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darlingdaisyfarm · 2 days ago

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₊˚ʚ Rain in the woods (Ford Pines x fem!reader) ₊˚✧ ﾟ.

part 2 | part 1

author note: hey friends, so im sorry for taking so long, i wanted to post it this Saturday but i got lots of work, it's not proofread so I'm so so so sorry for any mistakes, i promise ill fix them a bit later!

also im working on some pre portal stan x reader x ford fic and it's filled with what we love the most - glass and angst (smut included!!), i know i always say it, but im so excited to share it with you guys <3

nsfw, minors dni

Stanford Pines — the enigmatic genius who’s always just beyond your reach, a mind so vast, it feels like trying to grasp the stars. You should be focused, but your gaze keeps flicking back to him. You’re utterly captivated, heart racing, mind spinning.

And then it happens. One moment, you're holding the mug, your fingers curled around it and the next it slips. No! The mug tumbles from your grasp, its ceramic form hitting the floor with a sharp, brutal crack that echoes through the room. You watch in helpless horror as it shatters into a thousand pieces, each fragment piercing the silence like a blade through your chest.

Your heart skips, thundering in your ears, and your face goes hot with embarrassment, an awful flush spreading across your skin as you turn your wide, panicked eyes toward Ford. His gaze meets yours, a mix of surprise and concern, but it’s his calm that gets you.

“Oh shit—” your voice cracks and you curse yourself silently, mortified. Of course, you would screw up right now, in front of him. Stanford fucking Pines, the man whose brilliance makes your own thoughts feel clumsy, an intellectual giant, and here you are, tripping over a damn mug. The pieces of it seem to scatter in slow motion, like a dream you can’t wake up from. You’re so stupid. You feel so stupid.

“I’m sorry— I'm so sorry,” you ramble, desperate to somehow undo the mess, your hands trembling at your sides. You want to sink into the floor, disappear, fade away. How could you be this careless?

But then Ford takes a step forward, and everything inside you freezes. His eyes are soft, so much softer than you expected, softer than anyone else’s gaze ever could be. He’s not angry, not even irritated. Instead, he’s. . . calm. “Hey, it’s alright,” he says, a chuckle escaping him, as though the whole situation is laughable, as though you’re not standing there, mortified in front of him. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve dealt with worse. Trust me.”

For one second, everything really seems to slow down as his words sinks into you like a balm. You believe him. It’s impossible to not. He’s seen everything and here you are, worrying over a broken mug.

“Im really sorry,” you stammer again, caught off guard by the softness in his tone, the tenderness in his gaze. What did you expect? That he’d scold you, dismiss you? But no. He’s calm, like this minor catastrophe is nothing. As if nothing could rattle him, as if you, standing there like a fool, didn’t matter at all.

Stanford laughs. “You know, after all I’ve been through, interdimensional beasts, curses, that damn triangle demon, a shattered mug would be nothing. So don’t apologize.” his eyes meet yours. “Im not made of glass. It takes more than a broken cup to rattle me.”

And then his voice lowers with that quiet authority. “Sit down,” he commands softly. “I’ll handle this. Don’t want you getting hurt.”

You can’t help it. His voice sounds so low, commanding, yet laced with something so tender it makes your skin tingle. The words come easy from his lips, but when they’re aimed at you, they tear through you. They make you feel like you’re something precious, something to be cared for, protected. But more than that, a part of you craves to be held by him, right now, right in this moment. To be pressed back into the cushions of the sofa, feeling the strength of his arms, making you feel like you’re the only one in his world.

You’re not just obeying his words, you’re aching to obey.

That’s why without thinking, you sink into the soft cushions. And shit, there he is — bending down, his bare chest covered with scars still glistening from the rain, droplets make you ache. They fucking shimmer on his skin, taunting you, daring you to touch him, taste him, make him yours. Every inch of him is fucking perfect. God, how are you even supposed to think straight when he looks like that? Your body is screaming for him, for his touch, for everything.

You try to look away. You can’t. His broad shoulders, his strong fucking arms, his hard chest. It’s too much. He’s a fucking masterpiece and all you want is for him to paint you in ways you can’t even process yet. Your body betrays you, again, that warmth spreading low in your belly, growing. You cross your legs, trying to hide the desperate need that’s already pooling between them. Fuck, how are you supposed to calm this down? It only gets worse.

He’s everything you’ve ever wanted and it’s all laid out in front of you, impossible to ignore. His every movement is so natural, so fucking sexy, it makes your pulse race. You just know he can make you feel things you didn’t even know your body was capable of.

You’re trying to calm yourself, really, you are.

You cross and uncross your legs again, desperate to release some of the tension building between your thighs, but it only makes it worse. Fuck, why is this so hard? Every thought you have is consumed with him, with what he could do to you, what he should do to you. And the more you try to control it, the more your body betrays you.

You need to touch yourself, but you’re stuck, just waiting, consumed by the need for him.

And then, the thoughts take over completely.

You’re delusional to the point where you feel his hands on your legs, parting them, spreading you wide. You imagine him on his knees, lowering his head, his lips tracing the inside of your thighs, so fucking gentle, so goddamn slow, as he watches you with those eyes, sharp, hungry, possessive. And then, he presses his tongue to your clit, licks you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, making you whine for him.

You bite down on your lip, trying to hold it back, but it’s impossible. You need him. You want him between your legs, fucking you so deep you can’t think straight, making you beg for it. Fuck, what would he say? “That’s it, baby. . . just like that… good girl, taking what I give you. . .” the words seeping into your skin like a drug you can’t quit.

You bite down hard on your lip, desperate to keep quiet, but your body is louder than you’ll ever be. Fuck, your body’s soaking through, your pussy throbbing for his touch, and all you can do is stare at him, mesmerised. His body is a goddamn work of art, and you want to trace every inch of it, feel it on top of you, pushing inside you, taking you.

It’s so fucking embarrassing, but you can’t stop it. Your body’s so ready for him, for his hands, for his cock. You can almost taste him, can almost feel his cock sliding inside you, filling you so nice.

Fuck, any writer of erotic novels would envy your imagination. The thought of him getting rough with you, pushing you down into the cushions, fucking you into the sofa until you can’t think, can’t breathe. “You’re mine now, sweetheart. Mine to fuck whenever I want. You belong to me.”

The thought of him pounding into you, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer, makes you want to lose your mind. You just want to hear him growl your name as he fucks you like you’re the only thing that matters.

And you know you’ll let him. Let him claim you, take you apart, until you’re nothing but a mess of pleasure, a good girl begging for more.

“Hey,” Ford’s voice drags you back into reality, unwantedly. Your heart stutters in your chest as you blink, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body’s still burning, aching for him. He’s looking at you, brows furrowed, the concern on his face so fucking intense it almost makes you want to tell him everything you’re feeling, right here, right now. But you can’t. God, you can’t. Not when the way he looks at you like that.

“Are you alright? You don’t look too well.” his voice is full of worry, but there’s that edge of guilt creeping in as he mutters, “I really should’ve checked the forecast before dragging you out in this mess. . . feels like a bit of a fool for that.” his fingers are rubbing the back of his neck in that shy way he does, that little sign of guilt that makes your stomach clench in a way that’s too much to handle.

But it’s his fucking proximity that’s driving you wild. He’s so close now, standing there shirtless, looking like some goddamn wet dream come to life. You can’t focus on anything but his body, the way the rainwater trails down his skin, glistening so beautifully. Fucking fuck.

“No, Ford, im absolutely okay, I swear—”

“Hold still,” Ford commands and that’s when you feel his hand so damn warm against your forehead, sending a shockwave of need straight through you. His touch is too fucking soft and yet it feels like it’s scorching you. Or maybe it’s just the fact that you’re so goddamn horny your body’s reacting to the smallest contact.

You try to calm yourself, try to act normal, but it’s too fucking hard. You force a weak smile. “I told you, I— I’m fine,” you answer, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue. It’s all you can do to not let the truth slip. You want to scream it, how much you need him, how much you ache for him right now, but you don’t. Not yet. Never probably.

Ford’s brows knit tighter together and his eyes lock onto yours. He’s not fooled, not for a second. “You’re lying. Don’t try to brush it off. If you’re not feeling well, you need to tell me.”

The urge to confess everything is unbearable. You want to tell him you’re not sick, you’re just fucking drenched in need, that’s all! Aching for him to pull you into his arms, to kiss you until you can’t breathe. But instead, you do the only thing you can do: you force a nervous laugh, a weak attempt to play it off.

“No, I swear I’m fine! I could go on a thousand more anomaly hunts with you!” the words spill out with a little too much enthusiasm, a little too much frenzy and you pray to whatever god is listening that it’s enough to get him off your case.

Ford’s eyes narrow and he crosses his arms, still towering over you, still so close

Man, just step back or I'll pounce on you and eat you.

“Cold rain can do a lot more damage than you think. You could’ve caught something serious, and ignoring it won’t help. Do you have any idea how quickly a fever can develop if you’re already run down?”

Oh no, his voice shifts into that familiar, lecturing tone, the kind that makes you want to both roll your eyes and lean in closer to hear more.

When he says something about cold exposure affecting the immune system, you should be paying attention. You try to focus on his words, but it’s hard when he’s standing there — half naked, with his chest on full display, his messy hair slightly wet from the rain. God, he's just so fucking handsome. The serious, worried look in his eyes makes you weak and you can’t help but sink a little deeper into the sofa.

Just as Ford’s lecture hits a peak, the door swings open with a loud bang and Stanley Pines strolls in, halting mid-step as his eyes zero in on the scene before him. Ford, half-naked, standing too close for comfort, and you, perched on the sofa with that nervous smile plastered across your face.

Stan’s grin stretches wide, clearly loving the situation as he leans casually against the doorway. His eyes flick between you and Ford, then he gives Ford an exaggerated once-over, raising an eyebrow at his lack of turtleneck. “Well, ain’t this cozy,” he drawls sarcastically, giving a smirk that only widens when he spots Ford’s obvious discomfort. “Ya know, Sixer, when I said ‘show the girl a good time,’ I didn’t mean literally strip down to do it.”

Ford’s eyes snap toward his brother, his mouth twitching in a way that’s almost a grimace. His posture straightens, arms crossing defensively as he glares at Stan. “Stanley, really? Must you always reduce everything to your level? She dropped a mug and I was helping her avoid a mess. You wouldn’t understand, but maybe try acting your age for once.”

“Hey, all I’m sayin’ is, if ya plan on gettin' cozy, maybe take it to a couch that ain’t mine.” Stanley’s gaze slides over to you, flashing a wink. “But if you’re lookin' for company, darlin’, I’m more than happy to—“

Before you can let the awkwardness spread more, you spring into the conversation, desperate to steer it somewhere less humiliating. “Stan, actually, Ford was just helping me to—” you force a friendly smile, trying to make light of the situation.

Stan laughs like he’s heard it all before. “Sure thing, toots. But between you and me. . . you’re doin’ a hell of a job of keepin’ my brother here on his toes. Haven’t seen him all riled up like this since. . . well, ever.” your heart thump so loudly in your chest, you’re sure everyone can hear it.

Ford’s jaw clenches so tight, you can practically hear his teeth grinding, but he doesn’t look away from Stan. The vein in his neck starts to twitch.God, it’s almost painful how much he wants to just end this conversation, end this moment, and pull you somewhere private, somewhere safe, where he can have you all to himself, but he doesn’t. “Stan, enough. We have an anomaly to inspect. Something I’d actually prefer not to delay any longer.”

Stan lets out a low whistle, clearly enjoying every second of Ford’s discomfort. “Yeah, yeah. Go on, Sixer, run off to your little projects. Just don’t forget there’s a real world out here, alright?” he gives you a quick nod, still smirking. “and you, don’t let him lock you in his lab too long, sweetheart.”

***

Grumpy Ford. The kind of irritated, scowling Ford you never realized you’d find so irresistibly enticing. That brooding frustration, that laser-sharp focus, you can’t help but imagine all that intensity turned on you, directed into every inch of your body.

God, if he just shoved you back onto that workbench right now, you’d let him. You wouldn’t care if his precious equipment went crashing to the floor, wouldn’t even flinch at the thought of papers and tools scattering everywhere. All you want is him, his body pinning you down, hands gripping you like you’re the anomaly he’s desperate to dissect, figure out, devour.

Holy shit, you want him to push you up against that wall, pin you down until you’re writhing underneath him, his body grinding against yours, every bit of that frustration poured right into you.

Slick heat building between your thighs as you watch him, the way he moves around his lab, muttering in frustration as he punches numbers into some device, brows knitted in that fierce focus. And all you can do is want his hands on your hips, his mouth on your neck, his cock driving into you like you’re all he’s thinking about.

“The rain seems to have masked the anomaly’s energy signature. I suspect it might be due to ionization in the— are you even listening?”

His voice snaps you back, he’s tearing right through your flimsy attempts at focus with that intense gaze of his, as if seeing everything you’re thinking. You offer him a small, sheepish smile. “Of course I am! Gravity, paranormal. . . s-signatures, right?” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the way your eyes keep drifting over his body, your ache throbbing inside, thighs pressing together as he stands there, so close you could reach out, slip your fingers through the fabric of his clothes, feel the warmth of his skin.

Ford lets out a soft, exasperated sigh. “Honestly, you’re as distractible as Stan.”

He turns away, but your eyes don’t leave him. Instead, you let your gaze slide over the room, until something catches your eye. A strange, helmet-like device bristling with wires and so, without thinking, you ask, “Hey, what’s that thing?”

Ford’s gaze follows yours, his expression changes as he considers whether to answer. “That’s a thought-reading device. Designed to access certain mental frequencies,” he explains, stepping closer to it and closer to you. “It can pick up surface thoughts. . . theoretically, anyway. I was working on it before I. . . uhm, it’s meant to strengthen and protect someone’s mental processes. Block out. . . certain entities from gaining access to their mind.”

A mind-protective device. Of course, he’d build something like that. It’s so him, his beautiful mix of intellect, caution, that underlying fear of what he’s seen, what he’s had to fight.

“So, it could let me peek into that brilliant mind of yours?” it’s a playful a tease, mostly. But inside you just ache to know, to wonder, to feel his thoughts. Would he think about you. even once, in the same filthy, breathless way you think about him?

Stanford grins. “In theory, yes, but it’s hardly necessary. My mind is. . . complex, too complicated for most people to understand."

And then, suddenly, unexpectedly, Ford lifts the machine, his grin is bigger. “Why don’t you try it on?”

Your heart slams against your chest and panic sears through you, cutting under your carefully held composure. Oh god. No. No, no, no. Every filthy thought, every desperate image of him, of those long, deft fingers tracing down your skin, of his mouth, his hands, of him pinning you down and splitting you open on his cock, of moaning his name until you can’t breathe. All of it, laid bare, displayed for him to see?

You choke down the crazy urge to run, instead forcing yourself to laugh. “Why, Professor Pines, are you doubting my integrity?” you counter, flashing him a daring smirk, praying it’s enough to distract him from the heat that’s burning its way up your cheeks.

Ford chuckles in response. “Integrity?” he repeats, his tone mocking. “No. But curiosity? Oh, absolutely. I think it would be enlightening to see what actually goes on behind that amused little expression of yours.”

“There’s nothing interesting in my mind,” but your words barely sound convincing to you, let alone to him.

Ford tilts his head, arching his brow in that all-too-familiar, skeptical way that makes you want to simultaneously squirm and melt. “Oh really? You know, most people would be thrilled to test out new technology. But you. . . you’re avoiding it like it’s some kind of torture device.”

“Oh, yeah, you know,” a poor attempt at casual. “I just. . . don’t wanna risk, you know, brain cells or something.” you resist the urge to roll your eyes. God, please just buy it. . .

Ford’s laughter rumbles and by the look on his face, you know he doesn’t quite believe you. But, mercifully, he lets it slide. “Alright, alright,” he relents. “I’ll spare you. This time.”

***

The rest of the evening is a haze of Ford’s intense meticulous rambling as you both sit tucked away in the quiet of his lab, soft lamp light casting warm shadows that stretch over the various gadgets, books, and uncharted maps sprawled out on every available surface, his domain, the world he’s always losing himself in.

He’s explaining again, his words so precise about the anomaly you saw earlier today. His voice rises with each detail, the way the rain altered it, how it vanished before either of you could even think to grab it. You should be focused, but his beautiful voice turns into a lullaby. Your eyelids grow heavy, your body sinking deeper into the chair.

And Ford notices.

The way your head tilts too far, your eyes fluttering closed just a little too long. He’s not as lost in his thoughts as he likes to think. His gaze sharpens, flicking to you with that careful, assessing precision he’s always had. He sees that quiet exhaustion in the way your posture slumps, the way your breath catches unevenly as your body fights against the pull of sleep.

His voice softens. “You’re exhausted,” he murmurs. “Of course you are. . . It’s too late. Go, get some rest. This. . . all of this will still be here tomorrow.”

A sigh tries to escape your chest before you can stop it. You want to protest, to stay longer, to pass just little bit more time with him. But the way he looks at you makes the words die before they can leave your lips. There's something unspoken in his eyes, a quiet concern mixed with that stubborn, unyielding sense of responsibility.

You try to stifle a yawn, your hand reaches out, fingers brushing the fabric of his sleeve, as if the touch might change his mind. “Maybe. . . maybe just a bit longer?” however even your own voice sounds tired.

His answer is gentle but final. “No. You need to sleep. I’ll be here, as always.”

You don’t argue. When you step away, you catch one last glimpse of him, standing amidst the piles of notebooks, the soft light casting shadows along the lines of his face, catching the silver in his hair in a way that’s so painfully beautiful so you let yourself stay a little longer before you close the door.

***

The silence that reigns in the room after you leave feels like a huge, endless void that stretches to all corners of the laboratory and suffocates in its stillness. Ford exhales slowly, a sigh caught between frustration and something deeper he can’t quite name. His gaze lingers on the door, where you disappeared through just moments ago, soft sound of your footsteps still echoing in his mind. God, he’s such a fool, he thinks, fingers pressing to the bridge of his nose, rubbing at the ache that’s been building inside him ever since you spoke those soft words, just a little longer.

He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t ignore it. The way you leaned in, hanging onto his every word, as if he were something more than he really was, something beyond the man who hides behind his work, behind his mind. The weight of your trust presses on him and with it comes the unbearable pressure of knowing he doesn’t deserve it.

And God, he tries to keep himself restrained. He tells himself that this is madness, that you’re too young, that every second he spends watching you, wanting you, is a betrayal of everything he’s tried to build.

But you’re gone now and his lab feels emptier than ever. Even as he reaches for his journal, his thoughts are still tangled with you, with the way you looked at him, the way your sleepy eyes followed his every move, the way you seemed to hang on to every word, every breath he took. Did you even realise what you were doing to him?

And as he opens his journal, he knows there will be no more notes on anomalies tonight. No theories, nothing but the restless, fevered words he can never, ever say aloud. Ford knows that if these thoughts ever slipped past his lips, they’d destroy you. You’d never look at him the same again. And he can’t lose you. He couldn’t bear to watch that disgust fill your eyes, that revulsion as you saw him for what he truly is: a man with a heart full of shame, but aching for you all the same.

He writes with a fever, the words coming too quickly for him to even think them through. He’s confessing things he’ll never have the courage to say to you. The way you make him ache, how wrong it feels, how unnatural it is to want you this way. You’re so young, so vibrant, so full of life. How could someone like him, an old man, a man of logic and reason, ever think he could want someone like you?

And yet, it’s all he can think about. It’s all he does think about.

God help him, he wants you.

Stanford’s hand trembles as he writes fast.

“The way she seems to lean closer with every word I speak, as if I’m some kind of god to her. I can’t breathe when she’s near, but I can’t stand being away from her either.”

He’s sickened by it, disgusted by the way his hands ache for you, by how his thoughts run into places he can’t control. But even so, he thinks, I can’t stop. I can’t stop wanting you.

“If only she knew what I was dreaming about, how I want to erase all layers of distance between us. I want to melt into her, touch every inch of her skin, as if she was made to belong to me, only to me.“

Ford can’t let you know how deeply he feels, how far he’s fallen for someone like you, someone so out of reach, someone who might never look at him the way he looks at you. Because if he did, if he let those words slip from his lips it would ruin you. It would break you.

And he can’t do that.

Not to you.

So, he writes. He writes because it’s the only way he can make sense of the mess inside of him. The only way he can be close to you without breaking everything.

“God, if she knew, she'd never see me as anything but the perverted old man I am.”

“God help me. . . I want her breathless. I want her shaking, clinging to me as I bury myself inside her, feeling every inch of her wrap around me like she was made for this. I want her to be mine. The years between us be damned—”

One sentence, scribbled with shaking hands: “if she knew how much I want to make her come on my cock while explaining the fundamental laws of interdimensional, she’d never look at me same way again”

“I want her shaking, spent, marked by me, by the man twice her age who should know better but can’t help himself.”

“I picture teaching her how to harness interdimensional energy, but my mind twists it, images shifting until it’s my body pressed to hers, whispering “concentrate sweetheart,” while I trust into her from behind. Her breath would stutter as I correct her technique with my hands on her hips.”

“I shouldnt crave her, not with the years that separates us like an unyielding chasm. Yet when she laughs, carefree and obvious, I imagine making her cry my name, hands guiding her hips as I thrust inside up into her, showing her exactly what an older man can do. Showing her why age doesn’t matter when she’s trembling and breathless beneath me.”

“She's got no idea, does she? I want her bent over my desk, books and notes scattered beneath her, while I thrust into her like some animal in heat, filling her over and over until there's nothing left of her but soft, pleading sounds and the way her body pulls me back in with every move. I’d guide her, make her feel exactly what it means to be touched by a man who’s twice her age and twice as obsessed.”

Meanwhile, now, alone in your room, you’re haunted by the memory of your lovely scientist, pulsing between your legs, leaving a needy ache that’s impossible to ignore. Just thinking about him, the strong lines of his hands, those six fingers that could make you see stars. . . it all sends a jolt straight through your body and suddenly, you’re melting, undone, utterly helpless to this craving for him.

You let yourself fall back into your bed, eyes closed, his presence wrapping around you like a ghost you can’t shake off. You can’t even catch a steady breath now, the dampness pooling between your thighs, every inch of you begging to be touched — not by yourself, no. You need him, his skilled, explorative touch, those six clever fingers. The memory of every stolen glance, every careful brush of his hand, it all coils up inside, a slow, delicious torment, and now it’s throbbing there, heavy with need.

You drag your fingers down the length of your body, tracing where his hands might go as you imagine him, his fingers slipping lower, finding that sweet, drenched ache and grazing it with a delicate touch that he’d know so damn well. 'Fuck,' you’d gasp, his name like a prayer on your lips as his six fingers roam, rough and relentless, pressing right against that needy opening, filling you up until you’re nothing but breathless whimpers and cries for more.

“God, sweetheart,” you hear his voice, “I’ve wanted this for so damn long. Do you feel that? How hard you make me?” and then he’d press his cock between your legs, hot veins throbbing against your entrance, and you can feel his breath on your neck as he tells you what a beautiful mess you’ve become for him.

Your fingertips brush over your clit as you imagine his hand there, gentle but insistent, exploring you with that scientist's curiosity, his six fingers pressing slow, circling that sensitive bud, coaxing soft gasps from your lips. “Let me feel you. Take it slow, sweetheart. Let me make you mine.” but even as you touch yourself now, imagining his fingers in place of yours, it’s still not enough

You arch from own hand, fingers gliding through the wetness now slick and ready, you press a little harder on your clit, circling it faster, imagining the way his hands would dig into your skin, his strong arms wrapped around you as he thrusts into you, “take it all, darling. Every inch of me.”

And by some lucky chance, Ford stands outside your door, his pulse slamming hard against his ribs, a wreck of a man just clinging to sanity. The sound of you — all gasping, breathy moans slipping through the thin wood, whispering his name in that desperate little voice — he can’t help himself as his hand flies up to the doorframe, his fingers digging in so hard they’re going white, knuckles taut, trying to keep himself together.

But the universe is laughing at him, at his pathetic attempt at control, at the sheer uselessness of his restraint, because fuck, every gasp you make sinks its teeth into him.

Something hot runs through him, then it sinks low, thickening in his chest, then spreads down between his legs. His cock twitches, rock-hard and aching, straining against the fabric, pressing hard, begging for the attention he keeps denying it. He shouldn’t be here — hell, he should be miles away by now, somewhere that isn’t two inches from falling apart at the sound of you! But he’s not. He’s a goddamn mess, held hostage to the way you’re sighing his name.

“Fuck, sweetheart. . .” he’s going insane out here.

Ford knows how you look right now, imagined it thousands of times, laid out on your bed with those soft thighs parted, hands trailing down, fingertips grazing over warm, damp skin, teasing yourself open, getting yourself wet just for him. Fuck, he thinks, I shouldn’t be this fucking desperate.

Ford lets his hand slip down, pressing hard against the hardness straining in his trousers, feeling himself throb against his own palm. There’s no relief, just that painful, growing ache that has him grinding his teeth, biting back the low, broken sound that wants to rip free from his throat. He’s a man undone, ruined just by the thought of you, the image of you with your legs open, your body calling out for him like he’s the only one you need.

“Jesus, fuck. . .” his free hand reaches down, trembling as he slides it beneath his waistband, wrapping around the throbbing heat of his cock, feeling himself swell, hard and pulsing against his palm. It’s wrong, so wrong to be here, touching himself to the sound of your little whimpers, but fuck if he can stop.

The sounds coming from your room grow louder and it’s too much for him. He’s already so fucking close as he imagines himself on top of you, sinking inside you, feeling your cunt wrapped tight and hot around him, your body arching, your hands clawing at his back, those delicate fingers pulling him close, begging him not to stop.

Ford’s back collides with the lab door as he stumbles in, chest heaving, adrenaline of hearing his name on your lips. He locks the door behind him.

Fumbling hands tug at his belt, fingers clumsy, impatient, tearing at the fabric as it’s the only thing standing between him and relief. Finally, the belt slides free, and he wraps a shaky hand around his cock, swallowing down a low hiss as the raw heat of his own skin meets his grip.

He strokes himself roughly and desperately, letting his thumb graze the sensitive tip with a ragged groan that he’s helpless to contain. His mind runs further, and he pictures you, perfect and pliant, sinking to your knees before him with eyes so innocent, with lips parting as you take him into your mouth. As you let him fuck your throat.

A shiver runs through him and he leans his head back, sighing, groaning and grunting louder as he loses himself in the fantasy. God, if you only knew. If you could see him like that, a desperate moaning and trembling mess with his hand wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Ahh— ffuck,” hell, just how much he wants to hear you make those sounds too, moan for him, he wants to feel you beneath him, warm and soft, clinging to him, legs tangled around his waist as he sinks into you. His strokes become faster. Ford imagines pressing you down onto the lab table, your dripping pussy welcoming him as he thrusts deeper, deeper, deeper, deeper until there’s no part of you he hasn’t claimed. His breath hitches, hips bucking into his hand as he imagines the way your walls would tighten around him, clenching, pulling him in.

He’s shaking now, barely able to hold himself together, his free hand clutches at the edge of the workbench, knuckles white, as he lets himself sink fully into the fantasy. You’d look so damn perfect spread out for him. Ford’s hand moves faster, tighter, fueled by the image of you writhing beneath him, helpless, pleading, so sweet and open, absolutely his, his beautiful girl, sweetest thing.

The pressure building until he can’t take it anymore. His hips jerk, a loud needy moan spilling from his lips as he cums, his body shuddering with release. For a few long, breathless seconds, everything fades: his mind, his shame, everything but the overwhelming, blinding wave of pleasure.

***

The morning breaks, a new day arriving, one that promises to be spent with Ford close by— and, isn’t that something to look forward to?

When you meet Stanford, the first thing you hear is, “Did you not learn anything from last time?“

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, but before you can protest, Ford is stepping closer, his coat swishing around him as he moves. The wool of his scarf unravels with practiced ease, and in a smooth motion, it’s over your shoulders, the warmth of it spreads around your neck. You want to say something, but all you can focus on is the way Ford’s thumb traces the edge of the scarf, his touch so delicate it feels too intimate for something so simple.

This shouldn’t feel like it does, you think, but your body screaming what your mind refuses to admit.

“There,” Ford says, stepping back. “You’ll thank me later.”

“I thought you checked the forecast this time,” you tease, raising an eyebrow. “Isn’t today supposed to be sunny?”

Ford crosses his arms with a smile. “Yes, well. . . One can never be too cautious. After all, last time—“

“—last time, I nearly froze my ass off,” you finish, the laughter bubbling up between you and Ford shoots you a look that’s equal parts exasperated and fond, like he’s about to scold you but can’t help himself.

“I wasn’t going to put it quite so crudely,” he says, but that reluctant chuckle escapes him before he can hide it.

When the sun climbs higher, the forest around you changes in hues of gold, the leaves thinning just enough to let the light filter through in soft rays. You walk side by side, close enough to hear the rhythmic crunch of your footsteps in the fallen leaves and Ford’s murmured observations, but it’s all you can do not to lose yourself in him. His words float past, about terrain, weather, anomalies and predictions, but your mind doesn’t follow, not when your eyes keep straying to him.

You can’t help but wonder if there’s any room left for you in his head, if he ever thinks about anything other than those damned anomalies. A piece of you wants to shake him, to pull him from his thoughts, to remind him that life is more than equations and mathematics. But, god, there’s something so cute about him when he’s like this, so fully consumed by his world, and you can’t look away.

“You’re thinking about something,” Stanford starts, pulling you out of your trance. “Is it the anomaly, or. . .?”

“Just wondering what it is we’re actually tracking. I mean, last time it disappeared before we could even get a good look, so. . . what’s the plan if it shows up again?”

Ford’s face lights up with approval at your question. “It’s an elusive creature, no doubt,” and again, his voice slips into that familiar lecture tone, one you’ve learned to love despite yourself. “But this time, I have a better understanding of its behaviour. The rain threw it off last time, but if my theory is correct, today’s dry weather should keep it on course! And if we can corner it near the ravine, there’s a chance we might get a clear reading on its—”

“Ford,” you interrupt, he stops talking, his brow lifting slightly. “I mean, yes— corner it near the ravine,” you repeat. Wait, what did you just say?

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Ford asks, smiling at you. “If you’re still tired from yesterday, I can handle this on my own.”

You scoff, rolling your eyes, crossing your arms as you look at him defiantly. "Oh, please. I said I could do this a thousand times over with you and still keep up,” you challenge.

He laughs again and his laughter is so damn cute. “That, I don’t doubt.”

Time pass and as you walk beside Ford, your mind drifts, you're not really thinking about the anomaly or the hunt anymore. No, your thoughts are elsewhere. Again. Somewhere they shouldn’t be, but there they are. You can’t help but notice the way the sun highlights the strands of silver in Ford's hair, the curve of his shoulders as he walks, his posture so effortlessly confident and strong. And you think about how much you liked the way his body looked in the rain yesterday, when the wetness clung to his clothes and made every line stand out even more.

You sigh inwardly, watching him from the corner of your eye. The weather, as perfect as it is, only makes you feel a bit wistful. Why did it have to be sunny today? You had been hoping for more rain. The kind of rain that soaked him through and made his clothes cling to his skin, the droplets tracing the curves of his chest. That was a sight you’d never forget. But today sun is too bright, too cheerful.

The soft breeze brushes your hair against your face, and you snap out of your thoughts just as you see the clearing ahead. Ford slows his pace, his gaze scanning the area with his usual calculated precision. And just as yesterday, air here feels different, as if charged. You feel the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, the unease settling in. This is it, the spot where the anomaly was last seen. But, of course, there's nothing. The clearing is quiet, calm, completely empty.

Ford steps forward, looking around with a frown, muttering something under his breath. You stand there for a moment, waiting, listening to the wind rustle through the branches and the distant call of a bird. But there's nothing.

“Where is it?” you ask and Ford turns to you, his expression calm but with that familiar hint of worry in his eyes, the kind that usually only surfaces when he’s feeling frustrated.

“Don’t worry,” he says, though his voice sounds more like he’s trying to reassure himself than you. He straightens up, adjusting his glasses. “The anomaly will show itself. We’ve got all day to catch it.” he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.

All day with Ford?

Your heart skips a beat and you have to fight to keep your expression neutral. What could be better than spending the entire day with him, just the two of you in this quiet, secluded place? No distractions, just you and Ford, and the anomaly that might never show up.

It takes a little more time while you and Ford are waiting for the anomaly to appear and so, a dialogue ensues.

“I’ve seen some more strange things. In all my years of research, there have been anomalies of all shapes and sizes. Creatures from dimensions we can’t even begin to understand. Some are harmless, just curious things that wander around, never meaning to cause harm. Others. . . Others are far more dangerous. I've seen creatures that could tear through steel without breaking a sweat. Their behavior is— well, unpredictable.”

“What about the really dangerous ones?”

“There's one anomaly, one creature that I’ve encountered that still haunts me, to this day.” he looks away for a moment, as if weighing the decision to tell you more. “a beast unlike any other. Its skin is like iron, nearly impenetrable. And its mind is relentless. It doesn’t think like us. It doesn’t have the ability to reason, only the ability to kill and survive.”

Wow, you already can see it in your mind — a massive, hulking creature, covered in jagged, metallic plates, its eyes wild with an animalistic hunger.

“And you’ve seen it?”

Ford nods slowly. “Yes, once. And it wasn’t an experience I care to repeat.” and then he calls you by your name. “Listen, if we encounter anything dangerous, you stay behind me. Don’t try to be a hero, don’t try to ‘help out.’ I’ve trained for this. I know these creatures; I know their instincts and behaviours. You. . . you don’t. It’s crucial that you follow my lead.”

“I’m not helpless, you know,” you mumble, folding your arms. “I can handle myself.”

But Ford only smirks, oh how cute you are. “And if you ever find yourself lost between dimensions, the key is to stay calm. Panicking is a surefire way to make yourself vulnerable. Reality in those places doesn’t play by the same rules. Your mind can trick you, distort what you’re seeing”

You stare at him, a mixture of awe and confusion washing over you. “Well, thanks, Ford, for the guide on how to travel through dimensions and fight the monsters that live in them.”

“Years of experience. Sometimes the hard way. But you don’t need to worry about that, alright? Just stick close, keep your wits about you, and we’ll make it out just fine.” he smiles.

“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, your gaze dropping to the forest floor. “You’re. . . you’re Stanford Pines. You’re used to dealing with this kind of thing. Me? I’d probably end up wandering off into some other dimension if I so much as blink wrong.”

He chuckles softly, and you feel his hand gently rest on your shoulder. “That’s why I’m here. To make sure you don’t.”

You open your mouth to respond, but then— crack. A twig snaps somewhere in the trees to your left. The sound is sharp, distinct, echoing through the quiet forest.

Your heart skips a beat and you instinctively grip Ford’s arm, eyes widening. He tenses, immediately going on alert as his gaze darts toward the source of the noise. “Stay behind me.”

You swallow, nodding as you press yourself close to him. Ford moves slowly, keeping himself between you and the sound, his shoulders squared, every muscle tense and ready.

Another rustle, this time from the other side. You bite your lip, feeling the cold prickling sensation of fear clawing up your spine. This doesn’t sound like a bunny, not in the slightest.

The sounds grow louder, surrounding you both. Ford’s posture tightens, his gaze focused and determined, while you hover close behind him, whatever lurks in the shadows isn’t friendly, and Ford, as always, stands ready to protect you at any cost.

Suddenly, Ford raises a hand, signaling for you to stay still. One. . . two. . . three—

A small, furry creature darts out of the bushes, a pudgy raccoon, more plump and inquisitive than fearsome. It scampers out, blinking innocently at you both and you feel sigh with a relief.

You slip out from behind Ford, who’s still standing rigidly, eyeing the raccoon with disbelief. “Well, would you look at that,” you say, glancing up at him with a slight grin. “Our terrifying forest intruder was just looking for a snack, huh?”

“Don’t get too close,” Stanford warns, still frowning. “These things are rarely alone.”

You laugh softly, crouching down and letting the raccoon sniff at your hand. “Oh, come on, Ford. You really think this little guy is hiding—”

The words die in your throat as you catch the look on his face, his eyes wide with sudden horror, mouth open as he shouts, “behind you!” and you whip around just in time to see something that makes your heart freeze, a hulking mass with matted fur and claws like daggers, looming in the shadows. Its eyes flash like yellow lanterns and a rank smell hits you, earthy and rotten all at once. You barely manage a step back before it lets out a furious roar, its maw wide enough to fit a head and then some. The sound is so loud it rattles through you and a splatter of spit flies from its jaws, landing on your clothes. You go stock-still.

“Th-that’s. . .” you stammer, but Ford’s voice interrupts you, calm and steady despite the chaos.

“Stay calm. It’s eyesight’s weak, but sound-sensitive. Just— slowly step back.”

You barely have time to take in his words before the beast’s head snaps toward you again, snarling with an intensity that shakes the trees. Immediately, Ford pulls out his gun, aiming directly at the creature, he fires off a round that echoes through the forest, hitting the beast and it lets out a howl of pain that sends birds scattering from the treetops. But it’s still very much alive, and now it looks angry, furiously angry. The monster's gaze is fixed on Ford with a vengeful glare, and he rushes towards him with a blood-curdling growl.

Ford stands firm, taking careful aim as he readies to fire again. But just as he steadies his grip, a branch underfoot shifts, making him stumble. The gun slips from his hand, landing somewhere in the tangle of roots and leaves and suddenly, he’s weaponless, the monster mere feet away.

Panic flares in your chest as you see the creature, claws poised, ready to strike. Ford scrambles back, but it’s too close, and something snaps inside you. Without thinking, you dart forward, adrenaline flooding through you and you grab a thick branch from the ground. With a yell that’s as much out of fear as it is determination, you swing it at the creature with everything you have, landing a blow that momentarily distracts it from Ford.

But that monster retaliates, slashing out in a blind fury and suddenly you feel the sting of claws raking across your leg. Pain flares sharp and hot, but you grit your teeth, ignoring it, keeping yourself steady enough to stay upright.

Ford seizes the moment, his eyes flashing with a mix of fury and fear as he snatches his gun from the ground, turning back to the creature. His voice is hoarse but resolute, “what are you doing?” he shouts irritably, calling your name again. “I told you to listen to me!”

With a final, controlled shot, he fires, the bullet hitting its mark. The monster lets out an agonized cry, staggering back before it turns and lumbers off into the dense woods, its snarl fading into the distance.

The adrenaline ebbs, leaving you and Ford alone in the sudden silence. His gaze finds yours, mad and worried all at once, his hand reaching out to steady you as your breathing finally starts to slow.

Ford’s face twists with frustration, jaw clenched tight and when he speaks, his voice is seething with barely controlled anger. “What the hell were you thinking?” he snaps. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed, charging in like that! I told you to stay back!”

You swallow, feeling a flush creep up your cheeks, not out of embarrassment or fear, but because, god, he’s hot when he’s angry, with that fire in his eyes and his tone like a damn storm. You force yourself to stay upright, despite the dull ache pulsing in your leg. “Ford, it’s fine. I just wanted to—”

But he’s already looking at you, really looking, his gaze flicking from your face to the way you’re leaning on your uninjured leg. “You’re hurt,” his tone dips from anger to something softer and worried. “Damn it, I should’ve never brought you out here. I’m such an idiot—“

“No, Ford, it’s just a little—” you try to brush him off, waving your hand dismissively, but as you shift your weight, a sharp bolt of pain shoots through your leg. You bite back a wince, forcing a smile. “Just a scratch, really.”

“Don’t even think about hiding this from me,” Ford turns annoyed and dead serious again, he steps closer as he assesses you, and there’s something really fierce in the way he insists, “Let me take a look. Now.”

For a moment, you think about arguing. But the pain flares again and you realise there's no winning against that look in his eyes. With a sigh, you give in, nodding reluctantly as you show him your new wound, from where the blood has already soaked into the fabric, turning it dark red.

Ford’s face changes instantly. “Damn it,” his hand hovers uncertainly like he wants to reach out, to touch, but doesn’t quite know where to begin. “This is— this isn’t just a scratch.”

His fingers finally settle gently around your calf, supporting you, his touch unexpectedly gentle as he examines the wound. You can feel his pulse under his fingertips, it’s obvious he’s anxious, and for a second, he doesn’t look like the Ford who always has the answers.

“This was my fault, I shouldn’t have— damn it, I should’ve kept you safe.”

***

The journey back to the shack feels agonizingly silent. Ford has one arm around your waist, nearly carrying you as you limp along, every step makes the wound throb in your leg. The sting, the ache, it’s all mingling with a sick sense of regret. You feel it settling in your chest. The whole day had been a disaster. You both went out to catch that anomaly, that one lead he was so excited about. . . and instead, you ended up facing something brutal. The monster had nearly killed you both.

Ford hasn’t spoken a word since the forest and with each passing second, it gnaws at you more. The thought appears in your mind, he must regret it. Bringing you along, letting you be there, yeah. . . he’s mad and not in the way you find hot. He’s distant, still supporting you, guiding you with a firm hand, but it’s as though he’s somewhere else entirely.

When you finally make it to the Shack, you find it blessedly empty. No Stan’s loud jokes or questions to break the heavy silence between you. Ford helps you to walk, still wordless and the whole way, you’re trying to find something to say. Some excuse, some apology, but every time you look over at him, you just see that grim look and you stop yourself.

Inside, he lets you sit on the couch. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to speak, to try to lift that heavy cloud around you. “Ford, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for things to go that way. I didn’t mean to—”

But Ford cuts you off. “No, don’t apologize. It’s my fault. I should never have let you come along, I put you in danger.”

That serious tone. . . You nod, saying nothing more and after a beat of silence, you get up slowly, mumbling something about heading to your room. Ford doesn’t stop you, and he watches you go, still worried as fuck, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s rooted there, expression tight as he watches you limp down the hall.

When you get to your room, you close the door softly behind you, but the pain in your leg has started pulsing heavier, sharper, demanding your attention. You look down and finally decide, you’re going to check it, even if just to prove to yourself that Ford’s look wasn’t warranted, that maybe you’re not as bad as he seemed to think.

You settle on the edge of your bed, carefully and slowly taking your pants off, but as you pull the fabric, the sight that greets you isn’t reassuring in the slightest. The cut on your thigh is deep, seeping a fresh, dark line of blood that’s begun to smear against your skin. “Fuck. . .” you curse, tilting your head to get a better look, your fingers hovering over the edges of the wound. Just as you’re mentally preparing to find the first aid kit, a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“No, please, just— let me help still. I won’t be calm until I—”

In the midst of your concentration, you hear the faintest creak of the door, and before you can even react, it opens.

You barely have a moment to react, still sitting on the edge of your bed, the bloody gash on full display as Ford steps inside, eyes widening as he looks at you. He freezes and for a moment, you both just stare at each other in silence. You’re sitting there in your panties and a t-shirt, and you don’t know if to be happy or not, realising how exposed you must look. Ford’s gaze flickers to your bare legs, to the wound on your inner thigh.

You cross your legs in shock and embarrassment. “Ford, what—” you start, but he quickly raises a hand, cutting you off.

“Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—“ Ford approaches, he kneels beside the bed, looking up into your eyes. “I— I can’t just leave you like this,” he pleads. “Please. . . let me help.”

“Ford—“

Ford’s hands hover over your leg. “You need to stop the bleeding, disinfect it, make sure it doesn’t get infected. It’s going to hurt, but, I can help. I’ll be gentle. Just let me. . . please.”

His eyes search yours, a quiet desperation in them that seems to say more than just his words ever could. Ford may be brilliant when it comes to the unknown, but in moments like this, when it’s you that’s hurt, he’s lost, even if he tries to sounds smart. He doesn’t want to mess this up, doesn’t want to fail you.

Slowly, you nod, the vulnerability in his gaze too much for you to ignore.

“Alright,” you whisper. “but be careful, okay?”

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wolvietxt · 3 days ago

Text

𝓕IRSTS 𝓦ITH 𝓨OU !

pairing : bucky barnes x implied fem!reader warnings : implied size diff, established relationship, tfatws!bucky, fluff, wc : 2.6k summary : you introduce bucky to the things he’s missed out on, namely the office, theme parks, and emojis :3

bucky’s fingers hovered over the screen of his new phone, brow furrowed in concentration. you had been explaining how everything worked for the past half hour - apps, texts, even sending pictures - and while he was doing his best to keep up, you could tell he was still lost in the sea of modern technology.

“so, this is how you send a text,” you said, pointing to the message box. “you just type what you want to say, then hit send.” you hit a few buttons on his phone and then pulled away to give him some space.

he nodded slowly, looking at the screen as if it were a puzzle he hadn’t quite solved yet. “okay. and... the emojis?” he asked after a pause, his tone unsure.

“they’re just little pictures to add to what you’re saying. makes it more fun, i guess.” you flashed him a quick smile before adding, “and, if you’re talking to me, you’re gonna use them, or else i’ll think you’re mad at me.”

bucky’s lips curved upward just a fraction at the playful challenge. “right,” he muttered, glancing back at the emojis, his expression turning serious again. “this one - ” he tapped an image of a smiley face, “ - this is good, right?”

you nodded with enthusiasm. “perfect. now try sending it to me.”

bucky hesitated for a moment before carefully typing out a message: “Hey. 🙂”

he looked at you for approval, his blue eyes searching yours.

“well done,” you said softly, holding back a giggle. “you did it, buck.”

he grinned, a little relieved but still unsure. “guess ‘m getting the hang of this.”

“you are,” you replied, your voice filled with genuine encouragement. you could see him trying, and that was enough to make you proud.

“now,” you began, leaning in closer, “I’m going to teach you how to send a selfie. It’s easy.” you grabbed your phone and showed him how to take a picture, flipping the camera to face him. “like this.”

“a selfie?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“yeah, you’re going to love it,” you said, snapping a quick picture of him as he looked confused but willing to give it a try. “okay, now you do it. just - ” you stopped yourself, realising something. “don’t look so grumpy, though. smile a little.”

bucky rolled his eyes but played along, pulling a reluctant smirk before he tapped the button to take the picture. “this feels weird,” he muttered, but his gaze softened when he saw the result. he stared at the picture of himself for a moment, before looking at you. “it’s not bad.”

“not bad at all,” you said with a smile, grabbing your phone and sending the photo to him.

you watched him check his phone, his brow furrowing once more as he took in the photo, then back at the screen as you sent a quick text: “that smile is great, by the way.”

he read it, then quickly typed back: “you’re making fun of me.”

“no, i’m not,” you teased, tapping the keys with your fingers. “i think it’s cute.”

before he could respond, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his jaw. his body went still at the contact, the soft touch of your lips drawing his attention away from the phone. without saying a word, he kissed you fully, his lips warm and steady against yours.

“you talk too much,” bucky murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice gruff but affectionate.

you couldn’t help but giggle, looking up at him. “sorry,” you said, smiling in that way that made his chest tighten. “but i’m trying to teach you how to use a phone.”

“teach me less,” he replied, but there was a hint of amusement in his voice. before you could answer, he kissed you again, this time slower, his lips lingering on yours longer than before. it was like he couldn’t help himself, needing to pull you close and forget about everything else.

when he pulled back, there was a softness in his eyes that was so different from the gruff exterior he usually put on. “you’re a distraction,” he admitted, though he didn’t sound bothered in the least.

“only when i’m teaching you how to text?” you asked, your smile still wide.

“always,” he said with a grin, kissing you again, this time more gently, as if savouring the moment before pulling away and reaching for his phone.

he looked at the screen again, tapping at it thoughtfully. “okay, what about this one?” he asked, tapping a face with hearts for eyes. “it seems like... the right one.”

you grinned, unable to resist the warmth that filled you at how cute he was, trying so hard to understand all this. “perfect,” you whispered. “now, send it.”

bucky hesitated for a beat, then pressed send. he turned to look at you, like he was asking for your approval.

“you did it,” you said softly, heart swelling with affection. “now, you’re a pro.”

he raised his eyebrows. “am i allowed to text you good morning now?”

“whenever you want,” you said with a grin, your hand finding his and squeezing it gently. “and i’ll send you emojis all day.”

bucky looked at his phone again, glancing up at you with a fond smile. “then i’m gonna need to figure out a lot more emojis.”

“take your time,” you teased, before your lips met his once more, this time without interruption.

the apartment was dimly lit, the only light coming from the tv screen where the office was playing. you had insisted that bucky give the show a try, promising him that it was the perfect mix of awkward humour and heartwarming moments. at first, he had grumbled about it, saying something about not needing to watch “a bunch of idiots in an office.” but here you were, four episodes deep, and you could see that little spark of amusement in his eyes.

bucky had his arm draped around your shoulders, his large frame practically swallowing you up as you nestled into his side. you were curled up against him, legs tucked under you, head resting on his chest. every now and then, you could feel the rumble of his low chuckle vibrating against you whenever something on-screen caught him off guard.

“i still don’t get how that jim guy hasn’t been fired yet,” he muttered, shaking his head as jim played yet another prank on dwight. “guy’s got a death wish or somethin’.”

you smiled, turning your face up to look at him. there was a light in his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching upwards as he tried to hide how much he was actually enjoying the show. “maybe he reminds you of someone?” you teased, poking his side.

he shot you a look, all mock seriousness. “you callin’ me a troublemaker?”

“if the shoe fits,” you replied with a grin, turning back to the screen.

as the episode continued, you found yourself more focused on him than the tv. you loved seeing bucky like this, relaxed, at ease, his defences down for once. there was something so endearing about the way he’d get lost in the episodes, brows furrowing when michael said something ridiculous, or the rare moments when he’d throw his head back and laugh - a real, deep laugh that you couldn’t help but adore.

during one of those moments, as pam and jim exchanged a look, you felt his chest rumble with laughter, and it was so infectious that you couldn’t help but giggle, too. he glanced down at you, catching you staring, and for a second, it was like the rest of the world disappeared.

“what?” he asked, his voice softening.

“nothing,” you said, a little shy under his gaze. “you’re just... cute when you laugh.”

his eyebrows shot up, surprise flashing across his face before it softened into a shy smile. “yeah? well, don’t go tellin’ everyone.”

you laughed, but before you could tease him more, he suddenly shifted, tugging you closer until you were practically in his lap. your breath hitched as he wrapped both arms around you, enveloping you in his warmth.

you fit so easily against him, his hands splaying over your waist, and you could feel the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. the show kept playing in the background, but you were completely lost in the moment, the way he held you so gently despite his strength.

“you’re missing the best part,” you whispered, but your voice was soft, almost hesitant, like you didn’t really want to break the spell.

“nah,” he murmured, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “this is the best part.”

your cheeks warmed, and you couldn’t resist tilting your head back to steal a quick kiss. he met you halfway, his lips warm and surprisingly soft, his stubble scraping pleasantly against your skin.

“hmm, you taste better than jim’s pranks,” he teased, a smirk tugging at his lips when he pulled away.

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. “careful, barnes, you might start liking sitcoms.”

“only if you’re watchin’ them with me,” he said, squeezing your waist gently.

you settled back into his chest, letting the familiar sounds of dunder mifflin fill the room. with one hand idly playing with the hem of your shirt, bucky seemed content, occasionally making little comments about the show under his breath that made you giggle.

as the theme song played for the next episode, you reached for your phone to check the time, but bucky’s hand covered yours, stopping you. “stay,” he murmured, his voice low, almost pleading.

you glanced up at him, surprised by the hint of vulnerability in his eyes. it wasn’t often that he asked for things so openly, but when he did, it always tugged at your heart.

“okay,” you whispered, setting your phone aside and snuggling closer, the two of you wrapped up in each other as the episodes played on, the world outside forgotten for just a little while.

the air was filled with the sounds of laughter, the occasional scream from the roller coasters, and the smell of funnel cakes and popcorn drifting through the breeze. the theme park was bustling with life, a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds that made your heart race with excitement. you could hardly contain your giddiness as you pulled bucky along by the hand, weaving through the crowd.

bucky, on the other hand, looked a little overwhelmed. his brows were furrowed as he glanced around, taking in everything like he was preparing for an ambush. it was endearing, really - the way his grip on your hand tightened every time someone bumped into you, his protective instincts kicking in.

“relax, buck, it’s just a theme park,” you teased, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

he grunted, still looking suspiciously at a guy in a giant mascot costume waving at children. “yeah, well, not sure i trust a place where people scream for fun.”

you couldn’t help but laugh, tugging him closer. “that’s the whole point! come on, let’s try a ride.”

you led him to the line for one of the tamer rides - a classic spinning teacup attraction. bucky eyed it warily, but he didn’t protest, letting you drag him into one of the pastel-coloured cups. once you were seated, you watched with a grin as he tried to figure out how the ride worked, his large hands gripping the metal wheel in the centre.

the ride started to spin, slowly at first, then picking up speed. you were laughing uncontrollably, the wind whipping through your hair, and when you glanced over at bucky, he had this look of pure concentration, like he was trying to out-spin everyone else.

“bucky, it’s not a competition!” you managed to gasp out between giggles.

he shot you a playful glare, a rare smile breaking through his usually stern expression. “everything’s a competition, doll.”

when the ride finally slowed to a stop, you were both a little dizzy, but you couldn’t stop smiling. you staggered out of the teacup, and bucky’s arm was instantly around your waist, steadying you. “you good?” he asked, his voice low and a little rough.

“never better,” you replied, leaning into his side.

next up was the game booths, where bucky’s competitive side really came out. you challenged him to one of those rigged carnival games where you had to knock down bottles with a baseball. he rolled his eyes at the way the game operator explained the rules, clearly unimpressed, but when it was his turn, he hit every target dead-on, not even breaking a sweat.

“show-off,” you teased, but you couldn’t hide the admiration in your voice.

“what can i say? i’m good with my hands,” he shot back with a wink, handing you the giant stuffed bear he won as a prize. your cheeks warmed, but before you could retort, he leaned down to steal a quick kiss, effectively shutting you up.

with your new teddy bear in tow, you wandered through the park, trying different snacks and taking in the sights. at one point, you insisted on getting a picture in one of those cheesy photo booths. bucky tried to protest, saying he wasn’t “photogenic,” but you dragged him in anyway.

the two of you squeezed into the tiny booth, your legs tangled together because of how little space there was. as the camera flashed, you made silly faces while bucky looked a little bewildered, but by the last frame, you managed to coax a smile out of him - a real one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners.

you couldn’t stop staring at the printed photos as they rolled out, your heart swelling at how happy he looked. he glanced over your shoulder, shaking his head with a chuckle. “gonna frame that, aren’t you?”

“damn right i am,” you said with a grin, tucking the strip of photos safely into your bag.

the sun was starting to set, the sky painted in hues of pink and orange, when you finally made your way to the roller coasters. bucky was skeptical at first, muttering something about not trusting “rusty death traps,” but you could see the way his eyes lit up with a mix of curiosity and adrenaline.

“just one ride,” you pleaded, giving him your best puppy eyes.

he sighed, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “fine, but if we die, i’m haunting you.”

you laughed, grabbing his hand and dragging him into the line. as the coaster climbed higher and higher, you could feel the tension in bucky’s shoulders. you reached over, lacing your fingers with his. “it’s gonna be fun, trust me.”

the drop was sudden and exhilarating, your screams mixing with the rush of wind, and when you dared to peek at bucky, he had this look of pure, wild joy on his face. it was rare to see him so carefree, and it took your breath away more than the ride itself.

when you finally stumbled off the coaster, legs like jelly, bucky was grinning like a little kid, his hair windswept. “okay, that wasn’t so bad,” he admitted, looking almost bashful.

“see? i told you,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist and leaning up to kiss his cheek. he pulled you into a proper kiss instead, right there in the middle of the bustling crowd, not caring who was watching.

“thanks for dragging me out here,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft in a way that made your heart flutter.

“anytime, sarge,” you teased, smiling up at him.

he just shook his head, a fond look in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “you’re trouble, you know that?”

“yeah,” you said, resting your head against his chest, “but you love it.”

he just chuckled, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, and you knew he wouldn’t trade this day for anything.

🌀 bucky barnes : @notacleangirl, @v3lv3tf0x, @dugiioh, @whxtewolf, @lemoanaid

@yvespecially

🌀 one time tags : @pvndomi

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katsu28 · 1 day ago

Text

summer's golden haze - chapter four

pairing: lando norris x reader

summary: a confession, a second first date, and the start of something special. (4.8k)

a/n: happy birthday landooo!!! my gift to him is a girlfriend 🙂‍↕️

previous chapter | masterlist

A loud clang from the kitchen startles you from your sleep, blinking awake to a still dark room.

Your head throbs a little bit, but the headache isn’t as bad as you thought it would be. It’s easy to ignore, especially since your mind is occupied by the snoring boy sprawled out under you.

Lando’s fast asleep on his back, one arm slung over your torso loosely while the other hangs off the end of the sofa above his head, legs tangled with yours. You don’t remember cuddling up like this during the night, but you’re not complaining. He’s warm and comfy, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest soothing.

You almost don’t want to get up, but your curiosity about the noises coming from the kitchen wins out in the end. Very carefully, you wiggle out from under his arm, peeling yourself away from him as slow as you can so as to not wake him.

Once you’ve successfully extracted yourself, you can’t help but drop a kiss to Lando’s forehead before you go, pushing his curls away from his browline to do so. He lets out a little sigh, rolls onto his side, but remains deep in slumber as you pad out of the room.

The ruckus turns out to be Camille puttering around the kitchen making coffee—an essential hangover cure.

“Sorry, sorry, I was trying to be quiet. Did I wake you?” She hisses, cringing. You wave an absentminded hand, stifling a yawn as you plant yourself on a stool at the counter.

She slides a mug of coffee towards you and you gladly accept, leaning over the steam wafting from the piping hot drink. It’s taking all of your willpower not to gulp it all down in one go and burn your throat.

Camille lets you sip and sit as you attempt to wake yourself up a little more, but you can tell she’s dying to say something. You sigh. “Say what you wanna say.”

“Oh thank god. I hate you for making me wait more than five seconds, but whatever. Anyways, Lando stayed over last night?”

“Mhm, yeah. He did.” You bob your head noncommittally, staring hard at the dark liquid in your cup. Despite your laser focus, you can still feel Camille’s eyes boring into the top of your head, and when you finally do look up at her, she’s looking at you very pointedly. “What? We talked for a bit, and then we fell asleep.”

“And that’s all that happened?”

“Uh…” Your voice goes higher pitched than necessary, one eye squinting shut. You want to tell her everything, but you haven’t had the chance to speak with Lando yet. You’re not sure what “everything” entails yet.

Lando shuffles into the kitchen right at that moment, rubbing furiously at his eye with one hand while the other scratches at his stomach aimlessly. He extends his arms high over his head in a loud yawn and stretch combo, in doing so revealing a strip of tanned torso that has you nearly choking on your sip of coffee.

That earns you two confused, yet amused looks, for wildly different reasons.

“Hot.” You say lamely, in a very poor explanation. Lando’s expression turns slightly smug. “The coffee. Burned my tongue.”

“Morning, sunshine!” Camille chirps happily. Knowingly. She beams at Lando and it stops him in his tracks, blinking unsurely at her chipper form like he’s hallucinating instead of responding. “Cool, just stare at me like I’m an alien.”

“Sorry, I just—how are you not hungover right now? You could barely walk straight last night,” He asks incredulously.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” She hums, winking at him.

Lando pulls himself onto the stool next to yours with a groan, but doesn’t hesitate to give you the best smile he can muster in greeting. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”

“Good,” You say softly, wrapping your hands around the mug in front of you. “You?”

“Really good. Best sleep I’ve had in months, actually.”

“On a shitty couch with no back support? Interesting.”

Lando checks to see that Camille isn’t paying any attention before he responds. “Maybe it was the company.”

You feel your cheeks blaze hot under his intense gaze, but you can’t bring yourself to break eye contact with him. You still need to address what happened last night. It’s still something you haven’t quite wrapped your head around yet, and you feel the need to stall so you can gather your thoughts some more.

“Coffee’s fresh on, if you want some,” You blurt.

Lando takes your reaction in stride, as if he senses you need time. “Oh, that sounds amazing right now.”

Instead of going to pour himself his own cup, he eases yours out of your hands and takes a hefty sip from it in one fell swoop, before you can even tell him it’s just coffee. He doesn’t like plain black coffee. Then he shudders, face scrunching up in adorable disgust. “Blegh. Needs milk. Sugar, too.”

“That’s because it’s mine, and I happen to think it’s just fine the way it is, thank you very much.”

“You don’t wanna share?”

Your nose crinkles in the same way his had a few moments ago. “Not if you’re going to dump a fuckton of sugar in it.”

“Not a fuckton! Just a spoon or two. Maybe three.”

“Get your own, Norris.” You roll your eyes playfully, and Lando cocks his head in challenge, lifts your mug back to his lips for another long sip, this time obnoxiously loud. Paired with the adorable crooked troublemaker’s grin, you have to fight the need to kiss him again.

You want to, but you can’t. Not yet.

Samira and Maren trudge in a little while later, looking much worse for wear than you all. Neither of them even have it in her to reply to any of your good morning’s, only to make it over to pour themselves a generous mugs of coffee.

“See, that’s what I thought you lot would be like right now,” Lando says, waving a hand at your two zombies of friends. “That’s what normal people are like after hitting up four bars in a night, you psychopaths.”

“If my head wasn’t pounding right now, I’d punch you in your pretty boy face,” Samira grumbles, glaring at him through bleary eyes. “What’re you even doing here, anyways?”

“Who d’you think brought you all home last night?”

“Then why do I remember Max doing a horrible rendition of We Belong Together by Mariah Carey?” Maren groans, face screwing up in confusion.

In perfect timing, you hear the front door open, and then Max’s booming voice.

“Your savior has arrived!” He saunters into view with his hands behind his back, as if he’s hiding something behind him. The closer he gets, the more you can smell something mouthwatering wafting from whatever he’s just brought.

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear, I guess,” Camille chuckles.

Max juts his lower lip out, smacking one hand over his heart. “Aw, you guys were talking about me? All good things, I hope.”

“Always, mate,” Lando assures him, but not without shooting you a cheeky wink as soon as his friend turns away.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Samira grits out, glaring at no one in particular. “You’re all being way too loud right now.”

“Guess that means you don’t want the food I brought?”

“...What is it?”

“Sugar and carbs.”

“Hand over the box right now and you’re forgiven.”

The four of them get into some other conversation quickly after that, giving Lando the privacy to lean over towards you, lips nearly ghosting over the shell of your ear. “Think we can slip out and have that talk now?”

You cast a glance at your friends fighting over the pastries in the box. They won’t even notice you’re gone.

Lando’s mouth is on yours as soon as you’re out of sight and earshot, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You almost forget what you’re supposed to be doing, but catch the thought at the last second before it slips away.

“Mm, Lando, hold on—” You mumble, splaying a hand flat across his chest. He lets out a distracted sound of question, squeezing at your waist. “Less kissing, more talking,” You chide.

Lando pouts, but obliges, taking a step back to put just the smallest bit of space between you. “Fine, fine, I’m listening.”

“Look, I don’t—I’m not normally one to do things that scare me. And when you told me who you were, I immediately shut down because I thought no, that’s not me. I can’t do that, that’s too scary to be me. I wanted to play it safe.”

His heart beats strongly under your palm, if not a little quicker than usual with your fingers curled into the softness of his rumpled jumper.

You’re not looking at his face right now. With how vulnerable you’re being with him right now, you aren’t sure that you’ll be able to utter the words if you look him in the eye.

Instead, you’ve got your gaze trained on his hand on top of yours, the collection of bracelets on his wrist that you remind yourself to ask about another time.

“Getting to know you, realizing how much I like you, I think it also made me realize that life is too short to always play it safe. Some people are worth stepping out of my comfort zone for. What we are, what we could be—you’re worth stepping out of my comfort zone for,” You say softly, but firmly.

It’s nothing but the absolute truth. You’re putting yourself out there in a way you’ve never had the courage to do before. But Lando, he gives you courage. He makes you want to try.

“So this is me, doing something scary, asking if you’ll…take a chance on me?”

Only then do you muster up the courage to look him in the eye, and when you do, you’re met with the biggest, most smitten grin you’ve ever seen grace his face. Dimples on full display, eyes squinted with happiness, he’s smiling so hard it almost looks like it hurts.

“I’ll take every chance I’ve got on you,” He says earnestly, cupping your face in both hands. “And if I’ve got none left, I’d find some more, ‘cause you’re worth it a hundred times over.”

“Sorry it took me so long to figure my shit out,” You say sheepishly.

He gestures towards himself suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. “I knew you couldn’t resist all this for long.”

“You’re so dumb,” You scoff, shaking your head at his antics. Even so, your affection for him has never been clearer. You may say he's dumb (you know he isn’t), but he’s yours now. He’s yours now and you've never been more excited to see what’ll happen.

“Well, you like me, so…guess you’ve just got to deal with it.”

“Yeah? And what do you think I should do about that?”

“What do I think? You wanna know what I think? I think you should…” He trails off, pushing in closer, closer, closer, until his mouth hovers a millimeter from yours. Careful fingers tilt your chin up to guide you the rest of the way, meeting your lips gently.

You’d kiss Lando all day if you had the time, just because now you can, but there’s still the issue of the when and how you’re going to tell your friends. Reluctantly, you pull away. “We should get back before they notice we’re missing.”

“Probably, yeah.” You wait for him to move but he doesn’t. He just looks at you like he can’t believe you’re real.

“What?” You reach up hastily in an attempt to smooth out your hair. “Do I look okay?”

“You look perfect.”

“Stop being so sweet. I mean, do I look like I’ve just been kissed within an inch of my life?”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

You press one more quick peck to his lips in lieu of a response, giving his hand another squeeze before turning on your heel to head back. Lando follows behind like a puppy, close but not too close.

All eyes are on you the second you step back into the room, four pairs flicking from Lando to you, back to him, then back to you. Granted, it probably would’ve been a smarter idea to return at separate times so as to not raise suspicion, but it’s too late for that now.

“...What?” You try for a lighter tone to throw them off, tilting your head to the side.

One second passes. Two, three, four seconds. You almost think you can pull this off. Then—

“You fuckers!” Maren huffs, seeming much more alert and awake now. “You couldn’t have waited another day to get your shit together?”

Definitely not the reaction you were envisioning in your head, if you’re being honest.

“‘Scuse me?” Lando asks, looking both bewildered and a little bit offended by the outburst. He aims a sideways glance at you for an explanation that you can’t provide.

All it does is confuse you, but for some reason, Samira begins to giggle uncontrollably. Even Max looks a mixture of happy and smug.

“I just lost thirty bucks to Max because of you two!”

“You bet on us? What the fuck, mate!” Lando exclaims incredulously.

Max lets out an offended noise from the back of his throat. “You expect me not to take my chances on easy money? Get real, mate. I can give you a cut of it if it gets your knickers out of a twist.”

“What they mean is, we’re glad you finally figured out you belong together,” Camille says earnestly, only a tad apologetic. Lando takes this moment to sling an arm around your shoulders, tucking you against his side and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Right, well, in other news, I actually came over here with a purpose other than providing joy to everyone,” Max interrupts the tender moment, clapping once. “Lando, we’ve got Keegan’s thing today, so we gotta, y’know—gotta get going, yeah?”

Lando inhales sharply, shoulders slumping. “Right. Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“Yeah, I know you did. Too busy wooing your lady and all,” Max teases, aiming a wink in your direction that has you throwing up a playful middle finger at him. Lando turns to face you, frowning.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta—I wish I could stay, I really do. I totally spaced on this thing one of our mates has going on today, we promised we’d go—”

“It’s okay, Lando,” You say, endeared by his scrabbling for an explanation. He didn’t really need one to begin with, but it’s cute that he feels the need to explain himself. “Go do your thing. I’ll see you when you’ve got time.”

“You’re the best. How did I get so lucky?” He sighs, dramatically dreamy. Humor twinkles in his eyes.

“Bye,” You chuckle, moving to peel yourself away from him. You want to get in on one of the pastries Max had brought before they’re gone.

“Wait, wait.” Lando slips his fingers through yours, tugging lightly to stop you before you can get even a few steps away. “Before I go. Do you have any dinner plans tonight?”

Your brows pinch in the middle. “No. Why?”

“I want a do over of our first date. One that doesn’t end in…y’know.” You hum in thought, like you’re even contemplating turning him down, and he lets out a little frustrated whine that makes you giggle again. “Come on, let me take you out. Wanna wine and dine you properly, baby.”

The term of endearment rolls off his tongue so easily, so casually, like he’s called you it all along. It makes you concede.

“Where are we going?”

“That’s for me to figure out before tonight,” He hums. You raise a semi-skeptical brow. “I’ve got ideas, I swear! Just wear something pretty and be ready by seven. I’ll be by to pick you up then.”

“Okay.” You nod. Lando perks up, beaming bright. He kisses you again, briefly but enthusiastically, before turning to follow Max towards the front door. “See you tonight. And you better not be late!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

The rumble of a car driving away echoes out soon after the two boys disappear from sight.

You sigh lightly, returning your attention back to the enticing box of pastries on the counter. You pray the one that had been calling your name in the little peek you'd gotten when Max first handed them over is still there.

Your hand gets smacked as you eagerly reach for the box, not hard enough to bruise but hard enough to make you curse. You look up to see all three girls waiting expectantly for you to fess up and tell them how you’d gone from awkwardly avoiding Lando to what they'd just witnessed.

“Can I at least eat first?” They shake their heads firmly, and you whine. “What? Come on, I’m starving!”

“Explain, then eat.”

Your shoulders creep up towards your ears in a shrug. Seeing as it was kind of just a gut feeling more than anything, it’s a little hard to articulate with words. You try your best at it anyways.

“I…realized I was making a mistake by walking away because I was scared. You guys know I’ve never been great with change, but I dunno, maybe change is okay sometimes.”

“Oh my god, our girl is growing up.”

-------

The closer it gets to seven, you find your nerves growing with every tick, tick, tick of the clock. You’re not even sure why. It’s just dinner, and it’s just Lando. You’re comfortable with Lando. You like Lando.

So why does it feel like you’re about to do something so much bigger than that?

Dinner might as well mean canon event in your mind. Things with Lando are literally brand new, not even a full day old yet, but it feels like something monumental. Your first date ended in shambles (thanks to your own doing), so the urge to make sure this one goes perfect is high.

The pressure is on, and you don’t do too well under pressure. That doesn��t even include the fact that your feelings for him are stronger than anything you’ve felt for anyone before.

The moment Lando pulls up in front and you lay eyes on him climbing out of the car though, all your worries start to melt away. He looks so happy to see you again, even though you haven’t even been apart for a full day. It makes you remember that there’s no reason to get all worked up about anything with him.

“Hey, you,” He says, leaning in to wrap an arm around your waist as soon as he’s close enough. “Missed your face today.”

“Just my face?” You tease.

Lando’s head lists to one side, nose scrunching adorably. “Maybe other parts of you too.” Your eyebrows lift towards your hairline amusedly at his words and he groans, nudging you gently in the ribs with a large hand. “Oh, get your head out of the gutter! I didn’t mean it like that.”

You giggle, dotting a kiss to his pouting lips. “So what’d you come up with for our second first date?”

“Why don’t you get in the car and see?” He offers out his arm and you take it gladly, accepting his help into the car too. You think he’s about to start the car when he slides into the driver’s seat, but he catches you by surprise by sneaking in another kiss instead. “You look amazing.”

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” You shoot back. He’s gone for simple but put together with a classic white button up with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms and some dark trousers, and you’d be lying if you said he didn’t pull them off fantastically.

“All for you, baby.” He grins, winking boyishly. “I got us a reservation at the nicest restaurant in town. Well, nicest according to the loads of travel blogs me and Max looked at. Fancy seeing if Greek summer gal dot com knows what she’s talking about?”

“With a name like that, how ever could she be wrong?” You play along, lacing your fingers through his. He dots a kiss to your temple.

Lando chats about his day on the way into town, all the way until his phone rings. His brow furrows, and for a split second you think it might be work calling again. If it is, you have half a mind to answer it yourself and chew them out.

“Sorry, d’you mind seeing who it is?” Lando lifts himself off the seat, shoving a hand into his pocket to squeeze his buzzing phone out and passing it to you. A wildly unflattering photo of Max flashes across the screen.

“It’s Max. Want me to answer?” You offer, giggling at the silly sight. He nods gratefully, keeping his eyes on the road. You tap the accept call button, putting the other boy on speaker.

“What’s up, mate?” Lando says, hitting you with a ‘get a load of this guy’ sort of look. “Kinda in the middle of something here.”

“Yeah I know, that’s why I’m calling. You can’t go to that restaurant.”

Lando’s expression morphs into one of confusion, one you’re sure that you’re mirroring as you squint back at him. “Uh…sure we can. I made a reservation, everything’s set already.”

“I know, asshole!” Max huffs. “Someone must’ve leaked your name on the reservation to the press or something, ‘cause I just drove by a few minutes ago and it’s crawling with people. Like, swamped with paparazzi and fans.”

Lando’s knuckles tighten on the steering wheel, face screwing up into something between anger and despair. “Shit. That’s not good.”

“Just thought I’d let you know before you get there,” Max says. He sounds guilty, but he has no reason to be. You’re glad he’d been able to get a hold of Lando beforehand. “You can still go out, just…maybe find somewhere else to go, I dunno.”

“Thank you, Max,” You chime in.

“Yeah, thanks for the heads up, mate. Cheers.”

Lando flicks on his blinker to pull off to the side of the road the first chance he gets after Max hangs up, and when he does turn the car off, he immediately goes to bang his head against the steering wheel. “This is so bad,” He groans.

You smooth a hand down his back in an attempt to soothe him. “It’s fine, Lando. We can just go somewhere else.”

“I wanted this so badly to go perfect, and again, I’m the reason why it’s all going to shit.”

“It’s not going to shit. And you wouldn’t be the reason for it, even if it was,” You insist firmly. He straightens up in his seat, turning to face you with doubt crinkling his face that you immediately want to rid him of. Your hand finds his, prying his fingers off the steering wheel to intertwine. “I mean it. I don’t care that we’re not going to some fancy restaurant. All I care about is that we’re together.”

Lando squeezes your hand, bringing it up to his lips to press a grateful kiss to your knuckles. “You’re too good for me, you know that?”

“I know.” You shrug, feigning nonchalance. It makes him chuckle, brings back the twinkle in his eye.

After driving for a bit, you eventually find yourselves at a little gyro spot to grab some food. You push open the door to get out once Lando has put the car to a stop, but at the very last moment, you turn back to face him.

“You should probably stay here,” You say, gnawing on your lip.

Lando pouts, but doesn’t make a move to exit the car. He must know it’s for the best. Even so, he digs out his wallet, pressing a few bills into your hand. You click your tongue, giving your head a shake. “Don’t look at me like that. I asked you to dinner, I pay for it.”

“Alright, fine.”

“Mint. Get me something good?”

“‘Course I will. Salmon, right?” You quip, smiling innocently. His hatred for fish is something you’ll never tire of poking fun at him for.

“Don’t even joke about that, you monster!” Lando exclaims, slapping a dramatic hand over his chest. You laugh out loud. “And don’t you think about getting fish either, or I’ll never kiss you again.”

“Well, someone’s dramatic!”

“I’m serious!”

You leave him behind at that, giggling to yourself about his theatrics.

The lady working the counter in the little mom and pop gyro shop is very kind, compliments your outfit and calls you a beautiful young woman while you wait on your food—even gives you an order of veggie kroketes, on the house.

She kind of reminds you of your own mother, whom you make a mental note to call when you have the time. You’ve been having such a good time here, you’ve nearly forgotten the rest of your world outside of it.

You wind up finding someplace not far away to enjoy your food once you’ve gotten it. A hidden spot, a little off the road—not a place anyone would come across unless they were looking hard enough. Perfect for two people who’d rather not attract attention.

Lando procures a beach towel from the boot of the car for the two of you to sit on as you eat.

“I’m sorry about the restaurant again. I usually don’t use my actual name when I do things like that, but they were just about booked up and I really wanted us to go, so I did,” He sighs, tracing a finger along the patterned cotton. “I had no idea it’d get leaked, I swear. Guess I should’ve seen it coming.”

“Does that usually work? Using your name to get things.”

Lando’s cheeks flush pink and he smiles guiltily, ducking his head momentarily before nodding. “Usually, yeah. I don’t do it often though. Almost never, really. Only for special things, and this…well, I wanted it to be just that. Special.”

“It is special,” You say, letting your knee bump his.

He scoffs lightly like he doesn’t think the same, lifting his half eaten wrap in the air. “We’re sat on the side of the road eating takeaway.”

Even a date like this truly is something special to you. Spending time with the person you’ve become so close with in such a short amount of time—the one who makes you feel things you’ve never felt before, who makes you feel like you can truly be yourself—it’s something you were starting to think you’d never have. Lando’s come along and changed all that.

“Do you think you have to impress me?” Lando doesn’t say anything, just lets his mouth snap shut, but you can see it in his eyes that yes, he feels the need to impress you. You’re not sure why, but you suspect it has less to do with you and more to do with his own feelings. “Because you don’t. I couldn’t care less about your name, your money, or anything else that comes with it. I like you for you, not for what your status can get us.”

Lando stares back at you long and hard, as if he’s searching you for any ounce of indication that you’re not telling him the truth. You’re certain he’ll find nothing, because even though you’re still getting to know each other—flaws, fears, and all—you’ll never lie to him.

“I’m sorry,” He says eventually. “I dunno why I thought—” He cuts himself off with a shake of the head. “Y’know what, nevermind. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be better.”

“You don’t need to be better,” You hum, resting your head against his shoulder. “You just need to be you.”

“Has anyone ever told you you’re really good at this pep talk thing?”

“Never had to give anyone this many pep talks before.”

Lando pokes his fingers into the ticklish spot between your ribs in response. You reach to bat away his hand, but he moves quicker, leaning in to drag his nose against your cheek.

“Is now a bad time to tell you I did actually get the fish?”

Lando rears his head back faster than you could’ve imagined, looking so absolutely horrified at your insinuation it has you breaking composure almost instantly. You wouldn’t be surprised if he was two seconds away from gagging out loud. “No you did not.”

“I didn’t, but wouldn't it have been funny if I did?”

“That is so not cool,” He grumbles, lips pulling into a pout. You have the urge to kiss it away and you fight it for a moment, but then you remember you can kiss him whenever you want, so you do. It seems to make him forget about his disgust, because he kisses you back immediately.

You’re one who’s dazed when you finally resurface for air, but you manage to smile sweetly. “Better now?”

“Getting there. Maybe a little longer would help.”

“Just a little longer?”

“A lot longer works too.”

follow @katsu-library to be notified when i post a new chapter :)

#lando norris #lando norris x reader #ln4 #ln4 x reader #lando norris x you #lando norris x fem!reader #lando norris fic #lando norris series #ln4 x you

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puck-luck · 3 days ago

Note

15 of spades w/ Jack Hughes where they’re simply just roommates that like to flirt and this time it goes beyond a few flirty words and gestures

Warnings: unprotected p in v, pining Jack, soft & sweet, roommates to lovers WC: 1,406

You like to say that your life has become a New Girl situation. After a messy break-up, you moved in with your (now) friend, Jack. He’s cute and charming, way too into sports, and he’s got a great job as a bartender in downtown Newark. Your shared apartment is in North Kearny, so it’s an easy drive anywhere. The rent isn’t crazy. Plus, with all of his downtown connections, Jack can get you into any bar or club or party.

You were wary at first about living with a boy, but Jack is neat and king. He always does his dishes and his laundry, always cleans up after himself, and he often offers to make dinner for you since you work all day and his shifts are usually at night.

You like Jack. You think he’s a really good friend, but you can’t deny that you find him attractive. There’s something about his monotone voice and sarcastic smile, paired with his brown hair and his pretty blue eyes. He employs casual physical touch, delivering dinner to you with a hand on your shoulder– since he won’t dream of letting you stand and serve yourself. He’s a gentleman, after all, something he reminds you of whenever you try to help Jack with something he said he could do for you. Usually, he’ll steer you back towards the couch or towards the dining table, pushing you down and telling you to stay there “or else.” It’s an empty threat, because Jack would never do anything to actually harm you. He wouldn’t hurt a fly (he would, however, try and chase it out the front door with a rolled up magazine because the buzzing was annoying him). His behavior does nothing to drive away the butterflies in your stomach that are breaking out of their cocoons. You’re falling for Jack.

You think he’s falling for you, too. He’s a lot harder to read, but he always wants to hang out with you. He wants to watch movies with you and try and teach you how to play his favorite games, always inviting you out with him and his friends or trying to merge your friend group with his own. He’s had one success: one of your friends has been loosely “seeing” his friend Alex when their schedules align. They’re not labeling it, but they’re spending more and more time together.

Your friends swear Jack wants to integrate the groups so that he can see you even after you move out. You only signed a year-long lease, so you’ve been trying to decide what to do. You could stay with Jack, who is very sweet and very perfect, or you could live alone. The downfall of living with Jack is that you share a bathroom with him. The other downfall is that he doesn’t work set hours and you feel… well, awkward when you try to invite someone to spend the night and Jack gets off work early. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, and you’re not committed to Jack, but you don’t want him seeing another guy in your bed. You feel a little bit like you’re betraying him, but mostly you just want to be a courteous roommate. It was his apartment first.

Things are coming to a head. It’s been weeks since you’ve gotten laid and you’re getting antsy. Jack was supposed to have a shift tonight, so you had invited one of your Hinge matches over, not expecting your roommate to be back until about 2 or 3 in the morning. That would give you plenty of time to fuck this guy and send him on his way.

Jack comes home at 11:30. The other bartender needed to make rent tonight, so he offered to switch cuts and close for Jack. Jack made rent last weekend after working a Saturday double– you’d had a girl’s night that night, so your one good chance to fuck a man was lost– so he accepted and returned home.

You’re pissed. You texted your hookup and told him that your roommate came home early and you’d have to reschedule, knowing that he’ll probably end up ghosting you since this is the second time you’ve deflected a meetup. You could just go to his place, but you really don’t want to be trapped in another person’s apartment. You like to kick them out. You don’t like to be the one getting kicked out.

You’re sat on the couch with Jack, who’s talking about his night. He’s talking over your TV show, which is arguably the worst season of the show to be released, but it’s new and you want to pay attention. You can’t while Jack’s yapping. Your responses have gotten shorter and shorter, and your arms are crossed over your chest, and your side-eyes are becoming more and more like a glare.

Jack finally notices.

“What’s up?” He says. “You seem mad.”

You sigh and pause your show, deciding to be frank with your roommate. You turn to him. “I need you to work a full closing shift one of these days, buddy.”

Jack makes a face. “Why?” He asks. He shakes his head slightly, squinting at you. “You don’t wanna hang out with me?”

“I need to get fucked.”

Jack’s jaw drops at the suddenness of your words.

“And I don’t want to have sex with someone else while you’re in this apartment,” you continue without pause. “So I was supposed to have a guy over while you worked tonight, but I had to cancel because you came home.”

Jack blinks at you, speechless.

“So, yeah, I’m a little mad, Jack.” You stand from the couch. “But it’s whatever. I’m going to go to bed.” You leave him in the living room.

You get all the way to your bedroom door before Jack scrambles after you.

“I could make you feel better,” he offers, his cheeks growing red with a blush.

Now it’s your turn to be taken aback. “What?”

“I could make you feel better,” Jack repeats. “I’ll fuck you.”

You rub your eyes like you’re waking up from a dream. “What?”

Jack comes closer to you, reaching out to touch your hip. “I want to fuck you. I didn’t think we’d ever– well, that doesn’t matter. I’ll fuck you. I want to fuck you.”

That’s how you fell into bed with Jack. You’re surprised it didn’t happen sooner with the way Jack is bearing his soul to you– how pretty he thought you were the first time he saw you, how he’s wanted to touch you for so long and he can barely hold back sometimes, how much he likes doing things for you because he feels like your boyfriend. He tells you how he’ll prove to you that he’s worth more than just a fuck when you’re frustrated at him, but for now, he wants to show you what he’s been dreaming about.

His fingers bring you to one orgasm. His mouth, lapping at your first release, brings you to a second.

Then his cock. It’s straining in your palm once you’re finally able to get your hand on him, guiding him through your folds.

Jack’s eyes are hooded and dark like he’s drunk on lust. He moves at your pace, allowing your cunt to draw him in slowly. He inches forward, savoring it, and it’s then that Jack leans down to kiss you for the first time. His lips are soft against yours, insistent in a way that portrays his desire for you.

“Wanted to do this for so long,” Jack whispers into your mouth. “You have no idea.”

“Fuck me,” you reply, voice soft and imploring.

Jack starts to move his hips, his head dipping so that his forehead touches yours. After a few minutes, he’s panting and making soft noises of pleasure. His eyelashes are fluttering, but it seems like he doesn’t want to close his eyes completely and lose you. He’s holding back, sounding like he’s close to coming.

You roll your hips up against him. “C’mon, Jack,” you say. “Want you to come.”

He shudders, seconds away from letting go. Your fingernails against his scalp are his undoing, making his eyes roll back and his inhibitions to disappear. He’s finally got what he wanted– his cock inside of you, filling you up. He sleeps in your bed that night.

And every night after.

You renew your lease the following week.

#puck-luck's 1k celebration #andy writes anything🍄#jack hughes #jack hughes smut #jack hughes fanfiction #jack hughes blurb #jh86 #nhl smut #nhl fanfiction #nhl blurb #hockey smut

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arcanegifs · 2 days ago

Text

This is the last time I'm going to be annoying about this, I swear.

A few examples of that I, a gifmaker, personally love seeing under the tags:

Analysis of said scene, show, or character, especially the long ones going in depth that span like 1000 words

People saying how crisp the GIFs look and how nice the coloring is THANK YOU. ILY GUYS. That's always huge praise for me.

Reacting with how emotional you got with the scene. How painful and emotional or how touching a scene is.

People making funny jokes, memes, comments, etc.

Literally ppl horny posting LMAO. It's super funny to read and I love seeing all the unhinged comments.

Seeing how much you loved the show and its characters

Things I don't like seeing under the tags. And these are just two very specific things:

How much you hate the show, how much you think a scene is bad, how much you hate a character, the ship, the creators, etc. or how much you dont like this ship anymore, calling a ship horrible because ____ reasons. OKAY! I get it! But I don't want to see that. Make your own hate post on your own blog! You're free to have an opinion on how much you hate something. Just do it on your own blog.

Asking why I leave out certain scenes out, why I decided to gif this scene, or not gif more of these characters. Sometimes, I'm just exhausted. I can overlook things. You guys don't know how draining making gifs can get to me, especially the scenes that are really long. But I do it because I LOVE Arcane, the story, and the characters, and the particular scenes that I make gifs of. I have my own biases too. Of course I’m making them first. Please, just make them yourself instead of complaining under the tags of my edits. Yes, I can see them.

Don’t get me wrong, I wholeheartedly appreciate everyone who supports and follows the blog. I want to make a million more HQ gifs of this amazing show, but sometimes, the very rare negativity can still get overwhelming, to the point where it demotivates you.

Arcane is extremely special to me because it's such a fantastic show, and that alone motivates me in trying to create more GIFs. Honestly, if it was any other fandom or show? I would've probably left already. Arcane is THAT great.

I know the block button is there. I use it too, but sometimes, the amount of effort and time you exert to create FOR FREE just isn’t worth it. And that’s why gifmakers and creators stop making things for fandom. It’s not fun anymore. It’s not worth it.

Some people think that making my style of GIFs is easy. Then great! Since you think so, then do it yourself and help create for the fandom too! I wholeheartedly encourage you to do it!

TLDR: Don't be rude on people's fanwork, especially when they are created FOR FREE. If you don’t like their fanwork, you can make them yourself.

#personal tag #long post #ok i will shut up about this topic but i really really needed to get it out #this is the very last complaint post you’ll see about this fr just let me fully rant abt it just this once #to the people who listened to my grievances thank you too you guys know who you are #and if ur here thank u for reading this #ive pumped out what.... 20 gif sets in three days........ and posting a lot will defo get some irritating comments #i know i cant control them but sometimes u accidentally see some and it just affects you #theres a reason why my inbox comments and mentions are closed and sometimes its because some people can be fucking insufferable #janna give me strength in the next few weeks #and if u see me randomly disappear and stop creating then u know why #but for now my love for the show transcends all of this and im going to try my best to avoid seeing annoying comments on my edits #idk if other gifmakers get it but like..... yeah i hope i can have thicker skin #ive rested and recovered from being tired and demotivated but the whiplash you get at the heat of the moment is insane sometimes lol

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skyloftian-nutcase · 21 hours ago

Text

Fluffvember Prompt 10 - Accommodating

@ajscico I’ve been meaning to write some Sky & Time comfort for you for a long while and finally came up with something! Have a random post-Elastic Heart scene :)

Sky’s body ached. His world was jostling strangely, a muffled voice in his ear accompanied by a steady heartbeat. Dull light pierced through his eyelids, making his head ache. He groaned a little, tilting his face into fabric to hide from it.

A hand settled over the back of his head, catching him a little off guard. His brain tried to piece together what was happening, and he realized he must be resting against someone.

“He awake?” That sounded like Wild.

“Trying to be, I think.” Oh. Oh. He was resting against Time.

How in the world…? Other voices started registering in his head, and he tried to carve some kind of story out of the mess.

“Told you it would wear him out.”

“Okay, saying something would wear someone out is not the same as them collapsing.”

“Hush, you’ll wake him up!”

“He needs to wake up, when was the last time he ate or drank? Has anybody been keeping track?”

Sky furrowed his brow a little. Had he collapsed? He tried moving, but his body responded sluggishly.

The hand in the back of his head slid down to his back, rubbing it a little. “Sky?”

Blearily, the Skyloftian opened one eye to glance up at his leader. Time looked mostly serene, but there was a mild crease to his brow that denoted worry.

Sky hummed, the sound coming out rough and patchy, too tired to talk, and he buried his face back in the elder’s tunic.

He didn’t know why he’d collapsed. Was he hurt? He didn’t feel hurt. Just worn out.

He remembered the strike in the monster camp. He’d been scouting with Warriors and Wild. They’d taken out the camp together. No one has gotten hurt.

Sky frowned. Was he still so weak after his escapade? It had been three days.

He didn’t want to be useless to them after putting them through all that. Damn it.

Scrunching his nose, he let out a frustrated breath, pushing against Time to sit up. His elder supported him under his shoulders, hands steady.

“It’s okay,” Twilight said gently from beside him, hand on his back. “Take it easy. Wild has some food and water for you to help.”

“Sky.” Time’s voice was gentle but commanding, catching his attention. “Relax. We can help you. I don’t want you pushing yourself too much.”

Sky tried not to feel pathetic or upset. He tried to focus instead on how much his fellow heroes were willing to help. And… how warm and comforting it felt to be held by their leader. Slowly, he shifted, letting himself lean back down against Time’s chest. His leader adjusted him a little so he could receive some water from Wild, but his arm was wrapped firmly around the teenager, holding him close.

Sky pushed the memory of that desert dungeon away, the memory of apologizing over and over again as his breath left him, as Time held him. He imagined that Time was trying to do the same.

He’d caused so much damage.

He knew better than to apologize. Time would chew him out. So instead he just let himself be held, let himself be comforted, and sacrificed what little pride he had so that Time could have that comfort too.

“I’m okay,” he said tiredly after sipping on some water.

Time’s grip tightened, hugging him a bit more. It was the closest he’d get to an admission of worry. The man was fairly private with his feelings.

He heard the captain next as he ruffled his hair. “Of course you are. You just need to rest some more. That ought to make you happy.”

Sky frowned, shooting a grumpy glare at the older hero, and everyone laughed.

“Eat,” Time prompted. “Then go back to sleep.”

Sky sighed. He’d indulge him. He’d indulge all of them. He was used to pushing through far worse, but… there was no reason to.

“We got you, buddy,” Twilight said gently.

The words echoed in his mind as he ate, as Wild took the empty bowl away, as Time leaned back against a pile of blankets, letting Sky use him as a bed. For once, he didn’t berate himself. He just let himself enjoy it. He’d push harder tomorrow.

But for tonight, he’d let his brothers-in-arms take care of him.

#writing #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu sky #lu time #lu wild #lu twilight #lu warriors

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illbegottenfaith · 2 days ago

Text

2001 - theo nott x reader

Honey, what you runnin' from? When you comin' back to bed? Toss and turnin' all night long with me instead Honey, what you runnin' from? Where the hell you headed to? Do you like the way I run after you?

or, theo doesn’t understand what’s holding you back from taking things further

a/n - I think I would classify this soft core smut at best? But adding an 18+ tag jic

tropes/warnings - 18+ MDNI, fluff

word count - 1.6k

“Fucking hell. Hide me.”

You shrunk yourself down the best that you could behind your best friend, Ivy, laser-focused on the boy at the other end of the hallway. Ivy rolled her eyes, making no effort to help.

“I can’t believe you still won’t tell me what happened that night. It can’t have been that bad.”

“It was,” you muttered, stupidly trying to get Ivy to cooperate. It was no easy task, especially on days like today when she was feeling particularly stubborn, which was a problem since the boy looked fully intent on approaching them.

“Will you relax? You look like an idiot. Like an even bigger idiot than usual. He probably doesn’t even remember whatever-“

“Ivy. Happy birthday. Sorry I couldn’t make it to the party.”

Damn. You thought you had more time. Curse him and his unfairly long legs. Ivy did the grown-up thing, which was literally anything other than pretending she didn’t see him. “It’s alright, Theo. You can make it up to me next year.”

“How was it?”

“It was nice, actually. We got a discount on -“

Ivy was cut off by a gentle tug, revealing a hunched-over you. You straightened hastily, clearing your throat, refusing to meet his gaze.

“L/N.”

“Nott.”

“Planning on dropping by tonight?”

You put on a straight face, looking politely confused. “Hm?”

“The party. Tonight.”

“Oh. Where?”

Theo narrowed his eyes, and your face burned under the intensity of his gaze. It took everything you had to keep your features schooled while he shamelessly searched your face for what felt like far too long.

“The Slytherin common room,” he replied, finally tearing his eyes away from you. You relaxed, blinking hard and a little breathless, your palms a little clammy. “Can’t miss it. Just follow the stench of firewhiskey and bad ideas.”

Internally, you nearly passed out. Externally, you shrugged noncommittally. “Sure. Maybe.” Definitely not. You weren’t going to spend a second longer in Theo’s presence if you could help it.

You and Ivy get to the party and, as expected, you’re abandoned the second she finds Ivan through the crowd. You wander around before you decide to join a group of Slytherins on the couches, next to Theo. You get handed a drink. It burns your throat and makes your eyes water. The loud bass starts to sound more tolerable. Another drink. Theo’s frowning at you. You wonder if anyone’s told him how good concern looks on his face. Everything is now ten times funnier. You press up against Theo, laughing yourself silly, leaning into his touch as he drapes an arm around you. Another drink. You’re more than lightly flushed. Theo places a hand on your thigh. You don’t move it away.

Eventually, you end up pressed against the door of Theo’s room, your mouths a heady mess of heat, teeth and tongues, your bodies moulding to each other’s. Your eyes flutter shut, blissfully able to let go with your senses dulled by alcohol. You can’t tell if it’s the music or your pulse vibrating through your body, but you’re aching for his touch. He presses a knee against your core and you groan into his mouth, melting into a boneless mush in his arms.

“Theodore,” you sighed desperately, breath catching in your throat. It was enough to slow his ministrations on your neck which had been filling your head with the most delicious kind of static. You never used his first name despite your best friends being glued by the lips since sixth year, mostly because you never went beyond exchanging civil pleasantries. Occasionally, you’d have a chat that wasn’t entirely unpleasant, or you’d let your thoughts wander to his disarming blue eyes or wicked smile, but that was it. It never did, and it never could, go any further than that. You were too different. It would never work. You’d only be setting yourself up for heartbreak. Nothing good could come of entangling with the illustrious Theodore Nott, figuratively or otherwise.

And to use his first name was to acknowledge the existence of this softer, kinder Theo - a version worlds away from that Nott boy with the aloof face and the piercing eyes. He hummed against your neck, thumbs restlessly skimming the waistband of your skirt.

“We can’t - we shouldn’t,” you continued, once you were able to make sense of your fuzzy thoughts. You pushed him back gently, cool air rushing in to douse the heat of the moment. “Our friends have a whole thing. We’d only get in the way. It’s just a bad idea.”

His hands stilled on your hips. “I don’t understand. What about our thing?”

He looked so dazed and so adorably dishevelled that you almost felt sorry for him. It was late, Theo’s words sounded dangerously close to slurring, and if you were being honest, you should have left the party hours ago. You stroked his cheek absentmindedly before gingerly slipping out of his hold, recovering your shirt. You slipped it on, fumbling at rhe buttons with trembling fingers, and turned back to see Theo still watching you, uncomprehending, his swollen lips parted in confusion.

“Get some sleep, Nott. You’ll get what I mean in the morning.”

“Bye, Theo,” Ivy was saying now. “Give Ivan a kiss for me.”

“Should I feel him up while I’m at it?”

“It only seems right to give him the full experience.”

Ivy grinned as he walked off while you all but dragged her down the hall towards your next class.

“Aw, come on, Y/N, he’s not that bad.” She glanced at you, eyes twinkling with mirth. “You know, I always thought he has a thing for y-“

“Aren’t you late for Herbology?”

Ivy cursed as she fumbled at her wristwatch, hurrying down the corridor. In about a minute, she’d realise that she didn’t have Herbology today, but you decided to let her find that out herself.

Hours later, you were holed up in the library, desperately trying to plug your ears with all the ruckus going on floors below. Trying to focus was a losing battle.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

Your head snapped up too see Theo leaning against one of the bookshelves. Busted. To be fair, she was nowhere near the world’s best liar, so it was doubtful whether he had even believed her in the first place.

“Nott,” you greeted, in a pleasant enough voice. “Is that the time? I hadn’t realised the party had already started.”

The music continued blasting, more than audible to the two of them. Theo arched an eyebrow, slowly walking over, and you had the decency to look embarrassed over your bald-faced lie.

“I was planning to drop by later.”

“Well, you should.”

“Maybe I will:”

“It’s almost as fun as that last party ages ago.”

You stiffened at the memory. “Ah. Yes.”

Theo leaned over you, broad-shouldered and hypnotising. He dragged his gaze across you inch by agonising inch, undressing you with his eyes. You were starting to feel uncomfortably warm in your uniform. He dropped his voice.

“First and last time I see you in my bed, hmm?”

You choked, failing to suppress the shiver prickling over your skin. “That’s - stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Talking like…that.” You felt your face heat up all over again, cursing yourself for your inability to even pretend to keep your cool in front of him. “Looking at me like that.”

His gaze flickered to your chest, so brief you’d have missed it if you blinked. “Like what?”

You let out a frustrated, overwhelmed sigh, your brain becoming oddly fixated on the memory of his hands on your hips, travelling up your ribcage, at the nape of your neck, grip tightening on your waist -

“Go on. Use your words.”

His breath tickled the shell of your ear, the closest he’d been to you since that night.

“Like…like you actually want me. Like I’m something special.”

“You are something special.”

You groaned and looked away. “I’m seeing someone,” you tried, half-heartedly. Theo snorted.

“What, that Davies guy? Yeah, like that’s going to last.”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to feel all that indignant on Davies’ behalf. Not that you were going to let Theo know that. “I’ll have you know that Mac is a perfect gentleman.”

“My point is-“ Theo started, irritatedly. You took a perverse sort of pleasure in ruffling his feathers. “- why the fuck are we talking about Davies when you could be in my bed, doing far more interesting things with that mouth?”

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely. Perhaps you like having me run after you. Is that where you get off, hmm? The thrill of the chase? Being a tease?”

“I am not a -“ you began hotly, before you caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye. You rolled your eyes. “You’re too cocky for your own good,” you muttered.

“I thought you like me cocky,” he teased. His expression softened the next second and you watched him trace lazy circles on your wrist.

“Besides…I’ve never tried this hard to get into someone’s pants.”

You gave a shaky laugh. Theo bent down once more, this time to press a kiss to your lips, then another, and another, until you were lying on your back on the table, looking sinfully ravished, blouse long forgotten.

One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

#theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x you #theodore nott x y/n #theo nott x reader #theo nott #theodore nott fluff #theo nott smut #theodore nott smut #theodore nott imagine #Spotify

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silentscrying · 2 days ago

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🏀 buzzer beater | chapter ELEVEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, slight unwanted advances, mahito in general, fangirl todo. || sfw. 5.3k words.

THE NEXT DAY, the Curses take the series against the Foxes. It’s official: the Sorcerers-Curses rivalry will come to a head in the NBA championships, starting on Friday in San Diego.

The team went harder than ever at practice today, not only drilling but talking strategy and getting into the nitty-gritty of the psychological impact of the rivalry. Yaga knows Mei Mei and the Curses don’t go easy, or fair. They’re ready.

As you pull out the keys to your apartment, you frown at the package on your welcome mat, a weird cylindrical shape with no return address. After you make it to the kitchen, you open it and find a rolled-up sheet of glossy paper. What?

You spread it out on your countertop and see an official signed poster of Satoru, in full uniform, palming a basketball in one hand with a huge smirk on his face. With the photo’s professional editing, his eyes look even more blue than usual, and you may or may not stare at them a second too long.

“Jesus fuck,” you say.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes.

six: did you get my gift?? you: is this for target practice? how sweet six: :( you: baby six: oh it’s like that😏 you: that was an insult

When your phone goes off again after you’ve relegated the rolled-up poster to an end table, you assume it’s Satoru responding. But instead, you find a text from Geto.

suguru geto: Thought about my offer at all?

Great. He waited until the Curses made the championships and just thought he’d try again? You screenshot the text and send it to Satoru.

you: what if i turn on read receipts just for this

six: HAHAHAHA

You won’t, because you’re still planning on taking Geto by surprise on Friday when he realizes you and Satoru are actually together. Your phone rings, and your brow furrows as you realize you don’t recognize the number or the area code.

“Sorcerers management,” you greet, and a high-pitched voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi there! This is Takada with the Reggie Star Show.” You hesitate for a moment. Reggie’s show is kind of a huge deal, and Takada has become something of a personality herself, although you’ve always found her a bit over the top.

“Uh, how can I help you?” you ask finally.

“So! Reggie would love to invite Satoru Gojo onto the show before the NBA championships.” You stand stock-still in your kitchen.

What the fuck, you mouth silently to yourself. It’s not like Reggie never has athletes on the show. But only Satoru?

“Not the rest of the team?” you clarify, and Takada laughs, a high, kind of shrill sound that has you holding your phone a bit away from your ear.

“Well, you see, we’re hoping to promote the series a bit by pulling the centers from both teams! Mr. Geto has already agreed, so we’d love to interview him and Mr. Gojo together.”

Oh, Jesus.

You are 100% certain this is Mei Mei’s doing. You instinctively want to reject her now, but this isn’t really your call.

“Let me run this by Gojo and the coaches, and I can get back to you, Takada,” you say, hoping that tides her over for now.

“No problem. Thank you!” she chirps, and the line goes dead. You groan, staring at the ceiling. This is not worth the hassle. You swipe to Satoru’s contact and call him.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” he drawls, and you roll your eyes.

“Asshole. So, guess who just called me?”

“If you say Suguru I’m flying to San Diego early and cornering him in an alley.”

You laugh. “Okay, Jesus. No. Uh, the Reggie Star Show?”

“What?” Satoru screeches.

“They have Geto coming on before championships,” you sigh, “and they want you too. To ‘promote the series’ or whatever. Drama on screen.”

“Mei Mei’s idea?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t really think I have time, considering… it’s championships and we’re training every day? Yaga would be pissed, probably. Not much of a publicity guy.”

Something in your chest loosens at his words. Truthfully, you really don’t want him to go, to be in a situation where he and Geto can only verbally spar through a guise of political politeness.

“Also, I just… don’t want to?” he says. You grin.

“Good. I was hoping.”

“Aw, don’t want me to launch my television career?” You sink onto your couch as he keeps talking. “That could be a great return on investment for you, you know. You have my autograph now.”

“Shut up. And don’t tell Nobara about this. She’d be so mad at you.”

“Scaryyy,” he says, and he’s not joking. “Come over for dinner?” The change in topic has you smiling as you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “Miki and Gumi are coming. And Yuji.”

“And the dogs?”

“Am I not enough for you?” he scoffs, and you grin.

“Not even close.”

“Yes, the dogs, you heathen.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you say innocently, and hang up on him.

—

Tsumiki meets you at Satoru’s door with a massive grin on her face and immediately pulls you into a hug.

“Hi!” she says excitedly, ushering you inside.

“Hey, Tsumiki,” you smile, and then there’s a rapid pitter-patter of the dogs rounding the corner into the entryway, and you fall into a pile of fur and kisses. “Hi, buddies! Hi!” Shiro shoves her nose into your face and Kuro plops himself down in your lap right as Satoru rounds the corner.

“Stealing my girlfriend,” he whines.

“Dumbass,” you say, and let him help you up. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and you blush against your will.

“C’mon. Pasta’s ready.” You follow Satoru into the kitchen and find Yuji and Megumi putting plates on the small table. You raise a brow.

“Whose cooking?”

“Whose do you think?” Tsumiki asks.

“I helped!” Yuji insists, pointing to the oven. “I’m making garlic bread!”

Tsumiki pats him on the shoulder and says, “Yes, Yuji, you did a great job.”

You fire off a quick message to Yaga to confirm that it’s okay to reject Takada’s offer, and he responds within two minutes, Please do.

You step out to make the call, and when you come back into the kitchen, Yuji and Tsumiki are giggling at something.

“What are you two on about?” you ask, and Tsumiki, still snickering, hands you her phone. It’s open to a tweet of a grainy computer screenshot, and it says SOMEONE LOOK AT ME THE WAY SATORU GOJO LOOKS AT THE SORCERERS MANAGER PLS PLSPLS

That’s not even the part that gets you. First of all, it’s not from the most recent game—it’s from before you were together. You’re wearing the Limitless shirt.

Second, Kasumi retweeted it.

“Jesus,” you say, and Satoru appears at your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” You swat at him without looking and then pull out your phone to text Kasumi. “I need to tell her before she finds out somewhere else.”

As if on cue, your phone lights up with her name. Your first thought is that she somehow already knows and is FaceTiming you to scream at you. You swipe and her face materializes in front of you, a massive grin on her face and—has she been crying?

“Kasumi! Are you okay?”

“Yes!” she practically screams. And then she holds up her hand, and you stare for a long moment before realizing she’s wearing a ring.

“Holy shit!” you screech. “Kasumi!” The grin splits across your face, and she’s laugh-crying on the other end of the phone, and then she abruptly freezes.

And you realize Satoru’s very much visible in the frame behind you.

“Alley-oop,” she says. “You motherf—Alley. Is that—”

You can see the tips of your ears going pink in the camera in the corner of the screen. “Surprise?”

“To you, maybe!” she laughs. “Holy shit. Holy shit! This is the best day of my life.”

Muta appears beside Kasumi, squinting at the screen. “Tell me it’s because we’re getting married and not because she and Gojo finally banged.” Megumi wrinkles his nose at the other end of the table.

“Kokichi,” Kasumi scolds, but Satoru cracks up behind you and you can’t help but follow suit.

“Congrats, you guys,” you say. “I’m so happy for you. Does Akari know?”

“She’s next on the list,” Kasumi grins.

“We’ll let you go, then,” you say, and take a moment to just appreciate how fucking happy your friend looks. Her blue hair is a mess and her eyes are rimmed red, but she’s glowing. This has been a long time coming. You couldn’t be happier for her, honestly.

When she hangs up, Satoru grins and says, “Aw, basketball romance.” Then he looks pointedly at Yuji and Megumi.

“I suddenly feel like a fifth wheel,” Tsumiki announces. Then she looks at Shiro and Kuro, curled up together on the couch. “Seventh wheel?”

You plop into the chair next to Tsumiki and wrap your arm around her. “Nah, Satoru’s seventh wheeling. I’m here for you.”

She grins, and Satoru falls to his knees and dramatically fakes his own death. The dogs leap off the couch to investigate, and soon he’s laughing as Shiro slobbers all over him while Kuro decides to lay across his legs.

In truth, you don’t remember the last time you felt this content. It’s a nice feeling, warm.

And then a smell hits you, like something burning, and you furrow your brows and turn toward the kitchen. “Is something—”

“Oh my god!” Yuji screeches, practically falling out of his chair and bolting for the kitchen. “The garlic bread!”

—

The results of turning down the Reggie Star offer have, quite possibly, the funniest results of all time.

You’re curled up on Satoru’s couch two days later with your feet on his lap and Tsumiki on your other side, Megumi and Yuji sprawled with the dogs on the floor. On the TV, Todo walks on stage to a cheering studio audience and locks eyes with Takada, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he just passed out right now.

“Simp,” Satoru says. You look at him incredulously. “Okay, hey, I did not say I wasn’t also.” He plants a kiss on your temple and Megumi pretends to gag.

You swear Todo literally has physical stars in his eyes when he looks at her. He shakes her hand with both of his and does a weird half-bow and says, “It’s such an honor, Ms. Ta—“

“Oh, please,” Takada giggles. “Just call me Takada.” Todo goes red again, stammering out a response.

“This is the most painful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Megumi says. He’s only watching this because Yuji wants to.

“Mr. Aoi Todo,” Reggie Star says grandly, throwing an arm around him like they’re already best buds. “Take a seat, take a seat. Thanks again for joining us on such short notice!”

Todo takes his place on the couch while Reggie and Takada sit in opposing armchairs, the background flashing the Reggie Star Show logo as the theme music peters out. Reggie grills Todo with questions about the Samurai-Sorcerers series, playing against Yuji after playing with him in college, all the connections the team has with half of the championship bracket. And throughout, Todo just can’t tear his gaze away from Takada.

By the time it’s over you’re nearly falling off the couch, laughing yourself halfway to tears.

“Guys, it’s cute! He has a crush!” Yuji exclaims, and you all laugh harder. Tsumiki collapses into you, her hair spreading out over the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing—one of Satoru’s, blue and black and smelling like him.

After the commercial break, which consisted of an actually absurd amount of Takada promoting various useless products, Todo is nowhere to be found. Geto sits on the couch in his place with a press-worthy smile and a crisp, navy blue suit.

“And here we’ve got the starting center of one of the two NBA teams gunning for the championship title, Mr. Suguru Geto,” Reggie introduces, and the studio audience whoops and cheers as Geto waves them off, smiling modestly. You kind of want to slap him.

“Now, let’s not beat around the bush here, Suguru—you’re going up against the Sorcerers the day after tomorrow, and that means you’re coming face to face with your old teammate, Satoru ‘Six-Eyes’ Gojo.” Reggie looks pointedly out at the crowd, like they’re in on some big secret, and turns back to Geto. “How do you feel about this match-up, two starting centers with a lengthy history on the court with stakes this high?”

Geto sighs and leans forward a bit in his seat, one elbow on the armrest. “Well, Reggie, Satoru and I go back a long time.” You wrinkle your nose at the sound of his first name in Geto’s mouth. You feel weirdly defensive about it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we went to high school together and then college, so we’ve been playing basketball together since our early teens.”

Takada chimes in, “That’s quite the bond, going through the most formative parts of your careers together!” You can’t take her seriously, because in your head she’s still winking at the camera and waxing poetic about the merits of some new Japanese skincare line.

Reggie nods, encouraging Geto to go on. “I’ve gotta say, I am looking forward to seeing him again. He’s a hard man to get ahold of these days. It’ll be good to see him, albeit on opposite sides of the court.”

“No, it will not,” Satoru says with a false cheer in his voice, pointing a finger gun at the TV.

“And how do you think your odds are looking for this series?”

“Well,” Geto laughs, “the Sorcerers are talented, I’ll give them that. Clearly, they’ve made it this far. But I will say that the Curses are first seed with home court advantage.” He shrugs. “So do with that what you will.”

Takada glances at Reggie, as if asking permission for something, and he nods. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Geto, there’s another familiar face on the other side of things as well, a former manager of the Curses.”

Geto nods, a wide smile crossing his face, and you feel Satoru tense up beside you. “Oh, we miss her a lot, yes. She’s great at what she does. I keep telling her she should make her way back to San Diego if she feels so inclined.” He laughs, like this is some great ongoing joke.

“Oh, so you two still speak regularly, then?” Reggie asks, intrigued. Your jaw clenches, and Satoru’s hand encloses yours before it can become a fist.

“I just recently paid her a visit out east.” Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That fucker,” Satoru growls. Your phone buzzes with a message from Ieiri.

my wife: this little man bun bitch

my wife: what if i commit murder. what then

You’re seething, and even Tsumiki is frowning, the lines creasing her face, turning the corners of her mouth down. Paid you a visit? As if you’re friends and he came to catch up with you over coffee, not dropped in on your street in the dark to harass you about a job you don’t want?

“Well, sounds like it’ll be quite the reunion,” Reggie is saying by the time the smoke clears out of your ears enough for you to hear again.

Tsumiki reaches across you to ruffle Satoru’s hair. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”

You shoot a quick message back to Ieiri.

you: tbh i’d pay a lot of money to see y’all in a cage match

Reggie and Takada shift to broader questions about the series and you tune out most of the remainder of the segment, irritated when Geto answers one too many questions with Satoru’s name, subtly suggesting that the Sorcerers have none of the grit and discipline the Curses do.

“They’re a fun bunch,” he says at one point. “Like a barrel of monkeys. They just have a good time.” The tone is all fake, smoothed-out public relations, and it makes your blood boil. You know what he’s really implying, that it’s an insult. That the Sorcerers spend all their time hanging off hoops instead of drilling themselves into the ground. You know it’s not true. You’ve watched them work their asses off all year.

“God forbid we know how to have fun,” Satoru snorts, and you feel the tension easing from your shoulders just at the sound of his voice.

“You don’t,” you say teasingly, flipping yourself around on the couch so your head lands in his lap. “That’s entirely Kento.”

Satoru gasps and looks down at you. “You take that back. Nanami is the most unfun—“

“Not a word,” Tsumiki says helpfully.

“Everyone in this house hates me! Slander under my own roof!” He digs his fingers into your sides and starts tickling you, and you squirm out of his grasp and onto the ground, but he follows you. Soon it’s a mess of Shiro and Kuro frantically pouncing on both of you as you squeal for Satoru to let you go, and Tsumiki is definitely filming this whole thing, and it’s all so incredibly domestic and unserious and right that your heart swells in your chest.

Fuck Geto. He can’t get to you here, and he can’t take you away from the team you love.

—

Being in San Diego again is strange. The facilities are familiar, the gyms, the locker rooms, but you’re walking them a different person than you left them, experiencing the same setting in a new context that makes you feel like you’re living in one prolonged moment of déjà vu.

Nobara walks alongside you, bouncing between social media notifications and ranting about the way Geto made the Sorcerers sound on national television last night. Ieiri’s setting up in the training room down the hall, and Yaga’s pulled the guys into the locker room for a quick meeting before they launch into their last practice before the next day’s match.

You keep thinking about Yaga pulling you aside this morning, murmuring a quick warning in your ear. “If you see Mei Mei, no you don’t. Not worth the time. Just slip away.”

So far there’s been no sign of the other manager, and you’re glad for it.

Nobara’s phone starts ringing and she nods at you and peels off, pressing it to her ear and slipping deeper into the building. You lean against the wall, checking your own phone, making sure you don’t have any missed calls or emails.

The side doors open loudly, metal scraping across the floor, and you look up.

Fuck.

It seems Mei Mei doesn’t do her own damn dirty work.

“Oh, hello!” Mahito crows, making his way over to you. You didn’t like him when you worked for the Curses and you don’t like him now, his leering grin too wide for his face, hair tied into three sections behind his back. Him, you know—but you haven’t yet met the man beside him, a lanky, tall guy with oddly wide eyes and a long blond ponytail weirdly off-center on his head.

Of course, you know who he is. You’ve done your research, you’ve seen the roster. Haruta Shigemo.

“I hoped you’d be here.” Mahito comes to a stop in front of you as you push off the wall, crossing your arms.

“Mahito.” Your voice is cold, flat.

He frowns, an exaggerated, off-putting gesture. “Thought it’d be a happier reunion,” he says. He holds his arms out toward Shigemo with a flourish. “I’d like you to meet Haruta. He, ah, was something of a replacement for your Six-Eyes.”

Shigemo stares at you, unblinking, a small, close-lipped smile sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how close these two men are to you, that your back is to the wall, that you’re alone in the hallway.

“Look, I really have a lot to get done—”

“Oh, we don’t mean to bother you!” Mahito laughs, high-pitched and manic. “We just wanted to welcome you back home, you know. Make sure you settled in to the old stomping grounds.” He leans in, breath smelling like some odd combination of fruity gum and stale crackers. You shudder involuntarily. “I hope you don’t take it too hard when they lose,” he whispers, too close to your face. “Should you need an out, remember we’re in your corner.”

Shigemo holds a hand up as you’re about to retort, tilting his head and studying you. “If he’s not your type,” he giggles, nodding at Mahito, “I’ve got some time on my hands tonight.”

Your face flushes deep red with anger, fists going white-knuckled at your side. “I do not need—”

“Excuse me,” says a cool, familiar voice, and the tension in your muscles goes slack as Kento comes to stand directly between you and your newfound nuisances. “I believe we’ve already taken care of any business that needed tending to before the match tomorrow, yes? Is there anything else I can help you with? We’re just about to kick off practice, and I’m afraid our time is limited.”

Mahito steps back, holding his arms up in false surrender. “Nanami! Hello!” He grins widely. “We’re representatives, of a sort. Just making sure the bunch of you are settled in.” Shigemo nods and looks Kento up and down, calculating.

“We are just fine,” he says flatly, nudging you with a hand behind his back. You nod at the two Curses players and storm down the hallway toward the gym, heart racing in your chest. Behind you, you hear Kento still talking. “Do tell Mei Mei her… thoughtfulness is noted.”

In the gym, the guys are warming up, and your eyes immediately lock on Megumi, angrily slamming an innocent basketball against the wall, over and over. Yuji dribbles between his knees without looking at his ball, watching Megumi intently.

You don’t see Satoru, and for a moment you’re worried, feeling a little off-balance, until you feel hands on your shoulders, spinning you around. “Well, hello,” he says, and you laugh, dropping your head into his chest.

“Fuck is up with Megumi?” you ask, nodding toward him, and Satoru frowns. You notice now the tension in him, the slight anger in his eyes, an energy like impatience and frustration all around his edges.

“Suguru was fucking with him. Saying shit about Tsumiki. I was dealing with him.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, considering as he looks over your shoulder at Yuji drawing Megumi back onto the court. “He’s such a dick.”

Kento walks in then, making his way straight over to you. “You okay?” he asks, and Satoru’s brows knit together.

“What? Why wouldn’t she—” He turns to you. “Why wouldn’t you be okay? What happened?”

“Mahito,” you say. “Shigemo, too. Fucking pricks.”

Satoru breathes in sharply, his grip on your shoulder tightening protectively. “If they put their fucking hands on you—”

“Toru,” you say, the nickname slipping out without your permission. It seems to calm him down a little, makes him look at you steadily. “Kento got them out of the way. And they won’t do anything to me. They’re just doing Mei Mei’s bidding, same as Geto, probably.” You grab his hands in yours, nodding at Kento to say you’ll be okay. He inclines his head and walks away, gathering the rest of the team in the center of the gym.

“They want to get under your skin. Don’t let them."

Your voice is steady and calm, coated with a reassurance you don’t feel. Your nerves are still on high alert, Mahito’s breathing down your neck, Shigemo’s unsettling scrutiny lingering in your mind. But you know they’re not after you. You’re a conduit for them, a way to fuck with Satoru. And you will not let them.

“Don’t let them,” he echoes, sighing, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Remember, flagrantly disgusting display of public affection. Imagine their faces.”

He laughs, loud and bright, and something warm blooms in you at the sound. “God, you’re the best.”

“I know.” You pull back and shove him in the direction of the team. “Now go practice so I can watch you kick their asses.”

He grins at you, does a little half-bow, snapping back into his untouchable, unbothered self. “Anything for you.”

—

There's really no reason for you to have the clipboard in your hands. Every note you’ve taken is committed to memory. You know both team’s rosters inside and out, know every detail of the schedule, what a win or a loss means for the schedule, score projections, all of it. But you need something to do with your hands, so you hold onto it, clicking and unclicking your pen, scribbling in the margins of old brackets, trying to contain all your nervous energy into a manageable space.

And you’re not the only one overflowing with energy. The stadium is alive. The lights are bright, the crowd raucous, the massive hanging scoreboard broadcasting CHAMPIONSHIP SHOWDOWN SPONSORED BY KFC. You don’t think you could eat right now even if someone shoved a bucket of fried chicken into your hands.

“That’s just mean,” Satoru mutters under his breath, gazing up at the advertisement.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

He glances down at you and then across the court, where Geto has been tracking the two of you with searching eyes. Mei Mei hides behind a clipboard as well, though you notice her eyes flickering back and forth, studying Satoru, you, Yaga. You pointedly avoid looking at Mahito and Shigemo. Pricks.

The NBA championship series. Sorcerers versus Curses. It all comes to a head here, an endless rivalry for a championship title.

“So, I’m thinking now or never,” Satoru says, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. When you realize what he means, it takes everything in you not to glance across the court at Geto. A smirk spreads across your face, and you grab Satoru’s jersey and pull him toward you.

“Good luck,” you say, and then you kiss him, hard and long and intentional, and you know Geto sees you.

“I think,” Satoru says, pulling back a little breathlessly, “we should do that every game.” He grins and you swat him away, making your way over to Ieiri and Nobara in the far corner, and you can’t wipe the smile from your own face. On the way there you chance a look across the court. Geto isn’t looking at you, but he’s looking at Satoru, talking lowly out of the corner of his mouth to Mei Mei.

Point for me, you think.

“You’re actually nauseating,” Nobara says when you reach her. You know she’s not serious. She knew the plan. She loved the plan.

“I’m making a point,” you say anyway. She follows your tilted head toward Geto and Mei Mei, and you watch the slow, shit-eating grin spread across her face.

“Oh, so worth it,” she murmurs.

You tug the headset on and listen to the unfamiliar announcers, wishing it was Zenin and Panda in your ears but settling for the new, faceless voices instead. They’re not the same guys who usually commentated on the home court when you worked for the Curses, and you’re oddly glad about it, that there’s not another reminder of the loaded history here right in your ears.

“Charles Bernard here with Rika Orimoto,” the new voice says, “ready to watch this long-time rivalry play out in real time.”

When she speaks up, Rika’s voice is bright and younger than you expected, animated where Bernard is entirely deadpan. Interesting partnership.

As the starters take their positions, you’re surprised to see that Satoru’s not the one taking the tip-off.

Kento is. And in front of him, eye-to-eye with a sardonic smile, is Mahito.

Ah, shit.

The ref’s expression is flat and unaffected, but his eyes dart between the two shooting guards as they face off in the center of the court. You wish you could hear what they’re saying.

“An unusual choice for both teams here as we kick off this final series,” Bernard says. “Neither of our centers taking the tip-off today.”

Kento shows no emotion as the ref lets go of the ball, and Mahito leaps, but he’s not fast enough.

“Number thirty-seven Kento Nanami swipes the tip-off without hesitation!” Rika announces. “Back to number six, the Sorcerers' Satoru Gojo, and a fantastic pass up to Fushiguro.”

The Curses' hulking point guard, Jogo, is right up in Megumi’s face with a massive hand reaching out to block, but Yuji grabs the rebound and pounds it through the hoop in seconds.

“And the Sorcerers take the lead just sixteen seconds in,” Bernard says. You look over at Ieiri and Nobara, grinning, and then back to where Mei Mei stands with a stony expression across the court.

You feel good about this.

Back and forth, back and forth. Ino is giving Jogo a run for his money, using his speed to dart around the massive point guard before he even sees what’s coming. In his breakaways Yuji keeps finding himself pitted against Mahito, and it seems like it’s always a fifty-fifty whether the block is successful.

“Some subs as we enter the second quarter. On San Diego's side we have Haruta Shigemo on for Fumihiko Takaba.”

“Yuta Okkotsu on for the Sorcerers!” Rika says, a little too excitedly, before she catches herself and calms down.

“Someone has a fangirl,” Nobara snorts beside you, holding just one side of the headset to her ear.

You can’t tear your eyes away from Satoru and Geto as they go up and down the court, always on each other’s heels, breathing hard. It’s personal, and everyone can see it. If they’re saying anything you can’t make it out.

Both teams are going all-out right now, and the fans feel it too. Megumi’s guarding Naoya Zenin like a shadow, something in the air around them tense and constant. You don’t see Yuji’s uncle but you can certainly hear him, somewhere behind you on the visitors’ side, screaming, “HELL YEAH! SHOW THEM WHAT A WIN REALLY MEANS! THESE FUCKERS WOULDN’T KNOW FIRE IF IT LIT UNDER THEIR ASSES!”

You give it two minutes before he’s kicked out.

Inumaki goes on, then Hakari, and at some point the Curses swap Jogo out for Dagon, and it’s go, go, go. You can barely catch your own breath by the half, the game wrapping around you like you’re the one playing it, and Satoru’s drenched in sweat as the team files back to the locker room. He reaches out and pinches you in the side and you stick your tongue out at him, like the mature adult you are.

“Gross,” Nobara says.

The rest of the game goes by in a similar blur of shots and blocks and heated matchups, Toge nailing a few free throws, Takaba coming back on and managing to slip past Megumi only once. The scoreboard never reads more than a six-point deficit.

You almost don’t hear the buzzer when it’s finally over, players skidding to a stop on the court, their heads turned up toward the scoreboard.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri breathes beside you. “We won. We actually fucking won.”

You rip off the headset, the grin overtaking you, relief and pride flooding your veins like a drug, and the rest of the team floods the court in celebration. They beat a first seed team on their home court.

Satoru catches your eye over the mass of people and smiles, and you wave back.

And this is only the beginning.

directory. || prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

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tourettesdog · 5 hours ago

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Beta Reading and Fanfiction

I’ve been writing for a long time myself, but it’s only been very recently that I’ve immersed myself in communities online for it. I’ve been having so much fun really diving into Danny Phantom and DPxDC fanfic, and I’ve met so many great friends doing so.

I mostly do my own writing, but I’ve really enjoyed doing some beta reading as well, especially for friends! There’s something so fun about getting to dive into a work in progress and help where you can.

But I do feel like some people might really struggle to understand how to beta read, or what makes a good beta reader— especially where fanfiction is concerned. I’ve been extremely fortunate to have wonderful beta readers, but I’ve had some friends frustrated with the beta reading they’ve in turn received, or otherwise feeling uncomfortable in asking for a beta reader since they don’t know what to expect.

So, how should beta reading work? How do you do a good job?

Above all, the most important thing about beta reading is communication with your author. You are not in their WIP to prove how good of a writer you are, or to hammer their work into what you would personally be proud to present online. You are there to help, in whatever way the author has asked or communicated they're comfortable with.

Before you beta read anything it is vital to ask what the author is looking for in a beta reader. There are a number of things you can ask in particular, including:

What are you looking for help with?

Do you just want me to look for typos or confusing sentences?

Do you want suggestions for things to add?

Do you want suggestions on grammar, or other more in-depth writing suggestions?

Do you need help with characterization, or even the plot?

Depending on who you are beta reading for, you might have someone who only wants a very light beta touch. They might just want you to look for glaring mistakes, or for confirmation that a plot beat makes sense.

Other authors might want something much more involved! They might be trying to improve their grammar, or perhaps they're not very familiar with writing a new character and they would like suggestions for how to better capture their voice.

Regardless of what an author wants in a beta reader, you won't know unless you ask them! It's possible that you simply might not be compatible as beta reader and author, depending on their answer, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's okay to step back and say "I personally like to beta read things more in depth than this, so I might not be the best person to give it a look."

Otherwise, getting an answer about your author's preferences can help you figure out how to help them. Perhaps you would normally make more suggestions, but if an author has specified that they're not comfortable with that, then it's not your job as their beta reader to do so. If you are capable of sticking to the help they've asked for, then you will ultimately be fulfilling your role as their beta reader admirably.

"But I'm just trying to help. Their work has a lot of places it could improve!"

Again, beta reading is not about shaping a story into something you would personally present as your writing. It is about helping the author produce a story they're comfortable with and proud of.

It's not about being right, or heavily criticizing their writing and grammar abilities (unless this is what the author has explicitly requested!)

Especially while writing fanfiction, the work presented is not something that will ever see publishing, or that needs to have flawless grammar and syntax. This is work done for free, and it is done for fun.

And that's something very vital to beta reading—

A beta reader needs to preserve the fun.

It's very daunting, putting your work out there for others. It's especially daunting putting your work up for analysis of any kind. You're accepting that people might not understand your vision, or may judge you for what you've written.

It's all too easy to compare yourself to other creatives online, and to overthink and overanalyze your talents. Too often, it’s easy to get discouraged and feel like your work isn’t good enough.

Beta reading should never be done in a way that will discourage writing. Even if an author has asked for a lot of help, it’s important to pick your battles with what you choose to analyze, and to check in with them if you feel like you might be crossing boundaries or covering their work in too much metaphorical red ink.

When people are trying to improve their writing, you don’t always have to mark every little suggestion you think of. Unless the author is a friend you know well, or has explicitly asked for Extreme measures of help, it might be best to ignore some smaller writing issues and focus instead on bigger things.

If you’ve already marked a lot of issues in one paragraph, but have more things you could say, consider if the additional suggestions are vital or if it might be better to leave them be. After all, if your author is looking to improve, and if you are planning to beta read for them again in the future, then helping them with more glaring issues now will help them in a way that is not overwhelming, and will open the door for other kinds of suggestions to be better understood and absorbed.

You can always check in with your author if you’re unsure, too. Ask them if they appreciate the amount of suggestions you’ve given them, or if it’s been too much. Your author might be uncomfortable with telling you that they’re overwhelmed, and checking in is a good way to ensure that you’re both on the same page.

All that being said, though, it is also important to not always focus on things to fix and improve. You’re not just editing the story, you’re reading it. Part of keeping beta reading fun is engaging in that story as any reader would. It both helps morale, and helps let the author know what they’re doing right, when you take the time to tell them what you enjoy about the work you’re beta reading!

There are so many ways you can express positive things about an author’s writing. Consider:

“I love how you phrased this sentence here.”

“This body language feels natural and very in character!”

“I love this word choice here.”

“This part was really funny and had me laughing.”

“I’m excited to see where this goes!”

You’re reading a story, and you must have thoughts and feelings on it outside of suggestions. Let your author know! People thrive on positive feedback, and there’s just as much to be gained in marking Positive attributes to a story as there is in noting places to improve.

The last major thing I feel is vital to beta reading is respecting that it is your author’s work, and that your suggestions (however clever or helpful you feel they are) may be rejected. And that that is okay.

Suggestions are just that— suggestions.

What you might like in creative writing might not necessarily be what your author wants to express. You might love to use ellipses, or lots of different dialogue tags, while your author might prefer dashes and more standard dialogue tags. You might like to use more colorful descriptions of scenery and atmosphere, while your author might want to focus much more on the character body language and dialogue. You might like to use a lot of exclamation points and next to no italics, while your author might like a lot of italics and very little exclamation points.

You’re ultimately two different people, with two different ideas of what is an ideal way to tell a story. And while you can give many different suggestions on just about anything the author might add, remove, or change, it’s ultimately the author’s choice whether or not they accept those changes.

It’s not your job as a beta reader to double down and insist that they accept a specific suggestion. It’s not your job to make a case for why you think they need to change something. If an author has denied a suggestion— it’s best to let it go. Especially if you don’t know them well, and don’t have a very good rapport with them, pushing the issue will only serve to make you both uncomfortable.

It’s not just about picking your battles, but also about mutual respect. You’re not a teacher, nor an editor looking to make their work prime for publishing. You have to respect their decisions for their own story, even if that means they decide not to take a suggestion you felt would be impactful.

It’s also always important to keep in mind that writing style, particularly where creative writing is concerned, can vary wildly. The strict rules that you learn in school were made to be broken. You learn them to figure out how to break them and, particularly when writing for fun, it doesn’t even matter if you’re breaking those rules in a perfect way. It’s fanfiction. It’s freeform, it’s fun. If someone wants to make a habit out of going buckwild with their writing style, there’s really no reason to try and corral their writing into a box labeled “High School English 101”.

You can’t force someone to write their fanfiction like it’s going to go to a letter grade, nor should you try to unless they’re looking for that level of editing.

Be willing to listen, and pay attention to what is and isn’t working. It’s good to take note of suggestions that your author has already commented on. Have they thanked you for pointing out something in particular? Have they expressed they feel weak with something in their writing?

Is there a type of suggestion that you keep making that they have rejected multiple times?

Work with their strengths and with their style. Focus on suggestions that have been received well, and consider letting go of ones that the author clearly has no interest in, or that might conflict with their style.

Communicate and respect each other, above all else.

Beta reading is such a helpful and wonderful thing someone can do for an author. I’ve been so thankful to have it done for my own work, and I try my best to be helpful and considerate when I’ve beta read myself.

Having my work beta read has really helped me find things to improve upon in my writing, and has helped me feel more confident in the stories I’ve posted, just having another eye look over them before they hit the internet. I don’t always take all of their suggestions, and might disagree from time to time with the direction they want something to go in, but I’ve been thankful to have understanding, kind betas that work with me well.

And that’s one more point I want to touch on too, is that I hope that, as a beta reader, you find yourself with authors that show you mutual respect in turn. That they thank you for the work you’ve put in to help them succeed, and have made the experience positive for you as well.

It always makes me happy to see beta readers credited on posted works. It’s a kind thing for writers to show appreciation, and to acknowledge that someone helped shape the words you see on the page.

This got much longer than I intended it to, but I just hope that this post might help some people in some way. Either to understand beta reading and the purpose of it, or how to potentially go about it themselves.

I really recommend giving beta reading a try if you’re comfortable with it, especially if you have friends that write fanfiction! Even just an extra pair of eyes looking for typos can be a godsend for someone who has spent hours upon hours staring at a long fic and editing it.

#fanfiction #danny phantom #dpxdc #beta reading #beta reader #dog barks

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nameless-ken · 1 day ago

Text

Bucky Barnes x Reader - Part Three

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: none, fluff as always and some angst

Part One | Part Two

Masterlist

As you step through the door, balancing the warm pie in your hands, a flurry of laughter and chatter greets you.

“Miss Y/L/N is here!” Elizabeth shouts excitedly and grabs your free hand, practically dancing you inside.

“Hey!” Steve appears from the kitchen, giving you a welcoming smile and takes the pie from your hands. “Glad you could make it.”

Before you have a chance to reply, Elizabeth pulls you further into the gathering, introducing you Sam, Natasha, Clint, and Bruce, all gathered around with warm smiles and friendly greetings. Bucky hovers a little ways back, hands shoved into his pockets, his shoulders a touch tense. His eyes meet yours, just for a moment, and he gives you a small, slightly shy smile before looking away.

As you all move into the living room, the group’s easy chatter and laughter fill the air. You find yourself among a mix of friendly faces, each one seeming to bring something special to the room. Sam, ever the conversationalist, quickly pulls you into a story about an “epic” camping trip that had apparently ended with him rescuing Bucky from a raccoon, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Trust me,” Sam says with a grin, “Bucky here might look tough, but get him in the woods, and he’s toast. Isn’t that right, Buck?”

Bucky, leaning back with his arms crossed, rolls his eyes, clearly amused but trying to hide a smile. “I’d like to see you handle it any better, Wilson,” he mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh, come on,” Sam says, his gaze sliding toward you with a gleam of mischief. “He talks a big game, but you wouldn’t believe how much he’s told us about you.”

You feel a surprised blush creeping up, and Bucky’s expression goes from mildly amused to visibly embarrassed in seconds. “Sam,” he warns, his voice low but lacking any real bite.

Sam just smirks, clearly having too much fun. “What? You can’t spend weeks talking about someone and then get shy now that she’s actually here.” He turns back to you with a wink. “Honestly, we were starting to wonder if you were even real.”

Everyone laughs, and you can’t help but join in, glancing over at Bucky, who’s now rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding your gaze but clearly fighting a smile. “Don’t let him get to you,” he says, half under his breath, still looking anywhere but at you.

“It’s nice to know I made such an impression,” you say lightly, hoping to ease his nerves.

Natasha chimes in, leaning forward with a teasing smile. “Oh, he’s told us plenty. All good things, I assure you.”

Bucky’s face reddens slightly, and he shakes his head, mumbling something you can’t quite catch. You smile, touched by how endearing his shyness is. There’s something reassuring in knowing he might have felt the same quiet, lingering thoughts about you as you have about him.

You excuse yourself, wanting to say hi to Peggy, who you haven’t seen for a while for school pickup.

In the cozy warmth of the kitchen, there is Elizabeth and Peggy, who is finishing up the last touches on dinner. The scent of roasted vegetables and warm spices fills the air as Elizabeth stands on her tiptoes, carefully sprinkling fresh herbs over a dish. She’s focused, her little hands steady, but when she sees you step into the kitchen, her face lights up.

“Come help!” she whispers, gesturing you over with a small wave.

“Oh hi Y/N. It’s so good to see you again! Elizabeth is so excited to have you over.” Peggy smiles brightly as she pulls you into a hug quickly.

“I really appreciate the invite. Can I help with anything?” You offer your service up. You always hate showing up empty handed or standing around while the hosts do everything.

“Elizabeth, why don’t you help Miss Y/L/N set the table?” Peggy hands her napkins while gesturing to the remaining dishes on the counter.

You follow Elizabeth’s lead, handing her each item as you arrange the table. Elizabeth glances around to make sure no one is paying attention, then leans close, her voice low.

“Guess what?” she whispers conspiratorially, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Uncle Bucky likes you. He told me you’re his favorite friend.”

The comment catches you off guard, and you feel a blush creeping up your cheeks. You look down to hide it, but as you lift your gaze again, your eyes meet Bucky’s across the room. He’s leaning against the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching the two of you with a gentle expression. The second he realizes you’re looking back, his eyes widen slightly, and he quickly shifts his gaze to the floor, looking like he’s been caught.

You try to laugh it off, but you can’t help glancing back at Bucky. This time, he’s watching you more openly, his gaze soft and unguarded, as if he’s allowing himself to hope. The rest of the room fades for a moment, and in that shared look, a quiet understanding passes between you—a feeling unspoken but undeniable, settling in the spaces between words.

Elizabeth tugs your sleeve gently, breaking the spell. “See?” she whispers with a grin. “I knew he liked you.”

The table is soon filled with food, and everyone finds their seat. You end up across from Bucky, who seems even quieter than usual, his gaze flicking between his plate and the people around him. When your eyes meet across the table, he gives you another brief, tentative smile before focusing back on his mashed potatoes.

As everyone digs into their food, Natasha catches you up on a few funny stories about Steve, who rolls his eyes but laughs along. Clint chimes in with his own antics, earning a lighthearted smack from Natasha, and the easy laughter fills the room, warming the space around you. Bucky seems to relax as he listens to them, glancing your way every so often but always looking away just as quickly.

As dinner progresses, you’re drawn into lively conversations with the others around the table. Bruce, sitting to your left, asks about your work, genuinely interested, his warm smile making you feel right at home.

“So, how long have you been teaching?” Bruce asks, leaning in as the others pass around dessert plates.

“Quite awhile now, almost eight years,” you reply, glancing over at Elizabeth, who’s absorbed in a chat with Peggy about the cookies they baked together earlier. “It’s challenging, but it’s worth every bit of effort. Kids like Elizabeth make it all so rewarding.”

Across the table, Bucky catches your eye. He’s been quiet throughout the meal, but there’s a look in his eyes—a mixture of admiration and something deeper—that makes your heart skip a beat. He gives you a small, almost shy smile, as if he’s only just realizing how much he appreciates having you here. You feel a warmth settle over you, a silent exchange that says more than words could.

“So, Y/N,” Natasha says from down the table, her voice pulling you back into the moment, “you seem to be handling our chaos well.”

“Oh, it’s definitely been entertaining,” you laugh, glancing around. “But in a good way. I think I could get used to this.”

Natasha grins, raising an eyebrow. “Well, if you’re sticking around, maybe you’ll be here long enough to see us all argue over board games next,” she says, her tone mischievous.

Steve chuckles, setting his fork down. “Careful—Nat’s competitive streak knows no bounds. She once beat Clint’s winning streak at Uno, and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t forgiven her yet.”

“Rematch is on the agenda,” Clint interjects with a dramatic sigh, giving Natasha a pointed look. “Just wait until tonight.”

“See?” Sam says, throwing you a wink. “If you’re up for some cutthroat board gaming, you’re in for a real treat.”

You smile, settling back into your chair, and your gaze drifts back to Bucky. Across the table, his expression softens as he watches you, his thumb absently rubbing along the rim of his glass. There’s an unspoken connection building between you, and you can feel it more clearly with each shared glance, every gentle smile that passes between you two.

As the evening begins to wind down, you find yourself surrounding the coffee table with the others as an intense game of Uno is being played. You’ve practically given up at this point as Sam has conveniently played all his pick twos and fours on you.

“UNO!” Clint yells as he holds one card in his hands, staring Natasha down. Natasha actually looks nervous and annoyed by the five cards in her hands.

“Okay you suck Barton. You got lucky.” Natasha tosses a card down, then Bruce, Peggy, Steve, Sam and finally you, until it gets to Clint again, who plays his remaining card, winning the game.

Clint grins triumphantly, leaning back with his arms crossed, basking in the group’s groans of defeat. “What can I say? Skill like this can’t be taught,” he teases, earning a playful nudge from Natasha.

“Oh, enjoy it while it lasts,” she retorts, narrowing her eyes at him with a smirk. “I’m coming for you next round.”

As the group resets the cards for another round, you glance around the room, only to realize that Bucky and Elizabeth are no longer there. You hadn’t noticed them slip away, but the absence of their presence makes you suddenly curious.

Excusing yourself, you rise from the couch and quietly make your way down the hallway, glancing into a few rooms before pausing at Elizabeth’s bedroom door. Inside, you spot them: Bucky, seated cross-legged on the floor, and Elizabeth, eagerly arranging a circle of dolls in front of him.

Elizabeth is chattering away, explaining the intricate backstory of each doll, while Bucky listens intently, nodding with the utmost seriousness. The sight is both heartwarming and a little amusing—Bucky, who so often keeps to himself, fully engrossed in this imaginary world with her.

“...and she’s the queen, so she makes all the rules,” Elizabeth says firmly, placing a doll in a paper crown in front of Bucky. “And you have to be the king. That’s the rule.”

Bucky lifts the doll she hands him with gentle fingers, studying it with a small, genuine smile. “The king, huh? What’s he supposed to do?”

“He has to make sure everyone is safe,” Elizabeth replies, glancing up at him with an adoring look. “And be brave.”

You feel yourself smiling, charmed by the way he goes along with her game without a trace of reluctance. Leaning against the doorframe, you clear your throat softly, and Bucky’s head snaps up, surprised. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken there—an almost shy warmth that makes your heart race.

“Oh, hi!” Elizabeth says, beaming when she sees you. “Do you want to play, too?”

You step inside, kneeling down beside them. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your royal council,” you say with a grin, looking between them.

“Nonsense,” Bucky says, giving you a playful look as he scoots over to make room for you. “Every kingdom needs a trusted advisor.”

Settling in beside them, you pick up a doll, and the three of you quickly fall into an easy rhythm, building an imaginary world that feels as warm as the room around you. At one point, your hand brushes against Bucky’s, lingering there for a moment, and he glances at you with that same gentle, quiet smile. There’s something comforting—and thrilling—about being here like this with him.

When Elizabeth leans forward to adjust the queen’s crown, Bucky catches your eye again, his gaze lingering, filled with a depth you hadn’t quite noticed before tonight. There’s a silent understanding between you, one that promises more than either of you have said aloud yet.

And for now, that’s enough.

As the evening winds down, the group gradually disperses, the air filled with laughter and a lingering warmth that only a night with friends can bring. One by one, the others begin saying their goodbyes, each of them giving you a warm smile or a quick hug, leaving you feeling more at home than you’ve felt in a long time.

Elizabeth, exhausted from the excitement, gives you a sleepy smile as Peggy ushers her toward her room. “Thanks for playing with us,” she murmurs, her eyes heavy-lidded. You smile and squeeze her hand gently.

“Anytime,” you reply softly. “You were the best queen tonight.”

Elizabeth beams at you, her face lighting up for just a moment before she stifles a yawn and allows Peggy to lead her away. You watch her disappear down the hall, feeling an unexpected warmth in your chest.

When you turn back to the living room, Bucky is there, his hands tucked into his pockets, a soft smile on his face. The others have mostly gone, leaving just the two of you in the quiet, cozy glow of the dimmed lights.

“Looks like you’re about to head out too,” he says quietly, his voice low and slightly raspy from the night of talking.

You nod, glancing down for a moment before meeting his gaze. “Yeah, it’s getting late,” you say, trying to keep your tone light, though your heart is racing a bit.

He steps forward, hesitating for just a moment, his gaze lingering on yours with that same softness that’s been there all night. “Thanks for coming. Elizabeth had a great time tonight,” he says, his voice warm. “And… so did I.”

The two of you stand in silence for a beat, neither one of you quite ready to break whatever has been building between you since dinner. He opens his mouth, as if to say something else, but stops, looking at you with a quiet intensity that makes you wonder if he feels it too.

You reach out and gently touch his arm, giving him a small smile. “Thanks for having me over. I really enjoyed tonight… and seeing this side of you,” you add, a hint of playfulness in your voice.

He lets out a soft chuckle, his cheeks flushing slightly as his gaze drifts to the floor, a faint smile on his lips. “Maybe, um… we could do this again sometime. Just, you know, without the whole crew.”

Your heart skips a beat at the suggestion, warmth spreading through you. “I’d like that,” you say, meeting his eyes and holding his gaze for a moment longer. “Here, put your number in and we can talk more about it later.” You grab your phone with shaking hands, flustered from Bucky’s presence.

Bucky types his name and number, saving it. As you tuck your phone back into your pocket, Bucky glances at you, his blue eyes holding that same softness from earlier, now laced with a spark of anticipation.

“Guess I’ll, uh, see you soon then,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, as if not wanting to break the fragile quiet around you both.

“Yeah, soon,” you reply, your voice coming out softer than intended, carrying all the unspoken things you want to say but aren’t quite ready to.

Your smile grows as he helps you pull your coat on, and just before you turn to leave, he gives your hand a quick, gentle squeeze—a touch so brief that if you hadn’t been paying attention, you might have missed it.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says softly, his voice wrapped in that low, comforting tone that you’re starting to find so familiar.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you reply, your voice lingering a little longer than it should, letting the silence stretch between you both for just a breath more.

You step out into the cool night, the air feeling sharper after the warmth of the evening, but your mind is buzzing too much to notice. As you walk down the quiet street, you can still feel the gentle brush of his fingers, the look in his eyes, and the quiet promise hanging in the air between you.

The next day, you find yourself reaching for your phone, unable to resist the urge to text Bucky. After a little mental back and forth, you type out a message and hit send:

You: Morning, Bucky 😊 Hope you and Elizabeth got some rest after last night’s big feast!

It doesn’t take long before he replies:

Bucky: Morning. We definitely did—she practically passed out the second she hit her pillow.

You smile, picturing Elizabeth’s sleepy face and tousled hair, and quickly type a reply.

You: Well, she was a very busy queen last night! Hope you got some rest, too.

Bucky: I did. Kept thinking about how much fun she had with you, though. I think she’d keep you around full-time if she could.

You: It was a perfect end to Friendsgiving! Are you sure you’re up for a repeat next year?

Bucky: Only if you promise to sit across from me again. I’m not sure I could handle it otherwise. 😉

You feel your cheeks warm at the subtle flirtation, and you can’t help but lean into it a little.

You: Oh, so it was my company that kept you going? I’m flattered, Barnes.

There’s a pause, and then a new message pops up:

Bucky: Speaking of… I was thinking about next weekend. I’d like to take you somewhere, if you’re free on Saturday?

Your heart does a little flip. You can almost hear his voice through the words, steady but with a hint of anticipation.

You: Definitely. I’d say I could survive another night of your charm.

Bucky: Oh, you’re in trouble now. I’ve been told I’m even more charming one-on-one.

You: Is that so? Guess I’ll have to brace myself.

He calls suddenly, interrupting your next message, and you pick up, a little caught off guard but excited.

“Hey,” you say, trying to sound casual, but there’s a definite smile in your voice.

“Hey,” he replies, his tone warm and familiar. “Thought I’d call before I accidentally type a novel. Or break my phone trying.”

You laugh. “Honestly, I was ready to read the whole thing.”

“Noted,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Guess I’ll have to brush up on my typing skills.”

“I don’t mind this though,” you reply softly. “Hearing your voice instead of reading texts.”

There’s a comfortable pause before he speaks again, sounding a bit more relaxed. “I’m looking forward to Saturday… any food preferences, by the way?”

“Nothing fancy,” you say. “Just good company—and maybe a view?”

“Company I’ve got covered. And I know just the place with a great view,” he promises, his voice softening. “I’ll make sure it’s perfect.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Good,” he replies, his tone warm. After a beat, he adds, “Thanks for giving this a chance.”

“Thanks for asking,” you reply, the warmth in his voice settling around you like a blanket.

There’s a comfortable silence, neither of you quite ready to say goodbye, as if each shared word and laugh has deepened the connection even further.

“Well,” he finally says, his voice quieter, almost reluctant. “I’ll see you Saturday, then.”

“Looking forward to it,” you reply, a smile on your face.

It’s been a busy week, and the anticipation of your date with Bucky tomorrow has kept a quiet excitement buzzing through you since this morning.

You say goodbye to the students as their parents pick them up. Elizabeth is the last one out running down the hall with a shout of a goodbye to you. You laugh at her eagerness to get to Bucky and you can’t blame her. You’d do the same.

As you lock up your classroom and exit the school doors, you immediately spot Bucky, leaning against his car parked by the curb, Elizabeth sitting in her carseat with her tablet, watching her favorite Barbie movie.

Bucky is leaning against his car, looking as relaxed and calm as you’ve ever seen him outside the school. He’s dressed in a deep red henley and dark jeans. It's the small bouquet of flowers in his hands that catches your eye—a simple, elegant arrangement of red roses.

You stop in your tracks for a moment, heart skipping a beat. As if he senses you, he looks up, his face breaking into a grin when he sees you.

"Hey," he says, pushing off the truck slightly and onto the sidewalk with one glance toward Elizabeth to make sure she’s still okay. "I hope you don’t mind. I figured I’d bring you these... thought it might be a nice way to kick off the weekend."

You feel warmth spread through you as he offers you the flowers, and you can’t help but smile. "Bucky... these are beautiful. You really didn’t have to."

He shrugs, a soft laugh escaping him. "I wanted to. Plus, I figured I’d start things off right before our date tomorrow."

You raise an eyebrow, the teasing smile playing on your lips. "Are you trying to set the bar high already, Barnes?"

Bucky looks a little flustered, his cheeks flushing slightly, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes. "Well, you know, I’ve gotta keep up with any other contenders to make sure I stay on top." His voice drops a little as he adds, "And I just wanted to make sure you knew I’m really looking forward to tomorrow."

“I can assure you, there is no other competition.” Your heart melts just a little at the sincerity in his voice. "I’m looking forward to it too," you reply softly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

Bucky's gaze softens as he watches you, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Good. Because I think tomorrow's gonna be a lot of fun."

Before the moment can stretch into something heavier, Elizabeth's voice cuts through the air from the car, her high-pitched excitement unmistakable. "Uncle Bucky! Look! Barbie's going to the beach!" she announces proudly, waving her tablet in the air as if it’s a trophy.

You both glance over at her, and Bucky chuckles under his breath, shaking his head. "She's really into that movie lately," he says, a touch of amusement in his voice.

You laugh, watching the little girl practically bouncing in her seat. "Well, Barbie certainly knows how to make an impression."

Bucky smiles at the comment, but there's a soft, almost nostalgic look in his eyes as he watches her. He leans in toward you, his voice quieter this time. "She’s been asking about you, you know. Keeps asking when you’re going to go back over to her house again."

Your heart flutters at the thought. "She’s such a sweetheart," you reply, the warmth in your chest spreading. "I’m glad she likes me."

Bucky’s smile widens, but there's a subtle vulnerability in his expression that makes you pause. "I think she’s kind of hoping you’ll come hang out with us more. I can’t say I blame her."

"Well," you begin, trying to keep the mood light, "it’s hard to say no to such a persuasive little one."

His gaze softens and for a brief second, there’s a quiet intensity between you, the world around you seeming to fade for just a heartbeat. "Alright then. Tomorrow it is," he says with a small nod, his smile growing.

"Definitely," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips as you watch him climb into the driver’s seat of the truck, Elizabeth already turning the volume up on her tablet.

He waves at you through the window before pulling away, and you watch them drive off, feeling that same buzz of excitement filling you up for what tomorrow might bring.

As you make your way to your car, you can’t help but replay the quiet exchange in your mind—the warmth in his eyes, the sincerity of his words. Tomorrow might be the start of something even better than you’d imagined.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky as you finish up your preparations for the evening. It’s Saturday—your first real date with Bucky, and the nerves you’ve been feeling all day are only now settling in. You’re nervous, but it’s a good kind of nervous. It’s the kind of nervous that comes with looking forward to something new, something exciting.

You’re just finishing up a last-minute check in the mirror when you hear a knock on the door. Your heart skips a beat.

You open it to find Bucky standing there, his familiar grin lighting up his face. He’s dressed casually, in a deep green button-up shirt, sleek dress pants, and a leather jacket, his usual relaxed style elevated with a subtle touch of sophistication. Somehow, tonight, it all seems to make your pulse quicken in a way you didn’t expect.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm and easy, though there’s a slight hint of nervousness in his eyes as he holds out his hand. In it, he’s holding a small bouquet of white daisies. The simplicity of the gesture has your heart swelling.

“Hi,” you reply, your smile spreading across your face as you take the flowers from him. “They’re lovely, Bucky. Thank you.”

His expression softens as he watches you, and a small blush tints his cheeks. He steps back slightly, glancing toward his car parked on the curb. “Ready to go?”

You nod, feeling your heart flutter a little as you step outside, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The night feels alive with possibility, and as Bucky opens the passenger door for you, you slide into the seat with anticipation, your nerves buzzing. The butterflies in your stomach don’t seem to quiet down as you settle into the car.

Bucky slides into the driver’s seat beside you, his hands gripping the wheel for a moment as he gathers his thoughts. You both fall into a comfortable silence, the soft hum of the road and the low music from the radio filling the space between you. The air feels easy, though you can sense a shared nervousness underneath it all. Neither of you speaks for a few moments, but the silence is pleasant.

After a beat, Bucky clears his throat, his voice a little rough as he glances over at you, his hand adjusting the steering wheel slightly. “You look, uh—really beautiful.”

The compliment catches you off guard, but in the best way. Your heart skips a beat, and you feel a slight flush spread across your cheeks. You meet his eyes for a brief moment, your smile soft and sincere. “Thank you. You look very handsome tonight too.”

At your words, Bucky visibly relaxes, his shoulders dropping a little as if he’s relieved. His lips twitch upward in a shy smile, but there's a quiet warmth in his eyes that makes your chest tighten in the best way. The drive continues, but now there’s an added sense of comfort, like the space between you both is slowly closing, becoming more intimate with each passing second.

“You know,” Bucky says after a while, keeping his eyes on the road, “I’m really glad we’re doing this. I’ve been... kind of nervous, actually. But in a good way, you know?”

You smile, your eyes drifting back to the road as you consider his words. “I get it,” you say softly. “I’ve been nervous too. But I’m glad we’re finally here.”

The tension that lingers between you both starts to fade with each passing mile, and the drive feels easier, more natural. Bucky doesn’t seem quite as tense now, and the silence between you becomes less heavy, replaced with small talk and laughter.

When you finally reach your destination, Bucky parks the car near a secluded spot. It’s a quiet overlook on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by tall trees and the soft sound of wind through the leaves. The view is stunning—the sprawling city lights twinkling in the distance, the stars just beginning to pierce the night sky. It’s peaceful, private, and you immediately feel a sense of calm wash over you.

“You wanna head up?” Bucky asks, motioning to the small path that leads up to the overlook. “I, uh, packed a little something. Thought we could hang out up there.”

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, trying to act casual, but your heart’s racing as you follow him up the path. You try to ignore how nervous you feel, focusing on the quiet hum of the world around you, the rustling of leaves in the wind, and Bucky’s presence next to you.

When you reach the top, you see that Bucky has set up a small blanket on the ground, with a basket beside it. There are candles in mason jars lining the edges, casting a warm glow on the area around you. It feels cozy, intimate, and it’s clear that Bucky’s put a lot of thought into this.

“I wanted to make it special,” he says, looking a little shy as he sits down on the blanket. “I don’t really know how to do dates like this, but I thought maybe a quiet place would be... nice.”

You sit down beside him, your fingers brushing against his briefly, and you can’t help but smile at how sweet this all is. "I love it, Bucky. It’s perfect."

The two of you fall into a natural silence for a moment, both of you unsure what to say next, but the quiet is comfortable. The only sounds are the occasional rustle of the trees and the soft hum of the city below.

“So...” you start, glancing over at him. “How’s, uh... how’s everything been for you lately?”

Bucky takes a deep breath, looking out over the city, his voice thoughtful. “It’s been... different. In a good way, I think. I’ve gotten used to the quiet in my life, but sometimes it feels like I’m missing something. Like I’m waiting for something, you know?”

You nod, understanding more than you expected. “I get that. I think sometimes, when life gets a little too quiet, you start wondering if something’s missing. Like... maybe you need to take a chance on something, even if it feels a little scary.”

Bucky’s gaze shifts toward you, his expression softening. “Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “That’s kind of how I feel right now. Taking chances. But with you... with Elizabeth, it feels different. It feels right.”

The sincerity in his voice makes your chest tighten. You feel the connection between the two of you deepening, a quiet understanding that neither of you has quite been able to put into words.

For the next hour or so, you talk about everything and nothing—your pasts, your dreams, the things that scare you, and the things that make you feel alive. There’s an ease between you now, a comfort that grows with each passing minute. You talk about your favorite books, childhood memories, and what you hope for in the future. Bucky shares stories of his time in the army, of the people he’s loved and lost, and there’s a quiet vulnerability in his voice that makes your heart ache for him.

“So,” you start, breaking the silence with a small smile, “what’s one thing I’d never guess about you?”

Bucky thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing slightly. “Hmm... I don’t know. I guess people always think I’m just a tough guy, you know? Like, I don’t know, all muscles and no heart.” He chuckles softly, the sound warm, but there’s a touch of vulnerability beneath it. “But I’m not like that. I can be... sentimental. I keep things, little reminders of people or moments that meant something.”

You nod, your smile softening as you listen. “I can definitely see that about you. I think we all hold onto things in different ways. I'm kind of a book hoarder. I’ve got shelves full of them.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Really? What’s your favorite genre?”

You shrug, thinking for a moment. “I guess mostly fiction. I love stories that take me to places I’ve never been, things I could only ever wish to experience myself.”

He leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. “I get that. Some days I wish I could escape into something else for a while.”

You look at him, sensing a deeper layer beneath his words. “Where would you go, if you could? Somewhere far away, I mean.”

He leans back, arms circling his legs, eyes distant for a moment, like he’s picturing it. “I think... maybe a quiet place. Somewhere with a view. Maybe a cabin in the woods or on a mountain. Somewhere peaceful. I’ve spent a lot of time in chaos, in places that were loud and demanding. I don’t think I realized how much I missed silence until I had some time away from it.”

There’s a softness in his voice as he talks, something that makes your chest ache just a little. “That sounds... really nice. I think we all need quiet sometimes.”

Bucky glances at you, a smile tugging at his lips. “What about you? Where would you go?”

You pause, your thoughts drifting. “I think I’d go somewhere similar. I’ve always loved nature and the coziness of rain. I’d like to go somewhere that gets cold but not too cold. I’d like to spend time dreaming up my own stories or just think.”

Bucky nods, seeming to understand. “That sounds good, too. Sometimes being alone with your thoughts is the best way to find clarity.”

You nod, the quiet between you settling comfortably again. After a moment, you break the silence, wanting to know more. “You mentioned before, in passing, that you were in the army along with Steve and Sam. What was that like?”

Bucky’s expression shifts, and you notice a subtle change in his posture. His shoulders tighten slightly, and he stares down at the ground for a moment before meeting your eyes again. “It was... a lot of things. Good and bad. You meet people who become your family, and you see things you wish you didn’t have to. But you learn a lot about yourself, too. What you're capable of when it really matters. But... you lose people along the way. Some of them were like brothers to me.”

His voice softens, and there’s a quiet ache in his words. “It’s hard to talk about sometimes. I don’t always know what to say.”

You’re silent for a moment, letting the weight of his words settle between you, but there’s no rush to fill the space. You don’t push him. Instead, you simply say, “I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

Bucky gives a small, quiet smile, his eyes distant again. “It’s not something you ever get over. You just learn to live with it, you know? Keep going, because that’s what they would have wanted.”

You nod slowly, absorbing his words. “I think that’s really brave. I don’t know if I could be that strong.”

Bucky meets your gaze, his eyes serious but with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. “You’d be surprised. Strength isn’t always about big things. Sometimes it’s the small moments, the ones that nobody else sees. Like... showing up for someone when they need you. Or just listening when they need to talk.”

Your heart swells at his words. You didn’t expect to find such depth in a conversation so early, but it feels easy, like you’ve both always been able to talk like this. You swallow, your voice quiet but sincere. “I’m glad you’re here, Bucky.”

His expression softens even further, and he leans forward slightly, his voice low. “I’m glad I’m here too.”

You both fall into a comfortable silence, but it’s different this time. There’s a deeper connection between you now, a shared understanding, as if you’ve both opened up in ways that most people never do. And it feels right—like this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

Finally, Bucky clears his throat, breaking the silence with a small chuckle. “Sorry, I got a little heavy there. Didn’t mean to bring down the mood.”

You smile, shaking your head. “No, not at all. I like hearing about you. All of you.”

Bucky’s eyes twinkle, and he grins that soft, easy grin of his. “Well, I guess I’ll have to tell you more sometime, then.”

You laugh, the sound light and free between you. “I look forward to it.”

As the evening starts to wind down, you realize how much time has passed. The stars are fully out now, the city lights dimming beneath the vast sky. The two of you are sitting closer than before, your shoulders brushing every now and then, and you both seem reluctant to leave the spot.

“Do you wanna head back?” Bucky asks, his voice soft, though you can hear the hesitation in it. “I don’t want this to end yet, but I also don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”

You smile, a little shy. “No, I’m good. I’m really glad we did this. It’s... it’s been nice.”

Bucky stands, offering his hand to help you up. “Well, I’ll take you home then. If you’re ready, that is.”

“Yeah, I’m ready,” you say, slipping your hand into his as he helps you to your feet. You both make your way back to the car, neither of you speaking for a moment, just enjoying the peaceful quiet around you.

When you arrive at your apartment, Bucky parks the car in front of your building. “I had a really great time tonight,” he says, turning toward you with a soft smile. “Thank you for... you know, giving me a chance.”

You look up at him, your heart full. “I’m glad I did. I think we have something good here, Bucky.”

There’s a moment of silence as you both just look at each other, and before you can say anything else, you surprise yourself by offering, “Would you like to come inside? I could make us some tea.”

Bucky seems caught off guard for a second, then smiles softly. “I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”

The two of you walk inside, and you get to work making the tea. The conversation flows easily between you, filled with laughter and small moments of silence, as the next couple hours slip by unnoticed. You talk about your favorite childhood memories, your first jobs, your biggest fears. Each topic somehow leads into the next, like you're both unraveling the little threads of who you are, but it doesn't feel rushed.

You laugh at something Bucky says, brushing a stray piece of hair behind your ear, and he catches the movement, his gaze softening for a moment.

“You know,” Bucky says, his voice a little quieter now, “I never thought I’d be here, doing this... with anyone. Not after everything.”

You glance at him, curiosity piqued. “Doing what?”

He shrugs, a small smile on his lips. “Just... talking like this. Being open. Letting someone in. I’ve spent so much time keeping people at arm's length. It’s easier, I guess, to just... not let anyone get too close.”

You feel your chest tighten, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. You lower your gaze, trying to hide the way your heart swells with sympathy and understanding.

“I think I get that,” you say softly. “I’ve kind of built my own walls over the years, too. Not because I didn’t want to let people in, but because... I don’t know. It’s easier to be alone sometimes.”

He looks at you, and for a long moment, neither of you speaks. It’s as if the weight of your shared vulnerability is lingering between you, hanging in the air.

Bucky leans forward just a little, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t want you to think that... I’m not interested in letting you in,” he says quietly, his voice barely above a whisper now. “Because I am. I don’t know if it’s the right time or the right place, but I want you to know that I am.”

Your breath catches, heart pounding in your chest. There’s a rawness in his voice that makes the air between you feel thick, heavy with unspoken words. You hesitate for a moment, before speaking.

“I’m not going anywhere, Bucky.” Your voice is soft, but certain. “I’m here. I’ll always been here, just... sometimes I think I don't know how to say it.”

There’s a quiet, tender moment that passes between you. His lips part slightly, and he leans in just a fraction more, as if testing the space between you.

And that’s when the tension shifts, palpable now, crackling in the air. You both seem to feel it—a pull, something that draws you in, something that makes the moment stretch, and the space between you disappears. For a breathless second, everything else seems to vanish.

Your lips are so close now. His eyes flicker down to your mouth, then back up to meet your gaze, searching for permission, for a sign that you feel what he does.

You feel the warmth of his breath on your face, the closeness, and your pulse quickens. The intensity between you is almost too much, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you let it hang there, both of you caught in the moment.

And then, just as it feels like the gap might close between you, Bucky exhales sharply, pulling back slightly as if snapping out of it. He runs a hand through his hair, awkwardly clearing his throat.

“Sorry,” he mutters, voice tight. “I didn’t mean to make it weird.”

You laugh softly, trying to ease the tension, though your heart is still racing. “It’s not weird, Bucky. It’s... nice.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his gaze searching yours again, a bit of uncertainty there. “I don’t want to rush anything,” he says, his voice steadying. “I just... I don’t know. I really like being with you.”

You nod, a gentle smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I like being with you too.”

The tension in the air lingers for a while longer, but the moment passes, and you both settle back into the comfortable rhythm of conversation again. You talk about small things—silly anecdotes and favorite songs, and the connection you’ve built feels stronger now than it ever has before.

As the conversation winds down, your eyes begin to flutter, exhaustion finally catching up with you. You let out a soft yawn, leaning back against the couch. Bucky watches you, his eyes soft, but there’s something almost reluctant in his gaze.

“I should probably go,” he says quietly, standing up and stretching. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You sit up, still a little drowsy. “You don’t have to leave,” you say, your voice a little more vulnerable than you intend. “I... I don’t want you to go.”

Bucky hesitates, his expression conflicted as he looks at you. “I... I don’t want to leave either,” he admits, his voice low. “But I don’t want to make things awkward either.”

You smile softly, trying to push the sleepiness from your eyes. “It’s not Bucky. You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.”

After a long pause, he sits back down beside you, though his body is tense. He watches you closely for a moment before finally settling in. “Alright. I’ll stay. But just... just to keep you company. And because I don’t want you to be alone either.”

You feel a warm flush spread through you as you nestle deeper into the couch, the quiet between you comforting and safe. Bucky lies down beside you, careful not to get too close, but still there. You fall asleep, your head on his chest, and for the first time in a long while, you feel at peace.

Bucky lies awake beside you, his eyes staring up at the ceiling, trying to ignore the thoughts that swirl in his mind. He doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to wake you, but the weight of his past—the nightmares, the fears—keeps him from fully resting. He stays awake, just listening to the sound of your breathing, hoping that his presence won’t disturb your sleep.

It’s the first time he’s ever felt this way with someone—so close, yet so distant, fighting the demons inside. He wonders, for just a moment, if he’s ready to let someone in completely.

Thanks for reading! Please reblog & comment <3 would love to hear how you enjoy it and feel free to send in requests!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #Bucky Barnes fluff #bucky barnes x female reader #Bucky Barnes fanfic #Bucky Barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader angst #bucky barnes x reader fluff #Sebastian Stan #Sebastian Stan bucky Barnes #bucky barnes smut

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hihi10000 · 3 days ago

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okay so i thought of something (but please tell me if someone else already thought of this and ill take this down)

SO you know how when we attempt shifting normally we visualize our bed and surroundings etc etc. So why don’t we try to “shift” to our CR and like visualize and act like this is where we want to shift to cause then you will wake up in ur CR and be like “omg!! i shifted!! and i reached where i wanted to! so now it’s so easy to reach my dr!!” you know? like get yourself excited cause you DID visualize and you DID get to the place you wanted technically. (idk if this makes sense but it made a lot more sense in my head😭)

ALSO like if u do want to shift to an alternative CR like change one thing but like not necessarily a physical change but maybe something with people like “Im shifting to a similar reality but instead, people at school smile at me more” or “im shifting to a reality where im nicer/my siblings are nicer” like idk, it could be anything even simple, to get you into a better mindset and into really believing in yourself that you can shift !

(Reya said something similar to the last point, so credits go to her for the idea, but I feel like scripting something like the example I gave, is better than scripting “my wall will change color” cause as someone who tried that before, i was consistently checking in the middle of the method whether it worked 😭. so I wanted to help people like me who probably struggled with the same thing)

#shifting #shiftblr #shifting antis dni #shifting community #shifting motivation #shifting blog #reality shifting

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4linos · 6 hours ago

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beyond the scrubs

han jisung x fem!reader

synopsis: new nurse jisung struggles with constant mistakes under a tough but skilled mentor, but their relationship evolves as they both learn the value of patience and support.

wc: 3578 ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

a/n: i’m sorry but reader is kind of mean in this they make up for it though so don’t worry. :>

Jisung was a bundle of nerves as he stood in the break room, eyes wide as the schedule for his first day of orientation was posted on the board. It was his second day at the hospital, fresh out of nursing school, and everything was still new—still overwhelming. But today was different. Today, he’d be shadowing you.

He had heard a lot about you from the other nurses. You were experienced, patient, and always had a kind word for patients, even when the shifts got tough. And, he had to admit, you were pretty—really pretty, in fact. The way you carried yourself, confident yet compassionate, was something he admired from a distance. The idea of working under you for the next few weeks filled him with both excitement and an inexplicable sense of nervous energy.

You were helping a nurse and adjusting your stethoscope when he saw you in the corridor. Jisung couldn't help but believe you seemed like someone who had it all together because you were calm and professional. He didn't. But he was determined to make an impression on you today. "Hey, Jisung," you called him as soon as you saw him standing outside the nurse's station. His heart skipped a beat when you gave him a brief smile. "Ready for your first shift?"

"Y-yeah, absolutely!" A bit too enthusiastic, he stuttered. "I’m really excited to work with you." You gave him a clipboard after nodding and rearranging the papers in your palm. "All right, let's begin. You'll help with assessments today, and I'll show you the ropes." Jisung gave a hearty nod. He had to do his best, and he would. Especially with you, he didn't want to leave a negative impression.The beginning was fairly easy. You showed him how to take vitals, examine patient history, and do basic medical assessments.

Even though his hands were a little unsteady when he took his first set of vitals, Jisung made an effort to remain composed. He worked very hard to carry out your instructions precisely because he wanted to impress you. His hand slipped, though, and the cuff tightened too quickly just as he was ready to take a blood pressure measurement. When he fumbled with the stethoscope and knocked off the blood pressure cuff, the patient was shocked and sat up abruptly.

Shocked, Jisung blurted out, "I'm so sorry." "I didn’t mean to—" Your patience was already starting to run thin, so you let out a little sigh. "Jisung, you have to focus. This is what you've been trained for. Your nervousness shouldn't get in the way.” His face flushed slightly as he nodded. Although you weren't directly rude, your tone was very cutting. While he had only just begun, he was already making mistakes in front of you.

Later, in an effort to prove that he could manage the more challenging responsibilities, Jisung jumped in too soon when you were helping a patient move from their bed to a chair. He almost caused the patient to lose their balance since he miscalculated their level of mobility. "Jisung!" you yelled, protecting the patient from falling. Your tone was sharper than usual and you were obviously frustrated. "What were you thinking?”

Jisung's cheeks were burning. His words wouldn't come out, but he wanted to clarify that he was only trying to help. In his mind, he had failed miserably.

With a stutter, he said, "I—I just wanted to make sure everything was smooth," hardly meeting your eyes.

With a quick sigh, you squeezed the bridge of your nose. "You are not here to brag; you are here to learn. And ask for help if you're not sure."

Jisung nodded, his confidence fading away by the second. He thought he was an idiot. It always seemed to end badly when he tried to impress you. You left him in charge of seeing a few patients during your lunch break. Jisung made an effort to pay attention strictly to your instructions, but he was still having trouble. He accidentally knocked over a tray of medication when visiting a patient's room to see how they were doing, causing a mess all over the floor.

When you got there, he was crouching on the floor, frantically trying to collect the pills back into their bottles. "Are you kidding me?" you whispered to yourself. You wanted to roll your eyes, but you stopped yourself. It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying—he was just... constantly messing up. Jisung looked up at you and repeated, "I'm so sorry," in a tiny voice. "I’ll... I’ll clean it up."

Right now, you didn't have the energy to show kindness. You knelt beside him and helped him finish gathering up the pills, saying quietly, "It's okay." But you couldn't get rid of the gnawing annoyance. It was beginning to seem like his inexperience would make your day even more difficult, even though you knew it wasn't entirely his fault. The remainder of the shift followed the same pattern: Jisung made a lot of effort but was never successful. You were growing increasingly irritated as the day went on. Every mistake served as a reminder of his true lack of help, and you realized that you were becoming less helpful to him than you should have been.

You were worn out by the end of the day, and Jisung seemed to be as well. Even though he was still trying to keep himself composed, you could see how his shoulders drooped and his eyes averted from yours whenever you talked. "All right, Jisung. Before we wrap up, let's go over everything," you stated, sounding less patient than you had at the beginning of the day.

"okay," he mumbled.

You bit back a sigh. You didn’t want to be harsh, but it was getting harder not to be. When you looked at him, his gaze was downcast, almost as if he were apologizing for existing. You felt a pang of guilt, but your frustration was louder.

"You need to be more careful tomorrow," you said sharply. "And stop trying so hard to impress me. Just... focus on learning, alright?"

Jisung nodded quickly, his face flushed with embarrassment. "Yeah, of course. I—I’ll do better."

As you both clocked out, the shift ended in an uncomfortable silence. Jisung seemed to shrink even more under the weight of his failures, and you couldn’t help but feel the distance growing between you two.

You hated that it felt this way, but you didn’t know how to fix it, either. Maybe tomorrow would be better. Or maybe not.

Either way, it felt like you both had a long road ahead.

—

The hospital was bustling, the air thick with the usual sense of urgency. Jisung was trying his hardest to keep up, but it seemed like every step he took just led him to another mistake. He could feel the weight of your eyes on him every time he did something wrong.

Today was no different. You had asked him to distribute medications to a few patients, a task that should’ve been routine, but his hands were shaking. He double-checked the names, he double-checked the meds—yet his nerves made everything feel ten times harder. He’d just graduated, and he was still struggling to get his footing. He didn’t want to mess up, especially not in front of you.

When Jisung reached a patient's room, he hesitated for a split second, but then quickly handed over the medication, thinking he had everything under control. The patient took the pill without hesitation, but there was something off about the whole exchange. The medication seemed to be for a completely different patient. He hadn’t double-checked properly. He’d gotten distracted.

By the time you came into the room, it was too late.

"Jisung!" you snapped, your tone piercing and brimming with anger. "What the hell are you doing? It's the wrong medication!” Eyes wide, he froze. The patient was confused, but you took action right away to clear the air. Damage had already been done when you hurried to get the medication and ensure the patient's safety.

"Why do I continue struggling with everything by myself?” With a loud voice that was a mixture of despair and rage, you went on, "Are you really going to keep making these simple mistakes?" "If you’re just going to mess everything up, maybe you should get out of the way and let someone else do the job properly."

He knew that the remarks were meant to shake him into action, yet they still pierced him. Still, Jisung felt small at the time. He was unable to look you in the eye. He muttered, "I—I'm sorry," but you were already turning to leave, your body seething in frustration.

The remainder of the day was a blur of mistakes, each one getting worse. Jisung had trouble focusing on anything. He was certain that he wasn't suited for this job and that he was failing at everything. He made a lot of attempts to gain your approval, but each time he failed, he made matters worse.

You assigned him a different nurse to shadow by the afternoon. When you said, "Go work with Felix today," you were abrupt. "Maybe you’ll do better with him."

Jisung's heart fell.

Although Felix was nice, it was obvious that you had had enough of him because he was now being removed from your supervision. Trying to hide his disappointment, he nodded and went with Felix to the next patient room.

Felix had just as much experience as you did, if not more. In contrast to your direct, no-nonsense approach, he was patient and kind to Jisung. With his constant smiles, jokes, and easy explanations, he helped Jisung feel a little more comfortable. Nevertheless, the feeling that everything was falling apart continued.

You were on your way to the break room when you heard a low voice talking to someone as you passed the staff lounge. "Are you okay?" Felix's tone was polite and warm as he asked. In an attempt to mask what was happening, Jisung sniffed. "Yeah, just... it’s been a rough day." After a brief period of silence, Felix gently asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jisung sighed deeply before his voice broke. "I just feel like I've ruined everything. Like I'm not worthy." Felix was silent for a while. A chair began to rustle, and soon Felix's voice could be heard once more. "You're new to this. Making mistakes is normal. But seem to be way too hard on yourself. What's happening?” Jisung hesitated, his words barely heard above a murmur. "I just wanted to show her that i was capable. I thought... I thought she was really nice. I thought she was pretty, too. I wanted to show her I could do this, you know? But everything I’ve done today, I’ve screwed up. I feel like I’ve let her down."

Felix's voice became even softer. "I know she's hard on you, Jisung, but it's not because she doesn't believe you can succeed. She knows you can, which is why she is pushing you. Don't be so hard on yourself. We've all been in your position. even her.” Trying not to cry, Jisung sniffed once more. "I just have the feeling that I might not be meant for this. I keep failing, even though I wanted to show her that I could manage it.” You were still while you stood in the hallway. As you listened to him, your heart hurt. He was just putting in a lot of effort. You were oblivious of the amount of pressure he had to put on himself to live up to your expectations. You hadn’t realized how much your sharp words were hurting him.

He wasn’t just a clumsy new nurse trying to find his footing—he was someone who admired you, someone who wanted to prove he could be more than just a rookie.

You stood there for a long moment, conflicted. You didn’t want to intrude, but at the same time, you knew that this was a moment for you to act. But you didn’t step into the room. You just quietly continued with your day, letting the weight of his words sit with you.

The next morning, you woke up early, a quiet resolve settling over you. You couldn’t just let the previous day end the way it did. You had been too harsh on Jisung, and it wasn’t just the mistake he’d made. It was your reaction to it.

You grabbed a coffee on your way into the hospital, thinking of how to apologize. You’d never been one to be overly sentimental, but this felt different. This wasn’t about him being a bad nurse—it was about you, and how you’d let your frustration cloud your better judgment.

When you got there, Jisung was seated at the nurse's station, nervously shuffling papers with his head down. He appeared to have had little sleep, and you felt guilty once more. With your coffee in hand, you approached him and placed it silently on the counter in front of him. Startled, Jisung blinked up at you. With hesitation in his voice, he questioned, "What’s this?"

"A coffee," you replied plainly, your eyes gentle. Then you put a little note beside it. Despite your inability to find the correct words, you managed to write something that seemed sincere:

I’m sorry about yesterday. You're doing good. Don't give up and don't be scared to ask for help when you need it. You're not alone. [y/n]

You said nothing else. You simply turned to go, but as you did so, you could feel his eyes on you, looking at you with a mix of appreciation and confusion.

—

After the coffee incident, everything felt different in the days that followed. You and Jisung's interactions had a slight change. Although Jisung first appeared hesitant, he immediately accepted your apologies with a small, shy smile. Because of the decreased tension between you two, you realized that you were more understanding of him, particularly when he was having trouble. You were actively working to further his potential, even though it wasn't like you hadn't seen it before. He cared about doing his work well, and it was evident that he wanted to get better. There existed a part of you that valued that.

Jisung was given a particularly challenging patient one morning—an elderly man who was rude and demanding. All morning, he had acted aggressively toward the staff, refusing to take his medication and making disparaging remarks about the standard of care. Jisung appeared to be struggling to control the situation as he still tried to get the hang of things. When the patient shouted louder, you could see his shoulders hunch and his eyes dart to you for support. You said softly, "Hey, it's okay," as you approached Jisung. "I'll take over for a while with Mr. Kim. You go out to take a break.”

Jisung paused, obviously attempting to manage things on his own, but as you looked at him encouragingly, he nodded appreciatively. You took charge of the situation gently as you entered the room in a composed, commanding manner. You recognized the patient's difficulties while simultaneously speaking in a respectful manner. You had mastered the delicate balance over the years, but Jisung was clearly still learning how to do it.

After a few minutes, the patient’s tone softened, and he grudgingly accepted his medication.

Once you were out of the room, Jisung gave you a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, I... I didn’t know how to handle him. He was just so... rude."

"You’ll get there," you reassured him. "It’s all part of the learning process. You don’t have to take it personally when they’re like that."

Jisung looked a little more confident, and you could see a sense of relief in his expression. "I’ll try not to next time."

"Good," you said, giving him a small pat on the shoulder. "But don’t forget—if you’re ever in doubt, don’t hesitate to ask for help."

It wasn’t just the patient encounters that changed, though. You started to make more of an effort to help him with the technical aspects of nursing as well. Whether it was giving him feedback on his charting, offering tips on patient interaction, or even just showing him how to use equipment more efficiently, you took the time to mentor him with more patience than before.

One afternoon, during a break, you pulled Jisung aside. You weren’t sure what had made you want to do this, but you felt like it was time.

"Jisung," you said softly, taking a deep breath. "I wanted to talk to you for a second."

He looked up at you, a little startled. "Yeah? Is everything okay?"

You exhaled, feeling the weight of your previous actions. "I’ve been thinking a lot about how I treated you when you first started. And I just wanted to say that I’m really sorry. I wasn’t fair to you, and I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’ve been tough on you, and I feel terrible about it."

Jisung’s eyes softened immediately, and he gave a small, understanding smile. "It’s okay. Really. I... I know I’ve been messing up a lot, and I get it. I think you were just frustrated. I get it."

You felt a sense of relief wash over you. "I don’t want you to feel like you’re not doing well. You are doing well, Jisung. You’re just new, and it’s okay to make mistakes. I should’ve supported you better."

His smile widened a little. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. And... I’m sorry too, for messing up so much. I want to be better."

You nodded, smiling back at him. "You are better. Every day you get better."

As the weekend approached, you found yourself getting more comfortable around Jisung. He wasn’t just a trainee anymore; he was someone you could talk to, someone you actually enjoyed working with. There was still that initial spark of admiration you’d felt for him, but now it was tempered by mutual respect.

That Friday, as the end of your shift neared, you threw out an invitation you hadn’t planned on making but had been thinking about all day.

You looked over at him and said, "Hey, a bunch of us are going to the bar after work," "Usually, Felix and I go with a few other nurses. Do you want to join us?” Jisung's eyes became a little wider. "Oh! Yes, of course, I would love to.” You said, "Good," with a tiny smile on your lips. "It will be fun. You deserve a break.”

That evening, you found yourself at the small bar that all the nurses and hospital staff frequented after shifts. The atmosphere was laid-back, a welcome contrast to the chaos of the hospital. You, Jisung, Felix, and a couple of other nurses sat around a table, talking about everything but work. The drinks flowed freely, laughter echoed around the room, and for the first time in days, you allowed yourself to relax.

You discovered you had a lot in common with Jisung, who was unexpectedly easy to talk to outside of work. You realized how much you two had in common. you both loved music, and you shared some of your favorite songs with him. He was interested in photography, something you had experimented with when you were younger. You even shared stories about awkward childhood experiences and your shared passion for late-night snacking.

You two realized at the end of the night that you had been talking for hours on end without even realizing how quickly the time had passed. Everyone had gone home, leaving the two of you standing outside the bar in a comfortable silence.

"I had a great time," Jisung said, his voice quiet but sincere. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Yeah, me too," you replied, your heart unexpectedly fluttering. "I’m glad you came."

He hesitated for a moment, then, asked "Can I... walk you to your car? I mean, since it’s pretty late and all."

You smiled back, a little surprised by the gesture, but it felt nice. "Sure."

The two of you walked in silence for a few moments before stopping in front of your car. Jisung looked at you, his expression soft but uncertain, and you could see the faintest trace of vulnerability in his eyes.

"Thanks for tonight," he said, his voice a little lower now, as if unsure of what to say next.

You tilted your head, feeling the moment shift, something that had been building all night, maybe even all week. You weren’t sure why, but in that instant, you felt drawn to him in a way you hadn’t expected. You leaned in, your movements slow and deliberate, and before you knew it, your lips brushed against his in a brief but meaningful kiss.

Jisung’s breath hitched slightly, and when you pulled away, you both looked at each other, surprised by the tenderness of the moment.

"Goodnight, Jisung," you said softly, smiling a little more than you expected to.

"Goodnight," he replied, his voice almost shy, but there was a warmth in his smile that made your heart skip a beat.

As you got into your car, you couldn’t help but think about the way the night had unfolded. Maybe things had changed between you and Jisung in more ways than just professionally. Maybe it wasn’t just a mentor-mentee relationship anymore.

—

nini’s notes 111324

hello everyone (: i hope you’re all doing super well.

i hope you enjoy this, i was never going to post because i didn’t know how to end it so the ending is definitely/feels rushed so sorry about that 😭. this was originally supposed to be kind of a love triangle thing between jisung, reader, and chan but i didn’t end up liking how it was turning out :>

this was inspired by a snippet of the new show st. denis medical i actually haven’t had time to watch it yet but i heard that it’s really good & accurate. Lol.

asks are always open if you have a question, concern, or request!

-🎀

#stray kids imagines #stray kids x you #stray kids x reader #skz imagines #stray kids angst #han jisung x you #han angst #han jisung #han jisung x reader #kpop angst #kpop x y/n #stray kids fanfic #stray kids scenarios #skz fanfic #skz angst

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