#not sure if it was intended like this at all

[fireinmoonshot]

your fiyero | fiyero tigelaar x reader

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader Summary: Ever since Fiyero Tigelaar started at Shiz University, he found himself fascinated by you – the one student who didn't care about him. When he notices you starting to struggle with something, he'll do anything to make sure you're okay. Warnings: Mentions of fainting, falling over, academic stress/burn out Word Count: 2.2k A/N: I've seen Wicked (the show) three times now with the amazing Australian cast that's currently touring and I fell totally head over heels with Fiyero, and then yesterday I saw the movie and fell even more in love with Fiyero and so I had to write for him. I do intend to write more for him, especially if other people want to read more! He's so fun to write for and definitely a challenge compared to some other characters I've written for in the past. I hope you all enjoy! 💗

It’s not difficult to sense the presence of Fiyero Tigelaar behind you as you leave Doctor Dillamond’s classroom, shoving your books into the bag over your shoulder. With the way the students heading into the classroom are staring at someone behind you, it’s quite obvious who they’re staring at. Everyone at Shiz University wants Fiyero Tigelaar. 

Everyone, that is, except you.

“Classes are over, you know?” Fiyero’s voice comes from behind you as you round the corner, heading down the staircase leading to the courtyard. “You don’t have to rush off.”

Irritatingly, the fact that you can’t particularly care less about wanting Fiyero Tigelaar makes himwant you. He usually isn’t the type. If someone doesn’t like him – something he’s actually yet to experience – he would just let it slide. Why waste his energy? But ever since he’d started at Shiz and met you, he’d found himself unable to leave you alone. 

“I know,” you glance back at him over your shoulder. “But some of us actually want to study and spend their time here learning, Tigelaar.”

Fiyero hurries his steps a little so he’s walking alongside you. “Did you miss the part where I said it was my job to corrupt my fellow students when I started here? It’s never too late, darling.” He flashes a grin your way.

You can’t help but roll your eyes at him, right at the same time you almost miss a step and stumble a little. Fiyero is quick, catching your elbow to help steady you. You don’t look at him as you steady yourself, meaning you miss the look of worry in his eyes.

“Are you all right?”

You clear your throat and shake off his grip. “Consider me corrupted by your presence.” 

With that, you make a beeline away from him and you’re glad to notice that he doesn’t attempt to follow you. You highly doubt that he’s going to follow you all the way to the library. Fiyero and the library have never exactly gone hand in hand. 

~~

The next time Fiyero bothers you, you’re sat on one of the benches by the gardens. There’s a book in your hands and he can see you staring intently at it as he saunters over to you. It’s almost like he’s approaching a wild bird or something, he thinks. If he moves too quickly, he’ll frighten you and scare you away. It’s the last thing Fiyero wants to do.

He’s a few steps away from you when you look up from your book and meet his eyes. His face breaks into a smile as he moves the last few steps and takes the spot beside you on the bench. You turn to look at him, your eyebrows raised. 

“Now, don’t say I’m interrupting your study,” he begins. “That book is most definitely not in the curriculum. And yes, I did actually take the time to look the curriculum up after I saw you reading here the other day, if you can believe it.”

For a few moments, you only stare at him. Fiyero, for the first time probably ever, finds himself actually a little uncomfortable at your unwavering gaze. It surprises him. He’s never the type of person to feel uncomfortable. He’s confident in almost every situation.

You let out a sigh. “It may not be in the curriculum, but you’ve interrupted me nevertheless, Tigelaar.”

“Apologies,” he says, with a small smirk. “Am I corrupting you even more with my presence?”

“Something like that.” You close your book and sit it on the small space of bench beside you. You had actually just been reading the same page over and over for the last twenty minutes and trying to convince yourself to stop overthinking things. 

You had so much studying to do, so much to learn and so many assignments to do and so little time to do it all. It was probably a little counterproductive to be sitting outside, reading a book and doing none of those things, but if you didn’t try and have a break from them all, you were pretty sure you were going to burn yourself out, which was the last thing you needed. It would have helped if you’d actually been able to relax and enjoy your book, though.

“Is it any good? Your book. Not that I’d read it, of course,” Fiyero grins.

You try your best to conceal your amusement. “I’d offer to lend it to you but, as you said, you wouldn’t actually read it so… I’ll keep it safe with me. I doubt the Winkie Prince knows how to properly take care of books if he can’t read them.”

Fiyero gasps jokingly. “I’ll have you know I can read, I just choose not to. I prefer to fill my brain with much more useless things. That way, I don’t have to think. It’s a peaceful way to live, my darling.” 

You shake your head, this time unable to keep a smile off of your face. Fiyero likes the sight of it. It strangely makes his heart beat a little faster. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw you smiling… not that he’s been keeping track. 

“How about you join me?” He offers. “No more studying for the rest of the day and no more thinking? I’m positive I could find something we could do to fill the time.” 

The reminder of studying, however, brings you back to reality after you small moment of joking with Fiyero. You reach down and grab your book before standing up and turning to face Fiyero, who is looking at you with slight concern in his eyes at your sudden movement.

“I can’t,” you say simply. “I’ve been reading all morning and there is a lot I have to do. I’ll see you around, Tigelaar.”

He watches you with furrowed eyebrows as you walk away from him, clutching your book to your chest and heading in the direction of the library. Fiyero shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. He really thought today would be the day he’d win you over.

~~

A week goes by without Fiyero even getting to utter a word to you. He sees you, though, fairly often around the school. In the courtyard, in the library (where he definitely didn’t go specifically looking for you), in history class and in the dining hall. But every time he’s thought to approach you, you’ve disappeared before he could even make his move. It’s on the seventh day when he notices that something is different about you.

You’re coming out of the library, carrying several books and what looks like a stack of papers in your hands when you trip. Fiyero isn’t quick enough to cross the courtyard and get to you in time to stop your fall. He does, however, take off at a run to be by your side as you start collecting all of the scattered pieces of paper and books that had fallen out of your grasp.

“It’s all right, Tigelaar. You don’t have to help me,” you mutter, trying to shove books into your already overfilled bag. “It’s a Friday night. I’m sure you’ve got other places to be.”

Fiyero, truthfully, does have other places to be. He’s been invited to the Ozdust Ballroom by nine separate people today. But how can he leave you to just clean all this up by yourself? He can see just by the look on your face that you’re utterly exhausted.

“I do,” he says honestly. “But I’ll help you with this first.”

He’s surprised when you suddenly stop putting things in your bag and when he looks up, he finds you staring at him again. It makes him uncomfortable in the same way he felt last week when you’d looked at him in a similar way. 

“Okay,” you sigh. 

Your lack of energy in fighting him is the second thing to make Fiyero realise something is wrong.

After the two of you finish picking up all of the things you’d dropped, the both of you stand. Fiyero opens his mouth to say something when he notices you start to sway. He’s quicker this time, moving to catch you before you fall. His arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady, while his other hand takes the book bag off your shoulder and moves it straight onto his. He’s surprised by how heavy it is. 

“Woah, darling, what’s going on?” Fiyero looks down at you as you blink and push yourself away from him. “Hey, be careful, okay? I think you were just about to faint.”

You shake your head. “I just stood up too fast, that’s all.” You know the words are a lie, and you can tell that Fiyero knows that as well. First, he’d seen you trip coming out of the library, then he’d caught you when you’d almost fainted… you can’t hide it from him. That much becomes crystal clear immediately.

“Let’s get you somewhere you can sit down, okay?” Fiyero begins. “May I?” He gestures to you, asking silently if he can wrap an arm around you to support you incase you fall over again. 

You nod and allow him to guide you just around the corner into the small seating area off to the side of the library. It’s dark, the lanterns not being lit yet despite the fact that the sun had gone down over twenty minutes ago.

“I swear I’m not usually this clumsy,” you say sheepishly. “That’s twice you’ve stopped me from falling in the last two weeks… I suppose I should say thank you, Fiyero.”

Fiyero sits you down gently on the bench and sits your book bag down on the ground. He crouches down in front of you and reaches up to take your hands in his. He’s surprised when you don’t immediately pull away from him. “I don’t think you’ve ever called me by my first name before.”

“Oh,” you think on it for a second, trying to ignore the warm feeling of his hands and how comforting it is. “I guess I haven’t. Sorry, Tigelaar.”

“No, no,” Fiyero shakes his head. “Don’t go back to that. I like when you call me Fiyero.”

“Well, I suppose it is your name,” you offer a small smile.

“There’s that gorgeous smile,” Fiyero smiles back at you and squeezes your hands. “Now, are you gonna tell me why you almost just fainted on me and why you’re clumsier than you usually are, darling?”

You stay silent for a few moments and just when Fiyero begins to think that you might just brush him off and try to make a quick exit like you did last week, you start to speak.

“I haven’t really been sleeping well lately,” you admit quietly. “I’ve had so much work to do, I fell behind on my assignments and I took on some extra work from Doctor Dillamond and… despite my best efforts, I guess I let myself get a little burnt out.”

Fiyero looks at you with his eyes full of pity and you hate it. 

“Anyway,” you clear your throat, “that’s not important. Why would you care?”

Your attempt to make light of the situation fails spectacularly, judging by the look that Fiyero gives you afterwards. You’ve never seen him look that unimpressed before. 

“Of course I care,” he says, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Why, though?” You can’t help but ask. “Why are you so fixated on me?”

Fiyero sighs and moves to sit beside you, letting go of your hands in the process. “If you’ll allow me to be honest with you for a moment,” he starts, “I suppose… you’re the only person at Shiz that doesn’t treat me like the perfect Winkie Prince that everyone thinks I am. You’re the only person that doesn’t think I’m perfect, and half the time you act like you can’t stand to be around me, and for some reason that only makes me want to be around you more.” 

“Are you not the perfect Winkie Prince?” You ask.

Fiyero grins. “Oh, not in the slightest, darling. But let’s keep that between us. I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. How does that sound?” 

You don’t even try to hide the smile that comes to your face at his words. “You promise you won’t tell anyone about what happened today?”

“I promise,” he nods. “But only on one condition: you tell Doctor Dillamond you can’t complete the extra work you signed up for and you take a break to make sure you get plenty of rest before diving into your other assignments. I’m sure I can sweet talk some of the Professors if you need help.” 

He smiles as you hit him with the same look as before, but for the first time, he doesn’t find himself feeling uncomfortable at the sight of it. Now, he finds it slightly amusing and incredibly endearing. He has always found you endearing, he supposes.

“Sweet talking my Professors will not be necessary,” you chuckle. “But okay. It’s a deal. And I’ll keep your secret too. You can continue to be the perfect Winkie Prince to everyone… except me.”

Fiyero laughs. “I’ll just be your Fiyero, then.”

“My Fiyero?” You repeat after him, eyebrows raised. 

He ignores the way his heart beats faster at the sound of those words coming out of your mouth. 

“Yes, your Fiyero,” he hums. 

“Everyone will think that you finally corrupted me after all this time,” you joke, voice teasing. “I’ll just be like everyone else at Shiz. Part of the Fiyero Tigelaar fan club.”

Fiyero fixes you with a look. “Oh, darling. You could never be like everyone else.” 

[pearlywritings]

Sometimes the name doesn't matter

synopsis: sometimes it matters that you are his wife. PART 3

pairings: Childe, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Wriothesley x fem!reader (separately)

tw: fluff, established relationship (married/engaged/mated), secret relationship, immortal reader in Neuvi's part

word count: 6.1k+ words

a/n: part 1 and part 2 can be read here!

Childe

Spurred by the whistles and a whip of a coachman three fine white horses are trotting along the snow-covered road, dragging a big sleigh. Made of the sturdiest wood and painted in red and gold, the construction is effortlessly sliding on ice crust, almost lulling you under all those warm blankets and furs Ajax has thrown over your half-sitting half-lying bodies. You are glad to have this instead of jolting in a carriage (not like it’ll even be able to ride through all this snow), sure to have an aching arse even under the thick sheepskin coat, and instead of whatever machinery your lover could’ve gotten his hands onto due to his position - otherwise it wouldn’t have been so romantic.

Resting your head onto his shoulder you sigh blissfully, puffing out a small cloud of warm air. The fluffy-looking firs, tall pines and naked larches are flashing past in a magical gleam of snow-covered branches; you think you see two grayish squirrels chasing one another on a tree on your left.

“Oh, little minxes. A couple of seconds later and that snow could’ve ended up on our heads.”

You giggle at the young man’s comment, taking your gloved hand out of the sable muff and reaching to adjust the hat with earflaps (which he once again refused to tie under his chin) on his head. Before you can retrieve, a bigger hand clad in mitten wraps around yours and brings it to the chapped pale lips. As if spellbound you watch him press a tender kiss just where your ring finger joins the palm - right where the engagement ring is hidden under the thick material.

Now it’s hard to tell if your cheeks are rosy from cold or the swirling emotions.

“A little bit more and we will be in Morepesok,” he says softly, deep pools of his blue eyes staring back at you adoringly. “I can’t wait to share the news with ma, pa, sisters and brothers…”

You know he’s written them a letter right after you said ‘yes” to him, too excited to wait. So excited in fact, that he couldn’t sit still in expectation for the response, so he solicited an impromptu week-long vacation with the help of Pulcinella, and here you are, on your merry way to his home village.

“I can’t wait for that too,” you smile, leaning up to peck his nose, eliciting the same smile from him. “But I worry a little - will they be happy for us? I mean, that it’s me who you are going to marry?”

“Absolutely!” He nods enthusiastically and you have to readjust his hat again. “They all love you very much, I promise you. And if I am being completely honest, mom and Tonia did keep asking me when I intended to make you my wife during the last couple of times we visited.”

“Wait, really? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was already planning a proposal at the time - didn’t want to spoil it by accidentally letting my tongue loose.”

It’s hard to believe that this man is one of the Tsaritsa’s Harbingers. Childe is surprisingly good at separating his work and off work behavior, turning into a completely normal, maybe just a tiny bit unhinged, young man as soon as his family is involved. You know he’s built this facade to keep them and you away from harm, but you also know it comes from the heart as well.

“Then I can only hope we can bring the female members of your family to the capital soon - I want them to participate in the wedding dress shopping.”

You are immediately gathered into a tight embrace and your laughter is smothered by the fur on his collar. Yes, he is the Eleventh Harbinger, Tartaglia, Tsaritas’s soldier, Childe… But in moments like this he is just Ajax. Your Ajax.

His parents’ house meets you both with the quiet creak of the gates, the barking of two big fluffy malamutes outside, the clink of the horseshoe against the wood on top of the front door, the warmth of a well-heated inside and a bit taller than the last time you saw him Teucer, who runs full speed at his big brother, practically tackling him.

“Big brother is home, big brother is home!”

Ajax joyously laughs, somehow managing to take off his coat and dropping it to the colorful carpet at the front door before hoisting the exclaiming boy into his arms. Kicking off your felt boots to step from the anteroom, you watch with a smile as he squeals when your lover presses his cold cheek to the warm smaller one, squirming in the strong arms. 

Not a minute later more of his siblings appear, closely followed by their mom - freckled, with her ginger with gray hair tied in a thick braid and an apron thrown over her green dress, the woman smiles brightly and, letting her children surround their brother, walks to you with arms spread, ready to embrace you.

“Mother, my clothes might be cold,” you try to warn her, but she doesn’t listen, hugging you anyway.

“As if it can affect me! Oh, I’m so happy to see you, my dear. How was your trip? Are you tired, hungry? I’m almost done with lunch, and in the meantime I can ask my husband to throw in the firewood and heat the bathhouse for you two.

“It’s very kind of you,” you smile, wrapping your arms to give her a hug in return. “But I think we’ll wash up in the evening - I really doubt Ajax’s sibling will let him go in the following couple of hours.”

Before she can say anything, a tall, wide man appears from the other room. His beard and hair are gingerly brown with gray too, thick brows naturally furrowed. By the rosy cheeks, the remnants of snowflakes melting on his hair and the choice of clothing you guess he’s just returned to the house through the back door - probably after chopping wood.

Upon lowering his gaze to you, his facial features smooth out.

“If it isn’t my son and a dear soon-to-be daughter-in-law!” His gruff voice booms across the house, immediately redirecting everyone’s attention to you and making you blush. “I knew Ajax was too impatient and would rather come to visit and bring his fiance along than wait for a response letter.”

As he moves to greet you properly and help with discarding the outer clothes, you notice your gingerhead whispering something to his siblings, to which they giggle and throw glances at you. Catching the gaze of your lover, you lift an eyebrow, as if asking ‘should I be concerned?”. But he only shakes his head with a smile and ushers everyone to the dining room.

However, the curiosity is getting better of you, as throughout the evening you keep catching the glances, watch Tonia whispering something to her mom, and the woman giving Ajax a ‘really?’ kind of look, but with a fond smile, and then his dad slapping his back with a boisterous laugh, saying something along the lines ‘I was the same way with your mom too’.

So you confront him once you are left alone in the room.

“Hey, foxy, what’s going on?”

“Hm?” He lowers the blanket that he’s just tucked inside the duvet cover and reaches for the sheets. “What do you mean, bunny?”

“Whatever you’ve been doing,” you put one of the pillows down and reach out for the other as well as the pillowcase. 

“And what’s that ‘whatever’ I’ve been doing?” You don’t miss the sly smile finding its way onto his face. You huff.

“I don’t know. You tell me.”

The man hums, tucking the edges of the sheet between the mattress and the bed.

“Nothing you should worry about. I just asked them all to practice a little.”

“Practice?’ Cocking your head, you throw both pillows onto the bed. “Wait, did you start planning something for the wedding?”

“Not quite. Rather for after it.”

Confused, but intrigued, you step closer when your lover sits down and beckons you, being dragged into his lap a second later. Blue eyes look at you in an unspoken fascination, as he leans forward to place a kiss to the corner of your mouth, prompting you to loosely wrap your arms around his shoulders.

“Since we are getting married, I deduced that it would be only right for my family to call you my wife. Thus I asked them to get acquaintanced with the term, so they could start doing it as soon as we are pronounced husband and wife.”

You blink at him once, twice. After the third time you exhale, shaking your head, but the lift of your lips doesn’t go unnoticed by your fiance.

“I should’ve known you’d pull something like this, I am not even surprised, let alone mad. But they could just keep addressing me by my name. Plus your siblings already call me ‘big sister’ and your parents made me an honor of acknowledging me as the ‘daughter’. It won’t change much.”

“But it will!” He pouts and you can’t resist the urge to pinch his cheek. “You will be my wife and I want everyone to help me show it! Does it bother you though?”

Looking into those uncharacteristically begging eyes, you really can’t deny him his little antics. Not like you were going to in the first place.

“No, no, I don’t mind, love. Honestly, it's very sweet how excited you are. Makes me look forward to it.”

“Yeah?” Look at him, smiling like a satisfied cat, who's had too much sour cream for its own good. His embrace tightens on you a little.

“Yeah.”

A beat of silence passes as Ajax enjoys the many kisses you pepper to his face, squeezing his eyes shut, grinning, boyishly eager for more.

“Do you think I should ask the whole village to do the same?”

“Ajax, no.”

Nuevillette

“Mother, do you mind helping me a little? I can’t reach over there…

“I’d be delighted, my dear.”

Neuvillette watches with a fond look as you put the tea cup down and stand up to walk closer to Verenata and assist her with whatever the potion maker needs. Your figure is ethereal, clad in the finest fabrics, flowing with every step and gently dropping as you crouch gracefully to hoist the melusine in your arms. From above the rim of his silver goblet the Hydro Dragon can't tear his eyes from the way one of your many “daughters” wraps an arm around your neck and reaches up, while the corner of your lips, which he can see from his position at the table, is turned upwards.

“Mother is so kind and patient,” Laume says just a step away from Neuvillette’s chair. When the man turns his head to look at her, there is Flo standing too.

“Yes, and she is so beautiful,” the other melusine sighs, clasping her hands together. “And she always brings us such nice and comfortable clothes…”

“Monsieur Neuvillette married a wonderful woman,” a couple more melusines nearby agree and there is a warm and fuzzy feeling takes place in the Judex’s chest.

Marriage… Such a beautiful concept humans came up with to validate the union of two. It begins with the wedding - a day full of happy tears and blissful smiles, shared vows to be together in sickness and in health, sweet claims of love and promises of joyful life ahead. Then this very life begins and for beings like you and your husband it’s a long, but welcome trip.

You’ve been claimed by each other for quite some time before the more ‘mortal appropriate’ ritual, and the melusines - the wonderful creatures Neuvillette once took under his wing - were aware and happy for your relationship. And it was actually their idea to hold a wedding too, once Sigewinne naturally asked how the two of you planned to introduce your bond in civil words to humans.

And it was their initiative to start calling you “mother”. With your actions you quickly became one for them anyway, and the girls actively sought your company when it was possible. Thus, such tea parties at the Merusea Village as today are a common occurrence (besides, you always welcome them because it's a great opportunity to dig your husband out of the pile of responsibilities he tends to bury himself under).

However, lately Neuvillette started noticing that when he heard the word leave the girls’ mouths, a strange feeling began rising in his chest. Even though not quite familiar with the concept of jealousy, the Judex was sure it was not the case - he loved when the melusines called you that. So, he could not really put his finger on why the action caused such an indescribable reaction.

He decided to observe. On his walks throughout the city, the man seeked the sights of parents with children to attentively listen and watch while leisurely passing by or stopping at the shopping booths to linger on the scene. He was quick to note that the interactions were hardly different from the ones between you and the girls - kids would call for their mothers in all the same tones: when happy, when asking for help, when seeking comfort and many other typical occurrences he’d seen a handful of times before.

What really caught Neuvillette’s eye was the way the parents behaved. And soon his focus shifted to the married couples instead. As reserved as the nobles seemed to appear, the ones in love still managed to slip a murmured ‘my dear’, or ‘beloved’ or ‘my sweet [Name]’ in their speech. All the things the Hydro Dragon was all too used to call you too, relishing in the image of your loving smile and joyfully crinkling eyes as you responded in kind.

But it is like a waterfall pours on him when a week later, after that tea party where he once again sunk deep in thought, a keen pointy ear makes out a simple word in the crowd.

"Wife"

Male’s heart flutters. The understanding quickly dawns on him, even more so when his eyes find the couple on the other side of the road, - it was no simple term to introduce the partner to the third party. No, the tenderly spoken word was used by that man to address his lover, to softly draw her attention to him, to remind her he is happy she is holding such a position in his life…

At least that’s what kind of puzzle pieces together in Neuvillette’s head. The couple is long gone, yet he is still standing there, hand resting on the handle of his cane and eyes staring into space.

He starts to remember all the sweet names he called you, each and every one stored in his memory with the heart-warming images of your reactions. There are all kinds of those: my love, my pearl, lizzy (affectionate from ‘lizard’; you used to tell him that dragons are just big lizards and it kinda stuck), kisses-stealer, fairy-tail nymph… The man is surprisingly creative with his words when it comes to you.

Sure, he calls you his mate, quite often too, but to his chagrin it has never occurred to him that he could call you ‘his wife’ too! It’s so simple, so absurdly logical, yet it took him weeks to figure out.

Humans are truly fascinating.

When Neuvillette returns to his office in the Palais Mermonia you are already there, lazing on a sofa with a bunch of papers, in which your husband guesses the script of probably another upcoming play of Furina. And judging by the more than a half pages turned you’ve been waiting for him for a while.

When the door closes and the cane disappears in the myriad of sparkling bubbles, you lift your gaze, and a smile immediately lights up your lovely features.

”Neuvi,” You speak softly, getting on your feet and leaving the script behind, “I hoped we’d depart on the afternoon stroll together. So imagine my disappointment when Sedene told me you had left just ten minutes ago! Oh, I knew I’d be late if Lady Furina had kept me for another minute, yet I still hoped I’d be on time…”

As you are approaching him, the Judex remembers the melusine’s words upon arrival: “Mother waits inside”. This makes all his previous thoughts resurface, and when he meets you half-way and reaches for both your hands to place a kiss to the back of each, Neuvillette has half a mind to try out his new discovery.

“Our Archon enjoys your company a lot, and, knowing you, you are not really mad,” you roll your eyes playfully, tiptoeing to peck the tip of his nose, murmuring a quiet ‘hush, let me be a tiny bit indignant’. “And I’d be honored to keep you company for the evening stroll,” and then, after a little pause of hesitation, he adds, “wife.”

He watches as the previously present smile on your face grows even bigger, but after a couple of seconds starts to fade slowly, eyes squinting a little bit to stare at him in hardly-concealed curiosity.

“What was that?”

“What was what, dear wife?”

“This!” As if to emphasize your words you point your finger to his mouth, and it’s Neuvillette’s lips’ turn to curl in a small smile.

“It’s something I hoped to discuss with you,” his gloved fingertips soothingly brush over your knuckles and soon your hand is clasped into his, as the man leads you both back to the sofa. “You see,” he starts when you sit down, “I am fascinated with the notion hidden behind the word ‘mother’ the melusines like to call you. That’s who you are for them both in reality and in terms. I’ve made some observations, and figured that sometimes humans in marriage also use the…familial terms to address one another. It seemed lovely to me and I wanted to try it out with you. What do you think?”

You hum in thought, replaying in your head the way Neuvillette spoke to you twice. It is hard to explain, but you somehow immediately see the appeal and understand why your lover got hooked on it. Seems lovely indeed. You wonder, what if you…

“Will you tell me more about those observations on our evening stroll, husband? Ooh, it does sound wonderful!”

Mark him stunned, but for a moment Judex grows speechless. The violet depths of his eyes swirl with adoration as you clap your hands gleefully, and he knows, that from now on your everyday routine will never be the same

“With pleasure, wife.”

Pantalone

Dancing snowflakes are slowly descending in their tender waltz and are gleaming like the tiniest of gems in the streetlights’, enveloping the already magical winter capital of the Cryo region in a solemn atmosphere. The white cover of the ground is crunching with every step of a passerby and every wheel rotation of the fancy-looking carriages, while the street is a jumble of fur coats and heavy military overcoats, finally breathing life into the afternoon-quiet city.

It’s a wonderful evening, too marvelous to spend it at home, too enchanting to miss the new ballet at the Bolshoy Theater, the true accumulation of the Tsaritsa’ nation’s nobility and intelligentsia. The wonder of Snezhnayan architecture is both the place to rest and enjoy the purest form of art and home to many gossip circulating in society. Some fresh and just hours old, some ancient and undying, like the topic of the Ninth Harbinger’s lovers.

Lord Pantalone is well-known and often-praised for his contribution to the Snezhnaya’s economy, along with extending the Fatui influence all across the Teyvat. But also he is quite famous for the women he appears in public with. It’s always someone new, it’s never the same one as before. Different shapes, different hair, different style - it is impossible to guess the raven-haired man’s tastes. However everybody knew - the Harbinger never entertained the company of the ladies who made attempts to catch his attention. Those ladies themselves say as much.

The Regrator’s companions never open their mouths, never utter a word - at least not when there are people around. There has never been a single name, never a remembered face - all women wear the mask covering the upper half of it, concealing the identity of yet another lucky choice of the rich man. 

Never the same woman - always the same mask.

This evening does not disappoint the gathered crowd - lifting their gazes, directing attention to the Harbinger’s personal box, they once again see the notorious mask. The long fringe of wine-red hair is coquettishly framing the ever-lasting piece of leather, similarly flaming lips are tugged in a haughty smile - as if the young lady doesn’t realize that once the night is over, she’s going to be discarded like many others before her. The dress according to the latest fashion trends and the beautiful garnet necklace do not surprise the audience anymore - even known for his love for replacements, Lord Pantalone dresses his partners royally.

The man himself has chosen yet another black costume, with a dark burgundy shirt hidden underneath and bird-shaped garnet brooch on the left side of his chest. Multiple beautiful rings catch the light when he lifts his gloved hand to adjust diamond-shaped glasses, before turning his head and addressing something to his tonight’s escort. She boisterously laughs, saying something in response, but even if attendants tried to strain their ears, they wouldn’t hear anything so far away. Even harder it gets when the third ring of the bell echoes across the theater chamber and both the Harbinger and the woman are forgotten, until the performance is over.

So no one sees when the ring-decorated hand reaches for a smaller female one, fingers sliding under the chintz-covered palm, thumb immediately reaching to tug on the hem of the glove, so the thin cool lips could press against the small patch of bared skin. A glimpse of a smile is what Pantalone gets when you glance at him with amusement playing on your lips.

Always the same mask, never the same woman, huh? 

Pride has long slithered into your heart, yet it still lifts its snake-like head every time your act of decisiveness succeeds, happily hissing. Every time it’s a test of your skills, a gamble with the eyes of ones around you, and every time you hit the jackpot, leaving the people guessing, staying the only one in possession of the banker despite the speculations.

As long as Her Majesty Tsaritsa is aware of your existence and the place you occupy next to Pantalone, you are free to do anything you want with his reputation relationship-wise. And he allows it, because should you desire the whole world - he’ll throw it to your feet like the cheapest trinket. One would say it’s because he is prideful too - he knows it’s because he loves his wife.

Loves to the point of entertaining the masquerades she stages whenever the two of you need to appear in public. It plays wonderfully into his possessive nature and desire to keep his precious beautiful wife to himself and helps with the enemies - “changing the ladies” minimizes the chances of putting at risk his one and only. Not like many know of you in the first place.

It’s a win-win arrangement for you as well - there is still an opportunity to cling to his arm, to use his expensive cologne, to play with the rings on his fingers and sneakily make out in a dark corner where no one can see. To be tugged into his lap in the carriage on the way back to his mansion, to have his long fingers undo the strings of the mask, and once the piece of leather falls onto the floor, have the palms slide down the sides of your neck, swiftly fiddling with the heavy necklace, only to let it be, the caress the shoulders, pushing the sleeves down… 

…to leave them at the elbows and grab your arms to push your back into his chest as the warm lips press to the juncture between the neck and the shoulder.

And what if you’ve lost your name in the process of this disguising? Having been an actress a long time ago made you used to it. But isn’t it fun to come up with the new ideas for your next performance? Your husband gifts you way too many dresses and jewelry sets - you must find use to all of them! He now has to simply spend a bit more on the wigs and makeup to fit each combination of fabric and gems.

“Did my wife have a pleasant evening?” The velvet voice of the man behind you caresses the ear and you meet his gaze in the full-size mirror in front of you. Amethyst eyes sparkle in the bedroom light and you smile coquettishly, red lips stretching seductively.

“Did she? How could I know?” You tease, reaching to your back to undo the corset, just to be stopped by his hands, fingers digging into the dozens of strings. “And don’t you know, Mr Harbinger, that it’s very offending for the woman, when the man speaks about another lady in her presence?”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware,” he muses, tugging a bit harsher on the ties and making you gasp, “that my dear wife can be jealous of herself.”

“When you know her poorly. Tsk-tsk, what a bad husband you are.”

Pantalone laughs behind you, shaking his head at your untrue words, and you reach to your head to remove the fiery wig. By the time Pantalone is done with your corset, you are done letting your naturally beautiful locks down, sighing in relief from both the released ribcage and hair roots.

The dress, having lost its vital support on your body, falls to the ground next to the wig and quickly becomes forgotten as you two step away from the mirror.

Your husband is still mostly clothed, having only eased out of his coat and unbuttoned the jacket, so you busy your hands with tugging the black article off and then reaching for the gleaming tiny buttons on the shirt. Your figures bask in the warm light of the room as you continue undressing the man - your eyes concentrated on the expensive fabrics, his - on the lovely expression of your face.

“But if you must know,” Pantalone raises his brow, when you look up at him, a much sincere and tender smile lighting up your visage, “your wife loved the evening very much.”

And that’s everything he’s ever wanted to hear. Fingers tangle in your hair, you harshly inhale, and his lips are on yours. Lipstick is smudging, your fingers accidentally catch the silver chain, and his glasses get slightly askew, but it doesn’t matter. His wife loved another thing he’s done for her. The banker’s day has ended in a great profit.

Wriothesley

Fortress of Meropide is a huge metal labyrinth of floors and corridors, where noise is never-ending even in the late hours of the night. The metal box which is the Duke’s office however, is constructed to mute the annoying sounds or else the one inside would have a very hard time concentrating.

Usually, even the ruckus happening outside and the clanking of the heavy machines underneath can’t sway Wriothesley’s attention if he has his mind set on doing the paperwork, even something as boring as bills. Today, however, the man has caught himself multiple times glancing at the clock he’s hung up a couple of years ago - there is no way to tell the time all the way down underwater, true, but it serves him a greater purpose. It helps him count hours and minutes before you arrive.

Tuesdays and Thursdays are the days when you take a half of the day off to come down to the Fortress to meet up with your husband. You both quickly realized that traveling back and forth together in either of the directions (fortress or home in the city) would be way too inconvenient. So, you improvise by visiting him throughout the week a couple of times and then he comes home to properly spend the weekend, having learnt to delegate his responsibilities to the most trustworthy guards. So far you’ve been extremely pleased with the arrangement, and the Fortress’s crew have learnt your face by heart to not cause you any obstacles in reaching your beloved’s office.

Today, nevertheless, something must’ve gone wrong. Pale blue eyes are practically drilling the minute hand of the previously mentioned clock, watching it moving further and further from the tiny 10-minute bar, which should’ve marked your appearance at the top of his stairs. And he gets it, everything could’ve happened, something as trivial as the queue at the pastry shop that might’ve gotten longer today, but when the delay surpasses the half-hour mark, the warden puts his fountain pen down and follows it by the creak of the chair legs on the metal floor.

As he descends down the stairs - each clunking under the heavy soles of his boots - a fleeting thought of you stopping by at the medical bay first is immediately brushed aside - his office is right on the path of entering the Fortress’s main body, and you love your husband too much to let him sulk in his longing. 

When he pushes the colossal doors open, eyes instantly start searching the area ahead of him. However, nothing unusual is spotted - two guards are standing at the front of his abode, not even flinching at the unpleasant scraping noise the metal makes; a couple of inmates are walking past them, bowing their heads right as they see the appearing the figure of their warden - Wriothesley simply nods and sends them off with a flicker of his hand; then there is Monglane’s desk with its irreplaceable owner. And no trace of his beloved wife.

Closing the doors behind him, Wriothesley comes up to the guards, inquiring if they’ve happened to see you. Getting a negative response, he hums and starts walking forward, to the corridor leading to the elevator, not bothering with asking the very same questions to Monglane.

With every passing minute, especially while waiting for the elevator, the man starts realizing how impatient he is growing, if the tapping of his foot and crossed arms are not an indicator enough. Even with just one day apart, he’s missed you so awfully much, your adoring smile, your soft voice and cute little giggles, that he feels rightfully robbed since you are not yet in his embrace, showering his face with kisses and then whining pretentiously because he’s forgotten to shave once again. Sometimes you swear he is not a big bad wolf, but a mean huge hedgehog.

He almost stomps inside the cabin the second its doors slide open and pushes the button to the reddening of his fingertip. It is a long trip up to the next level, and he admits he’s tugged on his leather straps wrapped around his arms a couple of times, but Archons, how little it all matters, when, exiting the elevator, he finally hears such a familiar voice. Your voice.

Your husband’s legs carry him like they obtained a mind of their own, following the full of amusement lilt he knows can belong only to you, just to come to a halt next to the wooden boxes piled up on the side of the path. 

He can see you, quite clearly, adorned in a cute pair of pants and a shirt, shoulders covered in a crocheted shawl - always ready for the cool air of the Fortress, yet looking so comfy, that Wriothesley can't help but desire to tackle you to the sofa in his office and cuddle this instant. And he would've done just that, if the conversation you've been having didn't catch his attention.

“No, it's wrong again. It's not Britney, it's Brytnneigh.

“But you are saying the same thing!"

"No, it is not B-r-i-t-n-e-y. It's B-r-y-t-n-n-e-i-g-h."

"Slower, please."

In the second voice the warden easily guesses a new guard that has just been employed a couple of days ago. He remembers signing the papers his weekend substitute brought him on Monday. Wriothesley also remembers how the man swore that he’d passed on to the newbie all the information and training he needed to know. But, it appears, he forgot to mention the most important thing…

“Did you make sure to write my name with two N’s?” Your voice is laced with hardly concealed mirth, and, though he can’t see the face of the guard talking to you, your husband is sure the poor young man looks quite miserable.

“Yes, mademoiselle, I did.”

“Wonderful, but it’s ‘madame’, I am a married woman after all. But no worries, I am flattered you think I look so young,” Wriothesley shakes his head with a silent chuckle. He adores you so much, but maybe it really is time to stop your little play of a new inmate, or else he’ll surely have to call for Sigewinne to check on the poor guard.

“And your last name, madame?”

“I am Brytnneigh Deirdrophnea de Troistêtesloup. Do you want me to spell it for you, dear?”

Yes, he really should stop you.

Before you can open your mouth again, you see in your peripheral vision a figure moving. Upon turning your head slightly, you are graced with the sight of your beloved husband, walking towards you with a quirked thick brow, and crossed arms. All you can do is sheepishly smile, waving at him.

“O-oh! Duke Wriothesley, Sir!” The guard behind the registration desk immediately jumps to his feet, squaring his shoulders and saluting at the arrival of his superior.

“At ease, young man,” Wriothesley nods, stepping even closer, practically invading your personal space, icy blue eyes looking at you unblinkingly. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing much, Mr Warden,” your eyes crinkle in the corners, a sight so infectious, that the man’s lips turn into a small smile. “Just a cute old me, ending up in the Fortress for Archon knows what time.”

“M-madame!” The guard exclaims rather loudly, that even your husband turns to look at him. “Even if it's not your first stay here, you shouldn’t be taking liberties with the Duke!”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Wriothesley raises his hand. “She is no longer your headache-”

“Hey!” You elbow his side to the bewilderment of the guard. In his shock he doesn’t even reach for his weapon.

“-I will personally escort this troublemaker inside. And cross out that abominable name out, would you? It’s not her name.”

“It’s not..?” Now Wriothesley really sympathizes with the guy, he looks utterly lost.

“It’s not. But,” a big scarred hand gently cups you under the chin and turns your head more properly towards the guard, “be sure to remember this adorable face very well for the next time. You’ll need that to let her in and out.”

“...out?”

“Yes, indeed. This woman is my wife.”

As the elevator doors slide close and the cabin starts moving down, you turn to Wriothesley and throw your arms around his wide frame, face burying into his chest.

“Are you proud of me for coming up with such a long and difficult name in a single thought?”

“Oh, for sure,” strong arms circle your waist and chapped lips press to the top of your head, “I bet you would be hard-to-catch if you were a criminal. But why did you decide to play such a prank on a poor man?”

“Well… I just wanted to see his face when he found out that I am the wife of the Duke of the Fortress of Meropide himself. Another reason is that there was no guard who knew my face and I doubt he would’ve believed my word. I just got creative with the way of making him summon someone else. You simply got here before anything could happen. Plus, it’s good to keep them on their toes with a job like that. Besides, I did apologize and praise him for his patience.”

At that Wriothesley just sighs and then chuckles, raising one of his hands and threading his fingers through your hair, pressing your head even closer to his chest. He is not even feeling iffy about the lost half an hour of your time together anymore. Because you gave him an opportunity to introduce you as his wife once again.

[xcal1bur25]

And honestly, when a work of art that has a more or less anti-right wing message gets an audience that seemingly "misses the point", and that work of art has a follow up that tries REALLY HARD to make that not happen...it usually fucking sucks. Sure. You may be able to successfully alienate the audience you don't want. You will also make your work garbage, because you committed the cardinal sin of writing. You wrote for the audience. Good art is not made for the audience. Fuck the audience. Making art for the audience creates soulless, passionless, made-by-committee, castrated-by-focus-group, schlock that is completely devoid of value, and that's true whether or not you like the audience, or you hate them.

Like, okay. When people bitch about a work being "too political", and they aren't full of shit, THIS is what they're picking up on. But the problem is NOT that the work has a political opinion, but that it CARES what the political opinions of its audience are. Maybe it thinks that the audience agrees with it, so it will do a thing where it will turn to the audience and go "and now is the point where you clap at how based I am". It's appealing to its assumption of its audience's politics, and saying things it thinks they agree with, because it's easier to get them to cheer about something they care about in real life than it is to make them care enough about the story to cheer on its own merits. That, and it's good for marketing. Example: Everything in the MCU that has to do with Captain Marvel. Endgame literally could have had a better feminist message by removing her entirely and focusing more on Nebula and Gamora's relationship and how Thanos pit them against each other. Alternatively, it's the situation above, and it's being written for an audience that it believes DISAGREES with it. It also probably thinks that audience is stupid for not realizing that, AND IT MAY BE RIGHT, but it then proceeds to make it's point in the most blunt and artless way possible. Example: The Boys Season 4. I agree with basically every political stance it makes, but watching it make them is the definition of cringeworthy. Good art is made FOR THE ARTIST. Good art comes when creators make something that THEY think is great. They don't try to make art that the audience wants, or doesn't want, or is intended to lecture the audience, they simply make the art that THEY want to see in the world. And by no means does this mean that good art can't be political! The statement that all art is political still rings true, and the best art is extremely political! But good political art comes from the fact that politics are often an important part of someone's worldview and experiences, and when someone writes art that they care deeply about, those political beliefs come through. However, instead of coming through in a way that's preachy, or cringe, or cheesy, or desperate, or forced, or blunt, they come through in ways that are thoughtful, or contemplative, or passionate, or angry, or sad, or hopeful.

So just forget the audience, and make the art.

i dont think fight club was co-opted by the right because they didnt get the satire, it was co-opted because it fuckign kicks ass. they would have co-opted any movie that is that good and has hot sweaty men in it. right wingers aren't aliens, they know a good movie when they see it, the lesson isn't "don't make satire because the wrong people might think its for them" the lesson would be "don't make art that kicks ass" and i'd rather there be art that kicks ass

[kkuzushi]

May I request a Popular kid Scaramouche x Nerd reader (basically a power bottom scaramouche)

Also can I be 🐀anon

“ 𝐀 𝐅𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐞 ”

✦ characters: powerbottom!Scaramouche x amab!reader

✦ cw: no nut November, college setting, academic rivals (sort of), handjob (receiving & giving), slight praising but mostly humiliation, riding

✦ word count: 2.549k

✦ notes: I’m inexperienced with writing power bottoms so this took some time, I hope I did it right despite being more used to sub-bottom characters. Welcome to my blog as well, 🐀 anon! <3

You sat cross-legged on the couch, your laptop opened and displaying an earlier announcement. The debate competition you had joined was held today and your opponent? It was no other than the confident and quick-witted Scaramouche. However he was no match to you as always—when it comes to academics, you were simply 1% better, and that’s on being humble.

In your dorm, there was another competition being held. A staring contest between you and Scaramouche, both engulfed in silence. He glared at you, most likely sulking in his defeat.

“Fine.” Scaramouche sighed, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “You won, enjoy while it lasts.” His voice was laced with irritation and amusement. It’s not like he’ll deny that you did good but he won’t admit you were better.

You smirked, crossing your arms, “I plan to.” You looked away once the silent staring ended, taking your laptop and switching to your spreadsheet. There’s still a lot to do before the day ends and you intend to be productive.

You pushed up your glasses to the bridge of your nose, getting ready to continue on your day. Working’s about to be more fun, after all, it’s not everyday you crush someone who’s so sure they’re better than you.

Scaramouche rolled his eyes, seeing you ignore his presence easily in turn of concentrating to your works again. “We’re not done, you know,” He says, pushing himself off the wooden chair he was sitting on.

You glance at him, with a raised eyebrow you replied, “We are, unless you want the principal to reannounce the winner.” Scaramouche glared at your smug smile, he decides to push it aside, this is just one of your few wins over him, no big deal.

He walks closer to you, getting too close for comfort. “Don’t get too cocky now or you might lose this one.”

You blink, “Lose what?”

Scaramouche grinned and quickly plucks your glasses off your face. “Scara–” You warned, your arm extending to take it back from his grasp but he was quicker, keeping it out of your reach.

“Since you made me lose–”

“I didn’t make you lose,” you interrupted.

He rolled his eyes, “Okay, let me rephrase that.” Scaramouche cleared his throat, “Since you won the debate, it’s only fair I win something, right?” He grinned, the curve of his lips reminding you of a mischievous cat.

You raised your eyebrow, crossing your arms, “You’re not making sense.” Before you could even add more to your statement, Scaramouche walked closer and pressed a hand on the cushions behind you, trapping you on the couch.

“A fair trade,” He muttered, “You win the debate, I win this.” To emphasize his point, his free hand pushed your laptop to the side as he straddled your lap. Your legs uncrossed out of instinct despite being caught off guard by his actions.

You moved back against the cushion, feeling rather awkward with the sudden proximity. “A seat on my lap, really?” You joked, but the glint in his eyes tells you there’s more to this.

Scaramouche’s grin widens, his legs closing in on you to further trap your body in between them. “Don’t play dumb. I’ve heard of this little challenge you’re participating.. NNN, was it?” He drawls, his hands tracing your chest.

Is he kidding? There’s no way a childish challenge like that was enough for him to feel satisfied.. I mean, it’s not like you’re taking it seriously, right?

“You don’t dare–”

“Oh but I do.”

Scaramouche chuckles, his hips starting to grind against your crotch. His movements were slow but precise, intended to tease you to your limits.

Your hands gripped his waist, forcing him to pause for a moment. “Stop that.. I have better things to do right now,” You breathed out, a clear sign of warning in your eyes.

Scaramouche almost considered your words but he just smirked, carrying on with his movements. “You expect me to believe that?” His face leans in closer, “You’re getting hard awfully fast.” Without waiting for a reply, he closed the distance and captured your lips in a deep kiss.

He can feel your arousal building right beneath him with every roll of his hips, just the mere thought of turning you on was enough to turn him on. Amidst the kiss, Scaramouche was already thinking of ways he can easily make you lose this no nutting game, and he got just the right idea for it.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your mouths. The atmosphere in the room isn’t helping you at all, but then again, making out with Scaramouche means you’re already fucked.

The indigo haired brat was quick to get into action, his movements sharp as if he was determined to either make you lose or get to the real thing. Or both. In a blink of an eye, your pants were pulled to the floor, and next would be your garment which he was already fumbling with.

You gripped his wrists firmly, attempting to push him away. “You can't actually be going through with this,” you protested, voice sharp with disbelief.

But Scaramouche only laughed, the sound low and smug, his mischievous eyes glinting with confidence. Before you could protest any further, he twisted his wrists around to escape your grip. The realization hits you too late—he was completely serious about this.

And just like that, the tables turned, leaving you bare and vulnerable beneath Scaramouche. Your cock stood rigid, thankfully not yet leaking precum—after all, that would be quite the embarrassing sight for you, wouldn’t it? But the man before you is nothing if not stubborn, and there’s no chance he plans on taking it easy.

Scaramouche slowly wraps a hand on the base, stroking you to full erection. You bit your bottom lip, suppressing the noise of arousal that’s threatening to escape. You can’t let him win right at the beginning, it’ll inflate his insufferable ego.

His violet eyes observed you intensely, as if daring you to slip up, while his movements grew more deliberate. The room felt warmer with every second, your self-control being pushed to its limits under his relentless teasing. You couldn’t give in, not now—not with that smug grin of his silently declaring his impending victory.

Concealing your noises wasn’t enough to hide the evidence of your arousal, though, as a slick warmth began to drip down to his fingers. The sensation only served to spur Scaramouche on, his movements becoming smoother, aided by the telltale fluid that betrayed your resistance.

“Well, would you look at that..” He murmured, leaning in until his breath ghosted against your ears. The obscene sounds filled the air, wet squelches echoing louder than your restrained breaths. “Seems like all that fight of yours is slipping away,” he taunted, his thumb brushing over the angry tip of your cock.

Scaramouche props himself, nimble fingers working to unfasten his pants. Even with that infuriating smirk plastered on his face, it was impossible to miss the way his breaths had grown shallow, his eyes tainted with want despite the composed facade he’s been putting up.

“I’m not the only one turned on, huh?” You muttered, a teasing edge to your voice as your eyes glanced up to his. His smirk faltered, eyebrows furrowing as he shoved his pants off.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, I’m still in control here.” Scaramouche scoffed as he continued to strip himself. Finally, his own dick springs free from its confinements, hard and almost begging for attention. You stared for a while, temptation waring in your mind. Maybe you can turn the tables if you teased him enough.

As your gaze lingers on him, Scaramouche’s smirk deepens. The obvious look of hesitation and temptation in your eyes was another opportunity for him. “Careful, your stare might melt me,” he teased, his voice dripping with a playfulness.

He shifted, lowering his body to yours, the head of your cock resting in between his ass. “Touch it,” He grinned, grinding himself against your weeping dick. “You want to, don't you?” He adds, there was no mistaking that Scaramouche wasn’t exactly asking; he was commanding.

There goes your chance of regaining control. Your hand trembled slightly, the tension in the room thick as you fought the urge to give in. But Scaramouche wasn’t making it easy. His body was so close, his scent intoxicating, and the way he was looking at you made it hard to think straight.

Once your hand makes contact with his shaft, you feel the man twitch a little. With a quiet gulp, you start to stroke him like he did to you. He continues to grind himself against you, movement in sync with your palm.

Scaramouche’s grin widens as you obey his words, his breath becoming uneven with every passing second. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, squeezing gently. “Just like that,” he praised, his voice breathless yet undeniably smug, as if he had you exactly where he wanted you.

Were you actually into this? The thought crossed your mind as Scaramouche’s commands and praises echoed in your ears. Pondering over it, the man above can feel your hand faltering, contemplation filling your face.

Scaramouche took the opportunity to lean in, his lips brushing softly against your ear. “Don’t stop now,” he whispered, his voice almost a challenge, one that made your pulse spike. “Unless you’re starting to want more?”

“I don’t–” He was quicker than your protest, a gasp leaving your lips as you feel something tight constrict your length. Scaramouche groaned as he lowered himself further on your cock, precum lubing his insides.

“Fuck– Scara, wait–”

“Gonna cum already?”

“No! That’s not–..”

It felt as though you could dissolve completely under the sheer heat of his inner walls, the tight warmth clinging to your cock already making you see stars. Despite teasing you, Scaramouche had his face buried in your neck and hands gripping your shoulders, hot breath hitting your skin as he adjusts to the intrusion inside him.

After a few moments of silence, Scaramouche began to move, riding you with slow precision. Wet, obscene sounds filling the room in an instant. Every glide of your cock inside him has you moaning, while he was watching you with a smirk.

The brat could see the subtle shifts in your expression—the way your body responded, betraying the calm front you forced to keep. He was in complete control of the situation now as he watched you squirm under his attention, every little shift sending a ripple of satisfaction through him.

“Don’t forget that NNN challenge of yours,” Scaramouche grinned above you. You almost forgot about that, the only thing you can focus on is his weight pressing down on you, tight entrance swallowing you whole.

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping lower, teasing you further, “Or perhaps you’re losing already?” He continued as your face flushed even deeper. “You’re halfway there, aren’t you?”

You looked him straight in the eye, lips barely moving as you gritted your teeth. “Fuck off,” You muttered, trying to sound nonchalant, though your voice betrayed the slight tremor of frustration. Your hips start to move with a mind of its own, shallowly thrusting up to Scaramouche, movements small yet evident to the man receiving it.

Scaramouche didn’t miss a thing, of course. Even the slightest twitch of your muscles told him everything he needed to know. You weren’t as composed as your earlier facade tried to show.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “How cute,” he purred. “You can’t stop moving. You’re just giving in without even realizing it, aren’t you?”

Every part of you screamed to resist, to regain some semblance of control, but Scaramouche’s inner walls clung to your shaft, forbidding you to pull away or stop the rise and fall of his hips.

The indigo haired brat’s hands tightened their grip on your shoulders, his smirk never faltering as he tilted his head down to meet your gaze. “Are you finally enjoying this?” He drawled, enjoying his control over you.

He leaned in, lips brushing close to your ear. “How humiliating for you,” he added, his breath warm against your skin. His tone was laced with mockery, but the way he moved left no doubt that he was just as lost in the moment as you were.

Your thrusts were just helping him get his impending victory, but you couldn’t help it any longer. He was clenching around your cock on purpose, making sure you were losing your control without any fight.

Your hands gripped his waist as soon as he picked up the pace, “You’re twitching already?” He teased, voice dripping with condescension. His breath ghosted over your cheek as he whispered, voice soft but full of mocking intent, “Can’t take it anymore, can you?”

Precum starts to dribble out of his hole, the evidence of your crumbling resolve bringing him satisfaction. “Poor thing,” He added, a chuckle slipping through his lips, “and here I thought you’d have more restraint.”

Scaramouche’s chuckles quickly change into breathy sounds of pleasure as your cock hits his prostate dead on. His fingers tightened on your shoulders, grounding himself from the unexpected pleasure.

“So desperate..mnhh♡–” He managed to murmur between breaths, though the quiver in his voice betrayed his earlier dominance, the sensation overwhelming him, leaving him as lost in the moment as you were.

His head tilted back, eyes fluttering shut as another gasp broke through his control. “You’rengh–still pathetic..” He whispered, though the shiver in his tone made it clear he was no better.

“Hmn–ironic.” He glared at you for that. Your patience was wearing thin, and despite everything, your body couldn't stop reacting, your movements becoming more desperate. Consequences be damned, you’re teetering over the edge already. November comes around every year anyway, but coming inside Scaramouche might just be a once in a lifetime activity.

You were already where he wanted you to be right from the start, and for the last time, he smirked before losing himself in the overwhelming pleasure. A knot draws up in your abdomen, your thrusts growing erratic as you chase your climax.

"Don’t stop..hAngh–♡" Scaramouche gasped, voice breaking as you pushed your body into his, meeting his every move with urgency. “F-Faster–go faster!” he stammered, but the need for more was clear in his frantic pace.

With one final thrust, you released yourself inside him, ropes of cum spurting out as he came on your stomach at the same time.

The two of you collapsed into each other’s arms, chests heaving as you tried to catch your breaths after everything that transpired.

As the haze of pleasure began to fade, reality sank in like a cruel reminder. Shame and irritation bubbled in your mind as the thought hit you—you really lost No Nut November because Scaramouche rode you.

“This was.. so lame.” You groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

Scaramouche heard your muttered complaint loud and clear, a raspy chuckle escaping his lips as he tilted his head to look at you. “Seeing you lose made it worth it.” But amidst his relentless teasing, you can feel him grinding on your cock, pushing your cum deeper inside him.

[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

When You Call Them Clingy| Hyungline

Hyungline x Gn!Reader

Request: I hope you enjoy!!! <3

Bangchan

The soft hum of the studio usually made you feel at peace, especially when you were just spending time with Chan. You were always glad to support him in his creative space, and you enjoyed watching him work. It made you admire and love him even more than you already did, to see ihm where he felt most comfortablte.

His studio, a mix of chaos and harmony, had always been a safe space where you could just sit quietly, listening to his music flow, while you did your own thing. It wasn’t a busy session, so you figured it would be a relaxing evening- just the two of you, in quiet company, without needing to talk or be overly present.

Which after the day you had was something you needed.

But, in a rare occurrence, Chan wasn’t just focused on the music today. Every few minutes, he’d stop, look over at you, and ask if you needed anything.

"Are you comfortable?" "Do you want something to drink?" "Is the light okay? I can turn it down if it’s too bright."

At first, you smiled and humored him, appreciating the concern. He was always thoughtful like that, checking in to make sure everyone was doing well. But after a while, the constant attention felt like more than you were prepared for.

It was subtle, almost like he couldn’t quite bring himself to trust that you were fine on your own. That he couldn’t leave you alone for even a minute. The steady rhythm of his work seemed to be interrupted each time he looked over, his eyes scanning your face, waiting for a reaction, for some indication that you were okay. It wasn’t just the questions- it was the way he seemed to hover around you, constantly adjusting things to make sure you were comfortable, even if you didn’t ask for it.

You shifted in your seat, trying to get comfortable, but the tension in your chest was growing, an invisible weight pressing down on you. The events of the day had drained you- errands, calls, the never-ending list of things you still had to do- and all you wanted now was to relax, to sink into the quiet. You weren’t used to being babied, and it was starting to irk you that you were.

“Chan, you’re being a little clingy, don’t you think?” you blurted out, the words escaping before you could stop them; coming out way sharper than you had intended.

Thus, the moment they left your mouth, you regretted them.

His head snapped up, and you could see his entire body freeze, mid-motion. The soft click of his mouse was the only sound that filled the room, the silence stretching longer than you intended. You quickly glanced at him, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you like a heavy fog.

The hurt flickered in his eyes, as he stared at his computer screen, and you immediately wished you could take the words back. The Chan you knew was warm, dependable, and always in tune with others, but he wasn’t immune to being hurt, even if he was quick to hide it. His shoulders slumped just a little as he took in your words, the usual ease in his expression slipping away.

“You’re not bothered, are you?” Chan asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if testing whether he’d heard you correctly. You watched as he swallowed his fingers twitching over the soundboard.

You could tell he was trying to mask the hurt, but the slight edge of defensiveness in his tone couldn’t go unnoticed.

"No, it's just- it's a lot, Chan," you said, trying to backtrack. "I know you care, but I can do things myself."

His expression faltered, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded slowly, a quiet acceptance in his eyes that made the room feel colder.

“Okay,” he replied softly, the one word holding more weight than you expected.

He stood up from his desk, his hand running through his hair in a rare moment of uncertainty. You watched as he stepped away, moving to the corner of the room where he kept his equipment, his movements slow, deliberate.

For a second, you thought he might say something else, some explanation or defense. But instead, he settled into a quiet stillness, his attention shifting back to the computer in front of him.

But the energy in the room had changed. There was no longer the usual comfortable buzz of creativity between you both. His focus was fixed on his work now, but you could sense the space between you growing- not from distance, but from something unspoken that had settled between you. Something heavy that neither of you was willing to address just yet.

The soft click of keys echoed through the room, but it felt far away now, distant. You turned your gaze back to him, but he wasn’t looking at you. The spark in his eyes- the one that had always made him seem so open and present- was dimmer now, as if the energy was draining from him, and the room felt quieter for it.

You opened your mouth to speak again, to apologize, to fix the tension, but no words came. The weight of your earlier remark had lodged itself too deeply between you. Instead, you sat there in silence, your shoulders tense as you fidgeted with your phone, trying to distract yourself.

You felt horrible. You could feel it in the pit of your stomach, the gnawing regret. You hadn’t meant it to come out like that. You had only wanted some space, some quiet to yourself. But in doing so, you had hurt him- someone who had only ever wanted to make you comfortable, to show that he cared in his own way, despite his busy life.

As the night wore on, the conversation you thought would flow so easily never came. Instead, you found yourself lost in your thoughts, your mind circling back to his quiet reaction. The weight of his silence hung heavy, and you realized that things had shifted in a way you couldn’t take back. The space between you wasn’t just physical now- it was emotional, palpable.

And you didn’t know how to bridge that gap.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minho

Minho had invited you over for dinner, and you’d been looking forward to it all week. Due to his busy schedule, you guys rarely hadf time to go on dates, so this is what made up for it.

His cooking was always top-notch, as if you were at a five-star restaurant, and you both usually spent hours enjoying each other’s company, laughing and talking about anything and everything. It showed you a different side of Minho every time you went over, the evenings always the kind of evenings that felt comfortable, familiar, and right. But tonight, it was different.

You hadn’t been in the best mood for the past few days. Between work, personal things, and the overwhelming lack of sleep, everything felt like too much. You could feel the stress weighing you down, settling in your chest, and despite the warm invitation, you couldn’t shake the sense of exhaustion that clung to you. The last thing you needed right now was Minho’s over-the-top pampering. You found yourself almost wishing he would be the quieter, more stoic Minho lots of people knew.

You sat at the kitchen counter, rubbing your temples, trying to ground yourself. The clink of glasses and the smell of food were all around you, yet it felt distant, like you couldn’t fully engage in the moment. Minho, ever attentive, seemed to notice and was quick to act.

“Here,” he said gently, handing you a glass of water with a soft smile. His hand falling to the small of your back. “You need to stay hydrated. Don’t forget, it’s important.” He placed a small kiss on your cheek.

You forced a small smile, trying to mask your frustration. “I know, Minho,” you muttered, taking the glass but not quite meeting his gaze. “You don’t have to remind me every five minutes.”

Minho blinked, clearly caught off guard by your tone. The usual lightheartedness between you both seemed to fade a little, and his face momentarily tightened, his eyes narrowing, just the slightest flicker of surprise crossing his features.

“I’m just making sure you’re okay,” he said, his voice softer now, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his words. “I care about you, and you seem agitated by something.”

His words were sincere, but for some reason, it only made your irritation grow. You had always appreciated how considerate Minho was with you specifically, how he’d go out of his way to make sure you felt good, but tonight, it was too much. You were so tired, mentally and physically, that even the smallest things felt like a weight you couldn’t carry. You just wanted to be left alone in your thoughts for a moment.

You exhaled sharply, frustration bubbling up as you tried to suppress it, but it was no use.

“Minho, seriously. Stop being so clingy,” you snapped, your voice sharper than you intended. “I don’t need you to make sure I’m comfortable every five seconds,” you muttered, the exhaustion making you sound harsher than you wanted. The words hung in the air, like they were already too much as soon as they left your lips.

The room seemed to freeze for a moment. Minho’s expression faltered, his eyes widening slightly as though your words had physically hit him. For a second, you regretted it, but the irritation still burned inside you.

His face fell, his smile slipping away. You could see it clearly now- the hurt in his eyes, the way his shoulders tensed, as if your words had taken the air out of him.

Minho didn’t respond immediately, and you could see his gaze shift downward, his fingers gently toying with the edge of the countertop. There was a long silence, the kind that felt like a distant echo, hanging heavily between you both.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re comfortable,” he said, his voice quieter, almost unsure. The tone was different now- softer, more vulnerable than it had been moments before. "Guess you want to treat you just the same as everyone else." His tone was no sharp, his hurt masking itself with irritation.

Your chest tightened with guilt, but the irritation still lingered.

Now he's gonna act all petty?

You opened your mouth to say something, but the words didn’t come out as you intended.

For the rest of the night, something in the air shifted. The warmth that had once been there, the playful teasing and easy camaraderie, seemed to evaporate. Minho didn’t joke around with you like he usually did, no teasing smirk or lighthearted remarks. Instead, he was quiet, almost too quiet, as if trying to withdraw without saying a word. His eyes avoided yours, and when you spoke, he answered in soft, clipped sentences, with a bit of a bite, as if holding back the true amount of venom he wanted to use.

The energy in the room felt stifling, as though the conversation had drained all the life out of it. You could feel the tension rising with each passing minute, the unsaid words hanging heavily in the space between you. Even the food, which normally would’ve been a comfort, seemed bland and cold.

You noticed how he didn’t even sit next to you while you ate- he lingered at the stove, focusing a bit to much on his cleanup.

He didn’t ask if you were okay anymore. He didn’t try to comfort you, or joke about the ridiculousness and pettiness of this whole situation.

It stung, and you hated that it did. You wanted to take it back, wanted to apologize, but your vice of pride kept you rooted in your silence. You didn’t know how to say sorry, not when the frustration felt like it was still gnawing at you.

When Minho finally did sit at the table, he finished his meal quickly, his plate pushed away, and he stood up, clearing the table with quick mechanical movements. He seemed to go through the motions, as though nothing had changed, but you could feel the tension.

When Minho finally looked at you, his eyes were distant, but there was a subtle flicker of hurt that you hadn’t expected, something you couldn’t ignore, and it stung more than you realized. Something that showed you your words had cut him even more than you had thought.

“Thanks for dinner,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, void of the usual warmth. Now, it was no longer laced with irritation, that feeling had long since morphed into an unease and anxious guilt.

He nodded, but it was a small, mechanical motion, his gaze still not quite meeting yours. “Anytime.” He glanced at his watch, then turned away, his tone colder than it had been all evening. “I have work to do. But you can show yourself out whenever you’re ready. Drive safe.”

Before you could respond, he made his way to his room, then stopped mid-step. You saw the brief hesitation in his posture before he turned back toward you. Without another word, he leaned in and kissed your temple- a quick, almost reflexive gesture. But it was different this time.

It lacked the usual warmth, the reassurance he always gave when parting ways. This kiss felt more like a habit than an act of affection, as though he couldn’t help it, even now, despite the tension in the air.

It was a gesture you’d become accustomed to over the months.

Minho’s little ritual of kissing your temple before leaving, like a small blessing or a reminder that he cared. It had always made you feel safe, loved, and cared for. But tonight, it only made your heart ache more, because you realized just how deeply he still cared for you, even in the aftermath of your words. Even in the face of your anger, he was still showing you love, silently.

And that’s when it hit you- he was still being the bigger person. You, on the other hand, let your frustrations cloud your judgment, never fully appreciating the ways Minho always took care of you.

He was trying, trying so hard to make sure you knew you were loved, going out of his usual love language comfort zones, and you had just pushed him away with your harshness.

The kiss lingered in the air long after he pulled away, the silence between you thick with unspoken emotions.

And just like that, the evening ended. The space between you felt suffocating now. Every breath you took felt heavier than the last, as guilt gnawed at you from the inside.

You couldn’t help but wonder if you could have handled it better, if you could have just let the frustration go instead of lashing out. But Minho didn’t seem to want to address that issue tonight. Not now. And the realization that you had left him feeling like that hurt more than anything.

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Changbin

Changbin had always been energetic, especially when it came to hanging out with you. Whether it was spontaneous plans or meticulously planned-out evenings, he was the type to keep the energy high. But tonight, his energy felt more like an obligation- one that you didn’t ask for, but he seemed determined to push on you.

You didn’t want to ruin his mood, but you just weren’t in the right headspace for his relentless affection. It had been a long day, and you were struggling to keep up with the high spirits he was bringing. He practically showered you with snacks, offering things before you even knew you wanted them.

“Are you cold? I’ll get you a sweater.” “Do you need more chips? Wait, do you like these ones better?” “Should we pause the movie? Are you uncomfortable?”

It was sweet, really, but at the same time, you were starting to feel suffocated. You wanted to enjoy the movie, but you were also feeling the pressure of his constant presence, his constant attention. You just needed space- space to breathe without the constant checking in, without feeling like everything you did was being observed.

“Changbin,” you said, your voice more clipped than usual. “You’re being so clingy. Can you stop?”

The words left your mouth before you could fully process them, and as soon as you saw his face, you regretted it. His eyes, always so lively, lost their spark. His face fell, and for a moment, it felt like the entire room chilled. The warmth he usually exuded seemed to evaporate in an instant.

You couldn’t look away from the hurt in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, just stood up quickly, gathering the snack bags and tossing them into the trash without a word. You saw the back of his neck turn an extreme shade of crimson, inching its way up to the tips of his ears.

“Sorry, I’ll give you space,” he said flatly, his voice void of the usual playfulness.

You swallowed hard, trying to hold back the guilt that was already welling up in your chest. The words you had thrown out so carelessly weren’t just a reflection of your frustration- they had hit him, harder than you had intended.

You wanted to apologize, to fix it, but before you could, Changbin was already turning away, his focus shifting to his phone. He tapped away at it with far too much intensity, avoiding your gaze.

You thought about it then- his need to please, his constant effort to keep things light, was actually a way of overcompensating.

Changbin was trying to distract you from whatever it was that bothered you, from the things he knew were going on in your life. But tonight, all it did was make you feel like a burden. He didn’t want to face whatever was weighing on him, so he smothered you in attention. But all you wanted was to be left alone for a few minutes. But how was he supposed to know that when his affection was not only something you loved, but most of the time desperately craved.

As you glanced over at him, his shoulders were tense, and his fingers were working quickly on his phone. He hadn’t even seemed to notice that you had curled up against the couch, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The movie was playing in the background, but neither of you were really watching it anymore.

The silence between you two thickened. Your own guilt was suffocating, but you couldn’t bring yourself to apologize, not yet. What was there to say? You had told him he was clingy, a word that no one ever wants to hear in a relationship.

It was a simple mistake, but it felt like something much worse.

As Changbin slipped off to the bathroom a while later, his movements were almost mechanical, as if he couldn’t stand to be around you for even a second longer. His absence left the room feeling cold. You pulled your phone out of your pocket to distract yourself, scrolling aimlessly, but something caught your eye. A text popped up on Changbin’s phone screen, and you leaned over to see it, a message from Hyunjin that made your stomach twist.

“Did you pop the question??!! Did Y/N say yes???!!”

The weight of the text hit you like a ton of bricks.

He had been planning to propose tonight.

He had been overcompensating, acting overly affectionate because he was nervous. He wanted everything to be perfect for you. He had been planning this all along, and here you were, pushing him away without realizing it.

A wave of guilt washed over you. You had been so wrapped up in your own stress that you had completely missed the signs.

When he returned from the bathroom, his face was flushed a deep shade of red. He avoided your gaze as he walked in, eyes glued to the floor, his shoulders hunched as though he were expecting some sort of confrontation. The atmosphere had changed, and you could feel it, like the air itself was thick with unspoken words.

“I…I’m sorry for being so clingy,” Changbin said quietly, his voice almost trembling. He lifted his eyes to meet yours, and you were struck by how vulnerable he looked, the way his face was tinged with embarrassment, and you swear his eyes were rimmed in a more irritated red, as if he had just come back from crying.

The confidence he usually exuded had dissolved, replaced by something far more raw.

The vulnerability in Changbin's voice made your chest tighten. His usual strength, the steady and confident energy he carried, seemed to crumble before you. His words hung in the air, heavy and full of meaning, yet your mind was spinning too fast to catch any of it.

“Changbin...” you began, but your throat felt dry. His eyes darted away from yours, as if holding your gaze was too much.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, his words coming out even faster than he rapped. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, a rare display of nervousness that twisted the guilt in your stomach even further. “I just thought maybe I could...I don’t know, help, but I didn't take your feelings into consideration. I'm sorry. It was wrong and not what you needed. So I apologize.”

His voice cracked slightly on the last word, and it hit you like a blow to the chest. You wanted to tell him he had helped, that his presence was a comfort, even if you hadn’t seen it at the time. That he didn't need to apologize that you were the one who needed to apologize. But instead, the words stuck in your throat, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you as you watched Changbin grabbing his things.

"Are you leaving?" Your heart leapt in your throat. “I’m sorry for snapping at you,” you managed, your voice softer now, almost pleading. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just...I’ve been so tired lately, and I wasn’t thinking-”

He nodded, but the gesture was slow, uncertain. His eyes flickered toward his phone on the coffee table for a moment, but then he quickly looked away. Pocketing it without a second glance. His lips pressed into a thin line, and you could see the effort it took for him to keep his composure.

“It’s fine,” he said finally, his voice flat in a way that didn’t sound like him. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I want to explain,” you said quickly, stepping closer to him. “You didn’t deserve that. I just-”

Changbin shook his head, cutting you off. “It’s okay, really. I get it. Sometimes I can be...too much.” His laugh was bitter, a sound so unlike him that it made your heart ache. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I guess I overstepped. My bad."

“You didn’t overstep,” you insisted, but your words felt hollow even to you.

You could see the way Changbin was retreating into himself, building walls where there had once been none. His usual openness, the way he wore his heart on his sleeve, was gone. In its place was a guarded version of him you had never seen before.

“I should go,” he said quietly, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

“What?” you asked, your heart sinking. “Go? Changbin, wait-”

“It’s fine, Y/N.” he interrupted, forcing a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I think we both need some space.” His voice wavered and you could tell he was trying his best not to cry.

The words hit you like a slap, and for a moment, you couldn’t breathe. You wanted to argue, to tell him to stay, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He was hurt- really hurt- and no amount of apologizing in that moment would fix it.

“Bin...” you tried again, your voice breaking.

“I’ll call you tomorrow, jagiya.” he said quickly, not giving you a chance to respond. He turned toward the door, his movements stiff and deliberate, as though he were holding himself together with sheer willpower.

The sound of the door closing behind him was deafening.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hyunjin

Hyunjin had always been the most observant of anyone in your life. Which was one aspect that made you fall for him rather quickly. That and his passionate flair matched with unparalleled looks sparked a tender, fragile and deeply cinematic and irreplaceable type of love. He could read your moods with the kind of precision that sometimes felt like he could peer into your soul.

Tonight was no different.

He’d planned an afternoon at the art gallery, an activity you both loved for different reasons. His enthusiasm was infectious as he led you through the exhibits, explaining things with his usual passion. The way his eyes lit up as he spoke about the paintings, his voice filled with such excitement, usually made you feel lighter, but tonight, it all felt like too much. You wanted to enjoy it, but your mind was elsewhere. The weight of everything that had been building up- the stress of work, the tension with friends, an inexplicable loneliness creeping in- was clouding your thoughts.

You kept nodding and smiling politely, but your mind was racing, unable to focus on the beauty around you and next to you.

By the time you reached the café you always frequented afterwards, you felt drained, and Hyunjin’s constant attention started to feel a little too much.

And you couldn't help but feel a bit irritable at the fact that Hyunjin hadn't noticed that you wanted a bit of space.

He was supposed to notice everything wasn't he? You thought sarcastically to yourself.

He was offering to refill your drink every few minutes, asking if you needed more sugar, commenting on the way you "cute" you were holding your cup.

Yet every time he looked at you, it felt like he was trying to read you, trying to fix what was broken inside you when you didn’t even know how to explain what was wrong.

And he still somehow couldn't manage it...

“Hyunjin,” you finally said, setting your cup down with a frustrated sigh. “Can you just sit down for a minute and stop fretting over every little thing I do?” Your voice was sharper than you intended, and even as you said it, a twinge of guilt crept in.

His brow furrowed, and his smile faltered, the lightness in his demeanor vanishing as his eyes searched yours for any hint of what was wrong.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” he asked, his voice soft but laced with concern, as if he could tell something was off but couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

You forced a small smile, hoping it would reassure him, but it felt empty even to you. “Yeah, I’m fine, I’m just... overwhelmed. Thought you would have noticed that by now,” you murmured, your words like an apology, even though they weren’t enough to explain the depth of what you were feeling.

He nodded but didn’t sit down in his own seat. Rather he continued to hover, shifting in the booth next to you, tapping his fingers on the table. The pressure of his presence- his concern, his need to keep checking on you- was starting to feel like an anchor, weighing you down when all you wanted was to float, to escape for just a moment.

"Hyunjin!" you snapped, unable to keep the frustration from your voice. You hated how you sounded, like a burden, but the words spilled out before you could stop them, "You’re being clingy! I thought I made that clear." You quipped, frustration bubbling up and over and out, directed at him.

His eyes widened, and for a moment, the color seemed to drain from his face. He didn’t speak at first, his mouth parting as if he was trying to find the right words. His gaze flickered to the side, and then he sighed quietly, the weight of the sigh making your heart sink. He licked his lip nervously.

“Okay,” he said, his voice small, almost defeated. He pushed his chair back gently and moved to sit across from you, but his posture was off- his shoulders slumped, his back stiff with a tension you hadn’t noticed before. His leg shaking up and down silently. The usual ease and warmth of his presence had shifted, replaced by something colder and anxious.

The rest of the evening was extremely strained. Hyunjin was quieter than usual, his focus elsewhere, barely making eye contact with you. Every time you tried to start a conversation, hoping to push past your miniature outburst, he seemed as if he was consciously avoiding you. He kept his gaze on his phone, fiddling with it absently, or staring off into the distance like he was waiting for something- anything- to change. His usual playful, admiration filled comments were gone, and in their place was a silence that made the air thickly discomforting.

You wanted to apologize, to explain yourself better, but something held you back. Maybe it was the fear that he wouldn’t understand, or maybe you were too embarrassed by how you had snapped at him in public of all places.

You couldn’t tell him how much you had been struggling, how every small thing was feeling too heavy to carry. You didn’t want him to worry about you, not like this, not when you couldn’t even explain it properly.

As you both finished your drinks, the silence between you felt too much to handle. His suffocating warmth and attention was gone, and you wished for that back rather than whatever the hell this was.

The energy between you had shifted so drastically that it felt like you were sitting next to a stranger.

When the bill came, Hyunjin stood up without a word, his movements quick. He paid, still not meeting your eyes. His fingers lingered on the edge of his wallet for a moment too long, like he was trying to force himself to do something, to act like everything was fine.

But the hesitation in his actions, the stiffness in his demeanor, told you everything. You had pushed him away, and now he was retreating behind a wall of his own.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said, but his voice lacked the usual warmth. It was polite, but you could hear the sadness behind it.

You nodded, but there was nothing else to say. The walk home was filled with nothing but the sound of your footsteps and the occasional shift of his feet beside you. The distance between you felt insurmountable now, even though you were so close to each other physically.

When you reached your door, you hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. You wanted to say something- apologize, maybe- but Hyunjin was already backing away, his eyes avoiding yours.

“I’ll see you later,” he said, his voice quiet, and with that, he turned and walked away without looking back.

You stood there, staring after him, feeling the weight of your words settle heavily on your chest.

"What did I do." You mumbled to yourself, letting the door close behind you with a soft click, but the regret in your heart all but made up for that.

And as the night stretched on, you realized the tension between you wasn’t something that could be fixed easily. Hyunjin was hurting, and you had no idea how to fix it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

@abovenyx @wolfs-archive @oddracha

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[k1tty5]

I would like to make it clear that I do NOT want anyone’s firstborns, but I will ramble. for you.

rambles about the process and other thoughts under the cut! I talk a LOT, so… view at your own risk?

I originally had this idea a couple months ago, I think when I first heard the song. I had made a little test for it, which I didn’t end up doing anything with because I thought it didn’t really make much sense. Which, I’m not sure I did that great of a job making this make sense, but you know. Whatever.

this is the original drawing i made for it back in early august, very rushed and not a big fan of it.

I liked the black background & grayscale palette, as well as the way the string kind of . Twirls around the text? BUT, I went into this without any planning, mostly just me doodling and then threw the lyrics on for fun. No plot or whatever, very short.

After I made this, I was kind of just keeping this idea in mind for later, but I held back on trying to do it as I just wasn’t really sure where I wanted to go with it. I’m very bad at planning and tend to rush into things a lot, which ends up hindering the quality of a lot of my art. and since this was something I actually liked the idea of, I wanted to give it my all.

There was also the fact that because I liked the idea, I wanted the best outcome. This kind of ends up in a sort of paralysis where I don’t want to work on something because I’m not good enough for it, but I did realize that I will likely never consider myself good enough for it, so why not just go for it?

Anyway ,

I did not end up keeping the black background for the reason that I decided that this time around I wanted it to have a more traditional vibe/look? Like perhaps it was scrawled over some roughed up paper, hence the sketchy style and limited palette.

And as for why I didn’t keep the string looping around the pages, I just thought that would add too much red to the pages, sort of ruining the vibe. So I instead just kept it inside the panels!

these are the original thumbnails/sketches! most of them I kept the same, but I did end up pretty much entirely changing the third page, because I decided there was already too many panels of just their faces with somewhat unsettled expressions .

thoughts on individual pages - don’t expect me to be organized or this to be well thought out, by the way,,

on page 1 ,

I started with a shot of the relationship, mostly to just… set the scene. I am NOT an expert on comics, and went into this with very minimal planning, so this work in general is more of the vibes than it is a storyline, but I did try to vaguely get it to resemble something comprehensible.

the second panel of Etho brushing Joel’s cheek is very much no thoughts for me lol, not very happy with how it looks. I do picture Etho as the more openly affectionate one (though i can see it both ways). BUT, to match with the lyrics, you could say that the first panel paired with “it’s hard to tell which elements of this are real” could be resembling that the boat is something tangible and physical, whereas the second panel paired with “and which are chemically enhanced” is referring to whatever feelings they have. Asking themselves if this is really real, or if it’s just the game.

no notes on the third panel lol. like i say this was not well thought out, the story is somewhat there, but it’s VERY much up to interpretation and I did intend it to be that way. I have ideas about what is happening, but I want to keep it up to the viewer.

on page 2,

“But it’s not easy to tell what I want from what I need” OH BOY !!! manic red joel. blinded by the bloodlust and rage and adrenaline. he needs this. he needs it, doesn’t he?

“I am more scared of myself than I am of anyone else” okay okay okay. I don’t headcanon he has any real remorse for killing anyone. this is a death game, you’re not meant to be a good person, this is built on lies and manipulation and blood and hurt. headcanon they’re all insane people doing bad things (with a forced hand or not). BUT !!! big fan of “i break everything i touch” kind of thing (its kind of a pattern in ships i like OOPS). so much angst. regretful of your violent nature, wishing to be gentler so that you can cradle his face without digging your nails into his skin, unwanting to break the only thing you’ve learnt to love.

but. etho doesn’t care !!! he doesnt care. his hands are just as bloody as yours, don’t you see?

on page 3,

panel one is just a continuation of the last scene which i just talked about blah blah blah

panel 2!! thats a portal. we all know what happened in the portal :)

on page 4.

ending the mini comic thing with the ship burning, while it started with a shot of the ship in its prime. before and after, how it started and how it ended.

all in all, I !! AM !!! INSANE!!! about them. I could ramble for hours probably but this is already long so ending with a couple final thoughts.

this is definitely meant to be set after they’ve gone red, when in that timeframe is up to you, though. in my vision the lyrics are kind of correlating to c!joel’s thoughts/feelings/whatevers, but it can definitely go both ways - or neither way lol. This song is really just like. THEM. To me.

anywho, thank you to anyone who has put the augh’s and ough’s in the tags, they’re very gratifying haha <3

the simplest words

[burst-of-iridescent]

well since i can already tell that we’re all going to be subjected to the same old tired mai & mai.ko discourse for the foreseeable future, let’s get it clear right now that the atla comics have never been, and will never be acceptable mediums of character development, and here’s why:

1. the comics are given the benefit of hindsight, which impairs organic character growth.

it’s become extremely clear over the last few years that many of the comics are made as, or include, direct responses to criticisms of the original show — especially when it comes to katara, mai, and the canon pairings. aang didn’t ask katara for consent? look, he’s checking if he can kiss her! mai doesn’t care about fire nation imperialism? here, she’s an anti fascist! iroh was a creep to june? don’t worry, here he is apologising!

many of the things the characters do or say in the comics feel unnatural because they are not written as characters, but as mouthpieces for the creators to address fandom complaints from the original show.

“but that’s good, right? they’re trying to make it better!” i mean… sure? it still doesn’t change the fact that it’s damage control, and that no matter what stories span the middle, the arcs of these characters still begin and end with avatar: the last airbender, and the legend of korra, both of which are fixed and immutable. the comics cannot retroactively fix the issues of either show, because they’ve already been defined as the goalposts of the characters’ lives, and there is no way to undo that.

it’s like if you eat a meal that isn’t to your satisfaction, and maybe the chief makes you another dish, which is all well and good — but it doesn’t fix the fact that the original meal still sucked! sometimes, accepting criticism means accepting that there’s no way to go back and fix it but to do better next time, with the next story you wish to tell.

if the legend of korra didn’t exist, and the arcs of the characters were left open after atla, then maybe there would be for the room for the comics to function as character development if not for the fact that…

2. the comics are intended for a very different audience than the show.

it’s obvious that the audience for the original show vastly outnumbers the audience for the comics, likely by thousands, if not millions. this isn’t the mcu, where the installation of any atla property is vital to understanding the next, and so on. you can skip the comics and miss nothing whatsoever (and honestly your life would be far improved by doing so).

those who read the comics are likely only the real diehard fans of the show — and the creators know this, which is why we have the whole issue of point one above. but this difference in audience matters, because it reflects the significance of the story being told, and how important it is for the audience to know it. this is why, if the characters’ development and storylines in the comics truly, genuinely mattered, it would have been in the show already.

i’m not saying that the gaang wouldn’t have continued to grow and change post-atla, but generally stories exist as closed circuits, self-contained within themselves. when you end atla, you’re meant to believe that those arcs are finished. that’s the whole reason the comics deal mostly with fun silly adventures, or with quick, temporary conflicts instead of grand, overarching narratives, because they are not truly meant to function as a continuation of the story of atla, or its characters.

(if you ask me frankly, they’re meant to be nostalgia cash grabs, but that’s neither here nor there.)

creator intention matters with the atla comics (or any atla property, in fact), because creator intention was the subject of criticism for the original show in the first place. why must we rely on the comics or the cookbook or avatar legends to tell us that katara did things with her life outside of aang? why do we need to turn to something released nearly two decades after atla to find any evidence that mai denounced the fire nation’s imperialist indoctrination, when she’s romantically involved with one of the show’s most important characters? why are these stories relegated to a medium with far less reach, far too late?

the answer is that the writers didn’t find those stories to be originally worth telling, and that is the real problem fans have been pointing out since 2008.

so, tldr:

[drewizz]

THIRD TIME - 01. exordium

pairing ☆ rafe cameron x reader

WARNINGS: mentions of sex & alcohol consumption + start of slowburn starts now.

WORD COUNT: 1.3K

TAGLIST: open! comment or send in an ask

series masterlist. next

exordium. (noun) the beginning of anything.

The bass wasn’t just loud, it was practically raging. The smell of cheap tasting alcohol and sex was thickening inside the entire house. You had no clue to why you were even here at the party, mingling alone in the corner wrinkling your nose in distaste – busy avoiding the drunk sods who were looking for nothing but a quick fuck.

The house itself didn’t help. Built in a way that it seemed to be making you feel so small and invisible, decorated with furniture that was screaming for attention. The entire house was littered with people. All the rooms were full, the basement, in the pool, on the balcony, there was little to no space anywhere. 

Unfortunately, you would be stuck here for a while.

You tugged at the strap of your dress again, the fabric just about physically digging into your shoulders. Your best friend had convinced you to wear it, the fabric clinging on to your body for dear life, dipped low enough to make you self-conscious every time someone looked your way. “You’ll thank me later,” your friend said, grinning as she handed it over. 

You sure thanked her. At this point, compared to all the people walking around in the tiniest clothing possible, you felt overdressed. Everything around you and on you felt so overstimulating, constantly jabbing at your body.

The drink in your hand wasn’t helping. It was some awful mix of cheap vodka and cranberry juice, and it tasted like absolute vomit. But at least it gave you something to hold onto, a prop that made you feel less exposed.

Your friend had vanished hours ago, swept away by a guy with a pearly white grin and a trust fund. “Five minute tops,” is what she promised to come back in. But that had been at least an hour ago, maybe two.

You sighed, leaning against the wall and looking around the room. Everywhere you looked there were groups of people laughing, dancing, freakishly grinding on the couches like they owned the place. 

You weren't sure why you had agreed to come. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was boredom. But at this point, all you felt like was suffocation.

You ducked into the kitchen, desperate for a moment of quiet. It was just as luxurious as the rest of the house – sleek counters with a gigantic beverage cooler so big it fit rows of liquor bottles lined up.

Your eyes landed on a bottle of whiskey near the edge of the counter. It looked expensive, the one that looked like it could cost a lifetime. You weren't a whiskey drinker, but compared to the questionable cocktail and watered-down beer in the other room, it seemed like the better option.

You poured yourself a small splash, wincing as the liquid burned its way down your throat. It was smoother than you'd expected, but still strong enough to make you grimace.

You were just starting to warm to it when a voice cut through your thoughts.

“What the actual fuck do you think you’re doing right now?”

You jumped at the sharp tone, spinning around to see who it was.

And there was Rafe Cameron, head cocked to the side in a manner of questioning.

You recognized him immediately. Everyone knew who Rafe Cameron was. His reputation preceded him – all sharp edges and simmering anger. Up close, he was even more striking than the whispers suggested. His jawline was sharp as if it was carved from stone, his hair was currently tousled falling just barely on his forehead – but hidden under a cap. Overall, his presence was just absolutely jarring and overwhelming.

Rafe, it seems, did not look impressed.

Catching yourself amidst stare, you snapped back harsher than intended. “I’m sorry?”

“That’s my bottle,” he said, nodding towards the bottle of whiskey in your hand.

You blinked. “Your bottle?”

“Yeah,” he pressed. “I brought it. And I don’t remember saying you could just help yourself.”

Was Rafe fucking Cameron seriously picking a fight over a sip of whiskey at a party, where people were practically bathing in alcohol that were stolen?

“It was sitting with the rest of the drinks,” you said slowly, trying to keep your tone calm. “I didn’t think it was a big deal. And I needed to relieve some tension, if you don’t mind.”

“Well, it is a big deal and I do mind,” he said coldly, his eyes narrowing.

Your patience snapped. “Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, dripped with sarcasm. “Was I supposed to fill out a permission form? Do I need to ask for your permission to take a swig?”

Clearly Rafe was getting ticked off as his jaw was tightening. “It’s called common courtesy. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”

You let out a short laugh, dry and humorless. “Right. Because this is clearly a party full of people who care about manners and shit.”

He took a step closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. “You don’t even know me,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.

“And I’m starting to think I don’t want to,” you shot back.

For a moment, something flickered in his expression, something you couldn’t quite place. Annoyance, maybe. Or curiosity.

“Who even invited you? Did you just stroll into the party with no friends thinking that bottles of alcohol would help you make some?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I came with a friend. You know, like normal people do.”

Rafe scoffed. “Normal? You don’t exactly scream ‘normal’ if that’s what you really think.”

Your grip on the bottle tightened. “And you think ‘nice guy’ seems to fit your persona?”

“No, because trust me, I’m not.” His mouth twitched, like he was fighting back a smirk. 

The air between them was thickening – too fast for your liking. You could feel your pulse pounding in your ears, the bass was extremely deafening as you felt it vibrate off the floor. Everything was tightening up on you, and you were on the verge of puking all over Rafe’s shoes.

“Look,” you finally said, voice firm. “I didn’t know the whiskey was yours. If it’s that big of a deal, I’ll find a new one at the store and buy it for you.”

His eyebrow shot up, his skepticism practically radiating off him. “You think you can just swing by the store and pick up a bottle like that?”

Your eyes narrowed. “I’ll figure it out.”

“Sure you will.”

The condescension in his voice made your stomach churn. You opened your mouth to fire back, but before you could, someone called his name from the other room.

“Rafe! Come on, man!”

He didn’t look away immediately. His gaze lingered, as if he was trying to decide whether you were worth more of his time. Finally, he took a step back as his lips were curving into a smirk that made your blood boil.

“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, his tone mocking. “This isn’t a type of place for pretty girls like you.”

Snatching the whiskey out of your hand, he was gone as if nothing had happened.

“Fucking dick,” you mumbled. You were starting to feel a migraine ease its way into your head with the ongoing commotions of people yelling and the music.

Minutes were quickly strolling past, and you were itching to leave - so you ended up sending a text to your friend who was long lost somewhere in the house.

not feeling good, im gonna head out. get home safe x

Making your way out of the house (avoiding all the touchy drunks), you sighed. Fresh air. This is where you felt most free.

This isn’t a type of place for pretty girls like you.

For pretty girls like you.

Pretty girls like you.

Rafe Cameron had labelled you as a pretty girl. And it just had to fly over your head. 

With a groan, you took a last glance back at the house, and there you saw him. Standing near the doorway, leaning with the bottle of whiskey they were arguing over a bit ago. With a quick subtle smirk, he was gone.

Who would’ve thought that you two would meet again. Approximately, the next day.

NOTE. first chapter is now complete woohooo !!! i'm verygiddy rn i wanna hear how you guys feel about this chapter and js everything overall.. i have second chapter coming soooooon. xx isa

TAGS. @urbrunettebombshell

[gotorux]

Satoru Gojo x Reader

Author note: This is my first time writing anything. If there is any mistakes bear with me. I had asked for requests and got an anon asking for a fight with Gojo that ends in comfort. 1.2k words

"How many late nights has this been?" you asked, as your boyfriend got yet another call from the higher ups for a mission only the great Satoru Gojo could handle. He just grinned, that infuriatingly charming grin that could melt the toughest of glaciers, but right now, felt like a slap in the face. "Just a little field trip," he said, waving a hand dismissively. “Couple of energy drinks and I’ll be fine.” 

His casualness always grates you, he never seemed to take any of your concerns seriously. This wasn't "a couple of energy drinks" kind of situation. This was another cursed spirit, another scary experience that he brushed off like a stray piece of lint on his pristine white shirt. You'd seen the exhaustion etched onto his face, the way his usually vibrant blue eyes held a dull, weary glimmer. He��d been pushing himself too hard, running on fumes for months. The casual jokes, the lighthearted dismissals of his lack of sleep…it wasn't funny anymore.

"Gojo, this isn't funny," your voice finally cracked, holding a sharpness to it that you hadn’t intended to leak through. His carefree attitude crumbled a fraction at your words, a flicker of something akin to guilt crossing his features before he replaced it with his usual arrogance.

"Relax, sweetheart," he said, his tone dismissive, making your blood boil and that tiny little vein on your forehead pop. "I'm invincible. Worrying about me is a waste of your time."

That was it. He brushed your concerns off again and the dam broke. “A waste of my time?" Your voice rose, not something that was common with you. You were usually so chill, so relaxed and Gojo loved that about you. But right now you were anything but. 

“You're talking about your life, Gojo! Your life! And you treat it like a child's game! I'm worried sick about you all the time, and you're making jokes! You're pushing yourself to the brink, and if something happens—"

"Something's not going to happen," he cut you off, his voice rising in irritation. "I told you, I'm fine. You don’t need to baby me."

He didn't mean to worry you. He never meant to. He couldn’t understand why you didn’t trust in his capabilities. He’d never been hurt before, sure he was tired from time to time but he was the strongest for a reason. The world needed him. 

"Then don’t act like a child!“ You immediately regret the words as they leave your lips, you didn’t mean it. Of course you didn’t mean it, it was just words spilling out from frustration. You could see his usual playful smile harden into a thin line that you don’t think you’d ever seen. Your heart pounded against your rib cage and the silence in the air was palpable. 

He didn't say anything. He just turned, his back stiff, his shoulders tense, the tell-tale signs of barely contained fury you don’t think you’d ever seen on your lover. He didn't look back. He just left, the slam of the door echoing the shattering of your heart.

The silence that followed was deafening. The apartment, usually vibrant with laughter and love, felt empty, hollow. A heavy blanket of dread settled over you, suffocating you with its weight. You sank onto the sofa, staring blankly at the empty space where he’d been standing just moments ago. Where did he go? Did he just…leave? Was that it? Was this the end?

Hours blurred into a nightmarish haze of worry as you silently cried into a couch pillow. Your phone remained stubbornly silent as the worst thoughts clawed at your mind. He hadn't even tried to call. He just left. The irrational fear of losing him gnawed at you, an ache that threatened to consume you whole.

You tried to sleep but you couldn’t. You just lay there, awake, tears dried up and unable to fall anymore. The thought of a world without him was pretty unbearable, but it was the only thought ticking away inside your head. 

——

The first hint of dawn painted the sky a pale, washed-out grey. You hadn’t been able to force yourself to move or function for what seemed like forever. You’d barely got any sleep, the knawing thought just clawing at your mind over and over. 

Then, suddenly, you hear a soft knock on the door. Your breath caught in your throat. Your heart pounded a frantically against your ribs. You tiptoed to the door, your hand trembling as you reached for the knob. You braced yourself for anything, except what you found. It was him.

He stood there, his usual bright blue eyes shadowed with fatigue and what was it, maybe guilt? He looked…smaller somehow. Which was seemingly impossible given his tall stature. But here he was, the invincible Satoru Gojo was gone, replaced by a weary young man burdened by something more than cursed spirits.

He said nothing, just stood there, his shoulders slumped, his usual radiant smile replaced by a frown. You opened the door, letting him in.

"Gojo," you whispered, your voice choked with sadness.

He walked towards you, his movements almost hesitant. He reached for you, tentative at first before his long arms wrapped around you and held you against his chest. 

"Look, ” He finally spoke, voice softening in apology, “I’m sorry," he said, and you could hear all the regret laced in his apology. "I was being an idiot."

You wrapped your arms around him, clinging to him as if he was the only thing keeping you afloat. The scent of his cologne bringing the slightest comfort to you.

"I was so scared," you admitted, your voice trembling against his chest. "I thought…I thought you were like…leaving me. I don’t wanna break up.” 

He pulled back slightly, cupping your face in his big hands, his thumbs gently wiping away tears that had escaped your eyes without you even realizing. "Never," he said, a crinkle in the lines of his forehead showing his absolute seriousness. "Never." He repeated. 

"But…" you started, though he cut you off.

"I know," he started, lifting a hand from your cheek to run it through his tousled white hair. "I know I‘ve been pushing myself. You’re right. I just don’t know what else I’m supposed to do? I’m all the way at the top and there’s nobody else here to take any of the burden ya know?” 

“It’s not just the missions,” you replied softly, "It's everything. It’s your disregard for your own well-being, your tendency to brush off things that hurt you. I know they need you, I know you’re the strongest I just…I don't want you to be invincible, Gojo. I want you to be…safe. I want you to be happy."

He smiled. “I am happy,” he said, running a thumb over your bottom lip. “As long as I’m with you.” 

You looked up at him, pouting slightly. He was always so god damn charming even in the most serious of moments. "Okay," you whispered, "Just promise me you'll take care of yourself. I know okay? I know there’s nothing I can do about the missions, but- just…I don’t know, let me help you. Let me take care of you okay?” 

He looked down at you, your adorable pouty expression making it impossible for him not to lean down and press his lips to yours, which he does. He kisses you, and in that kiss lays bare a promise to do better, be better; because frankly he couldn’t lose the best thing that’s ever happened to him. You.

[embervoices]

I think situations that are puzzles should be more structural than social, yeah. And ideally they shouldn't be easier to solve with brute force than by stopping to think. That said, while I agree a riddle should have an intended answer*, a puzzle can potentially be solved many different ways. Sometimes it's good, maybe even necessary to have an answer planned just to be sure there IS at least one answer, but it's often a good idea to allow alternatives to go forth if they make sense, even so.

One of my favorite puzzles I encountered in a TTRPG had no predetermined solution:

The party was in a narrow hallway in a Wizard's lair, and found the floor and ceiling both had portals - to each other. An object dropped would fall forever, reaching terminal velocity and just...keep going past that same hallway over and over and over. The portal section was too wide to jump, even for the best of us, and IIRC, only one of us had a flight spell type option available, which couldn't cover the whole party.

There was no particular button to push to close the hole, nothing we could find the change the state of the hallway. We just had to find a way to get across the gap and not just start falling forever. And we did. And we had a ton of fun figuring out what we could do. But the GM never planned a particular answer - he knew we'd figure something out.

* I do think if someone comes up with a genuinely good answer to a pre-set riddle that wasn't the set answer, I'd go with it. "Why is a Raven like a Writing Desk?" has several answers, none of which were originally intended, and I'd argue some of the best ones weren't created by Lewis Carroll at all.

My least favourite GMing "hack" that gets passed around is "make puzzles/riddles with no fixed answer, and then whatever answer the players guess, make that the right answer."

If the game I'm running is going to have riddles, it's because I have players at the table who... like riddles? And for those players, the fun of a riddle is the moment where it clicks and you get the satisfaction of figuring it out. Which just isn't likely to happen if the riddle is just some vague, evocative nonsense that validates whatever guess they make.

So, presumably, this hack is for making riddles for a table full of only people who do not like riddles. Which invites the question, "why are you making riddles for a table full of only people who do not like riddles?" Do you just feel obligated to?

I guess if so, then here is my hack for you: I absolve you. You are no longer obligated to include riddles in your game of people who don't like them. Go forth, my child, and riddle no more.

[allisluv]

Heya! I was wondering if you could do some Emily prentiss x readers please!!

I had an idea about reader finally leaving her abusive partner and Emily offering to take her on a date to show how she really suppose to be treated. With lots of cute and flirty moments and lots of reader being cute and confused with the affection. Could end in a sweet kiss moment or something!

But anything to do with Emily prentiss being loving and perfect 😂

Thank you x

i kissed a girl.

pairing: emily prentiss x fem!reader

content warnings: allusions to an abusive relationship, first dates, best friend!derek, emily being sweet and reader being confused by the affection. if there's anything else please let me know!

word count: 1.6k

Derek looks up as you collapse into a chair next to him in the round room. He arches a brow and shares a pointed look with Emily before slinging an arm around your shoulder and pulling his chair closer to you. "What's the face for, angel?"

You glare at him, but there's no mirth behind it, not really. "Daniel and I broke up." Derek's lips tip downward into a frown as he stares at you, waiting for an explanation. You huff out a sigh and elaborate. "He cheated on me."

Derek watches you carefully. "That bastard," he murmurs under her breath, just loud enough for you to hear. "I'll kill him. Just say the word and I'll have him six foot under in a split second. They'll never find the body."

You crack a smile at your best friend. "Thanks, but that's not necessary."

"Are you okay?" Emily asks from across the table. Her eyes are full of concern and sympathy as she analyses your every movement, the profiler in her coming out to play.

"I'm just glad to be rid of the asshole. I feel like I can finally breathe again," You admit.

Derek's frown deepens. "What's that supposed to mean?" He asks quietly. "Did he do something? Did he hurt you?"

You shift uncomfortably in your seat. "Look, I'm not talking about this, alright?" Derek's face drops and he lets go of you, suddenly hyperaware of how you may react to his touch. "I just want to forget it happened. I just want to move on."

Derek shares a look with Emily from across the table. She shakes her head, silently telling him to drop it and give you the space you so clearly crave at the moment. Hotch and the rest of the team file back into the round room and Derek watches as you pick up your pen, flicking it anxiously in between your fingertips.

Penelope starts to explain the details of the case and the team start to bounce ideas off of each other as Emily starts to form an idea in her head. Sure, it may be reckless, and there's a chance you may reject her proposition, but what's the harm in trying?

As you all disperse to get your go-bags, Emily runs in her high heels to catch up with you. She calls your name and is grateful when you stop at the bottom of the staircase for her. "Can I ask you something?"

You're wary, but you nod your head, anyway. "Go for it."

Emily juts her chin out defiantly to give herself an air of confidence, because despite her usual cool demeanour, her nerves are starting to get the better of her. "Do you want to go on a date with me when we get back from this case?" Your eyebrows shoot up your face and she rushes to explain. "I mean, you said you wanted to move on, but if I'm overstepping or I've jumped to the wrong conclusion and you think this is too soon, just let me know and I'll--"

"You wanna go on a date with me?" You ask incredulously, like the idea of someone wanting you for something other than your body is a foreign concept to you. "What's in it for you?" You realise your words have came out harsher than you intended and you wince. "Sorry, that came out wrong."

Emily brushes you off with a laugh. "You don't have to apologise, love." Your heart flutters in your chest at the petname. "But to answer your question, there's nothing in it for me apart from taking a pretty girl out for a night that shows her how she deserves to be treated."

You frown, still not catching her drift. "Is this a pity thing? Like, are you just asking me out because you feel bad for what I've been through or something?"

A crease appears between Emily's brows as she shakes her head. "No, it's nothing like that at all. I've liked you for a while but I knew you were in a relationship and I didn't want to make things awkward. It's definitely not a pity thing, I can tell you that much for free." You mull her words over in your head for a minute or two. Emily waits patiently for your answer, her palms damp with sweat. "You really wanna go on a date with me?" She nods. "Okay. Give me a day and a time and I'll be there."

Emily's face practically lights up like a god-damn Christmas tree. "You will?"

Her excitement is infectious and you can't help but grin back at her. "Yeah. I don't see why not. You never know, a date might lead to two might lead to three or who knows what else."

Emily smiles brighty and looks over her shoulder as Hotch calls out for the two of you, tapping his watch impatiently. She crosses to her desk at the bullpen and pulls her go-bag from underneath the desk. "Great. It's a date."

————————————————

You anxiously smooth out the creases in your black dress as you hear a knock on your apartment door. Quickly checking your reflection over in the mirror, you fix your hair and peek through the peephole to double-check who it is.

A bouquet of white roses are clutched in Emily's hand and she's dressed in a red dress and a matching pair of stilettos. Her face lights up when you open the door and her eyes rove over your form as you begin to overthink it. "Is it too much?"

Emily shakes her head fondly. "No, darling, absolutely not. You look gorgeous." The heat rushes to your cheeks at the compliment and she tries not to laugh at how cute you look. She thrusts the bouquet of roses into your open hands. "Here. These are for you."

You take the bouquet and set them on the coffee table in the hall. "Thank you. They're lovely." She offers you her hand and you take it, locking your door behind you as you leave your apartment block and slip into the passenger seat of her car. "So, where are we going?"

Emily turns the keys in the ignition and merges onto the road. "Well, love, I told you it's a surprise. But I promise you'll like it." She smiles. "There's a stack of CD's in the glove department. Feel free to put on whatever you like."

You tentatively sift through the music in the glove box and push a CD into the car's player. "This is my favourite."

"Mine too," Emily answers as the music drifts through the vehicle. She keeps the conversation flowing as she drives, and you slowly relax into your seat. For the first time in months, you feel at ease.

As your favourite Mexican restaurant comes into view, you can't help the smile from pulling at the corners of your lips. "I love this place. How did you know that?"

Emily chuckles to herself. "I pay attention, love. You said it one day when we were on a case together."

Your heart soars in your chest.

She kills the engine, tells you to stay put, and opens your door for you before steering you towards the restaurant with a hand on your lower back. You practically melt into her touch as she gives the hostess your name and the woman finds your booking.

Emily sits opposite you in the booth and shrugs off her leather jacket as the two of you skim through the menus. "Do you drink red or white? Or shall we get both?"

You hesitate. You're not used to being given options. "I'm easy. Whatever you like."

Emily arches a sharp eyebrow. "That's not what I asked, lovely. I asked what you like. Besides, I can't drink. I'm designated driver, remember?"

A small smile graces your features. "I like red. Thank you,"

The hostess comes back to your booth and takes your order.

As time passes, you loosen up and start talking more to Emily. You both chat about anything and everything; from your favourite things, to cases at work, to your childhoods to your most embarrassing moments in life.

When the bottle of wine is drunk and your plates are cleared, Emily practically wrestles your credit card out of your hand in order to pay the bill. You laugh at her confidence when she tells you that you can buy next time-- you like the idea of another date with her. The conversation continues on the car journey home and Emily insists on walking you to your apartment door.

"I had a nice night," You admit. "Thank you for dinner. And the flowers. And the company. And--"

Emily giggles. "I get it, lovely. I had a nice time, too." Her eyes drift down to your lips. "Can I ask you something? But please don't feel obliged to say yes." You nod, having an idea where this is going. "Can I kiss you?"

You cock your head to one side with a smile. "I'd like that."

Emily's hesitant as she smooths your hair over your shoulder. Her touch is gentle and soft and it sends a shiver down your spine. "Tell me if you want me to stop, okay?" She says.

As tentatively as possible, she slots her lips over your own. You melt into her touch and she swallows your hum of content. Her tongue runs over your bottom lip and you nod, winding your arms around her neck as she slips her tongue into your mouth.

The kiss can't last for longer than twenty seconds, but you're panting and out of breath by the time she pulls away. Your cheeks are flushed and you're suddenly hyper-aware of how close you two are. "Can we do that again?"

Emily arches a brow. "What, the date or the kiss?"

"Both."

[daisymbin]

45. "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

y/n drunkenly confesses to Chan after a night out with their friends

!!! thank you for requesting 🫶

request your own: full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // chan's m.list

fluff prompt #45: "you really trust me with your secrets, huh?"

you’re tipsy, wobbling slightly as chan steadies you with a hand on your shoulder. the others had scattered after your group night out, and somehow, the task of walking you home fell to him. not that he minded.

“you don’t have to do this,” you say, words slightly slurred but still sweet. “i can walk home myself.”

“you could barely walk down the stairs without holding onto me,” he teases, a grin tugging at his lips. “what kind of friend would i be if i just left you?”

“a bad one,” you reply immediately, leaning into him like you already trust him more than anything.

the quiet buzz of the city fills the space between you two, and chan keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. your cheeks are flushed, whether from the alcohol or the cool night air, and you’re humming a little tune he doesn’t recognize.

“what are you humming?” he asks, mostly just to keep you talking.

“something you’d like,” you reply cryptically, then giggle like you’ve said something funny.

chan shakes his head, amused but also hyper-aware of how close you are to him, how your warmth is seeping into his side. he’s spent plenty of nights like this with you, but something feels different. maybe it’s the way you’re looking at him, all soft and unguarded.

“you’re quiet tonight,” you say suddenly, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to look up at him.

“am i?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck.

you nod. “you usually talk more. always making me laugh. i like that about you, you know.”

chan feels his heart do a little flip at your words. he brushes it off with a laugh, trying to keep things light. “guess i’m just tired from carrying everyone’s drinks tonight.”

you narrow your eyes at him like you don’t quite believe him but let it go, resuming your unsteady steps.

“can i tell you a secret?” you ask after a moment, your voice quieter now.

chan glances at you, his brows furrowing. “a secret? is this something i’ll have to take to the grave?”

“maybe,” you say, and there’s a teasing edge to your tone, but your expression is serious.

“go for it,” he says, his curiosity piqued.

you stop walking again and turn to face him, your gaze locked on his like you’re trying to decide something. chan feels his chest tighten under the intensity of it.

“i like you, chan,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “like… really like you. a lot.”

chan blinks, completely frozen as he processes your words. you’re still looking at him, vulnerable and unsure, and it hits him all at once—this isn’t a joke, and it’s definitely not just the alcohol talking.

“you… really trust me with your secrets, huh?” he says finally, his voice coming out softer than he intended.

you nod, looking down at your feet. “you’re the only one i’d want to tell.”

chan doesn’t know what to say. his heart is pounding, and his head is spinning, but not in the way he’d expect. because somehow, despite the shock, it feels… right.

“hey,” he says, stepping closer to you. you look up, your eyes wide and a little glassy.

“if this is some kind of drunken mistake—”

“it’s not,” you interrupt, shaking your head. “i’ve wanted to tell you for so long, but i was too scared. it just… it feels easier now. maybe its the drinks.”

chan feels his lips curve into a smile, his heart swelling with something he can only describe as pure happiness.

“you really like me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

you nod again, your cheeks turning an even deeper shade of red.

chan doesn’t think—he just reacts, pulling you into a gentle hug. you tense for a moment before melting against him, your arms wrapping around his waist.

you pull back just enough to look at him, your eyes searching his face like you’re trying to make sure he’s serious.

“is it okay if i continue to like you?”

“only if-,” he pauses, laughing softly, “only if its okay for me to continue liking you too.”

you smile then, and it’s the kind of smile that makes him think he’d do anything to see it again.

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ 3 ]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that all you two talk about?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You managed a small, apologetic smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Becca laughed, throwing her hands up in mock surrender. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bucky cleared his throat, leaning back into the couch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × × 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned, visibly taken aback by your bluntness. 

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

Your throat tightened, but you held your ground. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She arched a brow, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So… you’re not seeing anyone?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“U-Uh, sure.”

× × × ×

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

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

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

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

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

“About?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nodded, feeling a lump form in your throat. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if. . .you do it with me?”

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

Slowly, a startled laugh escaped your lips. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You exhaled, shaking your head. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@mochiclouds @yesiamthatwierd @skywalker0809 @19jammmy @quinquinquincy

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

@red22wolf @lostboys1987girl @tenmaabnesti @elloredef @daddylorianisastateofmind

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

@ohdrey89 @theboysfanficmaker @clintsupremacy @whatislovevavy @okeypoteto

@lilynotdilly @byunleedy @mrsalexstan @jamesbarneswife @chiseplushie

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

[lucygraysboy]

“of course, i’ll be at your and margot’s weddin’. i might cry, though. but i’ll be there for sure, wouldn’t miss such an important day.” there’s no denying that it would be a very bittersweet moment for him, and his heart would probably give out before the reception, but he would be there. “you doin’ the same for me? would you be at my wedding if i decided to marry… matthew mcconaughey?” he teases, poking the dessert in front of him one last time before swapping his plate for lucy gray’s. “yeah, what’s wrong with underwear for christmas? it’s a very practical gift.” billy doesn’t come from wealth and even if he’s doing very well now, financially wise, he’s still a profound believer that it’s the thought that counts. “my biggest fan.” she’s the only person who’s always believed in him and it never fails to make his heart melt. how could he spend so many years without her? “i know you do, lucy gray.” love the idea of living in a fairytale. his eyes say what his lips refuse to admit — he will do anything to make sure all of her dreams come true. she deserves the world. “and you are a real princess. you’ll always be my princess.” and he wants to prove to her that he’s worthy of being her cowboy prince, that the love story she’s so passionate about involves him, not some other guy. “oh, yeah, of course. i try to stick to the diet plan, but if i’m hungry, i eat. i didn’t get cast as a holocaust survivor. i don’t intend to look malnourished. i’m mostly doin’ it to stay in shape and feel good and gain some more muscle. you don’t have to worry about me, pretty birdie,” he assures, winking at her and lifting the cup to his lips. the combination of green tea and ice cream isn’t as terrible as orange juice and toothpaste, but it’s definitely not good and he grimaces, wiping his lips on the crumpled napkin. “ohhh, this chocolate cake tastes like heaven,” he mumbles, closing his eyes and stuffing his mouth full.

"alright, so even if margot proposes me you'll be at the weddin'. that's how i know you're a true friend." lucy gray laughs, finding the made up scenario hilarious but also the support she doesn't actually need because she's not bisexual as far as she knows endearing. "you're really the type to get excited over underwear for christmas? well, i guess findin' somethin' won't be hard then." she muses, she thought earlier he was just joking. "oh, i don't have to manifest that. that'll come easily all on it's own." sweetly smiling, adoring his talents. "i love the idea of bein' a real princess, who doesn't want just any prince. she wants to marry the cowboy prince and become a cowgirl princess with him." it reminds her of being little and convincing herself she really was a princess, it makes her extremely nostalgic to reminisce on. "what about later tonight? can you have anymore snacks?" she wonders, just to get an idea of how much he's eating today even if she believes him. "just a few more bites or i'm goin' to go overboard." taking his plate, happily digging in for a few more bites while pushing hers towards him.

[mullermilkshake]

Heeey, I few days ago i found your blog and I'm absolutely obsessed with your Yakuza!AU, and I was wondering if we can get more of Yakuza Suguru <3

Love your posts btw💞

Thanks so much!!! That's so kind of you to say, I'm literally so obsessed with the AU and there will be TONS of content to come over the next year.

I love Yakuza!Suguru so much it hurts XD

Enjoy some fluffy stuff <3

A gold band

Yakuza!Suguru x Wife!reader Tags: Yakuza AU, Wife reader, Fem reader, twin children, daughters, fluff, guilt, established relationship.

Suguru fiddled with the gold wedding band on his ring finger as the car pulled up to the house outside of Shinkuju. He was running far more than late than he anticipated, by now he was sure the girls were tucked into bed and you were waiting up for him fuming for missing dinner.

How on earth was he going to make up for this?

"Anything else you need before I go, sir?"

"No, that'll be all for tonight Miguel. Be sure to pick me up in the morning to visit the Nanami office though, you know how he likes punctuality."

Suguru opened the car door by himself and slipped out, eyeing the dingy night sky behind a torrent of dark stormed clouds just waiting to unleash its pressure over Tokyo.

Miguel leaned over and wound the window down. "Of course, should I bring breakfast?"

"No, I think I'll have breakfast with my girls in the morning, so just get what you want and head over after. Thanks for everything tonight."

"Sure thing, goodnight."

As the car drove away, Suguru drew in an anxious breath and adjusted the cuffs of his suit. By the time on his watch he had neglected to read on purpose as it would only make things worse, the time read way past the appropriate time to eat.

The depressive point being that by now, Suguru wasn't even hungry any more.

She's going to kill me for this, isn't she? Maybe. But that wouldn't be all that bad, because then he wouldn't have to deal with all this drama currently within the Ryomen clan to his name.

It couldn't be so bad to have his neck squeezed he supposed.

When he approached the front door, it was already unlocked. That wasn't ever a good sign. The lights were off besides the low table lamp in the living area, amber in the corner with warmth, and there you were sitting on the sofa with Mimiko and Nanako resting their sleeping heads on your lap.

"They wanted to wait for you to get back. Nanako threw an absolute fit because you weren't there to read them a story, so I compromised that they could wait."

"I'm sorry, dear. I never intended to be this late."

He knelt down in front of you and took your hand, feeling the same gold band on the same finger. Your body warmed it through, practically burning away at his guilt for leaving you sitting there in an empty room for dinner.

"It's alright, Miguel is quite the charmer when he wants to be," your smile was devious, more likely enough to show that Suguru wasn't in the dog house.

Thank goodness.

"I bet he can, I told him as much to tell you in person that I would be late. I'm counting on that he got his fill of dinner while he was here?"

You nodded slowly, watching the girls sleep. "He spent a little time with he girls before he was called away to the club."

The club was something he didn't need reminding of. The break in, the calculated theft and all round fuckery with Ryomen Sukuna's expectations.

Not tonight.

"So he was fooling around when he should have been working? I'll have him reprimanded immediately."

You stifled your laughter at his sarcasm, pressing your finger to his lips. "Leave the poor man alone."

The fact was Miguel loved the girls. Mimiko and Nanako adored him just as much and by this point in Suguru's life, Miguel was far more than just a fellow Yakuza.

He was true family.

"Daddy?" Nanako rubbed her little eyes and yawed, shifting her head from your lap to sit up and dangle her legs over the edge of the sofa.

"Hello Princess," He opened out his arms and pulled her into an embrace as she leant forward into him. "I heard you gave Mama a hard time when you had to sleep."

Her sleepy little head drooped suddenly as she fought to stay awake. "You were far away... and you promised to read us our book."

"I did, didn't I? I'm sorry I couldn't be there."

"So I ate your cake."

"My cake?"

Scooping Mimiko up who was long since passed out in her heavy dreamed sleep, you watched Suguru stand with such a nurturing smile. "I made cheesecake. The girls demolished it and almost nipped Miguels fingers off. He was lucky to even get a slice."

"I missed cheesecake?"

He missed your matcha cheesecake for that travesty at the club? Your special cheesecake that was his absolute favourite?

Nanako stretched sleepily and clung to his neck. "Uh huh..."

Maybe it was time for Suguru to leave his Yakuza life behind and just beg you to open up a sweet shop so he could taste your baking every day. It was a hell of a lot safer. Though one shop wouldn't pay for this house or the best of everything for his girls.

A pipe dream was better than nothing.

Suguru led the way to the stairs and took each step with you following close behind him. "How about this then? I'll make sure I'm home really early tomorrow and we'll go to the children's park."

"I love the park..." Mimiko's eyes rolled open, she clutched her little doll and snuggled into the crook of your neck.

"I know you do sweetheart, if you two sleep well then maybe you can do that with Daddy tomorrow. But only if you both go back to sleep and be good," you nuzzled back into her and brought your lips to her hair for sweet consecutive pecks.

"We are good... Mama," Nanako's words began to slur.

And by the time you and Suguru reached the girls bedroom, they were out in dreamland once more. They clung to their blankets and toys sprawled across their covers and balled up close with delicate snores and breaths.

Suguru could have watched them all night snoozing away innocently, totally unaware of the horrors and disgusting shit out in the Shinjuku district.

All the unspeakable things their own Father had done.

"Don't do that."

"Hmm?" Suguru turned to see you leaving the bedroom.

"That thing you do when you feel guilty about what you do for a living. Whenever the time comes and they find out, they'll still love you. Just like I do."

"I know you do, just like you always have. I just can't help but wonder what we'll be like in fifteen years."

Will the Yakuza still be the height it had been for the last decade, or would it shift completely? Suguru had two twin girls to think about.

That wasn't to say he didn't enjoy his lifestyle. He did. He grew up alongside his sworn brother and became a man in a way that was respectful. He evolved with you right there next to him.

Still, this wasn't the life he wanted for his girls.

And it was obvious to him that you knew that too. "We'll still be a family, Suguru. That's all that matters, right?"

He only nodded and closed the gap between you to hold you close to him. "I'm sorry I was late, Dear. You and the girls are what matter most to me."

"I know, and there's still some of the night left," you pulled away just a fraction to look up at him. "I managed to sneak a slice of cheesecake away from the girls when they weren't looking."

"You know the way to my heart, don't you?"

"That's one way to your heart for sure. I just so happen to know to you like the back of my hand."

Suguru leant in and pressed his lips to yours, so short and sweet it would have melted the very foundations of the house. "I can't deny that. You're best at reading me like a book when no one else can."

"Besides Satoru I suppose."

You often joked that Satoru was a third member in this marriage. Just the thought made Suguru hide his chuckle into your shoulder as he leant down.

"Yeah, Besides Satoru."

On a night like this, Suguru knew that whatever happened, things would be alright.

Because he had his family.

[luimagines]

Scales and Feathers, Tails and Tethers Part 3

Chapter three of King Dragon Time, anyone? :)

Masterlist

First Chapter/ Previous Chapter/

Content under the cut!

Time stiffened his back. His tail swung irritatedly behind his form, wings spread in an almost territorial display. The blood had drained from his face, giving an unnatural paleness to his already otherworldly appearance.

You were limping, with your arm over your stomach as if you were keeping your entrails where they belonged. “Good afternoon Your Majesty. Forgive me. I did not intend to be late.”

He growls lowly, getting impossibly more tense as he sees you. Your disguise is less than pristine, something you would have never allowed otherwise. “You’re here…You…” He growls again. “Why haven’t you come in to report? You know the clear statements of our contract.”

You sigh. This was what you feared. Despite his otherwise threatening nature, his voice wobbles and you can fear an uptilt to his voice. Panic. You didn’t think he was capable of the emotion. Still, you’re sore, in pain and lacking the patience to think beyond what’s been given to you. You’re not going to think of the implications.

“I got sick.”

“For two months?”

“Yes.”

He fumbles, breaking the still nature of his posture, tail aside. He breaks character, stepping down one step from his throne before he stops himself once more. His tail swishes behind him with more wild agitation, nearly hitting the very thorne by the wall. His initial anger dims and he moves back to sit on the throne. You can see the way his jaw clenches and how his knuckles go white from the force of his grip on the arm rests. 

You gulp quietly. You know that he knows that you're lying.

The King takes a deep breath, wanting to stay angry with you for worrying him so. He wants to be angry that you’re actively lying to him. “Where were you?”

“Hospital.”

Time manages to hit the wall behind him with his tail. Warrior stands on edge at the far wall of the throne room. You know better than to look at anyone else other than The King when he gets like this. 

But you’re very tired. You want to go home.

He growls. “You could have said something-”

A leg gives out from underneath you and you fall to your knee, barely catching yourself as it was.

Time shuts up instantly, eyes widening. He jumps to his feet once more, milliseconds from jumping down the steps to his throne to catch you. 

With a rueful laugh, you push yourself back up before he can reach you. Neither of you noticed (or at least verbally acknowledged) that he ran toward you.

"Admittedly, I debated coming here even today. I'm not... I'm still not ok..."

Time can feel his worry dampen his anger completely. He stands at a distance still, a wall between you both being kept up now that you’re on your own two feet once more. His tail continues to restlessly twist behind him like a disgruntled cat.

You smirk a bit, trying to keep up appearances. "As you can imagine, I have nothing to report seeing as I've been out of commission for these past months... Nothing... Nothing substantial anyway..."

Time gulps. "....What happened?..."

"Got sick." You shrug, trying to keep yourself light hearted and worry free. You think you’re about to pull some of your stitches. You’re still not sure if coming today was a good idea. It feels too soon from a physical standpoint alone. 

There was a part of you that worried about the King though. You felt obligated to explain yourself. So you came. Now that it’s done, you feel as if your duty has been completed. 

The King bites his lip, trying to read your body language. "Would you like to sit down?"

"With all due respect…” You trail off, taking a deep breath to steady yourself before you force yourself to stand straight. Yup, you pulled some stitches for sure. “I’d... I’d like to go home now, Your Majesty."

"Of course." Time deflates. He watches you move, brows furrowing as he forces himself to keep his distance.

He watches the way you favor your left side and how you try to keep yourself from limping and folding over. Time steps down again, quietly, silently in the way that all predators can move before Warrior steps forward at last to stop him with a single raised hand.

Time scowls at the younger man but falls back again, leaving the throne entirely as Warrior walks to catch up with you. He’s been watching you this whole time with that short interaction you have with the King and the smell of blood isn’t lost on him.

You feel a sudden heat behind you but when you look, Warrior was only inches from putting a hand on your shoulder. He lets his hand drop at once. “Are you ok?”

“Captain.” You sigh, flinching before you can stop yourself. “I really really just want to go home right now.”

“Let me walk you home.”

“You always say that.” You shake your head. “And you know what I always say.”

“I’m serious.” Warrior stresses, putting his hand on your wrist. His grip is delicate but you’re not fooled. He could easily pick up you if he wanted to. Such is the superhuman strength of a dragon. “You scared us. At least let me make sure you’re safe. His Majesty was virtually inconsolable. He was about to tear up the kingdom to look for you.”

That stops you. Still. You’ve gone to great lengths to keep your secret identity well, secret. There’s a slight warmth beginning to blossom in your side though, and you know your magic won’t hold for much longer. You need to get home. Now.

“Captain, thank you for the offer. I truly appreciate everything you’ve done for me and continue to offer but I really can’t do this.” You take his hand off of you. It’s not lost on you that you do it so easily. “But I really should get home as it is. T-...Take care of His Majesty, ok?”

Warrior sighs, and a small tongue of flame flicks out of his mouth as he turns his head away,. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.”

“I’m sorry.” You step back, taking out your notebook. Your pen is a familiar weight in your hand as you flick open the pages. Quickly writing D-O-O-R, a glitter of light sparkles behind you, summoning the door that you know and have grown to love.

This time The Captain fully growls at you. His eyes sharpen into an unnatural green as his fangs grow into his mouth. It makes you gasp, taking a full step away from him. His gaze is locked onto you. “You’re weak enough as it is. You shouldn’t be using your power.”

You gulp again. The force of his power is stronger than you originally thought. It dawns on you that you’ve underestimated the King’s right hand man this entire time. With a robotic jerk of your hand, you put it on the door handle, ready to make a run for it if this creature you’ve angered decides to strike. “This is my door. My home. …I’ll be alright.”

It doesn’t seem to settle him as you’d hoped. He snarls again and crosses his arms. His eyes don’t retreat back to the normal blue you’ve grown accustomed to but he nods his head. “Go on then. And make sure you rest properly.”

You nod back and enter the door, locking it on the inside for good measure before opening your notebook once more to erase the word you’ve written. That should have eliminated the door beside the Captain, leaving your apartment safe and sound once again from anyone wishing to find you.

With a shaky breath, you let the magic fall from around you, leaving you in your injured and perfectly normal civilian state. You lean on the door, sinking to the floor with a sharp hiss. Looking down, you lift your shirt. White bandages are wrapped tightly around your abdomen. They’re unblemished for the most part except for the blooming pink stain on your left side. You tore stitches. Just like the doctor said you would if you weren’t careful.

It was a calculated gamble. But never let it be said that you were a prodigy at math.

You groan loudly, not caring if your neighbors heard you. You’re going to have to go back to the doctors, or painfully do it yourself. You know how. You’re not sure how you know how but you know that you know how.

You sit on the floor, getting up only when you feel your stomach begin to protest the lack of food.

Something on your balcony catches your eye. Another gift perhaps, you think. It would be poor timing for one.

You step out but there was nothing there, save for a small bright green sticky note. You pick it up and bring it inside. The message was simple but bone chilling.

“I know who you are.”