#and i’ve been thinking about it this whole time :���] and i’ve been wanting to write them for a long while now too so i thought it would be fu

[nekonaps0]

Mixed text

✦fem!reader

✦characters: third years

✦You meant to send your very spicy little message to your boyfriend. But you didn’t just text him. You accidentally dropped it into the dorm group chat…

Trey Clover

Your text:

“If I sit on your lap again tonight, are you going to finally do something about it, or just pretend to focus on baking?”

Group chat chaos:

Cater: “OKAYYY HELLOOOO?!? 💀💦”

Riddle: “YOU DID WHAT IN THE KITCHEN?!?!”

Ace: “Didn’t need to know this. Deleting my eyes.”

Deuce: “…”

Trey was in the middle of slicing strawberries when the notification hit. He froze. Knife still in hand. His entire soul left his body as his glasses fogged.

“...She didn’t…”

Poor man’s face went cherry red. He immediately DM’d you:

“You sent that to the dorm group chat… sweetheart.”


“Riddle’s having a breakdown.”


“Ace threatened to move out.”

When he finally sees you, he sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“You’re lucky I like you so much… but if you’re going to make me this flustered, at least do it privately next time.”

He’s a blushing mess—but the next time you sit on his lap? He’s not pretending anymore.

Cater Diamond

Your text:

“Thinking about you pulling my hair last night… Maybe tonight I’ll return the favor ”

Group chat chaos:

Trey: “Cater...”

Riddle: “I’m blocking both of you.”

Ace: “I need to bleach my brain.”

Deuce: “I dont get it and I don’t think I wanna…”

Cater read the message and screamed. Like, full-on squawked in his dorm room and nearly threw his phone.

“YO everyone ignore that! She’s just passionate okay?? LMAO delete this from your memories pls~”

Then he slid into your DMs with:

“Babe. You’re killing me here. But also 👀 I’m free at 9…”

Leona Kingscholar

Your text:

“If I tell you I’m not wearing anything under my robe, are you going to come deal with it or keep pretending to nap?”

Group chat chaos:

Ruggie: “WHAT THE HELL BRO 💀💀💀”

Jack: “This chat is NOT safe for minors.”

Leona blinked at the screen once. Twice.

Then groaned, rolled over, and muttered:

“...Stupid herbivore. You just had to hit ‘everyone.’”

He ignored the chaos in the chat completely. The only message he sent was directly to you:

“You’re gonna pay for that. In private. Tonight.”

Later, he showed up at your room, lazily shutting the door behind him.

“You wanna wear nothin’ under your robe? Fine. But now I ain’t letting you leave until you regret sending that to the whole dorm.”

(You are cooked..)

Vil Schoenheit

Your text:

“I’ve been thinking about your hands on my neck all day. Should I wear something pretty tonight? I would let you take it off after”

Group chat chaos:

Epel: “OH MY GREAT SEVENS I DIDNT WANT TO KNOW THAT”

Rook: “Quel passion! Quelle audace! I am weeping!!”

Vil was doing his skincare routine when the notification came in. He read the message. Then dropped his serum bottle.

“...Darling.”

He slowly opened the chat to assess the damage—sighing deeply.

He messaged you with:

“You just turned our entire dorm into a gossip magazine headline.”

“You’ll have to do a lot more than wear something pretty to make up for this little incident.”

But later that night, when he walks in and the door locked? You know exactly how seriously he took it.

Rook Hunt

Your text:

“Do you think anyone would hear if you made me cry your name tonight?”

Group chat chaos:

Vil: “Rook. Handle this.”

Epel: “I’m GONNA PUKE.”

Rook (immediately replying): “Ma chérie, even the wind heard your words~ 💘”

Rook doesn’t panic. He’s delighted. He DMs you in under five seconds:

“Your boldness, your artful seduction—I am in awe! Shall I prepare my chamber for your tears and whispered gasps tonight?”

Later, he pulls you aside with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“If you wished for an audience, mon trésor, all you had to do was ask~”

(You stop sending spicy texts for a month after that.)

Idia Shroud

Your text:

“If I was kneeling under your desk right now, would you keep playing your game or make me earn your attention?”

Group chat chaos:

Ortho: “Um… I think that’s the wrong chat…”

Random Ignihyde student: “I’m logging off forever.”

Idia's soul left his body immediately.

He dropped his phone. His entire room was lit up with ERROR windows. The AI screens around him buzzed with red alerts. He curled into a fetal position and wheezed:

“They’re gonna exile me.”

He didn’t even open the chat. He just messaged you:

“W-WHAT LEVEL OF CHAOS GREMLIN ARE YOU—DO YOU WANT ME TO DIE?!?!”

After he calmed down (3 hours later minimum), he quietly messaged:

“...I haven’t stopped thinking about it, btw.”

You walked fast as you can so you can make it up for him!!

Malleus Draconia

Your text:

“If you come to my room tonight, I promise to be good… I mean… at least in bed.”

Group chat chaos:

Sebek: “BLASPHEMY!! DISGRACE!!”

Silver: “...Pretending I didn’t see that.”

Lilia: “Ohoho~ my boy is all grown up~”

Malleus… doesn’t get embarrassed. Not outwardly. He read your message. Saw Sebek’s meltdown. Then calmly turned off his phone.

Later, he teleported directly to your room.

“You wished to be ‘good,’ did you?”

There was a smirk on his face. A low hum in his chest. And glowing green eyes promising divine punishment.

You deleted that message from the chat… but Diasomnia never forgot.

Lilia Vanrouge

Your text:

“Next time, sit me on your lap like you did last night—just don’t stop halfway this time, old man”

Group chat chaos:

Sebek: “I AM GOING TO END MY LIFE.”

Silver: “I don’t want to know.”

Malleus: “...interesting...”

Lilia didn’t even blink. He cackled so hard, he fell off his bed.

“Fufufu~ Oh, you naughty little thing~”

He replied to the group chat himself:

“She speaks the truth, my dears. And I fully intend to finish what I started~”

You screamed into a pillow.

Later, he winked at you and whispered:

“If you wanted the whole dorm to know how naughty you are, you could’ve just said so~”

Please stop him…

..............................................................................................................................

Look at me✨ feeding the whores ✨💜 (and I love doing it 😌)

[dreamwritesimagines]

Declassified [12] - Pressure

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves, you are so amazing🩷 I hope you like this chapter as well! 🥰 And please let me know what you think! 🩷

Pairing: Congressman!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary: Having a high pressure job has its consequences.

Warnings: Explicit language, panic attacks.

Word Count: 4.9k

Series Masterlist

The news of the breakup spread like wildfire.

To be honest, you hadn’t expected anything different. This had to be one of the rare times that Caleb hated being in PR because even you could tell that he was working way too hard.

And of course, your name had been brought up multiple times, but so far there wasn’t anything actually threatening thanks to Bucky and Hazel having attended the gala together right before they broke up. 

“Mom, how did you know dad was the one?”

Your mother looked up from the bowl she was mixing the cake mixture in, then let out a laugh.

“What brought this on?”

“Just curious.” You dangled your legs from the high stool and sipped your coffee before putting the mug on the kitchen island. “Also, I would like to ask again, why are we in the kitchen? You don’t cook.”

“I’m baking.”

“You don’t bake either.”

“Well, one of the girls in my spiritual retreat said it would be a good bonding practice between mothers and daughters.”

You pulled your brows together.

“I guess today is good as any to start,” you murmured. “Fine, okay. We’re bonding, see? Tell me how you knew, other than the fact that he dazzled you with money.”

“Oh I didn’t care about the money.”

You tilted your head. “Uh, are you sure? I mean no offense obviously, but I always assumed money played a part. Safety and all that.”

“I did feel safe with him but that had nothing to do with the money.”

“So you were actually in love with him.”

“I was and I am.”

You made a face. “Oh come on, that I don’t buy. You can be honest, there’s no way you’re still in love with him.”

“Why not?”

You let out a laugh. “Because he’s evil?”

She rolled her eyes and started pouring the mixture into the cupcake tray. “He’s not evil, honey.”

“Well…” You cleared your throat. “I mean he has been bribing and extorting politicians for decades so that things work the way he wants them to work. That’s like, textbook bad. Disney movie bad.”

“Funny, I heard a lot of people say Bucky Barnes is a bad man, but you seem very eager to defend him.”

“That has nothing to do with—okay, let’s never ever put Bucky in the same category with dad ever again,” you said with a laugh. “It’s kind of like lumping The Night King and Jon Snow together.”

“I didn’t watch that show.”

“They’re like complete opposites.” You took another sip of your coffee. “Let me put it this way; Bucky would sacrifice his own life to save someone, dad would sacrifice the whole world to save himself.”

“And you, and me.”

You made a noise of disagreement.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” you said. “You yes. Me, doubtful.”

“He does love you, you know.”

“No he doesn’t.” You shrugged your shoulders. “And I don’t mind, really.”

“He does,” your mother insisted. “It’s just that, you’re both very stubborn and don’t know how to communicate.”

“That and our political stances and our principles and our goals are very different.”

“So what?” she asked as if it was just trivial, and you scoffed a laugh.

“You seriously don’t mind what he does?” you asked. “All those people he hurt? All the corruption?”

“I’m not interested in what he does at work. I’m interested in what kind of a man he is with us, his family.”

You grimaced. “That’s not how it works, mom.”

“It’s how it works with me.”

You rubbed at your eyes, heaving a sigh. “I guess this just proves it.”

“Proves what?”

“I’ve always thought that…” you trailed off. “I’ve always thought you and him were just meant to be together, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the picture.”

“Never say that!” She gasped. “We love you!”

“That’s not it,” you said with a weak smile. “No, you guys make sense together, in some very weird and unhealthy way. But I don’t, you know what I mean?”

“That’s so not true,” she said, putting pieces of chocolate into the batter in the pan. “And as I’ve said, your father loves you and me. What he does at work doesn’t matter.”

“It actually does,” you said. “You might be able to pick and choose, but I wouldn’t be able to do that.”

“Is that why you broke up with Max?”

“That dickhead voted for the opposition.”

She turned to you. “Please tell me you didn’t break up with him over that.”

“See? It doesn’t matter to you,” you said. “But it matters to me. And hey, it’s a good thing I dumped him, apparently he was cheating on me anyway.”

Her jaw dropped and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “Aw I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” you said. “I mastered the art of detachment thanks to the revolving door of nannies you guys kept changing when I was little, so it’s okay.”

“Well, we just didn’t know who was the best for you.”

You bit at your lip to hold back your retort.

“How’s everything at work?” she asked. “Are those rumors still going on?”

“Well, to some extent but no picture or anything,” you said. “Just whispers.”

“And you like him?”

“Professionally, yes.”

Bullshit.

It was a good thing that your mother hardly ever spent time with you, she didn’t know how to read you.

The truth was that every day your feelings for Bucky were getting deeper. You knew that Hazel was right, you knew the risks but somehow, when you thought about him kissing you…

Your brain just refused to be logical.

Granted that didn’t mean you were going to throw all the caution to the wind, but you were wondering if something was wrong with you if that didn’t intimidate you as much as it was supposed to.

“A lot of my friends think he’s too handsome to be in politics.” Her voice pulled you out of your thoughts. “And they have a lot of questions.”

“About him?”

She hummed and walked to the oven to take a look at it. “Which button do I turn?”

You jumped from the stool to turn the button. “This one.”

“Aw thank you,” she said as she put the tray in, then closed it and turned to you. “So what’s he like?”

You took your seat again. “In politics?”

“In his daily life. Why did he and that girl break up?”

You cleared your throat. “Um, difference in opinions.”

“On what?”

“No idea, that’s what I’ve been told.”

She hummed, sitting down as well. “And you guys are close?”

“Professionally.”

“But you consider him a friend as well?” she asked. “I don’t know many people who are friends with their boss.”

“You don’t know many people with a boss.”

“Fair,” she admitted. “But that’s irrelevant. Tell me more about him, we’re all curious. Is he nice?”

“Oh absolutely.”

“To you? Even with all these rumors?”

You couldn’t help but smile, then nodded your head.

“He um…” you trailed off, biting your lip. “He’s amazing, mom. I know a lot of people think there are still traces of the Winter Soldier in him, but it’s not like that at all. He’s the sweetest, I’d trust him with my life. He even—”

You stopped yourself and your mother leaned in, curiosity shining in her eyes. “What?”

“He got Blinky back for me.”

She blinked a couple of times in confusion. “Who’s Blinky?”

Of course.

You hesitated for a second before you forced yourself to smile and shook your head.

“It’s not important,” you mumbled. “Anyways, enough about me, how was your retreat?”

                                                *

The next day, you didn’t even have the time to go to lunch. You had to work on the draft Bucky had asked you to, and of course you had volunteered to go over the revisions Lucas had sent you just so that you could impress Congresswoman Gray, and your phone kept buzzing with emails every two minutes.

And for some reason, everything was louder today.

You took a deep breath, willing your heartbeat to calm down as you clenched and unclenched your hands, staring at the screen before you deleted the last line, and added a new one.

“Please don’t tell me we’re back to skipping lunch for work.”

Your fingers froze over the keyboard before you looked over your shoulder to see Bucky watching you, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had a protein bar and like two cups of red eye, I’m fine.”

His worried gaze raked over you, making your heartbeat even faster.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“I’ll eat when I’m done with this.” You nodded at the screen and he came to lean against your desk, making you bite back a smile.

“Birdie.”

You heaved a dramatic sigh at his teasing tone and looked up at him. “Hm?”

“Let’s have lunch.”

“You literally came back from lunch.”

“I can eat again.” He started tilting the screen of your laptop down but you batted his hand away, then fixed the screen again. “It’s a metabolism thing.”

“Super soldier metabolism?”

“Mm hm.”

“Good for you, I’m too busy,” you said. “I already spent enough time doing nothing with my mom yesterday when I was supposed to go over this, so…”

“You were with your mom?” he asked. “How did that go?”

“Dad wasn’t home so it was fine. Ish.”

“Fine-ish?”

“My mom doesn’t really know much about me but the parts she knows, she loves to dismiss,” you said. “They make a terrific couple with my dad, terrible parents though.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you said. “Without them, my old therapist wouldn’t have been able to buy her second Ferrari, so I guess it wasn’t a total disaster.”

“And you can tell me all about it while we’re having lunch.”

You turned to your laptop. “Take a powder, Barnes.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see the clear confusion on his face but it turned into an amused smile, a chuckle escaping his lips.

“How did you…?”

“Hey, I could have an extensive vocabulary.” You grinned at him. “You don’t know my lexicon.”

“Right. Why do I feel like you googled 40s slang?”

“I once saw you google if lavender is edible, so how about we stop pointing fingers?” you asked and he shook his head vigorously.

“In my defense, Kelsey got me a lavender latte and insisted I had to try it.”

“And what did you think? Your assistant was trying to poison you?”

He shot you a look as if you were asking him a question with a very obvious answer. “It’s Kelsey.”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged your shoulders.

“Fair enough,” you said. “But come on, she—”

You stopped talking when your phone started buzzing, making both you and Bucky turn your glances to the screen, and you both frowned at the same time.

“He’s still calling you?” Bucky asked and held out his hand for you to give him the phone, but you shook your head.

“I’ll handle him,” you said and answered the phone. “Max, go fu—”

“Wait wait, don’t hang up,” he cut you off. “I swear, this will be very civil and you’re gonna want to listen to what I have to say.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on your chair while Bucky kept his eyes on you.

“What?” you asked crossly and he took a deep breath.

“I saw that piece about you and Barnes.”

“I’m going to hang up now.”

“A journalist contacted me,” he said in a rush. “He wanted to know whether there was anything going on between you and him while we were still dating.”

Your stomach dropped, your eyes snapping up to Bucky before you gritted your teeth.

“And let me guess,” you said. “You told him you’d think about it and now you’re calling me to ask for something.”

“No actually,” he said. “I told him we broke up because I cheated on you, because you put your career over our relationship, the very same career you wouldn’t risk for anyone much less your boss.”

You pulled back slightly. “…What?”

“I gathered ambitious bitch sounded better than greedy slut. Not that you’re either of those but you know, the guy was an asshole.”

 You let out a surprised laugh.

“You’re telling me you had the perfect opportunity to fuck with me and you didn’t take it?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re not asking for anything in return?”

“No, I just wanted to let you know,” he said. “If they called me, it means they’re working on a piece.” 

You frowned, drumming your fingernails on the desk.

“And why would you do this without asking for anything in return?”

He fell quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Tessa said she’d leave me if I didn’t go to therapy,” he said. “And my therapist made me realize it wasn’t cool, what I did. What with keeping Blinky and stuff.”

“By ‘stuff’ you mean cheating on me, or the ultimatum or going behind my back at voting?” you asked and he took a deep breath.

“Yeah. Sorry about all that.”

As much as you wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, you figured this was at least just a little progress.

Very little, but either way.

“Well, what do you know?” you muttered. “I mean you’re still an asshole, that goes without saying but I appreciate the heads up.”

“My therapist says I have um… he says I am scared of emotional intimacy. That’s why I cheated on you, he says.”

“Yeah Max, because he can’t say you’re an asshole. You’re paying him.”

“I guess.” He snorted a laugh. “How’s DC?”

“Full of people who’d love to step on your back for their own gain. I haven’t slept in two days.”

Bucky shot you a disapproving look but you waved a hand in the air.

“So you’re having the time of your life?”

“Something like that.”

“That’s good—” He started but you heard another voice coming from the other line, probably his assistant. “I uh, sorry, I gotta go. Work thing.”

“I gathered,” you replied. “It’s almost five minutes.”

“…Yeah, that wasn’t cool either,” he said. “Also sorry about that.”

“Listen, how about I send you a list of things you should be sorry for and we can get all of them out the way?”

He let out a chuckle. “That’d make therapy so much easier. Can I call or email you to apologize then?”

“Call me and I’ll see if I’m in the forgiving mood,” you said and hung up, then looked up at Bucky.

“So, great news,” you said. “A journalist asked Max if you and I had an affair while I was with him, but he said no.”

“And he didn’t ask for anything in return?”

“He’s doing therapy, as it turns out,” you said. “My belief in psychology has been renewed because honestly, if they can make Max apologize…”

Bucky’s lips twitched into a smile and you bounced your leg, biting inside your cheek.

“We need to find who this journalist is.”

“I will.” His voice was completely calm. “And I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t threaten him.”

“If he didn’t want me to threaten him, he shouldn’t have dragged you into whatever nonsense he’s working on,” he said, making your heart skip a beat. “That’s just not how it works.”

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. “I thought I was the one protecting you.”

He winked at you. “It’s a two-way street.”

You rolled your eyes at him playfully as he turned his head to look at the approaching footsteps before Caleb appeared at the door and let out a groan.

“I’m like two seconds away from assigning a chaperone to you like we’re in Georgian era,” he said. “Bucky, you might be familiar with that.”

“Wrong century, Caleb.”

“Well, how about we don’t start another fire when I’ve just extinguished the other one?”

You held up your hands and turned your attention to the screen, your cheeks burning and Bucky heaved a sigh, then pushed himself off the desk.

“Make her eat something.”

“I will but did you have the chance to think about what I said?”

You looked between them. “What did you say?”

“Caleb thinks we all should have a barbeque at my new place,” Bucky said. “Something something PR.” 

“It would show you’re still relatable and that you’re doing fine after the breakup.”

“That’s not a terrible idea,” you mused. “I haven’t been to your new place yet, and I missed Alpine.”

“And the team would love it,” Caleb added and Bucky’s gaze stopped on you as if he was torn between ideas, then cleared his throat.

“Yeah, whatever,” he told Caleb who pumped his fist in the air in victory. “Just let me know when.”

“Will do!”

“And I’m not locking Alpine in the room,” he said as he walked into his office. “She gives me an attitude for days when I do that.”

Caleb approached you to plop down on the chair next to your desk.

“Thanks for convincing him.”

“I barely said anything.”

“Well, I’ve been begging him for a week and one word from you…” he trailed off and you shook your head, then turned to him.

“Caleb.”

“Hm?”

“There’s something you need to know as Bucky’s communications director.”

His grin wiped off his face in a second. “What?”

“There’s a journalist,” you said. “And apparently he’s been asking questions about me and Bucky.”

Caleb ran a hand over his face, cussing under his breath.

“Of course,” he said and pulled out his phone. “It was getting a bit too peaceful today, so why not? Be right back.”

You watched him walk out of the office and pressed your hands on your eyes before you dropped them, straightening your back.

“It’s fine,” you murmured to yourself as you turned your attention back to the screen. “It’s totally fine.”

                                      *

As your anxiety would show you; it was not, in fact, fine.

You had spent the whole day working, and now almost everyone had left but Kelsey and Bucky, both of whom were in a meeting with Congressman Murray.

And you. Working overtime.

It was already dark out, and the only thing illuminating the office was your laptop screen. You could feel the migraine slowly making its way to your temples. For the whole day, your chest hadn’t stopped feeling tight, like you couldn’t get enough air into your lungs especially after Max had told you about the journalist. In addition to all that, the work you had to cover was getting bigger and bigger, you still had one hundred pages to go over, and to make the necessary edits.

In other news, you might have bitten more than you could chew.

You typed away at the keyboard, forcing yourself to hum a melody in hopes of calming yourself down before you got up from your chair to make your way to Bucky’s office. You grabbed the file from his desk and went back to your desk, but before you could sit down, your phone buzzed on the desk, the screen lighting up.

From: Dad

We need to talk about the journalist.

And just like that, your line of sight grew narrow, darkness swallowing everything else other than the phone.

To your terror, you could feel the familiar tingling spreading over your face as your throat tightened, the breath you were taking getting stuck there. A fire burned through your chest, twisting your heart harder and harder while it tried to escape from your ribcage. You could feel your whole body beginning to shake, the floor getting wobbly underneath your feet like quicksand as you took a step back, grasping at your throat with one hand.

You’re not dying.

It’s a panic attack, you’re not dying.

Except that you were sinking.

You held onto the desk with one hand and managed to crouch down to sit on the floor as the room started spinning, your heart pounding in your ears. Nausea crashed down on you while you tried to get enough air in your lungs, your other hand balling up into fist tight enough to cramp.

You’re not dying.

You couldn’t even tell if it was tears or cold sweat running down your face; it was probably both. Your hand on your throat slipped down to your chest to press on it in hopes of soothing the pain there while you forced yourself to take another breath.

You’re not dying.

You see a laptop, you see a chair, you see a—

You hadn’t even heard Bucky stepping into the office before he rushed to you, his hands grasping your upper arms, almost frantically checking you for injuries like he wanted to see if you were bleeding.

“Birdie?”

“Not dying,” you managed to gasp out. “Panic attack.”

That made him stop only for a moment, a look of absolute relief crossing his face and he let out a breath.

“Okay,” he said. “You’re breathing very fast right now, can you breathe with me?”

You nodded your head, taking a shaky breath at the same time as him, then exhaled. For almost a minute, you followed his lead and once you weren’t breathing as fast, he gave you a small smile.

“There you go,” he said. “Five things you can see?”

That made your eyes snap to his as you took another breath. “How do you—?”

“Five things,” he said and you exhaled.

“Laptop,” you rasped out. “Chair. Papers. Desk. My fox figure on my desk.”

“Four things you can hear.”

You tried to focus, pulling your brows together.

“Your voice,” you said. “Footsteps from the hallway. AC.  Um…”

“One more.”

“The laptop running,” you said, pressing your palm on the floor. “And three things I can feel are…the marble floor, and sweat dripping down the back of my neck, which is fucking disgusting—”

“Birdie, focus.”

“And um, the wind. From the AC.”

“And two things you can—”

“Smell. Your cologne and paper. I just printed a bunch of stuff.” 

“And one thing you can taste?”

“Blood. I bit my tongue too hard.”

His eyes searched your face and you let out another shaky breath, exhaustion creeping up on you as you leaned your head back to the wall. Bucky hesitated for a second before he sat beside you, leaning back against the wall.

“How do you know grounding techniques?” you asked after a pause and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Mandatory therapy.”

“Ah,” you said, fixing your eyes on the ceiling. “Interesting.”

“And I’m guessing this is not your first panic attack?” he asked, making you scoff a laugh.

“Nope,” you said. “Been having them since I was like twelve.”

Bucky’s brows pulled into a frown. “Twelve?”

“Yup,” you said. “As it turns out, if you put too much pressure on a kid and yell at them whenever they didn’t meet the expectations, their brain gets messed up. Who would’ve known?”

“I’m going to kill your father.”

“You can’t,” you said. “If he’s dead, who’s gonna go around crossroads to make deals for people’s souls?”

“Birdie.”

“I’m fine,” you said even if your arms felt way too heavy when you raised your hand to wipe the sweat off your forehead. “This happens, no big deal.”

“How often?”

“Not regular,” you said. “Sometimes. But let me tell you, I would not last a day back in the 1940s. I saw those documentaries, my husband would send me off to an asylum and they’d try to lobotomize—”

“I’m giving you time off.”

“Tough shit, I’m not taking it.”

He gave you a look. “I’ll change the locks to the office.”

“I’ll work in the hallway.”

He ran a hand over his face as if he was straining his mind to come up with a solution and you wiggled your brows despite exhaustion.

“Sorry. I guess you shouldn’t have hired me, huh?”

“If I hadn’t hired you, neither of us would be here,” he said and thought for a moment. “Well, I wouldn’t be, at least. You would have probably made someone else win so you’d be here.”

“I wouldn’t have worked for someone else,” you murmured and he licked his lips.

“Please take some time off.”

“Nope.”

“You either take some time off, or I’m hiring someone to help you out with the workload.”

Your eyes widened. “Bucky, no.”

“Bucky yes.”

“I don’t trust anyone else with what I do,” you said. “They’re gonna miss something, some detail and then I’ll have to go over what they did anyway.”

“Either vacation, or this,” he said, his voice signaling this was not open to discussion. “You’re not leaving me with many options here.”

“There is an option!” you exclaimed. “The system we have works.”

“It obviously doesn’t if you haven’t slept in two days and the workload is triggering a panic attack.”

“It didn’t though!” you insisted. “It’s a coincidence, not a chain of events.”

“I’m not risking it.”

You huffed out, slipping a little on the floor and crossing your arms while Bucky’s lips twitched into a fond smile.

“You’re pouting.”

“I’m not pouting, I’m contemplating,” you corrected him and gritted your teeth, then rolled your eyes. “Fine. I’ll give the okay though, whoever you hire. I need to make sure they can handle this whole thing.”

“Didn’t think otherwise.”

You let out a noise of displeasure, exhaustion still heavy on your whole body and you leaned your head on his shoulder with a tired sigh. He dipped his head to nuzzle into your hair, making your stomach do a happy flip and you played with the bracelet around your wrist.

“Bucky?”

He hummed into your hair. 

“How did it go with Murray?”

He raised his lips from your hair so that you could hear him; “We’re not talking about work right now.”

“But—”

“Nope.”

“Fine,” you said with a pout. “How are you handling the breakup?”

That made him fall quiet for a moment before he cleared his throat.

“I’m fine.”

You lifted your head and sat up straighter to look up at him better.

“Are you?” you insisted. “For real? Because I wouldn’t blame you if you weren’t. I mean no offense but Hazel is kind of perfect.”

“She is,” Bucky said immediately. “She really is, but I don’t think—uh, I don’t think I was the right person for her.

Your heart sped up again but this time instead of dread, all you could feel was excitement rushing through your veins.

“…Oh,” you managed to say. “Why not?”

That made him fall quiet for a moment, his gaze slipping down to your lips before it snapped up to your eyes again. You couldn’t help but notice his throat bobbed nervously, and he took a deep breath as if he was trying to gather up courage.

Which was insane.

You had seen him throw himself in danger over and over again without so much as a second of hesitation.

“Because,” he started, his voice soft, “Birdie, I—”

“Hello?” Kelsey’s voice carried out from the doorway, snapping both of you out of your daze. “Guys?”

You loved Kelsey but you could swear that the urge to scream at her was way too strong.

Bucky closed his eyes for a moment as if he shared the sentiment, then opened them again, his jaw tightening. You sat up straighter and raised your hand from beside the desk.

“Over here, Kels.”

“What the fuck are you two doing on the floor?” Kelsey asked as she made her way to you and you exchanged glances, then turned to her.

“I…we—uh—”

“I think better when I’m sitting on the floor,” Bucky cut you off and Kelsey tilted her head.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s a habit from the 1940s.”

Kelsey looked from him to you while Bucky stood up, then offered his hand for you to take it, a warmth spreading from your hand to your arm. You were still exhausted, but you looked up at him and mouthed ‘thank you’. Bucky squeezed your hand in an assuring manner, and you turned to Kelsey.

“Are we going home?”

“Sure, let’s.”

“Call me when you get home?” Bucky murmured and you nodded your head, giving him a small smile, then grabbed your purse off the desk and followed Kelsey out of the office.

“Please don’t tell me you two were having sex on the office floor.”

You let out a laugh, then shook your head.

“We were talking about his ex,” you said and cracked your neck, making a face. “And oh, before I forget, Caleb says we’ll have a barbeque at Bucky’s place this Saturday.”

“At Bucky’s place?” she asked. “All of us?”

“Mm hm, the whole team and I think Sam and Sarah will come too.”

Kelsey grinned at you.

“Just let me know if you happen to find yourself in his bedroom and need me to distract others,” she joked. “During the house tour, that is.”

You pushed at her arm gently.

“There’s gonna be people there,” you reminded her. “Lots of people. Hypothetically, even if Bucky liked me like that—”

“Did they raise you in a convent?”

“That would still be impossible,” you said as if she didn’t interrupt you. “Which by the way, he doesn’t.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t even think he finds me hot, to be honest with you,” you said. “It’s like Hazel said. He entertains my crush, that’s it.”

Kelsey threw her head back.

“You are so oblivious,” she groaned. “This barbecue—”

“Will be just a barbecue,” you said. “Some PR thing, that’s it. I assure you.”

[aervera]

Even You Sleep Through It

synopsis. satoru finds peace in curling up beside you, ranting about everything and nothing—only to realize halfway through that you’ve already fallen asleep. contents. sfw, fluff.

MASTERLIST

you’re already halfway asleep by the time he gets home.

the sliding door opens with a familiar click, soft and smooth, followed by the rustle of his coat being peeled off and tossed somewhere it probably doesn’t belong. you don’t open your eyes, not fully. just enough to confirm that, yes—he’s alive. in one piece. loud, glowing, and annoyingly tall. business as usual.

you hear the sigh first.

then—

“you will not believe the day i’ve had.”

you hum faintly into the pillow, cheek squished against the warm cotton of his hoodie you stole hours ago.

gojo, undeterred, flops onto the bed beside you with dramatic flair. you feel the bounce of the mattress, the dip near your hip as he stretches one absurdly long arm across your back like a weighted blanket made of chaos.

“so first of all—nanami lectured me. again. like i’m twelve. because apparently, showing up to a mission ten minutes late is a war crime now.”

he shifts closer, tossing one leg over yours, not caring that you’re basically boneless at this point. his hand slips under your hoodie to rest against your waist, warm and splayed like he’s claiming the whole surface.

“i said, ‘hey, i brought snacks, that’s worth something!’ and he said, ‘you brought dango to a battlefield.’ like okay? and?”

you murmur a sleepy noise that could be interpreted as supportive.

“exactly,” he says, clearly taking it as encouragement.

his voice is all around you now—richer without his blindfold on, deeper when he’s not performing for a crowd. the kind of voice that slides into your ears and settles like velvet behind your ribs.

“and then shoko said i couldn’t keep cursed spirits in the faculty fridge just because i wanted to study them later. which, rude. i labeled them and everything. proper tupperware and all.”

you smile against the pillow, eyes still shut. “you’re insane.”

“y/n, it was scientific research. you wouldn’t understand. you’re too normal. that’s your whole thing. you’re my emotional support civilian.”

you snort.

it’s true. you’re not a civilian, technically. you’ve been a sorcerer long enough to earn the scars on your fingers and the wear in your bones—but next to gojo satoru, everyone’s normal.

you feel him press a kiss to the top of your head, then rest his chin there like a shelf.

“anyway, then i almost vaporized a first-year by accident because they startled me while i was meditating, which is probably their fault more than mine. honestly, it’s like people forget i’m a sensitive guy. i need gentle introductions. soft voices. snacks before confrontation.”

you nod, very slowly. “mmhm.”

“you’re so validating,” he says with a sigh. “this is why i love you. you let me complain and you don’t try to fix it. you’re just like—‘oh no, baby’s mad?’ and i am mad. baby is mad.”

you think about telling him he’s not a baby.

you don’t.

you’re too comfortable.

the weight of him wrapped around you is oddly soothing. you’d never say it to his face, but he feels like a personal heater—sprawled out and ridiculous, all limbs and heat and never-ending commentary.

“also, someone called me a ‘dilf’ today. can you believe that? first of all, i’m not a dad. second of all, i could be, but you’re hoarding the rights.”

you mumble something unintelligible.

“yeah, yeah, ‘shut up, satoru,’ i know,” he says, grinning. “but seriously. the barista looked me in the eye and said, ‘you’d make a really hot single dad.’ and i said, ‘bold of you to assume i’m single. my girlfriend could dropkick you and look good doing it.’”

you yawn. barely hold onto consciousness.

“also—yuuji tried to teach me how to skateboard. that went well until i hit a curb and somersaulted into a vendor stall. the nice old man gave me free takoyaki out of pity.”

you feel his hand move to your side, rubbing lazy circles into the curve of your waist. it’s gentle. almost unconscious.

“then i saw a dog that looked exactly like me. white hair. vaguely threatening energy. barked at a child.”

you laugh, soft and slurred. “you barked at a child?”

“i don’t bark. i’m above barking. i glare. i’m a respectable menace.”

you peek one eye open.

his face is close—resting half on your pillow, hair tousled, eyes unguarded. he looks at you like you’re made of starlight.

“and then,” he adds dramatically, “i came home, exhausted, drained, emotionally neglected—and you weren’t at the door with snacks and applause. betrayal.”

you smile faintly. “you’re so needy.”

“and you’re not needy enough,” he counters. “you don’t demand daily love letters. you don’t insist i serenade you. you don’t weep when i leave for work like the tragic heroine you are.”

you hum, nestling into his chest.

“y/n?”

“mm?”

“are you even listening to me?”

“mhm…”

“no, you’re not. you’re fake listening. you’re sleep-listening.”

you smile without opening your eyes. “go ‘way.”

“never,” he whispers, and the hand on your waist shifts to your hip. “you’re mine.”

you don’t answer this time. can’t. the warmth is dragging you under—his scent, his voice, the slow rhythmic pressure of his thumb against your hip.

still, he doesn’t stop talking.

“you always fall asleep on me. every time. i could be delivering the most brilliant monologue in the world and you’re out by minute four.”

you hear his breath hitch—like he’s checking if you’re still awake.

“…it’s okay, though. you’re cute when you sleep. kind of drooly. occasionally violent if i move too fast.”

you would deny that if you had the strength.

“you know,” he says softly, voice dropping lower, “i think i like this best. you, like this. all quiet. letting me ramble. trusting me enough to sleep before i shut up.”

he shifts closer, tucking his nose against your neck.

“sometimes i think the world could fall apart and i’d still come home to tell you about it. even if you’re too tired to answer. even if you fall asleep halfway through. because it means i made it back. means i get to see you again.”

your lashes flutter, but you don’t speak.

“even if no one else listens,” he whispers, “you do. or you try to. that’s enough for me.”

he presses a soft kiss to your shoulder, then wraps both arms around you like a promise.

you drift.

and somewhere, far beneath dreams, you hear his voice again—

quieter now, like a secret he only tells the dark:

“i love you, y/n. even if you sleep through it.”

[clairewritesfanfics]

Old Friends

Your Character Settings: AFAB, Jason Todd's childhood friend, civilian, famous author

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

“When the cops told me they’d be sending over a bodyguard, I didn’t expect them to send in a superhero,” you said, setting down the frog-shaped pitcher on the coffee table. 

You then took a seat directly facing Red Hood. Tall. Bulky. Vigilante. Alleged colleague of the Bats if you were going by the giant red bat logo across his chest. He looked almost comical on your thrifted loveseat, but he kept his knees together and folded his hands politely over them, as though that would help make him look smaller. 

“I was told you were getting death threats,” he said. 

“Authors get that kind of mail all the time.”

“But it got worse, right?”

You shrugged. “I can deal with that type of thing, I called the cops for a different matter.” You gestured at the envelope on the table.

Red Hood examined the contents. They were photos of a shattered library window, specifically, the Jason Todd Collection, which was a library that doubled as a shelter full of secondhand sofas and couches and two bathrooms. It’s been around for three months and completely owned and funded by you. 

“I’ve heard about this place,” he said. “It’s amazing.”

“Thanks, I’m glad you think so because I want help finding the son of a bitch that broke in and beat up the people sleeping inside.”

“I’m pretty sure the cops already dealt with that.”

“They said they were going to deal with it, but a few officers took some pictures and didn’t even bother interviewing the victims.”

“I understand your concern for the victims and I don’t mean to be rude, but I came here to ensure that you were safe. It’s not exactly a secret that you own the Ja…” he paused briefly before continuing, “that you own the shelter. An attack on the place could’ve been a way of getting your attention. The shelter was attacked after your latest book release, correct?”

Your growing temper simmered and you reclined on your armchair. He was right. “Okay, I see where you’re coming from.”

“Ma’am–”

“Don’t call me that, makes me feel old. Just call me by my first name.”

He hesitated before saying your name and, “your new book’s controversial.”

“Yeah. Not everyone’s happy that I brought back a character from the dead. He was a fan favorite so half of my readers were happy to see him again, but the rest think that resurrection cheapens the plot.”

“I think you foreshadowed Hector’s return pretty consistently.”

“You read my books?”

He tilted his red helmet and you could feel him smiling under that thing. “I like love stories.”

“That–Jason!”

His whole body stiffened, but then a giant, furry thing emerged from behind his loveseat and started sniffing his shoes and thighs. 

You sighed. “That’s Jason. He usually hides in my room when I have people over. C’mere, boy.”

Instead of running to your lap like he always did, your seventy-kilogram, stranger-fearing rescue folded its legs and laid its heavy head on Red Hood’s boot. 

“Huh. That’s never happened before.” You eyed the hero suspiciously. “Can you talk to animals or something?”

He chuckled. “No superpowers, I’m afraid, guess he just likes me.” He bent down and gently rubbed the dog’s head. 

Your throat rumbled lowly with mild jealousy. It took you a whole year before Jason would let you approach him without peeing.

Red Hood then asked, “So…Jason?”

“What?”

“Was that always his name?”

“No. According to the shelter that found him he never answered to a single name. When I got him, I refused to just call him dog or it, so I reinforced the name Jason.”

“...you named him after Jason Todd?”

“Yes, I did.” You crossed your arms. “Now, can we please discuss the reason why you’re here?”

“I didn’t mean to get on your nerves, I was just–”

“–curious, I know.”

“You must’ve really cared for this Todd.”

You thought of Jason, beaming as he handed you a cheeseburger, laughing at a joke you told him, and you smiled. “He was my best friend.”

Red Hood said nothing.

“He died a few years ago. He was the smartest person I knew and he… he didn’t even get to finish high school.” You exhaled and looked at your bookshelf. “I want the world to remember his name, even if it’s just from the dedication pages in my books and a small library.”

***

Red Hood made himself comfortable on the rooftop overlooking your apartment. You may not have cared about several death threats but he did, and he wasn’t about to leave you alone unguarded.

“So this is where you’ve been,” a sing-song voice interrupted his thoughts.

Jason clicked his tongue.

Nightwing wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. “Heard everything from Babs. I can’t believe you approached her as Red Hood before you showed up as Jason.”

“Go away, dickhead.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Tsk.”

“She’s really cute, are her books any good though? Never found the time to read, well, anything. But Babs said–”

Dick’s words merged with the city’s usual background noise as Jason continued to watch you behind your balcony door.

He watched as you knelt down to help Jason the Dog slip into a red hoodie before pressing a tender kiss between its eyes.

He then opened his phone and scanned your weekly schedule. You were too reckless. You left a lot of your things out in the open. What if a freak found your planner?

He made a mental note to install some cameras when you leave to get groceries tomorrow.

Disclaimer: The image of Red Hood used in this post does not belong to writerclaire. It's by Dexter Soy and was lifted from: https://www.reddit.com/r/DCcomics/comments/h0iavp/cover_from_red_hood_and_the_outlaws_20_by_dexter/

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

[psycholuvrgirl]

the 6 date disasters: the chaperone | series masterlist

featuring... megumi!

summary: a romantic night in takes a turn when your teacher shows up.

warnings: heated make out scene, no actual smut though

a/n: i think i'm going to change my dividers...

megumi planned this whole thing out. but megumi doesn’t plan dates, he stumbles into them. he just asks to hang out and ends up making the whole ordeal romantic without trying to.

but not tonight. tonight is intentional.

his dorm is clean. and not normal fushiguro clean, it’s too clean. the room is clear of anything that could make it look lived in, bed made, not a speck of dust or dirt in the room. soft music plays from the speaker you bought him ages ago, some instrumental playlist that he spent hours on. the lights are low, a few warm candles flickering on the shelves. he looks nervous.

and very, very pretty.

his jaw is tense, his eyes flickering to you and away again. he wears a soft black shirt that you’ve never seen before, but it looks perfect on him. when you show up and smile a real smile, he flushes so fast that you think he might combust. 

you know exactly what tonight is. or at least what tonight is supposed to be, and you want it just as badly.

so you don’t make him say it out loud. you let things unfold the way he clearly wants them to, slow and soft. like the moment is sacred, because it is.

at first, you sit close to one another, legs brushing. you talk and sip on tea that you can barely taste, but the conversation is quickly replaced with long, weighty looks and quiet stillness.

when he finally leans in, you meet him halfway.

the kiss starts sweet, gentle, and familiar. but then your hands slide up his chest and he makes a sound in the back of his throat. his fingers curl tightly around your waist, and just like that the entire mood changes.

his tongue slips into your mouth as his hand finds your thigh. he tugs you onto his lap and it all happens so fast. your bodies move like a perfectly choreographed dance, tension finally snapping loose. you’re straddling him, hands in his hair, mouth hot against his.

“are you sure?” you murmur, just in case.

megumi nods. “yeah. i’ve been— fuck, i’ve been thinking about this all week.”

that does something to you, making your eyes widen and your stomach do a flip.

he tilts his head, kissing down your neck. his grip on your hips tightens and you shift against him, pulling a groan from his lips. his hands slide up your shirt and your heart pounds. he’s hard under you, you can feel it.

and then… knock knock.

you both go still, looking at the door.

“don’t,” he whispers. “don’t answer it.”

“i wasn’t gonna—”

then the door flies open.

gojo’s voice rings out, loud and casual as always. “oh, megumi,” he says in a sing-song voice, dragging out the end of the name. “i brought those snacks you like. also, we need to talk about your training schedule because—” he pauses when he looks up from the grocery bag, blinking. “oh.” he takes in every detail. you in megumi’s lap, your shirt pushed up with megumi’s hands still under it. gojo beams. “wow. about time, huh?”

you scramble off of him, trying to fix your clothes.

“get out!” megumi shouts.

gojo flops down onto his bed, megumi’s bed, with absolutely no remorse. “relax. i’m just here to check in, you weren’t answering your texts.”

“because i was busy,” megumi growls out.

gojo’s already unwrapping a candy bar. “clearly.”

“how did you even get in? i locked the door.”

“i have a key,” gojo says simply.

you sit on the edge of the bed, stunned to silence by the entire situation. you glance at megumi, who looks one inconvenience away from a felony.

he storms over and grabs gojo’s arm. “get. out.”

gojo remains limp on the covers. “you’re so tense, fushiguro. it’s unhealthy. you need to talk more about your feelings instead of getting so physical. well, maybe getting physical is just what you need—”

megumi drags gojo halfway off the bed. “i swear to god—”

gojo swings his legs off the mattress and opts to lean against the desk. “okay, okay. i’m going. but seriously? proud of you for finally getting laid.”

“we weren’t—” you protest.

gojo grins. “don’t lie to me. i walked in on a scene straight out of a fanfic. candles? music? fushiguro, you romantic dog.”

megumi looks like he might pass out.

you bury your face in your hands. “please leave.”

gojo waves as he steps out the door. “alright, alright. i’ll be in my room, being lonely and unloved.”

“have fun with that,” megumi sneers, slamming the door shut and locking it. he lets out a groan as he slumps onto the bed. “i’m going to kill him.”

you sit beside him and slip your hand into his. “you tried to kill him.”

“i had a plan for tonight,” he mutters. “a whole plan!”

you glance down at his lap and notice that he’s still… affected.

you bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “we could still salvage tonight.”

he turns to look at you slowly, hope in his eyes.

“besides,” you say, “he won’t come back, and everyone else is out on missions.”

a grin creeps up on megumi’s face. and then he leans back in for a kiss.

[yothatshitgas]

The Dress | Part 2

Note: Work of fiction.

This is part two. Part one. I lowkey want to turn this into a whole series but thats just a commitment that I'm afraid my job wont give me time to do. So I'll stick to oneshots for now. __

“I get first shot,” Azzi said, flashing a grin full of challenge and charm as she strutted toward her spot near midcourt.

Paige didn’t argue. She just stepped aside, lips twitching with amusement as she watched Azzi settle in at the edge of the sideline logo. Azzi set her feet like she was lining up for a real game. Her shooting form was textbook perfection, even in a casual round of horse. The ball arced through the air with beautiful rotation and dropped through the basket - all net, no hesitation.

“Alright, your turn,” she said, casually stepping back with a smug glint in her eye.

Paige retrieved the ball, dribbled it twice and walked to the exact same spot. Her gaze locked in on Azzi the entire way. She didn’t break eye contact as she pulled up, raised the ball above her head and let it fly.

Azzi’s eyebrow lifted, “shot got better,” she said, a teasing tone in her voice, “guess rehab gave you time to fix that weird hitch in your release.”

Paige jogged after the ball and passed it back with a smirk, “jealousy isn’t a cute look on you, Az.”

Azzi caught it, already turning toward the wing, “I was hoping you’d miss,” she rolled her shoulders, “got some hard hitting questions I’ve been saving for years.”

“Oh yeah?” Paige followed, hands on her hips, “like what?”

“Well,” Azzi said with a shrug as she lined up a corner three, “you’d have to miss to find out.”

The ball left her hand in a high arc and dropped through the net again.

“I never miss,” Paige shot back, eyes narrowed playfully as she chased the ball down for her turn, “you, on the other hand, are looking real nervous.”

The game picked up intensity. Corner threes. No look bank shots. Over the backboard tosses. Behind the back layups. Both of them trying to outdo the other, digging deep into their bags like it was a championship skills challenge instead of a friendly shootaround. They were trash talking and laughing through the effort, but their focus was razor sharp. Neither was willing to give the other an inch.

The scoreboard of their silent game was stitch at zero.

Until Azzi paused near half court. She spun the ball in her hands, glanced once at Paige and squared up.

“Alright, lets see what you really got,” she said, and launched the ball.

It soared through the air in a perfect arc, Paige followed its path with wide eyes, heart thudding as it hit the glass then dropped through the net.

“Seriously?” She groaned.

Azzi just grinned.

Paige walked to the half court line, cradling the ball in her hands. She took a long breath, then dribbled once, bending her knees as she stared down the rim. The shot arced high, hanging in the air like it was deciding whether or not to give her grace. It clipped the front of the rim with a heavy bounce and veered sharply to the left. . 

Clang.

Azzi’s voice rang out, sickeningly sweet, “H.”

“Alright, alright. Let’s hear it. What is this hard hitting question you’ve been dying to ask?”

Azzi’s grin softened into something else entirely, something more careful. Paige recognized it, it was actually a look that she personally hated seeing on her. It meant Azzi was thinking too much, but then it changed again, her smile turned more honest. It had Paige feeling flustered, a slow heat crawling up her neck and to her cheeks. She looked away too fast, suddenly aware of how loud her heart felt in her chest.

Azzi stepped forward, closing the space between them like she had every right to. Her voice was quieter now, “Paige,” she said, treating the older girl’s name like a well kept secret, “how come you never asked me to come to UConn?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” she said, “answer or you get O.”

“Look, it’s not like I didn’t want to. But you were so set on UCLA, you talked about it like it was the only place that made sense. I didn’t want to get in the way of your dream,” Paige paused, swallowing down the hesitation tightening her throat, “I wanted you here. I did. I still do.”

“You really didn’t think I’d drop everything just to spend the next four years playing next to you?”

“You shouldn’t have to,” came the reply and without thinking, her hand reached out and found the other’s, “that’s what I’m trying to say. Why would I ask you to be a shadow when you could be great on your own?”

Azzi laughed softly, gaze flicking down to their intertwined hands before drifting back up, “you’re thinking too highly of yourself again, Bueckers,” there was that smirk, “what if I came here to steal your spotlight?”

A breath caught in her throat.

“God,” she murmured, lips twitching into a slow grin, “that’d be so hot.”

That response earned her a shove, a gentle one but it was playful. Azzi scoffed and pushed away, retreating a few steps before snatching the ball back up, “come on,” she called over her shoulder, “it’s getting late and I still gotta beat your ass.”

“Confidence looks real good on you, Fudd,” came the reply, “kinda into it.”

“Kinda?” Azzi repeated, raising a brow as she walked back toward her next shot.

A shrug, then a jog forward. That dumb, happy smile was back. The same one that hadn’t left since the first shot of the night, “fine,” the blonde relented, “very into it.”

The game resumed, and with it, the air between them shifted back into one that was competitive, playful but still laced with something that hadn’t quite settled just yet. 

After that first question, the rest stayed easy. Safer. Azzi kept her tone casual, her questions framed in the comfort of familiarity. She asked for updates, the kind that sounded routine but between the two of them, it carried more weight than either of them let on.

O - “How’s your mom?”

“Still thinks I don’t eat enough.”

R - “The knee?”

“Better. Stronger. Rehab was rough but sitting on the sideline was harder. I just wanted to play, the court was so close yet it felt so far.”

They moved through those topics like old friends slipping back into rhythm, passing the ball between them as naturally as the conversation. But, then came one that landed a bit different. A little too pointed to be casual.

S - “Did you ever date anyone?”

Paige blinked, caught off guard, “what?”

Azzi turned like she hadn’t just dropped a question that reached back through years of distance and silence, “you know, in those two years we weren’t talking, anyone serious?”

There wasn’t a clear depiction of jealousy in her voice. No. But there was a trace of pure curiosity, it was vulnerable almost. Like Azzi didn’t actually want the answer, but needed it anyway. As if knowing wouldn’t hurt as much as a continuous wonder.

“No,” she said after a moment. Simple.

“Why?”

Paige looked up, a slow smirk forming on her lips as she cradled the ball in one hand, “that’s another question, Az,” she said, dribbling once, “you’re gonna have to wait your turn.”

She stepped back to the top of the key and rose into her shot, the kind she’d taken a million times in every gym from Minnesota to Storrs. Her form was clean. Shoulder square. Release smooth. But the ball hit the rim, rolled indecisively for a moment, then dropped off the side.

Miss.

It bounced twice on the hardwood before Azzi jogged over and scooped it up, still grinning.

“I’m gonna start thinking you’re missing on purpose,” she teased, making her way to the same spot Paige had just vacated. She took the shot as if it was second nature and the ball sailed through the net without even grazing the rim.

She turned, victorious, “there, another try.”

Paige chuckled under her breath, catching the rebound as it bounced back in her direction. She walked to the top of the key again, shoulder rolling back with ease as she prepped for the shot. Only, she didn’t take it. Instead, Paige let the ball roll off her fingertips.

“Ask me,” she said.

Azzi blinked, surprised but she stepped forward, eyes locked on Paige’s and asked again, gently this time:

“Why not?”

“I’d never wanted anyone else more than I wanted this girl who lived thousands of miles away,” she said, “someone I only ever saw once a year, but she lived in my head like she’d moved in, rearranged the furniture and left her sneakers at the door,” Azzi’s breath caught slightly as Paige stepped closer, hands finding their way to her hips with familiarity, “when we agreed to focus on our stuff, I thought I was doing the right thing. Choosing the grind, the game. The future. But the longer we stayed apart, the louder it got. The voice telling me there was something I wanted just as much, maybe more than basketball.”

Azzi tilted her head, her voice barely audible now, “and what was that?”

Paige smiled, slow and shy, “yeah,” she murmured, brushing a thumb just above Azzi’s hipbone, “I wonder that too, Az.”

[bitchinbarzal]

Blue and Gold, Cold and Alone | M Kesselring

summary: kess got traded.

—

When the news breaks, it isn’t from him. It’s a Twitter notification.

You’re still in bed, phone dimmed and fingers scrolling mindlessly when it pops up: Trade Alert: Michael Kesselring and Josh Doan to Buffalo for JJ Peterka.

The breath leaves your lungs.

Not because you didn’t know it could happen. But because he didn’t tell you.

Your phone buzzes again this time, his name lighting up the screen.

You answer with a quiet, “You got traded.”

He sighs. “I was going to tell you—”

“When? After you landed in New York?”

“I didn’t want to say anything until it was real. I didn’t want to stress you.”

You roll onto your side, pressing a hand over your eyes. “It’s real now.”

He leaves the next morning.

You don’t cry until the door shuts behind him.

Long distance, at first, doesn’t seem like the end of the world. You’d done it before. You had your life here work, friends, obligations you couldn’t drop. And he had the game. He always had the game.

You FaceTime every night for the first week. Silly jokes. Tired smiles. He shows you his apartment bare walls, new team gear in boxes. You send him a coffee maker. He sends you a sweatshirt.

It’s not the same, but it’s something.

Then the calls get shorter.

A missed one here. A late reply there.

“I’m just tired,” he says.

“I get it,” you say.

But it’s not just that.

He starts mentioning a name more than once.

“Avery said the sushi place down the block is killer.”

“I was late to skate ‘cause Avery’s dog ran into traffic—don’t worry, she’s okay.”

“Ran into Avery at the gym. She made me promise I’d stop eating like a frat boy.”

You laugh the first few times. It’s harmless. A friend.

Until it doesn’t feel harmless anymore.

Until it feels like replacement.

One night, you text him something soft

Miss you, wish you were here

He replies three hours later with a photo of his dinner. No caption.

You stare at it for a long time. You don’t write back.

You see him in a teammate’s Instagram story two nights later. He’s sitting at a bar, laughing, and she’s there. Her hair falling over her shoulder, her hand on his arm like it belongs.

Your heart squeezes so tight you forget how to breathe.

You don’t confront him right away.

You just pull away.

When he finally notices, it’s midnight. Your phone buzzes. His face fills the screen.

You answer, eyes already brimming.

“Hey, baby,” he says, smiling.

You don’t smile back. “Can I ask you something?”

He sits up, concern furrowing his brow. “Of course.”

You swallow hard. “Are you sleeping with her?”

His whole body stills. “What?”

“Avery.” Her name catches like fire in your throat. “Are you - are you with her?”

His face twists, broken and shocked. “Jesus Christ. No. Where is this coming from?”

“You talk about her more than me. She’s always there. I don’t even know what your apartment looks like anymore, but I know Avery’s dog’s name.”

He’s quiet. Then, “You think I’d cheat on you?”

“I think I’m not sure what we are anymore.”

He looks like you’ve gutted him. “You’re it for me. Always were.”

“Then why does it feel like I lost you anyway?”

His voice drops. “Because I’ve been a idiot.”

He shows up three days later.

You open the door in pajamas, bleary-eyed and cautious.

He’s holding your favorite coffee and a bag with that stupid sweatshirt he knows you love.

“I’m not staying long,” he says. “Just long enough to prove you’re the only one I want. The only one I’ve ever wanted.”

You don’t cry right away. But when he steps inside, when he wraps his arms around you like he’d fall apart without you and you let yourself believe him.

Maybe this isn’t the end.

Maybe it’s just where you learn how to begin again.

[juneey342]

The whole reading out the ‘King in Yellow’ play scene in the “Muddy hoofprints” stream has been stuck in my mind and just- I love it. I love the way that Aura’s spiral after reading the book has been shown, so far through stars hallucinations, running off into the woods in the rain, reciting passages, the repetition, all of it. And since that stream I’ve been thinking about how cinematic it all was, and I really like how that scene could be but in to boxes, like a comic book strip, of flashes of what Aura did remember of there time after they snapped out of it. And so I drew this!

It’s a little “scratchy”? I don’t know how to verbalise how I feel about it but it wasn’t drawn with the intent of looking clean, I wanted it to be messy, a scramble. It also was a way to help encourage myself to draw different angles and features, and I kept it black and white to keep it tense rather than loud colours I generally like using. Overall I just had fun with it because this has been itching my brain and my hand finally decided it knew how to do the thing I was envisioning, anyways! Enough rambling.

[levigarden999]

sugardaddy!higuruma x reader headcanons 𓆩♡𓆪

⋆. ˚ warnings : smut , +18

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who swears he comes home earlier tonight, but ends up working late again. however, every time this happens (which is almost every night) he comes straight to your shared bed with those aloof eyes down at you and fucks that angry, bratty look off your face.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who gives you the best head you’ve ever experienced. the fact you were shy at first about sitting on his face is nowadays a ridiculous idea for you – because now it's a necessary daily routine for your survival.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who absolutely spoils you, even though it’s discreet. he sends you plane tickets through email without a warning and you just have to accept. sometimes the business class ticket flies you to paris the next day, or to bahamas in a month with no ticket back. with him, of course.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who notices everything. he notices the way you eye dresses while you walk through the shopping street, he notices the way you casually comment the bags or shoes the rich women who walk by you wears. without him ever saying anything, the certain pair of extravagant heels you saw on a random lady a few weeks ago appears in your doorway, even though you literally googled them back then only to find out there were only three pairs of them in the whole world.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who is a little submissive. he loves it when you ride him in his office with only his pants pulled down, doors locked and curtains closed. he loves it when you tug on his tie and moan how good his huge cock feels. even though he’s an older man – he tries to keep up with you. he has to, because you quite frankly don’t leave him any options.

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who has a dark stubble on his lower stomach and a tanned cock with a pink tip (canon i swear).

⋆. ˚ sugardaddy!higuruma who accidentally says he wants to marry you. it just slips out while you two were casually shopping for a diamond necklace you wanted to wear to your best friend’s wedding.

”i think i want a matching ring, romi” you snickered, playing with the new necklace with your manicured fingers.

a small smile appeared on his weary face, eyes fixated down at you and your neck.

”i’ve been thinking about buying you a ring, actually” higuruma says, the smile suddenly dropping and an awkward red spreading on his cheeks.

”-uh, i mean- you know, just because you have beautiful hands”

you giggle, knowing exactly what he meant.

”i’d love for you to buy me a ring”

[empaws]

emily engstler fluff because i'm sick rn and wish i had someone beyond my opp of a mother to cheer me up ☹️☹️ like idk reader is sick or smth. bc i have PNEUMONIA 😍😍 AND PLEURISY 😍😍 AND IVE BEEN IN AND OUT OF THE HOSPITAL FOR SHOULDER SURGERY THE LAST SIX WEEKS 😍😍 so yeah anyway i js feel like yuck and my lungs ache and i keep coughing so hard i throw up and ive wasted half the day watching emily edits on tiktok 😀😀

NOOO im sorry babe that sounds terrible ☹️☹️☹️ i hope you’re feeling better soon!!!!! please enjoy lovely e.e. girlfriend attention in the meantime…

-

“okay, ma, look. i know it tastes like dog water, but the box says “throat coat”. i think you just gotta drink the whole thing, then wait fifteen minutes.”

you push away the mug she’s holding near your face, nose shriveling at the scent as you whine. “nooo, i’ve had it before. there’s a reason why it’s in the back of the cabinet, em.”

“baby, drink.”

your puffy eyes narrow before your gaze falls and you give in, a clammy hand snaking out of the bedding to take the mug from emily begrudgingly. you bring the mug to your lips, cringing as the slightly sweet liquid slips down your sore throat.

emily sits up, keeping a hand on the ceramic to keep it steady as you drink.

she lowers the mug slowly as you take your final sip, putting the back of her free hand to your forehead. “…you still have that fever,” she murmurs, her brows furrowing in concern.

you whimper and try to turn on your side, but emily grasps your shoulder gently and turns you back onto your backside. “no, no, babe. just- hang on,” she says, getting up and walking to your guys’ attached bathroom.

you hear faint sounds of glass clinking and the tap running before she reemerges, two pills in one hand and a spoon in the other. your girlfriend sits on the edge of your bed, carefully holding the spoon as not to spill the carefully poured dark liquid on it. “y/n, sit up. i want you to take this, alright?”

you strain to sit up, sniffling a couple times as you rub your face.

“take these first,” she says softly, bringing the small pills to your lips before grabbing your water bottle on the nightstand and helping you swallow them down.

“melatonin,” she explains as she holds the spoon up now, keeping her free hand under the spoon to catch any drips.

you take the melatonin without argument, slowly laying back down with her help after swallowing the last of it.

emily gets up without another word, shutting off the lamp and moving to shut the curtains. lastly, she pulls her t-shirt off so she’s just in her shorts and sports bra and goes over to flip the switch and turn on the overhead fan.

the fever has made you sweaty and miserable, she knows, and she just wants you to feel better. she walks over to her side of the bed, drawing back the covers . the mattress dips under her weight as she settles down next to you, pulling you close to her and pressing a kiss to your temple. you can still faintly smell the soap from her shower earlier.

“just rest, ma. i’m right here, alright?” her voice is a low murmur as she tucks your head into the space under her chin, unworried about getting sick at all.

no, her first priority is you. always.

[theseinfernalangels]

Love Letters — Garrick Tavis

Synopsis: Recovered Correspondence between Lieutenant Garrick Tavis and Lieutenant Cosette Camden, Princess of Navarre.

 Takes place over the course of the first part of Iron Flame and is for Day 3 of Garrick Week: Distance.

The contents of this recovered correspondence are not dated, but are believed to have been sent between the timeframe of July 29th and December 3rd, 634 AU. This is not a completely recovered set of writing. Whilst included missives were found in the ruins of the Samara and Montserrat outposts, other letters are actively being sought after by scribe and rider alike for insight on personal relations within harsh military structures. Just for studying. Totally just for studying.

— A personal addendum from Jesinia Neilwart, Curator of the Scribe Quadrant of Basgiath War College

Princess,

Fuck. It’s not even been a week without you, and I can already feel myself coming apart (No — not like that. I wish.). Everything would be so much easier with you here, but at the same time, I’m glad you’re in Monserrat rather than Samara. This place is not for the faint of heart, and while you are the most capable woman I know, I can already tell that riders are eaten alive here. Especially when you’re me. I have to start from ground zero all over again to make people trust me, fight twice as hard for all the same privileges that others are handed so easily.

I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for you. Have people started suspecting about you yet? I doubt anything would happen — you’re an active service member with incredible skills — but a part of me worries that someone will be there to snitch you out. Stand your ground, beautiful. You’re more than any of these people can claim to be, anyway.

I’ll try to keep my missives as brief as possible, although I’d try to write whole tomes for you if I had the time. I love you in ways that consume me wholly. Please stay as safe as you can.

Yours forever, 

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Garrick,

I can say with upmost certainty that no one here knows a thing, besides that we are together. Seriously — the amount of times I’ve been referred to as “Tavis’s Girl” rather than my own name is appalling. I don’t know many people here besides this one girl from my wing, who decided upon meeting that we are friends. I quite like her. She makes for good company.

I’ll be honest with you, my love; I’m lonely. I miss you more than I miss the sun in a hurricane. Sometimes, I wake at night reaching for you, only to be met with nothing but sheets. Disappointing, but fine.

I’m so sorry I can’t be there with you. Had I known that you’d be sent to Samara, I would have requested to be there, too. I don’t care if it’s dangerous — you cannot convince me that there is a place safer on this Continent than being by your side. Even surrounded by hundreds of infantrymen and dragons, I would still feel better if I could see you. Oh, well. I can be patient, I suppose. 

I send you all the love from my place here. Rest assured I am safe and sound, despite the constant conflict. Send Xaden my best, too — I can’t imagine he has it any easier, especially with his Violet ordeal.

Thoroughly and utterly yours,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

Princess,

I’m glad you’re at least making connections with people — but who am I kidding? That’s what you do best. If your jackass brother weren’t the crown prince, you’d make the fairest queen of all.

You want to know what’s funny? Second to being classified as a traitor, people know me as yours, too. I guess sticking to one another like glue for three years paid off. 

Xaden wishes you well. The lucky bastard gets a couple of days every two weeks to go see Violet. I’d say I’m jealous, but I think Chradh would choke at the thought of being mates with Seachran. Correction — he just yelled at me extensively.

I would try and tell you about my days, but I’m afraid there’s not much to talk about right now. All we do is train and fight, with some recreational fighting on the side. Gambling is a big deal here, apparently. I bet I could cheat my way into getting the weekend off to see you, but I know you prefer honesty over everything. You’ve always been better than me, you righteous little light.

I heard that there was an attack near you recently. I imagine you are perfectly fine, but quick correspondance would be much appreciated.

Still terribly lovesick,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

Rest assured that I am okay. That "attack" was nothing more than a drift of gryphons gone astray. They were taken out quickly, with an efficiency that…Well, I’ll be honest. It scared the shit out of me. I forget sometimes that we’re actually in the service and not students anymore. 

Physically, I am fine. Emotionally? Drained. There is only so much time some can go without seeing the one they love, and despite what you may think, I am a woman of very weak willpower. Perhaps we spent a little too much time together back in Basgiath, because I find myself watching for you around every corner and through every door. It saddened me at first, but now it’s pretty funny. No one here even looks like you, yet I still was hopeful anyway. Perhaps that is foolish. I find it comedic. I think I have to — or else I’ll find myself succumbing to the things that haunt me otherwise. 

Don’t ask. It is best to leave it at that.

Tell me everything and anything you want. I would gladly listen to hours of strategizing and arguments just to hear your voice. You wouldn’t have to cheat, either. We both know that you’re the best of the best, and anyone who thinks they can one-up you just because of a damned relic can kiss my ass.

Always, always, always,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My darling,

Nothing in that beautiful mind of yours could ever be foolish. On the contrary, the same is happening to me. Riorson tried to assure me that it was fine, since some of the women here, “look like you, anyway,” but I disagree. None of them have your smile. They don’t have the freckles that only show themselves in the summer. They don’t have your inclination to take others under their wings, and they certainly don’t have your eyes. I don’t think anyone does.

Oh, yeah. They don’t have Seachran, either. I think we’d know if they did.  

I think you’ve boosted my ego tenfold, but that’s not much of a change, as far as I’m concerned. No time for being humble when I’ve got a lovely woman waiting for me and a bunch of dark wielders ready to hunt me down.

Call me a dreamer, but I can’t wait until this is over. I have so many things I want to show you. To share with you. To be with you. Maybe it’s wishful thinking, and perhaps you’ll think I’m a sap, but that’s alright. You could call me a traitor straight to my face, and I’d just appreciate how it sounds on your tongue.

Still drowning within you,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

 Firstly, I would never entertain the thought of calling you anything like that. You deserve only the sweetest of words from me, and that’s all you’ll get — unless you decide to be a dumbass.

Maybe you are a dreamer. Maybe it is wishful thinking. The thing about being a light-wielder, though, is that you learn to wish on stars frequently. I am a dreamer, too. Let me share a piece of my dreams with you.

When this war ends — because we will end it — all I want is you. I don’t care where we go, whether it be Aretia or someplace else. Just us and our friends for a while, taking chances and getting to take a moment to breathe air that isn’t tainted with blood. I see the sun, and that river you’ve told me so much about, and waking up to fresh sheets and warm touches. We can be soft and keep it that way,  just you and me, and then…I’m not quite sure. I have thoughts, but I don’t like being too forward. 

Fuck that. Never mind. I want a life with you. A family — a real one, where we never question if someone loves another or if their presence is wanted in the first place. I’ll give as much as you will, because I know you will without asking. That is why I want it in the first place; there is no one else I’d share the sentiment with.

So call yourself a dreamer and a sap. Just know that I am ten times more delusional than you are.

Dreaming of you,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My brightest light,

You can’t just say things like that and expect me to be normal about it. No, I am not crying; it is just exceptionally hot sharing a room with three other riders.

You want my dreams? I’ll give them all to you. I want it all. All of it. The sun, the river, the sheets, the touches, the family. I will give it all to you if you do the same for me. Actually, I’d give it all to you, regardless. You deserve every fucking moment of it for everything you’ve given me. 

Will we have any idea of what we’re doing? Probably not. Neither of us have parents to consult, and I don’t quite understand children, but that doesn’t mean we won’t try. How many do you want? We’ll go from there.

Chradh says he’ll give us parenting advice. I’d sooner let him barrel-roll me into the side of the outpost.

Shit. He’s taking it personally now.

As I was saying, I want to give it all to you. The moment I have the chance, I’ll come to you and we’ll talk it out. I have something to ask of you, anyway. Tell me when it’s best for you, and I’ll fight like hell to get my forty-eight hours, and I’m not sharing. I know it’s not much, but it’s what I can manage without getting my ass kicked — even though, between you and me, I couldn’t care less if Command got mad at me. They’d have to find me to execute me, and fortunately for the both of us, I’m pretty fast.

I’ll be in your arms soon,

GT

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

My love,

I also have my forty-eight hours for you. I wasn’t even aware we could do that, but according to command, I’ve been out fighting so frequently that they’ve decided to give me a break of my choosing. Part of me wants to be offended and wonders if they think I’m delicate; the other part couldn’t care less. I haven’t had a break since the moment I slid from my mother’s womb on to her bedroom floor. I think I deserve it.

The end of November or beginning of December would suffice, I think. Since they won’t consider rotating stations until April, the halfway point is probably the best option — for both convenience’s sake, as well as my sanity.

I cannot wait to see you! I have not slept very well since the night before Reunification Day — the last night we had together. Where you should be laying, I have only sheets to cling to. If they smelled like you, maybe I would complain less, but no. I probably average a good four hours, but I know I’ll get at least six with you.

To put it bluntly, I need you here. Desperately. The end of November, at the earliest, please. Ask any question. Request anything of me. I don’t care. Please, just come home to me.

Don’t keep me waiting,

CC

⁺₊⋆ 𖤓 ⋆⁺₊

“I miss you.”

His words are mumbled into your hairline, his lips brushing against your skin like a midnight prayer. It may as well be; the moon, bright and swelling, paints his skin white as milk against the stone alcove you rest under. Despite his softness, his word choice has you frowning and tilting your head up.

“But I’m right here,” you reply, one brow furrowing in confusion.

Garrick just smiles. “I know,” he says. “But I still miss you. I miss you when I’m at Samara. I miss you when I’m on the battlefield. I miss you when you’re three inches away from me.” He presses a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose. “No matter where I am, I miss you.”

“Ah.” Has Garrick always been so poetic? Or is this just another change made by the distance and the four months that have separated the two of you?

You could barely go four months without him. You’re not sure if it’s romantic or pathetic. 

“Something on your mind, lovely?” Garrick asks, slipping a finger under your chin to pull your eyes to his. His eyes, wonderfully hazel, search yours carefully. It’s no secret to him that you’ve been struggling without him there beside you, and it’s not like he can say any different.

“No.” You tuck your head into his shoulder and sigh. “I just can’t wait for the next few months to be over. They’re talking about transferring some people out, so I’m hoping luck will be on our side and I’ll get sent to Samara.”

A low chuckle leaves him. “I’m not sure you’d enjoy it there. Unless you’re into watching two sweaty, shirtless men go at each other while everyone else drinks.”

That puts a mischievous smile on your face. “Does one of those sweaty, shirtless men happen to be mine? Because I’d totally be into that.”

That painfully adorable dimple flashes on Garrick’s cheek. “Pervert.”

You shove him playfully, although he doesn’t budge a bit. “Don’t act like you would pass up the opportunity to see me fight someone in just my bindings. I’m surprised you haven’t campaigned for it yet.”

“Well…” He glances around before snaking his hands around your hips and pulling, trapping you further into his embrace as you let out a little squeak of laughter. “I’m definitely not against the idea.“

You lean in and press a light kiss to the hollow of his throat. “You wouldn’t get jealous of other men seeing me without my leathers?”

Garrick scoffs, but the cocky grin is too obvious in his voice. “Wear whatever you want in front of any man. At the end of the day, you’ll end up with me, anyway.”

You snort but shake your head fondly. It’s been three years since the two of you started going out, ever since that terrifying October of your first year. For every day since then, you’ve gone back for Garrick, and he’s always come for you. You didn’t even mean to propose the jealousy scenario, but grateful satisfaction blooms in your gut. Garrick is a lot of things, but he’s certainly not insecure.

“Alright, wise guy,” you joke, poking him in the ribs and receiving a mocking pout in return. “You wanted to ask me something. Talk.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise, stretching the scar on his face a little like he didn’t expect your demand. “Someone’s eager.”

“Of course I am,” you shoot back. “I haven’t seen you in months. Haven’t heard you in months. Ask me everything so your voice sticks with me better.”

He just shakes his head, relaxing against the wall and reaching for the ends of your now-loosened hair. “You missed me, too?”

Your lips purse as you flick him in the chest, your eyes softening as he catches your hand to bring it to his mouth. “Of course I did, idiot. And I’ll miss you in forty-eight hours. Now, spill.”

His lips tense in the way you know is him holding back a dirty joke, and then he just smiles, wrapping an arm around your waist to anchor your body to his.

“…I’ve been thinking,” he says quietly, after a few heartbeats. “About us.”

Oh? You tilt your head. It doesn’t surprise you, given how often you’re thinking of him, but it’s definitely not something you think he’d need to ask about.

“These past few months…” He sighs roughly. “They’ve been painful without you. Really fucking painful. I never imagined how often I’d go to bed and not be able to sleep without your head tucked into my shoulder, or how pissed off I’d get when you’re not there to keep my head set.” 

Your gaze softens, a hand coming up to brush against his unscarred cheek lightly. “Gare…”

He brushes his thumb against your lower lip, shushing you gently. “No, listen. Let me say my piece.”

Your lips seal almost instantly.

He starts again. “You’ve always been right there, you know? Even before Threshing, before we even properly met, you were there. Defending Freya from those assholes. Defending mefrom your brother, even though you knew fully that he wanted both of us dead. I thought you were insane back then.”

A wry smile cuts across your face. “Not now?”

His fingers glide across your jaw. “I digress. And even after that…you never left. Never. Not when you knew we were hiding something. Not when I had to lie. Not even after War Games, and I knew you wanted to scream at me.”

His eyes find yours. “Somehow, despite everything, you’ve never left. Do you know how many people in my life get to say that? It’s not many.”

“Like that’s hard?” you reply quietly, tracing up his relic with your pinkie. “You never gave me a reason to leave. In fact, you’ve only ever given me reasons to stay. I’ve never had that before, either — a reason to stay where I am, perfectly content with what I have.”

“I want you to have that.” Garrick reaches down into the pocket by his thigh, but it’s out of your line of sight. “Always. A reason to stay. A life that you want that wasn’t just thrown your way for the sake of convenience. A place where you’re truly happy, like we talked about. The sun. The river. A family.”

For reasons you can’t quite comprehend, your heart starts racing, knocking your breath from your lungs. Sure, Garrick’s always been a sweet-talker when it comes to you, but this? This is nothing short of a confession. 

But he didn’t say he had a confession. He said he had a request.

You search his eyes, the hazel glow growing brighter in the starlight. “…I don’t understand what you’re trying to ask of me.”

He just smiles. Not cocky. Not cheeky. Just gently. Wanting. Earnest. 

It sets your heart ablaze.

“Lovely.” He shifts a little, adjusting his grip on your face so his thumb can trail over your cheekbone — no doubt re-memorizing the pattern of your freckles. “I can’t do it without you. Anything, really. Sleep, walk, fight the war, live. At the end of the day, I’m just a man, and I never want to have to let you go.”

The cool skin of his fingers brushes against yours as he laces your palms together, pressing something small and cold in between your hands. You watch him quizzically before you bring your hand away from his, flipping your palm towards you and choking once you catch sight of what he’s places in it.

It’s…a ring.

Relatively small, it is. A silver band, patterned in small designs that spread across the surface. The gem lays carefully within the widest spot, golden yellow and glinting in the light. Smaller, matching gems dot against the band. Citrine. They’re beautiful, just like sunlight.

No. Not just sunlight. Your light.

Your breath catches. Oh, gods. 

It’s not just a ring. It’s a ring.

Your head snaps up, meeting his eyes that are lit with pure, unadulterated adoration.

“Say you won’t let go of me, Princess?” he asks, cupping your cheek in his palm.

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

You blink once. Twice. A third time, just out of habit. You open your mouth and then close it, your voice stolen away from pure disbelief.

He wants to marry you. To stay with you.

It’s enough to make you start crying like an infant.

“Fuck.” You press your face into his chest, not caring that your hot tears are soaking into his tunic with every shaky breath that leaves you. “Oh, gods.”

A hand ghosts up your spine, cradling you carefully. That’s when you feel it — the gently weight of something pressing into your spine. Cold. Heavier. 

Another ring. His. When did he slip it on?

“Lovely?” he prompts, dragging his lips against your forehead. “Are you—“

You cut him off by tearing yourself away from his chest, meeting his confusion-filled gaze with your own, packed with every thing, every feeling, every moment you share with him. Your eyes drop to his lips, and then trail back up shakily. Watching. Waiting.

“Yes,” you breathe. “Thoroughly and utterly. Yes. Please. Stay with me, forever. Please.”

His lips are on yours before he can even agree, sealing the promise into your mouth.

Searing. Binding. Filled with every ounce of joy and love and light and longing and want.

You’ll never have to let him go.

And, as if in response, the moon starts to glow a little brighter.

Taglist: @wonderstruckbyyou, @jessicalee22likestowrite, @freezerbride18, @ineednewdaggers, @suspicious-stain-in-spain, @kienhawon, @goldenmagnolias, @bi-incog-btch, @gracie-rosee, @lxnvmvrzx

Want to be a part of my taglist? Leave a reply to be added!

[gigiii1sblog]

IN THE GLOW OF HIS WINDOW 001

Warning: contains sexual content, angst, tension, fluff, dirty talk, unprotected sex.

Chapter One: Between Windows & Smoke.

Y/N POV:

I’ve seen him before.

Not all at once, never clearly, always through glass, smoke, or shadow. From the corner of my window. On the edge of my dreams.

Christopher Sturniolo lives in 3B. Our balconies face each other, separated by nothing but air and secrets. At 2 a.m., when the world is asleep and the sky is velvet, he steps outside barefoot and silent. Hoodie on. Cigarette lit. Eyes heavy with things he never says.

He doesn’t look at me. Not directly. But I think he knows I watch.

I’ve lived here my whole life. My mom keeps the porch swept like it’s sacred ground. My dad double-checks the locks every night. Our house smells like lemon cleaner and too much control.

Chris’s place is chaos. You can hear the bass before you reach the hallway. Girls with glitter on their eyelids and no names come and go. Nick and Matt, his brothers are always laughing, always loud. I like them. Nick’s become a friend. He calls me “soft serve” because he says I melt around people I like. Matt barely talks, but he’s kind. Gentle eyes. Crooked smiles.

But Chris?

He’s something else entirely.

He doesn’t speak unless forced. Doesn’t look unless something holds his interest, and that something is never me.

Still, I watch.

And tonight, like most nights, he steps onto the balcony. Flicks his lighter. Takes a drag. The ember glows like a warning. His eyes catch the light, icy and distant, and for a second… they flick to me.

He sees me.

Really sees me.

And then he looks away like it meant nothing.

You should stop watching him, I tell myself.

You’re the kind of girl who keeps secrets in journals, not crushes on the boy next door who’s probably broken more hearts than he can count.

But the thing is… I’ve never wanted safe.

I’ve just been safe.

And Chris?

He looks like danger dressed in apathy.

Like the kind of boy who could make you feel something you can’t take back.

⸻

Nick texts me around 10:43 p.m.

come over loser

we’re doing facemasks and talking shit

I smile, thumbing back a reply before my mom can ask who I’m texting. She’s fallen asleep on the couch anyway, reruns of cooking shows flickering across her closed eyes.

I sneak out quietly. Slippers. Hoodie. No makeup. Hair tied up like a lazy apology.

Apartment 3B smells like cologne and boy. Music hums under the walls, some underground SoundCloud thing Matt found. Nick’s dancing in the kitchen with green gunk smeared across his face and two cucumbers sliding down his cheeks.

“Y/NNN!” he gasps dramatically, tossing me a bag of Hot Cheetos. “The princess has arrived. Matt, bow.”

Matt just lifts his hand in a lazy wave from the couch. “Hey, YN.”

I settle in like I belong there. Because sometimes I think I do.

But then he walks in.

Chris.

Fresh out of the shower. Hoodie half-zipped over bare skin. Curls still damp, clinging to his forehead. A blunt tucked behind his ear like a secret. Blue eyes ringed with sleeplessness and something unreadable.

He doesn’t say anything.

Just… stares.

And suddenly the room is too small.

Too warm.

Too loud and too quiet all at once.

“Don’t be rude,” Nick teases, elbowing him. “You know YN.”

“I know of her,” Chris mutters, voice low and rough like gravel under tires.

It’s the first time I’ve heard him speak to me or about me.

And it lands somewhere deep inside me, sharp and hot and impossible to ignore.

I don’t say anything. Just hold his gaze.

A second too long.

A second too much.

Later, I try to leave, but the elevator’s down again and Nick’s too busy lip-syncing Doja Cat to notice.

“I’ll walk you,” Chris says suddenly.

Not a question. Not a suggestion.

A statement, like a threat or a promise.

I blink. “You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” he says. And it sounds like a lie. Or a dare.

We don’t speak on the stairs.

But when we reach my door, he pauses. The hallway hums with the buzz of a dying lightbulb. The air is thick, humid and heavy with something unspoken.

“You always watch me,” he says quietly, eyes fixed on the blunt he’s now twirling between his fingers.

I freeze.

Heartbeat wild.

“You smoke at 2 a.m.,” I murmur, “under a broken streetlight. It’s hard not to.”

His mouth lifts slightly. Not a smile, something darker. More curious. “You write poetry about it?”

I stare at him.

He smirks.

“I see the way you look at things,” he adds. “Like they mean more than they do.”

I swallow. “And you look like you don’t believe anything means anything.”

His eyes flicker to mine.

Something passes between us. A pulse. A fire. A war.

He steps closer. Not touching, but close enough to taste.

“Be careful with that,” he says. “Looking at people like they’re poems. They’ll want to ruin you just to see how you’d write about it.”

I don’t breathe.

I don’t blink.

And just before he turns away, he tucks the unlit blunt behind my ear.

“Goodnight, poet.”

And then he’s gone.

Leaving me with smoke in my lungs and ink in my throat.

I write about him that night.

Not his name, never that.

Just fragments. Smells. Silence. Smoke.

The kind of boy who hands you a blunt like it’s a secret and calls you “poet” like it’s a sin.

I tuck the page under my pillow, like maybe dreams read too.

CHRIS POV: A FEW DAYS LATER

The next few days, I pretend not to look.

But I always feel him.

Like heat before lightning. Like a song you don’t know the words to but can’t stop humming.

I see him again on a Thursday. Balcony again.

Same hoodie. Same flick of flame.

Same glance that makes my knees ache and my stomach tighten in some unfair, dangerous way.

This time, he doesn’t look away.

Just lifts his chin and exhales slow, deliberate like inviting me into the smoke.

And I do something stupid.

I step outside.

He doesn’t speak. Just watches me lean over the railing like I belong in his orbit.

“You always this quiet?” he finally asks.

“You always this high?” I shoot back, nodding at the joint between his fingers.

He huffs a laugh, soft but real. “Only when I don’t want to feel something.”

“What don’t you want to feel?”

He turns to me then. Really turns.

His eyes flick over me like a slow drag. Not hungry, not soft, just curious. Dangerous.

“You ever want something that would ruin you?”

I don’t answer.

Because I do.

And he’s standing five feet away.

He leans on the railing beside me, close enough that our arms almost touch.

“You’re not like the girls that come around,” he says, almost to himself. “They want noise. You look like silence.”

“I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”

“It is,” he says, flicking ash over the edge. “They talk too much.”

“And I think too much.”

He smirks. “So we’re both screwed.”

We stand in silence for a while. The kind that hums. The kind that says too much without saying anything.

Then he holds the joint out to me.

I hesitate.

His fingers brush mine.

And just like that

Match. Spark. Flame.

It burns a little.

Not the weed. Him. The way he watches. The way he lingers when I exhale.

I cough, and he chuckles low. “Cute.”

“Shut up.”

“You like breaking your own rules?”

I glance over, lips tingling, lungs heavy.

“You like testing girls who don’t belong in your world?”

He grins now, really grins. It’s crooked, lazy, infuriating.

“Maybe,” he says. “Or maybe I like watching people crack.”

“You think I’ll crack?”

He leans in slightly. Enough to smell the smoke on his hoodie and something warmer underneath.

“I think you already are.”

He leaves me on the balcony with a smirk and a half-finished joint, and for the first time in a long time, I don’t know how to write it down.

Because it doesn’t feel like a poem.

It feels like a warning.

And I’ve never wanted to ignore something more.

CHRIS POV: A couple days later

I haven’t seen her in three days.

Not really.

Not the way I want to.

She’s been quiet. Blinds drawn. Porch light off. Like someone turned the volume down on her whole world. Maybe she’s busy. Maybe she’s smart.

I’m still waiting. I don’t know what the hell she did to me.

The girl next door, YN.

Soft voice, soft steps, soft everything. But there’s something sharp under all that sweetness. A glint. Like glass beneath silk.

The kind of girl you don’t touch.

The kind of girl that makes you want to anyway.

⸻

It’s around 11 p.m. when it happens.

I’m on the balcony, hoodie pulled over my head, smoke slipping out of my mouth in lazy spirals. My playlist loops through the same three songs. I don’t really hear them.

Then her window lights up.

And there she is.

She doesn’t know I’m out here.

Or maybe she does.

But she steps in front of the window, back turned, her bedroom soft and golden behind her. She’s talking on the phone, barely. Laughing a little. Dancing a little. That way she does when she thinks no one’s watching.

She’s in a tank top. Shorts.

Bare legs. Bare shoulders. Hair messy and piled high. Skin glowing in lamplight like she’s made of something warmer than anything I’ve ever touched.

She moves to her dresser.

Pulls her shirt off.

I look away.

Then I don’t.

She’s not naked, just in a bra now. Straps slipping, like her body doesn’t care who sees it.

And I know I should stop looking.

But I can’t.

Because it’s not even about her body.

It’s the way she moves. Like she belongs in a dream. Like music exists just to follow her.

She doesn’t know how she looks.

Or maybe she does.

She pulls on a big shirt, some oversized thing,now no bra underneath. Stretches once. Her ribs peek out, soft and dangerous.

And then… she turns.

Toward the window.

And looks right at me.

We both freeze.

She doesn’t move.

Neither do I.

My pulse spikes, sharp and sudden, but I keep my face unreadable. Always do.

Her eyes lock on mine, dark, wide, soft. Like she’s not mad I saw. Like she wanted me to.

She doesn’t cover herself.

She doesn’t flinch.

She just tilts her head, the ghost of a smile on her lips, and shuts the curtain.

Slowly.

Like a dare.

I stay there long after she’s gone.

The smoke burns out.

But the heat doesn’t.

Y/N POV:

I shouldn’t have looked back.

I shouldn’t have stood there.

I definitely shouldn’t have smiled.

But I did.

And now I’m lying in bed, skin still warm, pulse still skipping like it forgot how to keep a rhythm. The curtain is closed, the lights are off, but I swear I still feel his eyes on me.

Chris Sturniolo.

The boy who barely speaks. The boy made of smoke and shadows.

The boy who watched me undress like it wasn’t wrong, like it wasn’t enough to break the quiet, but enough to burn in it.

It wasn’t on purpose. At first.

I was changing. Music on. Talking to Madison on FaceTime about something stupid, some guy in her philosophy class who thinks stoicism is a personality trait. I was half-listening, half-dancing. Just me in my little world like always.

And then… something told me to turn.

Some gravity.

And there he was.

Leaning against the balcony railing, smoke coiled in his hand, hoodie up, mouth slightly parted like he didn’t expect me to catch him looking, but wasn’t sorry either.

Our eyes locked.

And everything inside me… tightened.

He didn’t look away.

Neither did I.

I should’ve grabbed the curtain fast, pulled it shut, let embarrassment take the wheel. But I didn’t.

I stared.

Heart pounding.

Lips parted.

I let him see me.

Not just my skin, me.

I don’t know what that says about me.

Maybe that I’m stupid. Or reckless.

Or maybe I just liked the way he looked at me.

Like I was trouble.

Like I was fire and not some good girl with a curfew and a list of rules carved into her spine.

Now, I’m lying in bed, still not blinking, replaying it.

The smoke. The stare. The smirk he almost gave.

And all I can think is:

You let him look.

And God help me…

I hope he does it again.

I hate this so much, I’m sorry if this isn’t good guys 😭😣

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44 @emeraldsturns @sturnslux3 @kalel2005 @sarahsturnn @teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad @my-world-is-poetry @sturniszn @slutforchrissturniolo2 @alinagrace11 @beardedbernard @matthewswifeyy @blindedheartp @crypticallycruelwarden @jaybirdie34 @courta13 @chriss-slutt

@chrissturniolobendmeovernow

[wordssoonforgotten]

I was wondering if you could do a jinx x either piltie reader or a reader that works for silco too where jinx falls HARD for this girl but readers oblivious so jinx has to make it very very obvious just some cutesyness

Jinx x Piltoveran!reader. Hope you like! Honestly one of my favorite things I’ve written so far. No content warnings. 735 words.

Jinx is so over Piltoverans.

In all honestly, she'd been over them since birth. It was simply the Zaunite way; but there was one she simply couldn't manage to hate lithe rest. You were like a guilty pleasure, except there was no guilt concerning how she felt at all. The pleasure you gave her was more rebellious than anything. However, that doesn't mean you didn't get on every single one of her nerves.

Jinx has been sneaking to see you for a year. It started as cat-like curiosity turned infatuation, but now, every time you so much as look at her a certain way, she feels herself teetering closer and closer to the edge; dangerously close to falling in love. It's new, exciting, and gives her that rush she thought was only possible from watching something explode. (It almost makes her wants to jump right off, just to see if you catch her.) Much to her annoyance, she wasn't sure if you felt the same way she did.

She likes to think she's making it stupid obvious; laying it on thick every time she comes to see you. With the way you just laugh at her, or simply don't pick up what she puts down, she's beginning to think she's not so good at all. It's either that, or you're infuriatingly slow for someone so smart.

For the second time this week, Jinx has weaseled her way through your window and made herself comfortable in your silky sheets. The two of you sit closely together on the bed as you recount every event of your day to her. You speak so softly that your voice almost gets lost with the wind. She uses it as an excuse to lean closer. Every few sentences, your eyes drift to your bedroom door, as if you expect someone to knocking it down any moment. Despite how long the two of you have gotten away with your late-night-rendezvous, you still get nervous. She tilts her mischievously. Her fingers crawl up shoulder and stop on your chin, turning your head to face her. You blush; but continue talking like normal.

That was her very last straw. She deserved more than simple a blush.

"Soooo….princess. Still not seeing anyone?" She keeps her voice light. Like she doesn't care about the answer at all. You raise your eyebrow at the seemingly out-of-the-blue question. "Not currently. Why?" Jinx smiles with false nonchalance

"Just kinda seemed like you would be by now."

"…Well I'm not."

"Are you interested in seeing someone?"

You snort and shrug your shoulders hopelessly. "Who would I even see?"

"Me." She answers immediately. Your brain short circuits and you just stare at her. For a second she thinks she's broken you, but then you very hesitantly narrow your eyes. "Are you..serious?" She barely manages to hold back a loud snort, but she nods quickly. "Very serious. Most serious I've ever been, actually." You nod slowly as if you're still processing her words so she continues. "I've been serious for a while now, you've just been too dense to notice." Playful frustration fills her tone as you suddenly become more alert. "A while!? How long is a while!?" She doesn't stop the chortle that erupts from her.

"Months."

"Months?!" You shout before quickly covering your mouth and glancing at the door. Once You're sure no one heard, you turn a fierce glare at her. "Why didn't you say anything?!" Now her brain short circuits. She looks at you in hysterical exasperation, shaking her head so quickly you're scared she'll get dizzy. "I've been very-obviously flirting for—this whole time!" You roll your eyes as your face begins to heat up. "Well you should've been clearer."

"I couldn't have been any clearer without tattooing it on my forehead!" She scoffs. "Typical dense, unaware pilties. Never noticing the extremely obvious truths right in front of their dumb faces—" She's cut off by your lips crashing into hers mid Piltover hating tirade. It doesn't take much for her to lean into it, her hands coming up to grip your hair. After a full minute of all but inhaling each other, she comes up for air. "Guess that means the feelings' mutual, huh?" You huff and give her a cheeky smirk.

"See how I made that obvious?"

She flips you off before pulling you back into another, harder kiss.

"I'll work on it."

[rainrot4me]

i love your stuff so, so much! i always forget that creepypasta is a dead fandom so going to look for content on it is a literal fight

with that said, everyone always forgets about clockwork being an artist... do you have anything on her being an artist? i don't even care what at this point

AHHHHAHHAAH YES. These are copied straight my my headcannons doc I’ve had open on Nat, forgive if there are typos.

── .✦

Mixed media queen. Clockwork isn’t loyal to just one art form. She has a sketchbook filled with everything—graphite sketches, inky anatomy diagrams, charcoal-streaked pages, bits of pressed flowers taped next to journal entries. She’ll get fixated on embroidery one week and blood-red watercolor the next.

Uses art to process. She doesn’t talk much about what she went through—being tortured, changed, reborn into violence—but you can see it in her work. Shaky hands rendered in ink. A self-portrait where one eye is normal and the other is an open wound with gears blooming out of it. A girl floating underwater, peaceful, and alone.

Paints on her walls. Her room in the Mansion isn’t cutesy or edgy—it’s hauntingly beautiful. Splashes of oil paint across the wall. Tall figures with blurred-out faces. A whole corner is filled with clocks she’s half-painted and never finished, like time is melting there.

Surprisingly delicate with fine detail. Her hands may be stained with violence, but she’s so careful with a brush it’s almost reverent. Fine linework. Gentle shading. She loses herself in the tiny motions. You’d never think the same fingers that can crush a windpipe could also thread a needle or paint eyelashes.

Art is her version of crying. Nat doesn’t break down or rant or scream when things get bad. She sits down, turns off the world, and draws something with shaking fingers until it hurts less. Headphones turned all the way up, too.

Tried realism, hated it. She doesn’t want things to look “real.” She wants them to feel true. That means strange perspectives, dreamy colors, disjointed anatomy, like how memories look when they’ve been replayed too many times. The realest her art gets is in sketches of scenery or random anatomy studies she does of Toby. She has dozens of blurry, smudged sketches of Toby aiming her shotgun or asleep in the back of her truck.

Embroidery on leather jackets. Sometimes she gets hyperfixated on textiles. She’ll sew into the sleeves of her clothes: anatomical hearts, broken hourglasses, hands reaching toward each other but never touching. The texture calms her, the needle in and out. A rhythm she can control. Any excuse to patch up the tears in her jeans with pretty colors.

Art with violence woven into it. Not in a creepy edge-lord way, but in the way that says: I have seen pain. I am made of it. Let me show you, safely, on paper. There’s a sacred honesty to her darkest pieces. They say what she can’t.

Would 1000% give a handmade sketchbook as a gift. She binds it herself. Stitches the spine. Maybe even adds little doodles or notes in the margins:

“Sketched some while I was away. You can look if you want.”

꩜ .ᐟ

[roccogauthier]

18+ content mdni. like and rb if you enjoyed!

thinking about cockwarming with todd stevens. he’d had a rough couple of days with the pledges, more like the guys already in KNA, who wouldn’t ease up on the pledges. “i’ve done more yelling in the past three days than i have my whole life.” he’d say offhandedly, dropping his things in the corner of your room and tumbling into bed with you. “sorry, baby.” you murmur, smirking when the idea comes to your mind. your friend had been raving about it a few hours earlier, how she and her boyfriend tried out something new and they loved it. silently, you slid your hands down todds front and start smiling when he sighs softly at your touch. “wanna try something new? it’ll help you relax, baby.” todd nods fervently at your question.

you begin to slip his pants down, peppering kisses along his neck as you do, taking hold of his cock and pumping a few times and giggling at his breathless moans. quickly you throw one leg over his hip and tug your panties to the side and let him slide in. todd instantly begins to move, pulling back with a confused expression on his face when you stop him.

how cute.

“uh uh, baby. you’ve gotta be still, ‘s the whole point.”

“what?” of course he knew what it was now, he’s not stupid, he just didn’t expect this to be what you wanted to try but he didn’t question you further when you just smiled and nodded at him. “okay.” he nods, taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what’s to come.

an hour later, you’re still intertwined laying in your bed, completely content. there were a few moments you’d clench around him playfully just to see his reaction but he’d just close his eyes and pinch at your hips slightly before letting out a deep breath and carrying on.

“we are definitely doing this more often.” he says, on the brink of passing out, and you have zero complaints.

[itzpookiepooh]

I have non stop been listening to Soda Pop for the last few days and it's eating out all of my thoughts 🙃. I CANT STOP LISTENING ITS TOO CATCHY!!!!

On that note, what would LADs be like of their MC was under the Saja Boy trance or just in general a fangirl MC who loves this boy group and is singing and dancing to their songs word for word.

Don’t hate me but I haven’t seen or heard anything from this since everyone posted about it I heard a snippet of the song last night but that was it 😅 I’ll do my best though because I know a lil some some about fangirling.

Fangirl

Rafayel would do anything to make you happy and if that meant buying merch and concert tickets so be it. You’ve been to so many Ateez concerts you lost count. Thanks to your loving boyfriend? All front row seats.

“Who’s your favorite?” He asked as you danced to their latest song.

“Mingi and Sans!” You nearly squeal at the thought of them. “I love the whole band though so don’t think I don’t.” You point at him.

“You like them more than me?” Rafayel’s jaw dropped as he watched you belt the lyrics. You stopped and turned to him.

“I’d never put them over you.” You pout and caress his head. He sighed in relief letting you pet him.

“But if either of them show up to our wedding and object? I might leave you at the alter.” You joke making him gasp and push you away.

“Not funny.” He pouts before you console him. “I’m just kidding! You’re still my favorite person in the whole universe.” You kiss his puffy cheeks.

Oh Caleb is down to fangirl with you. He is buying you matching merch for whoever you both like. You’ve bought photo cards to trade and everything. Caleb even won tickets in a raffle. Who knew he was so good at guessing how many gum ball’s were in a jar?

“I’ve been waiting for a tour forever!” You squeal as Caleb laughs at you.

“Who do you think will look best? Callum or Michael?” Caleb asked as he stuffed the tickets in his jacket pocket.

“It’s really between Callum and Luke.” You pointed out as he nodded agreeing with you.

“You’re so right.” He agreed as you both walked and talked about concert plans.

He’ll drop you off and pick you up but that’s it. It gets a bit too rowdy for him but he’ll support you on whoever you’re talking about. He will wait until your back to listen to you go on and on about how the concert went. From the moment the lights went out to the very end when they left the stage.

“I’m glad you had fun.” He’ll say as he drives and looks over it you.

“Oh definitely!” You squeal holding all your merch you bought. He just chuckles and shakes his head.

He mostly listens intently to see what he can gift you.

Plays whatever you recommend on a vinyl. He really wants to see what you’re into. He definitely doesn’t get a song stuck in his head and hums it when you aren’t around. When you do catch him you smirk like SpongeBob finding out Squidward likes Krabby Patties.

“You like them, don’t you Sylus?” You tease him as he just watches you.

“Not particularly, no.” He answers as you walk over to his record player and hold up one of the records.

“Right…” You shake your head.

He doesn’t really know what’s going on if he’s honest. He’s just happy because you’re happy so when you talk about them he just nods along with whatever you said. You explained how fast you needed to get tickets and that you had to stay up until 2am for them to drop. He just nodded his head.

“Okay so I’m aiming for Linkon or Skyhaven. I can make it to either.” You explained rapidly as you waited for the timer to go down.

Xavier just nodded as he yawned time ticking by. He waited patiently with you as you kept refreshing the page. When the timer went down Xavier moved faster than the speed of light to get the tickets just so you wouldn’t be disappointed.

“AHH! Xavier you’re the best!” You clung to him as his head leans on your cheek.

I don’t listen to any K-pop bands but I do love 5SOS, 1D, and Little Mix 🙂‍↕️ a band is a band 🫵🏾