hands up and down your thighs, very much enjoying the sight of his mate's hands exploring your torso, stopping to cup your clothed breast.

"Oh!" Your back arches, pressing into Bucky's touch. Steve sees his boyfriend smile against your neck, takes great joy in your little whines, and the way your hips buck up when Steve tugs at the band of your panties.

"Can we take these off, honey?"

"Please." Your begging causes the base of Steve's cock to throb, his knot already pleading to lock inside you.

You stand in place as Bucky works to remove your bra while Steve drags your underwear down your legs, and when he removes them entirely, he's captivated by the sight of how wet and ruined they are. The need to smell them is strong, but he manages to push aside the urge so that he can place his hands on your waist and look up at your face. Your pleasure is evident, but so is your hesitance.

Steve knows it probably shouldn't, but your inexperience turns him on even more than you already do, and he's determined to get you through it to the other side.

"Do you want to lay down, Omega?" Bucky asks, running his hands up and down your arms in a soothing manner.

"O-Okay." Your voice is breathy, already melting into their arms despite the lingering anxiety.

Steve stands, and both men guide you to the bed, a low growl bubbling up in Bucky's throat when you lay down, your legs out straight and spread slightly. They can both hear how fast your heart is racing, they both see the rapid rising and falling of your chest, and they can both smell how absolutely soaked you are.

"She's so beautiful, isn't she Stevie?" Bucky's voice is breathless, like he can't believe his luck at seeing you like this. Steve understands, because he's feeling quite the same. He's so eager to be with you but even more resolved to make this as pleasurable for you as possible, so slow and steady it is.

"She really is, Buck." They're about to crawl onto the bed, but stop when you whine softly and squirm.

"What's wrong, Omega?" Steve's brow furrows, looking over at his Alpha, who appears to be equally concerned.

"Can... Um. Can I... see you too?" Your voice is so small, so timid. The way you fiddle with one of their shirts by your head lets Steve know you probably want to reach out for them, and Steve would never deny you anything you ask for.

"Of course," Steve says, nodding. When he takes off his shirt, he sees your eyes widen, and smiles to himself when you shut your legs together tightly. The hunger in your eyes is evident, but there's also nervousness. "How about we still keep our boxers on for now, and we can finish getting undressed later?"

"O-Okay." Steve smiles at your response, and then looks over to his mate who - oh. Fear is etched across his face, and it suddenly clicks in Steve's brain.

Bucky's arm. While the scars have never deterred Steve from loving and worshiping Bucky the way he deserves, he knows his Alpha is still self conscious about it around other people. He's grown more confident with his body as time passes, but Steve knows Bucky is terrified of you seeing the marred skin on his shoulder.

"Alpha?" Your soft voice says, and you slowly sit up and look at Bucky expectantly.

-

"Alpha?"

Bucky kind of wants to vomit. He's been so excited for tonight, so eager to finally show you how much love they can give you, that he completely forgot that he would have to be naked too. He knows Steve doesn't mind his arm or scars, has told and shown him countless times that he's loved and desired, but it's different with you.

After all Bucky has been through, he never thought he'd get so lucky as to reunite with Steve, to be with him and love him openly in a way he never allowed himself to dream of back in the forties when being gay was a death sentence and two Alpha's mating was so unheard of it that it was laughable. And now that he can, he feels like he can truly be himself, like he can be, dare he say it, happy.

And then you came along. You, with your sweet voice that invades his dreams and makes him wake up aching to call you. You, with your tender touch that feels like a shot of dopamine straight into his veins any time your fingers so much as brush his arm. You, with your kind heart that has shown him so much love and patience, one would think you were a saint.

You've allowed him to explore parts of himself that he never knew existed; you've shown him how gentle he can be, that he's more than what he's made himself out to be. So, knowing all of this about you, Bucky doesn't think it should be so scary to reveal his torso to you. He knows that even if you did think the scars were ugly, you wouldn't visibly react.

But that's the thing. What if you do think his scars are ugly? Tony gave him some fancy medical cream he can't remember the name of to help make them not so red and angry all the time, but it's still not pretty. And the last thing Bucky wants is for you to look at him and realize you're too good for an Alpha like him.

No. He thinks harshly, chewing on his bottom lip, heat rising to his face as he tries to calm his racing heart. She loves me. I am enough. I can do this.

"Bucky?" Your sweet voice travels up to his ears, forcing his gaze to meet yours. "Are you okay?"

"Yes, of - of course - yeah." He knows he's okay, he knows he's safe with you and Steve, but when he finally pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to the floor, he can't meet your eyes, too afraid of what he'll find if he does.

He hears the bed squeak when he doesn't move, and he's so focused on trying to breathe properly that he nearly jumps when he feels Steve's hand land on his flesh shoulder.

"Bucky," You call again, soft as ever, and he can see out of the corner of his eyes that you're now kneeling at the end of the bed, reaching out to touch his chest. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I can put my shirt on if you want," Is what he blurts out, rushed, trying to assure you that he'll do whatever he needs to make you comfortable.

"Why would I want that? I love looking at you." There's a pain in Bucky's heart because you sound genuinely hurt and confused, wondering why he would ever think such a thing. "You're beautiful, Alpha."

Bucky lets out a shaky breath, then, with no small amount of apprehension, turns to face you.

"It's just... I know you probably don't want to see my... my scars, and I know they're ugly, so it -" Bucky's cut off by your lips pressing against his, and he feels his body relax even more.

"Do you want to know what I think of your scars?" You ask when you pull back, and Bucky doesn't really know if he wants to or not. But there's no malice in your tone, no disgust in your eyes, only love. So, despite his better judgment, he nods slowly.

"I think they're a symbol of resolve. You've been through so much, far too much. And they might remind you of all that you were forced to do, but not for me. They're proof to me that you withheld their torment and came out on the other side. They're proof of how strong and capable you are. I don't care if they aren't aesthetically pleasing, they're apart of you, whether you like it or not. And I love you. All of you. And that includes your arm."

Bucky is so focused on you that he doesn't realize he's crying; the tears on his cheeks don't register in his mind because he's too captivated by the sight of your fingers delicately running along the biggest mark on his shoulder. Then, you're leaning forward, placing a few short and sweet kisses along the seam where metal meets flesh, and Bucky won't even deny that the whimper he lets out is downright pitiful. But he can't help it; he doesn't want to ever go without you and your compassion.

"I love you too," Bucky whispers, leaning into your touch. "You... You're sure you don't mind?"

"Baby," You murmur, cupping his cheek in one palm and holding onto his shoulder with the other. "If it would make you feel more comfortable to wear a shirt, then I won't force you not to wear one, but I want to see you, all of you. I don't care if you don't think you're perfect because you're perfect to me. Me and Stevie. You're perfect for us."

If Bucky believed in a God, he'd be thanking them right now, would be on his knees wondering what he ever did to deserve you, but is so grateful that he must have done something right because here you are, in all your glory. Naked and baring your heart and soul to them.

Bucky wants to ravage you. He wants to worship you.

He's going to.

With a resolute nod, he covers your hand - the one on his cheek - and moves it so he can kiss your palm, once, twice, then a final time before he looks over at Steve. His mate has tears in his own eyes, and he's honestly surprised Steve isn't bawling right now, always so emotional.

"Lay back, Omega." Bucky's voice is hoarse, thick with emotion and desire.

And, because you're so sweet, you lay back easily, wiggling until you're laying comfortably with your legs out and spread a little, and your arms resting on the pillow above you. The picture you paint is better than anything in the MoMA. He could write soliloquies about how beautiful you are when you look at him with half-lidded eyes and slightly kiss-swollen lips. You're completely relaxed, and Bucky takes a few seconds to breathe in your scent and cement in his brain that you want him.

"Okay," Bucky whispers, mostly to himself, and gathers the courage to unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper. Looking to you, he waits for your little nod before he actually tugs the garment down, and then turns his head to see Steve doing the same. They're both slow, not wanting to ruin the moment. They've got nowhere to be except here with you.

Once both Alphas' pants are discarded, Steve steps towards Bucky and gives him an encouraging kiss, letting him know that they're in this together. It gives Bucky the reassurance that Steve is on the same page as him, is with him 'til the end of the line.

When they break away, they share a knowing glance. This is a big step for not just you, but for them. They've been together their whole lives; they know each other intimately in ways no one else ever will, and so to allow someone else into their dynamic was a big adjustment.

It's one they're happy to make for you.

"Can we come into your nest, Omega?"

-

"Can we come into your nest, Omega?"

You're not sure why, but there's a pang in your chest at the question. This is their bed you're laying in, these are their clothes you're surrounded by, but to them, it's your nest. They've already given you so much without expecting or asking for anything in return, and now they're giving you this; a safe space outside of your apartment where no one can hurt you, where even they still ask for permission to enter.

"Yes." It's the fastest and easiest response you've ever given, and you can't stop the smile from etching across your face as they crawl up the bed so that they can both lay on either side of you, propping themselves up on an elbow so they can stare down at you.

Now you're really trapped between them, both Alphas' eyes roaming over your body as though they can't believe you're real. Despite the close quarters, your 'fight or flight' senses don't kick in; you know in your soul that you're protected. And that thought alone makes your inner Omega force a submissive whine slip out of your mouth.

"Can I touch you, honey?" Steve asks, letting his hand hover over your stomach as though he's aching to feel you but won't do so without your permission.

"Please, Alpha." You're not sure which of your Alphas produces the deep growl that echoes through the room; perhaps it's both of them; all you know is that as soon as Steve's hand makes contact with your skin, your body is lit aflame. He runs his fingers over to your side, gliding his palm up until he's just barely touching your breast.

Suddenly, Bucky has let his hand rest on your neck - not nearly enough to choke you, just to guide your attention to his.

"Can I kiss you?"

You're not at all embarrassed at the speed at which you surge forward to kiss Bucky; just a few touches and sweet words and you're already putty for them. This time, you can feel the groan vibrating through the Blonde Alpha's chest, and your hand instinctively searches for him, finding purchase by threading your fingers through his hair. You can feel his eyes never wavering from your face, and it makes you burn hotter, makes you squirm because you're not sure what to do about the almost unbearable ache between your legs.

The kiss starts out soft, merely a gentle glide of lips caressing each other. It isn't until one of Steve's massive hands fully encompasses one of your breasts that Bucky's tongue has the opportunity to slip into your mouth - dropped open due to a gasp.

Lips press against your neck, soft sighs mixed in with little nips as Steve breathes in your scent. You're pretty sure it's involuntary, but you feel the hard bulge in Steve's boxers grind against your leg a few times before he seems to come to his senses and stop his movements.

"Sorry, 'mega," Steve breathes out against your skin, tugging at your nipple at the same time Bucky moves his hand down to your stomach. They work in tandem to get you worked up, and you're sure both of them can smell how wet you are.

It's when Bucky's hand reaches the top of one of your thighs that you part your legs as wide as you can with both Alphas surrounding you.

"Can I touch your pussy?" Bucky asks, pulling back from your lips just enough to be heard. He's breathing hard, almost as though he is the one that's about to combust from pleasure.

"Y-Yes, Alpha." It's been so long since you've had someone else touch you like this, and despite being nervous, you want to push through it. You want to join your bodies with them, give them anything they desire.

And even though you're aching and desperate, Bucky doesn't move fast towards where you want him most. He takes his time trailing his fingers to the inside of your thigh, then grips it in his large palm and drapes your leg over his to open you up even further. The cold air hitting your exposed pussy sends shivers down your spine, and Steve covers your mouth with his own to swallow your high-pitched whine.

"Don't worry, honey," Bucky coos in your ear, nipping your lobe. "We'll take care of you."

Pulling away from Steve and looking over at your other Alpha, you smirk a little. "You better," you tease, reaching up and carding your fingers through his hair, relishing in the quiet groan he lets out. "Because Tori wanted me to tell you that she'll hurt you if you don't."

Both Alphas laugh, nodding along.

"Well, we'll reassure her later that we did everything we could to cherish you the way you deserve," Steve says, kissing your cheek. "Right now, though, we have a job to do."

"And that's to prove to you that we can give you everything you need and want," Bucky finishes for him, sliding his hand to cover your dripping core and smiling deviously when you moan and buck your hips up into it.

"I know you will," You say. And you mean it; you mean it with everything you have. You know in your heart and soul that only they can provide for you. Looking between your best guys, you give them the softest smile. "I know."

Both men curse under their breaths, and Bucky looks down at you with that look in his eyes he only gives you and Steve.

"Can I play with your clit?" His voice is gruff, and it's clear he's holding himself back from absolutely ravishing you. It sends a surge of love straight to your heart and causes more slick to pour out of your quivering hole.

"Please."

Bucky nods, and Steve leans down to encompass your nipple, the one that he's not tugging at while your other Alpha taps your clit a few times. He circles it a few times, pressing down and smirking when you once again push your hips up.

"You're so beautiful like this, do you know that?"

It's an automatic reaction to shake your head in denial of his comment. You want to believe that it's true so badly, but sometimes you still have trouble accepting their compliments. It just doesn't seem real that these two Gods see you as beautiful as they say you are, but part of you likes to think that just makes their opinions that much more real. If these gorgeous Alphas think your appearance captivates them just as much as your heart, then you're hoping you're going to believe them one day.

"You are," Steve growls against your skin, and the sound reverberates through your chest. The sternness in his tone makes you whine, but also causes tears to prick your eyes.

"Say it," Bucky demands, rolling your clit between his fingers. "Tell us what Stevie and I already know." When you don't say anything, he continues. "Tell us you're beautiful; tell us that we're lucky to have you, and I'll slip my finger in that cute little hole."

You want his finger so bad, you want it to fill you completely and get you ready for them, but your emotions get caught in your throat. It's so difficult to say what they want you to say, but when Steve lets his teeth graze your breast and Bucky circles your hole teasingly, you know you'll say or do anything they ask of you as long as they continue to play with your body like this.

"I..." Bucky raises his eyebrow, then softens his expression, and leans down to kiss your forehead. With a deep breath, you look up at him. "I'm beautiful."

"And?" Steve says, releasing your breast and causing you to tremble when the cold air hits your exposed and wet nipple.

"You - You're... You're lucky to - to have me."

"Damn right we are," Both of your men say at the same time, and you'd laugh at their synchronicity if it weren't for Bucky's finger pressing against your opening.

You're wet enough that it doesn't feel that uncomfortable when the very tip of his finger dips in, but your body involuntarily tenses when he tries pushing in deeper.

"It's okay, honey," Bucky coos, and Steve cups your cheek to guide your attention to him.

"Just relax, Omega," He says, kissing your lips briefly. "It's okay, we won't do anything you don't want."

"But..." You trail off, heat creeping up to your face. "I - I really do want it. Just... Just go slow, okay?"

"Of course," Bucky says, Steve nodding in agreement, and the hunger in his eyes doesn't put you off. It actually emboldens you and further cements in your brain that they crave you the way they claim to. "We'll go as slow as you want, sweet girl. We don't have anywhere to be except right here with you."

"We won't even think about our own pleasure until you're completely satisfied," Steve adds, and that alone makes you want to cry.

How did you get so lucky?

"We told you, we are the lucky ones." Bucky's comment makes the heat in your cheeks flare up because you realize you said that out loud.

"So am I, though - oh!" You get cut off when Bucky manages to push his finger in even more until it's halfway inside. "I - I love you, and you love me, and it just - oh God."

Steve doesn't let you finish your sentence because he quickly pecks your lips, and you let his tongue invade your mouth when it asks for entrance by running along your bottom lip.

"We're supposed to praising you, Omega," You hear Bucky say, wiggling the finger inside you. You can't see him, but you're sure he's staring down at your entrance, no doubt aching to feel you fluttering around his cock.

The thought makes you clench down onto his finger, but then immediately relax your body to allow him to push all the way in. It stings, and you kind of wish you prepped yourself a little before coming over, but another part of you loves that they're the ones doing it, that they're more than willing to do the work.

Bucky wiggles his finger again, letting you get used to the feeling. Other than that, he doesn't move his hand, not until you break your kiss with Steve and nod at him.

"You - You can move."

He's slow as he pulls his hand back, though he doesn't allow himself to fully pull out. He gives you time to take a few deep breaths, then pushes back in, repeating the motion leisurely for a while until you're moaning and nodding again.

"Can you... give me another?" His fingers are big, one of them being thicker than two of your own, so you're sure it's going to be a little painful, but you're ready for it. Ready for them.

"Of course, honey." This time, he does pull out of your hole, tracing two of them around your entrance and smiling when you whine pathetically. "Just breathe, okay?"

"Yes, Alpha."

-

"Yes, Alpha."

Bucky wants to combust, is going to implode with how much love he has for you. When you call him 'Alpha', it does things to him. It sends the primal part of his brain into overdrive, making him want to wrap you in his arms and give you the world.

Your body melts into the bed, and he manages to push two thick fingers into your core, stopping as soon as you hiss softly.

"It's okay, honey," Steve whispers into your ear, running his own hand down until he can press down against your clit. "His fingers are big, aren't they?"

"Uh huh," You mumble, wiggling your hips and taking steadying breaths. "So big."

Now, Steve knows from personal experience how big Bucky is, his cock and fingers included. And he knows that Steve can take it - oh boy can he take it, but Bucky knows he needs to be careful with you, no matter how strong his urge to simply take you is.

Steve continues to rub and play with your clit, allowing you to relax your core until Bucky can slip his fingers in further. It takes a little longer to fit both of them fully inside you, having to spread his fingers and go slow as he opens you up so that he's able to press in all the way. The fluttering of your hole makes his cock throb, eager to feel it around his cock, but wants to take his time so that you can actually enjoy it.

"Alright, Omega," Bucky breathes out, having to close his eyes and will himself to pull his fingers out. "Can you take another?"

"Yes!" Your enthusiastic consent forces a rumble from his chest, making that Alpha growl that he knows you like.

"Okay, don't fret, honey," Bucky coos, leaning down and giving you a nearly filthy kiss before pulling back. "Now, this may hurt. Just remember to breathe and relax."

He waits for you to nod before he presses the tips of three fingers against your hole. He goes even slower when opening you up this time, and he doesn't mind that it takes longer to be able to finger you properly. It seems like it takes a lifetime for him to be able to move faster, but he doesn't mind, not in the slightest. He's willing to age twenty years until you're truly ready. The glazed over look in your eyes makes him want to cry with how absolutely sweet you are, your scent of arousal filling his nostrils as he inhales deeply.

"Can I ask you something?" Bucky asks, and he wasn't planning on it, but when he pulls his hand away and looks at his glistening fingers, he knows he needs to taste you.

"What is it?"

"Have you ever had your pretty pussy eaten out?"

“Oh.” Your eyes go wide and your hips involuntarily wiggle. “Um, no - no one’s ever… done that.”

“Can I be your first?” Bucky is practically salivating at the thought of burying his face between your legs, and he can feel his knot throb as he imagines the moans you’ll make.

“Oh, oh - um. Yes, you can... do that.” You sound caught off guard, and for a moment Bucky thinks you might be complying simply because he asked, but then you thrust your hips upwards and whine  “Please.”

Bucky can’t help the cheshire-like grin that envelops itself across his face, and he quickly nods, then looks at Steve.

“How about you get behind her and sit her on your lap; it’ll be easier that way.”

His mate nods eagerly, and they both look to you for your consent, which you give them with a nod of your own. They both lean back; Bucky helping you sit up so that Steve can shuffle to sit behind you. Bucky lets you scoot back so you can settle against Steve’s chest, and Bucky just can’t stop himself from staring at you both for a few moments. You’re just so beautiful, and seeing Steve’s hands holding your waist makes him desperate to watch you two make love.

But first, he has a job to do.

Bucky maneuvers his body so he can lay on his stomach between your legs, and he takes one of your calves in his hands. Slowly, he trails kisses from your ankle up to the inside of your thigh, then lifts it so he can lay it over Steve’s leg. He does the same with your other leg, though this time he gives you a few nibbles, which he licks after to soothe the mild sting.

Once both of your legs are spread, your glistening pussy is on full display, and Bucky doesn’t even want to stop the groan he lets out, he needs to let you know that he’s enjoying this almost as much as you are.

Leaning forward, he inhales your scent where it’s strongest, and he moans even louder, unable not to spread your lower lips to fully view your most intimate parts. Looking up at you, he gives you a gentle smile, then delicately kisses your clit.

“If you want me to stop, just let me know.” At your nod, and a smile of your own, he dives in further, flicking the tip of his tongue over your clit several times and relishing in your shocked gasp.

Flattening his tongue, he licks a long stripe from your leaking hole back up to your clit, then wraps his lips around it and suckles, giving you time to adjust to the feeling. But soon enough, his hunger overtakes him, and he dips his tongue into your loosened hole, sticking it in as far as he can so he can drink down your essence. He keeps his eyes on your euphoric expressions, watching carefully to find out which of his actions makes you tremble the most. And you seem to be more than okay with what he’s doing, especially when he licks back up to your clit and teases your entrance with the tips of two fingers.

“Oh! Alpha, yes!”

Your begging sends shivers down Bucky’s spine, and he groans into your pussy, taking mercy on you and fitting them inside you. He continues to lick and suck your clit while simultaneously picking up the speed at which he fingers you, though he’s careful not to overwhelm you. He watches as Steve covers one of your hands with his own and threads your fingers together, then guides your other hand to grip Bucky’s hair.

“Does she taste as good as we thought?” Steve asks, his voice gruff.

“So much better,” Bucky says, leaning back just enough to be heard. His admission must have done something to you because you thrust your hips against his face and whine, high-pitched and loud.

Bucky might actually die; he feels as though he is dead, has passed over into the afterlife, and is now on his way to heaven. The way you grind your hips against his face makes his cock throb, makes him want to hump against the bed to relieve the ache - he won't, though, because he knows he'll cum too soon if he does.

“Buck,” Steve says some time later, out of breath as though he was the one who couldn’t breathe because he was devouring you.

“What, punk?” Bucky asks, pulling away and practically glaring at him, annoyed that he was stopped when you were on your way to release.

“Are you gonna let me have a taste too?”

“So needy,” He chuckles, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a smirk at the same time he rolls his eyes.

Bucky surges up, ignoring your whine as he leans over your body so he can immediately lick into Steve’s mouth. Your slick covers Bucky’s chin, and once your taste is almost gone from his mouth, Steve starts cleaning his Alpha’s face with his tongue, groaning deeply.

“You were right, jerk,” Steve says when he’s done, then turns to find you’ve been watching them. He pecks your lips, then smirks at you. “You’re delicious.”

“Alphas, please!”

“Please what, honey?” Bucky teases, taking your hand out of his hair and kissing your palm. “What do you want?”

“I…” You pause, chewing on your lip in a nervous gesture. “I want you… inside me.”

Both Alphas curse, and the men share a look before turning back to you.

“Both of us won’t fuck you tonight,” Bucky starts, cutting off your disappointed whine with a brief kiss. “We don’t want to overwhelm you. So, we’ll let you choose.”

“Oh.” You look conflicted, eyes flicking between both men as though it’s an impossible choice to make. And after a while, Steve kisses your temple, rubbing your sides.

“How about Bucky takes you first? And then we can work up to both of us later.” Steve’s offer seems to please you, and you turn to look at him over his shoulder.

“Are you sure, Stevie?”

“I’m sure,” Steve assures, bringing up your joined hands and kissing your knuckles. “As a matter of fact, I want to watch you two. I can take care of myself, okay?”

“O-Okay.”

“Okay, honey. We’re going to take off our boxers now,” Bucky says, and both of them carefully extract themselves from your body so they can stand next to the bed. Both of them take a deep breath, keeping their eyes on you while they peel off their underwear and let them fall to the floor.

“That’s not going to fit.” Your blunt statement makes them both laugh a little, and Bucky shakes his head.

“We’ll make it fit, Omega. But…” Bucky trails off, glancing at Steve and seeing his reassuring smile. “How about you just sit on it for a little bit? It will get you used to the feeling.”

You squirm in place, your hands twisting in the bed sheets you're laying on as you contemplate the offer. Finally, you nod, sitting up and shuffling around so Bucky can sit on the bed with his back leaning against the head board. They both help you straddle Bucky's lap, kneeling above him as he holds your hips. He hisses when Steve grabs the base of his sensitive cock, relishing in the grip as his mate positions the tip at your entrance.

"Are you ready, honey?" Bucky asks, looking up at you. He can hear how fast your heart is beating, can practically feel you vibrating in place with anxiety. He's not sure if it's good or bad, and you have a hesitant look on your face, but you nod anyway, leaning down to quickly kiss him.

"Yeah, just..." You trail off, chewing on your lower lip briefly. "Go slow?"

"Of course, honey," Bucky assures, squeezing your sides affectionately.

"We've got all night," Steve adds, pressing a kiss to your temple. "If you want to stop or take a break, just let us know. There's no need to rush, okay? We'll take this at your pace."

"Okay," You say, taking a deep breath. "I trust you both."

You have no idea what that simple sentence does to Bucky. You trust him? Him? Bucky Barnes? The Winter Soldier? He understands Steve; he's Captain Fucking America; of course, he can be trusted to protect you. But sometimes it's still wild to Bucky that you trust him to do that as well.

It's something he'll never take for granted.

-

"I trust you both."

You mean it when you say it. You trust your Alphas with your life, taking solace in the fact that they'll care for and covet you, so you're not worried about that. It's just... You've never felt like this towards anyone; you don't think you'll ever feel so much love and adoration for another man, not that you want to. You fully intend on bonding with them and marrying them, creating a future together filled with happiness and joy. In fact, you're not actually sure what you'd do if you didn't spend the rest of your life with them.

You refuse to find out.

They're careful when helping you sit, Steve keeping his hold on Bucky's knot while snaking his other hand down your front to your pussy. Spreading your lower lips, you shiver at the touch, anticipation building in your core and heart as they remind you to take deep breaths.

It's been a long, long time since you've had sex, so the initial sting isn't surprising. What is surprising, however, is how quickly the pain dulls, fading away to pleasure. Steve's finger lightly toying with your clit also helps, forcing more slick to drip from your hole and practically soak Bucky's cock. Despite feeling like he's already deep in your stomach, you look down and find that he's only about halfway inside you, and you continue taking deep breaths.

It takes a few minutes for you to feel ready enough to sit down all the way; loud moans and whines fill the room. It's overwhelming in the best possible way - Bucky rubbing your waist to soothe you while Steve continues flicking your clit.

"Fuck." Even you are shocked at your exclamation, you rarely curse; it's just not in your nature. But it's the only thing that comes to mind, and your internal filter is practically nonexistent at this point. Your head is filled with thoughts of how much you love your Alphas, how much you crave them, and how you know you're immediately addicted to his cock. You won't take Steve tonight, but you're sure you'll become obsessed with his too.

It's just too good. Feeling Bucky's cock pulsing in your pussy sends shivers down your spine, electricity thrumming throughout your body and causing fuzziness in your mind.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks, continuing to rub your nub and moving his hand from Bucky's cock to your breast, softly tugging and tweaking your nipple.

"Better," You say breathlessly, turning your head to look at him. "So much better than okay."

"Good. That's good, Omega," Bucky grits out, and you will applaud him later for his strength and willpower to not immediately fuck you. You know you're tight, squeezing his member as though you never want to let him leave your body - which, to be fair, you don't. You'd live happily for the rest of your life like this, surrounding and filled with your best guys.

"Are you okay, Buck?" Steve teases, and you smile a little at the smirk he gives the other man. "How does she feel? Tell me." The huskiness in Steve's voice gives away his eagerness, and it leaves you feeling disappointed that you won't take him tonight while also anticipating for when you finally do.

"Like fucking heaven." Bucky tightly shuts his eyes, breathing steadily through the intense waves of pleasure. "Our Omega is so tight, so fucking wet. Don't ever want to leave her pretty pussy."

The way they talk about you like you're not even here gets you even more soaked, unable to stop the pathetic whimper that escapes your lips. Nor are you able to stop yourself from wiggling in place, heat flooding your veins as Bucky's cock shifts inside you.

"He's so greedy, isn't he, honey?" Steve asks you playfully, chuckling to himself when you nod, clearly loving your dazed state. "Not that I blame him. We've both dreamt about you, how perfect you'd be for us. We'd wake up hard as hell, desperate to call you so we can get off to your voice. We didn't know how you would feel about that, though, so we'd take care of ourselves. But you're what we think about when we have sex; we moan your name, imagining you here with us so we can love on you too, give you everything you need."

Steve's endless praise lights you on fire, your hind brain going feral over how soft his tone yet how filthy the words he's spewing is.

"I -" Pausing, you squirm again, moaning at the jolt of pleasure. "I think about you too. When... When I t-touch myself." The admission doesn't scare you like you thought it would; you're too in love with them to be embarrassed about being so vulnerable.

But your admission makes Bucky's hips stutter upwards, causing you to bounce slightly. Everyone moans, and you feel Steve's painfully hard erection rut against your backside, and you take great pride in knowing that they're clearly pleased.

"God, you're just perfect, aren't you?" Bucky sounds out of breath, like he's just ran a marathon and hasn't recovered yet. He raises his eyebrows when you start to shake your head, taking you by surprise when he lightly pinches your side - not nearly enough to hurt, just acting as a warning.

"Say it, Omega," Steve urges, rubbing your clit a little faster. "Tell us that you're perfect, and then we'll let you ride Buck like I know you're desperate to."

"I'm... perfect." You don't really believe it, but you know you'll say just about anything in order to get what you want. And, judging by the looks on both of their faces, they don't believe that you mean it either.

"One day you'll see yourself how we do; the sweet, perfect Omega that you are. And we'll be right here when you do."

Steve's words make you want to cry; they bring tears to your eyes and a surge of love through your heart. How did you get so lucky?

You don't get much time to dwell on that because Steve squeezes your breast tighter at the same time that Bucky grips your hips and guides them to grind down on his lap. More moans emanate through the air, focusing on how good it feels to be loved by these perfect Alphas, how good you feel being filled to the brim with cock.

Before long, Bucky takes your hands and places them on his shoulders, his breath hitching when you delicately rub your thumb along the scars. You know he can't feel much of it, but you hope he understands the gesture when you lean down to kiss the marks. It doesn't take but a few minutes of gyrating until you voluntarily raise up a few inches, then sink down in one fluid motion, squeezing your eyes shut because you can feel that you're about to cum but you're pleading with your body not to let you, not yet. You don't want this to end just yet.

You lift up again, then sit down with a little more force, relishing in your Alphas' groans. You feel powerful like this, taking what you want with more and more determination until you position your lower half in such a way that the tip of Bucky's cock presses into that special spot deep inside your core.

"Alpha!"

"Is that it, Omega?" Bucky asks through a clenched jaw, his pupils blown wide as he stares down at where your bodies meet, entranced by the sight of his soaked cock. "Did I hit your spot? You feelin' good?"

"So - oh!" You can't stop riding him even when the burn in your hips increases, and you know you'll be sore tomorrow, but you couldn't care less right now. All you care about is getting off and making your guys feel as good as you do. "I'm gonna cum!"

"Do it, 'Mega," Steve says, rubbing your clit furiously, smirking into your neck when he ducks his head and licks and sucks the skin around your scent gland. "Cum for us, show us how beautiful you are when you fall apart. Show us how sweet you are for us."

You can tell Bucky is close too based on the rapidity of his chest rising and falling, the flush covering his body, the tensing of his abs. But you can also tell that he's holding back until you break first, and your inner Omega preens at the display of restraint, knowing that he's strong enough to please you first before he allows himself his own release.

"Cum."

You're not sure who ordered it, but you don't really care. Your body tensing and your pussy clamping down on Bucky's knot as it locks inside you, waves of ecstasy washing over you until tears start streaming down your face. It seems like forever but also no time at all before you slump forward into Bucky's chest, aftershocks of your orgasm causing you to quake when you feel his own cum flood your hole, getting locked in by his fully blown knot.

You're still whimpering and crying into Bucky's chest as you come down from your high; too many positive emotions swirling in your body and mind that it can't help but pour out of you.

"Honey?" Someone asks, clearly concerned, and you shake your head.

"I - I'm okay," You assure them, focusing on the hands caressing your body. "I just... I just love you both so, so much."

"We love you too, Omega." You recognize the voice as Bucky's, your cries dwindling into sniffles until you try to sit up, but fall forward almost immediately due to how weak you feel.

"It's okay, just stay like that, honey," Steve says gently, moving from behind you to kneel at your side and rub your back. "Rest."

"But..." Breathing deeply, you feel a sense of guilt when you look down and see that Steve is still hard. You want him to get off too, eager to see him lose himself, wanting so badly to touch him and give him his own orgasm. "You didn't..."

"Oh, honey," Steve coos, smiling at you sweetly when you trail off and don't continue. "You're worried because I didn't cum?"

Shyly nodding your head, you force yourself to maintain eye contact, slowly reaching out for him.

"Can - Can I... I wanna -" You're cut off by both Alpha's groaning, squeaking a little when you feel Bucky's cock twitch.

"You wanna touch our Alpha?" Bucky asks, kissing your forehead. "You can if you want. Touch him all you want."

"It's okay," Steve coos, shuffling forward until your hand is mere inches from his twitching cock. "Go ahead, honey. Touch me. Make me cum."

Even though it's phrased as an order, you know he's not demanding it; he'd never pressure you to do anything you don't feel fully comfortable with. And that's why you finally take his cock in your hand, positive that you want to make him feel good.

It takes no time at all before the base of Steve's cock grows, only allowing you to pump it a few times before the telltale signs of his orgasm crescendo into a full body shudder. He's clearly so worked up that he can barely last a minute with your hand on him, and it makes you feel like the luckiest Omega alive.

Bucky takes you by surprise when he wraps one arm around your back, steadying you against his torso while gripping one of Steve's ass cheeks in his wide palm, leaning forward and taking the tip of his dick in his mouth as soon as the first spurt of cum leaks out.

You're entranced by the sight of your Alpha swallowing your other Alpha's cum, and you're almost a little jealous that you're not tasting it, but the sight alone is enough to make you want to watch Bucky really suck Steve off. Images flash through your mind of them teaching you how to take them in your mouth, and you shiver at the thought but decide to keep it to yourself for the meantime.

Once everything is said and done and everyone is satisfied, Steve lays back against the headboard next to Bucky, taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Yawning, you all chuckle a little, soothing hands rubbing your back and sides as your eyes start fluttering with the need for sleep overtaking your mind.

"Go to sleep, honey," Bucky whispers against the top of your head, tilting your head up so he can kiss your lips. "We'll talk in the morning."

"Okay," You whisper back, accepting Steve's kiss then resting your head against Bucky's chest once more. "I love you both," You murmur, your eyes shutting completely, letting the happiness settle into your bones and succumbing to the exhaustion.

"We love you too, Omega."

You fall asleep with a smile on your face, dreams filled with a little house and a home art studio, excited for the future.

-

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[onthewaytosomewhere]

all right so for anyone keeping track this banner means more of the alex hired by the crown verses - and well these are currently competing with another thing eating my brain now - but it should be soon-ish lolz

so without further ado - sentences shall we - under the cut for smut - well deserve smut

All Alex can do is pant and whimper as he attempts to hold in the declarations of maybe love that want to escape his lips. It’s not long before Henry decides Alex is ready and slips his fingers from him. It's almost too much—the feeling of being empty after having Henry 3 fingers deep in him. Henry rolls on a condom and lubes up his cock, rubbing the excess around Alex’s eager hole. Alex sighs at the contact. “Baby, please, I need you to fuck me.” He had been doing his best not to rush Henry or push but he’s unable to hold back any longer, but he knows in this moment what he and Henry want matches up quite well. Henry takes hold of his cock moving forward and when the tip makes contact with Alex’s rim it’s all he can do to keep from moving his hips to force Henry into him. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers as Henry slides in, and the rush of sensations is exhilarating. For a moment he worries it might be overwhelming and this might be all too soon, but Henry must sense how close Alex is as he stops letting Alex get a grip on himself before moving again. Henry moves and there seems to be an artistry to the way he works Alex, taking control and working them with a skill that leaves Alex breathless. The room fills with the sounds of their shared pleasure—moans and whimpers blend into a symphony of ecstasy, their groans echoing off the walls like a mantra of their connection. Each thrust is deliberate and coaxes Alex deeper into a state of bliss. This encounter has seemed like more than the others since the beginning and Alex is sure this isn’t just about physical release. For both him and Henry this moment between them seems to be  about exploring the depths of their desire for one another.

okay tag ur it (in a no-pressure all that jazz way) @adreama-writes @alasse9 @anincompletelist @basil-bird @bitbybitwrites @blueeyedgrlwrites @cactusdragon517 @catdadacd @caterpills @cha-melodius @cricketnationrise @dragonflylady77 @duchessdepolignaca03 @emmalostinwonderland @england-would-fall @eusuntgratie @everwitch-magiks @faketrex @firenati0n @firstprincehornyramblings @firstsprinces @iboatedhere @inexplicablymine @jmagnabo92 @judasofsuburbia @kiwiana-writes @lfg1986-2 @littlemisskittentoes @miharaikko @myheartalivewrites @ninzied @orchidscript @porcelainmortal @priincebutt @seths-rogens @softboynick @sophie1973 @sparklepocalypse @stellarmeadow @stratocumulusperlucidus @suseagull5914 @tailsbeth-writes @taste-thewaste @theprinceandagcd @thedramasummer @typicalopposite @thesleepyskipper @thighzp @tinyarmedtrex @zwiazdziarka

[andromeda-pleiades]

Just Trust Me

WORD COUNT: 3,536

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Hi sorry it took me a little more than a month to come out with the next chapter I was writing another story and broke up with my boyfriend. ●﹏●

Also someone has the strongest accent in this chapter sorry

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

You tried calling your sister first, then an old friend, but no one answered. Your calls went straight to voicemail, leaving you staring at the screen in frustration. It only reinforced what you already knew—there was no one else to turn to. With a reluctant sigh, you pull up Kyle's contact.

You: I need help. I don't know who else to turn to.

The dots appear and disappear for what feels like an eternity before his response finally comes.

Kyle: What's going on?

Your fingers tremble over the keyboard. You don't know how much to say. If you tell him everything, will he even believe you?

You: I think he's tracking everything I do. I feel trapped.

A longer pause. Your stomach churns. Maybe he's trying to find the right words. Maybe he doesn't believe you.

Kyle: Are you sure? Simon wouldn't just do that without a reason. Maybe you're overthinking.

Your breath catches. Doubt creeps in, but you shove it down. No. You know what you saw.

You: I'm sure.

Kyle doesn't immediately agree to meet. Instead, he hesitates, his messages measured and deliberate.

Kyle: Look, I get that things might feel off, but maybe you're just stressed? Simon cares about you.

Your fingers tighten around your phone. Gaslighting. Whether intentional or not, that's what it feels like.

You: Kyle, please. I wouldn't be asking if I wasn't sure.

A long pause.

Then, suddenly—

Kyle: Let's meet. We'll talk in person.

Kyle suggests meeting at a diner just outside town. The drive there is nerve-wracking, each passing car a potential threat. When you finally see his familiar face—casual, steady, a tether to the past before everything fell apart—relief washes over you.

"You look like you haven't slept for days," he murmurs as you slide into the booth across from him.

You let out a dry laugh. "Haven't had much reason to."

He signals for the waitress, ordering coffee for both of you before leaning forward, voice dropping. "Tell me everything."

You do. Carefully at first, testing the waters, but soon the words tumble out faster than you can contain them. You tell him about the tracking software you discovered, the notes detailing your daily movements, the control tightening around you like a noose.

Kyle listens, his expression shifting between concern and something unreadable. "You were right to reach out," he says when you finish. "Simon... he's always been intense, even before all this."

He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "I know what he's capable of, but you have to understand, it's not just about control for him. Simon was made into what he is. Task Force 141 doesn't recruit soft men. It shapes you, sometimes into something you never wanted to be."

You shift in your seat. "That doesn't excuse any of this."

"No, it doesn't," Kyle agrees, his eyes meeting yours. "But it explains it. His past, everything he's been through—it broke him in ways neither of us will understand. And Price..." He hesitates, choosing his words carefully. "Price was like a father to him. More than that. He was a guide. Simon respected him more than anyone. And what Price taught him? Control means safety. For himself. For the people he cares about."

You frown, stirring your coffee absently. "You make it sound like he's protecting me."

Kyle gives you a small, sad smile. "Maybe, in his mind, he is. That doesn't make it right."

A strange pity coils in your stomach, unwanted but undeniable. Simon—ruthless, obsessive Simon—was once just a man looking for structure, for someone to follow.

You shake the thought away. It doesn't change what you need to do.

"When the ten days are up, I have a place," Kyle says suddenly, lowering his voice further. "A safe house. You can come there. No strings. No Simon."

Hope flares in your chest, but something nags at you. Kyle's hands are steady, his words reassuring, but there's something about his delivery that feels... rehearsed. Too perfect.

You ignore it. You have to. He's your only chance.

"Okay," you whisper. "I'll come."

Kyle smiles, a little too quickly. "Good. You won't regret it."

You stand at the doorway, watching as Simon secures the last of his gear. His movements are methodical, efficient—just as they always are. The weight of his presence lingers in the air, suffocating even as he prepares to leave.

"I'll be back before you know it," he says, pulling on his jacket. He steps toward you, cupping your face with a gentleness that still makes something inside you ache. "I love you."

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to nod. "I love you too."

The words taste like ash now. You watch from the window as Simon's car turns the corner and disappears. But you don't move yet. 

Instead, you pull out the small leather-bound notebook you bought three days ago, flipping to a fresh page. Your handwriting is tight and cramped as you note down the time of Simon's departure and what he said about his return. *"Six days until Simon returns from alleged conference. Will prepare to leave on day four, heading to Aunt Marie's cabin in Vermont."* This last part is a lie—Aunt Marie doesn't exist, and you have no plans to go to Vermont. But if Simon or anyone else finds this journal, the false trail might buy you precious time.

You list each suspicious detail methodically: Kyle's hesitation when you first contacted him. His immediate attempt to rationalize Simon's behavior. The way he knew so much about Price without you telling him. The convenient timing of the safe house offer.

Closing the journal, you tuck it into the hidden pocket you've sewn into your jacket lining, then double-check the locks, leaving the front door bolted as you slip out the back. You take the long route through side streets, keeping to the shadows, doubling back twice just to be sure. Only when you're certain no one is following do you head toward the meeting spot where Kyle waits.

Kyle's safe house is tucked away in a remote area, but the moment you step inside, unease prickles at your skin. It's too exposed. The windows aren't reinforced, and the locks seem flimsy—if Simon wanted to, he could be here in minutes.

"Not what you expected?" Kyle asks, watching you closely.

You force a tight smile. "Just... getting used to it."

But the lie sits heavy. Every instinct screams that this isn't far enough, isn't safe enough. You need to disappear completely.

You notice dark clouds gathering on the horizon as Kyle shows you around. "Looks like a storm's coming," he comments casually, glancing out the window. "Cell reception gets spotty out here when it rains. Power too, sometimes."

The words send a chill through you. Isolated. No communication. No witnesses.

That night, when Kyle steps out to take a call, you see your chance. His laptop sits on the table, screen dark. He's always cautious with it, rarely leaving it unattended. This might be your only shot.

Hands shaking, you ease into his chair and lift the screen. Locked. Of course. But when you press a key, it flickers to life. He must've forgotten to log out.

Your pulse hammers as you scan the desktop. Most files mean nothing to you—until you see it.

Price_OpSec

A chill rushes through you. Price. That name again. You click on the file, but a password prompt stops you cold.

You're about to give up when you notice a folder labeled "Surveillance." Your fingers hover over the trackpad, hesitant, then click.

The breath leaves your lungs as images fill the screen. Photos. Dozens of them.

You. Going to work. Shopping at the grocery store. Meeting friends for coffee.

And then—your heart nearly stops—Simon and Kyle. Together. Not in old photos from their military days, but recent ones. In one, they're sitting at a café, heads bent close in conversation. The date stamp is from just two weeks ago. In another, they're standing outside your apartment building. Kyle is pointing toward your window.

Before you can think, your phone buzzes.

Simon: I love you.

A second message follows.

Simon: Don't forget to double-lock the back door. It sticks sometimes.

Ice floods your veins. That's something Kyle told you about the safe house. The house Simon shouldn't know you're at.

Your breath quickens. The room spins. Your fingers dig into the table as the walls close in. Was this all planned? Is Kyle feeding Simon information? Are you running in circles, trapped no matter what you do?

You quickly take photos of the screen with your phone, hands trembling so badly you have to try three times to get a clear shot. You close the folders, returning the laptop exactly as you found it just as the first raindrops begin to hit the windows.

You clamp a hand over your mouth, stifling a sob as your chest tightens. The air feels too thick, your lungs too small. Panic claws at your throat, sending you spiraling. You trusted Kyle. You needed to trust him. But now... now you don't know if you can trust anyone.

Your mind races, desperate for a foothold. What if Simon has been ahead of you this whole time? What if every move you've made was predicted and accounted for? Your vision blurs at the edges. The betrayal you feared most wasn't from Simon—it was from the one person who was supposed to help you escape him.

You press your forehead against the cool surface of the table, forcing yourself to count. One. Two. Three. Your fingers dig into your arms, grounding yourself. But the tremors in your chest refuse to subside. Every interaction with Kyle replays in your mind, now tainted with suspicion. Every reassuring word, every careful gesture—was it all an act?

A sob threatens to break free, but you swallow it down. Kyle wouldn't betray you. He couldn't. You remind yourself of the boy you once knew, the friend who had your back when no one else did. If he's acting strangely, it must be because of what he's seen, what he's done—they've changed him, made him cautious, secretive.

You shake your head. The evidence is right there. The photos don't lie.

You can't afford to break. Not here. Not now. Not when you might be running out of time.

You squeeze your eyes shut, forcing yourself to breathe through it. Think. Think.

There's still a way out.

There has to be.

The storm arrives in full force, rain lashing against the windows as thunder rolls overhead. The lights flicker once, twice, then go out completely. The safe house plunges into darkness.

"Power's out," Kyle calls from another room. "Stay put. I'll find the flashlights."

You sit frozen, your mind racing. This is it—your chance. In the darkness, with the storm masking any sound, you might be able to slip away.

Pulling out your journal, you scribble one last entry by the light of your phone. *"Kyle definitely working with Simon. Found photos. Heading to Vermont tonight. No other choice."* You leave it on the table, open to that page—your final decoy.

You don't sleep.

The hours drag by, your mind cycling through every interaction, every misplaced word, every look Kyle has given you since this began. You should have been more careful. But now, standing in the dim light of the safe house, phone clutched tight in your trembling hands, you have only one option left.

You confront him.

"How did Simon know about the back door?" Your voice is steadier than you expected, but the weight of the question hangs between you like a drawn blade.

Kyle looks up from his seat at the small kitchen table, brow furrowed. "What?"

You hold up your phone, screen illuminating your face. "Simon texted me about locking it. That's something you told me, not him. So how did he know?"

Kyle leans back, exhaling slowly. "Come on, you know how he is. He gets in your head. He's probably trying to mess with you, make you doubt everything." He gestures at your phone. "You think he wouldn't guess how paranoid you'd be about the locks? He's playing you."

You shake your head. "No. This isn't a guess. This is something specific, Kyle. Something only you mentioned."

His expression hardens. "So what, you think I told him? You think I sold you out to Simon? After everything he's done? After everything I've risked to help you?"

Your stomach churns at the way he flips the accusation back onto you. Doubt creeps in, whispering that maybe you are overreacting. That maybe Simon really is just messing with you. Kyle's been your friend since childhood. If you can't trust him, then who?

"I don't know what to think anymore," you admit, voice cracking. "I just—I need the truth."

Kyle runs a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "The truth? The truth is Simon's got his hooks so deep in you that you're seeing shadows where there aren't any. He's always done this, hasn't he? Made you question yourself? And now you're doing his work for him." He leans forward, tone softening. "Look, I get it. You're scared. But you have to trust me."

The words scrape against your raw nerves. Trust him. Like you trusted Simon?

You sit down slowly, trying to steady your breathing. "Then tell me about Price."

Kyle freezes. It's barely perceptible, but you catch it.

"What about him?"

"Simon listens to him. I keep hearing his name, but I don't know who he is."

Kyle exhales, rubbing his hands together. "Price is... not what you think. He's just some old war dog Simon admires, someone he learned from. But he's not pulling strings here." He looks at you, eyes careful. "That's why you need to stop panicking. If Price is involved, it's just another layer to this, not the end of the world. We need to be smart."

You hesitate. Everything in you screams that this isn't right, that you should leave. But Kyle is so convincing, so steady. And deep down, there's still that part of you that doesn't want to believe he'd betray you.

"So what do we do?" The words taste like surrender.

Kyle relaxes slightly. "I have a contact. Someone outside Simon's reach. They can keep you safe, but we need to move."

Every alarm in your mind blares at once. Another move. Another safe house. Another place where Simon might already be waiting.

Kyle offers you a small, reassuring smile. "I promise, this time, it'll be safe."

You swallow your fear and nod. You want to believe him.

But as you gather your few belongings, you slip a kitchen knife into your pocket. This time, you won't be caught unprepared.

The storm intensifies throughout the night. Rain hammers against the roof, and wind howls through the trees, enclosing the safe house in a wall of water and sound. The power remains out.

Kyle's restlessness grows as the hours pass. He paces, checks his phone repeatedly despite the lack of signal, and keeps glancing out the windows into the darkness. The small space forces you to remain in close proximity, every movement amplified in your hypervigilant state.

"We should get some sleep," he says eventually. "Big day tomorrow. I'll take the couch. You can have the bedroom."

You nod but have no intention of sleeping. As soon as Kyle settles on the couch, you begin your wait, counting the minutes until his breathing deepens.

Three hours later, with the storm still raging, you make your move. The journal sits conspicuously on the kitchen table, your false plan clearly visible. Your real bag—small, containing only essentials—is hidden under your jacket.

You ease the back door open, wincing at the soft creak. The rain is instant and merciless, soaking you within seconds. But the downpour masks any sound you might make as you slip into the darkness.

The forest behind the safe house is dense and unfamiliar, branches whipping your face as you push forward. Your phone's flashlight offers minimal guidance, the beam swallowed by the thickness of the storm. You know there's a road about a mile east—if you can reach it, maybe flag down a passing car...

A flash of lightning illuminates the trees ahead, and in that split-second burst of light, your blood freezes. A figure stands twenty yards away—tall, muscular, with a distinctive mohawk now plastered to his scalp by the rain. He hasn't seen you yet, but he's scanning the woods methodically, one hand holding a flashlight, the other clutching a walkie-talkie.

You duck behind a large tree, heart hammering against your ribs. Through the sound of rainfall, you catch fragments of his voice:

"Na visual yit... Grid search in progress... She coudnae hae gaen far... "

The walkie-talkie crackles with a response too distorted to make out, but the mohawked man nods, then changes direction, moving across your path rather than toward you.

"Copy that. Circling back tae th' creek. Over. "

They're watching you. Tracking you. How many cameras are out here? How many eyes?

You wait until the beam of his flashlight disappears among the trees before moving again, this time in the opposite direction. The undergrowth tears at your clothes, mud sucking at your shoes, but fear drives you forward.

Another lightning flash reveals a steep embankment ahead. You slide down it, half-controlled, half-falling, coming to rest in a shallow ravine. Above you, the storm continues its assault, but here, partially sheltered by the high banks, you have a moment to catch your breath.

The respite is brief. A beam of light sweeps the ravine, and you press yourself against the muddy wall, praying the shadows are deep enough.

"Ah ken ye'r doon thare ," a voice calls out, eerily calm despite having to shout over the storm. "Thir's nowhere tae go. Th' road's blocked. Th' river's flooded. Juist come oot noo, 'n' no one haes tae git hurt."

You remain motionless, one hand gripping the kitchen knife in your pocket. The beam sweeps back and forth, methodically searching every inch of the ravine.

"Simon's worried aboot you," the voice continues. "He juist wants ye safe. Ye ken how dangerous it's oot 'ere." 

The light stops moving, fixed on a point just feet from where you hide.

"Last chance."

You hold your breath.

Footsteps approach, sliding down the embankment. The mohawked man lands heavily in the mud, his flashlight beam dancing wildly before steadying again. He's close now—close enough that you can see that he is Soap the man Simon brought to your home a few weeks prior, the same soap from the texts.

"There ye are," he says, spotting you at last. His lips curl into a smirk as he raises the walkie-talkie. "Target located. Southeast ravine. Movin` tae secur”.

Your fingers tighten around the knife.

He reaches for you, confident, unhurried. "Let's nae mak' this difficult."

You don't think. You move.

The knife flashes in the beam of his dropped flashlight as you lunge forward. He reacts with military precision, blocking your arm, but your momentum carries you both backward. You fall together, landing hard in the mud, his greater weight driving the air from your lungs.

His hand clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers go numb. The knife slips, embedding itself in the soft ground beside you.

"Stupid move," he grunts, pinning you with one arm while reaching for the walkie-talkie with the other.

Desperation lends you strength. You twist violently, driving your knee upward. It connects, and his grip loosens for just a second—enough for you to wrench free and scramble for the knife.

Your fingers close around the handle just as he lunges for you again. You roll to the side, and in one fluid motion, slash outward blindly.

A howl of pain tears through the night. Soap staggers backward, hands pressed to his face. Blood seeps between his fingers—dark, almost black in the dim light. You've caught him across his left eye.

"Ye bitch!" he screams, lunging forward blindly. But his footing is compromised, his vision obscured by blood and rain.

You don't wait. You clamber up the ravine, soil and rocks giving way beneath your desperate grasp. Behind you, the man is still shouting into his walkie-talkie, his voice ragged with pain.

"She's armed! left th' ravine heading wast! a'm needin' backup! A’M NEEDIN’ BACKUP!"

His voice fades as you reach the top, replaced by the relentless drumming of rain and your own ragged breathing. You sprint through the forest, no longer caring about stealth, only distance. Every flash of lightning guides you forward until finally, miraculously, you see it—an access road cutting through the trees.

You have no idea where it leads, but away is all that matters now. Away from the safe house. Away from Kyle's betrayal. Away from Simon's control.

Behind you, distant voices call out, but they're growing fainter with each stumbling step you take. Soap won't be following—not with that eye. And whoever else is out there, they're too far behind.

For the first time since this began, you feel something close to hope. You're still running, but no longer in circles.

You're finally breaking free.

[skeletonh0e]

Can I request how the boys would treat a sick reader? I've been feeling like shit lately so I would appreciate it 😭

Sorry you feel bad homie! Sending you all the love! And for this in particular I'm going with a human reader but pronouns are gender neutral

You're sick (ft. The boys)

Classic Sans:

Nope. Into bed. Getting rest.

He's very loving but also firm, admittedly he doesn't know much about human illnesses but he wants you healthy, so you're in bed. He'll handle the rest

He's not leaving much room for argument

And yes if he feels it's severe enough you will be dragged to a healer

Gets you some medicine, even cooks for you (that's rare for his lazy ass), and does keep you company

Skeletons probably can't get sick, at least not from the common cold or whatever

He'll even let you cuddle up to him, even if you're snotty

He's still making jokes though make no mistake

"the plague, the flu, and the common cold walk into a bar. The bartender asks "Hey what is this? Some kind of sick joke?"" Da dum tss

Not smothering by any means, it'd Sans, he's still chill about the whole thing, like I said just firm and doesn't want you to worsen your condition

Underswap Sans:

THE MAGNIFICIENT SANS TO THE RESCUE

Literally just said you weren't feeling so hot and suddenly he's dedicated to completely spoiling you until you get better

Medicine? He's already bought plenty just in case. Food? Making you anything within reason. Blankets? You gotta lotta blankets? Stuff you need to do? No you don't he will do it

"worry not my beloved! while i am here nothing shall disturb your recovery!"

It's a bit much but you can't say you're not thankful for it

He won't be extremely touchy, he doesn't think he can catch anything from you but he doesn't wanna risk it either

Still supportive of you though!! Make no mistake but germs are Icky!

Extremely good at managing doctors appointments and such if it there's a need for it to go that far

Definitely studying up for next time about human conditions, he's so worried he's not doing enough.

He wants you to be alright y'know?

Underfell Sans:

The fuck you mean you're sick?!? Have you not been careful!?

You're getting a lecture lmao, how dare you not keep your immune system in check, it's like you want to inconvenience hum!

Y/N: "....you don't have to care for me-"

Red: "no fuck you im going to"

Does the typical shit, medicine, makes sure you're in bed and actually resting, gets you food, etc. Just all in a very grouchy way

Will also take caring for you as an excuse to not to his typical jobs, content to lay with you while you benchwatch some shows

The hypocrisy of him lecturing you about letting yourself get sick but not taking any precautions with you isn't lost on anyone

Expect some typical brutally honest Red though he is not afraid to tell you that you look like shit

Which tbf you probably do but that's besides the point

Complains he won't go through this if there's a second time but we all know he will

Horrortale Sans:

C O N C E R N

It takes everything in him to not panic instantly, pls reassure him it's a simple sickness and that'll it clear up in a few days. PLS TELL HIM UR NOT DYING

After that is over he's going into caregiver mode, no questions asked

More intense than Classic, but not as smothering as Swap. Very attentive nonetheless

Gets you whatever you ask for or need, keeps a very close on your condition for improvements as well as making sure it doesn't worsen

Whatever need to be done it will be done he will be your provider

Definitely has no problem with physical contact, fuck him getting sick you're more important

If he had his way you wouldn't leave the bed until you're completely healed but he'll happily just carry your from place to place if need be

Honestly still worried despite your reassurances anyway

He'll be so relieved once it's all over

Underlust Sans:

Awwww baby what's wrong? :(((

Quickly assets the situation and immediately starts to care for you

It's pretty surprising how he switches from his goofy flirtatious self to a very sweet dependable caregiver

I mean it's not like you expected him to be a dick and blow you off completely but still

Gets you all comfy in bed, some soup, maybe some tea and even offers a massage

Not to say the flirting completely goes away though

Ace: "you're still pretty hot like this ya know"

Y/N: *having a fucking coughing fit*

Keeping this as SFW as possible but let's just say he's not opposed to catering to your other needs if you have them at all during sick hours

If not he's down to give a massage or cuddle for sure

Fresh Sans:

Imm be real with you, he is not the best man for this

I think you're gonna have to really explain that you're sick and not in the mood for his usual antics

And he still doesn't quite get it??? But at the very least he's concerned enough to at least try to do something

Man is a parasite bro technically is a form of sickness be easy on him

You'll have to tell him what to get and he'll get it

He's still extremely touchey, possibly more so as even if he doesn't understand how to help someone who's sick, he does care for you and doesn't like you being in a bad mood of any sorts

Will watching him do some sweet tricks help? Cuz he'll do 'em

Kind of annoying in the sense he'll kinda constantly be asking "are you better now? what about now?"

If it actually gets to a really concerning point for him he'll go harass some bitches for some quick healing medicine

Will probably make some enemies while retrieving it but if it means you two can go to chucky cheese later no problem it's worth it

[ilikekidsshows]

ml dragging on forever and ta's intent to keep it going for as long as possible (if im remembering that correctly, sounds like something he'd say) means the show is going to keep highlighting the writing failures. years into the future and no progress? marinette's a shitty ladybug despite all the hype she gets from her yes men (who might be just as trapped as alix tbh considering that if she needs all 18+ heroes, they can't leave paris until they get the butterfly, which sounds like it's gonna be never). the butterfly won't be used for heroism in the main continuity. the idea of lila as the butterfly in the future sucks because she's always been such a nobody character. she's still a nobody character even now as the new big bad. if it's a different butterfly villain it means marinette failed to get it back again which further shows she sucks as a hero. there's nothing they can do that can make any of it good without making some other part of the story worse.

---

Remember how the London Special had lines that were basically the writers bragging about how good they are at keeping their formula interesting and how it just requires them to change things up every once in a while? If that's true, then why is Marinette still doing the same stupid things, just escalated? All that's changed is that the circumstances around her have actually lowered the stakes.

They're basically escalating the wrong things. Marinette has gone from sabotaging a game show to hurt Kagami's chances with Adrien and breaking into her phone to check if she's been in contact with Adrien to following Adrien's new friend around, faking an Akumatization to avoid facing consequences for that and (unintentionally) breaking said girl’s prosthetics as a result of that. Yet, the stakes motivating Marinette have fallen so low they are nonexistent. Adrien is no longer the crush she feels she has little chance with, he has become her insanely doting boyfriend. Anyone thinking he’d dump her just because of Sublime is the actual joke of the episode instead of the cringe comedy that got stale five years ago.

Similarly, the new Butterfly is supposed to be bigger and badder because of how mysterious “they” are, but they’ve already shown us it's Lila, so the audience is aware that the heroes are treating a teenaged girl with limited resources as a bigger threat than the fully grown rich man all the while they have a whole team of superpowered allies. We're once again at the point that made the audience think Gabriel getting the Miraculous in the S4 finale was a good thing: the heroes have so much manpower, magical power and resources that them not winning instantly every time just makes them look incompetent at utilizing it all, which is a bad thing when your protagonist’s claim to fame is her superior planning ability.

Considering how the show has “progressed” so far, I can hardly wait for season 10 where Manon is the new Butterfly holder and Marinette has a whole two Miracle Boxes’ worth of Miraculous to combat this unbeatable toddler with. And she'll still be making even less progress than she is now.

I can just see the average episode now. Adrien makes a new friend, who happens to be, wait for it, a super competent girl, and Marinette feels insecure in her relationship with Adrien, despite them being engaged. In her jealousy, I mean, concern over making sure this girl isn't a spy for the new Butterfly, Marinette ends up poisoning her on purpose, but only because she thought she was evil! And the girl survives and thinks the poisoned cookies tasted great and asks Marinette for the recipe!

Also, Adrien proposed with his Amok but the fans insist it's totally okay because the writers said on twitter that you can't give unintentional commands with the Amoks and Marinette can be trusted to not give them on purpose. They all ignore how there’s also an episode where they introduce a new family member for Adrien who’s manipulating him and, instead of talking about it with Adrien, because having that kind of conversation is so uncomfortable, Marinette orders him to “stand up for himself” or other such rot, and the stans insist this total disregard of Adrien as a thinking, feeling human being is okay because it was to help Adrien and besides, it wasn't a real command because the episode left it unclear if Marinette used the ring or not.

I know what I'm risking by typing this all out, because this show has a track record of doing the exact thing I describe as the worst-case-scenario, but, maybe, in another ten years, when season 10 is actually airing, we’ll be able to laugh at how stupidly, predictably awful this show is.

[cvnt4him]

hinting to tobio you like him is....not as easy as you think.

The kurasuno boys are practicing for a little while, you sit next to yachi and occasionally speak to her about whatever it is that comes to mind, laughing and giggling quietly to not disturb the practice.

You can't help but to admire the setter. He truly was graceful, hes so beautiful in his own way. Those luminescent blue eyes of his, so deep and full of life, full of potential. He's so sweet and stupid.

A small smile forms on your face as you watch closely, the boys bringing their practice to a final stop. You take the end of the day as an excuse to speak to him. It's not as if you guys aren't friends or haven't spoken to each other before, but ever since you've developed this silly crush on him you can't help but wanna be around him.

“ hey, nice practice, hm?”

“ yup.”

He was bland with you as he gave you a small nod as a 'thank you' for the bottle. You bite your lip with a smile as you look up to him, he closed his eyes and drank from his bottle tuning out the rest of the world. He was so pretty up close....

Again, it's not like you havent been near him before but...he's just so gorgeous....like when he's all sweaty and you can..smell him.........

You inhale deeply unintentionally, your thoughts taking over you and telling you to do it. It was so loud you think, you get embarrassed when he opens his eyes and raises one of his brows looking down at you. You groan and turn away mentally face palming and digging a hole in the ground.

You decided this was it. The worst he could say was no right? You decided to grow a pair and ask him out. Maybe like sus out the vibe before you do at least...

“ hey..so uh, tobi, are you like...busy sometime I—”

“ what did you call me?”

Huh-...he stops you mid sentence and stares at you, one brow cocked as he stared down at you. Kageyama isn't a shy person, he doesn't struggle with eye contact or talking to people like the average person would. It's almost as if he was leering over you with how tall he was...

“ uh.. i- y'know, everyone kind of uhm.. has a nickname and.. you....don't?”

He hums, one of his hands finding it's way to his hips and he thinks about it rather hard. You're honestly glad he's putting thought into it, because now you don't have to think about how cringey what you were about to say was.

“ ..hey yeah, you're right. tsukishima gets called tsukki, I think I've heard a few people call that idiot sho as well... why don't I have a nickname.”

He pouts to himself as he genuinely thinks about it more. It's so cute. He's so silly and stupid and himself, so dense to anything other than volleyball. Idiot. A smile brings itself back to your face as you giggle.

“ nicknames are normally a sign someone likes you, y'know?”

You aren't sure if he's listening or the hum he gave you was just to make you feel like he was. But you took it to heart.

“ I guess.”

His voice was rather bland, not giving much energy. Okay, you think to yourself...he's keeping it going, maybe this is the leverage you needed to sus out what you wanna hear.....

“ you're the first person to give me a nickname.”

“ is that right.”

He looks back at you, his normally stern face relaxing a bit. He nods and lets out a small 'mhm'. So fucking cute oh my goodness. You normally have such a hard time looking him in the eyes by the way he doesn't shy away or back down like you would, he holds eye contact perfectly. And goodness they are so effing gorgeous..

You let out a small scoff, one that catches his attention.

“ yeah..”

“ so what, have you never liked someone before?”

Kageyama turns his head to the side in confusion, he wasn't quite sure what you meant. Gosh he is so cute.

“ what do you mean?”

You giggle at his words, shifting your weight onto one of your legs as you cock your head to the side slightly, a smile still present as you don't look away from him.

“ have you never given anyone a nickname, y'know have you never liked anyone?”

He thinks about it once more, tobio can't exactly recall the last time he ever had feelings for someone. He's never given anyone a nickname. He's not even sure if he has had feelings for anyone.

“ hmm...no. I can't say that I have.”

Bingo. He's never been with anyone! Even better, he's never had feelings for someone!! But..its likely he doesn't even like people...not that he's in to animals or anything, but maybe he just doesn't have feelings for people.. maybe you don't stand a chance.

Your smile slightly fades as you think about it. Your eyes flickering away from his and moving towards the ground, your confidence fleeting as you're heavy in thought.

“ what uhm..kind of people would you say you're into, then.”

“ uh, probably someone with the same interests as me y'know. basics, I like volleyball so as long as they like volleyball too I think that's solid.”

You groan lightly and look back at him. It's not that you think volleyball is uninteresting or uncool or anything. You joined the club because you needed an extra curricular, y'know it helps your thing being a manager of them y'know. Getting to stare at hot boys was just a bonus.

“ huh. so I'd have to be into volleyball to go out with you. lame.”

“ yup.”

Kageyama was quick to answer before it even registered in his head.. you hum and pat his shoulder before walking away giving your 'goodnights' to everyone and leaving.

He watches you leave, his face as normal and stern. Kageyama stretches and gathers his stuff before Tanaka runs over with Hinata and noya joking and laughing

“ dude! she was flirting with you!”

Tanaka yells out slapping kageyama on the back, noya laughs and punches him in the arm.

“ wow man, I didn't know you had it like that! the rizz is rizzing.”

“ don't say that.”

Tsukishima says walking beside tadashi as he waves to everyone beside his taller friend.

“ what? y/n wouldn't flirt with me. y/n wouldn't try to ruin our friendship like that.”

“ what makes you think you can't be friends and in a relationship.”

“ that's why it's called 'girlfriend' dude.”

Noya and Tanaka tell kageyama, Hinata snickers and laughs at kageyamas stupidity.

“ I'm not surprised, of course you wouldn't know anything about relationships!”

“ SHUT UP, DUMBASS!”

Poor kageyama was all red and flustered now. He thought about it, you basically said you liked him... And it completely flew over his head..was he really that bad at relationships? He's never been in one. Would you dislike that? Why did you like him? You were friends?

Could you really be his friend and his girlfriend?

[mochi-kitty]

Hi again! My question was definitely not very coherent so I apologize for the initial confusion.

It’s not so commonly around anymore but a while ago I saw some fans talk about speedsters having diabetes due to their diets and the need for constant energy for their metabolisms to work. I think I even saw some art with Bart having a glucose monitor but I can’t remember where I saw it. Unfortunately my mind likes to think rather stupidly so I wondered if it didn’t make sense to anyone else because the longer I thought about it the more it made me question if I really read the comics or not.

Then of course my mind drifted to a recent YJ 98 fic I read where the gang chills after a mission,, during which there’s a part where Kon and Bart ‘remember to take their meds for their heads,’ which made me think even more about the comics and the consequences of a speedsters metabolism. (I don’t think they mentioned that it was a special medication but for the life of me I can’t find the fic anymore so I can’t fact check myself)

(I appreciate your note on Geoff’s ignorance of medical laws. Personally I would’ve loved to see the core 4 actually talk to Bart about the surgery or his year in super speed right after, as real friends would, but it’s geoff so I guess not)

To add another example to this: these panels from Impulse #72 when he gets hit with adult Carol’s knockout gas bomb thing.

Anyway it makes sense that unless the ADHD meds were heavily tampered to work with their bodies then it probably 99.7% won’t work. The coffee part stumps me though. I’m not a coffee drinker myself so I wouldn’t know for certain but 4 shots of espresso is a lot I think. A normal person would be affected heavily drinking that and while Barry’s reaction wasn’t exactly the norm, it still gave him weird results. On one hand it doesn’t seem like it should do anything but a canon writer wrote it so…

If it makes more sense to say they are affected by drugs or meds but in a more “tolerance built up” way then it can explain the general anesthesia and regular drugs being barely a feather in the wind to them due to the metabolism burning it out quickly. Meanwhile, the coffee isn’t technically classed as a regular drug so instead of affecting them on a 1% level, it affects speedsters (or Barry in particular) on a weirder level. It has effects, not the same as a human person would feel them but speedsters do still feel them. (I’m not so sure though because caffeine can be found in more than just coffee and I have a hard time believing they would never come in contact with it)

Does this mean that speedster diabetes can be a thing? Unless someone in the canon office says that because a speedster eats so much to produce more energy for their metabolism to fuel their equivalent to god like powers within a human body that, that same human body would still act human despite the chaos it puts up with that their insulin isn’t produced effectively anymore, then probably not? (which doesn’t even bring the question in if they would feel it or not)

Thank you for answering!

Hi! Im sorry if this is a silly question but I was wondering if you know what the Flash diabetes thing is? I've seen it around occasionally but never found out if it was a canon one off thing or a fanon group theory because on one hand I can kinda see it making sense although it would probably have to be re-worked to fit a speedsters bodily profile (in terms of their hyper-metabolism and all) but then on the other hand I'm reminded of the times I've read YJ fanfic and out of nowhere Bart is taking ADHD medication and I'm like.. he would not be able to take ADHD meds and actually feel a difference for more than maybe 3 seconds as seen with general painkillers and medication when he had the knee surgery with nothing. I just can't help but feel like, in canon, neither of these theories/situations would be possible but then again fanon is meant to be fun,, not serious etc. How do you draw the line?

Hello!

I have NEVER heard of it phrased as "Flash diabetes" but looking over the meat of your question it appears this is more about their metabolism, so I am approaching this as a metabolism question rather than a blood-sugar question.

When it comes to speedsters and their metabolism in the comics, it is very inconsistent and it honestly depends on the writer and what would be most exciting or inconvenient the most in any given scenario.

On one hand, the prevailing canon is that speedsters heal FAST. Their metabolism is so high they can get over broken bones, lacerations, even gunshots very quickly. We even have instances of them getting over drugs very quickly or drugs just not impacting them the way they should, because they metabolize them too fast for them to work.

The biggest in-comic example of this is Bart's famous knee surgery in Teen Titans v.3 when they were unable to put him under ANY anesthetic because his metabolism would negate its effectiveness.

Teen Titans (2003) #3

(Side note, the amount of laws broken in this scene would have probably shut that entire hospital down, licensees would have been lost, and Cyborg probably should have done jail time or at least been kicked out of the tower because holy shit the ethics.)

Teen Titans (2003) #4

This scene is one of the more poignant and famous examples of speedster metabolism being a medical foil as much as it is an advantage in combat and it is extremely dramatic.

We also have a more recent example of drugs just not working properly on speedsters, from Bart yet again in more recent publication history.

Young Justice (2019) #16

Sedatives or maybe even some sort of anti-psychotics only stayed in Bart's systems for so long before they wore off well before they should have and he was able to just leave.

If these are pushed out of his system prematurely, then it is extremely unlikely any ADHD medication would work on him unless they were specially made for speedsters which is not outside of any realm of possibility in a comic.

However... because these are comics and because these sorts of foils are variable and depend on whoever is writing them we also have some evidence that certain things do work on speedsters... but in heightened ways such as caffeine which makes no sense and yet...

The Flash (2011) #3

Barry had an espresso and got so hopped up and jittery he lost control of his vibrating for a while and ended up through multiple floors. How caffeine works on them, and in extreme ways, but other drugs don't, is something maybe a biochemist can answer which I am not.

We also have decades of publication going back to the silver age of Barry and other speedsters interacting with drugs, poisons, alcohol and them not working or not working properly and the above examples are just those I knew I could cite easily because I think about them a lot.

So returning back to the question of if ADHD medication would work... I feel like again in the comics they wouldn't work how they are supposed to unless they are specialized because even the caffeine did not work how it is supposed to.

But again this is fanfic and fanon so anything is possible and with this particular subject it wouldn't be too outside of canon to have ADHD meds work. Again any writer could also explain them as special speedster-strength medication then it is good to go.

I hope this sort of answers your question?

This is for the comics and the comics alone, no other form of media.

[c4rdkingd0m]

Alright you guys know we’re not the type to be shy about this type of stuff so I’m gonna yell it out for the dumbasses in the back who are ignoring or downplaying this situation:

NEX BENEDICT WAS MURDERED. IT WASN’T A FIGHT. HE WAS MURDERED IN COLD BLOOD BY A SYSTEM THAT WASN’T BUILT FOR PEOPLE LIKE HIM.

The media is erasing who he was. His name was Nex Benedict, not anything else. Friends have revealed he preferred he/him pronouns. He was an indigenous two-spirit person who had been bullied for a year, if not more.

Rest in power, Nex. We will never forget you, and we will keep fighting for you to at the very least have a peaceful grave. We will keep fighting for your identity, for the life you should’ve lived.

You could’ve been famous for another reason. Instead, people know who you are because you are dead. And we won’t rest until the decisions that led to your death haunt those who let you die forever.

[culminada]

I sat here scrolling Tumblr and then I heard my dad snoring on the other side of the wall.

And I've been making it a habit to consciously pay attention to the people I love, because I love them.

And so - I wasn't trying but this just came to me because of observations, and knowing, and perhaps the habit of it - I thought oh, that means he's sleeping.

Its the middle of the day. He does this sometimes. He's a very busy person, between two jobs, and 2-4 disabled kids. He takes power naps after lunch. He has a whole strategy. He's told it to me and I listened and I remembered because I love him.

He's also in burnout. My dad is burnt out and I understand because I am also burnt out. I wish I could help him but I am burnt out, and so all I can do is know him, is listen to him snoring and know that he is tired.

I get to listen to him snoring. He is tired. He is sleeping on the middle of the day because he is tired, from taking care of me, who am autistic, and my brother, with Prader-Willi Syndrome (shoutout to ppl with PWS), and his job 1 to pay the bills and job 2 to pay for the future and his wife and his other children and making sure we all get our enrichment.

And so he is snoring on the other side of the wall, and I can picture him tangled up in his blankets and sleeping because he is tired.

And so I get to listen to him snoring and think about all the things he does and how much he deserves rest, and how glad I am that he CAN rest, that he's worried and busy and anxious, but not too worried to sleep. Because he needs to sleep. And it's a blessing that he can do that.

And I'll sit here and appreciate him and all he does because I can hear him snoring (and it keeps everyone else up at night unless he uses his mouth guard, which we all call his snore-teeth, and I know this because I listen and I pay attention and I love him).

And he might never know that I sit here and think of him and love him and all he does, how grateful I am that he takes care of me when I'm his oldest and I'm autistic, and I don't feel overwhelmingly bad about that but I do wish I could help more than I do. Not be so big of a burden as I am. But all I can do is let him sleep.

He might never know that I take the time to listen to him snore. Maybe one of those days when he's feeling horrible I'll show it to him and say "you are loved and I see you and I am grateful for everything you do, I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you." Maybe I'll make bits of this post into my Father's Day letter. I've been wondering what to do for that because I've been more vocal lately about how much I love him and sometimes it feels like there's nothing left to put in a Father's Day letter that wouldn't just be the same.

There's something special in just the same, though. Like listening to snoring. There's time. And when you're sitting in the middle of time, in the quiet and the dark and listening to snoring, and wondering when the next snore is gonna come, and contemplating life and love and time - well, I'm not doing anything else. And I'm not getting any younger. And maybe right now I can't mentally DO anything else. But I can do this.

I can contemplate my father, who is wise and loving and who pours himself out constantly, fill my mind with MY DAD instead of something else, because I love him.

I lied. My first thought wasn't "oh, that means he's sleeping." Well, it was subconscious. But right after, I thought, "I wish I had someone to love this way," meaning that I want to get married and have someone to love.

But I do have someone to love. I have my father. I can love him. I DO love him. And why am I pining for something I can't have, or worse, for someONE I can't have, when my lovely beautiful Dad is right there loving me in his sleep, in his waking, in his working, in his eating, in his thoughts, in his research, in his everything. I have him? Why do I need anyone else?

[lesbiansanemi]

Currently trying not to vomit over the fact that I essentially just lost almost a thousand dollars brb

[icewindandboringhorror]

I occasionally wish to reach out to old friends/acquaintances I haven't spoken to since high school/some other even earlier time in my life, but I have SOOO little social energy even for required tasks (like making dr phone calls or etc), I never have any leftover for extra ones, and it would be very odd to message someone I haven't spoken to in like 5 years out of the blue but then take 4 entire months to respond back lol.. My natural curiosity with nostalgia/collecting details of the past/etc. (literally if I were born a little earlier I would definitely do scrapbooking or something lol) is very strong, but, alas, not strong enough to beat out the Social Issues Demons apparently

[caitas-cooing]

All those how to be successful in work and school courses are all the same and none of them are actually that helpful imho