#return of my normal was hard won

[the-hot-zone]

recommendations for @mail-me-a-snail & honestly everyone who follows me bc y'all know i give out recommendations like candy. i think especially you may like I think love is something that happens to other people and HOW TO BE A DOG (the latter is similar to Your Faithful Servant).

[ordinary-barbie]

victory lap.

football player!rafe x fem!reader

summary: Your boyfriend Rafe has just won the biggest football game of his career, and he knows exactly how he wants to celebrate.

tags: fem!reader, cursing, unprotected p in v sex (though reader mentions being on the pill), oral (both receiving), fingering, consent checks, doggy style, creampie, praise kink, usage of “good girl,” cum swallowing, dirty talk, pet names ("baby," "princess"), slightly possessive rafe

word count: 1.7k

18+ only - minors do not interact!!!

note: I'm an Eagles fan so this is absolutely self-indulgent. Go Birds!!!

Tonight felt like an absolute dream.

You'd been with Rafe for nearly six years, since your freshman year of college. Through that time, you witnessed many highs and lows of your boyfriend's football career, celebrating after the big wins and comforting him through tough losses. And tonight, all that hard work had culminated in the ultimate prize: a Super Bowl win.

The Eagles' win had been oh-so-satisfying for you after the heartbreaking loss to the Chiefs two years ago, but the fact that the love of your life played a part in it made it even sweeter. As the confetti sprinkled down, covering the field in a sea of midnight green, silver, and black, you and Rafe found your way to each other, embracing like you hadn't seen each other in weeks. During the game, you'd been a bundle of nerves, only truly relaxing during Kendrick's halftime performance, but now you finally felt like you could breathe easy.

"I'm so proud of you, baby," you said, your eyes welling up with happy tears. You grabbed Rafe's face and kissed him deeply; he returned the kiss with equal fervor and let his hands slide to your ass. Normally you wouldn't be down for such blatant PDA, but it was a special occasion.

The night passed in a blur, filled with photo ops and plenty of revelry. The streets of New Orleans buzzed with energy, and you lived for it. You celebrated with and embraced your fellow WAGs, who'd become your family over the past two years. Rafe was in his element, popping bottles of champagne and laughing with his fellow players, and it made your heart swell with pride.

You were still feeling post-game euphoria, but part of you was ready to return to your hotel and wind down. You clung to Rafe, putting your head in his lap, and he flashed you a fond grin, stroking your hair.

"You ready to head out, baby?" Rafe murmured in your ear, and you hummed in response.

The two of you said your goodbyes and caught a ride back to the Hilton. You loved getting all dolled up for gameday, but the thought of showering and changing into some comfy pajamas was very appealing.

Once you and Rafe arrived back in your room, you stripped down to your bra and panties, preparing for a nice, long, hot shower. Rafe’s eyes hungrily raked up and down your body, and it gave you a thrill that even after all these years, he was still obsessed with your body.

"You gonna join me in the shower, Rafey, or just stand there?" you teased him, your grin a mile wide.

Rafe chuckled, his eyes darkening. "Would love to. But there's something I wanna do first, baby. I want to celebrate my win with you—properly."

A shiver of pleasure ran through your body. "Tell me you want this too, baby," Rafe said, gazing intently at you.

You bit your lip, looking at Rafe with a burning desire. "Yes, Rafey. Want this so bad."

Before you could even blink, Rafe's lips were on yours, kissing you with a passion only reserved for moments like these. Soon, though, he began to roam, nipping and kissing at your jaw, your neck, that special space behind your ear that drove you wild.

Rafe expertly unhooked your bra with one hand, flinging it to another corner of the room, before picking you up and tossing you onto the bed. He sank to his knees, slowly pulling down your panties and letting out a pleasured moan at the gossamer strands of slick that clung to the fabric.

"Fucking pretty," he marveled, before hungrily diving into your wet cunt. Rafe loved playing football—he lived for the game—but his second favorite pastime was eating pussy, without a doubt. You writhed in pleasure as Rafe's tongue glided along your folds, pumping in and out of your opening before finally giving your clit some much-needed attention.

"Rafe—oh fuck—that feels so good," you whimpered as Rafe languidly sucked at your clit.

You felt a low heat in your belly as you reached your peak. Your hands flew to Rafe's hair, gently tugging at it as he took the hint and buried his face even closer into your pussy.

Your vision went white for a second as you cummed, coating Rafe's face with your slick. "Holy shit, baby," Rafe murmured, bending down to kiss you and give you a taste of the essence on his lips. "You taste so fuckin' good."

You noticed the massive tent Rafe was sporting in his pants and moaned, rubbing your legs together. “Let me take care of you, baby,” you purred. “The champ deserves his prize, after all.”

Rafe grinned lazily, quickly pulling off his pants and boxers before lying back on the bed. You knelt before him, salivating at his dick, its pink mushroom tip already wet with precum. You went to work cleaning his tip, causing your boyfriend to lose his composure.

"Shit, baby, you're so good with your mouth," Rafe said, letting out a moan as you licked up and down his shaft.

You lowered your head, taking Rafe's length into your mouth. You bobbed your head up and down, mouthing and licking at his cock while you fondled his balls with both hands.

"Ah, fuck, just like that, baby," Rafe groaned. "Good girl."

Those two words were like a lightning bolt to your core, spurring you to speed up your actions. Rafe grunted, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Baby—shit—I'm gonna cum." Rafe let out a particularly feral grunt before spilling down your throat, watching as you dutifully swallowed every drop.

Rafe paused, lost in a post-nut daze, before lifting you and laying you back on the bed. He took his sweet time kissing every square inch of your body, making sure to give your tits extra attention. Rafe kissed and sucked at your nipples, eliciting more whines from you as you gripped the bedsheets.

"Rafey, you're such a tease," you wailed, bucking your hips as Rafe lavished your thighs with kisses.

Rafe smirked devilishly at you. "Impatient, are we? My pretty girl that desperate f'me to fuck her stupid? Don't worry—I'll give you what you need, yeah?"

Rafe beckoned you to join him back on the bed, effortlessly turning you around so you were lying on your stomach. You stuck your ass up in the air, feeling a giddy anticipation in your gut.

Rafe slowly pushed himself into you, both of you moaning at the sensation. You said a silent word of thanks to whoever invented birth control as Rafe gripped your hips, thrusting his cock in and out of your pussy.

"Goddamn, this pussy...so tight, hot, and wet for me," Rafe growled, snapping his hips as he buried himself deep inside you.

You felt dizzy, your thoughts filled with nothing except the immense pleasure Rafe was giving you. "Oh Rafey—fuck, right there," you sighed, groaning as his cock hit your g-spot.

"Can't wait to fill up this pretty pussy," Rafe muttered, deliciously stretching your walls with his length. "Yeah? You want my cum baby?" Your cunt clamped down on Rafe's dick in response, causing his eyes to roll back.

"Squeezing me so good, baby," he praised.

Just as you were in the throes of passion, Rafe...stopped, slowly pulling out of you. You pouted, already missing your boyfriend's touch.

"'m sorry, baby," Rafe said, kissing your forehead. "Just wait a sec, I got an idea."

Rafe got off the bed and rifled through your suitcase before finding a kelly green jersey with "Cameron" and his number on the back. "Y'know...I always had this fantasy of fuckin' my girl with my jersey on," he said, flashing the dirtiest grin. "Will you indulge me for the night, princess?"

You sat up, eyeing your boyfriend flirtatiously. "Hell yeah, that sounds really hot."

Rafe returned to the bed, sitting you on his lap and watching you pull the jersey over your head. Then he quickly bent you over the mattress, stuffing you with his cock again. He pistoned his hips, admiring his name on your back and the fact that you were wearing his jersey—and nothing else.

"You look so damn sexy with my name on you," Rafe drawled. "Shows that you're fuckin' mine, baby."

You cried out, feeling your legs start to shake. "Ah, yes, Rafe—'m all yours."

"Are you close, baby?" Rafe asked. When you nodded, he slid a hand down between your legs and rubbed circles on your clit. "C'mon baby. Make a mess all over my cock."

Your insides felt like a shaken-up soda bottle that was about to explode. You let out a yelp as your pussy spasmed, creaming all over Rafe's cock.

"I'm close, baby," Rafe warned, burying his head in the side of your neck. Rafe's hips stuttered as he released his load, and you sighed happily at the sensation of his warm, sticky cum filling you up.

Rafe slowly pulled out of you, licking his lips at the sight of his spunk dribbling out of you. He pulled you close to him, nuzzling your neck. "Baby—I think that was some of the best sex we've ever had."

You giggled. "You just won a freakin' Super Bowl, Rafe. You deserve nothing but the best."

Rafe looked at you fondly. "This is gonna sound so fuckin' corny but with you, I already feel like I've won. I'm the luckiest man on the damn planet."

You playfully rolled your eyes. "That was corny as fuck—but I liked it."

"And I like you," Rafe easily replied, peppering your cheeks with kisses.

You giggled. "I'll like you even more once we're both cleaned, though."

Rafe chuckled. "One shower, coming up, princess." He whisked you away to the bathroom, where y'all actually showered—you were both too spent to engage in more funny business.

Once the two of you were fully clean and in your coziest pjs (and had done your best to clean up the sheets), you and Rafe snuggled together in bed. You gazed lovingly at Rafe as you stroked his hair.

"Whatcha staring at, pretty girl?" Rafe asked, an amused glint in his eye.

"Just thinking about my boyfriend. He's really handsome and funny and he just won a Super Bowl," you playfully replied.

"Wow, he sounds like a real catch," Rafe remarked, stroking your hip.

"Yeah, he's pretty great. I'm lucky to have him," you said, gently kissing Rafe's lips.

Today had been one hell of a day. But as thrilling as the big game and all the festivities were, you had the best time right here, in Rafe's arms.

[m0nnypie]

I'VE GOT MY EYES ON YOU

Finnick Odair x fem!reader

Summary: Just the pov of Finnick loving you over the years, and remembering everything about you

Warnings: cute but with a bit of angst on Finn's part. Other than that, all happiness and love.

a/n: Well, excuse any spelling mistakes, English isn't my first language. And I tried my best to make it as much like Finnick as I could, but this is my first fic of his lol. Anyway, I hope you like it and enjoy <3

Words: 1.8k

Finnick remembers the first time he saw you. He was eight and you were only six. Your father had gone to see his for some reason Finnick can't remember — not least because he hadn't been paying attention to them. What he does remember is you glaring at him. It made him laugh, which only deepened your frown.

He imagines it was because you didn't like him very much at the time. He didn’t blame you. With your older brother constantly saying that no boy was any good, it was hard to be friends with anyone he was always badmouthing. Finnick didn’t blame your brother either — in a world like theirs, any protection, even unnecessary, was better than none. Still, nothing changed how cute and funny he had found you at the time. After that day, you never met in person again.

The time he considers the second was when his name was called at the reaping. He remembers your eyes glued to him; you were twelve, and he was fourteen. He could feel your pity seeping through his skin. He didn’t blame you — after all, like it or not, it was still the Hunger Games. But knowing that you were looking at him made it almost funny to him, and it was with that thought in mind that he entered the arena.

The third time was when he returned home victorious. Of course, there were lots of people congratulating him — his relieved family and everyone else — but the only thing he saw was you, walking toward him. He didn't think it was of his own volition, considering you was with your father and brother, but as soon as you approached, you wore the best, most beautiful smile he had ever seen you give. And for the first time in years, you spoke to him.

"Congratulations on winning, Finnick. I'm glad you're back... well, we're glad."

He could see the smile on your father’s face, though he couldn’t say the same for your brother. Not that he minded. So he just smiled back at you — not the smile he reserved for the Capitol, but a real smile.

"Thank you. I'm glad to see you too."

He saw you get embarrassed, and he wanted to laugh at that. But he wouldn’t — not in front of your father. Not yet.

For the rest of the day, he listened to his father talk about how much your father complained about you, because you wouldn't stop talking about Finnick. His father laughed as he ruffled his hair affectionately. And it’s not like Finnick was going to complain.

Everyone said it was normal for girls to have a little crush on boys who won at something — at least, that’s what the people he knew told him. Maybe that’s why, two months later, it was as if Finnick no longer existed to you. You were back in your own world, with your friends, without him. Not that it bothered him — not really.

The next time he really saw you, you were sixteen, and he was eighteen. He was a mentor now, and when your name was called at the reaping, he could see on your face how much you hated it. Most people didn't care or thought that a dead kid from District 4 wouldn't make much difference, since you wasn’t a Career or someone important. Finnick hated it — but he would never say so.

He also remembers how, for whatever reason, you didn't put any effort into your training. He thought it was because of what everyone thought of you as a tribute, or maybe you just didn't give a damn about dying in the arena. He didn't admit it at the time, but he had been terrified that you wouldn't make it out of the arena alive. He also remembers how surprised everyone was by your training score — including him. It was a ten. He remembers it clearly, and you didn't seem to mind.

On the day of the Games, all you did was say goodbye to your stylists. You didn't look in anyone else's direction, but he didn't blame you. If you were going to become one of the last survivors, there would come a point when you would have to kill someone. It wasn't something everyone wanted to face.

He remembers seeing you in the arena — you did well. For the first few days, you kept to yourself, hiding and trying to survive. But at some point — he can't say exactly when — things changed. Perhaps it was when the male tribute from your district was killed, or when you saw a pair of boys, just twelve years old, die.

It wasn't a change that anyone on Capitol had noticed. But Finnick knew you well enough to say that the deaths of people you barely knew had affected you. He still remembers when one of the tributes from District 4 was a twelve-year-old boy - you didn't know him, but you still went to say goodbye. You were only fourteen.

And at that very moment, you had just thrown an axe into the head of the boy from District 3 who had killed the twelve-year-olds. You hadn't thought — you had just acted. Obviously, this had a positive consequence for you in the Capitol's eyes, because a while later, you were sent food that would last for about four days.

He remembers the exact moment you won. He wanted to say he was relieved, but that wouldn't be fair to you. Until you left for District 4, you didn't say a single word to him. Perhaps because no one was looking at you with such high expectations anymore, you felt confident enough to speak.

"Do you regret killing those people to survive?"

"No."

He had to be honest; he couldn't lie. But after that, he didn't hear your voice again for the rest of the journey — you didn't even look at him. Still, when you arrived in District 4, you acted as if you were fine, as if you didn’t care.

He also remembers when you became friends. It was a good thing — a big step, considering that before, you wouldn’t even look him in the face. Now he understood why. Even though it hadn't seemed like it before, you had lots of friends. You were funny, entertaining, and you cooked extremely well. Finnick admitted that he envied your food — and he couldn’t lie about that.

He obviously remembers the following year, when the two of you were mentors. You were only seventeen, but you didn't seem bothered about directing two people toward a possible death. He saw how hard you worked not to get attached to either of the tributes, because if they didn't come back, you wouldn't feel guilty. But when Annie returned, alive and safe, he also saw you break down. You hugged her as if she were going to disappear. And he didn’t blame you for that either. Over the next year, no one ever brought up the subject of Annie becoming a mentor.

When you were nineteen, things went to another level. Once ignored, now he was kissed when no one was watching — well, that was a breakthrough. He remembers every kiss, every smile. He also remembers when you woke him up at dawn to help Annie. He didn't mind; he was spending time with you and helping a friend.

While he was making tea, if he looked over his shoulder, he could see you hugging her, whispering what sounded like a lullaby — the kind you sing to babies when they can't stop crying. He could see how much you loved and cared for Annie, and that always made him fall in love with you a little more, even if he didn’t know it at the time.

He certainly remembers the time he told you he loved you. You had just turned twenty-one. You said it back. And you held each other for the rest of the night.

He also remembers the 74th Hunger Games. He saw your relief when those two young people, madly in love — though he didn't believe in that farce — survived together. You didn’t know them, but you were obviously happy for them.

He also — sadly — remembers the Quarter Quell. When his name was called, he had imagined it would happen. But that day, once again, he saw you. Annie had been called, and before Mags could volunteer, you did. He saw you hugging Annie, comforting her as he heard her whisper "sorry," but you just smiled at her. And as you hugged, he heard you say:

"I'm sorry, but I couldn't let that happen to her again."

"I know..."

He didn’t know. No — actually, he did. He just didn’t want to admit it, because admitting it meant facing the reality that this year, he’d be going into the arena with you. And he didn’t even want to think about that.

In the arena, he did everything he could to protect you, Katniss, and Peeta. He really wanted the plan to work. He believed that you would be fine if they separated. But when he woke up, you weren’t there with him. You were in the Capitol with the others. For the first time in years, he wished he had died in that arena when he was fourteen.

He felt it the moment he got you back — you weren’t really there. He spoke to you, but you didn’t listen. And if he tried to touch you, he saw you despair, screaming as if he had hurt you. And he felt that way — he felt guilty for letting the Capitol lay even a single finger on you. They told him to take it easy. He wanted to tell everyone to fuck off, but when he looked at you, he knew they were right.

At that very moment, he was keeping you company, obviously giving you space — he didn’t want you to get hurt. But when he heard you calling him, he admitted he was desperate; you hadn’t even looked him in the face for days. So probably, if you had asked him to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness, he would have — even if he didn’t need to. But he held back.

"Finnick?"

"Yes, dear? Do you need anything?"

"I'm sorry..." It came out as a whisper.

"Hey, hey, what are you apologizing for? You have nothing to apologize for."

"I..." You didn’t manage to finish before tears welled up in your eyes.

"Hey, hey, please don’t cry..." He tried his best to comfort you without having to touch you. But before he could decide what to do, you hugged him — a little hesitantly, but you hugged him. And at that moment, he collapsed. He shouldn’t have cried — not when you were in such a fragile moment — but he couldn’t help it.

For a moment in his life, he had thought he had lost you, that he would never see you again. And at that moment, he decided he would never let go of you — not with the possibility of losing you again. He would never let that happen. He would always see you now.

[cherrychilli]

18+ Steve Harrington X F! reader, friends to lovers, flashing (f) WC: 762 Summary: Steve's amazed by the number of things you can fit in your bra when you refuse to lug around a bag with you.

In the last two hours you'd pulled out a wad of fives to pay for the snacks you'd both picked up at the gas station, then a lighter as the two of you sat out on the hood of Steve's car, overlooking Lovers Lake while you had a smoke and last, a pack of minty gum for you to chew and smack on when you got back in the car.

What fascinated Steve was that none of these items had been stored inside a bag like one might expect, all of them pulled out of your bra like it was an entirely normal thing to do. Unable to ignore it any longer and more than a little flustered, he finally breaks his silence on the matter.

"Okay, I have to know. What else do you have in there?", Steve carefully gestures vaguely in the direction of your breasts, looking all kinds of exasperated. You return his look with an amused smirk.

"I'll give you two guesses", you puff your chest out, the answer so obvious it makes him roll his eyes.

"Not them- uh, those. I mean, c'mon. Doesn't it ever get, I don't know...uncomfortable having to wedge it all in there?", he asks trying and failing to choose his words carefully while his eyes flicked back and forth between your face and your cleavage.

You see your chance and pounce at it, especially since he'd set you up for it so perfectly.

"I don't mind a tight fit, Steve", you chew on your gum with a wink, torturing the poor boy as you leisurely blow a bubble big enough to pop.

"You- you know what I uh, what I meant", he tells you while trying his damndest to appear composed, his voice giving him away when it cracks enough to make you snicker.

He does have a point though, you could admit that much as you cut the jokes and decide to answer with a simple shrug. "I don't know. It's something I just got used to. There's enough space for everything I need. And besides, I hate having to carry a bag around. those things make my shoulders sore as all hell", you explain honestly although you can tell that Steve's nowhere near ready to move on from the subject just yet.

"Tell you what. Since you're so interested, how about a game? loser has to do whatever the winner says if you can guess how many other items I've got in here.

"Seriously?", he checks, eyes all round and alert.

"Yup", you confirm.

Knowing of three items already, he thinks hard. Much harder than he ever has before, his eyes fixed on your breasts, trying to ascertain what else might be hiding under your clothing, even working up a light sweat near his temple which makes you giggle.

Steve's making it out to be some sort of life or death deal and honestly, you liked how seriously he was taking this, showing you how much and how badly he wants to get a peek under your sweater.

"C'mon Harrington. Don't wanna be out here all day you know", you chide after another minute ticks by.

"Okay...five?"

Reaching inside, out comes the lighter, the gum and the money again, his eyes still hopeful when you fish out your apartment key followed by a tube of lip balm only for his face to crumble when you finally pull out a spare hair tie.

So close. He'd been so damn close as a really pitiful look of defeat spills over his face.

"Okay, so what to you want from me?", he groans, ever the sore loser.

You might have won but you don't feel any thrill in having done so. If you were being completely honest, you weren't exactly mad at the thought of Steve winning. In fact, you'd quietly hoped for him to do so just to see what he might have asked of you.

Well, you've got a pretty good guess as to what it might be.

Boobies, of course.

You didn't have to. You really didn't have to but the sight of him like this makes you feel oddly compelled to reward him anyway. Anything to wipe that dour look on his face.

Reaching round, you watch Steve's perplexed face with glee as you unclasp your bra and pull it out through your sleeve so seamlessly, winking at him before picking up the hem of your shirt and lifting it up to let him see your breasts bounce free and bare.

"Your undivided attention", you grin at his cherry red face, knowing full well this wouldn't be the last time you let him see them.

[keithyp00]

▄︻デ══━一💥Tension Is A Loaded Gun

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader

Warnings/Tags: flirty banter, friendship with Sam, slow-burn tension, humor, light angst, found family, soft Bucky, teasing Sam, mentions of past trauma

(MDNI 18+): explicit sexual content, oral sex (f receiving), praise kink, "pussy drunk", vocal, dom/sub, multiple orgasms, aftercare

Word Count:4.1K

Author Note: Hi guys! Sorry I took a hiatus without telling you guys... But I'm back with another spicy one since the last one did so good. So I hope you guys enjoy and I'll try to be back to my normal posting schedule since school is almost over so fingers crossed :)

Please do not copy or translate any of my works. Thank you!

It was too damn hot for Delacroix.

You stood with a rag in one hand and a beer in the other, watching the Wilson family boat bob gently in the water like it had all the time in the world. Salt clung to the air, thick and heavy like the humidity. Your tank top stuck to your skin, damp with sweat and engine grease, and the smell of fish was less offensive now than it had been when you arrived three days ago.

"Hey!" Sam's voice carried from behind you, teasing. "You look like you're about to punch the boat."

"I'm considering it," you muttered, swiping your forearm over your brow. "This damn engine is older than I am."

"Yeah, well, she still works," Sam grinned, hopping onto the deck beside you with the grace of someone who did this whole life. "Unlike some people."

"You're hilarious," you deadpanned.

He held up a hand, placating. "Hey, I'm the one getting shown up by a boat."

You might've flipped him off if the sound of boots on the dock hadn't pulled your attention. Heavy. Familiar.

You didn't need to look up to know who it was.

James Buchanan Barnes.

The first time you met him, you'd been bleeding mission gone sideways, snapping at everyone who tried to help. Except him. He just stared you down, calm and unreadable, before grunting, "You got guts," and stitching you up himself with surgeon's precision.

That was six months ago.

Now, he was walking towards you with his sleeves rolled up, hair messy and short, and a gaze like a loaded weapon.

"Afternoon," he greeted, nodding to you. His voice was always rough, like it had to be dragged out of him.

"Bucky," you returned, trying to ignore the way your stomach flipped.

You weren't sure when it started- maybe during a mission, maybe in a stolen glance, or the time he handed you a towel after a sparring match and his fingers lingered on your like he didn't want to let go. It didn't matter. It built. Quietly. Relentlessly.

And now every time he looked at you, it felt like your bones remembered him.

"Sam," Bucky added, glancing over.

"Barnes," Sam said back with a grin. "Come to supervise or get your hands dirty?"

"That depends," Bucky muttered. "On whether you're gonna keep flirting with the engine or let someone else take a crack."

You choked on your beer and coughed once, hard.

Bucky smirked.

You glanced at him sideways. "You trying to say I'm bad at this?"

"No," he said, stepping closer- close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him, "Just saying maybe you need some backup."

"You offering?" You raised an eyebrow.

His lips twitched. "Maybe."

There was something dangerous about the way he looked at you, like he wanted to ruin something and was just waiting for your permission.

Sam groaned. "Alright, alright- if you two are gonna eye-fuck each other again, I'm getting the hell outta here."

You whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"Don't 'excuse me' me," he said, already walking away. "I've got two super soldiers trying to out-stubborn each other in 90 degree heat. I'm going to find a fan and some peace."

You turned back toward Bucky slowly, pulse drumming in your ears. He was closer now. Still watching you. Still smirking like he'd won something.

"Wasn't eye-fucking," you said softly, defensively.

"Could've fooled me," he replied, tone low. "You gonna let me help or not?"

You handed him the wrench wordlessly. He took it, brushing your fingers- deliberate, measured, testing.

The two of you worked in silence. You watched his muscles flex under the sun, veins prominent in his arms, and a thin sheen of sweat highlighting every line of him. You shouldn't have noticed. But you did. You always did.

By the time the boat sputtered back to life, it was late afternoon and your patience had frayed into something wild and taut. You turned to thank him- and didn't expect him to be standing so close.

"I can hear your heartbeat," he murmured.

You stilled. "So?"

"It's loud."

"So is yours."

His gaze dipped to your lips.

"I've been thinking about this for weeks," he admitted, voice rough. "How you smell like sweat and steel, and how your mouth tastes like beer when you've been working out in the sun."

"Bucky-"

"Tell me to stop."

You didn't.

Instead, you surged forward and kissed him like you'd been waiting since the first time he stitched you up. It was filthy. Desperate. His hands- one warm, one cold- gripped your hips like he was afraid that you'd vanish.

"Inside," you whispered against his mouth.

He obeyed instantly.

~~~~~

The door slammed shut behind you in Sam's guest room. You barely made it to the bed before Bucky was on you- pressing, growling, teeth grazing the skin of your throat like he'd die if he didn't taste you.

You gasped when he pushed your tank top up, lips dragging down your stomach.

"Fuck, Bucky-"

"I know," he muttered. "I know."

He kissed you like he needed you more than oxygen. And when he pulled your shorts off, his breath caught.

"You're soaked," he whispered. "Already?"

You bit back a sigh, back arching into his touch. "It's cause I've been thinking about you. Every damn night."

He groaned like it hurt him. "You're gonna kill me."

You slightly opened your legs. "Then die happy."

His mouth was on you before you could blink.

It was devastating.

Bucky licked you like he was starving- slow and deep, savoring every reaction like it was a drug. When his tongue circled your clit, your hips bucked up, and he held you down with that metal arm, groaning against you like he was drunk off the taste.

You moaned, breath hitching. "Jesus, Bucky-"

"You taste so fucking good," he growled, tongue sliding through your folds again. "Could eat you for hours."

Your hands found the short locks of his hair, gripping tightly on what you could. "Then do it."

He did.

Again.

And again.

He didn't stop until your legs were trembling around his shoulders and you were sobbing his name like a prayer. And even then, he kept licking- like he needed every drop of you, like nothing else in the world mattered.

"Fuck, doll-" he slurred, eyes glassy, lips slick and swollen. "You're gonna ruin me."

You pulled him up by his hair and kissed him filthy, tasting your slick on his tongue. "Then let me."

~~~~~

Your mouth was on his, and he moaned into the kiss like he'd already forgotten what air was. His lips moved hungrily against yours, slick with the taste of you, and you drank him in like he was the last thing left in a burning world.

He pulled back slightly, panting, eyes dazed and dark.

"You're-" he cut himself off, swallowing hard. "You're gonna be the death of me, doll."

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing," you whispered, tugging at the hem of his shirt.

He let you pull it off- arms raised, obedient, exposing thick muscle and scars and sweat-slick skin. The heat radiating off him was unbearable. Gorgeous. Alive. He looked like something carved from war and temptation.

"You're shaking," you murmured, brushing your hands across his chest.

His fingers caught your wrist gently, reverently. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Then show me," you breathed, arching your back to meet his skin.

His lips found yours again, but this time slower. More intense. Like he was memorizing the curve of your lips.

When he pulled away, he looked down at your body like he couldn't believe it was real.

"Lie back for me," he rasped. "I need to see you."

So, you did.

He dragged his metal fingers up your thigh, over your hip, your ribs, your breast. Every inch he touched felt branded. Worshipped.

"You're perfect," he murmured, voice breaking on the word like it physically hurt him to say it. "I've never wanted anything this bad."

Then he was between your legs again- but this time, his hand replaced his mouth. Two thick fingers slid into you, slow and deep, as his mouth returned to your breast, licking and sucking until you let out a gasp.

"Bucky-"

"Fuck, your pussy has me gone," he groaned, curling his fingers just right. "You feel so good. So fucking wet."

You whined, clawing at his back. "Please- please just-"

He pulled his fingers out and stared at the slick coating them, then sucked them into his mouth with a low groan that made you clench around nothing.

"I'm gonna fuck you now," he said, voice shaking. "And I'm not going to last long. Not after that."

"Then don't," you whispered, hooking your legs around his waist. "Just give it to me."

He lined up and pressed in slow, inch by inch, like he was trying to savor every second.

You both moaned at the stretch- thick and deep, perfect and maddening.

"Oh my God," you gasped. "You're so fucking big."

"You can take it," he panted, gripping your hips. "You're already taking it so well, fuck- look at you."

He bottomed out and stayed there, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.

"I'm so deep in you," he whispered. "I can't think. I can't fucking breathe."

You kissed him- needy, messy, lost- and then he started to move.

It was pure filth.

Bucky fucked you like he'd waited years for it. Like he was trying to memorize how you sounded, how you tightened around him, how you begged when he hit just the right spot. The room echoed with skin and breath and the soft, desperate noises he pulled from you.

"I'm never gonna stop thinking about this," he groaned. "How tight you are, how wet. I'm losing my goddamn mind."

"You feel so good," you cried, nails dragging down his back. "You're so deep-"

He grabbed your legs and pushed them back, deeper now, harder, his eyes wild.

"This pussy's got me fucking drunk," he hissed, kissing your throat. "What the fuck are you doing to me?"

You whimpered, high and wrecked. "Then come for me, Bucky. Come inside me. Fill me up."

His rhythm faltered. He buried his face in your neck with a broken moan.

"Oh, fuck- fuck, I'm-"

He came with a groan that sounded like your name and something holy all at once. His hips stuttered, grinding against yours, keeping you full and trembling.

When he finally collapsed on top of you, both of you were shaking- wrecked, breathless, clinging to each other like you'd found something world dying for.

For a moment, all you could hear was the fan whirring overhead and the rush of your heart in your eyes.

Then quietly-

"I wasn't kidding," Bucky murmured, voice hoarse and full of awe. "You've ruined me."

You weakly stroked a hand through his hair. "Good."

~~~~~~

You didn't know how long you stayed like that- entwined, skin pressed to sweat-slick skin, hearts pounding against each other's chests. Every time you shifted beneath him, you felt the slow, sweet drag of him still inside you.

Bucky didn't move.

His face was buried against your neck, lips brushing your skin with every exhale. Like he couldn't stop touching you, even in rest. His metal arm curled under your back, pulling you close with a protectiveness so instinctive it made your heart ache.

Eventually, he lifted his head just enough to meet your gaze.

"You okay?" He murmured, eyes still hazy with the aftermath.

You smiled, thumb brushing sweat from his cheek. "More than okay."

Something flickered in his expression- relief, affection, something unspoken and too big for the space between words. His gaze dropped to your lips. Then lower.

He eased out of you slowly, almost reluctantly. You shivered at the loss, at the soft spill of him, and he kissed your temple like an apology.

"Let me take care of you," he said quietly.

You didn't answer- you just let him go.

Bucky disappeared into the bathroom. When he returned, he had a warmth cloth, a towel, and hands so gentle it nearly broke you. He cleaned you like you were something fragile. Like touching you too roughly would undo everything you'd just given him.

You watched him through heavy-lidded eyes.

No one had ever touched you like that.

Not like you were a body- but a gift.

After, he climbed back into bed, tugging you against his chest. His heartbeat was slower now, but not calm. Still wild beneath the surface.

Your fingers traced the lines of metal and scar along his arm, settling in the dip where synthetic met flesh.

"You always this intense?" You teased gently.

Bucky gave a hoarse laugh. "Not usually. You... you're different I guess."

You looked up. "Different how?"

He paused.

"I've had sex," he said slowly. "But I've never had this. I've never looked at someone and thought, God, if they asked me to stay forever, I'd do it."

Your breath caught. "Bucky-"

"I'm not saying it to scare you," he said quickly. "I just... I've never felt that hungry. That alive. Not even before the war."

You reached for his face and kissed him softly, slow and deep. Like a promise. Like thanks.

He rolled on top of you again, slower this time, cradling your jaw in your hand.

"Can I?" He asked, voice rough.

You nodded.

This time, he moved like he was making love to you. Like he needed to feel every inch of your skin, every breath, every tremble. The kind of slow that makes time dissolve. That leaves you wide open, aching, full of something deeper than just lust.

He held eye contact the whole time.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of this. Of you."

You cried out softly when he hit a deeper angle, legs wrapping around his torso.

He moaned- deep and low- and kissed you again.

No rush. No frenzy.

Just you and Bucky and the long, slow burn of something you could both drown in. When you came again, he held you through it, whispering your name like a prayer. He followed soon after, shaking, his face pressed to your shoulder, his body heavy with need and surrender.

When it was over, he stayed there, still inside you, breathing hard.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

You didn't need to.

He fell asleep with your fingers laced in his, his arm wrapped tight around your waist.

And when the sun rose over the city, Bucky was still there.

Still holding you like he had nowhere else in the world to be.

~~~~~

The first thing you felt was warmth.

Soft sunlight filtered through the window, casting golden lines across your bare skin. The sheets were twisted around your chest, warm and worn, and the smell of him- clean soap, sweat, and something deeply masculine- lingered on your body like he'd marked you.

Bucky was already awake.

He lay on his side, propped up on one elbow, gazing down at you like you were a dream he didn't quite believe was real. His dark hair was messy, falling over his forehead. The stubble on his jaw looked more dangerous in the light.

But it was his eyes that made your breath hitch.

Soft. Reverent. A little dazed.

"Morning," you rasped, voice hoarse from sleep... and other things.

He smiled, small and crooked. "Hey."

You stretched, and he watched every inch of skin as it moved, the way the sheet shifted down your body to pool beneath your breasts. His tongue darted out, like he was physically stopping himself from kissing you again.

"You're staring," you teased.

He didn't even try to deny it.

"Can you blame me?" He murmured, hand drifting to your waist. "I woke up with you naked beside me, still warm and wrecked from last night."

You flushed, arousal stirring again far too easily. "You're not helping me recover."

"Who said I want you to?" His fingers traced circles on your skin. "I didn't sleep much. Kept waking up just to make sure this wasn't a dream."

You reached for him, pulling him down until his mouth brushed yours. "It wasn't."

He kissed you gently. Once. Then, again, slower.

"Did I hurt you?" He asked quietly against your lips.

Your heart ached at the way he asked it- so careful, so unguarded.

"No," you said, pulling him fully on top of you. "You made me feel... everything."

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing in deep like he needed to ground himself.

"Good," he said. "Because I don't think I've ever wanted someone this much."

You smiled, thumbing over his bottom lip. "Prove it."

That was all it took.

Bucky rolled his hips into you, half-hard already, his body hungry in that slow, aching way that came from deep affection. From the thrill of knowing you could have more, again, forever.

But before it could go further-

Knock knock knock.

"Hey!" Sam's voice cut through the room like a blade. "You decent or do I need to bleach my eyes out?!"

You both froze.

Bucky let out a groan so deep it could've shaken the bed frame. He buried his face in your chest like it might erase reality.

You bit back a laugh. "You didn't tell him?"

"I told him I was crashing here," Bucky muttered into your skin. "I didn't tell him I was doing it naked with the woman he told me not to flirt with."

You raised an eyebrow. "He told you that?"

"Oh yeah. First week I met you, actually."

"Was that before or after you imagined my legs over your shoulders?"

Bucky gave you a look. "Before."

You laughed, swatting his chest. "You're so dead."

"Only if he hears you moaning my name again." He kissed the corner of your mouth, teasing, smug. "Though if he busts in, we could just show him what he's missing."

"BUCKY!"

"What? I'm kidding. Mostly."

You grabbed a pillow and hit him with it, giggling.

From the hallway, Sam shouted, "If you two don't open up, I'll call Shuri!"

That sobered Bucky immediately. "Oh my god, get dressed."

You were both still laughing as you scrambled to throw on clothes, Bucky kissing your shoulder every few seconds, unable to stop touching you even in the rush. He looked happier than you'd ever seen him- wild-haired, grinning, flushed with affection.

As you pulled on your shirt, he stopped you.

"Wait."

You turned, breath catching at the softness in his gaze.

He stepped forward and kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

"I meant what I said," he muttered. "About staying."

You smiled. "So stay."

~~~~~

"So." Sam sipped his orange juice slowly, eyes flicking between you and Bucky over the rim of his glass. "Either you both got laid last night or one of you suddenly discovered how to smile."

Bucky didn't even flinch. He just cut into his stack of pancakes like Sam hadn't just called him out in the middle of a bustling cafe. You tried to hide your grin behind your coffee.

"We slept fine," you said, the most noncommittal answer possible.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Uh huh. And I'm Steve Rodgers."

Bucky's mouth quirked.

You gently kicked his shin under the table. Don't.

He kicked back. What? I didn't say anything.

But you could see it all over his face- how different he looked this morning. Relaxed. Confident. Still riding the high of having you fall apart under him twice. His hand rested on your thigh under the table, completely unapologetic.

Sam caught the way you shifted in your seat and raised an eyebrow. "You good?"

"Great," you said, supping your coffee.

Bucky smirked wider and you shot him a glare.

Sam leaned back. "Well, I hope you stretched first. She's flexible, but if you throw your back out again, I'm not taking you to physical therapy."

You choked on your drink.

Bucky, the bastard that he was, didn't even blink. "Appreciate your concern."

It was a miracle you made it through the meal without combusting.

But it didn't end there.

Under the table, Bucky's thumb traced slow circles on the inside of your thigh. Every time you spoke, every time you laughed at something Sam said, his fingers crept a little higher. Teasing. Possessive.

You leaned into him when Sam got up to grab more napkins.

"Are you trying to kill me?"

Bucky tilted his head, voice a soft purr against your ear. "Trying to remind you that I'm still thinking about last night. About how wet you were. How you were begging."

You inhaled sharply.

"If you keep touching me," you said, voice low, "I'm going to drag you into that bathroom and ride you until you forget your name."

His pupils dilated so fast you saw it happen.

"Be right back," Bucky said suddenly, standing so quickly his chair scraped the floor.

You blinked, stunned. "Wait-"

He grabbed your wrist as he passed.

"Bathroom. Now."

~~~~~

You barely got the door locked before he had you pressed against it, mouth on your throat, hands already under your shirt.

"This is insane," you gasped, fumbling at his belt.

"Uh-huh," Bucky agreed, dragging his hand up your thigh. "I need you, sweetheart."

You didn't even try to argue.

He lifted you effortlessly, one hand on your ass, the other steadying you as he lined up and slid inside in one deep, slick stroke. You moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled you again- so thick, so perfect, so Bucky.

"God, I missed this already," he growled, thrusting up into you. "Missed being inside you. You feel so- Fuck- so good, doll."

You clung to him, your body already trembling.

It was fast. Desperate. Raw.

You came around him with a rush, gasping into his shoulder, and Bucky followed with a strangled groan, spilling inside you with a shudder.

Afterward, he held you close, forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathing hard.

"We're so bad at brunch," you whispered.

"Worth it."

~~~~~

Back at the table, Sam returned to find your seats empty. He looked around and sighed.

Then texted you:

Both of you hydrate. You're not very subtle, you know. Unbelievable.

You never lived it down.

But judging by the way Bucky kissed you hand under the table when you returned- and the stupid grin that wouldn't leave your face- you wouldn't have changed a thing.

[bunni-v1]

Hnnghh christmas Lighter smut where reader is dressed in nothing but a long ribbon and bow bc he’s been a good boy this year

🍓Did u read my mind? Get outta there… jkjk, but seriously this is EXACLTY what I was thinking about. I really can’t dedicate the time to a full fic, which breaks my little gay heart, but imagine with me if you would… (this is a full fic btw i fucking lied to you and myself)

Tw: Nsfw; kinda rough (not too rough); UNEDITED ITS HORRENDOUS

Mdni

Christmas with the Sons of Calydon is pretty atypical. They have their own traditions that most New Eirduians would scoff at, but they’re rather important to those who live in these parts. Drinking, singing together (usually drunkenly and offkey), taking bike rides out to start a fire and literally burn away past regrets of the year, and of course fights — plenty of fights.

You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting part, usually meant more work for you to do, but Lighter always seemed to have fun. Obviously he did, he never lost — he hardly broke a sweat for the most part. And he loved showing off, especially if you were there to watch him. Everything else was mostly normal, though… a little odd but custom made to your little ragtag group, and you loved it.

It felt warm, cozy, like family. They passed out gifts, most of them hand made or incredibly thoughtful since money was scarce for most of you. Lighter had gotten you a (rather expensive) bracelet with your and his initials engraved on it. It was sweet, and unexpected from the guy who pretended like the holiday was nothing for the months leading up to it.

It made you melt on the inside and feel nice and warm. However… his nonchalance about the holiday cause you one… teeny tiny, itty bitty problem. You had no clue what to get him, and you hadn’t gotten him anything — time had run out and no one would give you any good hints.

His insistence that you didn’t need to get him anything in return made your stomach ache. It was hard to focus on his fight when your head was rushing with ways to rectify the horrific mistake you’d made quickly. The red ribbon of the jewelry box wrapped around your fingers tightly, then unwound as you mulled over your options.

You could get him something for his bike, but you’d have to drive to the city and it’s unlikely he’d let you go without him — that’s if the stores were even open this late on a holiday. Maybe you could craft up something quick and easy, if you could get back to your place there surely would be something, but… that felt cheap. Especially compared to the bracelet.

“That ribbon’s pretty,” Caesar says next to you, drawing you from your thoughts, “Must’ve been one real fancy place he went to for ya.”

You sigh, leaning back against the wall a little, looking at the ribbon as you twisted it around, “I’m sure it was. He’s so hopeless sometimes.”

“Only because you’re so sweet on him,” She teases, nudging your shoulder lightly.

A laugh huffs out of your chest, then an idea strikes you. The ribbon is pretty. You actually had some like it back at your place, stored away from last years festivities. You twist the ribbon one last time, and then you grin, wide and wild. Lighter catches your eye as he socks his opponent in the jaw, smirking at you like he’d won a prize.

“Hey, Caesar,” You hum, turning to your friend who seemed a little uneasy at your expression, “How long do you think you can keep him distracted for me.”

She hums, watching him thoughtfully, “I’ll buy ya fifteen minutes — wait, why?”

“You’ll hear later~” You hum with a wink, and practically skip back to your place, leaving Caesar alone to deal with your very adrenaline filled boyfriend on her own.

It takes you half the time Caesar said she could get you to find the damn ribbon, and the other half is spent fighting for your life to get the thing on and look at least a little sexy. You tried to recall old articles you’d read on bondage and shibari, but it was hard to do without a guide. You’d managed to get all the good bits wrapped up and hidden, with a few extra crosses to make it look pretty.

You don’t get a chance to check because you hear Lighters heavy footsteps outside the door nearly as soon as you’ve tied the bow comfortably around your neck. Your able to sort’ve arrange yourself seductively on the bed for him just as the front door open and he calls out to you. You could tell he was annoyed from his voice alone. He never liked it when you left his shows early.

“Caesar told me you headed back here,” He called, boots thumping as he threw them off, “We’re you not enjoying the show?”

It’s a tease, you know it is, but there was an underlying annoyance in his voice that sent a tingle up your spine. He pushes the bedroom door open incredibly slowly, to the point you think he’s trying to surprise you with something. You have the gall to feel stupid for a moment right before his eyes land on you, and he stops at he takes in the sight.

There is an audible shudder as his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing those pretty green eyes that rake in every inch of you with hunger. Then, he smirks, shoving the bedroom door closed with his shoulder already working his gloves and jacket off to the floor. Forgotten without a second thought. The rest of his clothes follow quickly after.

“Merry Christmas!” You cheer, though you’re more nervous than happy. He clearly likes it, according to the quickly growing tent in his pants and how fast he is to strip himself, but he’s a little too quiet for your liking.

He sinks onto the mattress in front of you, hands ghosting around the bright red ribbon. Like if he touches it, it’ll all fall apart in his grasp. He traces each inch of it with careful practiced restraint, following the fabrics flow across your body until he remembers that you are under the fabric and he lands on your face.

His eyes soften when you smile nervously up at him, fingers tracing the apple of your cheek with such admiration it nearly makes you cry. “You like it?” You ask softly, unsure of yourself.

He scoffs like you’re stupid for wondering, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It draws a genuine laugh out of you, which he follows with his own as he comes down to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Then a soft kiss that trails down to your lips, easing you into a slow careful dance of love and passion.

He readjusts your position so carefully, you almost don’t notice he’s doing it until he’s between your legs. Pressing them open then pressing his dick to the ribbons wrapping up your folds from him. You’re already dripping, the adrenaline from earlier enough to get you going, but the added friction just makes it worse. You’d never be able to reuse this stuff, that’s for sure.

His hands glide over your stomach, following the ribbon with lazy easy until he’s found the one covering you from him. His thumbs slide under the pieces, rubbing over the flesh of your abdomen gently. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva keeping you connected as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” He murmurs quietly, “You could’ve given me a smile and I would’ve been happy.”

You shy away, “Well… I almost didn’t have anything to get you, but your gift, mmm, inspired me.”

He chuckles at you, reaching down to run his dick against your still covered folds. The silky fabric oddly making everything feel more intense. “I can see that. Very cute, by the way.”

“I know, thank you,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he presses the two of you back into a laying position, “Now are you gonna unwrap your present, or are you gonna keep teasing yourself.”

A roll of the eyes and another smirk, “Y’know, I’ve never been a fan of ruining the wrapping paper. Shits expensive… so how about we go nice and slow.”

As he says that, he slides his dick between the ribbon, right up against your throbbing clit. You let out a surprised sound, quickly melting into sighs of pleasure and he fucks into the ribbon. Each push and pull stimulates your aching pussy into gushing out more for him, clenching on nothing as he fucks himself against you at a leisurely pace.

You take the chance to look down, moaning out as he head of him touches your thigh. The sight is something you’d see in a porno. Lighter follows your eyes, smiling to himself when he catches you practically going cross eyed at the sight.

“We look good together, don’t we, sugar?” He purrs. A rare nickname, sweet and extra praiseworthy — just like he thinks you are.

You nod along with him, fluttering your eyes back to his with a dumb little smile. Each drag of his dick makes your toes curl and nails dig into his broad shoulders. He sighs at the sensation, pressing kisses into your skin to quiet himself up. He’d rather listen to you, after all, and this was a gift for him.

His fingers begin to crawl up your body, dancing along the ribbon excitedly. They make sure to stop and tweak your nipples through the fabric, humming when he feels they’re sufficiently hard and sensitive under his touch. Then, finally, they reach the neatly tied bow around your neck.

The tug at it, gently unwrapping it from your neck and pulling it away with ease. Replacing the red of it with his tongue, licking and sucking new marks into the flesh. Your hips stutter against his, and he lets out a groan, squeezing your tit as warning. You whine, but don’t fight him anymore. His hands returning to unraveling the ribbon, pressing into the skin revealed until he is the only thing keeping the ribbon and his dick pressed against you.

You pout a little when he pulls away, pussy aching for friction once his dick is gone. You feel it clench as it looks for him, and god it makes you feel like a whore. He takes your hands from his shoulder and leans over you to tie them to the bed board above your head. You can feel how wet your were at the wrists, especially when he kisses them reassuringly.

“I love you tied up,” He hums, “You’re so pretty when you can’t do anything.”

You pout up at him, but he doesn’t stay to admire the look long, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condoms. It occurs to you, in a state of lust driven stupor, that he shouldn’t have to fuck his christmas gift with a condom on.

“Ah, wait—“ He raises an eyebrow at you, hand just inches away from the condoms, “Would you wanna do it raw?”

He blinks at you, again surprised in the same way he was when he first saw you. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have to—“ You quickly try to rectify the situation, but he cuts you off.

“No, no, we definitely have to,” He shakes his head, closing the drawer with one swift motion, “You’re trying to kill me out here, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, but he’s not listening as he pulls you up into the position he likes most. Legs over his shoulders, body bent in half so he can fuck you hard and fast. He gives you a few seconds to adjust to the position, then he’s pressing his dick into you at a painfully slow pace.

It’s because he’s just so big, he always has to go slow, but you wish he’d just fuck you through the pain right now. The stretch is perfect as always, and you suck him in like it’s nothing with how wet you already were.

He cusses when he finally bottoms out, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel his hot breath fan against your skin, tingling deliciously. “Fuck you’re always so tight. I’m never gonna get used to it, sugar.”

You hum, though you’re in no better shape. Shivering and shuddering every inch, and still quaking as he sits still inside you. You play with his hair to distract from how hot you are, and how you wish he’d make you hotter.

He gives himself a moment to calm down, then he presses a kiss you your cheek, readjusts you just a little so your muscles don’t tense up, and then he moves. The first three thrusts are slow and easy, then he starts to slam into you hard.

“Oh fuck—“ You cry out as the deafening smack of his hips into your ass rings out across the room.

The pace he sets is brutal and unrelenting, you were hoping for it all night. The unspent adrenaline from his earlier fights coming right back to fuck you so good you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. Each slap of his balls against your quickly reddening ass is accompanied by a stifled moan.

He watches you with an intensity you weren’t aware he was capable of, eyes drinking in every single inch of your expression. He looked crazed, but that’s what made it so hot. He was obsessed with every little look, every little sound that left you.

“Don’t be quiet, sugar,” He hums, pushing two of his fingers along your bottom row of teeth to force the sounds out.

“They’ll hear—“

“Let ‘em,” He dismisses, “They know you’re mine anyway, who cares.”

You really couldn’t argue with that, especially not when he shifts ever so slight to hit your g-spot head on. A salacious moan rips out of your throat, and your sure Caesar has figured out what you were up to earlier from that alone. He doesn’t stop ripping sounds out of you, though, continuing his brutal pace and hitting that spot so well you think you’re seeing stars.

The build up to your orgasm is so quick you hardly have time to realize it’s happening. One second you’re fine the next your throwing your head back and moaning like a whore.

“Lighter- Baby, I’m— fuck me- god I’m gonna cum, Lighter.” You admit, way too loud for your liking.

He hums, seeming to switch gears and fuck you faster somehow, “Go ahead, I’ve got you. Lemme feel you cum for me.”

You nod, chest rising and falling rapidly as start litter your vision. You think you nearly pass out, but Lighters hard thrusts fuck you through your orgasm. You squeeze him so tight, like you’re trying to milk his own out of him. You want him to fill you up, want to feel his warm cum deep in your belly. Want to see it drip down your thighs and pool onto the bed when he pulls out.

“Cum inside, please.” You beg.

“Fuuuck… ‘re you—“

You nod, “I need it, please cum in me. ‘S part of your present.”

He groans, fisting the sheets next to your head, “Suagr, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Always one to please, Lighter does exactly as you ask. Filling you to the brim with his thick hot cum. You revel in his moans, and only slightly wish you could curl your nails into his shoulders to leave another christmas gift for the morning.

He eases you into a more comfortable position before collapsing on top of you. His weight is welcome against your spent body, as are the wet kisses he presses into your sore skin. He unties your hand with one of his, and you quickly wrap them up into his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “So much. You’re the best gift a guy can ask for.”

You giggle at the praise, “I love you too, Lighter.”

[frudoo]

Slasher 141 again, how would they meet their wife? Victim turned pet? Or did she meet them 'normally', or heat me out! An online forum about killers, turned meeting to 'discuss favorites', turned demonstration? Of course, either way, she's theirs now.

I enjoy this au very much sorry 😅

A trivia date night with Johnny turns into something more ;)

Warnings: Dark stuff, obviously (murder, cold cases, etc). Food + alcohol consumption. Fem!Reader.

Sudsnblood: Here. WBU?

     You: I see a mohawk, that you?

     Sudsnblood: Aye.

     Excitedly, you smooth out your dress and make your way over to the man in the corner who’s giving you a little wave. Is it stupid, agreeing to meet with an odd stranger you’ve been bonding with on the internet over fictional killers and real, gruesome murders? Absolutely. Do you care? Absolutely not. After all, he is local, and the pub is having a trivia night with a category both of you are experts in: cold cases. Not to mention how much more handsome he is in person.

     “Hey,” you grin, reaching over the table to place your hand in his and shake it politely.

     Johnny returns your greeting with a charming smile and a confirmation of your name. He only lets go once you’ve nodded, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms over his chest. 

     “Ah havenae ordered anythin’ yet,” he informs you, pushing a menu your way. “Figured ah’ll get wha’ ye do.” 

     “Mm, got a copycat on my hands, huh?” You tease, catching his eye contact momentarily before moving your gaze back to the list of appetizers. 

     “Ah’m no’ a copycat, ah assure ye,” he grabs the top of your menu and pushes it down to the table so you’ll look at him again. 

     His expression is so serious, leaving no room for confusion or doubt in your mind. You raise an eyebrow and nod slowly. 

     “Got it. What do you think about potato skins for an app?” 

     Trivia takes about two hours, and of course, the two of you won against six other tables who did not have quite the extensive knowledge you and Johnny share. You’re two beers deep and he’s got one more on you, tipsy and flirty.

     “Ah’m gonna call one o’me partners tae come get us,” Johnny explains, wrapping an arm around your waist and guiding you outside the front of the building to wait with him.

     You nod and he pulls a cigarette out of the carton in his pocket, lighting it up and handing it to you. You take a drag while he talks on the phone—to a Simon, you observe—exhaling slowly and watching as the smoke crystallizes in the cold winter air. He’s only on the phone for a few moments before he’s asking for his cig back, blowing the smoke away from you.

     “D’ye trust me?” He asks after a while of silence.

     You nod once again, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Johnny drops the butt of the cigarette on the ground and snuffs it out with the toe of his boot, leaning in until the warmth of his breath ghosts the shell of your ear. It sends goosebumps rising up all over your body, and you shiver, grabbing a hold of his firm biceps through his leather jacket.

     “Wha’ if ah told ye ah’m one o’the killers they were askin ‘bout?” He murmurs into your ear.

     You pull back with an amused grin, expecting him to have a matching expression, laugh and tell you he’s joking. But when you meet his eyes, he’s deadly serious. There’s no hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, just a deadpan gaze that scans along your face, watching for a reaction. Your smile drops and you swallow hard, your breathing rapidly speeding up.

     “I’d say that I believe you, and it doesn’t change my feelings towards you.”

     “Ye’re gonna get along jus’ fine,” Johnny finally smiles, wide enough for an average person to feel a sense of unease, but to you, it just adds to his charm. 

     By the time Simon arrives, Johnny’s got you pinned against the wall with his hands full of your soft tits and his tongue down your throat. Simon chuckles and honks the horn of his truck to alert you both of his presence, giving you a nod of acknowledgement as Johnny hustles you into the backseat with him. 

     “She know?”

     “Aye, she does.”

     Simon nods, adjusting the rear-view mirror so that he can see the two of you better.

     “Good.”

[imaginespazzi]

Part 4: Warning Bells

Masterlist - Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10 - Part 11 - Part 12 - Part 13 - Part 14 - Part 15

I don't think I can do this again (do you remember it too?)

(In which a self-admittedly all over the place writer takes you on a bit of a rollercoaster)

Pairing: Paige Bueckers X Azzi Fudd

Themes: Fluff, Angst, Pining (the usuals)

Words: 6.1K

TW: Swearing, Mentions of Divorce

A/N: Hi lovelies :) Guess who made a deadline again? I'm as shocked as y'all are but I do wanna just warn y'all that August is gonna be really busy for me so as much as I'm gonna try to stick to schedule, there's a pretty good chance I won't. I really appreciate y'alls feedback with live-reacts/long reviews and it's truly the motivating factor behind my writing so pretty please keep sending them. I did edit (as usual) but please let me know the most likely existent typos anyway. As always, let me know what you liked, disliked and what you wanna see next. Have a lovely rest of your week my loves <3

March 2033 

Here’s what Azzi has learned about motherhood: having kids means that there will come many times in your life, when you will look around you and wonder how the hell did I get here. It’s that thought that’s currently plaguing her as she finishes hanging up the WELCOME HOME banner on the living room wall in her ex-girlfriend’s new apartment. And when she’s talking about kids, she’s not talking about her five year old who’s currently sticking purple hearts on every surface she can find. No, she’s talking about her 6’5 teammate who she’d once “adopted” as a joke in college, but who’s basically become her surrogate child ever since they’d ended up on the same WNBA team. 

It had started as a casual conversation when Jana, as she often did, had shown up for an impromptu lunch. The topic of Paige was hard to avoid considering it was Stephie’s favorite subject, heightened by the fact that Paige was coming back soon and Stephie was far too excited to finally have her Miss Buecks back. Jana was more than happy to indulge the little girl in conversation about what Paige had been like at UConn. And if Azzi had lost herself in those memories for a moment, transported back in time to a world that had once been blooming with promise before wilting in a darkness she’d created herself, well, she’d done an excellent job not letting it show on her face. 

The real issue had started when Jana had casually let slip her idea of surprising Paige with a little welcome party. And as Stephie had started reciting all the different things they could do -because of course me and Mama will help you Aunty J, Azzi had glared at Jana, only to receive an innocent smile in return that told her everything she needed to know. She’d been set up. 

That’s how, instead of spending her Saturday curled up on her comfortable couch with a book in her hands, Azzi is here instead and in true fashion, she’s the only one actually getting anything done. Jana, who had just left about twenty minutes ago to pick Paige up, had invited some of the other girls on the team to come help out yet, something about more hands on deck. Those supposed helpful hands had spent the last hour blowing up and popping balloons and getting nothing else done.

“I can’t believe y’all have me decorating for the woman who cost me my first national championship,” Joyce laments, “I still have nightmares from that game.”

“You gotta let that hurt go Aunty Joy,” Stephie says impishly, mimicking what Jana would normally say whenever the infamous 2025 South Carolina vs UConn national championship got brought up. 

“Don’t sass me Miss Stephanie,” Joyce sticks out her tongue at the little girl, throwing a purple balloon at Stephie’s head, “hasn’t your Mama taught you that we don’t mock people’s pain.”

“Ignore her Steph,” Tessa says, bumping her former Gamecock teammate as she shares a devilish grin with Azzi’s daughter, “she’s just upset she only won one. Some of us have two.”

Joyce guffaws, throwing another balloon, this time aimed at Tessa, “dude we’re supposed to be on the same team. What would Coach Staley say to you teaming with UConn people of all things to bully me?”

“She’d thank me for making sure you didn’t get a big head,” Tessa snipes back. 

Whatever response Joyce has to that quip is cut short by the doorbell ringing and Azzi feels her heartbeat quicken as Stephie lets out a squeal, dropping everything to go answer it. Things had been different since the facetime call almost two weeks ago. They’d accidentally on purpose settled into a routine where Stephie would call Paige at exactly 7 p.m. and Paige would answer on the first ring, promising to stay on the phone till the little girl fell asleep. And it would’ve been fine if that’s all it was. But then Paige started staying on the phone till after Stephie fell asleep and suddenly it was like they were back to their teenage selves, talking about everything and nothing, trying to learn every page of each other’s story all over again. 

Azzi had missed so much about Paige in the last couple of years but there was nothing she’d missed more than just talking to her best friend. She’d missed the way Paige would tell a story, going off on a million tangents in between. She’d missed the way her eyes would light up when she got to a particularly exciting part of the story, specks of gold shimmering in the blue like sunlight hitting the ocean. She’d missed the way Paige’s hands would be flying animatedly all over the place, even when she was whispering. She’d missed the way the blonde would pause halfway through to observe if Azzi was still listening, making sure all of the attention was still on her. And she’d missed the way that when it was Azzi’s turn to speak, Paige would hang onto every word like it was gospel, intently listening like she’d never forgive herself if she couldn’t recite everything Azzi had just said from memory. She’d missed the way Paige would let her emotions freely flicker across her face, because whatever happened to Azzi, Paige felt it too. 

She’d missed and missed, convinced the pain would be the end of her, until she’d tricked her mind into forgetting. And now Azzi’s beginning to realize that remembering it all again, might just be the thing that kills her. 

“Nevermind,” Stephie walks back to the room, sulking slightly, “it’s just Aunty Liyah.”

“Oh thanks Stephie babe. That makes me feel so wonderful,” Aaliyah says, walking in behind Stephie with an offended expression on her face, “and here I thought bringing cupcakes would make me popular.”

“Tell me those are store-bought Chavez. I ain’t trusting them if you made them yourselves,” Joyce says, side-eyeing the cupcakes. 

“Trust me I would never waste my precious time baking for y’all ungrateful ass-”

“Aaliyah,” Azzi shoots her younger teammate a sharp look.

“-ungrateful people,” Aaliyah corrects sheepishly, “cupcakes because y’all clearly don’t appreciate me.”

“I pre-ciate you Aunty Liyah,” Stephie says innocently, trying to get a better look at the aforementioned cupcakes, “you got the pu-ple ones right? They have to be pu-ple for Miss Buecks.”

Aaliyah bends down to Stephie’s level to show her the box of sweet treats “the perfect purple cupcakes for your Miss Buecks. How come you never wanna do nice things like this for us Stephie?”

“Because Miss Buecks is special,” Stephie retorts matter-of-factly.

“Oh so we’re not special?” Tessa asks, raising an eyebrow at Stephie.

“‘Course you are but Miss Buecks is special-er.”

And while her teammates all pretend to dramatically gasp at that, shaking their heads at Stephie, Azzi feels like someone’s squeezing her heart, twisting and twisting but never fully breaking it. She wonders if that might hurt less.

It’s another 10 minutes later when the doorbell rings again and Azzi watches her daughter’s face break into an incandescent grin, filled with hope, as she rushes to open the door because it has to be Paige this time. Azzi follows after her, trying to keep her breathing under control as anticipation clings to her nerves. Azzi’s gotten so spectacularly good at lying to herself that she tells herself this next one with ease: there’s not a single part of her that’s eager to see Paige again. 

“SURPRISE,” Stephie screams, flinging the front door open with as much strength as she can muster. She doesn’t give Paige a chance to react before she’s throwing herself against the blonde’s legs, hugging her thighs. 

It takes a second for Paige to register what’s happening, but when she does, it’s Azzi she’s looking at. Everything seems to move in slow motion as they stare at each other, the reality of the moment suddenly settling in. Paige is here. In Oakland. They’re going to be teammates; they’re going to see each other almost every day. Just like they used to. Except nothing is like it used to be and as that bitter truth comes up like bile in Azzi’s throat, she has to force herself to look away. 

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie calls out, tugging at the hem of Paige’s white shirt to get her attention, “do you like my surprise?”

Paige tears her eyes away from Azzi, leaning down to pick Stephie up before peppering her faces with kisses and making the younger girl squeal in delight, “best surprise ever.”

And Azzi really, really, can’t watch this. Not when it makes her want to walk over and cocoon herself in with the two of them, makes her want to pretend that she’s living in another life, one where she hadn’t thrown away the chance of a happily ever after with the girl she’d fallen in love with at fourteen, 

“Oh yeah Stephie, your surprise. Take all the credit. Not like the rest of us did anything,” Joyce rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, before pulling Paige into a one-armed hug, “welcome to the Bay Area Bueckers.”

Tessa and Aaliyah are next, both sharing warm hugs with their new teammate. Once they’ve had their turn, all eyes seem to turn to Azzi expectantly and the brunette blanches under their gaze. Other than Jana, who suddenly seems pretty heavily interested in the doorframe, the rest of her teammates don’t know about her past with Paige. So it’s only natural they’d expect her to greet Paige with all the cordiality of an old friend. 

“Y’all good?” Joyce asks slowly, looking between the two of them, “do you want me to introduce y’all or?”

“Shut up,” Azzi murmurs before drawing in a deep breath and stepping towards Paige. She tries not to fixate on the way Paige’s jaw flexes when the blonde swallows, tries not to think about all the patterns she’d once carved against that little patch of skin because she knew it drove Paige insane. The thing is Azzi can’t even really remember the last time they hugged beyond a for-the-cameras one at a game. But as she wraps her arms around Paige, the older woman’s breath tickling against her ear as she grips Azzi’s waist, it doesn’t feel that much different from how it used to be. Paige’s arms are still safe and strong and Azzi still wants to melt into them. But what’s different is that Stephie’s in between them now, tiny hands securely fastened around both of their necks. And Azzi almost, almost gives into the feeling of belonging as she whispers two simple words that mean just a little too much.

“Welcome home.”

***

Seven pairs of eyes watch as the movers move box after box after box into Paige’s apartment, until there’s more cardboard than floor visible. The three non-UConn girlies are wide-eyed as they watch the pile grow endlessly. Meanwhile Jana is laughing while Azzi tries to hide a smile behind her hands as the realization that she’d have to unpack all of her stuff hits Paige in waves, and her expression grows more and more somber. Once the movers are finally done, it’s Stephie, whose hand is still firmly clasped in Paige’s, who breaks the silence. 

“You have a lot of things Miss Buecks,” the little girl crinkles her nose, as she points out the obvious, “do you really need all of this stuff.”

“Of course I do Stephie,” Paige says indignantly and Azzi scoffs, earning her a withering glare from the blond. 

“Aight well it was nice to meet you-” Joyce starts, slowly backing away from the mess until Jana blocks her way. 

“Oh no you don’t. I told y’all we were all gonna help her move in. Call it team bonding,” the Egyptian says, her voice vaguely threatening. 

“Most of the team isn’t even here,” Aaliyah points out cautiously. 

“That’s not the point,” Jana rebukes, “alright team listen up. Here’s how this is going to go-”

“Maybe Paige should take charge. It is her apartment,” Tessa says slowly. 

“If we put Paige in charge she’ll tell us all to go home and procrastinate doing anything until after the season,” Azzi says, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. 

Paige pouts, “hey! I’m not that bad.”

“Oh you absolutely are.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“O-kay,” Jana claps, breaking apart the bickering, “it’s good to see the two of you are apparently younger than Stephie,” she holds up a hands a both Paige and Azzi start to splutter in their defense, “now as I was saying before being rudely interrupted. We’re gonna split this up. Joyce and I are gonna do the living room. Aaliyah and Tessa, y’all are gonna fix the guest room. Which leaves,” Jana smiles, and it’s only because Azzi knows her so well that she can read the menacing sparkle behind it, “Paige and Azzi to tackle the master bedroom.”

They both open their mouths to protest but are quick to get cut off by an excited Stephie, “I’mma help Mama and Miss Buecks!”

“Of course you are, why would you ever help anybody else? Clearly you don’t love us anymore. Not since your precious Miss Buecks got here,” Joyce says dramatically and while Paige smirks and the rest of the girls pretend to act mock offended, Azzi uses the distraction to sidle up to Jana. 

“What the fuck are you playing at El-Alfy,” she hisses under hear breath.

Jana shrugs innocently, “the master bedroom is the hardest because Paige has so many fucking clothes so I’m letting y’all old heads do it. Some of us are below 30 ya know.”

“Cut the bullshit,” Azzi snaps. 

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about Fudd,” Jana says airily as she starts to unpack a box, leaving Azzi muttering curses under her breath. 

“Hey-”

Azzi spins around at the soft voice, only to find herself crashing against a solid body. It’s instinct, the way Paige’s hands immediately reach out to steady her and it’s instinct, the way Azzi’s hands grab at the lapels of the blond’s shirt. Goosebumps trails up her skin as Paige's breath, hot and heavy, fans across her face. They’re too close; way too close and yet the idea of stepping away feels like a sin. Azzi gulps as her thumb accidentally brushes Paige’s collarbone and the other woman shivers under her touch. She thinks she could probably get drunk off the feeling of knowing that she can still affect Paige like that. 

“You uh-” Paige swallows, fingers squeezing involuntarily against Azzi’s hip, “you don’t have to listen to Jana. I can- I can figure it out myself.”

“N-no,” Azzi stutters and she wonders if Paige feels a high from the way she still affects Azzi too, “there’s um- you have- uh- you have a lot of stuff. I can-,” she sucks in a deep breath, “I’ll help.”

“You sure?” there’s a vulnerable edge to Paige’s tone and any resolve Azzi could ever have melts immediately. 

“I want to help,” she says softly, letting a small smile slip onto her lips. 

The smile she gets in return is bright and sparkling, just like Paige herself and Azzi’s heart lurches, pleased to be the one receiving it, pleased to be the one who’d elicited it, “Good, cause I really wanted your help.”

Azzi shakes her head, trying to ignore the warning bells blazing in her head at the fact that they’re still holding each other, “why’d you pretend you didn’t?”

“I just wanted to hear you say it first,” Paige says, biting at her bottom lip. It leaves a light mark and Azzi finds herself wanting to soothe it over with her own tongue.

She thinks it might have been easier if it was just a little harder to fall back into Paige. It shouldn’t be so simple to fall back into late night conversations, so simple to fall back into easy teasing, so simple to fall back into feeling at peace in Paige’s arms. But it is. 

“Mama, Miss Buecks,” it’s Stephie who breaks their bubble but instead of jumping away from each other like they should, they step apart only enough to let the little girl into the space between them, so she can lace her hands through both of theirs, “are you ready?”

“Before you go Paige,” Tessa calls out, holding up a clear bag of corner guards and edge protectors, “what are we doing with these?”

Paige shuffles her feet nervously, “you um- you put them on the edge of like tables and stuff.”

“Bro but they’re for people who have children?” Joyce says, giving Paige a weird look, “you have a kid we don’t know about?”

Paige’s eyes flicker to Stephie for a brief second and Azzi freezes, a warm realization tickling up her spine. Butterflies erupt in her stomach, their wings fluttering to the beat of what’s mine could have been ours. 

“Of course not. I’m just super clumsy so precautions and all that,” the blond explains, shooting Jana a glare when the taller woman barely masks a giggle, “quit procrastinating by asking all these questions and get to work.”

“Has anyone ever told you the importance of first impressions? Because I’m telling you Bueckers, using your teammates as unpaid labor the first time you meet them is not it,” Aaliyah gives Paige a pointed look. 

“This wasn’t even my idea in the first place,” Paige defends. 

“True,” Tessa nods with a sickly sweet smile, “but you’re gonna pay for the pizza anyways.”

“I’m not pay-”

“PIZZA,” Stephie squeals, “Miss Buecks you’re gonna get us Pizza?”

“Yeah Miss Buecks,” Azzi smickers, crossing her arms as Paige’s stubborn retort dies on her lips, “you gonna get us pizza?”

Paige glares at her before she’s swinging Stephie up onto her lap again. And she really needs to stop doing things like that because it’s not remotely good for Azzi’s mental health to watch the way Stephie seems to fit perfectly in Paige’s arms, “of course I am Steph, what do you want?”

The two of them are lost in their own world discussing pizza toppings as Paige starts walking over to the master bedroom, until suddenly they're both turning around, looking at Azzi with identical expressions. And the brunette feels her heart tap out this could be my everything against her ribcage. 

“You coming Azzi?”

“Mama, are you coming?”

I’d go anywhere with the two of you, Azzi thinks as she nods her head, a light skip in her step as she moves to catch up with the two of them. 

“Of course I’m coming.”

***

Less than 10 minutes into trying to unpack, Azzi realizes that she’s the only one trying to unpack anything when she looks up from where she’s been folding t-shirts -trying and failing at not breathing in their familiar scent- to find Stephie decked in a colorful cardigan that goes all the way down to her toes, her feet clad in a pair of PB4’s that must be three times the size of her own shoes. A pair of Louis Vuitton sunglasses hide almost her entire face as she strikes pose after pose and Paige diligently takes pictures of her. 

“YES Stephie,” the blond indulges, “work it girl. There you go babe, hold that pose for me. You’re a natural in front of the camera.”

Stephie giggles and Azzi feels her heart constrict. Her favorite sound in the whole world has never sounded more like a signal for danger. 

“Ahem ahem,” she coughs, narrowing her eyes at the two people in front of her, “doesn’t look like y’all are unpacking to me.”

“Mama Miss Buecks has so many pretty clothes,” Stephie gushes, completely ignoring what her mother just said. 

“They’d look even prettier folded in her closet,” Azzi says pointedly. 

Stephie pouts, “you don’t think I look pretty?”

“You look really pretty in my clothes Stephie,” Paige cuts in, tapping the little girl on the nose before she turns her gaze towards Azzi, “just like your Mama used to.”

The silk material shirt slips out of Azzi’s hand as Paige’s words drizzle around her, like the rain after a drought. It takes every little bit of strength she can muster to force herself to ignore Paige’s words and pick up another shirt to fold even if she can’t stop the rouge tint that colors her face. There’s this part of her that’s been dormant for years but every little interaction with Paige threatens to awaken it and Azzi’s scared that if she lets that happen, she’ll never be able to put it to sleep again. 

“Just- just focus on unpacking,” Azzi mutters darkly. 

She spends the next hour or so, keeping her eyes downcast, her complete focus on the task at hand. Because if she looks up, if she lets herself see the way Stephie and Paige are folding clothes together while giggling about something, if she lets herself see the way Stephie climbs onto Paige’s back so the woman can give her a piggyback to the closet to deposit the folded clothes, she thinks she could fall in love with this moment, capture it behind her eyelids and let it live there forever. But this moment doesn’t belong to Azzi. Because Paige doesn’t belong to Azzi. Not anymore. 

Azzi’s taken away from her thoughts when she feels a tiny hand wrapping around her neck from behind, Stephie’s warm body pressing against her back and just like that, all the tension in her muscles seem to dissipate. 

“What’s up sweetheart,” she asks, turning her head to press her lips against her daughter’s temple. 

“Nothing Mama,” Stephie says sweetly, “just wanted to give you a hug.”

“Sure you’re not just trying to get out of helping Miss Buecks unpack?” Azzi asks slyly, pulling Stephie from behind her, so the little girl’s lying on her lap instead. She can feel Paige’s eyes focused on the two of them and even without looking, she thinks she knows what she’d find in them if she did. 

“Of course not Mama,” Stephie grins and then squeals as Azzi begins to tickle her. 

“I think you are,” Azzi sings-songs as she continues to poke at her daughter’s stomach, reveling in the way it makes the child laugh. 

“N-no Mama stop, stop,” Stephie manages to wrench herself out from Azzi’s grip, darting to hide behind Paige’s legs, “Miss Buecks save me.”

“There’s no saving you now Stephie-bear,” Azzi roars dramatically as she picks herself off the floor, smirking at her daughter as she wriggles her fingers menacingly. 

“You know what the best way to stop someone from tickling you is Stephie?” Paige says slowly, sending the little girl a conspiratorial wink.

“Don’t you dare-” 

“You tickle them back,” Paige yells and Stephie eyes widen with excitement, “did you know your Mama’s extremely ticklish?”

“Paige no,” Azzi starts moving back, hands held in surrender. 

“You started it.”

“Yeah Mama, you started it.”

“Paige. Stephie. Ple-” Azzi cuts herself off with squeal as two sets of hands start mercilessly prodding at her ribcage. She can’t get away, not when Paige has her securely wrapped from the back and Stephie’s pressed against her front, both of them laughing maniacally. They’re a mess of limbs that’s becoming harder and harder to tell apart as the three of them topple onto Paige’s bed. And Azzi thinks maybe she doesn’t want to escape it at all. She thinks she’d like to freeze them in this moment instead. Forever. 

“Pizza’s here,” someone yells from the living room and it’s Stephie who stops first, immediately jumping off the bed at the mention of food, leaving Paige and Azzi alone. On Paige’s bed. Barely an inch of distance between them as they try to catch their breath. It’s Azzi who sits up first, smoothening the wrinkles on her shirt. And just as she’s about to stand up fully, she feels a hand circling around her wrist. 

“It’s gonna be weird being alone tonight,” Paige confesses softly and Azzi feels her breath hitch.

“Didn’t you live alone in Dallas? At least after the divorce?” she tries to keep the bitterness out of her voice at the last word, a bitterness she knows she has absolutely no right to feel. 

Paige shrugs, her shoulders brushing against Azzi’s, “I did but I knew Dallas. I don’t know this place.”

“What exactly are you asking me?” Azzi asks even though she knows. 

“I’m not asking you anything. I don’t know if I have that right anymore” Paige says softly, letting go of Azzi’s wrist as she starts to walk towards the living room, turning her head back slightly once she gets to the door, “I’m just telling you I don’t wanna be alone tonight.”

***

Damn Paige Bueckers and her vulnerable eyes and her earnest tone because Azzi would, really, really like to be enjoying her slice of pizza right now. Instead everything tastes like ashes as Paige’s unsaid plea rings in her head. There are so many reasons why Azzi absolutely shouldn’t give in, why she should grab Stephie, get into her car, drive home and never look back. This involuntary dance the two of them are starting is far too familiar to what they’d done when they were teenagers and the vivid memories of the day the music stopped and they’re feet stopped moving still haunt Azzi every time she lets herself think of it for a little too long. And she shouldn’t push herself into this fire again, not when there’s Stephie to think about, but there’s a tiny little problem. She thinks she might be addicted to burning in Paige’s flames. 

So when the pizza’s done and the house is more or less in order, and her teammates are ready to leave, looking expectantly at Azzi, she finds herself leaping into lava, “um- I think Stephie and I are gonna stay for a little bit longer.”

“We are?” Stephie asks, a huge smile stretching the length of her face as she looks up at her mother. 

“Yeah. Um- Paige’s bedroom still um- still needs some work,” Azzi tries to justify her decision, ignoring the heat of the blond’s eyes that seem to be perpetually stuck staring at her. 

Joyce raises a perplexed eyebrow, “it looked done to me.”

Paige clears her throat, “there’s definitely uh- a couple more things that need to be handled.”

“It’s almost Stephie’s bedtime. I could stay and help-” Jana begins, eyeing the two of them suspiciously.

“No,” Paige says, a little louder than necessary, “I mean you’ve already done so much for me today Jana,” she manages a smirk, “let Azzi pull her weight a little bit too ya know.”

Janna narrows her eyes but doesn’t push it. It’s oddly domestic, standing side by side with Paige bidding goodbye to their teammates, Stephie in between them happily waving at the people that are leaving. The warning bells get louder and louder; Azzi continues to do nothing to stop them. 

“Mama, how long are we staying?” Stephie asks innocently. 

“We um-” Azzi chews at her lip, finally giving into the temptation to look at Paige, “we’re gonna stay with Miss Buecks tonight so she doesn’t feel alone.”

The shrill scream that escapes Stephie’s mouth could probably break glass as she turns herself around to grab at Paige’s waist, “Miss Buecks I’m gonna stay with you! We’re gonna have a sleep-over.”

Paige laughs, kneeling down so she’s face to face with the little girl, “yeah we are.”

“Are you scared to sleep alone too Miss Buecks?” Stephie asks cautiously, cupping Paige’s face with tiny hands. 

“Just a little bit,” Paige admits, leaning into Stephie’s touch. 

“Me too,” Stephie whispers shyly, “that’s why I sneak into Mama's bed and she gives me lots and lots and lots of cuddles. Mama’s cuddles are the best,” she turns to Azzi, “Mama will you give Miss Buecks cuddles tonight too?”

“I uh-” Azzi swallows, taken aback by the question, “I thought you didn’t like sharing Mama’s cuddles?”

“I don’t,” Stephie agrees, “but I’d be okay sharing them with Miss Buecks.”

***

Azzi had planned -a loose term because really she hadn’t planned on any of this- for her and Stephie to take the guest room. Paige had been ready to give up her own room on the grounds of politeness. And Stephie was insistent that she needed to sleep in between both Mama and Miss Buecks tonight because it’s a sleepover we all have to stay together. Obviously out of the three of them, only one of them was going their way and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who that would be.  That’s how they’d ended up here, dragging chairs and pillows and blankets into the middle of the living room to create a makeshift fort. 

Azzi’s putting on the finishing touches, stringing purple fairy lights Paige had produced out of nowhere, when Stephie emerges from Paige’s bedroom where she’d gone looking for something to wear in lieu of pajamas. 

“Mama look what I found,” Stephie beams, proudly pointing at the black t-shirt she’s found that covers her whole body, “it’s you and Miss Buecks when you were littler.”

It’s their SLAM cover t-shirt and Azzi feels tears prickling at her waterline as she’s met with the picture of a younger version of the two of them. Back when they’d been so hopeful and carefree, ready to take on the world as long as they could do it together. Back when they’d been 2 in a million.

“I can’t believe you still have this,” Azzi whispers, unable to stop herself from running her fingers across the version of who they used to be. She wonders what those girls would think of them now; those girls who’d laid and bed and pinky promised forever. She thinks they’d probably be appalled at the fact that Paige and Azzi had spent eight years barely speaking. She thinks maybe they’d hate her for what she’d done. She thinks maybe she hates herself a little bit for what she’s done to them. 

Paige is leaning against the wall, her voice quiet when she speaks, “I couldn’t let it go.”

And they both know she’s not talking about the shirt. 

“Can we watch a movie?” Stephie asks, diving into the fort and peering up at the two adults. 

Paige recovers first, “yeah- yeah of course Steph,” she looks at Azzi, “do you- do you want something else to sleep in?”

“I’m good,” Azzi says, trying to inconspicuously brush away a rebellious tear. The shirt she’s wearing feels itchy against her skin but she doesn’t think she could handle wearing something of Paige’s. She scooches into the fort, leaning back against one of the pillows and Stephie’s quick to curl into her and Azzi absentmindedly rubs her hands down her daughter’s back. Paige switches on the TV, letting Stephie dictate a movie choice before letting herself into the fort, laying down on Stephie’s other side. 

“Miss Buecks come cuddle,” Stephie demands from where her head is laying on Azzi’s chest. When Paige hesitates, the younger girl takes it upon herself to pull Paige’s arms over her, making the older woman lie on her side so she can drape her hands over Stephie's stomach, accidentally brushing against Azzi’s ribcage. Stephie lets out a satisfied sigh, lying back down against Azzi, crossing her arms so she can hold Paige’s hand with one and latch onto her mother with the other. 

“Perfect.”

And it is. The sound of Stephie’s chatter slowly fading away mixed with Paige’s quiet breathing is the perfect lullaby and Azzi finds herself drifting off into the best sleep she’s had in years. 

***

Sunlight peeks in through the window and Azzi groans at the interruption. Her whole body feels a little stiff, not used to sleeping on the floor like this. A quick glance at her phone tells her it’s 7 a.m. and Azzi’s just about to let herself fall back asleep when her eyes land on the two sleeping figures next to her. Stephie’s face is buried in Paige’s neck, one arm slung over her waist. Paige, mouth slightly ajar as she sleeps, has both hands fastened on the younger, holding her tightly against her chest like she’d fight the world if someone tried to steal her from her grip. They look happy, content, at peace. And Azzi can’t breathe. 

The warning bells in her head create a cacophonous commotion that she can no longer escape. It hits her like whiplash that she can’t do this. She doesn’t know what had gotten into her last night, why she’d agreed to this, to any of this. But she can’t do this. 

“Stephie,” Azzi whispers urgently, trying to pull her daughter out of Paige’s grasp, “Stephie wake up.”

“Az?” Paige asks groggily, stirring in her sleep, “what’s going on?”

“We need to go home,” Azzi says and she can’t bear to look at Paige. 

“What?” Paige is far more awake now as she glances at her phone, “it’s 7 am Azzi. What’s the rush?"

Azzi ignores her, still trying to wake Stephie up who groans, “Mama too early.”

“Steph-”

“Azzi,” Paige’s voice is firm as she wraps her hand around Azzi’s wrist, slipping Stephie off of her, “what is going on.”

Azzi grits her teeth, “nothing’s going on. We just need to go home.”

“Azzi-”

“We shouldn’t have stayed last night Paige,” Azzi bursts out and Paige freezes. 

“Come out of the fort Azzi,” the blond says, her voice eerily calm as she stands up. Azzi follows after her, heart beating rapidly against her chest as she tries to keep the tears at bay. 

“We need to go home,” the brunette repeats, struggling to breathe, “this was a mistake,” Paige flinches and Azzi feels a knife turn in her own hurt, “we can’t do this.”

“Do what Azzi?” Paige asks exasperatedly, still trying to keep her voice low for Stephie’s sake. 

“This,” Azzi all but shrieks, throwing her hands up, “it’s too much, too quick and Stephie- Stephie’s getting attached and I can’t- I can’t let that happen.”

“Why not?” Paige argues stubbornly. 

“Because these last two weeks she couldn’t fall asleep without you on the phone. Because you’re all she talks about sometimes. Because she’s gonna want you forever,” Azzi’s voice breaks, “and she can’t have you forever.”

“Az-”

“And you’re getting attached too. I see the way you look at her and it’s amazing but it’s not- it’s not sustainable Paige. For either of you. Because you’re gonna find someone soon,” the words taste sour on Azzi’s tongue, “and you’re not gonna have time for her and missing you is going to kill her and the guilt of that is going to hurt you. I’m trying to pro-”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Paige’s voice is hard now, eyes gleaming with fire, “you’re basing all of this on a hypothetical that might not even come true. You’re not protecting anybody. You’re projecting.”

Azzi reels back, “I am not projecting.”

“Yes you are,” Paige hisses, “you’re not scared of Stephie or me getting too attached. You’re scared of yourself getting too attached.”

“Mama? Miss Buecks,” Stephie’s tired eyes look warily between the two of them, “what’s going on?”

Azzi plasters a smile on her face as she picks up her little girl, trying to pretend that the truth in Paige’s words haven’t just made her feel hollow, “we’re going home Stephie.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” Stephie fights against Azzi’s grip, looking helplessly at Paige, “Miss Buecks I wanna stay. Can I please stay?”

“You have to listen to your Mama sweetheart” Paige says softly, heartbreak written over her face as she moves to press a kiss against Stephie’s knuckles, “but I’ll see you soon okay. I promise.”

“Miss Buecks,” Stephie whimpers and Azzi has never hated herself more as she rushes out of Paige’s new house, willing herself to not look back. She buckles Stephie in the back, pretending she doesn’t see the way Paige is watching them leave from the porch, like she’d do anything to stop it. And then she drives away. 

It isn’t until she’s safely in the confines over her own room, that Azzi finally lets the tears fall. And she consoles herself with the fact that it’s okay to crack her daughter's heart, to crack Paige’s heart, to crack her own heart, if that’s the only way she can stop their hearts from breaking altogether.

[daylite-writes]

“A healers Blunt Teeth” (Pt 2) ft. Capitano x Healer!Reader

(Pt 1 here)

He did take you back to Snezhnaya with him, leaving you alone in a manor. The discomfort you feel at not having received a single letter since he departed was surely not from you loving him or anything. Surely.

cws: very mild yandere, mild cultural insensitivity (on behalf of staff), and misunderstandings.

1.6k words

~~~

You didn’t expect the… luxury.

You suppose you should have.

He was a harbinger after all. When he stepped foot in Snezhnaya—you under his arm, of course—you didn’t get the best first impression. Cold, snowy forests of pine with the ridges of icy mountains lining the horizon. But the deeper you ventured into his home, the more his influence became apparent.

Entire villages greeted the expedition with deep bows and offerings of food and housing. You slept in beds made for the cold, among rabbit fur and goose down.

He never batted an eye, but that wasn’t unusual. Be it dry dirt or luxurious bedspreads, Capitano was content.

You expected him to continue onwards with you, towards the Tsaritsa’s palace, the expedition's final destination you’d heard mentioned a thousand times in his meetings.

Evidently, you were wrong about that part, being as you were lounging in the bay window Capitano’s manor, alone except for a staff of loyalists.

As your… Partner? ‘Boyfriend’ maybe—no, that was far too juvenile. Not master either, he hated that term, and it no longer adequately described the complex relations between you two.

Being Capitano’s someone-of-significance had him deciding to dump you into a remote manor somewhere in Snezhnaya, leaving with a quick kiss and a promise to return home after his meeting with the Tsaritsa.

He dragged you all the way to Snezhnaya, and didn’t even let you go with him to the palace.

Angrily—and yes, it was anger. Not loneliness or longing or any other emotion the young maids would describe it as, accented by dreamy sighs as they theorized about you and his’ beautiful courtship—you tore the page of sheet music from the book propped in front of you.

Music was too hard and it made your fingers hurt.

You’d spent the better parts of two weeks in the manor, and it was boring. You were out of your depths, the maids knowing more about noble and elite life than you ever imagined anyone could know.

One of the maids said it herself not long after your arrival. “You’re nothing like what I imagined Capitano’s fiancé would be. Of course, none of us really know his preferences. But if not a warrior, I’d thought you may have been a noblewoman, knowledgeable about music or literature, or perhaps cooking. I once served a noblewoman who made very exquisite cuisine.”

“We’re not engaged.” You’d said, a bit breathless as she tightened the corset.

The other maids who’d been fluttering about shushed her a bit too aggressively for you to consider it noble.

You’d ignored them, until one of the shier ones spoke up. “If I may ask, my lady… how did you two meet?”

“I was a healer in Natlan working for a group of bandits. He won me by right of combat, and eventually we began… well.” You waved your hand, summing up the obvious physical and emotional relations with proper censorship but no denial. “I’m not quite sure what to call the two of us.”

The maids were stunned, and you remembered that such things as that weren’t normal in other nations. You opened your mouth, hoping to amend their opinions of you, but one of them spoke first—

“Oh so he saved you! How romantic!”

The session devolved into a series of awws. They giggled and tousled your hair as they fixed it up, rambling aloud about the romantic scenario.

It took everything in you to not take it personally. To remember that these were the daughters of affluent families who could not afford to marry off another daughters, but could land them a cushy spot working under a harbinger in a non-combatant role. Who probably spent their youths reading fairy tales instead of fighting or healing the way you had.

You rolled your eyes, letting the girls have their fun. These young women were your only friends in this new place after all. There was little point to complain.

~~~

It was clear Capitano would be coming home soon.

There was a certain buzz among the staff. Tasks that were once laxly carried out only when there was time for it were now being performed rigorously and thoroughly. Floors once mopped were now being scrubbed by servants on their hands and knees. Libraries lightly dusted once or twice a week were practically being done by the hour.

There was a buzz among your hand maids as well. They became very, very particular about your appearance. Every day your hair was to be done up in what you can only assume are traditional northern styles. The soft comfortable outfits you’d taken preference to gently batted aside and replaced with expensive tailored dresses, with beaded bodices and tulle that reached partway down your legs.

Refusing such things also made your hand maids very nervous. A lot of ‘are you sure’-s and ‘but my lady!’-s.

From this, you quickly figured out that he’d be back any day now.

So, when you spotted a horse drawn carriage trotting up the path to your manor from a window, you knew what expectations they had.

Greet him at the door, preferably warmly, probably with a kiss, and then follow him around like a lost puppy.

You rolled your eyes before going back to failing to play the violin.

“Um, miss?” One of your handmaids said softly. “Your… Lord Harbinger Capitano seems to be arriving.”

“Mm.” The violin screeched at you as you clumsily played it.

“I… alright. Miss.”

It wasn’t that you hated Capitano. Or that you didn’t want to see him. You were a bird in a golden cage, yes, but Capitano never bothered to close the door, and you never bothered flying out. It was just—

He didn’t even write to you.

The violin made quite an annoying sound as you pressed a bit too hard on the bow, its wavering screech the perfect sound to accompany the grind of your teeth.

Sure, he was undoubtedly busy, but that didn’t erase the embarrassment you’d experience every time you had to ask if any mail for you—any letters from him—came through, only to be told not so much as a word had come from his lord. Didn’t erase the feeling of being some discarded housewife while your lover galivants around the country without you—

The violin had picked up a sharp, angry tune as you played the song through all your little mistakes, not stopping even as you played incorrect notes or lost your place, you could hardly hear it through the rant in your head.

“I see you’ve picked up the violin.” Him.

Immediately, your song stopped. You hadn’t realized he’d entered, hadn’t realized you missed his voice.

“L-Lord Harbinger!” You maid squeaked, bowing. Capitano must have made some motion to her, as she left the room quickly after.

He stayed silent for a moment, and you stayed turned towards the window. “… why are you upset with me?”

“I’m not.”

“Why are you upset with me.” He repeated again, and you suddenly noticed how much closer he was to you. You didn’t hear the footsteps as he loomed over your shoulder.

“I…”

“Has the accommodations been insufficient? Was the staff unpleasant? I’ll have them dead in an instant if they were who upset you against me.” His hand, gloved, tilted your head back by the chin so you had to look up at him. Into the dark maw of his uniform.

“No Captain…”

“Then why? Why have you refused me the right to be greeted home by my woman? The right to see you as I’ve longed to? There must be something wrong, considering you haven't so much as responded to a single letter-”

“You wrote me?” You said all too quickly when you heard the words come from the man over you. Distantly, you chastised yourself for the almost desperate way you asked it. Like a woman starved for water.

He stilled, putting together the pieces easily. “Ah, so that’s what it is. Yes, I wrote to you many times, my healer.”

“I didn’t receive any.”

The hand that was lifting your face up shifted to the side, idly messing with a lock of your hair before cradling the crux of where your jaw met your neck. “I am realizing that now.”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk to me.”

“I did, greatly.”

You paused a moment, the small sparks of spite that once had you melted away partially, leaving you feeling a bit silly. “I…”

“Don’t apologize. This is someone else’s fault, I’ll deal with them later.” He said, moving around you to your front, and kneeling down before you.

The hand cradling your pulse slipped to the back of your neck, lightly pulling you into him. You kissed him through the gaping maw of his mask. It was rough, as though it was the single thing he’d been wanting for weeks. His hand tightened, pulling your hair by the roots to expose your neck. You gasped when you felt his lips on your jaw, traveling down to your throat.

It was a while before he pulled back, satisfied at the aggravated red skin his attention left. Most likely so that the staff could see it and know.

You stared at him, chest rising and falling quickly, but not scared. He seemed happy, or perhaps, at peace, as he stared back.

A polite, quiet knock on the door finally brought his gaze away from you. He spoke, loud and clear, “Yes?”

“Dinner is set for you the Lord and his Lady.”

He rose, standing to his full height before extending a hand to you. “You’ll be joining me I hope?”

“… yes, my lord.” You took it.

~~~~~

The og is pretty far back and i am grappling with the fact i probably should make a masterlist (i dont wannaaa) but i hope ya'll enjoy this <3

[jjscrybaby]

𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑺𝑰𝑿 💿 — 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍

nate archibald x fem!reader | fluff | (insecure!reader, pining!nate, cringe cliches at the end but idc!!!!)

masterlist.

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Nate Archibald likes routine. He likes to know what he’s doing at what time and with whom. He’s also not a fan of change, it stresses him out to no end; which is why every morning he gets a coffee at the same spot. Ever since he was 16 he’s been going to the Brew & Bloom. It was on his way to school, and it’s now on his way to work.

There was never anything special about it, it was just like any other coffee shop that you’d find on the corner of the street, but it was his routine. It was a random Tuesday, he didn’t have to be at work until later on so he decided to stop by at nine o’clock. Nate stepped in, the little bell above the door jingled. He took a seat, shrugging off his jacket.

“What can I get you?” He looked up at the unfamiliar voice, and there you stood. You had on a little black skirt and a tight white shirt with knee-high boots on — his mouth was watering.

“Uh, just a coffee. Black,” he responded, giving you a charming smile.

You didn’t return the smile, just turned around and walked away from him. He watched the way your hips swayed, your co-workers didn’t even spare you a glance as you joined them behind the counter to prepare his coffee.

He hadn’t ever seen you before. He’d remember if he had. You were the most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, you were also the most interesting. The girls Nate knew always had something to them, Serena with her daddy issues and Blair with her insecurities, but they were easy to read. You were the opposite.

“Coffee. Black.” There was a mocking tone to your voice, he looked up. A smirk played on your lips as you placed the coffee in front of him. “Four dollar thirty.”

“It’s normally three,” he replied, raising a brow at you.

“Well, I’m broke,” you shrugged. He couldn’t help the surprised laugh, were you really admitting to over charging? He pulled out a twenty and passed it over.

“Can’t have that, can we?” He murmured, grinning at you. On any other girl that would work, he’d just paid you sixteen dollars seventy pence extra and he was giving you the smile.

“Charming,” you muttered, pocketing the cash before turning on your heel to leave.

“Wait!” Nate exclaimed. You turned your head to face him, brow raised. “Can I get your number?”

You smiled at him, his heart race picked up, his palms grew sweaty, he thought he’d won. “No.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

Nate never had trouble picking up girls, he was a heartthrob to most. After breaking up with Blair a few years ago, he’d dated plenty, the ladies liked him and he liked being able to get anyone he wanted. You were different, maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Everyday, he came into the coffee shop, ordered his coffee and asked you for your number. Everyday you said no.

“Just find another woman, Nathaniel. There’s no point in dwelling,” Chuck lectured as the pair of them walked down the snowy streets.

He laughed, shaking his head at his best friend’s attitude. “You don’t understand, you haven’t met her.”

“Of course I have. You think I wouldn’t go and visit the girl that’s got your panties in a twist?” Chuck responded, making Nate look at him in shock. “Relax. I didn’t do anything. I just asked her what she thought of you.”

“Oh my god,” Nate groaned, covering his face with his hands. “We’re not in fifth grade, Chuck.”

“Don’t you want to know what she said?” Chuck asked, a smirk on his face.

A moment of silence went by. “What did she say?”

“That’s what I thought. She’s a hard nut to crack, but in the end I go it out of her. She thinks you’re pretentious and snobby and you’re just trying to ask her out because you want the unattainable,” Chuck stated.

Nate blinked in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. “She— but that’s not true!”

“Is it me you should be telling that to?”

It took twenty minutes for Nate to be walking into the Brew and Bloom, eyes landing on you as you wiped down the tables. You were closed, but you hadn’t locked the door yet. “You think I’m asking you out because you’re unattainable?”

“Yes.” You didn’t even flinch, working on cleaning up to get home rather than paying attention to him.

“That’s not true, or fair. You don’t even know me,” Nate argued. He felt genuinely hurt, no one had ever thought of him in such a way and the fact it was you hurt more.

“You don’t know me either,” you pointed out. “Yet you come in here everyday and ask me for my number. After ten minutes with me, you’d be running for the hills.”

“Why don’t you let me decide that?” Nate suggested, leaning against the door with his arms crossed.

“What?” You sighed, finally looking over at him.

“Let me take you out, please. Let me decide if I want to run for the hills,” Nate pleaded, taking a step towards you.

“I don’t have much free time,” you muttered.

“What’re you doing now?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“I have to go pick my little brother up and then make him dinner, I won’t be free ‘till my mom gets back from work,” you explained, holding your head up high as if to say; ‘judge me, I dare you’.

“C’mon, then,” he beamed, holding his arm out for you.

“What?” You actually laughed, and that just made his smile grow further. He carried on moving towards you, stopping only a few inches away.

“You say ten minutes spending time with you? Why don’t you up the stakes? Let me see your life,” he shrugged, smiling.

You shocked even yourself as you spoke. “Okay.”

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶

He didn’t run for the hills, not even close. After your first hangout, Nate started following you around like a puppy dog. That wasn’t a shock to him, or Chuck — who had spent the last couple months hearing about you constantly — what was a shock was that you were doing the exact same.

You weren’t as open with it, you didn’t send him good morning and good night texts, you didn’t show up at his work with lunch and you definitely weren’t buying him gifts like he was for you. But you showed fondness in your own way, you let him meet your mom, you let yourself relax around him, you found yourself thinking about him at all times.

“So, got any plans for tomorrow?” If someone had told you a couple months ago you’d be spending Christmas Eve with Nate Archibald, sat drinking hot chocolate by the river freezing your ass off, you would have laughed in their face. But that was exactly what you were doing.

“Never do much at Christmas,” you shrugged, taking a sip from your drink.

“Neither,” he murmured. You looked up at him and a chuckle left his lips. “You’ve got a bit of cream ‘round your lips.”

“Oh, shit,” you grumbled, wiping your top lip with your thumb. “Gone?”

“Not quite,” he smirked. “C’mere.” He licked his thumb and held your face, wiping away the cream and chocolate that had gotten itself around your mouth. You just stared at him, your entire body freezing up. “Got it.”

“Uh, thanks,” you murmured. His hand didn’t move from the side of your face, eyes looking into yours.

“You’re an angel,” he whispered. Your heart beat quickly in your chest, a self deprecating laugh leaving your mouth.

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, looking to the side to avoid the intense eye contact.

“You are,” he argued. “Can I kiss you, please?”

“You want to kiss me?” You asked uncertainly. Deep down you knew he did, why else would he be all over you all the time? But that little voice in your head kept telling you you were wrong, there’s no way that Nate Archibald could like a girl like you.

“More than anythin’,” he whispered. He leant in and his lips brushed yours, a sharp exhale came from you. “Relax. I’ve got you.”

He kissed you like he meant it, you’d never been kissed like that before. Every other kiss, hookup, even boyfriend that you’d had didn’t feel like this. It had always felt fake, forced, but with Nate it wasn’t like that. You melted into his arms and he smiled against your lips, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you closer.

“Believe me?” He asked softly.

“Not sure,” you croaked out, eyes closed.

“That’s okay. You will, I can wait.”

[joshslater]

Resizing

Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

"Care to make it more interesting?" the guy said. We were both about the same age, size, and build. Me, a ginger electronics engineer student dedicated to exercise for years, and recently getting serious with bodybuilding, and he, a Latino who obviously didn't skip gym or his meal plan too often. I guess that was why he'd asked me to spot for him at the barbell. He returned the favor and I felt the need to use the same weight as him and do his reps plus one. That led into testosterone fueled adventure hunt through the gym where we one-upped each other on various equipment and exercises. No one else was in there at this hour. Very mature behavior conducive to optimal results, not. We'd likely regret this the rest of the week.

"Interesting how?" We were standing under the pull-up bars.

"Most pull-ups win muscle and size."

"Isn't that always the prize?" I asked.

"I suppose it is. Chin must come above the bar and then the head fully below it for it to count. Are you in?" He held out his hand. I shook it.

"I'm game," and took a small jump up to the bar and started without any hesitation. I could feel fatigue from what we had done previously, but I tuned it out best as I could. He was counting. I came past eight pretty smoothly, but then I started to struggle. I would have hoped to at least would be past twelve by that point. By thirteen I had to really push it to get number fourteen above the bar, but then I had to give up. I felt a bit disappointed, as I normally can go past fifteen, but he should be just as tired as I.

"Strong going," he congratulated and slapped my shoulder. Then he leaped to the bar, also trying to show off, and began. While it didn't look easy for him, I couldn't see him struggling too bad either, rhythmically going up and down, perhaps slowly getting closer to the agreed limit above the bar. "Ten. Eleven. Twelve." His pace didn't falter. "Thirteen. Fourteen." He made a little smirk. "Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen." That last one wasn't perhaps a legal pull-up, but I had already lost. Perhaps he felt it too, so he dropped down to the floor.

"Fuck, I'm tired," he said, no need to pretend anymore. "Well, at least I won. I shall claim my prize," and he grabbed my hand again. Suddenly I was in agony. It felt like the dull day-after-soreness after a particularly grueling gym session, but there was more to it. It felt like I couldn't move anymore, at least not much. I wasn't frozen in place, but my body refused to detach from him, refused from stepping away. I was hot. I could feel droplets of sweat running down my body, and my eyes were watering up, making the entire room hard to see. But I could see that everything was somehow shifting.

Once he let go I felt unsteady, my body still in flames and sore as hell. His face however wasn't in front of me anymore. Instead I stared right into his chest. I looked down at my body. Years worth of work was gone. It was still an athletic body, but all definition in arms and legs were gone. Pecs and shoulders like any track and field student. "What the hell did you do!" I shouted.

"Muscle and size," he said calmly and flexed his now much larger arm. He looked down at me. "Don't worry. Girls like short boys with abs. Boys too I guess."

"Fuck you! Turn me back!"

"Or what? You're going to tell someone a guy you don't know stole your height at the gym?"

He had a point there. If I hadn't just seen it happen it would be completely unbelievable to me too.

"Just be the bigger man," he said and walked towards the showers.

[insidekatmind]

HYDRA- BROCK RUMLOW

Wearning: +18,angst, smut.

Request: yes!

It was an ordinary day or at least it seemed that way. The sunlight filtered through the blinds in your room, drawing streaks of light on the floor. You stretched lazily, your body still wrapped in the warmth of the bed. Brock had kissed you goodbye quickly that morning, leaving with an excuse about an emergency at work.

“Don’t be late,” you had said, your voice still heavy with sleep.

“Promise, Y/N,” he replied, a smile he could never quite hide completely.

You never thought too much about the fact that he worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., even though his position was shrouded in secrecy. "Protocol," he would say whenever you asked about his work. And you, trusting him, never pushed too hard for answers. But that evening, everything changed.

You were in the living room, immersed in a book, when an unusual sound from Brock’s phone caught your attention. He had left it on the table before heading out, something he never did. The persistent vibration and the words “Operation Herald” flashing on the screen piqued your curiosity.

“Strange…” you thought.

Biting your lower lip, you hesitated between ignoring it and checking. Curiosity won out. Swiping the screen quickly, you found a cryptic message:

“Mission compromised. Eliminate Y/N if necessary.”

The blood froze in your veins. You must have read it wrong. You reread the message, hoping it was a mistake. But no, it was there, clear as day.

When Brock returned that evening, your heart was pounding. You tried to act normal, but he knew you too well.

“Everything okay?” he asked, tilting his head as he took off his jacket.

“Yeah, sure,” you lied.

But it wasn’t so easy to hide your nervousness. During dinner, he watched you in silence. Every now and then, his eyes seemed to scan you, as if searching for something. After clearing the dishes, you couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Brock,” you began, your voice tense, “what is Hydra?”

He froze. The spoon he was drying stopped mid-air. His eyes pierced through you, cold as ice.

“Why are you asking?” he replied slowly, with a forced calm that sent shivers down your spine.

“I found a message on your phone.” You were direct. There was no way to sugarcoat the truth.

The tension in the room became palpable. Brock set the spoon down and approached you slowly, as if afraid you might run.

“Y/N…” he murmured, his tone low and menacing. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Shouldn’t have done what? Found out you’ve been lying to me this whole time? Found out you’re… you’re one of them?”

His face twisted for a moment, then his demeanor changed. The mask fell, revealing a man you had never seen before.

“And if it’s true?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “If I am Hydra, does it change anything? Am I not the same man you love?”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You have the nerve to ask me that? You’re a traitor, Brock! Everything we have… is it a lie?”

“Not everything,” he countered. “I love you, Y/N. That’s real. But there are bigger things at play. Hydra is the future. And I want you to be part of it.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “I can’t believe what you’re saying. I can’t…”

Brock stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “Don’t make this harder, Y/N. Come with me. I’ll protect you. No one will hurt you.”

“Protect me?” you shouted, your voice cracking with emotion. “From the world or from you?”

The silence that followed was deafening. Brock stared at you, the conflict clear in his eyes. Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Then you’ve made your decision,” he said, his voice icy. “What a shame. I would’ve liked to have you by my side.”

You didn’t wait for him to say more. With one last, pained look, you ran out the door, your heart shattered and only one certainty left: the man you loved was your worst enemy.

But you knew this wasn’t the end. Brock Rumlow would find you. And this time, you’d be ready.

---

Five months had passed since that event and you now lived alone in a small studio apartment.You walked into your apartment and placed your bag on the couch and felt like you were being watched.

Sitting in a darkened corner, a tall, built silhouette watched you intently, his eyes never leaving your form.His gaze burned through the shadows, observing your every move. He was like a statue, still and silent, but his presence was suffocating, filling the room with a tension that sent shivers down your spine.

Brock Rumlow had found you, just as you had expected. The question was, what would he do now?

You turn on the light and there's Brock sitting there. "What are you doing here?" You murmur without moving closer to him.

Brock doesn't move, just keeps looking at you intently, his icy gaze fixed on your form."Isn't it obvious?" he says in a low voice, tilting his head slightly, his eyes roaming over your face. "I had to find you."He stands up slowly, and only now it's clear how imposing he is. He's towering over you, his muscular frame like a wall of muscle, his presence suffocating.

He takes a step closer to you, his gaze never leaving your face.“You look good,” he says finally, his voice a low, almost growl. “I missed you.”The confession hangs in the room for a long moment, like a dagger pointed straight at your heart. But you don’t let the emotion show on your face, keeping your expression neutral, guarded.

He takes another step closer, almost closing the distance between you. His eyes roam over your body hungrily, taking in every inch of you.“You’re still wearing the necklace I gave you,” he says, his gaze suddenly fixing on the small charm that hangs around your neck. It’s a delicate silver heart, a silent reminder of happier times.

Instinctively you touch your necklace, averting your gaze and moving away a little.

He notices the gesture, and a smirk twitches on his lips.“Don’t pretend you didn’t miss me.”Brock follows you, closing the distance again in a few strides. He’s now standing so close that you can feel his body heat, his presence overwhelming.

He reaches out, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck.“I know you better than you know yourself, Y/N,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “I know how your body reacts when I touch you. Here…”His fingers trail down to your collarbone, caressing lightly. You shiver involuntarily under his touch.

“And here…”His hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer with an almost effortless strength. Your body responds without consent, your pulse quickening. You try to hold back, but it’s harder than you thought.

"What are you doing here Brock?" You whisper, looking at him.

“I told you,” he says, his voice a guttural whisper, his lips dangerously close to your ear. “I had to find you.”

Brock leans down, his forehead touching yours lightly, his hands still on your waist, holding you firmly. You can feel the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his aftershave so familiar it makes your heart ache.

"Why?" you try trying not to give in and hold him tight.

“Because I couldn’t let you go like that,” he responds, his voice filled with an odd mix of anger, hurt, and something else you can’t quite place.

Brock pulls you closer, his body nearly molding against yours. He’s holding you tight now, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go. His hands are on your back, his fingers pressing into your skin almost possessively.

You lean into his chest and sigh, closing your eyes for a second. "How did you find me?" You murmur into his chest.

He doesn’t answer immediately, instead nuzzling his face into your hair. He breathes in the scent of you, committing it to memory.“I have my ways,” he finally says, his voice rumbling in his chest. He pulls back slightly, looking down at you. “You can never hide from me, Y/N. You’re mine. Don’t forget that.”

His words send a chill down your spine, the possessive tone stirring up a mixture of emotions. You pull back a little, looking up at him.

“I’m not yours, Brock. Not anymore,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “You made that choice when you lied to me, when you chose Hydra over me.”

His jaw clenches at your words, his eyes darkening.“You make it sound so simple,” he retorts, his voice taking on a harsher edge. “But it’s not, Y/N. It’s not simple at all.”

He steps back, running a frustrated hand through his hair. He’s clearly struggling, some inner conflict playing out on his face.“I never wanted to lie to you,” he says finally, his voice quieter than before. “I needed to protect you. I still do.”Brock looks at you with such intensity that it’s almost overwhelming. He’s silently pleading for understanding, for forgiveness, but you’re too hurt to give it easily.

You look at him biting your lip. “Did you kill anyone?”

He hesitates, his silence speaking volumes. When he finally answers, his voice is low, rough.“Yes,” he says simply, his gaze unwavering.

You can see the weight of his words hanging in the air, the reality of what he’s done sinking in.“Why?” you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. “How many?”

He doesn’t answer immediately, his eyes going distant as if remembering something. After a moment, he looks at you, his face hard.“Enough,” he says, his voice cold, emotionless.

His silence is maddening, each unanswered question hanging between you like a heavy cloud. This isn’t the man you knew, the man who held you close and whispered words of love and comfort. This is someone else, a stranger wearing the face of the love of your life.

"Would you kill me too if they asked you?" you ask, looking at him.

He flinches at your question, the hurt in your eyes cutting through his cold exterior.“No,” he says, his voice suddenly ragged, the coldness seeping away. “I couldn’t, Y/N. I wouldn’t.There’s a desperation in his voice, a frantic edge that betrays his inner struggle. He takes a step closer to you again, his hands coming up to cradle your face tenderly.

You lean into his touch, closing your eyes.He pulls you closer, his arms encircling you firmly. He buries his face in your hair, his breath coming out in ragged gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters into your hair, his voice low and rough. “I’m sorry for everything, Y/N.” Brock repeats the words like a mantra, holding you tightly, as if afraid you’ll slip from his grasp.

You melt at his touch and his words and decide to forgive him. You hug him tighter and rub his back.

He lets out a deep sigh, his body relaxing as he melts into your embrace. He buries his face deeper into the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.“I missed you so much,” he murmurs, his voice muffled. He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes that you haven’t seen before, the facade of the stoic field agent slipping.

“you too” you whisper.His eyes roam over your face, taking in every detail as if seeing you for the first time. Then, without warning, he claims your lips in a passionate kiss, crushing you against him.

He kisses you desperately, his tongue demanding entry into your mouth. He tastes like you remembered - a mix of cigarettes and coffee, a flavor that was once so familiar that you almost forgot it. His hands roams over your body, as if trying to remember the shape of you, the feel of you.

You kiss back, holding onto Brock as you kiss him more passionately.He moans into your mouth, the sound a low, guttural rumble. He backs you up until you hit a wall, pinning you there with his body. He’s everywhere - his hands, his mouth, his breath, the solid bulk of him pressing into you. The world outside seems to fall away, leaving just the two of you in a moment of raw, desperate passion.

His lips move down your neck, leaving a trail of hot kisses. His hands slide under your shirt, caressing your skin as he kisses down to the hollow of your collarbone. He’s everywhere, all around you, his touch sending electric shivers down your spine.

You moaned at his touch and kisses and gave him more space as you closed your eyes in pleasure.He grins against your skin at your noises. He’d always loved the sounds he could get out of you, and hearing them now only fueled his desire. His lips continued their path down your neck, nipping and sucking, leaving a trail of small, dark marks on your skin.

His hands were everywhere, roaming over your stomach, your sides, your back. He was rough, almost greedy, as if making up for lost time. He pushed your shirt out of the way, his mouth blazing a path down your chest, his breath hot against your skin.He pressed you more firmly against the wall, his body trapping you there. You felt vulnerable under his touch, exposed, but also desired in a way that only he could make you feel. He nipped and sucked at the soft skin of your chest, leaving more marks, his body pressing into you with a mixture of possessiveness and need.

Brock immediately takes off your jeans and did the same with his and then picked you up and carried you to your bedroom.He carries you with ease, his muscles rippling under his shirt. He pushes open the bedroom door and deposits you onto the bed before climbing over you, his body trapping you again. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with a mixture of desire and something else, something deeper, darker.

“Brock,” you murmur as you take off his shirt.He helps you undress him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of his bare chest sends a shiver down your spine, the taut muscles and tanned skin so familiar yet so new at the same time. He leans back down, his body pressing against yours, the heat of his skin against yours like fire.

He takes off his boxers and pulls down your thong to enter you. While doing this he kissed you passionately.He kisses you hungrily, as if trying to convey with his lips all the things he can’t say out loud. He’s rough, his hand gripping your hip possessively, but there’s also a tenderness in the way his lips caress yours. He pulls you closer, molding your body to his, as if he can’t get enough of you.

You moan through the kisses feeling his strong movements.He responds to your moans, his movements becoming more intense, more desperate. He’s holding nothing back, every thrust driven by a primal need to claim you as his. He’s lost in you.“I missed this,” he grits out, his voice ragged and low. “I missed you, missed being this close to you, missed the way you feel under me.”

You moan at his words and cling to him. “Me too Brock, I missed you so much” you whisper.He growls at your admission, his arms wrapping around you, holding you tight against him. “Say it again,” he demands, his voice a hoarse whisper against your ear. “Tell me you missed me.”

“I missed you so much” you say moaning feeling his thrusts get stronger.Brock groans, the sound deep and primal, as if he’s holding on by a thread. He kisses you, hard, his tongue tangling with yours. “You have no idea how much I need to hear that,” he mutters against your lips. “How long I’ve needed to hear you say it.”

He kisses you again, deeper, more hungrily, as if trying to consume you. His body is moving against yours in a primal rhythm, the raw need between you building with each passing second. “You’re mine,” he growls, his voice rough and possessive. “Say it.”

You moaned at his possessiveness and his thrusts that became more and more animalistic. "I'm yours, all yours Brock".The words seem to unleash something in him. He grips you tighter, his fingers digging into your skin almost possessively. “That’s right,” he mutters, his voice a low growl. “You’re mine, and I’m never letting you go again. Never.”

He starts to move faster, the pace more frantic, more desperate. He kisses you again, as if he can’t get enough of your mouth, of your taste. “Say it again,” he says, his voice ragged and low. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You moan at his thrusts and scratch his back. "Yours, only yours".His body tenses at your words, his muscles rippling under your hands. “Damn right you are,” he mutters, his voice thick with a mix of desire and something darker, something possessive. “You’re mine, and I’m gonna make sure you never forget it.”

He moves faster, more urgently, his hands roaming over your body, as if caressing every inch of you. He kisses, bites, and sucks at your skin, marking you as his, everywhere he can reach. “You’re mine,” he whispers, his voice thick and ragged. “No one else’s.”A sense of almost frenzied desperation seems to take over, fueled by months of separation and the weight of what he’s done. There’s an edge to his movements, a fierce need to claim you, body and soul. “Mine,” he repeats, a primal growl in his voice. “You’re all mine, Y/N.

Always.”You moan and hold onto him. "I'm coming".He moans, the sound coming from deep in his chest. “Come for me,” he mutters, his voice tight and ragged. “Come for me, and say my name. I need to hear you.”

His thrusts became harder and you screamed louder and louder. “Brock” you yelled as you came.He grunts, his body tensing as he responds to your release. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. “Say it again,” he growls, his voice rough. “Say my name again.”

You screamed his name louder and louder as he came inside you.He groaned as he came, his body shuddering against yours. He buried his face in your hair, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. “Y/N,” he muttered, his voice rough and ragged. “I… I…”

He trails off, seemingly lost for words. The raw emotion in his voice is clear, a rare vulnerability showing through the gruff exterior. He stays there for a moment, his body still pressed against yours. He seems suddenly young, like the boy you fell in love with so many years ago.He pulls back slightly, looking down at you. His eyes are dark, still filled with need and desire, but there’s something more there now - a depth, a vulnerability. “I love you,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I’ve always loved you, Y/N. And I always will.”

You smile softly at his words and kiss his cheek. “I love you too and will always love you Brock” you say sweetly.His expression softens, something like relief flickering across his face. He cups your face in his hands, his thumbs rubbing tenderly over your skin. “Damn,” he mutters, his voice a rough whisper. “How did I get so lucky?”

You smile and stroke his hair.He brushes a strand of hair away from your face, his eyes roaming over you as if trying to memorize every feature. “I don’t deserve you,” he says quietly. “I never deserved you. But I’m never letting you go again. I need you too damn much.”

He pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you possessively. “You’re mine, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice suddenly fierce again. “Every part of you, completely mine.”

[seancurry1]

Remember, Thou Art Barnacle

A serenity prayer for election day.

Originally posted on my website.

The Ann Selzer Iowa poll, regarded as the gold standard in all of political polling, shows Harris is up +3 in a state that Trump won by +8 in 2016 and by +9 in 2020. 

And you are a barnacle. 

The election better markets have Trump up by +19 (as of noon EST, 11/5/24), and bettors don’t care if people are ashamed to admit who they’re voting for—they’re in it for the money and only the money.

And you are a barnacle. 

Mainstream pollsters have admitted to weighting their polls heavily in favor of Trump, to ensure they don’t end up with egg on their face like they did in 2016 and 2020 again. International whales are taking out huge bets in favor of Trump, swinging the markets, and right wing think tanks are flooding the zone with bullshit polls to artificially inflate Trump’s odds in the aggregate. And even if the popular vote is overwhelmingly for Harris, Trump’s team is already laying the narrative groundwork to support a Stop the Steal campaign that, by the time you read this, will likely already have started. 

All of that is true. 

And you are still a barnacle. 

You are not piloting the ship. You are not the captain of the ship. You are not laying out the potential courses the ship could take, you are not deciding which course the ship will take, you are not scouting ahead. 

You aren’t even a paying, ticket-holding passenger on the ship. You are a barnacle on the hull, deep underwater, and unfortunately, there isn’t really anything you can individually do to affect where this ship goes. Sorry! 

This isn’t an invitation to check out, or become apathetic, or (heaven forbid) embrace doomerism. Quite the opposite: this is a reminder of who you actually are in this entire scenario, of the power you do not have, and of the power you definitely do. 

After the 2016 election, some small part of myself was convinced I could change the outcome if I just posted hard enough. If I fought enough of my friends on Facebook, texted angrily, and tweeted from enough protests and rallies, somehow Trump would no longer be President-elect. 

All it did was, literally, give me a rash. I got so angry for so long that my skin started to break out in hives. A doctor friend more-than-half seriously prescribed that I “get the fuck off Facebook” until my skin returned to normal. Trump was still President-elect, the next 8 years happened the way they did, and here we are today. 

You’re going to hear a lot today: polls are tightening! Votes still aren’t in from this critical precinct! If these trends hold, then we can expect to know something by such-and-such a time! The race is as tight as can be! White supremacists are threatening violence to avenge a dead squirrel! 

(The squirrel thing is 100% real, and my god, I really wish I was joking.) 

Remember, through all of it, that you are not the captain of the ship. You are a barnacle on its hull, and there is very little you can personally do to change it at this point. You’ve already done all you can do—or maybe you haven’t, but even then, you’ve already done all you’re going to do. 

And as you stress, and consider how inebriated you’re going to get, and decide on which web pages you’ll be refreshing every thirty seconds, and stress out some more, remember too that Donald Trump hasn’t ever won the popular vote in his entire miserable life. He only won the electoral college, a racist system explicitly designed to empower slaveholders in southern states, one time, and ever since then, he has lost every election he’s declared for. 

More people did vote for the woman candidate the last time one ran for President, and more people have voted for the candidate of color than their opponent every single time a person of color has run for President on a major party ticket. 

And women have already made up a larger share of early voting than men in this, the first general election post-Dobbs, than ever before in American history. (53% women to 44% men.) 

So as you stress and consider your inebriates and say to yourself, “How can it possibly be this close?!” for the umpteenth time today, remember too that Donald Trump is a fascistic, deeply unpopular person (let alone President) backed by an even more deeply weird party, and that almost the entirety of your experience of this election is being filtered through the lens of a national, for-profit media that doesn’t care who wins, so long as you keep watching. 

Remember, you are not the captain of the ship, you are not the helmsman, you are not the map-maker. 

You are a barnacle. 

Vote for Harris, vote Democrat in your local and state races, and trust your other barnacles.

If you like this, consider signing up for my newsletter to get more writing from me right in your inbox the second it posts: sean-curry.com/signup

[delicateperspective]

McDon't Rollout Timeline

Here, let's simplify the timeline for those of you having a hard time staying caught up with the tug-of-war that appears to be going on. I'll keep my analysis to a minimum and let the facts speak for themselves, but I doooooooo have thoughts on these "coincidences." 👀

December 2024

December 21st, 2024

Louis randomly checks in on us on Twitter. No chat. Just: "Hope everyone’s doing alright! Have a good day"

December 25th, 2024

Sam and Zara spend Christmas separately, but Zara shows off gifts between the two of them on social media.

Zara reposts a TikTok saying: "When you still go to your own family Christmases" (implying they were only apart because they chose to spend Christmas with their separate families).

December 31st, 2024

Louis does a pub crawl in Doncaster wearing a Pleasures cardigan that says: "What happened to you? What happened to me? Pleasures is pain."

The tag for the cardigan says: "I can't have the one that I want."

Articles come out about Zara and Sam officially being over. Her "friends" say: "Things have been tricky for her the past 18 months."

January 2025

Sometime in January

The celebrity scout responsible for connecting Zara to Strictly Come Dancing is hired as the scout for SoccerAid.

January 4th, 2025

Tabloid articles report Zara spending NYE in Paris. Sources say: "She just wants to try to focus on work and get herself together."

January 13th, 2025 (approximately)

Harry is spotted in Germany.

January 21st, 2025

Jade Thirlwall (PR by Simon Jones) says on a podcast that Harry ghosted her after a date back in 2010.

January 28th, 2025

Louis tweets: "Hope everyone’s doing alright!" and "Big year incoming!"

January 29th, 2025

Louis attends Zayn's LA show and leaves with him.

January 30th, 2025

Despite multiple rumors and the event showcasing nearly everyone on the A*off roster, Harry does not attend FireAid.

January 31st, 2025

Walls 5th anniversary promo from Sony. However, merch is distributed through LT Merch.

February 2025

February 1st and 3rd, 2025

Harry is in Rome with Alessandro for his birthday. Rumors swirl about him and a woman with long brunette hair.

February 1st–27th, 2025

Zara is filming in Thailand.

February 3rd, 2025

Louis re-uploads Two of Us Acoustic to his YouTube but leaves off the Sony/Syco copyright.

The original version stays listed.

February 6th, 2025

Louis is in New Orleans for the Super Bowl. He goes to bars wearing a German football club jersey and posts a picture of a dartboard.

On the same day, Pleasing posts their Valentine’s Day Instagram reel featuring darts and two fish named Romeo and Julio.

February 7th, 2025

For a Super Bowl pre-party, Louis wears an "Endless Runner" shirt.

February 8th–9th, 2025

Harry is back in Berlin.

February 9th, 2025

Louis attends the Super Bowl (possibly as an ambassador for NFL UK).

February 15th, 2025

A user discovers Louis’ profile on Raya (a dating app for celebrities and influencers). This makes the tabloids.

February 18th, 2025

Louis follows Zara on Instagram.

February 26th, 2025

Articles emerge about Harry’s companies being behind in tax filings. (Note: As of this post, they are still behind, but the strike has been removed. It is normal and nothing to panic over.)

February 27th, 2025

Zara wraps filming in Thailand.

An article drops claiming that Harry’s team told him not to associate with the band. "A source told The Sun: 'Thousands of hours of blood, sweat and tears have gone into making Harry a superstar and he has spent a decade getting to a place of respect and legitimacy in the music business. He has won awards and hit new heights away from the band. Any return would be a major step back. Harry knows it already but his team have been very clear that it would be a bad idea at any point in the foreseeable future.'"

February 28th, 2025

Louis tweets 28 and hosts a launch party for the latest 28 drop.

This drop is handled much differently than previous ones:

Tons of PR around it.

A physical launch.

Journalists are invited to attend.

Interviews are done.

Louis finally admits that he remembers his tattoos were obtained to mark specific memories.

He also says clothes hold memories and likens them to his tattoos.

Dirty Blonde plays a set.

March 1st, 2025

Zara attends the Brits. Louis likes her photo.

Articles emerge about Zara being "cozied up" with Lucien Laviscount.

Louis announces a surprise pop-up show on March 6th with Dirty Blonde as the opening act. The show will support Music Venue Trust.

March 1st–4th, 2025

Harry runs the Tokyo Marathon! He is later pictured in Tokyo with friends.

March 4th, 2025

Harry is announced to be taking part in Live Odyssey to support Music Venue Trust.

March 6th, 2025

Zara appears on Loose Women to discuss her documentary.

Harry returns to London and is photographed in Soho just hours before Louis' show.

Louis performs the pop-up show in Brixton.

March 7th, 2025

Louis flies to India.

Articles begin swirling about Harry being in talks to perform a residency at The Sphere.

March 8th, 2025

Zara and Harry are seen in the same box at the Sabrina Carpenter concert at the O2 in London (with Rchel Chnouriri).

Louis likes R*chel's Instagram post about the concert.

March 9th, 2025

Louis is photographed wearing a Yohji Yamamoto x NEIGHBORHOOD T-Shirt (a piece from the WILDSIDE Yohji Yamamoto store, designed by Kunichi Nomura) and Dries Van Noten Printed Swim Shorts during an interview.

He comments that he sees everything online from a "bird's eye view."

Zara joins the live stream of a well-known Larrie.

March 10th, 2025

Tabloid articles claim fans suspect Zara and Louis are dating.

Note: All quotes are pulled from a Larry subreddit. No other sources or information online connect the two at this point.

Louis and Sam are both announced as participants in Soccer Aid.

March 11th, 2025

Tabloids speculate about a possible Soccer Aid rivalry between Sam and Louis, based entirely on the Reddit theory article about Zara and Louis.

Articles note Louis and Zara liking each other's photos on Instagram.

Harry is seen in Rome.

(I don’t blame you, babes. Get out of town during all this. Go to some art shows with your friends and let it die down before you come home.)

March 12th, 2025

Articles claim Zara purchased a new house in the same neighborhood as Sam.

The London Standard releases an article about Louis' February 28th 28 fashion drop.

The fashion brand is ridiculed, Louis is painted in a bad light, and the journalist includes quote that will later be circulated by every single media outlet possible: "I am told sternly before we sit down to, please, forgo any questions on the topic. ‘The Sun has been running a story that the boys are going to reunite at the Brits for Liam,’ a PR manager tells me. ‘Louis just despairs. He could never get up there and sing as part of the band after what has happened.’ One Direction did not perform during the awards, which took place the night after our interview."

March 13th, 2025

Harry's team denies the Sphere residency rumors.

March 16th, 2025

Articles somehow link Harry and Taylor S*ift again.

March 17th, 2025

Articles surface about Harry "not being over" Oivia Wide.

Sam appears on a podcast and makes comments seemingly shading Zara: "A lot of people look for validation in other people and they look for the next person instantly . . . It's like, 'I need to find someone else to fill that hole and I need to find that excitement.'"

Late that night, The Sun releases a paid article with three blurry photos of Zara and Louis at a restaurant.

The article claims Louis took time to take photos with fans, but no fan photos have been released.

The photos appear to have been taken from outside, peering through a window by the rubbish bins.

Fans point out several inconsistencies:

For a millionaire, the date seems cheap.

For someone who values privacy and can stay completely off the radar for months, it’s strange to be photographed.

Zara was just seen "loved up" with someone else at the Brits.

March 18th, 2025 (This was a big news day, so buckle up!)

The Daily Mail picks up the restaurant story and finds a "source" to address fans' doubts: "They have only been together a short time, but they clearly get on really well and are enjoying one another's company. They didn't want it to come out this soon – and didn't think it would. Louis made sure they went somewhere understated in the hope that they wouldn't be seen. He is an expert [at staying anonymous], and has been photographed relentlessly since he was a teenager."

Additional articles include:

A source close to Zara says about Sam: "He's a loose cannon, as we saw with his comments so soon after Zara's relationship was made public. It's really quite pathetic of him. It feels like it always has to be about him." "Zara put a lot into her relationship with Sam: she did everything she could to make it work for five years, but in the end, she just couldn't."

Information claiming Zara and Louis have been dating for "two and a half weeks" (putting the start of their relationship around March 1st).

A "former colleague" of Louis says: "This is so lovely for Louis. Liam dying really hit him hard. He was still close to him, so that was a very difficult time. Louis thought of Liam as a brother, and the circumstances around his death were just awful." "Louis has had an unfair amount of grief to deal with – so those around him have been really hoping he would find someone to settle down with. It's great that Zara understands fame like he does. Watch this space." (Note: "Watch this space" is a call to action, hinting at more stories from The Sun.)

Articles reissue claims that Zara's new house is a "love nest."

Direct quotes: "She bought it two weeks ago under her company name. It’s a two-bed flat in a nice area and, weirdly, not that far from where she lived with Sam." "Earlier this month, Zara set tongues wagging with Lucien Laviscount after they were spotted getting cozy at the BRIT Awards."

An article about Sam holding "no hard feelings toward Louis" drops: "When he meets Louis at Soccer Aid, he'll treat him like any other teammate. There's no bad blood," the source added.

An article claims Zara wants to become a pop star and is "using Louis to do so." "Her true passion—music—has taken a back seat." "A relationship with Louis would allow her to submerge herself into music and let her focus on her passion that she has neglected in recent years."

A note on this article. This is the first and only one to name the man Zara cheated on Sam with. "Formerly an International A&R Manager for Cowell’s label Syco, Zara’s ill-judged tryst with Fouradi hinted at her desire to fall for the bright lights and trappings of the music biz." (Note: I don't want to have to put this here but it's important. Fouradi is the X-Factor exec who SA'ed Katie Waisel in 2010.)

Articles about Louis insulting Love Island in the past start circulating.

The Daily Mail headline reads: "Louis Tomlinson reveals REAL feelings about Zara McDermott amid dating rumors"

The article focuses entirely on how Louis has expressed disdain for Love Island.

March 19th, 2025

Articles about Zara’s "glow-up," plastic surgery, and health journey start circulating.

The Daily Mail posts another article using only Reddit quotes about Zara being both a stunt and a Brexit supporter.

Quotes include: "I think it’s genuine" "Who knows, maybe Zara is his perfect partner."

Zara posts a video playing with her friend’s child.

Articles surface about Sam being back on dating apps after allegedly being blindsided by Zara’s romance.

March 20th, 2025

The Senior Editor of The Sun’s Bizarre (celebrity) column begins arguing with Larries on Twitter unprompted.

Without being tagged or contacted, he defends Zara and Louis, claiming: "Speculating about people’s sexuality can be harmful, and Zara and Louis are dating."

He likes a tweet that says:  "As someone yawning with this whole charade, please know my DMs are open if anyone (especially newer Larries, but anyone really) is upset or freaking out."

An article is released claiming Sam’s sister Louise once went on a date with Niall and spent the night at Louis’ home.

A full article about One Direction "affairs" is published, including the alleged connection between Sam’s sister and Niall.

A previously released article from December resurfaces, claiming Zara (or her business) is now a millionaire.

March 21st, 2025

The Sun runs an article saying Zara and Sam have gained thousands of followers since the dating rumors, while Louis has lost 80k followers.

Another article claims Zara and Sam’s friends are "taking sides."

Yet another article speculates about a "rivalry" between Sam and Louis.

March 22nd, 2025

The Sun publishes an article about a reporter receiving death threats from One Direction fans.

No new information is provided—it’s an old story being resurfaced for no apparent reason.

March 23rd, 2025

The Sun runs two articles:

One about Sam’s "boys’ trip."

Another about Zara walking to the gym.

Both heavily reference her rumored date with Louis and how hard Sam is taking the breakup.

The Sun makes an error in an article, claiming Zara had "met Louis’ parents."

(Note: Louis’ mother passed in 2016, and his father is not in his life.)

The article is quickly corrected to say she met his "family": "Zara has already met all the family, and they can tell that she has made Louis giddy. It's the first time in a long time that they have seen him happy."

The source adds: "They think Zara is super wholesome and health-conscious, so they are happy he is with someone who shuns the party life." (Note: Over the past few years, Louis has mentioned doing yoga and eating more seafood—similar to Harry’s pescatarian diet and yoga practice. It seems like they need an explanation for this rather than the obvious.)

Sam’s Raya profile makes it into the tabloids.

March 24th, 2025

A letter signed by Harry (along with others, led by Ed Sheeran) urging the UK government to fund music education is released.

March 25th, 2025

Louis posts pictures from inside Real World Studios, where George Michael and Harry have previously recorded.

March 26th, 2025

A full minute-long clip of Harry’s Two Ghosts music video (from 2017) is leaked online. (Note: This isn’t the first leak, but it’s the longest one so far.)

March 28th, 2025

All of Those Voices begins uploading clips of the documentary to TikTok in small parts.

Originally planned as 14 parts, it’s later extended to 28 parts.

March 31st, 2025

The Sun runs an article on Briana and Freddie for the first time in years.

It’s an exclusive behind a paywall, featuring photos of Briana and Freddie grocery shopping (Freddie’s face is blurred).

The article appears to be sourced from Briana herself.

It mentions Briana was 28 when she got engaged to her former fiancé (unrelated) and posted: "10 years of knowing you, and I knew all along you were my soulmate. I love you!"

The article also notes she gave birth in 2016 at age 23—an inconsistency that fans pick up on immediately.

April 1st, 2025

On the third anniversary of As It Was, Louis posts “Favorite” by Fontaines D.C.—a song about loving someone for a long time despite all the changes around you. (Note: Harry is a huge Fontaines D.C. fan, attended their show, and celebrated their win at the 2024 BRITs.)

Louis posts an Instagram story of a guitar by a pool, which is deleted after 10 minutes.

Important details about the photo:

It was apparently taken in Malibu in October (before Liam passed).

The rental was unoccupied that day.

The guitar is covered in sharpie drawings, seemingly in Louis’ handwriting. Symbols include:

28, 1991 (his birth year), smiley faces with X’s for eyes, the anarchy symbol, 369, the Eye of Providence (also seen on Harry’s leather journal during 1D), a #5 tally mark (same as his tattoo), a skull, a tornado, the words why and yes, an asterisk, a question mark, and his initials, LT.

Zara posts pictures of her family holiday in Dubai.

April 2nd, 2025

The Sun releases an article titled: "Inside Louis Tomlinson’s unbreakable bond with the woman who has supported him through unthinkable tragedy – & it’s not Zara."

The article focuses on his sisters.

Louis likes an Instagram post by a random man with very few followers. The caption reads (in Spanish): "Silence can say or express much more 😎"

The man had accidentally tagged Zara instead of a company called Zara.

Louis’ like is removed after fans notice and post about it on Twitter.

Harry is papped walking around London.

Articles speculate about Sam growing close to another reality show star.

Don’t Worry Darling is released on Netflix.

All of Those Voices TikTok account uploads the 4:15 clip of Louis with Freddie from the documentary.

Briana unfollows Louis on Instagram.

April 3rd, 2025

Sam Thompson reveals he’s co-parenting cats he shared with Zara McDermott—while "growing close to" another reality star.

Harry is pictured in London again.

Louis tweets and chats with fans, sharing the following:

"Fountain DC" (spelled wrong, but clearly referencing Fontaines D.C.).

"We’re waiting for LT3 (his next album)" — "It’s cooking."

"Like medium rare or well done?" — "Medium rare. Cooked to perfection."

"Any hints/lyric tease from the album?" — "Yeah."

"Describe the vibes of the new album" — "Sunny." (Likely referencing the Malibu guitar photo.)

"High in California vibes?" — "Always."

"With a sprinkle of?" — "Chaos."

"Give me a word that you use in one of your songs." — "You." (Note: Back in 2017, Louis posted the word “Always” on Twitter and captioned an Instagram post with “you” at the same time—hinting at the song Always You. It seems like he’s referencing that here as well.)

"Are you feeling ready for Soccer Aid?" — "Not yet but I will be. Need alllllll the support I can get though." (Note: There are 7 L’s in this.)

"Any advice for a bad day?" — "Don’t just assume tomorrow will be a bad day too. Who knows what the future has in store for you!"

"Can we expect any collabs on this album?" — "I was hoping for one maybe, but nothing has come up yet that makes sense."

April 7th, 2025

Articles resurface about interviewer Dan Walker once receiving death threats from One Direction fans back in 2020.

(Note: These threats happened after he inappropriately grilled Louis about losing his mother and sister. No new information is provided, and there’s no apparent reason for this story to be resurrected now.)

Articles claim Harry is "deeply hurt" by Taylor R*ssell moving on.

April 8th, 2025 (US Time)

Louis posts an Instagram story from a Stereophonics concert.

The lyrics playing are from "Maybe Tomorrow," a song Louis once tweeted about in 2021.

The clip shows the lyrics: "Maybe tomorrow I'll find my way home."

Zara also posts an Instagram story from the same concert, tagging the band and the venue.

Articles report that Barnett has approved Harry’s long-planned renovations to merge his Hampstead Heath houses.

April 9th, 2025 (so far)

UK tabloids pick up on Louis and Zara’s Instagram stories about the concert.

They incorrectly use pictures from Zara’s recent Dubai holiday as if they were taken in LA.

Pap photos of Harry in London surface, showing him wearing Dries Van Noten Suede Sneakers.

An Instagram story from Kunichi Nomura shows Harry and Kunichi together in Tokyo in early March.

Articles about Olva W*lde began circulating, focusing on her role in a new episode of a TV show as a director caught in on-set drama reminiscent of the Don’t Worry Darling fiasco.

Louis’ sisters, Daisy and Phoebe, are announced as supporting members (not players) for Soccer Aid.

Final Thoughts as of Now

Reverse-Engineering the Narrative: PR Goals

Rebuild Louis’ Public Image

Focus on presenting Louis as approachable and mature, highlighting his journey of overcoming tragedies, fighting as the underdog, and being a responsible brother.

Shift public perception away from the "teeny-boybander" stereotype to a more grounded, independent artist.

Leverage a Fabricated Rivalry Between Louis and Sam

The supposed rivalry generates free publicity for Soccer Aid while positioning Louis as a central figure in the event.

Zara’s previous relationship with Sam adds layers of drama to keep the story alive.

Boost Zara’s Career

Zara benefits from the association with Louis, gaining access to his fanbase and increased media coverage.

The narrative about Zara wanting to become a pop star and Louis "helping her" aligns her with a larger career trajectory.

This arrangement also provides Louis’ PR team with a "safe" and heteronormative pairing to push.

Drive Engagement Through Easily Shareable Drama

Stories about blurry date photos, Zara buying a "love nest," Sam shading Zara, and the "rivalry" between Louis and Sam are classic tabloid tactics.

These stories spark online debates, generating clicks and keeping both Louis and Zara trending, even if the narrative feels contrived.

Negative attention (e.g., fans doubting the relationship) still serves its purpose by maintaining relevance for both parties.

Connect Harry to Every Ex-Girlfriend He’s Had 

Articles linking Harry to Taylor S*ift, Oivia Wi*de, and others are a transparent attempt to push a heteronormative narrative.

Make One Direction Fans Look Dangerous and Irrational

Resurface old stories of "death threats" against journalists, like Dan Walker, and amplify fan theories as though they’re harmful. 

This frames fans (especially Larries) as unhinged, discrediting their ability to question the PR narrative.

Expand Louis’ Appeal to a Broader Audience: 

The association with Zara makes Louis more appealing to casual fans or those outside his core audience, particularly those who follow Zara’s reality TV background.

This helps Louis appeal to a more mainstream audience, positioning him as more than just a musician but as a cultural figure with crossover appeal.

Breaking the PR Narrative

The Tabloid Error About Zara "Meeting Louis’ Parents" (March 23rd)

The story originally claimed Zara met Louis’ parents, despite his mother passing away in 2016.

Timing of Leaks and Posts

Louis’ Instagram story posts (e.g., Fontaines D.C., the Malibu guitar) subtly allude to Harry rather than Zara.

Louis’ "Need alllllll the support" Tweet on April 3rd

7 L’s in this tweet.

Coordinated Symbolism with Clothing

On March 9th, Louis wears a Yohji Yamamoto x NEIGHBORHOOD shirt (from a store designed by Kunichi Nomura).

On April 9th, a photo surfaces of Harry with Kunichi in Tokyo, taken back in early March.

Louis Wearing the Endless Runner Shirt at the Super Bowl (February 6th)

Louis wears a shirt reading "Endless Runner" during a Super Bowl pre-party. Just days later (March 1st–4th), Harry runs the Tokyo Marathon.

Briana Unfollows Louis (April 2nd)

Briana unfollows Louis the same day All of Those Voices uploads a clip of Louis with Freddie to TikTok.

Briana and Freddie Article Inconsistencies (March 31st)

An article about Briana and Freddie mentions “She gave birth in 2016 when she and Louis were just 23 years old.” And then immediately mentions the caption of her old engagement post to ex-fiance (only 5 years later) “Briana was 28 at the time and wrote on Instagram. “10 years of knowing you and I knew all along you were my soulmate”. The timeline doesn’t add up, undermining the credibility of the story.

Yes, I left all of the blue-greening out of this because: A. There was a lot of it. B. I know several of us don't consider blue-greening signaling anymore.

A collection of sources:

Jade Thirlwall

Harry's team told him not to be associated with the band.

Harry runs the Tokyo marathon!

Harry being in talks to perform a residency at the Sphere.

Fans speculate about Louis/Zara

Articles about them liking each others photos on Instagram.

Harry's team denies the Sphere rumors.

Articles somehow weirdly link Harry and Taylor S*ift again.

Articles about Harry not being over O*ivia Wi*de.

The Sun releases an exclusive (paid) article

Spotted getting cosy at the BRIT Awards.

Zara wants to become a popstar

Articles about Louis insulting Love Island

Articles about Sam being back on dating apps after being blindsided by Zara's romance.

Another article about the rivalry between Sam and Louis.

Zara walking to the gym

Sam's Raya profile

A letter Harry signed

The Sun runs an article on Briana and Freddie

Inside Louis Tomlinson’s unbreakable bond with woman who has supported him through unthinkable tragedy – & it’s not Zara

Articles about Sam growing close to another reality show star.

Don't Worry Darling is released to Neflix.

Articles come out that interviewer Dan Walker once received death threats from One Direction fans back in 2020.

Article saying that Harry is deeply hurt by Taylor R*ssell moving on.

Articles are released saying that Barnett has approved Harry to merge the houses he has in Hamstead Heath and finally begin the renovations hes been planing for years.

UK tabloids pick up on the Instagram stories. They incorrectly use pictures of her recent Dubai holiday as pictures of her in LA.

Pap photos of Harry

Olv*a W*lde stars as an director caught in on-set drama reminicent of the DWD escapade in The Studio.

[writingdevil]

Uhhh. Looks up at you with big round eyes. Would u be willing to write some platonic Gasoline [Smitten, Cold, and Stubborn]

Ideally them being weirdos/vaguely fucked up but I'll take whatever ur in the mood for :]

(I didn't know Gasoline was their name, but it's really cool. None of them know how to be normal in the slightest, so this'll be really fun. Enjoy!)

"Now, why did you both think that this was a good idea?"

Stubborn snorted at Smitten's disappointed tone, talking to them as if they were fledglings. Judging by the eye roll from Cold, he felt the same.

Stubborn leaned back, his back hitting Smitten's bedrest, lounging on his bed as if it was his own. Stubborn saw the way Smitten's eyes briefly lit up in delight at the sight of Stubborn getting comfortable, before his attention was pulled back to Cold, who was laying across the end of Smitten's bed on his stomach, kicking his feet as he inspected his hand.

Smitten stood in front of Cold, his arms crossed and a cross look on his face, but it was hard to think that Smitten could be cross with anybody, in Stubborn's opinion.

Smitten looked down at Cold, who was giving him a bored look in return. "Cold, how many times have I told you to tell me about your dark thoughts before you act on them?"

"What if listening to you counted as a dark thought?"

"Then I guess you would be truly lost to the darkness then," Smitten teased, and Cold shot a subtle glare at Smitten, before lowering his head to stare at the floor again.

"What's the big deal?" Stubborn asked with a shrug. "You said to come to you if it was a dangerous thought, not a dark one."

Smitten sighed and rubbed a hand over his face tiredly. "Stubborn my dear, you broke two of his fingers-"

"Yeah, only two!"

Stubborn sat up with a huff, refusing to let Smitten win this argument. "I obviously wasn't gonna break more! I have limits as well, you know!"

"Do you?" Cold asked with intrigue, lifting his head up, his eyes sparkling with a desire to see where exactly Stubborn's line was-and Stubborn grinned at the thought of finding that out with him.

But before that idea could go any further, Smitten whipped his head to glance between the two of them, going, "No! We are dealing with this issue first before you embark on another!"

"There's not even an issue anymore," Cold said, lifting his right hand up to show his two bandaged fingers, tied at the base with a bow, courtesy of Smitten. Stubborn could tell Cold hated that bow.

"Yes, there is!" Smitten protested, beginning to pace up and down in front of them. "The fact that this happened at all is the issue!"

Stubborn chuckled at Smitten's dramatics. "You're starting to sound like your brother," he muttered, and Cold made a sound of agreement.

Then Stubborn had to hide his smirk as he saw a dark glint shine in Smitten's eyes, and the way Smitten's smile stretched until it was just a tad too sharp to seem sweet anymore.

Stubborn and Cold won.

Smitten took a deep breath in, and then his voice was much more calm and controlled as he said, "Forgive me, my dears- I am never one to try and stifle one's curiousity and passions. I believe that listening to your heart will always lead you in the right direction, no matter what."

"We know this about you," Cold butted in without any care or general interest in what Smitten was saying.

But then Smitten looked down at Cold, who was making a pointed effort to stare at the ground, and Stubborn gulped at the intensity of Smitten's eyes in that moment.

Stubborn could feel the tension in the air as nobody spoke for a few minutes, and if Cold was getting antsy or nervous, his body language definitely didn't show it.

Then Smitten smiled with a wicked sort of softness, and then he crouched down to be at eye level with Cold.

Cold lifted his gaze, locking eyes and barely blinking at Smitten.

"I am usually all for doing what your heart desires, but I also can't stand the thought of the people I love hurting themselves without me there to look after them."

Cold waved his injured hand carelessly in the air. "We were only trying to-"

"I don't care," Smitten suddenly grabbed Cold's hand, his voice now taking a dark tone as he stared into Cold's eyes-and then he squeezed Cold's broken fingers, "what you were trying to do."

Stubborn couldn't look away as he saw Cold's eyes widen, and then a single twitch of his eye, probably the most of a reaction that he was willing to show.

"I don't want the two of you to do it again," Smitten softly ordered, with a hint of a threat behind his voice that Cold and Stubborn heard clear as day.

Smitten held eye contact for a few more seconds, before humming in satisfaction, leaning forward to press a kiss to Cold's forehead, and then he cheerfully added, "I don't like it when the people I care about are in pain."

Stubborn laughed at his words, mumbling under his breath, "Trust me, we know."

Smitten's attention swiftly snapped to Stubborn, and then the fight was between them.

Smitten stood up, making his way over to Stubborn, his eyes taking in every inch of Stubborn's relaxed body.

Sometimes Smitten's passion was enough to keep Stubborn energised, and Cold interested for a good while.

But sometimes they craved something else from Smitten, and the chance of trying to bring that out was a challenge that Stubborn and Cold much preferred.

Stubborn blinked, and then Smitten was right in front of him, a hand on his knee, and the tiny warmth of that hand was both pleasant and scorching.

"Stubborn," Smitten cooed, "surely you feel like hurting poor Cold's fingers was wrong, yes?"

Stubborn wasn't going to be the one to submit, to admit defeat and face the consequences that both himself and Cold were seeking from the usually sweet and innocent avian.

So he shrugged nonchalantly, casting his eyes around the room, catching how Cold was staring at both of them, not even attempting to hide his intrigue.

"Cold's not exactly a complainer, and like I said, it's not that big of a deal."

Smitten tilted his head to the side, a patient and calm expression on his face. "What makes you think that?"

Stubborn smirked and leaned forward, noticing how Smitten tensed up at the proximity.

Stubborn looked Smitten right in the eyes and said, "Because you're nice enough to patch him up, even if he doesn't ask for it."

Stubborn's smirk grew wider at the way Smitten stiffened and froze at his words, feathers puffing up in mortification, and Stubborn even heard Cold hum in amusement at the reaction.

But then Smitten chuckled, squeezing Stubborn's knee and making him jolt in surprise. "I see what's going on here," Smitten said, beaming at both of them as if overjoyed.

There was a knot in Stubborn's chest full of anticipation and nerves. Cold looked as still as a corpse.

"You two just want my attention."

A nervous chuckle almost escaped Stubborn's mouth, but he managed to hold it in as he stared up into Smitten's eyes, now alight with excitement and perhaps smugness.

Smitten shook his head playfully at them. "You two really need to get better at just asking for what you want."

"Where's the fun in that?" Cold asked, attempting to bend his broken fingers without Smitten noticing.

"Well, either way," Smitten said, "I think some mandatory cuddles and preening are in order. Starting now."

"Now?" Stubborn blurted out with a laugh. "That sure was quick."

Smitten hummed in delight as he looked down at Stubborn, and it felt like Smitten was staring directly into his soul, sending a nervous thrill through Stubborn.

"Well, I already locked the door when you both walked in, so there's nowhere for you to go." That made Cold sit up in surprise, brows raised as he glanced at the bedroom door.

Stubborn's fists clenched. "Just for a little bit though, yeah?"

Smitten laughed in amusement, walking around to the end of the bed. "Oh, I don't know. It seems like you two really need some love and attention right now. So I say I keep you both here, give you all the attention and praise you want, right up until I think you're ready to behave. Doesn't that sound nice?"

Well, the idea of being soft and vulnerable wasn't something that neither Stubborn or Cold would admit to wanting or happily submit to, but that was what Smitten was here for-to make them.

Smitten stared them both down in a way not unlike an opponent ready to strike down an enemy. "Well then, shall we begin?"

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

How to hug your Port Mafia Boss

Self-Aware! BEAST! Dazai Osamu x GN! Reader x Self-Aware! Dazai Osamu

Description: He can't sleep at night. He ended up on your doorstep.

Warning: OOC. English is my second language. Short and fluffy.

You bit the end of your pencil. This word cross was hard. Technically, you were supposed to be in bed already, but, you still have half of this word cross to finish. You won't have time to finish it tomorrow, and you don't want to leave it unsolved.

"Will you finally get to bed?" grumble Osamu, glaring your word cross. He was laying on your bed. He came here earlier, wanting to cuddle tonight.

"Iris Flower, I need some cuddles!" whined Osamu, holding his hands towards you.

Before you can answer, you heard that noise again.

You heard steps, coming from outside your room. Normally, you won't bother to pay attention to the sound. There is no curfew (except for the kids), and some members of the Cast enjoyed midnight snacks or going to a nightclub.

Yet, there was one thing that bothered you.

This someone was walking from one side of the corridor to another for fifteen minutes already.

And you were sure, that it was the same person. Of course, your hearing won't be as sharp as Jouno's, but after his lesson you could tell, if the sound of steps were the same or different.

After this, someone walked outside your door again. Your curiosity took the best of you. You put word cross to the side, stand up from your chair and went to the door.

You opened the door.

And came face to face with Dazai. Whose left eye was cowered in bandages.

He stepped on the side, startled. He looked guilty.

"Sorry, [Y/N]. Did I wake you up?" Port Mafia Boss whispered.

You shook your head. Your words were soft.

"Don't worry, Dazamu, I wasn't sleeping."

Dazai frowned. He knew why he was called either Dazai or Dazamu (Osazai sounded too silly for him). He wasn't used to have a nickname. Dazai spoke, his voice was quiet.

"You shouldn't stay up late."

You whispered in return.

"You also should be in bed. Did something happened?" After a pause, you put your hand on his shoulder.

"You can tell me."

Dazai looked away, hiding his gaze. After a few moments, he spoke again.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He looked like, he was ready to snap, if you tried to pry further.

You weren't planning to do it. You still were building your relationship with BEAST Gang.

But something you can do now.

You stepped closer to Dazai and hugged him.

He was thin. He was tall. He was stiff.

You run your fingers through his hair and squeezed him slightly. You pressed your cheek against the side of his neck.

"If you say so. Just, remember, if you need someone to hear you out, I will be here."

Dazai didn't move. Then he slowly put his arms around your shoulders.

He was embarrassed. Yet, he didn't move away.

You stay like this for a few moments. Then you let him go.

"Good night, Dazai."

Before you could close the door, Dazai whispered.

"Can I stay?"

You turned towards your bed, wondering why Osamu was quiet. Turned out, he was finishing your word cross. He looked up from it and stared at you. Without breaking an eye contact, he wrote down the last word. Then looked at his double. And nod.

You glance at Dazai.

"You can stay. And you..."

You looked at Osamu and rolled your eyes.

"Fine, you won. Scoot over, don't hog all the place."

It took time, but you three managed to get comfy on your bed. You felt the embraces of both males from both sides of you and knew that it was the safest place in the world to be.

Osamu was hugging you from behind. Your back pressed against his chest. Osamu loves to be a big spoon.

Your cheek is pressed against Dazai's chest. You can hear the soft, rhythmic beating of his heart. You rub his back caringly up and down.

Warmth, heartbeat, breathing...

All if you drift off...

This night, Dazai Osamu, Boss of Port Mafia, had a good rest. Without dreams. But he felt safe.

And he was sure in a next day.