#yeah I don't think it can get more tragic than this

[ckret2]

Chapter 96 of human Bill Cipher kinda just vibing in the Mystery Shack with Mabel at this point: the girls interrogate Bill about his love life; Bill emotionally bonds with... *spins a wheel* ...Grenda; Bill and Ford have a moment that means a lot more to Bill than Ford realizes; and a monster comes to town.

The girls had taken a snack break in between movies; and Bill had left them in the living room singing "I Love 2 Believe U Believe N Our Love" while he went into the kitchen to grab a drink.

He longingly eyed the cider six-pack he was currently working on. This was about the time of night he usually ran out of distractions and energy and resorted to drinking himself past the nighttime racing thoughts, and his body knew it. The mug he'd had at Skull Fracture had barely given him a buzz that had already faded. He was itching for another drink. It didn't help that last night he'd missed his usual dose of medicine, what with dealing with Powers...

With a sigh, he passed it over. He was already sleep deprived; if he wanted to keep up with these kids, he had to have a sharp mind tonight. Instead he picked up the coffee pot, chugged the stale dregs at the bottom, squeezed a packet of soy sauce down his throat as a chaser, and headed back into the living room.

As he came in, Grenda was saying, "Oh, Marius? Yeah, it's going alright! We talked about how clingy he is, it's cool now. He's taking me skiing in August!"

"I am full of envy," Candy sighed, draped tragically off the edge of the sofa. "Does Marius have any cute single prince friends?"

"I don't know! I can ask!"

Candy raised her fists in the air. "Yesss."

"Hey Mabel," Grenda asked. "Do you want a blind date with a hot European prince too?"

Mabel sighed deeply. She was laying flat on the floor, one hand absentmindedly scratching Waddles's head. "I don't know," she said. "I'd like a date. Seeing the people around me find love makes me want that, too. But I spent all last summer trying to get a boyfriend and all I got was disappointment. And you guys know all about that thing with the robot and the Sadie Hawkins dance..."

Candy and Grenda nodded sympathetically.

"I think that was my last straw."

(Bill quietly died inside as he realized he had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn't ask without revealing he didn't know something that big about the timeline Mabel was on. He'd only missed a few months of earth time—no big deal if you were an all-powerful all-seeing eye—but what a difference it made if you were stuck as a human.)

"Aw, c'mon, Mabel," Grenda said. "Don't be like that. You're too young and beautiful to give up on love!"

"I know, I know. I haven't given up, I just... think I might've been chasing love too hard? Maybe I'll try again if the perfect guy just falls out of the sky and crashes into my window! Buuut i'm not wasting my time looking anymore. From now on, the boys have to come to me." She sat up to flop on Waddles's back. "This is the only boy I need!" Waddles snorted in his sleep.

"Smart," Candy said. "You are a catch! Any boy who won't chase you isn't worth your time!"

"Exactly!" Mabel said. "Until then, I'm focused on matchmaking other people." She sat up. "Speaking of which..."

All three girls turned to grin evilly at Bill.

Bill perched uncomfortably on the edge of a sofa cushion and wondered if he should be trying to escape the room before it was too late.

"Soo-oo-oo," Grenda said, eyebrows waggling. 

This was it, the interrogation over Bloody Mary. He prepared to bolt from the room. "What."

"How about that secret agent?"

"Oh!" Not quite as bad as he'd been expecting. When had Mabel told them about that? Bill laughed nervously. "That was just a job! I'm not interested in the agent."

"Yeah, but you got along, riiight?" Candy crossed her legs, propped her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, and leaned into Bill's personal space bubble. "Did you kiiiss?"

He wasn't about to tell them just how far they'd left kissing in the dust. "Uh, yeah, but—"

Mabel shoved straight past the personal space bubble and propped her elbows on Bill's knees. "Would you see him again?!"

"No way!"

"Aw, c'mon!"

Grenda said, "Aren't you on the run for war crimes or something? That'd make dating a secret agent super dangerous."

"Way more romantic though," Candy said.

Grenda nodded, "Way more!"

"Look look look," Bill said. "I can appreciate the noir star-crossed femme fatale narrative you kids are trying to write for me. But it's not gonna happen. He's not my type. We don't even agree on politics!"

"What politics do you disagree on?" Candy asked.

"He thinks President Trembley is a raving lunatic—but in a bad way. I think he's a genius visionary whose policies are centuries ahead of his time." Which was why he'd slipped Trembley a little dream tip to preserve himself until the rest of the world was ready for his brilliance. The peanut brittle, however, had been entirely Trembley's own idea. "That's a total dealbreaker!"

"Aw, whaaat?" Mabel scrunched up her face. "Trembley's awesome, who could hate him!"

"I know!" Bill poked Mabel's nose. "You're breathing my air, kid. Get your own."

Mabel got out of Bill's face and flopped on Waddles again. "So if Agent Powers isn't your type... what is? I bet we could find somebody in town for you! No dodging the question this time!"

Candy said, "You're surrounded and outnumbered!"

"This is a sleepover so you can't leave!" Grenda jumped up and blocked the doorway with her arms outstretched. "You've gotta answer!"

"You can't make me do anything! I plead the fifth! I know my rights!"

Candy narrowed her eyes. "Maybe we can guess what you're into. We know it includes Bloody Mary."

He should've made a run for it while he had a chance.

"Yeah!" Mabel said. "What's with that? What's the story there?"

"Nothing! I shouldn't have called her my ex, she's not my ex. In fact, we barely know each other. We just hang out in the same social circles sometimes. I don't even know her last name."

"Yeah right," Candy said. "Okay, so—are you into long, straight hair?"

"And skinny girls," Mabel added. "Super skinny! Bony! Literally just bones!"

"And he said he likes her dress," Grenda said. "I don't actually remember what her dress looked like! I was busy staring at the blood!"

Loudly, Bill said, "You're all ice cold! Not even close!"

"Is it her personality?" Candy asked. "What's her personality like?"

Mabel said, "We can compare and contrast his exes! He told me what his last girlfriend was like." A thoughtful look crossed her face as she began to put two and two together. "And... wasn't there a president that you—"

"All right fine I'll talk," Bill said quickly. "I surrender. You girls are persistent!"

The girls crowded around him. "Spill," Candy commanded.

"You said you like freaks, right?" Mabel asked.

"No I didn't. When did I say that?"

"I dunno, a while ago."

Huh. Well, it was true, so he must have. "Yeah, that's pretty high up on my criteria. Freaks and weirdos! They've gotta lean into it, though. If they spend all their time trying to be normal, they're more boring than the normies they're imitating."

"What kind of freaks," Mabel asked. "Like, people with antlers?"

"Sure, I'd give 'em a shot!"

Candy asked, "Tattooed ladies?"

"Absolutely! There's nothing better than a self-made freak."

"What do you think about bearded ladies?" Grenda asked carefully.

Bill grimaced and tried to picture it. Seemed pretty normal to him. Sometimes he forgot which humans were supposed to have what facial hair. "I'm gonna be frank, that doesn't even register as freaky to me. But, sure, beards are fine." Humans had such a bizarre fur pattern—a fluffy little puff on top, an optional fluffy little puff on the chin, a few strips over the eyes and under the arms and between the legs, a sparse covering that served little practical purpose spread in patches everywhere else—it was hilarious to look at. Made humans cute, in a sort of pathetic way. Like a poorly-shaved poodle.

Grenda seemed relieved at the answer.

Candy threw in, "What about piano-playing contortionists who can put their feet on top of the piano while they play?"

"Oho! If you know one, get me their number!"

Mabel said, "Okay, so what else besides freaks?"

"Pff..." He rolled his eye up as he thought. "Oh, you know, other kinds of nonconformists. Criminals, psych ward escapees—never date in the ward though, d'you know how wolves in captivity will go full Lord of the Flies on each other and start fighting over who's king?—uhh, psychics, wanna-be prophets, those nuts who put off college to go backpacking across a continent..."

"Poets?" Grenda asked.

"Only if their poetry doesn't suck."

Candy asked, "Anime fans?"

"Never," Bill said. "Oh, and I need someone who's fun enough to keep up with my lifestyle. I'm a hard partier, they've gotta match my energy. And they've got to be ready to spend some serious��moolah on me. I'm not a cheap date! Plus they need to worship the ground I walk on, do anything I want, and believe everything I say."

The girls nodded along to his list. "That sounds reasonable," Candy said. Grenda agreed, "Respect and trust is important!"

"Right?! If more of my exes understood that, we wouldn't need to have this conversation! Speaking of—I've got a reputation. I'm something of a bad boy! Whoever I'm with has gotta be 100% okay with eyeballs-to-the-walls crazy..."

####

"...preferably somebody bright enough that talking to them is more intellectually stimulating than talking to myself—which is a high standard! I can be friends with an idiot, and I can be fffphysical buddies with an idiot, but I can't date an idiot. Unless they're a really, really rich idiot." Bill was laying on his back, legs over the sofa armrest, talking toward the ceiling: "And it doesn't hurt if they're the tortured artist type. I'm a complete sucker for a tortured artist! It's my only weakness. If somebody with a Göthhäus band shirt and haunted look in their eye asks to draw me, pffft, that's it, I'm done for. I'll do anything they want!"

"Good to know, good to know..." Mabel was furiously taking notes. She'd filled up six pages and was working on a seventh.

"But most importantly: I need somebody who gets me. That's—that's a lot rarer than you think. Nobody can truly understand me unless they've been through what I've been through." He squinted mysteriously toward the ceiling. "I've lived a complicated life."

The girls absorbed this in thoughtful silence, contemplating the depths of their mysterious friend's unfathomable history.

Then Mabel chucked the seventh page aside, grabbed another, and asked, "So what do you want your dream partner to look like!"

"Oh, well," Bill said, "pretty eyes are the most important thing—the more, the better—but that's easy, every species on this planet has pretty eyes. Love vivid coloration; extra points for iridescence, multiple hues, or color changing. Not a big fan of people with heads. Venoms and poisons are always a sexy little bonus, but not the numbing kind, it's gotta really sting."

Mabel stopped writing, staring at Bill.

Candy said, "That... opens up some options."

Mabel nodded slowly. "Thanks for the info! Don't worry, I'll find you your dream guy. Or girl. Or... monster or whatever. I'm on the case!"

Bill asked, "Kid, why are you so determined to set me up with someone anyway? It's not like I've said I'm looking for love. Are you just trying to keep me away from other prey, or...?"

Mabel looked Bill in the eye and said solemnly, "I think love would fix you."

"Ha! Okay, sure!" It had never "fixed" him before, but who was he to argue with the power of love and Mabel.

####

"You're sleeping through the best part of the movie," Mabel complained. "You're missing the whole dance battle for the fate of the world!"

"I'm not asleep," Bill said, laying on the sofa with his eyes shut, sound asleep. "I'm just appreciating the sound design."

"Yeah, right." Mabel poked his arm. He poked her head.

As the credits rolled, Candy jumped to her feet and ran from the room. "BRB, toilet break! Don't start the next movie without me!"

"Oh, me too!" Mabel ran after her.

Grenda waited until they were gone; then crouched next to the couch and poked Bill herself. "Hey. Gold-o. Are you awake?"

"Yes," Bill lied.

"Can I ask you some stuff?"

Sounded like he needed to be awake for this. He cracked open an eye; the dim views from his other eyes around the shack fizzled out. "What kind of stuff?"

"Like, uh..." Grenda sat back, wrapping her arms around her knees. "You're a guy, right?"

Was that what he'd told them last time? He didn't remember. It sounded likely, though. "More or less, sure."

"But you have boobs," Grenda said.

Astute observation. No no, no getting sarcastic with Mabel's friends, keep that one to yourself. "Sure do!"

"So... um... do you have, like..." Grenda lowered her voice, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of her nightgown, "a hormone problem, or..."

Aha. Grenda was looking for common ground. She was going through those awkward body changes pubescent humans had and grappling with the fact that hers were awkward in a way none of her peers' were. Bill might not have cared about who had what facial hair, but he knew the humans did, and sometimes they could be so uptight about their reproductive binary.

Bill sat up—he probably wouldn't be getting back to sleep for a while. He mentally flipped through the potential realities he could invent, and then—why not?—he settled on the one that had the best odds of winning this kid's loyalty for life. He could always use more devotees who looked at him like he'd hung the stars in the sky. "Nail on the head, Grend-o." It wasn't entirely untrue. He did have a hormone problem. His problem was that he was in a body with hormones.

A relieved smile broke out across Grenda's face. "Cool!" she said. "I mean not cool. It's the worst! But I have one, too!"

"Wow, you don't say," said Bill, who was fully aware of the medical history of Grenda, Grenda's mom, and Grenda's grandmother.

"I hate it," Grenda said. "When the other girls at school started growing boobs, I started growing a mustache! Any time somebody looks at my face, I'm afraid they're gonna notice and start making fun of me!" She clapped her hands over her mouth and cheeks, as though she was afraid somebody might be staring at her right now. "Even when I shave I'm afraid everybody will see my stubble!"

"You've got nothing to worry about," Bill said. "It's unnoticeable." (He noticed, but that was the All-Seeing Eye's job.)

"That's what my mom says." By her tone, she didn't find it very convincing when her mom said it, either. She gave Bill a big-eyed, hopeful look. "Are you worried people will make fun of you for having boobs?"

"Eh," Bill spread his hands apathetically, "I'm fat enough to get away with it. People expect that." He'd actually had a pretty remarkable success rate with getting people in town to view him as male with only a little prompting—though part of that was probably the culture in town.

But Grenda was still looking at him hopefully. She didn't want to hear that everything was great and he was doing just fine. She wanted somebody who could empathize with her.

"Buuut it was harder when I was younger." Bill pulled up a mental list of human puberty side effects in case she needed any made-up symptoms to solidify his credentials as a kindred spirit. "And I don't exactly spend all my time in a hoodie because I like people looking at my body." (That was true.)

"Ugh, yeah! Tight clothes make me feel weird. Puberty! I hate it!" Grenda flopped back on the ground. "My mom and my friends and Marius tell me I'm pretty, but..."

"But it doesn't help, does it."

Grenda shook her head.

"Now, me? I'm gorgeous," Bill said. "9 out of 10. I'm just about as handsome as a human can get."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Sure I do."

"Hmm." Grenda stared at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"And I still hate this body."

And he had Grenda's attention again. She sat up to look at him.

"Who cares if this body looks pretty if it doesn't look like me," Bill said, smiling bitterly. "Everyone on the planet could call me good-looking—and they'd be right!—but it feels like they're complimenting a stranger and I'm getting the credit. Worse, they're complimenting me for something I don't want to be!"

"Yeah!" Grenda blinked heavily. "Yeah, I-I don't want everyone to tell me I'm pretty! I just wanna look different! I wanna be less hairy and I wanna have smaller shoulders and I wanna be skinny and I want my old voice back and—and..." Her voice cracked. She furiously rubbed her eyes against the back of her arm.

Ah, heck, he'd made a kid cry. Hopefully it was one of those catharsis things and he wouldn't get in trouble for this, but he'd just doubled the amount of effort he had to put into this conversation. All right, buckle up Cipher, time to dust off the compassionate mentor act again.

"Hey. Hey, c'mon. It's not that bad." He slid off the sofa, sat by Grenda, and slid an arm around her shoulder. This was always the worst part of dealing with emotionally unstable humans he wasn't personally invested in.

Voice thick, Grenda asked, "How do you deal with it?"

Haha. How did he deal with it? Drank away the urge to claw off his own skin. Hid his depressingly alien shape under baggy clothes. Burned off his hair. Regrew his hair. Covered the mirrors. Dreamed he was a triangle.

He was taking too long to answer. He searched for a response that wouldn't get his sleepover privileges revoked if Grenda repeated what he said to an adult. He didn't want to say I don't know, he didn't want to say badly—he wasn't about to admit that to anyone, much less a half-grown human on the cusp of looking up to him. He was tough, he was a champion, he had all the answers. What would somebody who'd already solved this problem say?

"Nobody's gonna tell you this, but loving your body is optional. It's good enough just to get along with it." The words rang false in his mouth. He was picking and choosing advice he'd overheard humans give each other back when he had trillions of eyes to spy on their conversations, but he couldn't imagine getting along with the body he was in. He soldiered on anyway: "Just... don't worry about how it looks. Let it look however it wants to look, who cares! Focus on what it does for you that's useful."

Grenda sniffled and nodded. "What do you focus on?"

Ouch, way to put him on the spot. His honest answer was that this body was a downgrade from his true form in just about every conceivable way; the few genuine positives (he did like binocular vision and the ability to physically interact with Dimension 46'\) would just bring up more questions; and he went blank on lies (believable lies, anyway—no way he'd convince her that he'd gone to the Olympics). He grasped for something else. "Me? I like dancing!"

Grenda nodded; then she flung her arms around Bill, hugging him tight enough to squeeze the breath out of his lungs. "Thanks."

Right answer. He'd won this kid's loyalty for life, and he was guaranteed to get another gold star from Mabel for being so nice to one of her friends. Not bad for a night's work. "And if that doesn't work, there's always plan B: makeup, hormones, and plastic surgery!"

Grenda laughed weakly. "Mom says we're gonna talk about hormones at my next doctor's appointment."

"See? You're just going through an awkward phase. Sure, it's more awkward than most kids', but you'll come out of the other side of it just fine, guaranteed!"

Bill, on the other hand, was uncomfortably aware of his stretchy skin and his awkward bones and all the slippery pulsing meat in between.

He wasn't getting out of his awkward phase until he got out of this body.

####

After anime night, when Soos had parked his truck at the shack and everyone had climbed out, Ford immediately headed inside; but Melody and Soos lingered outside. "So, uh..." Soos pointed toward Melody's car, which she'd parked at the shack that morning for work. "Gonna head back to your aunt's?" The implicit follow-up: or, do you want to stay over?

Leaving had been the plan; since Bill had started haunting the shack and Soos's bedroom had stopped being a safe refuge from Melody's sleep paralysis nightmares, she'd started staying with her aunt the way she had last summer.

But if she was gonna get sleep paralysis no matter what, she'd rather wake up next to her fiancé than alone. She missed Soos. Tonight, she missed Soos more than she feared Bill.

"You know—it really is late," Melody said. "It's probably best if I don't try to drive at this hour."

Soos's face lit up. "You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure." She wrapped her arms around Soos and pecked his lips. "Besides—I like my blanket here better than the one at my aunt's."

"Oh, really? It's just a tiger stripe blanket I got cuz it makes me think of Tiger Fist, I was actually thinking about upgrading... to..." Soos trailed off. "Oh wait. You meant I'm your blanket."

Melody laughed. "I totally meant you." They headed in together, arms wrapped around each other's waists. "What would you upgrade that blanket to?"

"I was thinking about getting an official Tiger Fist blanket."

"Sounds perfect. We could get orange bed sheets too."

"Nice, color coordination!"

She froze in the entryway, making Soos stop with her.

Mabel and her friends were asleep in the living room with the lights still on, splayed over various pieces of furniture.

But Bill wasn't with them. He was sitting on the bottom stair, leaning against the wall, just outside the light cast from the living room.

Soos whispered, "I think he's asleep. He does that on the stairs sometimes?"

Melody nodded. It was fine. He was just a human now. She walked carefully to the stairs, trying to avoid any creaking boards.

She'd barely set her foot on the bottom step when Bill's eyes flew open. "Need me to move—?"

Melody squeaked, reflexively kicked Bill, and bolted halfway up the stairs. Bill parried her kick with one arm, laughing shrilly.

"I'm so sorry I didn't mean to kick you—" Melody caught her breath. "Hey! Did you do that on purpose?!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Bill said unconvincingly. "All I did was ask if you want me to move! I'm trying to be helpful!"

Sure he was. Melody gave him a dark look; but stomped upstairs rather than get into a fight.

Soos stopped next to Bill, gave him his most disapproving and disappointed, "Dude," and then hurried after Melody.

Ruffled two birds' feathers with one stone. Bill smirked up after them; then settled back against the wall to sleep again.

And immediately opened his eye back up when he heard someone approaching. He turned his body to looked up at Ford. "Can I help you?"

"I heard a scream."

Bill pointed up the stairs with his thumb. "Melody didn't notice me on the stairs until she nearly stepped on me."

"Ah." Ford surveyed the scene. Light from the living room, Bill in the shadows—sure, maybe her eyes weren't adjusted to the dark to see Bill. Story checked out as plausible enough not to question. "You really shouldn't sleep on the stairs like that."

"M'keeping my eye on the kids." Bill yawned. "What's that look for?"

"What look?"

"You keep looking me up and down."

Ford flinched. Oh. He supposed he had been. "You, er—I just noticed that you... turned your whole torso toward me to talk."

"Yeah?" Bill said. "So?"

"Most humans would only turn their heads."

"Yeah? So?"

"Ah." Ford self-consciously stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I... suppose you turn your torso because you didn't have a neck to turn for most of your existence. It just��stands out to me. That your body language sometimes still reflects your..." he bobbed his head, trying to think of a fitting word. "Your... triangularity?"

"Oh." Bill's face was blank in the shadows. "Well—sure! I've never been a fan of necks anyway."

"No?" Weird thing to say. (Weird if Bill had been a human, anyway.) "Are they... What, is it something about the anatomy?"

"Just an aesthetic preference! I think they look goofy." Bill spread his hands dismissively. "A torso with a head always looks to me like a cell halfway through lopsided mitosis. It makes me wanna help out and pinch the head off!"

"There, you did it again."

"What?"

"You tend to shrug with your hands and arms instead of your shoulders. You move them like..." He copied Bill's dismissive gesture, felt foolish, and stuffed his hands back in his pockets. "Why am I telling you how you move. Sorry. I know better than to call attention to someone for, ah—looking weird."

"Weird's just another word for interesting, Sixer!" Bill stretched out, propping an elbow on a higher stair step, his cheek against his hand, and his other hand on his hip. "Feel free to observe me any time you want, o scientist. For a human, you always make such interesting observations."

"Is that just another word for 'weird observations'?"

"All the most interesting observations are!"

Ford huffed, shook his head, and headed back to the guest room.

And Bill leaned against the wall again, thoughtfully. His body language "reflected his triangularity," huh. Maybe the ghost was still in the machine. It was reassuring to think it was.

Reassuring that Ford was still looking for it, rather than seeing Bill as a human.

####

Melody woke in the middle of the night.

She felt trapped beneath Soos's tiger stripe blanket, like it was too heavy to move, smothering her skin. It was too heavy for her to lift her lungs. The bed was too soft; she was sinking into it like quicksand. She couldn't climb out.

Bill Cipher—his shape triangular and sharpened like the knapped edges of an arrowhead, his yellow flesh textured like the mushy skin of an overripe banana—clung with black branch limbs to the ceiling above her like a spider, eye wide and bloodshot.

Melody was getting really tired of the latest form her sleep paralysis nightmares were taking.

It dropped at her face. She squeezed her eyes shut tight, refusing to look at it until she could move again. She heard its hissing breath in her ear, felt it reaching through the blanket like a ghost to claw at her arms—

Then nothing.

She sat bolt upright with a gasp. The dream was gone, as it always was. Nothing on the ceiling. No scratches on her arms. She sighed.

If she went back to sleep, though, she'd fall right back into the same dream, and she'd spend an unpleasant half hour yo-yoing back and forth between half-asleep and half-awake. She had to keep herself awake long enough for the remaining dream gunk to clear out of her head before she could go back to sleep... by which time she'd be fully awake and it would take her another hour to fall back asleep.

Soos stirred beside her. "Mmwussup?"

"Sorry," Melody sighed. "Sleep paralysis."

"Again?" He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her.

"Yeah. Third time this week." And two of those times while spending the night at the Mystery Shack. "I haven't had sleep paralysis this bad since college."

She'd been majoring in folklore, in her third year, and gearing up for a big research project in her fourth year; she'd chosen to study the evolution of unicorn legends after the Renaissance. But shortly after choosing her topic and going into finals season, the stress of her college workload had caught up to her—she'd started waking up from nightmares multiple times a week and could barely function in class. She'd missed one final paper and flunked one final exam before she realized there was no salvaging this semester and withdrew on mental health grounds.

Her family concluded she must've been burnt out—her mom suffered from sleep paralysis too, the family was old hat at using poor sleep to gauge subconscious stress—so Melody took a semester off. But when she tried to register for the next semester her nightmares came back and her anxiety flared back up; so she'd taken the full year off, gone to visit her aunt in Gravity Falls for a summer to see if getting out of the city and clearing her head helped, and here she was.

The idle sleepless year she'd spent trying to recover from burnout had been the worst of her life, and the year she'd spent in Gravity Falls with Soos had been the best. She didn't want her mental health to backslide because of Bill.

"If this keeps up, I... might have to stop spending the night here," Melody said. "I'm sorry, Soos. I don't want to stop coming, but I can't keep going without sleep."

Sadly, Soos said, "My protective cuddly aura... is failing..."

"Shhh, Soos." Melody chuckled tiredly. "It's not your fault."

"I know. I just wish I could, like..." Soos shadowboxed vaguely into the air. "Punch your bad dreams for you. You know? I hate not being able to help."

"Thanks." Melody kissed him lightly. "You're helping just by being here."

All the same, Melody wished Soos could punch her sleep paralysis nightmares, too. It was too bad they were just figments of her subconscious.

####

Coffee had been a bad idea. Now that the girls had conked out, Bill was the only one still up, dozing but not sleeping. A can of cider couldn't hurt—nobody would get on his case for drinking at a sleepover after the kids were asleep, right?

He was standing in the kitchen and halfway through a can when he heard something wrong.

He peered into the entryway. "Yello?" There was no answer. Just an ominous, hair-raising scraping that cut through the silence. It was coming from above.

Bill crept out of the kitchen, looking up the stairs, keeping close to the wall—putting himself in between the staircase and the living room doorway. "Hellooo?" He peered up into the dark.

There was something slender and misshapen up on the landing. Just around the corner, stiff body tilting out into view at an angle that defied gravity, head cocked unnaturally so only one wide unblinking eye was visible.

Bill met its gaze with a single open eye. He said, with the voice of a burnt-out minimum-wage shelf-stocker who'd just caught a customer in the staff room and who was on his last day at this job and consequently feared no god nor customer: "'Scuse me, can I help you?"

In a flash, the thing stagger-lurched on all fours down the stairs, torso twisted and limbs akimbo in all the wrong directions, and jerked upright in front of Bill, face far too long and head tilted, one wide icy eye staring into Bill's from beneath long limp tangled bangs, letting out a deathly wheeze like a strangled train whistle—

Bill immediately grinned in relief, as though the customer in the staff room had turned around and he'd recognized them as a new hire with a name tag on. "Ohh! Oh, you're a nightmare! Haha, sorry pal, at first glance I thought you were some ghost squatter trying to move in! Either that or this tokoloshe I owe— Well, point is, there are too many people under this roof already and we do not need another roommate." He waved off the nightmare and leaned against the wall. "Didn't realize you were here for work! Don't let me get in your way, buddy."

The nightmare stared silently at him.

"Oh—if you're after one of the Pines, lemme know. I've been in most of their dreams, I know what really haunts 'em." He gestured toward the three girls in the living room. "Not that Pines, though. She's under my protection." He tipped back his cider can to drain it, wheeling around to head back into the kitchen as he did. He held the empty can over the trash, let go; the can hovered in the air, twisted itself up and crushed down into a flat disk, and dropped.

The nightmare stared at this human who moved with strange slightly-inhuman jerks, elbows held out to the side in an unnatural way, moving through total darkness completely unhindered, one eye shut and the other reflecting the dim light—fully awake, yet able to see the nightmare. Voice raspy, it cautiously asked, "What—are you?"

"Someone in a similar line of work." Bill's smile was wide enough to show off his fae tooth.

Not breaking eye contact, the nightmare's features melted off as it backed away from the human, leaving only impenetrable shadow and bright red pinprick eyes; it sank into the house's shadows and slunk out beneath the door. It was creeped out. This human was creepy.

Not a very social guy, was it? Now that Bill thought about it, it was probably just here for Melody. Well—if that was the case, he was sure he'd see it around again.

####

(The mentions of Bloody Mary were added post-TBOB. And I rewrote the paragraph where Bill talks about being attracted to outsiders to specify "criminals and psych ward escapees" since in TBOB he makes a point of how those are the people he helped set free after he took over the Nightmare Realm.

The next plot arc we're moving into is about the sleep paralysis nightmare! Without giving any spoilers, I'm gonna say up front: you're gonna read it and think the lore was inspired by details from TBOB. It was not. I came up with my lore a year ago; and TBOB matched it, so I slid TBOB in as supporting details to what I had already plotted. I'll explain in more depth once y'all get a chance to see what I mean.)

[three--rings]

So I'm deep into my Persona 5 feels at the moment and I need to do some screaming.

THIS POST CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR PERSONA 5!

If you think you might want to play the game, please don't read it and just go in blind. It's so worth it!

Anyway, now that that's out of the way. I need to tell you about My Ship and Why it's Such a Good Ship and it's still taking up huge amounts of room in my head over two years after I finished the game.

Okay, so you have a Detective and Master Thief ship. Great! A+ trope already! We're already having a good time!

The Detective and the Thief meet and they both know who each other is, but are pretending to just be friends (more than friends??). It's secret identity fun with the secret thief spending time with the guy who is hunting him. Except the detective knows he's the thief already and is trying to get in good with him to get info. We're having a blast with the dramatic irony!

But wait, the Thief is actually...a good guy! He got screwed over by corruption and the justice system and so he now fights outside the law to protect people around him! He gets justice by breaking the law! Even better, right!

So now, I hear you say, the Detective and the Thief may start out as enemies (and they do) but actually they're on the same side!

Except....the Detective? He's actually a bad guy. He's working for the big bad. He's been murdering people under orders and is trying to infiltrate the thief's gang to blame his own crimes on them! Oh no!

In fact, he is ordered to Kill The Thief himself! And he does it! (Or thinks he does because actually the Thief figured it out and outsmarted him and didn't get murdered.)

So wow, you're saying. That's really interesting. This is toxic yuri yaoi! REALLY REALLY enemies to lovers! Fake friends to enemies to lovers?

And yes, you're not wrong. BUT there's MORE, because see ACTUALLY while all that is true about the Detective and what he's done...see he's also really really traumatized and he's out to get revenge on his father for his terrible childhood and his mother's death. And his father is the big bad and all of this was part of his elaborate revenge plan and actually he's just motivated by this warped sense of justice.

And actually they're not that different...the Thief even says hey I could have ended up just like you. So it's okay, actually. Let's fight together for justice against your evil dad. I know you did a few murders but I can forgive you.

And then...well...things end in tragedy, of course.

BUT NOT IN FANFIC THEY DON'T! (I mean sometimes they do.)

(Also I'm not getting into how much BETTER this all gets in Royal and everything. Suffice, more stuff happens and it's all very gay and epic and tragic and yeah.)

So yeah. This is why I'm so damn mentally ill about Them. It's like....MATHEMATICALLY the perfect ship. They are narrative foils, they're rivals, they're on opposite sides and then the same side and then opposite sides and then the same side again.

They are also INCREDIBLY OBSESSED WITH EACH OTHER and demonstrably UNHINGED about each other.

So yeah anyway that's Shuake.

[signalhill-if]

saw that you were working on turning the game into a full scale video game- if you ever need an illustrator I adore the project and would love to contribute. my portfolio is at https://orzaika.art/ and my bsky is @orzaika if you need examples :) but also congrats!!!! that's incredible news and I'm looking forward to more of signal hill

Omfg thank you! While I'm nowhere near being able to do any of this, my hope is get a game design document and a bunch of pre-production done on my own dime in order to put together a reasonable pitch for fundraising so I can actually pay folks to help me with the massive amount of work it'd be, so while I do need to do some more planning before I commit to anything I will absolutely keep you in mind when it gets to the proper pre-production stage because I actually do definitely need an illustrator :D Appreciate you!

(And if anybody's looking for commissions... 👀)

[lastoneout]

Tbh I have a lot of complicated feelings about the whole OceanGate thing and I'm not really a fan of how this is being treated as The Evergiven 2, but as it becomes more and more likely that the sub suffered a critical failure and imploded days ago my main thought is that visiting the Titanic's wreck should be in the same category as climbing Mt. Everest; a pointless, unfathomably dangerous, disrespectful excursion that should not be allowed, or at least regulated and reserved for experts who know what they're doing to conduct research and/or matinance.

I mean like at this point I don't even think the average person should know where Titanic is. What is the benefit? All it leads to is death and the disruption and/or potential destruction of a mass gravesite that also doubles as a unbelievably valuable historic artifact that will not be around forever. Why the hell are people just allowed to go down there?? We don't let people go rub their hands all over the Mona Lisa, and that wouldn't even kill anyone, why can billionaires just go tromping around in far more deadly and fragile locations, especially ones where hundreds of people have already died?

But yeah idk there's no real point in adding my input to the discussion and I kinda don't want to comment on it beyond this anyway, but the whole situation sucks and def makes it clear there are simply some things people should not be allowed to do no matter how much goddamn money they have.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also if only the physical copy of how to disappear completely & never be found i first encountered & read a few years ago (sort of [roughly avg age ten] reader book, not any similarly titled How To) hadn't disappeared completely & not been found since, probably b/c i put it somewhere i intended to be For Safekeeping, which is also how my binder vanished....b/c it's one of those like. those book for late elementary/middle school readers when they just weave in this unrealism which makes for a delightful range & unpredicability? and with a cynical protagonist girl like off to the races like wow her mom is depressed asf & smoking? and it's about A Family History Secrets Mystery so blatantly a haunting that the inciting incident is basically introducing a haunted [family history secrets mystery] house. and spoilers don't matter like it's stemming from there being this missing uncle who grew up so in contrast to the Winsome Winning Sibling Who Does It All Right while seeing his own affiliation with rats that he tried to disappear completely & never be found which led to this Tragedy which led to this more unintended disappearance of his & he haunts this house & wants to be left alone & only goes out at night with this [ambiguous Is That A Giant Rat Or Weird Small Dog (protagonist affected by these family situations who expresses her preoccupation with an awareness of how fate can Strike and Get you with this interest with roving packs of killer chihuahuas. people think she's weird though she spontaneously befriends this other girl struck with this bolt from the blue & a bit weird / outcast & then Insightful who i wish was in it more)] & plays into the hauntedness danger like playing into the [something's Wrong with you then] until having to take yet more action where the urge to express the truth comes out more both b/c living that hidden is more threatened but also b/c now the niece children are more threatened as well. ft. a sort of preternatural blurring of time b/c of only being communicated with through this uncle via his comic pages (that he paints?) of dubiously accurate translations of irl events that are created so quickly it seems to verge on foresight, imagine like "hmm what's this painting. it's me standing in this room looking at this painting??? as someone ominous lurks in the shadows right behind me?" in both [now how could you know this & paint it really fast ahead of time] and [horror]

[appocalipse]

hi amyyyy!! i just saw that your requests are open and i got sooo excited 🤭🤭 so if you're up for it i have a bucky request where maybe r is a little shy, sweet person and has been secretly pining after him ever since they both started living in the avengers compound, so she decides to cook dinner for him one night just to do something nice for him?? just a little fluff for our sad beautiful tragic super soldier

our man does deserve some loving 😭 thank you for your request, lovely! | 1.4k words

"What the hell are you doing to that poor tomato?"

You whirl around from the kitchen counter, heart leaping into your throat at the unexpected sound of Bucky's voice behind you. He's standing there with an arched eyebrow, broad shoulders barely fitting through the entryway to the kitchen in the Avengers Compound, dark hair damp and wavy from a recent shower. His metal arm gleams under the bright lights as he reaches up to push his hair back from his face. Oh, man.

You shoot him a stern look, heartbeat returning to normal, and raise your tomato-covered knife in mock threat. "Don't sneak up on me like that," you warn. "I could've cut myself."

"I didn't exactly sneak," Bucky protests. "The floor squeaks like crazy in here."

"But you move like a cat...maybe I should put a bell on you."

He grins at that, the flash of teeth so unexpected that it leaves you blinking for a moment, mesmerized by the way it lights up his whole face in a gentle way completely at odds with his hard-edged features. "You think you could put a bell on me?"

He probably didn't mean to make that sound as flirtatious as it came out, you decide. The man can't help it if he's naturally devastating.

"I could, you know," you maintain, recovering your equilibrium with effort. You're generally hopelessly enamored with Bucky Barnes, but you do have some self-respect and you intend to keep it that way. "If I wanted to. But right now, I'm fighting with this poor, defenseless tomato."

He takes this as an invitation (which it absolutely wasn't; your limbs seem to lose their ability to function when he gets too close to you, you've noticed) and strides over to peer at the cutting board like you're conducting a vitally important experiment. "Looks like it's losing," he comments. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Uh...no. No, I—actually, I was making something for you, but now I think you don't deserve it."

You take a step back from him and his broad shoulders before your brain can melt into a useless puddle.

He glances at you like you've grown a second head. "For me?"

"Yeah, I thought—well, I like cooking. And Steve told me that you used to really like his mom's spaghetti when you were kids, so I thought—what? What's that look for?"

Bucky's still staring at you like he's never seen you before. His eyes are very blue and very disarming. "I just didn't know you liked to cook."

"You, uh, you don't have to eat it or anything if—if you don't want to," you manage, unsure how to respond to this odd reaction other than with a dash of humor, which you tend to default to in awkward situations. "I won't be offended."

"I'm not saying I don't want it." He sounds genuinely taken aback. "Of course I want it, who wouldn't want it? I just...I didn't know you cared about what I liked."

You consider pointing out that you do, in fact, care very much about what he likes, given that you've been pining for him in your quiet, hopeless way ever since he joined the Avengers team and made every brain cell you own spontaneously combust...but that would beat the point of your silly, juvenile crush remaining a secret. "Well, there's lots of things you don't know about me," you joke instead.

"I'd like to know more," he says.

It sounds surprisingly earnest. You're not sure what to do with that.

"You're only saying that because I'm making you food," you tease, defaulting to the safety of flippancy yet again. If Bucky knew how thoroughly and embarrassingly you've lost your heart to him, things would get really awkward, really fast, and you'd be forced to quit your job and move to a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness to live in lonely solitude.

Bucky gives you a small (and, of course, unfairly disarming) smile and leans his hip against the counter, hands tucked in his pockets as he regards you from underneath a sweep of dark hair. "I'm serious."

Your nerves feel like they're vibrating. "I'm really not that interesting," you insist, quickly putting the chopped tomatoes into a pot on the stovetop. You've already got onions and garlic sauteing, adding to the scent of warm tomato paste that's slowly coming together. "You'd get bored of me really fast if we hung out."

"I doubt that."

Is it your imagination or is there a slightly suggestive undertone to his words? "Bucky—"

He shakes his head, as though to cut you off. "How can I help?"

You look at him blankly. He seems very tall, standing this close to you, and warm, and solid, and his eyes are bluer than the sky outside, and the smell of him—a clean, masculine scent with a hint of cedarwood—is making your thoughts get jumbled up and skip tracks.

"Do you want me to stir the sauce or something?" he asks patiently, not looking like he minds standing here staring at you while you drool over him. Maybe he's having fun, you think, under all that quiet solemnity.

You find your tongue. "Yes. I mean no, no, that's okay. You can sit down and relax."

"I don't really do relaxing."

"Everyone should do relaxing."

Bucky gives a small huff of amusement, something close to a laugh. You catch yourself before you can stare at him in gooey-eyed adoration and focus on stirring the sauce, which is just beginning to bubble in the pot, releasing a rich scent into the air.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to be—to make you uncomfortable," Bucky says abruptly. "I'm not good at...small talk. Or conversation in general. It's been a while."

"Since you've talked to someone?"

"No, since I've tried to hit on someone."

Your eyes widen. Bucky seems amused at your reaction, although his expression is back to its usual quiet, watchful look, with only the tiniest glint of humor in his blue eyes giving him away.

You could be misreading it, though.

But you're pretty sure you're not misreading it.

"Doll, you're burning the sauce."

"Shit!"

You turn back to the stovetop and jerk the saucepan away from the burner. The bottom of the sauce is definitely sticking to the pot, charred and smelling smoky, a dramatic change from its formerly bright red, succulent state that it had been when you last checked it five minutes ago.

How long have you been standing here silently staring at the pot? "Dammit." You grab a spoon and try to scrape the charred sauce off the bottom of the pot, wincing at the scraping sound. "Dammit."

Bucky's quiet chuckle sends goosebumps over your skin. "Dammit?"

"This was supposed to be a nice gesture," you lament, looking forlornly at the ruined sauce. "I—"

He plucks the spoon from your hand with a deft twist of his metal fingers, his body so close to yours that you can feel the warmth radiating from him and smell the cedar scent of him again. "You're really adorable when you're flustered."

Your jaw drops. Bucky smiles at your expression, dipping the spoon into the pot of sauce to take a small taste, then reaching past you to add a dash of something from a bottle on the countertop.

"B-bucky, I didn't—what are you doing?"

He takes another spoonful of sauce and holds it up in front of your face, cupping his hand underneath the spoon so it doesn't drip onto the floor. "Here, taste."

"That's for you."

"Taste."

You reluctantly take a small taste, because it's spaghetti sauce and you have absolutely no willpower where Bucky Barnes is concerned. "I burned it."

"Only the bottom," he says, dropping the spoon into the sink with a clatter. When you blink at him, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, suddenly looking almost shy. "I, uh, I've learned to cook a few things when I was in Wakanda."

"I kind of feel like my self-esteem just took a massive blow," you murmur. "I tried—what? What are you doing?"

Bucky has spun you around to face the stovetop again, standing behind you and reaching over your head to stir the sauce again. The solid warmth of his chest is pressed against your back, and you have to lock your knees so they don't give out on you. He's really, really tall. And warm. And smells amazing.

"Helping," he murmurs, ducking his head to (oh God oh God oh God) speak the word in your ear, his breath ruffling your hair.

Somehow, you feel like it's much more than that.

[suiana]

imagine rejecting a yandere! god and he gets all mad and petty so he curses your love life

so maybe you used to be a cleric or something that worshipped him and he decided to be silly and come down to earth in a more human form (still godly but less flamboyant). he was bored and what better thing to do than to meet up with his worshippers? especially you, his most devout and sweet little thing?

of course, he eventually fell for you and confessed his feelings. you're just so captivating after all.

"hey i really like you-"

"sorry, i am only meant for my lord and saviour☺️ we can still be friends."

"oh... that's not..."

yeah, he kinda forgot that you think he's joking about him being your god and stuff... oops...

whatever! you should've accepted him anyway! you'd break your vows for him wouldn't you?! apparently not.

yeah, so he decided to curse your love life becase he's petty like that and you wouldn't give him that time of day. wouldn't even entertain his delusions for a bit smh. how could you just leave a literal god heartbroken like that?

and just like that, your first life as a devout worshipper came to an end.

your next few lives were... rather tragic too.

all your lovers would randomly die, disappear, or leave just when things were getting good. it was infuriating and you were starting to think that the gods had something against you. well, more like a god had a thing for you but who cares right?

meanwhile, your petty and childish god was just watching over you from his abode. he really likes watching you. no, he's not a stalker. he's a god. there's a difference okayn gods can watch over humans like this! what? creepy? no he's not creepy! don't call him that!

he... also probably has a shrine and collection full of things from all your lives or something tbh. and no! it's mot creepy!

in any case, he didn't interfere in any of your lives directly up until your current life.

when you suddenly showed an interest in him again.

yes, after your first life you had also forgotten all about him. no, it wasn't a part of the curse he laid on you. it was probably just your soul getting revenge on him for cursing you. or... maybe it was because you were human. duh. unfortunately, your god has a peanut sized brain.

in your current life while reading on about mythology for your studies, you started gaining interest in him again.

"huh... god of... mischief? sounds like a real troublemaker."

you immediately moved on to another god after that.

and the god lets out an audible gasp.

how could you be so cruel? not even a, oh he was hot or something like that? just a simple he was a troublemaker???

also, he was not a troublemaker!

sure he might've meddled with your romantic partners and cursed your love life... and also caused some major disagreements in human history... but that's just a little bit of tomfoolery! a little bit of trolling if you will!

ugh! he's seriously getting mad again!

guess he'll have to come back to meet you in person to show you he means business this time.

[himasgod]

Azul x reader where the reader read that octopus die after mating and so she refuses to even KISS him by fear of hin dying (if reader is a bit cold/grumpy I would love it even more tysm)

AZUL X READER

Where you don't want to kiss him

How would Azul act if you flatly refused to kiss him because you read that octopuses die after mating?

"Can I ask you something, dear?" Azul said with his usual smile, courtesy and ambition carefully disguised as sweetness.

"No," you replied, without even looking at him, turning the page of your book with a sigh.

Azul blinked, but he wasn't discouraged. If he had anything, it was patience…

And a dangerous stubbornness.

"Come on, it'll just take a second. I promise not to talk about last week's contract or the little favor I asked Jade for…"

"I'm not kissing you."

That really stopped him in his tracks.

"Sorry?"

You closed the book with a thud and looked at it for the first time all afternoon, frowning.

"I read something. About octopuses."

Azul blinked again. Twice.

"So… what does that have to do with me?"

"They die after mating."

Silence. Long. Awkward.

"Excuse me?"

"What you heard. After mating. Phew. Goodbye. Dead. And you… you're an octopus."

You pointed an accusatory finger at him, as if you'd caught him stealing babies or something.

Azul honestly didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

"I'm an octopus-mermaid, a merfolk, not an aquarium octopus, by the Seven," he complained, pinching the bridge of his nose as if just having this conversation was draining his life (and patience). "

"And besides, that's after mating, not a simple kiss!"

"I'm not taking any chances."

"What do you think is going to happen? That you're going to kiss me and I'm going to disintegrate in your arms?"

"Yes."

Azul stared at you, shocked.

"…You're cruel."

"And you're dramatic. Perfect for dying if I get too close."

"That doesn't even make sense biologically! Technically, I'm more like a merman than an octopus! And we're not even talking about mating, we're talking about an innocent peck on the cheek! Are you telling me I'm forbidden from that too?"

"Especially that."

Azul slumped down onto the chair across from you, defeated.

"I can't believe you're letting an internet article ruin our relationship. What's next? You're only going to feed me once a day for fear I'll get fat again and float to the surface?"

"Mmm… good idea."

"...!"

"I'm looking after you, don't thank me."

You patted him nonchalantly on the head.

"Now stop bothering me. I'm on the best part of the book."

Azul looked at you with a tragic expression, as if he'd just been informed that the Monster Lounge had run out of reservations for the entire month.

"I can't believe this… Rejected for fear of death by mating. This is the most humiliating thing that's ever happened to me. And Floyd once forced me to do a show dressed as a giant squid…"

"Yeah, Azul. If you can convince me with scientific proof that you won't die after kissing me, maybe I'll consider it. Maybe."

Azul narrowed his eyes.

"What if I get a medical certificate?"

"Then maybe I'll let you kiss me on the hand. With gloves. And disinfectant."

Azul sighed so deeply it felt like his soul was leaving his body.

But deep down, he couldn't help but smile.

After all, you were his favorite paranoid grouch.

You were so engrossed in your book, completely ignoring Azul, that you didn't notice him leaning toward you across the table.

"Besides, I don't even know where you got that information…" he muttered as you turned another page. "It could be a myth. Or an exaggeration."

"But still, better safe than sorry."

And that's when it happened.

Without a word, Azul cupped your face in a gentle hand and leaned in. A kiss. Quick, precise. Right on the corner of your lips.

It took your brain two seconds to reboot.

"AZUL."

He had already sat back down, adjusting his gloves as if nothing had happened.

"Ah, look at that. I'm still alive. What a miracle."

He smiled at you with that damn smug expression that you knew was going to haunt your dreams tonight.

Your heart was pounding like you'd run ten flights of stairs. The heat in your cheeks was so evident that even Grim could have pointed it out between jeers.

"That was… That was an attack!" you exclaimed, placing a hand over your mouth.

"It was scientific evidence, as you requested." He nodded solemnly.

"Hypothesis proven. I didn't die."

"I'll kill you if you do that again!"

"So I do die after a kiss?"

"AZUL!"

"You're blushing, by the way. Adorable."

You threw the book at him.

He caught it with ridiculous ease.

"Want to read to me for a bit?" he said, winking at you. "I promise not to die mid-chapter."

Your face burned. Your pride screamed. But your lips… well, those were dangerously tempted to break another rule.

And Azul knew it.

[valessacat]

So here's the thing about Johnny Silverhand.

If he were a romance option, it wouldn't even be close; he'd be the most popular option. Ao3 backs this up. But the game doesn't let us choose him.

The four options the game gives us are fine as far as romance goes--they lack the depth of old-school Bioware and Larian. Panam, Judy, and Kerry are beautifully written, wonderfully messy characters. Oh yeah, then there's River (no seriously, CDPR did him dirty). But once you play through their stories, you're kinda done with them. Sure, you get some random texts, a handful of repeatable dialog, a repeatable date--but that's such a tiny sliver of your game time.

Johnny's with you for most of the game. Over the course of many hours, you get to see him warm up to V (a stand-in for you, the player), playfully trade barbs with them, and then solemly swear to off himself in order to save their/your pathetic ass.

If you think about it for more than two seconds, V has this near-psychotic level of intimacy with Johnny. The "guy in my head" trope makes a lot of narrative sense, especially in video games. It's a more interesting story when the main character has someone to talk to, rather than internal monolog or muttering to themselves. But if you overthink the trope to a concerning degree, as I have--you understand that Johnny is forced to quietly look away while V is taking a shit, showering, flicking the bean, getting random boners, violently puking blood, etc. This is way more intimacy than I have with my husband of 15 years. We close the door when we use the bathroom.

They're sharing dreams, seeing each other's memories. They pick up each other's habits. V can play the guitar. Johnny's less of an asshole and learns how to let go. They're changing each other for the better.

All the other romances in CP77 feel so damn shallow next to Johnny and V. That's not the fault of the romancable characters. It's that they've been through some very fucked-up shit together, and I don't know how you don't trauma-bond over all that. V and Johnny are the only two souls on earth who know what it's like to be an engram on a chip inside a corpse's head.

Their story is so beautiful, tragic, and fucked-up that I don't want it to end.

And I really wanna fuck that rockerboy.

[ribbonprincess]

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"Do a lil twirl for me,yeah...your ass looks so good baby." Rafe chuckles,fixing his pants as they tightened around his crotch,the sight of you in a tiny white mini skirt the reason.

"You like it rafey? I bought It thinking of you" "yeah,no shit- you used my credit card" he chuckles. Moving from his spot on the bed,he walks over you,laying his hands on your hips as he squishes the skin. "You should wear it today while I go golfing,you can look pretty in the cart and if you're good enough daddy will buy you a drink."

He smiles before tilting his head down to press his lips against yours as you whine almost immediately,slapping his chest "my lipgloss! you just smeared it all over,daddy." Turning around to face the mirror as you try to deescalate the situation of your almost ruined makeup,dabbing at the area around your lips with a beauty blender.

"Yeah yeah,'s just lip gloss,it's nothing serious." Gasping dramatically you turn around,hand on your chest as if you've been shot as you point a finger at his chest "'s not just lipgloss.."

Chuckling to himself Rafe presses a kiss against your shoulder "I'm sorry cupcake, daddy's being mean yeah?" Nodding as you run your manicured fingers over his jawline,pressing your chest against his,making your tits more visible as you smile softly- a tragic contrast to your action.

꒦꒷︶°꒷︶°︶₊˚ʚɞ˚₊︶°︶꒦˚︶꒷꒦

As you sit prettily in the golf cart,sipping at your drink while watching rafe play with his friends,you can't help but feel lonely,so you decide to approach as he stands a few feet behind the others. "rayray?"

Turning around almost immediately Rafe's expression softens a bit before turning hard. "What are you doing here,told you to sit in the cart" "Yeah... I know,but I missed you" Emphasizing your words you run a hand over his chest,playing with the button of his slacks.

"Missed me huh?" Looking over his shoulder he shouts a quick "Little lady is feeling sick!" Before dragging you over the Golf cart and driving over a more secluded area of the field,covered by trees and bushes.

"Since you've been missing me sooo much,might as well show it. C'mon get on your knees" Taking one last look around you move to your knees on the moist grass,quickly unbuckling his belt as you pull down his pants and boxer just as much needed. Wrapping a hand around the base of his shaft you kiss the vein that runs on the underside of it, resulting in a harsh tug of your hair. "Don't fucking tease me."

Wrapping your lips around his tip before slowly moving down,twisting your hand around what you couldn't fit "Deeper...I've trained you better than this,kid" Rafe mumble from above you,shoving your head down until you gag harshly,tears already pooling at your lash line. "Yeah,there you go...nice and warm for me." Looking up through your clamped wispy lashes you start to move your head again,twirling your tongue around his length like a popsicle as Rafe groans from above you "Got myself the best girl,right? Sucking my dick like this where everyone can pass by"

Nodding as best as you can,you pull off him with a loud "pop". "Wanna make you feel good,daddy." Smiling to himself, Rafe wipes at your saliva coated lower lip before bringing your mouth back on him with a satisfied moan,brushing some strand of hair that have fallen over your face away. "Fuck,keep doing that and I'm gonna cum. You want daddy to cum in your mouth? Yeah,you do."

Meeting you midway as he thrust into your mouth,giving you no time to react or even understand. "shit- 'm cumming" As his rhythm gets sloppier,you suck around his tip holding onto his thigh as you feel a milky substance flood your mouth. Breathing loudly he pulls you away from him as he smirks "Show me your tongue,angel" showcasing your tongue with a proud smile you look up at him in search of praise. "good girl,what do we say now?" "thank you daddy!"

[erodasfishtacos]

Is It Casual? || FWB!H ||

prompt: it's casual, right? but god, it really doesn't feel that way

word count: 6k

warnings: subspace, lack of aftercare, angst, lack of communication

author's note:

I upload a piece of writing every 1-2 days.

There are other parts of this up and will be updated this month

I recently started a second tier called The OG Tier where 2

one shots (2-5kish) are posted a week.

There are currently 375 + pieces available to read

Tier I - $3 USD where you get access to main stories, everything except the mini one shots.

Tier II - $5 USD where you get access to every piece of writing!

you can check it out here

SIGN UP THROUGH WEB BROWSER NOT THROUGH APP STORE TO AVOID IOS FEE!!!!

first TWENTY to click here can get a free $5 membership for a month!

+

The bar was clearing out, trivia night had come to a conclusion, and everything was winding down.

The big chalkboard in the corner still displayed the final scores, a lopsided tally where “Team Niall” had tragically lost by two points.

It was Tuesday night and everyone had work the next day which meant that there was a rush through the door and left them as the last ones to filter out because they always tended to lollygag even though most of them had early mornings.

The group of friends were all saying their goodbyes.

YN stood with Georgia near the AC vent, arm linked through hers for warmth because the cold blast from above made her huddle in closer.

Hailee and Jessa were a few feet away, still laughing about the last round of questions, and how the boys were such sore losers at every turn.

Someone always tended to leave Trivia night with their feelings hurt.

Niall, Harry, and Mitch were all arguing about the question that had them lose the game.

“Why the fuck would you say Delaware?” Harry scolds as he runs his hand through his hair, a scowl that was saved for Niall and Niall alone, “It's not even a fucking city. It's a state.”

“I got confused! Delaware is the smallest state!” Niall defends putting his hands up, pinks cheek from the beer he's had.

“No, it's really fucking not. It's Rhode Island!” Harry shouts back at him with exasperation, hands thrown up in annoyance, “Come on!”

“You're off the team,” Mitch adds in, monotone and bored as he tugged his keys out from his jean pocket - slowly but obviously trying to see himself out of the argument.

“That's bullshit! We're literally named Team Niall,” He argues with wide disbelieving eyes.

“It's not hard to change the name,” Harry adds in, agreeing with Mitch, and an annoyed roll of his eyes because even though the two have been friends since diapers - they fought more than middle school girls and made up just as quickly.

“Okay, well we work tomorrow morning and have seen enough of this cat fight,” Hailee announces as she wraps her hand around Mitch’s wrist, guiding her boyfriend towards the door.

Jessa trailed behind, waving goodnight to everyone with an amused smile tugging at her lips.

Niall is mumbling about unfair treatment as they all start heading towards the door.

“You did good,” Harry manages to slip next to YN, bumping her hip and then glancing over at Georgia, “You too. I didn't know about Montana's state flower.”

“Better do some studying before next Tuesday,” Georgia quips as she throws her arm around YN, who just laughs softly.

“You did a good job too, Harry,” YN compliments as she leads Georgia towards where they parked next to each other.

“Thanks,” He replies with a slight smile, he pauses as he realizes his car is next to Niall’s on the other side of the lot, “I'll see you guys next Tuesday, yeah?”

“Yeah,” YN said, both she and Georgia giving a small wave as he headed off.

“You two should totally date,” Georgia says as soon as Harry is out of earshot, glancing back quickly to double check, “You'd be so cute together.”

YN shakes her head with an annoyed scowl towards her friend, “We both just got out of long-term relationships. I don't think that would be a good idea.”

Georgia made a dismissive sound, clicking her tongue, “Harry’s been broken up with Lauren for, what, four months? You and Ben ended things at least three ago.”

YN bit the inside of her cheek, the familiar tightness crawling up her chest, “You literally just think we should date because we’re both single.”

“And you guys would look hot together,” Georgia doesn't disagree with her accusation, “I mean…look at him. He's insanely fit. He carried four drinks with one hand!”

YN had noticed. 

She wasn’t blind. 

She remembered the way his hand had dwarfed the copper mug as he slid the Moscow Mule in front of her before passing out three other beer bottles.

And the size of his hands… yeah, she noticed that too.

“No, I'm not looking for a relationship and I doubt he is either,” YN reiterates as they get to their cars, “He's nice but I'm not ready to commit again.”

Georgia scoffed, pressing the button on her key fob - her car chirped and blinked to life, “Who said anything about commitment? I said a date, not a full ass wedding.”

“Goodnight, George,” YN sighed, her tone exasperated but affectionate, she unlocked her own car with a quiet beep,“I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Georgia groaned, slumping dramatically with a frown coating her features, “I’ve got that god-awful presentation. You better pretend to care.”

“Always do,” YN said with a laugh as she slipped into the driver’s seat, glad the conversation had moved on. 

Her head was already too full, her thoughts spiraling the moment Harry came up.

Ben.

Just the name made her temples throb, an implosion that she was trying to avoid because it made her head hurt at least once a day, sometimes more if she thought about him for too long.

It's been three months and it's been amazing to be out of a relationship with an immature man child who got insecure when she went to trivia night so he always tagged along, needed to be included when he hated trivia and rarely ever answered correctly.

So yeah, it had been a relief. 

Being single was better than babysitting a grown man’s ego.

Georgia blew her a kiss before backing out of the parking spot with a little screech of tires. 

YN gave her the middle finger with a smirk before starting her own engine.

It seems like every week now she was bringing it up, trying to play matchmaker for two people who were healing from heartbreaks.

YN only knows a little about the break-up.

Lauren rarely came to trivia. 

When she did, she looked like she’d rather be anywhere else. 

YN knew that Harry had ended it, even though it was hard—he’d said once, in a rare vulnerable moment, that he wanted someone he could build a life with. 

Lauren didn’t want that.

She hadn’t gone easily either. 

She’d shown up at trivia twice post-breakup, trying to win him back. 

Each time, the group acted like they weren’t watching as Harry gently pulled her aside, voice low and kind, guiding her to the other side of the bar before walking her out to her car.

Ben had shown up a few times too, clumsy and bitter, trying to stake some kind of claim.

That hadn’t ended as well as with Lauren.

It didn’t end quietly because Niall and Mitch had to guide him out of the bar while Harry stood between them to make sure that Ben didn’t approach her again - acting as her makeshift bodyguard.

So now Georgia was rooting for two broken people to get together—not necessarily out of romance, but maybe just because the group missed their spark.

Missed the way YN used to laugh, the way Harry used to be sharper, quicker.

+ few minutes later +

“Hips up, come on. You’ve been teasing all night,” Harry grunts, voice low and rough the moment the backseat door thuds closed behind them.

There’s no hesitation—he’s already on her.

His hands at the waist of her skirt, fumbling big hands trying to find the zipper as he bullies her further into the space until her back hits the opposite door.

YN has to remind herself that she's just romanticizing this whole situation because it's her first time having a sexual relationship with someone she's not dating.

She convinces herself the excitement is what makes their chemistry so magnetic and nothing else but she knows she never felt like this with Ben or any other partner.

“Wasn't teasing,” YN manages to get out but she was already breathless, eager in a way she's never been with sex, her thighs dampening was a new sensation.

“No?” His tone is almost mocking, but laced with something darker—something feral, his fingers finally land on the zipper at her side, tugging it slowly down with infuriating precision, “Then your cunt isn’t needy? Am I reading the signs wrong?”

Her breath hitches.

God, she should be annoyed. 

She should be offended.

 But the filth coming from his mouth only fuels the heat already pooling low in her belly. 

The way he says it—so confident, so cocky lights her up in a way she didn’t know words could.

“What signs?” YN pushes back because their back and forth only build up her arousal even further, searching for more dirty words out of his mouth.

Harry leans in, his mouth a breath away from her ear. 

His words send a full-body shiver down her spine.

“The way you watched my mouth all night,” Harry murmurs, voice thick and gravelly. 

His fingers press insistently into the soft, plush flesh just above the waistband of her tight skirt, “Saw you clench your thighs when I took off my coat.”

“You’re full of yourself,” YN manages, but the protest comes out barely above a whisper. 

Her fingers curl into the fabric of his jacketat his shoulder, grounding herself in him because it still doesn't feel real—being able to touch him like this, have him this close. 

There’s something that happens when she’s with Harry—this overwhelming impatience, a hunger that feels heavier, more intense than lust.

Like if she doesn’t get his hands on her, in her, she might actually combust. 

“So you didn't want this? Haven't been looking forward to Trivia night for this?” Harry has this cocky smile on his face, his fingers haven't move at all from her waist and it was making her tick.

“Didn’t cross my mind once,” YN bites out, teeth clenched, her toes curling inside her boots, heels digging into the expensive leather of the car seat. 

Her body is aching to be touched—every inch of her buzzing with restless need but she’s trying to keep control of the dynamic. 

Barely.

Harry narrows his eyes slightly, amusement and heat flickering behind them as he begins to pull back.

 The shift is subtle, but she feels the loss instantly—his weight, his warmth. 

And that just won’t do.

Before he can move another inch, her other hand snaps up to grab at his jacket, fisting the fabric roughly and yanking him back toward her. 

Their lips collide in a kiss so heated it steals the breath from her lungs.

His hand flies up to cup the side of her face, fingers splayed against her cheek and jaw, holding her in place like he’s claiming her. 

The way he kisses her—hungry and messy and unrelenting, it feels like he’s trying to devour her, like he earned her mouth, like he owns it.

“Admit it,” Harry’s mouth is still against hers, barely separating to speak before he's dipping his tongue back into her mouth like he can't help himself.

“No,” YN chases after his tongue as he pulls back, trying to follow his lips because they were addictive and she wanted more.

Harry doesn’t let her take.

He sits back just enough, his body still caging her in, but now his eyes are on fire. 

That same molten look she’s only ever seen when he’s like this—turned on and completely focused.

“Why are you being difficult, honey?” Harry hums as he moves to cup her knees where they're bent around him, ghosting down her right, and dancing along the hem of her skirt, “I know what you want. Don't need to be ashamed of it.”

YN feels a swoop on her stomach, the way he spoke never managed to not get her even more turned on for him, and the whole dynamic of feeling this aroused and playful was new.

“Then give it to me,” YN huffs out as she hitches her hips impatiently,  blinking down at him - she couldn’t take her eyes off of him.

He reaches up and captures one of her wrists, the same one curled tight into his jacket. 

Gently but deliberately, he pries it free and guides it downward. 

With his other hand, he hikes her skirt up, bunching the fabric at her hips until she’s fully exposed, her thighs spread, her breath trembling in her throat.

Then he moves her hand between her legs.

It takes her breath away—literally. 

Her gasp cuts sharply through the close air of the backseat, a startled, needy sound as her own fingertips brush the soaked heat of her thong.

Harry doesn’t look away from her, not for a second. 

She can’t help the shudder that racks through her when her fingers press more firmly to her clit.

It’s not the same as when it’s his hands on her, his mouth. 

But it still eases the throbbing, even if just a little.

“Feel nice, sweet girl?”  Harry nearly croons, it sounds fonder than it should for what they're doing, what they are, and aren't to each other, “You're filthy, touching yourself like this in front of me.”

There’s something unbearably hot about the way he guides her, how he’s using her fingers to pleasure herself the way he wants.

She opens her mouth to throw the insult back at him, to call him filthy, but all that escapes is a whimper as he withdraws her hand suddenly.

He holds it between them, his grip gentle but commanding. 

Her slick glistens on her fingertips under the dim lights filtering through the foggy windows.

“Not wet for me?” Harry asks, cocking a brow with mock innocence.

“No,” she replies with a bratty edge, her chin lifting in defiance. 

She’s proud of the attitude—but it doesn’t last long.

Because without missing a beat, Harry brings her hand up to her face, rubbing her soaked fingertips across her lips until her own arousal glosses them.

He doesn’t stop there.

Harry leans in and presses his mouth to hers again, tongue sweeping over the same place he’d just marked with her slick. 

It’s possessive, greedy.

He licks into her mouth like he’s starving, and the kiss nearly sends her reeling.

“Please, I was wet for you all night,” YN finally gives in, “Was thinking about this.”

There’s no point in pretending anymore. 

She knows how patient he can be.

Harry doesn’t rush. 

He waits, teases, stretches her thin until she’s begging—and she always breaks first.

“About what? Getting your needy cunt touched?” Harry laughs meanly , albeit pleased that she relented because then he can really start being a menace, “Do you think about it all week? Do you think about me all week?”

She should say no. 

She should lie. 

Because she does think about him, not just the sex. 

His laugh, his stupid jokes, the way he looks when he’s concentrating on a trivia question.

But she doesn’t tell him that. 

She can’t.

“I want to come,” YN says instead because it seems safer than telling him the truth, she bucks her hips upwards towards his center but doesn't make contact.

“And I want you to behave,” Harry grunts with annoyance in his tone, hands coming to press her hips back down with a harshness that she hadn't had from previous partners.

She loved it.

She lets out a soft moan at the contact, even as frustration builds. 

She wishes they weren’t crammed into the backseat of his car. 

Wishes she could be stretched out on his bed, bare and unhurried, with his full weight pressing her into the mattress.

“I’ll be good,” YN says, her voice gone kitten-soft and breathy. 

It surprises even her, the way it sounds—submissive and sweet. 

Not like her at all.

“Show me what I want to see then. Be a good girl,” Harry sits back, his eyes tracing over her body, and resting down on the thick of her thigh - squeezing.

YN briefly wonders if this is how Harry had been with Lauren - dominant but attentive, and that's a twist of jealousy in her stomach that she'd rather not consider right now.

The skirt is already bunched at her waist, fabric wrinkled and forgotten. 

Her hand trembles slightly as she dips back down to her center, hooking the gusset of her thong around her fingers and tugging it aside.

It was nerve-wracking to expose the most private part of herself to the man she was crushing on so deeply, had been for so long, and even though he's seen her like this before - it still hadn't become any less intimidating.

“Fuck,” Harry curses when she does so, his hand coming down to almost curiously roll her swollen, hard bud until his thumb, “So puffy f’me. Never seen a prettier pussy.”

And it's probably just a line, he has said those words to the girls that came before her but it still boosted her ego quite a bit.

Emboldened, YN arches her hips into his touch, a pretty moan slipping out as her head tilts back, exposing the soft, pale column of her throat.

“Desperate for my touch, huh?” Harry rasps, ghosting down to tease around her entrance, not dipping in but gathering the wetness there.

“If you don't make me come soon, i'll go back in that bar and get Will,” YN threans with her own smile because she knew he wouldn't like that, “He would get me off.”

Will was one of the DJ’s who ran trivia and he had taken quite a liking to YN, had made it known, and had asked her out a few times.

Harry didn't outwardly admit jealousy but would make snarky comments about how pathetic Will was, how annoying he was, and how he just needed to do his job.

His expression hardens instantly, brows furrowing, top lip curling. 

“You think Will could get you off?” He snaps, glancing up from where his fingers still hover just shy of her cunt, “That fucker doesn’t even know where the clit is. You’d be getting licked out until next year.”

“It’d still be quicker than how long it takes you to get me off,” YN shoots back, chin tilted.

Her pulse is thundering in her ears—because she’s poking the bear, and she knows it.

Harry’s easy to rile when it comes to showing off.

He never backs down when his pride is challenged.

His jaw ticks once, eyes narrowing. 

Then, in a flash, he's had enough.

“Stop fuckin’ running your mouth,” Harry hisses finally hitting his breaking point, it was impressive because he rarely got to that point this quickly.

Before she can fire off another comeback, Harry grips her hips and yanks her down the seat, until she’s lying flat, skirt bunched at her waist, legs parted. 

The leather squeaks under her, echoing in the silence of the car.

His hands grips her ass, firm and rough, pulling her pelvis up until she arches toward him—and then he’s there, his mouth crashing onto her with no warning.

YN cries out as his lips close around her clit, tugging it into his mouth with punishing accuracy. 

Her body jolts, trying to flinch back from the intense pressure, but his grip tightens—keeping her locked in place and leaving her no room to wriggle away.

Harry’s nose nudges against her mound, his lips and tongue relentless, like a man feral.

He barely comes up for air, working her over with deep, rhythmic licks and suction that feel like they’re pulling the pleasure straight from the source.

YN reaches down to grab at him, fingers tangled in his curls as she pushes into his mouth before trying to shy away.

He moves one hand from her ass, thumbing over her seam before he's nudging two fingers in until he can pet at the front of her inner walls, scissoring them to make her feel the light, welcome stretch.

“Ye-yeah,” YN can only gasp as the stimulation grows more quickly than she's used to, his fingers and mouth are so knowledgeable , know exactly what their doing, “Oh, I'm clo-close, H.”

His eyes flick up to her, barely visible from this angle, but the glint in them is unmistakable—dark, electric.

His mouth never lets up, tongue lapping at her, lips sealing around her clit again in a rhythm that has her thighs trembling.

His fingers pump into her at a steady, sure pace, and he knows she’s right at the edge.

And then he stops.

Just like that.

He lets her drop back to the leather seat, slick and desperate, the cool air hitting her exposed skin. 

She blinks in disbelief, mouth open in shock, hips twitching in search of the sensation that vanished too fast, and watches as he rubs his face against the calf that was hooked over his shoulder.

Harry’s the filthy one, really, because he runs his tongue over where he'd just wiped off her arousal without any shame.

“No, no,” YN complains desperately, she had been so fucking close, tryin to hold it at that delicious almost there bliss for as long as possible and it was starting to fizzle, “No, I didn't come- Harry, I didn't-”

Harry comes to cup her jaw, effectively shutting her up with a thumb pressed roughly against her lip.

“If only our friends knew what a mouthy, greedy lil’ thing you are,” Harry admonishes as he tugs down her bottom lip, his nose nearly brushing hers, “I know you didn’t come, silly girl. I didn’t want you to.”

“But why?” YN snaps at him, the sensitivity was continuing to fizzle out like a sparkler come to the end of it’s life, and it left this unsettled, uncomfortable ache that she was never used to feeling because if a partner was getting her that close - she didn’t have the luxury to edge or she wouldn’t get it back then she just wouldn’t come that time when they had sex.

Harry doesn’t answer with words at first.

His hand drops sharply to her inner thigh, a slap of dominance that makes her yelp—not from pain exactly, but the sting of surprise, of being handled like that.

“Because I said so,” Harry retorts lowly, teeth clenched as his brow draw further together, “I don’t think you’ve earned it. Not sweet ‘nough for me yet.”

“I’m sweet, I’m sweet,” YN knows she sounds like a begging puppy but he was the only person who brought of this desperation in her, this unhinged beahvior where she had no shame because she wanted him so much more than she wanted to keep her dignity. 

Harry’s face softens—just a little. 

His gaze travels over her flushed face, her trembling body, her wide, needy eyes. 

Something fond flickers in his expression, just for a beat, and it makes her chest ache.

“Are you?” He murmurs, voice gone almost gentle in contrast. “How are you gonna show me?”

YN nudges forward to steal a kiss, relieved when he allows it but only for a moment before he’s biting down on her lip as punishment.

Her hand comes down to his center, gripping at him through the tight denim of his jeans, and it made her confidence skyrocket when she felt how rock hard he was for her, twitching underneath her palm at the unexpected touch.

“I’ll suck you,” YN tells him, it’s nowhere near the filth that he spills out but it still felt so foreign rolling off of her tongue, “Please, I want you in my mouth.”

“You’re already getting sweeter,” Harry croons as he bats her hand away, moving to unbutton his jeans, and shove them as well as his briefs down his thighs - he was intimidating, the size - the length and girth of him was enough to stretch the corner of her lips and make them ache, she remembers how it felt last week when she had swallowed him down and made her eyes water.

They’d only been doing this for a few weeks, with a break in between during the holidays when there was no trivia, and she still wasn’t use to handle someone as well endowed as him, her eyes had gone wide the first time she’d seen how pretty he was and he had given her this sleazy, proud smile at the time.

Harry wraps a hand around the base of his cock, thumb brushing the slick head. 

Her breath hitches. 

She’d promised herself she wouldn’t ask. 

That she’d wait for him to initiate.

But they hadn’t had penetrative sex yet, sure they’d only hooked up in his car a total of three times now but it hadn’t come up, he hadn’t mentioned even one word of it yet, and she realizes just how much she has been craving him, having him fill her up in a way she’d never felt before.

“C’mon, darling. You’re been so good for me now,” Harry hums as he thumbs over the ruddy, wet tip, it was welcoming, tempting.

“No, I -” YN cuts off because she wants to stop herself, she told herself she wouldn’t, “Want you to fuck me.”

Harry’s eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline, his composed facial expression fades momentarily with the surprise of her words, and his hand stops on his length, “Fuck you?”

“Yes,” YN tries to sound sure of herself but it’s faltering, because she’s not.

“And you’ve earned that?” Harry prompts, his cool demeanor right back in place, the shock disappearing just as fast as it had happened, “Or are you being selfish and trying to get out of sucking cock now that you’ve gotten your own?”

YN’s brow furrow, “I didn’t come though.”

Harry snickers, boyishly because he’s getting off of this, “I forgot, your mouthiness has me distracted.”

And looking back, YN thinks this is what people talk about when they use the term subspace.

She’s never felt like this—never felt safe enough to let go.

Because she’d never experienced it before this point but something in her just breaks, she feels floaty and unashamed - there’s no insecurity, no worries about how desperate she’s acting because all she can thinking about is Harry.

It’s an arousal that clouds anything logical and it feels like she’s in the clouds, drifting and weightless, and that’s she’s fully relying on him to take control.

Tears prickle in the corners of her eyes, not from sadness, but from sheer overwhelm.

“Want it,” she whispers, voice cracking, “Please. I’ll s—”

“Whoa, whoa,” Harry hushes softly, his tone is more like his normal cadence and not that deep, horny rasp that he gets, “Honey, are you alright?”

YN swallows, her fingers dug into his arms, “Just want t’come.”

Harry laughs quietly, it’s one of the nicest sounds that she’s ever heard, and right now it seems like the most beautiful music to her ears.

“Okay, pretty,” Harry simpers, his demeanor shifts into something more careful, more cautious as he helps pull her up, “Not many ways to do it comfortably in here.”

Invite me back, please.

Is her needy thought, she wants to be spread out on his bed.

But his next words shut down that hope.

“Will you ride me?”

It’s not really a question. 

He’s already guiding her, and she follows without fussing. 

She doesn’t have time to mourn—he’s sitting back, pulling her into his lap, and her thighs bracket his hips as she lowers down, the thick, flushed head of him brushing against her folds.

The sight of it is obscene.

She wishes she could take a picture, frame it, live inside this moment where he’s so hard and she’s so desperate, spread open and slick with need.

YN’s impatient, she’s never felt so needy in her life, and she couldn’t believe they were actually about to have sex because even when she was with Ben - she fantasized about this more than she’d ever willingly admit to anyone, especially him.

YN goes to grip at him, to guide him but he bumps her out of the way to do it himself, his other hand comes up to cup her cheek, “Tell me what you want.”

“You, want you,” YN babbles, willing to say just about anything if that means that he’ll stop drawing this out.

Harry shakes his head, his expression suddenly serious, and voice more firm, “No, YN. What do you want me to do?”

“Fuck me, I want you to fuck me - oh,” YN cuts out with a high-pitched moan because he’s painting himself down towards to press into her folds, thumping against her clit once before he’s tucking himself inside, and once his tip has breached his hands move to her hips to start moving her to sit down on him.

And it stretches, more intense than it’s ever felt with her partners in the past but it wasn’t painful, it was just a new sensation of accommodating, and he was bringing her down slowly, pushing her skirt higher up so he could grip her bare hips.

“Jesus,” Harry grunts out, it’s louder than he’s been since they had piled into his car, startling in the otherwise quiet space apart from their heavy breathing.

YN’s eyes widen, glancing up at him, and she’s knows she must just be moony-eyed, looking at him like he was the best thing in the world, her hair was falling into her eyes, startening to dampen as it got hotter, more humid in the confined area.

Harry lets out a low chuckle, his hand come to pet the hair back and behind her eye, voice hushed and sweet as maple syrup, “I’m sorry, sorry honey, didn’t mean to startle you. You just feel so good.”

“Yeah?” YN blinks at him, it was hard to keep anything straight but he was filling her up so fucking well that she didn’t feel like she was about to rip at the seams anymore.

Harry laughs again, happy and private as he bumps his forehead against hers, “Yeah.”

YN doesn’t do much of the work, her limbs are jello and the way Harry utilizes his grip on her hips has him doing the heavy lifting, hitting her spot dead on every single time, and his rhytmn isn’t fast but it’s steady, consistent, and hard.

There’s tears trickling down her cheeks as her orgasm starts to build again, faster than expected, and she actually feels a swoop of disappointment because it she doesn’t want it to be over when it feels like it really just began.

Her clit brushes up against his pubic bone, smearing her slick there as it gives her the perfect friction, and her fingertips are digging into the skin of his clothed shoulder because he was still fully dressed and that didn’t feel quite right but it was too late now.

“Can feel you squeezin’ on me,” Harry hums as he brings her down and sits her there, stops her hips from moving as he plants his feet and starts to thrust up into her, “Are you close, sweetheart? Do you need help?”

YN shakes her head, sniffling slightly as she rolls her hips into his thrusts, “Don’t wan’na.”

Harry doesn’t stop all together but he slows his rhythm, “Don’t want to what, honey? Talk to me.”

“Don’t want to come, don’t want it to be over,” YN admits as she blinks through the film at him and the look he has on his face, well it’s one that she’s never seen before but her brain isn’t in the place to be able to decipher that right now.

“I’ll give you another,” Harry promises, his hands slipping down to grip her bum and pull her even fruther into his lap until their chests are pressing together, tilting his head up to bite at the underside of her jaw, “I’ve earned a squeeze though, haven’t I? Get me wet, darling.”

And YN wishes those words didn’t get to her as easily as they did but it works, her hilts jittling to a stop as she grinds harshly into him, head falling backwards, and he starts sucking a mark right at the center of her throat that she can’t even start to be mad about.

“You’re so pretty, never seen anything prettier on my cock,” Harry groans as he picks up his thrusts, she was sensitive, it didn’t feel as pleasant but she still wanted it, wanted to feel how much he wanted her, and he was throbbing, “Fuck, where do you -”

“In me,” YN’s hand cups the nape of his neck, it felt like there was no other thoughts in her mind.

“Fuckin’ christ,” Harry responds as he squeezes her backside hard enough that she feels pinpricks of pain, knowing it was going to leave marks, and being happy about that, a memento from the best sex of her life, “How’d I get so lucky to get you on me?”

YN doesn’t have time to respond, wasn’t going to anyways when she feels him start to pulse, twitch as he starts to come, his hips slowing to a sluggish pace as he starts to come down from it, panting as sweat beads on his forehead - it was hot, sticky in the car now after all the physical activity.

Harry moves quicker than she can keep up with, plopping her back onto the seat and pinning her against the door as he wedges himself between her thighs.

It’s filthy, it’s something she’s never had anyone do but he swipes at her entrance, tasting himself before he’s wrapping his lips around her bud, and starting that tortuous pulsing that he’d done prior, only this time it doesn’t take more than a minute because she’s already hypersensitive from the first orgasm and he doesn’t tease.

No, instead he rides her through it, chasing after her like a starving man when she rears her hips away, and whines after she’s rode it out, “Too much.”

She was still floating, still teary as Harry wipes her up with a clean gym towel he had in his duffel, hands her an unopened bottle water before helping hero ut of the backseat, and walking her towards her car with a hand on her lower back.

He gives her a hug that seems far to platonic for what they just did, things suddenly awkward like they have been after every single time they’ve done this, and then he’s opening her car door and waving ‘bye’ before he’s heading back to his own.

YN doesn’t know why she starts crying as soon as she pulls out of the lot, why she has to park on a side road because her brain isn’t cooperating, and the pit of emptiness in her chest that wasn’t there prior was now gnawing away at her.

[guilty-ff]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐌𝐞

After walking out mid-argument, Dante ends up with Enzo, bad advice, and demon-grade alcohol. The goal? Forget everything. But what good is drinking your feelings away when your body won't even let the alcohol stick?

Pairing: Dante x Fem!Reader

Genre: Oneshot, romance, hurt comfort, mild Angst, Fluff!

Warnings: language, Emotional miscommunication, Mild alcohol use, Mentions of past trauma/abandonment issues

Authors comment: This idea hit me while rewatching the 2007 anime. Dante was drinking and I thought, if he can even get drunk with his regeneration?? Wouldn’t it be fun (and a kinda tragic) seeing Dante all frustrated, trying to get wasted but his demon healing just won’t let him?

It didn't start with a fight.

It started with quiet tension. A half-answer here. A missed call there. The kind of things that build in the background, until one day, something stupid stirring up the tension.

Tonight, it was the dishes.

Not the end of the world, right? Not even a big deal. Just a small, silent irritation. The sink was full. Again. You'd come home late to that same damn pile, untouched, like a monument of Dante's laziness.

"Seriously?" you asked, not even raising your voice at first. "You said you'd clean the kitchen."

Dante, lounging on the couch with his boots up and one arm slung behind his head, barely turned his head. "I will."

"When?"

He yawned. "Eventually."

You stood in the doorway to the kitchen, fists clenched at your sides. "You live here too."

"Yeah," he said, stretching, "and I kill demons for a living. One of us is clearly more exhausted."

That did it.

"Oh, you're exhausted? Try coming home after twelve hours of dealing with people who actually communicate, only to realize I'm dating a guy who thinks emotional labor is a side quest."

He sat up a little at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you don't show up, Dante. Not for the little stuff. Not when it matters."

He stood now, slowly, arms crossed, like you'd just challenged him to a duel instead of a conversation. "I'm here, aren't I?"

"Physically? Sure. Emotionally? No. I have to dig to get anything out of you. You dodge every serious talk with a joke. You ghost me for hours after missions. You don't answer texts. You act like I should be grateful you're even around."

He narrowed his eyes, jaw tightening. "You think I don't care?"

"I think you're scared to."

Silence.

For a second, the world shrank. There was no sound, only tension in the air. His mouth opened. Then closed.

You took a breath. "You treat this like it's temporary. Like you're just waiting for me to leave. You act like I'm disposable, like everyone else who's hurt you. That's not love, that's defense"

His voice was too quiet when it came. "Everyone leaves."

"And that gives you permission to push me away first?" you snapped. "To be cold and dismissive and act like you don't need anyone?"

His eyes flashed. "I never said I didn't need you."

"Then act like it, Dante!"

He flinched. Not visibly. Not in a way most people would notice. But you knew him. You saw it, in the small drop of his shoulders, in the tight line of his mouth.

He looked at you like you'd touched a bruise he didn't know was still sore.

Then, without a word, he turned and grabbed his coat.

“Don’t,” you said quickly, your anger slipping away. “Don’t walk away. Not again.”

But he was already at the door, and then gone.

He didn’t take his phone, didn’t say a word, didn’t shout, just the soft click of the door as it closed behind him.

And then, silence.

You paced the apartment, every minute ticking louder than the last. You called once. Twice. Ten times. Nothing.

And when he finally walked back through the door two hours later?

He was dragging a crate of alcohol like it was his soul in a box.

Earlier...

Dante sat in Enzo's crusty kitchen, arms crossed, sulking like a kid who'd lost his lunch money.

"I dunno, man," he muttered. "She said I treat her like she's disposable."

Enzo was already halfway through a beer and nodding slowly. "Well, do ya?"

Dante squinted. "No."

"Then it's simple: she's wrong."

"She's not wrong," Dante admitted.

"Oh."

There was a pause.

"Okay," Enzo tried again, rubbing his stubbled chin. "Maybe she's just being... emotional. Women, y'know. Feelings and all."

Dante stared blankly. "You've been divorced three times."

"Exactly. I know things."

Dante dragged a hand down his face. "I shut down. That's the problem. I don't know how to talk about any of it: The nightmares, the constant fear that everything's gonna go to hell again, so I don't."

Enzo blinked.

"Jesus Christ."

Dante laughed bitterly. "I never learned how to let people stay. Mother died. Vergil left. Everyone I ever cared about either died or disappeared. She gets close and it's like... my brain starts screaming. Like she'll vanish if I breathe wrong."

"Alright, alright," Enzo said, waving his beer. "Enough of that. You're spiralin'. That's girl therapy talk."

"It's called trauma, Enzo."

"Whatever. You don't need therapy. You need alcohol."

Dante looked up slowly. "What?"

"Alcohol! Fixes everything. You drink, you talk, or maybe you don't, and then she feels bad for you and bam, makeup sex."

"That's... not how people work."

"Worked for my second wife. For a week."

"You're an emotional hypocrite," Dante muttered.

“Exactly. Look,” Enzo said, searching through his stash like it was some kind of treasure chest. “I’ve got the good stuff. Demon-proof, Hellfire brand. This stuff would probably knock Cerberus out cold.”

Dante barely registered the words. His mind kept going back to the mission, the one he screwed up. He took down Cerberus, got paid, and then… nothing. No text, no call, no follow-up. He promised he wouldn’t do this again, but here he was, pulling the same bullshit.

Enzo, oblivious to the storm rising in Dante’s head, kept on his monologue. “You know what’s crazy? You take down Cerberus like it’s a walk in the park, get a fat paycheck, and still can’t pick up the damn phone? What happened, Dante? You don’t even have the decency to say ‘Hey, I didn’t die fighting a three-headed mutt. I’m fine.’” Enzo scoffed.

Dante’s frustration bubbled over. “I—”

“I know, I know,” Enzo interrupted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It’s tough, man. That damn Cerberus battle really took it out of you. Big, bad demon, yada yada… but here’s the thing, you still can’t handle texting her? You get all emotional, come back looking like a damn mess, and then ghost her? That’s cold, bro.”

Dante felt a knot tighten in his chest. He wasn’t just mad at Enzo for talking about it like it was some kind of joke. He was mad at himself. He promised his lover, he really did, but once again, he failed. He couldn’t get out of his own way.

Enzo kept going, still not realizing how much he was digging in deeper. “Look, you’re so good at demon slaying, but when it comes to basic human interaction? You’re trash. And I don’t even mean like ‘rookie-level’ trash, I mean pro-level trash. You can take down an ancient demon, but you can’t pick up the phone? Dude, even I managed not to screw things up like this in my old relationships, and I’m a disaster. Like, seriously, I’m the disaster.”

Dante slammed his head against the counter. The guilt was suffocating.

Enzo, not noticing a thing, just kept yapping. “It’s not that hard. You show up at her place, look tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically. That’s the secret. Women love that tortured crap. Hell, I love it, and I’ve been through some shit.” He smirked, clearly thinking he was dropping wisdom. “Why do you think I’m always pulling in these tragic, mysterious vibes? I sell it, man. If I can do it, you can do it.”

Dante groaned, rubbing his face. “This is not helping. That sounds manipulative."”

Enzo didn’t even notice. “You’re telling me it’s manipulative? No, no, no. It’s drama. It’s called drama, son. We’re in the business of devil hunting and trauma bonding. You think any of the girls I’ve been with cared about me picking up the phone? Nah. It’s all about the act.”

Dante looked at the Hellfire bottle in Enzo’s hand, then back at Enzo’s grinning face, and sighed heavily. “I can’t get drunk anymore.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, completely unfazed by Dante’s crisis. “Not with that attitude."

Dante raised a brow.

"Look," Enzo said, now dragging a wooden crate out like it was treasure. "You show up at her place, looking tragic, say nothing, drink dramatically."

Dante looked at the crate, then at Enzo, then sighed like the broken man he was.

"You're a disaster."

"And you're takin' the box as the next paycheck, so shut up."

Back in the apartment, Dante wordlessly slammed the box on the counter and uncorked a bottle like it owed him money.

You stood at the edge of the living room, arms crossed, watching this demon-slaying idiot fumble with the strongest liquor in the realm.

"Are you... drinking?"

He didn't look up. "Enzo said it would help."

"Oh no."

You stepped closer. "Dante. Tell me you didn't just trauma-dump on Enzo."

He swallowed a third of the bottle and winced. "Kinda."

"You told the greasiest man alive that you're emotionally shut down?"

"Yep."

"And he said drink through it?"

Dante slammed the bottle down. "He said it would either make me cry or pass out. So far it's just making me thirsty."

You deadpan blinked. "You're half-demon. Your liver literally regenerates."

"I KNOW."

You sat down at the table, chin in your hand. "You thought you could drink away emotional repression?"

He gestured at the second bottle like a broken man. "This one has a skull on it. Maybe it'll work."

"You're pathetic."

"I'm trying," he muttered.

"By what? Hiding from the consequences of emotional negligence?"

"I don't know how to do this," he said, shoulders slumped. "I know how to kill and destroy things. But I don't know how to stay."

Silence. Just the ticking clock. His hand tightened on the glass.

"I figured... maybe if I just felt something strong enough, I could finally say it."

You blinked at him.

"...So your genius plan was to outdrink your own trauma?"

He shrugged one shoulder. "It made sense at the time."

"You're a disaster," you said flatly, but your voice cracked at the edges, not from anger now, but from relief.

He finally looked at you, eyes tired, haunted, and young in a way that made your chest hurt.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, quieter. "I wasn't trying to disappear, I just... I don't know how to do this. When you got mad, it felt like- like it was already over. So I figured if I could just feel something... anything loud enough, maybe the words would follow."

You stared at him, then exhaled a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

"That's the dumbest emotional strategy I've ever heard."

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off by stepping in and kissing him. Fast, warm, and full of everything you were still too exhausted to say.

He froze, then breathed out through his nose, leaning into it like something in him had just... let go.

When you pulled back, you raised an eyebrow.

"You still owe me a full conversation, idiot."

He gave a half-smile. "Can I be drunk for it?"

"You are very sober."

"Unfortunately."

He gave the ghost of a grin.

"Honestly? When you started yelling, I flashed back to the one time my old man raised his voice at me."

You narrowed your eyes. "Sparda yelled at you?"

"Once. Real quiet. Real disappointed. Genuinely horrifying." He held up a finger. "But you? You're way scarier. Banshee-level scary."

You tried not to smile. "I'll take that as a compliment."

"Wasn't meant to be," he muttered.

"Also," you added, grabbing the bottle and inspecting the label, "this says 'Do Not Consume If Mortal.'"

He groaned. "Enzo's gonna kill me."

"No," you said, placing the bottle on the counter. "I'm gonna kill the both of you."

Later, as he lay half-curled on the couch, shirt half-off, a bottle abandoned at his side, he mumbled just loud enough to betray himself:

"Damn it... Enzo's advice almost worked. Makeup sex counts for emotional healing, right?"

You, brushing your teeth in the next room, spit into the sink and yelled,

"You really are allergic to accountability."

Next morning:

It took exactly one full day before you marched Dante back into Enzo's trashfire excuse for an office.

You didn't knock.

The door flew open hard enough to rattle the coat rack and knock over a stack of demon-hunting magazines from 1998.

Enzo, chewing a meatball like it was his final meal, froze with sauce halfway to his chin.

"Well, well, if it ain't my two favorite lovebirds-"

"You gave him poison in a bottle!" you snapped.

"Technically it's concentrated hellbrew-"

"HE TRIED TO DRINK THROUGH HIS FEELINGS."

Enzo raised his hands in mock innocence. "Whoa, whoa. I didn't tell him to turn into a drunk cowboy in your kitchen. I offered an alternative path to emotional growth. Through liquor."

Dante stood awkwardly behind you, very much regretting his life.

"You," you pointed, turning to him. "You listened to him."

"In my defense," Dante muttered, "he said it was demon-proof and emotionally numbing. I panicked."

You folded your arms. "So your brain went: 'Hmm. I have unresolved abandonment issues... Better drown them in demonic Everclear and hope for the best.'"

He gave a sheepish shrug.

"And it almost worked," he added.

You slapped his arm. "It didn't."

"Okay, but technically we-"

"It didn't."

Enzo was now watching with the same face he made when demon entrails exploded in his car: morbid curiosity and suppressed laughter.

"Look, sweetheart," Enzo said, "not everyone's good at feelings. The kid's got a sword twice his body weight and the emotional range of a wet sponge."

"Hey-!" Dante frowned. "I tried to talk about my issues."

"You tried to mainline whiskey and stare into a mirror."

"Same thing!"

You glared at both of them. "You're not off the hook either," you snapped at Enzo. "He doesn't need alcohol, he needs a therapist."

Enzo scoffed. "I've been a therapist for years."

"You once told Dante to 'punch grief in the face.'"

"And he did! It was very liberating."

You sighed, hard enough to summon storms.

Dante reached up behind his head and mumbled, "Okay, okay. Maybe I'm bad at this."

"No," you said. "You're terrible at this."

"...But I still wanna try."

Your anger melted just a little.

He stepped closer, rubbed the back of his neck. "I don't know how to fix everything in here," he said, tapping his chest. "But I don't wanna lose you just because I never learned how to talk."

You held his gaze.

"You're lucky you're hot," you muttered.

He smirked. "Jackpot."

You groaned.

Enzo stood up, wiping his hands on a suspiciously oil-stained towel. "Alright, lovebirds. Get outta my office before you start trauma-bonding on my furniture."

Dante turned to leave, and Enzo pulled him aside at the last second.

"Hey," Enzo whispered, voice oddly serious. "Next time she yells, listen. And don't try to drown it out. You'll screw it up worse."

Dante nodded.

"Also..." Enzo handed him a sealed bottle with a wink. "Save this one for after you make up. You'll thank me."

You grabbed it and dropped it in the nearest trash bin.

"No, he won't."

As the bottle clattered into the trash, Dante groaned into his hands.

“She’s gonna kill me."

[hanniebaeee]

Clueless

Jisung x fem!reader

Warnings: nothing!

Genre: colleagues to lovers, flufffff

Summary: You and Jisung are colleagues, and he's in love with you. But he's so nervous and clueless about how to win you over. And in come his brothers, to help out.

Clueless Masterlist

It all began with Jisung staring at you for what feels like the 397th time that week. The way your soft smile lights up his world whenever you greet him, the way you tap your pen against your lip during team meetings, and the way you always manage to help him without a second thought - Jisung is completely, utterly gone.

And yet, he is clueless. Clueless as to how to make you notice him as more than the guy who fumbled through presentations and ogles at you like you're his favorite cheesecake.

So naturally, he turns to the only people he can think of for help. His brothers.

Jisung: I NEED HER.

I.N: Umm who?

Minho: Oh my god. It’s that girl again.

Hyunjin: A girl, I see. Is she cute?

Felix: Guys, let him speak.

Chan: Okay, Jisung. What’s the problem?

Seungmin: Jisung has a crush.

Jisung: I DON'T HAVE A CRUSH.

Seungmin: Sure you don't. You're totally not unhinged rn.

Jisung: I'M NOT UNHINGED.

Seungmin: What's with the yelling then?

Jisung: I have… feelings. Serious ones.

Minho: So you’re down bad.

Hyunjin: Tragic. Who’s the victim?

Jisung: Y/N Y/L/N

Complete silence.

I.N: She’s out of your league, bro.

Jisung: THAT’S NOT HELPFUL.

Hyunjin: No, but seriously. She’s so sweet. Like so so sweet. Sweet sweet.

Chan: HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin: Sorry.

Felix: That’s why we’re here! To help him not ruin it. Right, guys?

Minho: um, sure.

Jisung stares at the chat, already regretting his decision. These are a bunch of maniacs for heaven's sake! He waits, holding his breath, while Felix breaks the silence.

Felix: Ok, let's brainstorm.

Minho: Easy. Corner her in the supply closet and say, “I need you. Now.”

Jisung: Excuse me, WHAT.

Hyunjin: No, wait. That’s brilliant. Push her against the wall for added effect. Women love tension.

Changbin: Are you sure about that?

Felix: Guys. Wtf.

Chan: Jisung, please don’t do that.

Jisung: I wasn’t GOING TO.

I.N: You sure?

Chan: Just start small. Be genuine. Compliment her work.

Felix: Yeah, that's a good plan.

Jisung groans, burying his face in his hands. Of course this is a bad idea. How's he going to compliment you when just the sight of you has him falling apart like a house of cards.

The next morning, Jisung walks into the office with a mission. Chan's advice sounds promising, so that's what he's going to follow.

At least that's what he thought he'd do. But the moment you walk into the room in that cute cardigan, his brain turns into mashed potatoes.

“Good morning, Jisung!” You say, smiling at him as usual.

“Good morning.” Jisung clears his throat, his hands turning ice cold.

“Everything ok?” You ask as you see him glitching.

“Yeah, of course, perfect… you know, just thinking about.. um.. work.. it's good, you do good work…Work.” Jisung stares at you wide eyed, feeling faint.

Your brows furrow a little, but you still smile as you say, “Thank you?”

Jisung barely makes it through the rest of the day without combusting. He just wants the earth to split open and swallow him whole because there's absolutely no point in trying to be alive after that.

Jisung: GUYS. I MESSED UP.

Minho: Shocking.

Jisung: I tried to compliment her, but I think I said “work” five times in a row.

Hyunjin: Should've cornered her in the supply closet.

Chan: Relax, Jisung. Everyone gets nervous.

Changbin: Nah, screw the soft play. You gotta go BIG.

Jisung: What does “BIG” mean?

Changbin: Like a grand gesture. Buy her flowers or something.

Hyunjin: Or serenade her in the breakroom.

Felix: No. Don't do that.

Seungmin: What about showing off your strengths? You’re funny. Make her laugh.

Minho: Yeah, tell her a joke about how bad you are at flirting. Maybe it’ll cancel itself out.

Jisung decides to take Seungmin’s advice. Because, even if he's a nervous mess, he is a funny guy. So the next day, during lunch, he manages to sit next to you.

“Mind if I join you? ” he asks, pretending his heart wasn’t about to leap out of his throat.

Your smile and say, “Of course not.”

But then, he doesn't give it a minute before he executes his plan.

“I’m not great at this whole… flirting thing,” Jisung blurts out as soon as he sits. “But I think I’d like to learn. You. I mean, not learn you. I mean, yes, but not in the creepy way. Unless you’re - WAIT.”

He stops talking and breathing as he looks down at his food, trying to pull himself together.

You blink, biting your lip to stifle a laugh.

“You’re doing fine, Jisung.” you say with a giggle and the warmth in your voice makes his cheeks burn.

“Yeah?” he asks, looking up at you.

“Yeah,” you say, tilting your head. “Maybe we can grab coffee sometime, and you can practice on me.”

Jisung didn’t respond because he's too busy screaming internally.

Jisung: SHE SAID YES. OH MY GOD. SHE SAID YES.

I.N: TO WHAT?!

Jisung: COFFEE.

I.N: AHHH!

Hyunjin: Oh wow. Okay, don’t screw this up.

Minho: Bring her flowers.

Changbin: And chocolate.

Felix: Just show up and be yourself.

Minho: Ew. Get out of here with that wholesome nonsense.

Chan: You'll do just fine.

Jisung puts his phone down, already plotting how to make the coffee date perfect. For once, he feels confident.

But then, as the date nears he's a mess again.

“Do I go casual? Or formal? What's even a business-casual?!” he mutters to himself before grabbing his phone and typing furiously into the group chat.

Jisung: What do I wear to a coffee date??

Felix: Something comfy. Think effortlessly cute.

Chan: yep, don’t overdress.

Minho: Wear black. It’s sexy.

Changbin: Yeah, nothing too tight. You’ll sweat like a pig.

Seungmin: Avoid your Pikachu hoodie. Please.

Jisung: I wasn’t going to wear that (but thanks for the heads up)

Hyunjin: 🤣🤣

I.N: 🤣🤣

His confidence wavers a little as he stands in front of the mirror dressed in a nice fitted charcoal grey sweatshirt, and a pair of black jeans. Whatever, this has to do. But now, the flowers.

Jisung: What flowers do I get?

Hyunjin: Roses. Red ones. Lots of them. Nothing says, “I want to rip your clothes off” like red roses.

Minho: Oh yeah roses.

Changbin: Nah, go for orchids. They’re rare and exotic. It shows taste.

I.N: Sunflowers. They’re happy. Go for the whole cheerful and sweet vibe.

Felix: Yeah, sunflowers! They’re cute, like her.

Chan: Go with whatever feels right, you got this👍

Seungmin: Yeah. Go for your favorite?

Jisung’s head spins as he tries to process this. And as he finally stands in a flower shop, staring at the riot of colors, his eyes move to one particular bunch. He leaves the store clutching the bouquet like it is his lifeline.

The moment he sees you in front of the café, Jisung forgets how to breathe. You look so pretty in your simple yellow dress. It's a beautiful mustard yellow - plain, flowing. And you have left your hair down, just how he likes it.

“Hey,” you greet him softly, as he approaches you.

“Hi,” he manages, handing you the bouquet of sunflowers with shaky hands. “These are for you.”

Your face lights up as you take the flowers, holding them close.

“Oh my gosh, sunflowers are my favorites! How did you know?” you say, grinning happily at him.

And you look like sunshine personified in your yellow dress and sunflowers. Jisung’s cheeks turn crimson as he tries not to drool at you.

“Lucky guess?” he says, and his heart almost springs out of his chest when you take his hand and lead him into the cafe.

The date starts off with a nervous energy, but to Jisung’s surprise, your warmth is contagious. You laugh at his jokes (even the dumb ones) and you are just so…interested in him, that he finds himself relaxing in your company. Jisung knows he's completely in love with you. He can't control the happiness that's taking over him. This is just perfect.

And you? You are smitten.

“Okay, serious question,” you say as you stir your cup of mocha. “What made you choose suflowers? I mean, I love them, but I’m curious.”

Jisung freezes for a second, but he tells you the truth. Well half truth.

“They… remind me of you,” he says. “Bright and beautiful.”

Your heart melts and you blush as you say, “You’re adorable, you know that?”

“I - uh - thanks?”

Jisung walks you home, hours later, and it's like he doesn't even know why he was so nervous before. When you stop at your door and turn to him, there's a shy smile on your face.

“Thank you for today, Jisung,” you say. “I had a great time.”

Jisung feels like his heart might just burst.

“Me too.” he says. “Um…so, I'll be…um-”

You giggle, leaning up to kiss his cheek. Your lips linger for a second too long before you whisper, “Goodnight, Jisung.”

As you disappear inside, Jisung takes time to unfreeze, his hand pressed to his cheek where your lips had been.

Jisung: SHE KISSED ME.

Hyunjin: SHE WHAT?! LIPS OR CHEEK?

Jisung: CHEEK.

I.N: Oh my GOD 🤩

Changbin: Good work 👍

Felix: That’s huge 😍

Minho: I give it three dates.

Seungmin: Two, if he doesn’t do anything stupid.

Chan: That's amazing, Jisung!

Jisung: Oh my God, today was great.

Jisung: I could die happy.

Jisung: I'm gonna go plan our next date.

Hyunjin: He's definitely planning their wedding.

Felix: Hehe, goodnight, Ji.

Jisung puts his phone down, smiling to himself. For the first time, he feels great about this. You're even more perfect than he thought. You made him feel great about himself. And he couldn't wait to do this again.

a/n: Trying new things! I love reading all the fake text scenarios here and they're so good, so I wanted to try too!

[bigfatbreak]

im gonna reserve thoughts on the new season of mlb, but i do have Fears plotwise that make me apprehensive to really take in so ill state it below

marinette's lie about hawkmoth is clearly going to be the big catalyst in this series/season/wtv but my big thing is, if its going to be written, it should have some level of nuance? she's a child who was trying to spare everyone's feelings when it came to a tragedy that was thrust upon her. the rest of us can be like "oh yeah well I just would've told adrien" but that would've been equally explosive, and she really thinks this way would essentially save adrien both from a worse grief than just losing his father and also the animosity of the public. there was no answer that didn't have major repercussions, essentially, and she was taking the path more likely to help adrien's state - after all, gabriel is already dead, but the anger of the public remains. who would they take out hawkmoth's fury onto? years of being a public menace and terrorist would likely be framed at Adrien

but i feel like what's gonna happen is lila is going to reveal her lie in a very big way, (because we're already seeing the narrative push the envelope and be a bit overbearing in how the public LOVES ladybug SO SO MUCH LOOK THE PUBLIC LOVES HERRR) essentially try to sway adrien to her side (since gabe had a big thing with lila and adrien, trying to make them like. two sides of a coin or smth) and Marinette is going to have to try and fix it all whilst everyone is telling her she's a terrible person for lying as though she doesn't already resent herself for lying in the first place, which may lead to her getting akumatized and becoming lila's tool, leaving alya and the gang to fix shit

that could be good, but the issue is, when it comes to marinette the series seems to like framing her choices as foolish or stupid when they could better be framed as tragic. my big worry is when everything blows up and everyone no doubt hates ladybug/marinette for telling a falsehood to the public, there's not going to be a facet of the narrative that focuses on the tragedy of the matter: that she was a child left with a choice and she tried to save everyone and fumbled it. instead everyone is going to say she was stupid with her foolish little love goggles on and that she's just sooo airheaded when it comes to adrien, and they're going to minimize the shit that happened to her as "marinette is dumb" rather than "marinette was put into an impossible situation and no part of it wasnt going to blow up on her"

she wasn't RIGHT for lying to the public, or to her friends, but she also wasn't WRONG to try and minimize the damage. and i don't think they're gonna touch on that latter part in a way that has any sense of respect for the character, coz man. the narrative loves blaming marinette for shit she DIDN'T do, so considering she HAS done something with big consequences, I can only imagine how they're going to beat her character against the wall

[eufezco]

MEETING THE MARAUDERS𓂃 𓈒 ❀

marauder!remus lupin x slytherin!fem!reader

synopsis – after spending a lot of time with remus and with his friends insisting on meeting you, he finally decides to invite you to spend an afternoon with them.

a/n – you can read it either as a continuation of the fourth year part of this fic but it isn't necessary because it also works as a one shot.

fluff.

you’d be lying if you said you weren’t nervous.

remus had become a big part of your life, you even introduced him to your bowtruckle, a secret you had kept from everyone else, and he had treated it with nothing but kindness. now, he thought it was only fair to return the favor—to introduce you to his friends.

a small part of you was curious, but the other part of you, the one that had spent years being the odd one out, wasn’t sure if you could go through with it, not because you didn’t trust remus, but because people like his friends—popular, loud, charming—didn’t mix with people like you.

—i... i don't think this is a good idea, what if i don't fit in? —you asked the bowtruckle. you paced around your room, luckily your awful roommates were out, giving you the space to overthink in peace. —what if they think i’m not funny? or too quiet? what if they just —you sighed, pressing your palms against your face, —don’t like me?

the bowtruckle, entirely unimpressed by your spiral, drummed its tiny fingers against your wrist in quick, impatient taps, as if trying to snap you out of your overthinking. it chirped, as if telling you that everything was going to be alright, that remus was waiting for you, that he wanted you there with them, with him.

—easy for you to say, —you mumbled, adjusting your pocket so it could settle back in. —you’re effortlessly charming.

—i can't wait to meet her, remus, i bet she's super sweet, —lily said excitedly as she sat next to remus in the gryffindor common room.

—if she appears, —sirius added to make remus even more nervous.

—she will, —remus said with confidence, though a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. you weren’t the kind of person to throw yourself into new situations easily. he knew that. this was pushing you out of your comfort zone.

—yeah, of course she will, —james said with a smirk. —she can't miss this chance with our moony and we have to green light her.

—green light her? —remus couldn't believe what he was hearing.

—you thought we’d just let some wicked slytherin into your life without making sure she’s not, i don’t know, secretly plotting your demise? —sirius asked.

—and what if she’s not worthy of our dear, delicate remus? what if she can handle his brooding nature, his tragically poetic soul? —james added, pouting and pinching remus' cheeks.

—get off, —remus groaned, pushing james’ hands away.

peter laughed, —no, but they have a point. we just want to make sure she’s good enough for you, moony. you’ve been rejecting girls left and right for years, and now, suddenly, you’ve got someone special? we’re intrigued.

remus knew what peter meant by someone special and he wanted to brush off their teasing, to dismiss the idea that you were anything more than just a friend, but he couldn't say that you weren't someone special because you were, even if he couldn’t fully admit it yet.

—she's just a friend, —remus finally said, the words almost getting caught in his throat.

everyone waited for remus to say something more, or for someone to break the tension after what they'd just heard. james and sirius shared a look, lily bit her lip as she glanced between remus and the others, and peter raised his eyes from his book as if he had heard his friend tell the biggest lie in the world.

remus was annoyed by the sudden silence. —what? she's just a friend, —he repeated, like saying it enough times would make it true, like he was not only trying to convince his friends but also himself.

james nodded, —sure, mate.

in that moment, you knocked on the picture frame and remus stood up all of a sudden, so fast that lily barely had time to move her legs before he nearly tripped over them. james leaned back on the couch, elbowing sirius. —just a friend, huh?

remus ignored them, muttering something under his breath as he reached the portrait and pulled it open. you knocked three times, just as remus told you to. he wasn't allowed to tell you the gryffindor password, so this quiet signal was the best option. a part of you hoped he wouldn’t hear it, that you could leave before anyone noticed you were even there.

you still had time to turn around, to disappear and pretend this never happened. your pulse pounded in your ears, every muscle in your body tensed. you once were made for this—groups, attention, friendship that extended beyond hushed library corners and whispered conversations by the black lake—, but now you didn't know if you could take it.

then, the portrait swung open and remus stood there, looking at you like he knew exactly what you were thinking. he didn’t say anything at first, just studied you, like he was giving you one last chance to change your mind. but when you didn’t move, didn’t speak, he gave you a small smile.

—hi, —you said first, trying to act as if you weren't panicking inside.

—hey, —remus stepped aside to let you in. his eyes moved to the pocket on your slythetin shirt. —hey there, little one.

the bowtruckle peeked out, chirping softly at the familiar voice. it seemed completely at ease, unlike you, whose heart was pounding so hard you were sure remus could hear it. you stepped into the common room. it was nothing like slytherin's, you swore the warmth of the place not only radiated from the fireplace but from the people there, everyone seemed to exist in a kind of effortless friendship.

—don't get used to it, slytherin, you will have to return to your dungeon at some point, —sirius teased when he saw you analyzing the room.

remus looked at him in terror, that's how you were received? already kicking you out? he was going to apologize in behalf of his friend, how many times would he have to do that during the afternoon? but before he could say anything, you just shyly smiled.

—didn’t realize gryffindors were so territorial.

you fought to try and not to start shaking after saying that. you could handle teasing, you had been handling it all these years but no one made it in a friendly way. but with remus' friends, it felt lighter, even if you could still feel the weight of their attention on you. remus was surprised and a bit relieved that you had followed sirius's teasing with such ease. he expected maybe a little defensive, which he could've completely understand, but instead, you handled it just fine.

sirius grinned, clearly pleased that you weren’t intimidated. —oh, we are. especially when it comes to moony.

he extended his hand, an expectant look on his face, as if daring you to take it. you placed your hand in his, matching his energy as best you could.

—don't worry, he's the worst one out of all five, the rest of us are more normal, —james got up from his place on the couch and walked toward you, his signature smirk firmly in place. he also extended his hand and you shook it.

—yeah, i wouldn’t use the word normal to describe any of us… but we’re nice people, —peter added, also approaching you. you also shook his hand, with a small smile on his lips, entertained by them.

—for merlin's beard! you're here! —you heard a girl's voice say behind you, filled with excitement. you turned around just in time to see a redhead approaching, her green eyes bright with curiosity. before you could say anything, she wrapped her arms around you and your eyes widened in surprise.

in that moment, you realized just how long it had been since someone hugged you like this, like it was the most natural thing in the world. remus got a little scared because he knew you weren't used to people being as intense as lily, and for a second, he worried it might overwhelm you. but then, he watched as you slowly and hesitantly lifted your arms and hugged her back.

—i knew you'd come,— she said as she pulled back, holding your hands as if to confirm you were real. —they made it sound like you might run for the hills!

—we did not say that, —peter said.

—you implied it, —lily shot back with a knowing grin.

sirius, moved to sit on the couch as he smirked. —smart girl. she should have run.

you exhaled sharply, shaking your head. —believe me, i thought about it.

they all laughed but they knew that you were being serious.

remus should have been the one to lead the conversation, to make this easier for you. but he was too caught up in making sure nothing overwhelmed you, that no one said anything to make you second-guess being here. so it was james who took the lead instead.

—hmm, forgive lily, she's been dying to meet you, —james explained.

—yeah, remus talks about you all the time, how could i not?

in that moment, remus came back to reality, his ears and cheeks burning. you were unsure if you wanted to laugh or shrink into the floor. your heart pounded, not in fear, but in something close to warmth. if your bowtruckle didn’t have strict orders to not make an appearance, it would’ve already started chirping, betraying your secret because if remus talked about you… you were just as guilty. but thankfully, your tiny traitor stayed put.

—this is gonna be a fun evening, — sirius declared.

lily's lips parted to say something after she realized what she just said but, once again, james saved the situation.

—right, then! —he clapped his hands together. —since moony is too busy overthinking and evans is two seconds away from adopting you, i’ll be your official gryffindor tour guide for the evening. they can get the food and the drinks

lily rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, already pulling remus. —come on, moony, — she said. —we’ve got snack duty, apparently.

you nodded slowly, assuring remus that you'd be fine. then, once they left, you looked around the common room, there were so many things that it was hard to focus on just one. james noticed your distraction and nudged you lightly. —overwhelmed, are we?

—a bit, — you huffed a laugh and admitted, still glancing around.

—don’t worry, you’ll get used to it, —peter added.

—first, the fireplace, —james said, him and peter walked by your side around the common room to show you thing by thing. —you want warmth? you fight for a seat here. sirius practically lives on that couch.

—next, we have the best table for last-minute essay writing, —james gestured toward a large wooden table covered with at least three half-empty cups of tea.

—or for pretending to write essays while actually playing wizard’s chess, —peter added. —this is lily’s and your remus' preferred study spot. no one dares sit there when they're in one of their homework moods. but it’s been ages since remus last showed up here, hasn’t it, james? any idea why?

—oh, i wonder what could've possibly distracted him, —james added dramatically, stroking his chin like a detective solving a mystery. —could it be… a certain slytherin?

you felt the warmth rush to your cheeks as all eyes turned to you, their grins filled with mischief. in that moment, sirius appeared and threw his arm over your shoulder. you tensed for a second. first lily and now sirius. physical affection wasn't something you were used to but they were effortlessly casual about it, like this was just how things worked here.

—don’t worry, slytherin, —sirius said, smirking as he pulled you into his side like you’d been friends forever. his easygoing nature made it hard to feel uncomfortable. —we tease because we care. and because it’s fun. we know you're taking good care of our moony, you've even gotten him to enjoy herbology.

—leave her alone, —lily said, slipping between you and sirius.

remus and lily had just returned, bringing snacks and drinks, though it was remus carrying everything. lily, on the other hand, had hooked her arm through yours, gently tugging you away from sirius as if to physically shield you from any more teasing.

—i'll show you the rest of the common room, while they, —she shot a deadly glance to james, peter an remus, —go and help moony.

the three of them collectively let out a dramatic huff but moved to help remus with the rest of the snacks.

—they're too much, but you'll get used to them, —lily said as she guided you toward the next part of the common room. the wall was covered in moving photographs, some of past gryffindor students, others of current ones. —this is the unofficial gryffindor history wall, —lily explained. —you’ll find pictures of old quidditch teams, past hogwarts students and prank victims...

you stepped closer, eyes scanning the frames. there, in one of the more recent photographs, were remus, james, sirius, and peter, all together. you smiled a little. remus had that same soft expression, he was pushing his reading glasses up on his nose, clearly attempting to look composed for the picture but his friends were doing everything in their power to ruin that.

you felt lily nudge you softly, —saw something you like? —lily asked. your cheeks warmed slightly again, and you glanced at her, suddenly aware of how long you’d been staring. lily giggled and tightened her arm around yours as if silently telling you that everything was alright. —you two are adorable.

before you could attempt to defend yourself, a loud voice interrupted.

—oi! evans! stop stealing our slytherin!

lily rolled her eyes, annoyed because he wanted to spend more time alone with you. you two walked back to the fireplace where the four boys where. lily let go your arm and moved quickly to stop james from eating all her favorite snack. you lingered near the couches, suddenly unsure of where to sit. you weren’t sure of the unspoken rules there of who usually sat where.

—hey, —remus said from behind you. he held a magic chess in his hands, his warm brown eyes watching you carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort. —you okay? sorry my friends hoarded you. i apologize for them, but they mean well.

you nodded, —no need to apologize, i'm okay. they're fun.

remus gave you a small, relieved smile. —come sit with me.

you nodded again. you made your way over to the couch, and though it was only big enough for two, it was small enough that your leg brushed against his as you sat. lily and james shared a similar couch, just that she had her head resting on his legs. sirius had taken the armchair, with both of his legs hanging over the armrest. peter was sitting on the rug, his back against the space where sirius' legs were supposed to be hanging and a bowl of popcorn in his hands.

—why don't you tell us about yourself, slytherin?

you felt the sudden weight of their attention, all eyes now on you. it had been so long since anyone had been genuinely interested in what you had to say about yourself that you didn't even know where to start. the words felt stuck in your throat, and for a moment, you wondered if you should just retreat back into the comfortable silence you were used to.

you cleared your throat, trying to shake off the hesitation. you shifted slightly on the couch and remus moved his hand to rest on your leg, a subtle reminder that you were in a friendly space, with no judgment, no rush, just people who wanted to know you.

—what do you want to know? —you asked sirius back.

—your family. are they wizards? —peter asked before sirius could.

you shook your head. —no, i'm the only witch in my family.

—i'm also a muggle-born! —lily said, excited. james, sirius and peter told you that they were pure bloods and remus didn't need to tell you that he was a half-blood because you already knew that.

—what is your quidditch team?

—i don't... i don't really like quidditch.

the room fell silent for a moment. three pairs of eyes stared at you in various stages of shock, disbelief, and—on sirius’ part—betrayal. even lily blinked at you, surprised, though she didn’t look nearly as horrified as the boys did. you swallowed, waiting for an answer from them. did you say something wrong?

—you don’t like quidditch? —james repeated, as if the words physically pained him to say out loud. he placed a dramatic hand over his heart. —tell me you’re joking.

—i’m not, —you admitted with a small nervous smile. —i just never really got into it. i didn't grow up watching quidditch and i don't get along particularly well with the slytherin quidditch team.

—she has a point about the slytherin team, though, —lily chimed in, grabbing some gummies from the table. —they’re insufferable.

—moony, i can’t believe you brought us someone here someone who doesn’t like quidditch, —james complained loudly.

remus looked over at you with a small smile. —don’t listen to them. it’s not a requirement to like quidditch to be our friend.

—it should be, —sirius mumbled under his breath. lily threw him the gummy bear she had in her hand.

—what do you do for fun then? —peter asked, tilting his head curiously.

you hesitated for a moment, then answered, —i like reading.

you heard a collective huff coming from the other three boys and you couldn't help but giggle. remus had told you about they hated study time and the library, always trying to find ways to avoid it.

—see? brilliant hobby, —remus perked up immediately. —she also loves magical creatures.

sirius grinned. —careful, moony, sounds like you’ve met your perfect match.

you felt your face heat up at sirius’ words, although you didn't really understood his comment. out of the corner of your eye, you caught remus ducking his head slightly, suddenly very interested in adjusting his sweater sleeves.

—i think it’s great. magical creatures are fascinating. —lily said, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. she turned to you, her head still resting on james' legs, clearly eager to hear more. —what’s your favorite?

your thoughts drifted to the little creature you carried with you. the soft movement in your pocket reminded you of it—your bowtruckle, likely tucked in and sleeping by now. you ran a hand over your pocket, as if to reassure the tiny creature that it was still safe.

—well, —you started, your voice softer now as you spoke about something that was dear to you. —i think my favorite would have to be bowtruckles.

you saw the flicker of mischief appear on sirius' eyes when you mentioned bowtruckles and you knew he was going to ask you about it. that time at the beginning of the year when he and remus ran into you and saw your little friend.

—they're small, but they’re very clever. they’re experts at camouflaging themselves. but they’re also very loyal. if they trust you, they’ll protect you. i think that’s what I like the most about them.

for a moment, all of them looked at you closely, their expressions a mix of curiosity and surprise. you felt a slight knot form in your stomach as a wave of self-consciousness washed over you. had you said too much? overshared? remus, of course, was the first to offer a soft smile, his brown eyes warm and understanding.

—wow... that's so interesting, —james said. peter and lily hummed and nodded, agreeing with him. his eyes now softened with curiosity. —it’s... cool. you’ve got this whole different perspective on magic. i like it.

—you speak about bowtruckles as if you really know them, —sirius teased.

remus knew exactly what sirius was getting at. although remus already knew your bowtruckle, he also caught a glimpse of it on the train at the beginning of the year, no matter how much you had tried to act as if it had been nothing. —of course she knows them, —remus said smoothly, cutting sirius off before he could push further. —she just told you they're her favorites.

sirius rolled his eyes, —oh shut up, moony.

that nickname again. you'd been hearing it all evening. moony. it felt familiar on their tongues, effortless. you didn’t want to seem too nosy, but you finally couldn't hold it back. —i have to ask, what’s with the nickname? why moony?

the room fell silent for a brief moment. everyone else seemed to glance at remus. he rubbed the back of his neck nervously, as if trying to figure out how to explain it without revealing the truth. he wasn't ready for that yet. the mere thought of telling you made his stomach twist.

—in our first year at hogwarts, remus was so obsessed with astronomy, —james began, a nostalgic grin spreading across his face as if he was not telling the biggest lie ever, but he had to cover his friends back this time. he was sure that when remus was ready to tell you the truth, you’d understand. until then, this would have to do.

—yeah, he used to stay up all night with that bloody telescope of his, staring at the moon, —sirius added smoothly, catching on to james’ quick improvisation without hesitation.

—that's why we call him moony. he was obsessed, he knew more about the phases of the moon than any professor.

you hummed, nodding. it was odd. of all the time you'd spent with remus, he had never once mentioned his supposed passion for astronomy, nor the moon. you glanced at him, but he was focused on adjusting the chess pieces in front of him, as if willing himself not to look at you.

—i grew out of it, —remus said as if reading your mind.

—tragic, really, —james sighed, shaking his head. —all those sleepless nights, and for what? a nickname?

—enough about moony's past, —sirius said, —we’ve covered quidditch—disappointing answer, by the way. we’ve covered your special interests—very cool answer. what about dueling? potions? are you a secret prodigy in some terrifying slytherin skill?

you giggled, was he serious about this?

—have you ever cursed someone? —peter asked, leaning in a little, as if waiting for some grand confession.

james added. —yeah, i bet you know a ton of dark spells, don’t you?

—for merlin's beard! what are these questions? —remus exclaimed, rubbing his forehead as if trying to block out the absurdity of it all.

lily, equally horrified by the direction the conversation had taken, quickly stepped in. —do you play chess?

you let out a small laugh and nodded. sirius leaned back into the armchair with a pout.

—aw, no dark magic duels? no secret spells? —he teased.

—if you beat me at chess, we'll duel and i'll teach you some dark spells.

and sirius seemed satisfied because you two were the first ones to play. he wasted no time in making his first move, playing aggressively, clearly expecting you to struggle. but you didn't. with each move, you countered him easily. peter was the easiest to beat and james tried but just lasted a little longer than sirius. lily put up the best fight of them all, but after a long battle, she sighed, surrendering her king in resignation.

now, it was remus sitting on the floor in front of you, his legs crossed as he studied the board with quiet concentration. there was a little smile on his lips as he looked up at you, and you couldn’t help but smile back. the rest of them watched, a little amazed. there was something different about this match, something unspoken between you and remus as you played.

—they’re not even talking, —sirius whispered.

—they don’t need to, —lily murmured back, eyes flicking between the two of you.

james huffed, crossing his arms. —if they end up falling in love over a chessboard, i’m going to be so annoyed.

lily didn’t say anything else, but she could already see it. the way you and remus moved, the way you met each other’s gazes with soft smiles, the quiet ease between you—it was obvious. maybe not to the two of you just yet, but to everyone else in the room, it was as clear as day. the game ended in a draw, much to everyone's surprise. you extended your hand across the board to him, and remus took it with a light laugh.

the rest of the evening was just as great. you listened, content, as the group chatted about their various adventures, schoolwork, and the latest pranks they were planning for the next hogsmeade trip. you should come with us to hogsmeade the next time! lily said excited and they all agreed.

peter had taken your spot on the couch, leaving you and remus on the floor. your backs were leaning against the soft cushions. remus had hugged his legs to his chest, his knees drawn up as he rested his arms loosely around them. his attention on the group but his gaze drifting back to you every so often, as if checking in. every time your eyes met, there was that same unspoken connection, like a shared secret. you weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but it made you feel seen in a way that was both comforting and... exciting.

it was comforting for him as well—seeing a happier look on your face, watching you laugh, relax, and get along so easily with his friends. their teasing had managed to break through your walls. maybe it was the way sirius had declared you not so bad for a slytherin. or the way james had groaned dramatically when you beat him, but still ruffled your hair like you were already one of them. maybe it was lily’s knowing looks, her quiet reassurances, or peter’s eager interest in your stories.

or maybe—just maybe—it was just remus.

because even now, as the conversation carried on around you, his presence beside you made you feel safe.

remus let go of his legs and one of his hands dropped to the floor right by yours. it wasn’t quite touching, but it was close enough that you could feel the warmth from his skin. you wondered if it was intentional. If he was testing the waters, seeing if you’d pull away. you didn’t. instead, your fingers twitched slightly, brushing against his just barely. it could have been an accident, a coincidence. but you knew it wasn’t when he turned his palm up, open—an invitation.

your fingers hesitated for only a moment before you moved your hand into his, your palm pressing lightly against his own as his fingers curled around yours. neither of you looked at each other, not directly. he kept his gaze ahead, pretending to listen to whatever his friends were saying, but you could see the small, pleased smile playing at the corner of his lips.

then, a soft chirping sound broke through the warmth of the moment. your bowtruckle, nestled in your pocket, had stirred, reminding you of something. your eyes went to the clock on the wall—it was late.

—oh, i should go, —you said interrupting the conversation as you stood from the floor, letting go remus' hands. every part of you wanted to stay just a little longer.

—i'll walk you to the dungeons, —remus stood up, brushing off his sweater as if the decision had already been made.

james smirked. —should we expect you back before sunrise, or…?

remus rolled his eyes as he grabbed his wand from the table. —hilarious. truly.

lily got up from the couch and went to hug you. this time you were ready to hug her back, —it’s been great meeting you, —she said as she pulled away, smiling. —i hope you join us again soon. in fact, i was planning to go over my potions homework tomorrow. maybe we can do it together?

—yeah, there’s also a quidditch match tomorrow. gryffindor versus hufflepuff. not the most exciting thing, but still worth watching. maybe when you and lily are done with your studying, you can join us, —james added.

you blinked, caught off guard by how easily they included you in her plans, —oh, yeah. that sounds nice, actually, —you admitted.

lily beamed. —perfect! i’ll save you a seat in the library. goodnight. and be careful, both of you.

peter offered a small wave and a genuine, goodnight, before turning back to the others. sirius, still lounging in the armchair, of course had to make the last joke of the evening, try not to hex our dear moony on the way down, yeah? we’re trusting you not to unleash one of your dark magic tricks on him. remus let out a sigh, shaking his head. you let out a little laugh with a goodbye sirius.

stepping out of the common room, you walked beside remus, your footsteps echoing slightly in the empty hallways, neither of you in a rush to reach your destination. his hands were tucked into the pockets of his pants, and you found yourself glancing at them more than once. after a moment, remus spoke, his voice softer now. —you fit in well with them.

you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. —do i?

he nodded. —yeah. they definitely like you.

you let out a quiet chuckle, the sound almost nervous, as a strange sensation stirred in your chest, something you couldn’t quite decipher. —well, they don’t know me that well yet.

—they know enough, —he said simply.

the feeling in your chest was a mix of not having fit in with anyone for years and the satisfaction of finally finding people you were comfortable around. you almost wanted to ask what enough meant, would it be true what lily had said earlier, about how remus couldn't stop talking about you? the idea crossed your mind, making your stomach flutter. you weren’t sure if you could believe it. it felt safer to think that way, rather than consider the possibility that remus might actually think about you when you weren’t in the room.

but before you could ask him, remus gave a soft sigh, breaking the silence. —did you have fun?

you nodded, —so much fun. i didn’t expect it to be this… easy.

remus glanced over at you, his eyes softening in that familiar way they always did when he listened to you. he had a way of making you feel like what you said mattered, and that was something you weren’t used to.

—you know you hurt james' ego when you beat him at chess, right? especially in front of lily, —he said with a mischievous smile.

you chuckled. as you walked, the two of you chatted about the rest of the evening. only your laughter could be heard in the corridors of the castle. you watched as he pulled his hands out of his pockets, stretching his fingers slightly before letting them fall at his sides. if you were now the one reaching for it, would he let you?

you hesitated. maybe it was the late hour making you bold. your fingers twitched slightly, debating. testing. it would be so easy to just... let your fingers brush against his, to close the space between you. but before you could make a decision, the entrance to the slytherin dungeons came into view.

you swallowed, slowing your steps. too late.

—i’m glad you came tonight, —he said, his voice gentle. —it’s been nice, having you here.

for a moment, you just stood there, facing each other in the dim light of the castle corridor.

—thank you for inviting me, i had so much fun, —you said softly, a small smile tugging at your lips.

remus nodded. a few seconds of silence stretched between you. he looked as if he wanted to say something more, something important, but the words never came. instead, he exhaled softly, rubbing the back of his neck.

—i... i should leave before filch finds us, —he finally said, his voice quieter now.

you gave a small chuckle. —yeah, wouldn’t want detention right when we have plans for tomorrow.

he stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a gentle hug. you melted into it. he smelled faintly of old parchment, chocolate, and something distinctly him—something comforting. you still remembered the first time he hugged you. you hadn’t known what to do with yourself. physical affection had never come naturally to you, and for a long time, you had simply stood there, unmoving, unsure of how to reciprocate. but now? now, you fit against him effortlessly, as if this had always been meant to happen.

his arms tightened slightly, just for a second, as if he wanted to hold on a little longer. you felt his heartbeat, steady and calm, before he finally exhaled and slowly pulled away. but not completely. as he moved back, his cheek brushed against yours, and for the briefest moment, his lips ghosted over your skin.

your breath hitched. it was barely a touch, more of an accident than an intention, but it sent a rush of warmth through you.

remus stayed there, really close to your face. his hesitation was brief, but you caught it—the way his dark brown eyes moved to look at your lips. and then, before either of you could think too much about it, he moved. slowly, carefully, like he was giving you a chance to pull away, remus leaned in. his nose brushed against yours, your breaths mingled in the small space between you, and then he finally closed the distance.

his lips met yours, soft and unsure at first, but when you didn’t pull away, when instead you tilted your head just slightly to meet him better, he deepened the kiss. his hand, warm and steady, found its way to your cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw.

there was a knot in your stomach, tight and overwhelming. you had spent so long convincing yourself that this kind of intimacy wasn’t meant for you. your fingers curled tighter into the fabric of his sweater as if afraid that the moment might slip away too soon. and maybe remus felt the same, because just before he pulled back, he kissed you again—just once, a little firmer, like he was making sure this was real.

you looked down, shy, and remus laughed.

—i should really leave now, —he murmured, though he made no move to step away.

—yeah, —you said softly, but neither of you moved.

the castle was quiet around you, the dim light casting long shadows on the stone walls. it felt like you were standing in a moment just outside of time. remus exhaled slowly, as if gathering the will to actually leave. then, in one last act of hesitation, he leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

—goodnight, —he said against your skin.

you stood there for a moment after he left, your heart still racing, your lips still tingling. and then, with a quiet smile to yourself, you turned and made your way to the dungeons. as you walked, your bowtruckle peeked out of your pocket, tilting its tiny head before letting out a soft chirp.

—you should be sleeping, —you told it. your bowtruckle chirped again. you rolled your eyes but couldn't help the small laugh that escaped you. —did that really happened? oh, don’t look at me like that, —you whispered. —it was just a kiss, —the little creature let out another noise before scurrying back into the folds of your robes, apparently satisfied with whatever it had seen.

when remus returned to the common room, he found lily still there, waiting. she didn’t say anything at first, just raised an eyebrow as he walked in. he sighed, already knowing where this was going.

—don’t make this a bigger deal than it is, —remus said, his tone more vulnerable than any of them were used to hearing. he plopped down on the sofa beside lily as he ran his hands over his face.

lily’s smile softened as she watched him with a sympathy. she reached over to gently nudge his shoulder, offering him a quiet kind of support.

—i don’t know what’s going on, alright? it’s complicated, and i don’t want to screw it up.

lily nodded, because she understood, because she knew him well enough to recognize the fear behind his hesitation. —you won't, —she said.

he sighed, leaning back into the sofa, staring at the dying embers in the fireplace. his fingers twitched like he wanted to fidget with something, like he had too much energy left from the night despite how tired he suddenly felt.

—what do you think of her?

—she's great, i think you two make a great pair and i think that you’re overthinking again.

—am i? —he asked, glancing at her.

—yes. —she nudged his arm gently. —you like her, don’t you?

his silence was answer enough.

—and she clearly likes you too, —lily continued. —she wouldn’t have stayed so long tonight if she didn’t.

she stretched, suppressing a yawn as she got up from the couch. remus let out a slow breath, sinking into the couch. the memory of the kiss still vivid on his mind. —i kissed her, —he admitted, almost like he was still processing it himself. the words slipping out as if saying them aloud would make it feel less overwhelming. he wasn’t even sure if he was talking to lily or just to himself, still processing the fact that it had happened at all.

lily’s eyes widened, but she quickly hid her expression into something more composed. —and?

—and it was… nice.

lily rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. —nice? that’s all you’re giving me?

remus huffed a laugh, shaking his head. —fine. it was really nice. terrifying, but nice.

lily grinned. —well, i think she’s good for you, and i think you should let yourself be happy for once. —she leaned to kiss the top of remus' head as a good night. as she turned toward the stairs leading to the girls' dormitory, she threw one last glance over her shoulder. —and for what it is worth, i think you shouldn't let the boys know that you are, you know... exchanging saliva with her, —

—for merlin’s beard, lily! —he exclaimed, interrupting her incredulous. exchanging saliva was the grossest way she could have put it.

lily only laughed, clearly pleased with herself. —unless, of course, you want them to start planning the wedding.

she left him alone in the common room, the only sounds left being the faint crackling of the dying fire and the occasional creak of the old castle settling around him. but in his mind, he could still hear your soft laugh. it was strange, how easily you had slipped into their group, how natural it had felt to have you there. even stranger was the way he had let himself get so caught up in it all—the chess match, the quiet moments, the warmth of your hand brushing against his. and then, the kiss.

remus exhaled slowly, running a hand through his hair. he should go to bed. merlin help him, because he knew he was already in too deep.

[hellfirebarnes]

Slow-Burns - Part 1

PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5

I split this up in several, shorter parts because I know the feeling when you want to read a fic but don't have the time or energy to get through a 10k+ words one. Also if you hate my writing you can just read part 1 and then leave it. Win-win I guess?

Anyway, this is set after Thunderbolts so if you haven't seen it - spoilers I guess? It absolutely does not follow canon, but yeah better to be safe than sorry.

Summary: Bucky has fallen. Hopelessly. And the only thing more hopeless is his team trying to help him get to the end of this slow-burn.

Bucky x fem!SHIELD!reader

2.5K Words.

Fluff, ''normal'' violence and descriptions of injuries. For sure out of character stuff, but I am who I am. Your appearence is barely desribed what I can remember, I think your hair and a couple types what clothes you're wearing?

You're referred to as ''Agent'' and ''Sunshine'' in a desperate attempt from me to not use Y/N.

Let me know if there's anything else I should warn about.

Otherwise, enjoy :)

There was a quiet kind of chaos that followed you wherever you went. Not the destructive kind—no, that was more John Walker’s flavor—but the kind that stirred a room like a gust of wind through curtains.

You weren’t even officially a Thunderbolt, just a freelance S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who showed up whenever the mission required you. But if you asked anyone in the Tower, they’d say the team didn’t really feel like a team until you were in the room.

Well, everyone except Bucky Barnes, who would say nothing at all. Not out loud, anyway.

He was perched at the edge of the strategy room table now, arms crossed, jaw tight. Watching.

You were laughing at something Bob had said - again. He had practically glued himself to your side the moment you walked in, his frame hunching just slightly to hear you better. And you let him. You laughed, touched his arm, asked him questions.

Bucky didn’t blame Bob, not really. Who wouldn’t want your attention?

“Why don’t you just talk to her?” Yelena muttered under her breath from beside him.

Bucky blinked at her. “I talk to her.”

“You grunt at her. Sometimes nod. It’s tragic.”

“She’s always with someone else. I’m not interrupting that.”

“Oh no,” Yelena deadpanned. “Not the scary emotion man afraid of social interaction. How shocking.”

“Shut up.”

Across the room, you dodged John Walker’s attempt to toss a protein bar at your head and shot him a look.

“Really?” You said, “Are you twelve?”

“Just testing your reflexes, Agent,” John grinned. “That’s what we call combat preparedness.”

“Then maybe prepare not to get your ass handed to you next time I see you in the field.”

“Ouch. That one had some spice.”

“It’s called accuracy.”

Alexei’s voice boomed from the hallway as he entered mid-conversation. “Bah! All this fighting. You know what you need? A good man. Someone strong. Tall. Lots of biceps.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile lingered on your lips. “Not the matchmaking again.”

“I’m telling you! You are too stunning to be walking around without boyfriend. You need love! You need someone worthy.”

“And you’re offering who? Yourself?”

Alexei blinked. “Do not be ridiculous. I’m too old. Too broken. No, you need someone special. Maybe someone on this team…” He turned slowly—too slowly—toward Bucky.

Bucky froze like a deer in the middle of a sniper’s scope.

Your brows arched in amusement, and you looked Bucky’s way. Your eyes met and his heart did that thing again. The skipping, the stalling, the full-body malfunction. And you smiled. He looked away first.

“Don’t make it weird,” you said casually to Alexei, still grinning. “We’re all just coworkers here.”

“Some coworkers are good for kissing,” Alexei replied like it was obvious. “Is science.”

You snorted and shook your head, walking past Bob, who promptly shadowed you like a happy satellite.

“I’m stealing him for a strategy session,” you called over your shoulder.

“Strategy?” Bob asked excitedly, bounding after you.

“Yup. You’re going to help me map out weak points in that compound wall, remember?”

Bucky watched you go, still unmoving. Every second you were around, he felt like he was holding his breath. Not because he was afraid you’d say something cruel - no, you were never cruel. It was worse. You were kind. Inclusive. Thoughtful.

You invited him into conversations he didn’t know how to join. Remembered tiny things he’d said offhand and brought them up weeks later. You saw him - more than the metal arm or the haunted past or the thousand-yard stare. And Bucky Barnes didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

“She’s not gonna bite, Barnes,” John said beside him, cracking open a bottle of water. “Unless you want her to.”

Bucky glared at him.

“I’m just saying. You’ve been crushing for, what, three missions now? Ask her out before Bob proposes.”

“I’m not crushing,” Bucky muttered.

John snorted. “Yeah, okay. You keep brooding from the corner. That’ll win her over.”

Later that night, you were the last to leave the strategy room, lingering over the holographic map display. The others had filtered out, but you hadn’t seemed to notice - or maybe you had.

“You always stay late?” Bucky’s voice was rough behind you.

You turned, surprised. He rarely sought you out on his own. “Only when the company’s good.”

He hesitated at the door, then walked in.

“You okay?” You asked softly, tilting your head. “You’ve been quiet. Well, quieter than usual.”

He wanted to tell you everything. That he couldn’t sleep half the time because his mind wouldn’t stop replaying the way you laughed. That when you touched his arm in the field to steady him, his whole body went static. That you made him feel like he could still be someone worth a damn.

But instead, all he said was, “I’m fine.”

You gave him a look that said you didn’t buy it, but you didn’t push. “Well, if you ever want to talk… I’m around.”

He nodded. Said nothing more.

But you smiled anyway. Small, warm, real. “Goodnight, Bucky.”

“’ Night.”

He stayed behind long after you were gone, staring at the space you’d just occupied. And for the first time in a long time, he found himself hoping. Quietly, stubbornly, impossibly hoping.

The Thunderbolts rarely got downtime. So when Val booked them a mandatory “team-building weekend” at a secure retreat site somewhere in the Catskills and invited you along, everyone assumed it was a joke. It wasn’t.

“We don’t do bonding,” Yelena had said flatly while stuffing clothes into her duffel.

“Speak for yourself,” Alexei had grinned, holding up a board game called Russian Conquest: Family Edition.

Now, 24 hours into their wilderness exile, things had somehow developed into a campfire, bad chili, worse storytelling, and Bob draping himself across your lap like an oversized golden retriever in flannel.

“Bob, you are crushing my legs,” you groaned, trying to shift out from under him.

“But you’re warm,” he said dreamily, eyes half-closed. “And your energy is calm. Like a star. Or one of those… lava lamps.”

Across the fire, Bucky sat stiffly on a log, watching with a barely concealed scowl as Bob grinned at you with that infuriating, sunbeam-level adoration. You just laughed and gently pushed his head off your thigh.

John passed you a beer from the cooler. “That makes five people on this team who’d die for her. Six, if you count the way Barnes stares like she’s the last donut on Earth.”

Bucky kicked him under the log.

“Ow. You’re just mad I said it out loud.”

You glanced over, catching only the tail end of that exchange. “What are you whispering about, Walker? Trying to plan your next tactical failure?”

“I was thinking of asking Bob to move so I could rest my head on your lap next.”

“Try it and you lose your teeth.”

Alexei cackled from where he was roasting a suspicious-looking sausage over the fire. “She is fierce! I told you all, she needs a man who can handle her. Someone who doesn’t crumble when she glares.”

Yelena pointed a stick at him. “She doesn’t need a man, Dad. She has us. We are superior to all men. Especially you.”

You laughed again, easily, genuinely.

Bucky’s heart did the now-familiar stutter-step. It was unbearable, this thing you did. The way you effortlessly slipped into every space, made it lighter, warmer. Home-like. And still, he couldn’t say more than five coherent words to you unless he rehearsed them mentally first.

But tonight, it felt different.

It was the soft kind of night - one where the stars showed up, and the fire crackled like an old lullaby. And maybe it was the low-pressure setting. Or maybe it was the beer. Or maybe it was the fact that everyone else was slowly crashing for the night, and you had stayed behind at the firepit, legs tucked under you, hoodie sleeves bunched at your wrists.

Bucky walked over before he could talk himself out of it. “Mind if I sit?”

You looked up, surprised - but pleasantly so. “Course not.”

He sat, a little too upright, elbows on his knees. There was a beat of quiet. Not awkward. Just full.

You nudged his arm lightly with your shoulder. “You’ve been kind of quiet today.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yeah, but today you’re, like… extra cryptid.”

He huffed out a laugh before he could stop it. “Cryptid, huh?”

“You absolutely lurk like one.”

Another pause. Your shoulder bumped his again.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” you added softly. “But I like it when you do.”

That stopped him cold. You didn’t say it like it was a big deal. But it was. To him, it was everything.

He swallowed. “I don’t always know what to say.”

“You don’t have to impress anyone, Bucky.”

“I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head. “Good. ‘Cause if you were, you’d be failing spectacularly.”

He blinked, and then your grin slipped out. Playful. Warm. He shook his head, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There it was. The moment again. That impossible, bone-deep hope.

Before he could speak again, a voice echoed from behind you.

“Are we sleeping outside now?” Bob called from the cabin porch, where he stood wrapped in a blanket like a burrito. “Because I want in.”

“Go back to bed, Bob!” You yelled without turning.

“But I miss your gravity!”

Bucky gave a bewildered side look. “Do you always attract this much chaos?” he asked, smiling despite himself.

You shrugged. “Maybe. But it keeps things interesting.”

You stood then, stretching your arms overhead. The firelight kissed your face in amber tones.

“I’m heading in. Try not to brood so hard you fall into the fire.”

He watched you go, silent again.

But you paused at the cabin door, looked back, and gave him a smile that made the whole damn night bend inward. “Night, Bucky.” He didn’t respond fast enough, so you added one more thing before disappearing inside: “Next time I call you a cryptid, I expect a better comeback.”

He chuckled under his breath, alone now, fire crackling at his feet.

He was going to need help. Or a script. Or both.

You stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing a “Property of S.H.I.E.L.D.” T-shirt, sweatpants, and the kind of look that only appeared when one walked into a room and discovered exactly too much happening.

“What,” you said slowly, “is going on.”

Yelena was on the counter, holding a ladle like a weapon.

John was standing on a chair, aggressively flipping a pancake with a spatula in his non-dominant hand.

Alexei was arguing with the toaster.

And Bob—dear, wonderful Bob—was shirtless and wearing a pastel apron that said ‘Hot Stuff Coming Thru’, holding a blender overhead like it was Mjölnir.

“Breakfast battle royale,” Yelena said brightly - like that explained anything.

“What?” You repeated.

John jumped in. “We’re determining who gets cooking privileges for the rest of the month.”

“I voted for mortal combat,” Alexei growled, “but Walker insists on waffles.”

“Because waffles are democracy.”

“I made you a smoothie,” Bob interrupted, bounding over to you with a grin the size of Nebraska. “It has banana, peanut butter, and exactly 11 grams of love.”

You blinked at the pink plastic cup he handed you. “…Thanks, Bob.”

“You’re welcome. Please hydrate.”

Across the kitchen, Bucky hovered by the cabinets like a glitch in the Matrix. He wore a black hoodie and a wariness that only intensified as you laughed—again—at something Bob said about the molecular density of pancake batter.

You glanced his way. “Bucky, save me. I came in for coffee and now there’s smoothies and an apron situation.”

He opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Nodded.

“Helpful,” you said with a grin, brushing past him to open the cabinet.

He nearly dropped the mug in his hand when your arm accidentally touched his.

It was unfair how effortlessly you undid him.

Bob leaned closer to Bucky and stage-whispered: “You should offer to make her toast.”

Bucky side-eyed him. “You think toast is gonna fix everything?”

“No. But it’s the start of a breakfast-based romance. Like in the movies.”

“…You watch romance movies?”

“All the time. I cry every time the dog comes back.”

Bucky didn’t respond. Mostly because you were laughing again - this time at Alexei accidentally flinging a waffle at John.

“You were in the army!” John yelled. “How do you have the reflexes of a brick?”

“I was trained for war, not toaster physics!”

Yelena caught the flying waffle midair with the ladle. “I win.”

You raised your smoothie. “To chaos. And carbohydrates.”

Yelena smirked. “To the only person on this team who’s not legally insane.”

“Jury’s still out,” John said. “She did willingly come back after the last mission.”

“I came back for the drama,” you said.

Everyone laughed. Except Bucky. He just watched you. And this time you looked right at him, mid-laugh, and the smile softened into something gentler. Less amused. More… curious. Like you saw him watching. And didn’t mind. He looked down at his coffee before he could combust.

“Someone save me from feelings,” he muttered.

“I can punch you,” Yelena offered sweetly.

“Appreciate it.”

Later that day, you sat on the floor of the rec room with Yelena and Ava, all three of you surrounded by mismatched nail polish bottles, junk food, and one confused Russian man who’d never witnessed a girls’ night and looked like he was trying to understand a new language.

“You paint your nails before mission?” Alexei asked, genuinely baffled. “What if the enemy sees glitter?”

“They’ll be blinded by the fabulous,” you said, wiggling your toes.

Yelena reached over and added a stripe of blue polish to your middle finger. “This is for when you inevitably flip someone off.”

Ava smirked. “Perfect aim.”

Alexei shook his head in wonder. “You women are terrifying. I love it.”

John walked by, raised a brow, and muttered, “Is this a cult?”

“No,” you said. “But you can’t sit with us.”

Bob appeared from nowhere and sat crisscrossed in the middle of the polish like a devoted disciple. “Paint mine next?”

You held up a glittery gold bottle. “Only if you promise to stop drinking three energy drinks before noon.”

“No promises,” he said, holding out his hands.

From the hallway, Bucky paused at the door, watching again.

Yelena noticed him, rolled her eyes, and lobbed a pack of sour gummy worms at his head. “Stop creeping and come join the estrogen.”

He caught it reflexively, but didn’t step forward.

You looked up then. “C’mon, Barnes. You can be our official taste tester. I think this one’s radioactive.” You held up a neon green nail polish.

His heart did that collapsing thing again. But he stepped into the room.

Just a few feet. Sat down near the wall, close enough to see the curve of your smile as you joked with Ava and Yelena, as Bob dramatically gasped when you gave him a sparkly gold thumbnail.

And as the laughter rolled on, something about the moment didn’t feel like watching from the outside anymore. It felt… almost like being part of it.

Even if his heart still beat too fast every time you looked at him.