#and she hates nicks guts

[walkman-cat]

i get slapped by mildred! (in gatsby)

[the-faceless-bride]

More Ideas for KNY (demon slayer) different characters ♡ (SOME NSFW CONTENT FOR SANEMI AND MUZAN AND MENTIONS OF GORE IN SANEMI AND LIGHT NSFW IN GYOMEI)

<- Part 1

Imagine being dangerously in love.

Imagine being a demon, obsessed with the brash, and blood thirst Wind Hashira. the first time ever being in battle with him is what leads you down a path of want and lust for the cruel hashira.

Imagine going out of your way to always be where he is, always catching his attention and being attacked by him. He believes you're mocking him, following him just to show off that he hasn't been able to kill you. But that isn't true at all. When you fight, you never actively try and gut him, only blocking your neck and leaving the rest of your limbs exposed to be lashed in this masochism tango.

Imagine struggling to hide your enjoyment and ecstacy each time his sword ripped, teard, and scar your body. He had to have known how me made you feel. He must. The darkness of your cheeks must've been a giveaway. Right? His eyes bewitching you in how intense he glares into your soul. It sets a fire under your cold skin, a burning desire.

Imagine one time when you and Sanemi are fighting. Other slayers show up. But they don't instantly jump into the fight. 1. from looking at the fight, you hadn't landed a single strike and seemed to be a greater deal slower than the hashira, and 2. Tanjiro made an odd comment. "Huh, it's like she's avoiding striking him on purpose."

Imagine how Shinobu decided the fight was long enough and tried to sneak in and end the fight. Only for a switch to set off and catch her off guard and spin at the speed of light, leaving a large gash across her body from her left founder to her hip. And Sanemi instantly tried to help her. Only to be stopped by your own weapon pressed so close to his neck that even swallowing made his Adamsapple scrape against a sharp blade. "Don't you dare. Your attention is meant for me. Are you seriously letting her attempt to get between us work?" And that made Sanemi pause... "us? Wha-" -- "don't play dumb darling. We're soulmates, Sanemi~" you whisper to him. "What the fuck."

Imagine how now you make him feel so conflicted, how he hates you for what you are but loves you for how you make him feel... in his home in his spare time as the sun rises, his windows covered and locked tight as he has you on your knees, leaning forward and his chest pressed to your back. Your head locked between his bicep as his other hand held his sword under you. It nicks you each time he thrusts. If he pushed you forward anymore, his blade would surely cut your chest and stomach open. "I HATE YOU, YOU FILTHY DEMON. I DONT WANT YOU. CURSE YOU FOR DEMONIC TEMPTATION." You softy cry at the harsh words from your love, "I don't care if you don't want me... I'm yours right now..."

Sanemi Shinazugawa × Demon reader Trope: Yandere Lovesick/I hate you so much I love you.

Imagine being with Muzan his entire life... your family were servants to his family. And from a young age, you were assigned to be Muzans personal maid or companion as you were too young to really do any work than cleaning up his room. But since you can remember, you've always been with Muzan.

Imagine being the one he confides with most. His fears, his wishes, and despite his coldness. His shouldering eyes seemed to be less scorching when it came to you. His one and only friend. Even if you didn't have much of a choice in the companionship. It was you who sat in on his doctor's visits about his deteriorating health. When he got the news of how it would be a miracle for him to even make it to his mid 20s...

Imagine how one night after a particularly scary coughing fit, he simply places his head to your mid section as you blush his hair and pull it back into a braid. He softy thanks you as he tilts his head to look up at you, "Of course, I'm always happy to take care of you." But that isn't want he wants. He wanted to take care of you. Not you to him. And without thinking, he pulls you down to him.

Imagine His heat is pounding in his chest. You lay across him as his long and slim fingers tease you between your legs. You try and stay quiet, your face twisted with pleasure and guilt. You felt like you were taking advantage of the sick man who would never find love or feel the love of another in such a romantic and intimate way. You thought maybe that this was him just grasping for a moment where he didn't feel so useless being bedridden. But it was so much more. If this was the last thing he did, pleasing the only one who he cared for most. The one he wished he could've married... he would be happy to die. This surely isn't good for his heart, but he couldn't care less. You hovering yourself above him. As he tried weakly to pull you in to rest your whole weight. This was how he wanted to spend his last days, weeks, and months. However long he had left. He wanted it to be with you.

Imagine as days go by, and he feels more and more guilty. He starts to feel as though you let him do these things because you feel obligated as his personal maid to do so. Nights in the dark ask he fingers you, giving and receiving oral pleasure. But you still won't give him everything. You refuse to fully lay with him. Sometimes, he feels like it's because you don't really love him. Not like he does you. Or maybe you find him... pathetic... he can't actually make love to you. You'd be doing all the work. He doesn't want that, and it seems you don't either... eventually, his thoughts become too much, and he decides to let you go...

Imagine you were relieved of all your maid duties, not just to Muzan but to the family as a whole. You were heartbroken. And the heartbreak only worsened at the news of Muzan and his families and your families deaths. You'd cried more times than you'd ever had before in your life. And you were so very confused when you'd found a Man who looked exactly like Muzan sitting in your bed a few nights later. "Hello dear. I'm home." He invented to truly give you what you wanted, and he was eager to give it too you.

Muzan Kibutsuji × reader Trope: Unrequited/reunited love/soulmates

Imagine being Master Kagaya's faithful slayer, you'd always admired him. You and your Master had created a strong bond. Stronger than others. Moments like this reminded you that you were special. You sat on your knees as you just like you had the first time. Your head pressed to his chest and he dragged his fingers over your head.

Imagine trying not to tear up as you remember the first time you'd kneeled for him. You'd been reckless and impatient leading to a fellow slayer getting extremely hurt. You kneeled before him as you sat in the room alone waiting for him to speak. Doing your best to not make any noise as you silently cry. You'd failed him. Your beloved Master. But he didn't yell. He didn't make you feel like you were a problem. He merely hummed before knealing with you, one hand on atop your head and the other cupping your cheek feeling the wet stream of tears and wiped it away. "It's alright. You didn't mean for this to happen. I know you didn't. I know you're a good girl." And your breath hitched. He noticed. And from then on he gave you positive affrimations which encouraged you to do better. For him.

Imagine how as you sat there listening to his words letting yourself flow away and melt into your master. He thought it was innocent. He was simply your master helping you, if it wasn't him maybe you'd find these soft words from Gyomei or maybe even Kyojuro... but he was wrong. So wrong. It was him. Only him. You'd put yourself on the line so much more than you should've. All to hear those soft praises. His wife must not like you... you do take up more and more of his time as days go on...

Imagine how he softly calls to you. Late that night, he'd heard your footsteps. He sat with you talking. About anything that day. Soft and short conversations. Quiet but not uncomfortable. "You're my favorite you know." He sighed, before he let out a small chuckle "don't tell the others." You know he was teasing. But your heart told you other wise.

Imagine being hurt. In battle you were hurt. But even in your pain you still made your way to your master... your beautiful Kagaya... the married man, the family man, that you had fallen in love with. "My dear, you still come and see me while you're in such pain?" He seemed shocked. But you aren't sure why, you'd walk on hot coles and crawled on your hands and belly to kneel for him. You'd do anything for your master. And you could only hope as his favorite... you wouldn't let him down. Finally you lifted your head from his chest, pulling his hands from your hands, leaving a kiss to his knuckles. One day. One day you'll have him.

Kagaya Ubuyashiki × Slayer reader Trope: unrequited love/lovesick/slow burn

Special Part two of Forbidden love with Gyomei × demon

Imagine how the rest of the slayers flock around Gyomei, asking him so many questions. And he couldn't even answer them all. Too consumed by his disbelief that the person he'd fallen in love with so deeply, had turned out to be a demon.

Imagine how he layed in bed lonely and... missing you. He began to long of your cold touch, your voice, your laugh that was so contagious to him. He missed you. He'd fallen for you. Demon or not. He laid in his bed trying and failing to get even a wink of sleep. But just as he had almost fallen asleep he was awoken by a sound. 'Tap tap' was the sound, 'tap tap' on his window. "Gyomei... my love..."

Imagine how he practically leaped from his bed. Demon or not you had carved yourself a spot in his heart. Slamming open the window and pulling you inside, his hands instantly feeling over your cheeks, your nose, your neck. Kissing the knuckles of your cold hands.

Imagine being the one that made Gyomei for a moment stay from his faiths. Gyomei devoted his life to his beliefs, that includes waiting. Waited all his life for the one. Saving himself and waiting. But you both were in a unique circumstances... so from that point on Gyomei promised himself to you. You would stay with him in his home and he would always come back to you. That night he would kiss you, love you, lay you under him while he whispered for you to be his.

[matts-hersheys-kisses]

"beneath the surface"

-matt sturniolo

warnings: eating disorder, suggested anxiety/depression, angst, body image

(dream)- salvia palth

Matt was the quiet one. Not in a shy way—just quieter than Nick and Chris. Matt was the one who saw everything and said nothing, which made him dangerous in a different way.

So when he started watching her—really watching—she noticed.

She just pretended not to.

--

It started in October. Or maybe August. The days blurred together now, like smeared ink in a notebook you didn’t mean to cry on.

She had it down to a science: excuses, distractions, lies that sounded like truth. "Already ate" was her favorite. "Not hungry" came second.

And it was fine. It was under control.

--

Until the night she fainted in the hallway outside her math class.

She woke up on the nurse’s bed, nausea curling in her gut, and Matt sitting beside her, arms crossed, jaw tight.

"How long?" he asked. No greeting. No warmth.

She blinked. “What?”

"How long have you been doing this to yourself?"

Her stomach twisted, but it wasn’t from the lack of food.

“I’m fine,” she croaked.

He looked at her like she’d slapped him. “Don’t lie to me.”

--

She didn’t think Matt cared that much. He barely talked to anyone unless he had to. He never flirted, never partied, never even joked the way Chris did or lit up a room like Nick. He just existed—leaning against lockers, hoodie half-on, watching the world through tired eyes.

But suddenly he was in her world. Loudly. Fiercely. And he wasn’t leaving.

--

The next day, there was a granola bar in her locker. No note. Just that. The day after, it was a chocolate biscuit.

On Friday, it was him.

Leaning beside her locker, backpack slung over one shoulder.

“You eat breakfast?” he asked.

She hesitated. “…Yeah.”

“Cool. Eat again.”

He held out a muffin. Blueberry. Her favorite.

She stared at it, then at him. “Are you serious?”

Matt’s face didn’t change. “Dead serious.”

--

The thing about Matt was, he didn’t treat her like she was fragile. He didn’t say the right things. He didn’t pretend to understand.

Sometimes he got mad. He’d clench his fists when she lied. He’d walk away when she pushed him too far. Once, she caught him kicking the vending machine out of sheer frustration.

But he always came back.

Even when she told him to stop.

Even when she told him she didn’t deserve it.

--

The worst day wasn’t the fainting or the hospital visit or even spending lunchtime crying in the school bathroom until her legs gave out.

It was the day she told him she liked being empty.

Not because she wanted to hurt him.

But because it was the truth.

Because empty felt safe. Predictable. Quiet.

Because fullness meant guilt and failure and losing control—and she was already losing so much of herself, she couldn’t afford to lose that too.

When she said it, Matt looked at her like she’d admitted to murder. His mouth parted like he couldn’t believe she meant it.

She almost took it back.

Almost.

But she didn’t.

And then, after a long silence, he said, “That’s not living. That’s punishing yourself.”

She couldn’t look at him. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“No,” he said, instantly. “You don’t. God, you don’t.”

And then his voice cracked a little, like maybe he was breaking too. “You deserve more than this. You deserve to wake up and not hate yourself.”

--

Later that week, she tried.

Just a slice of dry toast. No butter. Just something.

Matt sat across from her, quiet as always. Not judging. Just there.

You don’t need this. You’ll ruin everything. You’re disgusting.

She swallowed one bite. Two.

Then pushed the plate away, stood up fast. “I can’t—” Her voice broke. “I thought I could.”

She turned toward the sink, shoulders tense.

Matt spoke, soft but steady. “It’s okay.”

She didn’t move.

“I didn’t come to make you eat,” he said. “I came so you don’t have to do this alone.”

Her breath shook.

“I failed,” she whispered.

“No,” Matt said, stepping close. His arms wrapped around her from behind, steady and warm. “You tried. That’s brave.”

She didn’t answer. But she leaned back into him, just a little, and let herself breathe—for the first time that day.

--

Nick and Chris knew. Eventually. But they handled it differently. Nick hugged her without warning one day in the hallway, tried to make her laugh.

One night, Chris found her sitting outside on the porch swing, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands.

He didn’t say anything for a while.

Just sat next to her, the swing creaking beneath their weight. A cool silence stretched between them, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.

Eventually, he said, voice lower than usual, “I used to think you were just quiet.”

She blinked, glancing over. “I am.”

Chris shook his head. “No. You’re hurting quiet.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “I should��ve noticed.”

She didn’t answer.

“I think,” he said, after a long pause, “if you ever stopped showing up, even just one day… it would ruin Matt.”

Her throat closed.

Chris looked down, eyes glassy now, his voice barely there. “And it would ruin me too.”

She didn’t cry.

Not then.

--

She didn’t know how to respond to Chris.

So she didn’t.

They just sat there, the porch swing creaking under slow motion, her eyes fixed on the cracks in the wood beneath them.

Eventually, he stood, ruffling her hair gently before walking back inside.

She stayed outside long after the door closed behind him.

Later, when the house was quiet and sleep felt impossible, she slipped into the kitchen to get water.

Matt was there.

Leaning against the counter like he’d been waiting.

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t mention her red-rimmed eyes or the untouched dinner still wrapped in foil.

He just opened the fridge, pulled out a chocolate milk, and set it on the counter beside her.

“I’m not hungry,” she murmured.

“I know,” he said.

She took it anyway.

Drank half of it in silence.

Matt stayed right there.

--

Matt always stayed.

On the days she ate, he’d sit with her. On the days she couldn’t, he’d sit anyway.

He never made her feel like a project. He never told her to “just eat.” He just existed next to her, like a constant she didn’t know she needed.

One night, she sat beside him in his driveway, knees pulled to her chest, hoodie swallowing her whole.

"I didn’t think anyone would notice," she whispered.

Matt looked over, eyes unreadable. "I notice everything about you."

Her breath caught.

He looked away, then back. “And I hate that you ever thought I wouldn’t.”

That night, he didn’t kiss her.

He just held her hand like it was the most important thing in the world.

And for the first time, she realised that maybe she wasn’t the only one breaking

if your struggling with an ed or anything at all, i'm here don't be scared to reach out 🤍

thank you for the suggestion ml

xoxo

-𝒜 💋

taglist - @hunyoucantresistme @angeliolo @chrepsi @imgoing-backto505 @ikyoudreamofme @iluvnicksturniolo @mattswrinkleton @shadowthesim237 @sturniolotripletlover @soplaap @emillionaireee @courta13

lmk if you want to be added/taken off the taglist x

my masterlist: here

[jaylalolz]

❛ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ❜ . . . nicholas chavez

SUMMARY, nicholas’ takes his crush on a special special date, blindfolding her as he leads her to a romantic setup he has prepared.

A/N, have fun reading !!

WARNINGS, none 

Nicholas had been planning this date for weeks, constantly going over every detail in his mind until it was perfect. Now, as they drove through the city, the late afternoon sun painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, he glanced over at her, her face glowing even under the blindfold.

"You’re killing me, Nick," she laughed, fidgeting with the edge of the blindfold. "Can I please know where we’re going?"

"Nope," Nicholas grinned, gently reaching over to still her hands. "It’s a surprise, and we’re almost there. Just trust me."

She huffed dramatically, but there was a smile on her lips, her excitement bubbling underneath her playful complaints. "I do trust you," she said softly, "I just really hate not knowing."

Nicholas squeezed her hand, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering wildly. "You’re going to love it, I promise."

A few minutes later, the car slowed to a stop. Nicholas parked and came around to open her door, guiding her out carefully. Her fingers tightened around his as they walked, and he could sense her curiosity growing. The smell of roses and fresh air surrounded them, and Nicholas led her to a spot he had chosen just for this moment.

"Okay," he whispered, standing behind her now, gently holding her shoulders. "On the count of three, you can take off the blindfold. Ready?"

She nodded eagerly, her heart pounding in anticipation.

"One… two… three."

Her fingers quickly untied the blindfold, and when her eyes adjusted to the soft golden light of the setting sun, her breath caught in her throat. In front of her was a beautifully laid-out scene: a large poster that read, "Can I be your boyfriend?" written in bold letters, surrounded by rose petals scattered across the ground. Balloons floated gently in the breeze, a teddy bear sat waiting by the poster, and a box of chocolates rested beside it. The entire area felt magical, like it had been pulled from a dream.

Her hands flew to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes as she turned to Nicholas. "Are you serious?"

Nicholas’s face was flushed, nervousness and excitement mingling together as he stood there, waiting for her reaction. "I’ve been serious about you since elementary school," he confessed, his voice soft but steady. "I’ve liked you for so long, even back when we were kids. I just never had the guts to say it. But now… I don’t want to wait anymore. I knew back then that you were the one."

Her heart melted at his words, the emotion flooding through her as she stepped closer to him, tears of happiness spilling over. "Nicholas…" she whispered, her voice shaky. "I don’t even know what to say."

"Just say yes," he smiled, his hand reaching out to take hers. "Say yes, and let me be the guy who makes you happy every single day."

She laughed through her tears, overwhelmed with joy. "Yes," she said, nodding emphatically. "Of course, yes!"

Nicholas let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and in an instant, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her in a warm embrace. "You have no idea how happy you just made me," he murmured into her hair.

"I think I do," she teased, looking up at him with shining eyes. "Because I feel the same way. I’ve felt the same way for so long, but I never knew if you did."

Nicholas smiled, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. "I’m going to make sure you never doubt it again."

They stood there, holding each other, surrounded by the soft glow of the evening light, the rose petals dancing around them in the breeze. Everything about the moment felt perfect—like it had always been meant to happen this way.

As they pulled back slightly, Nicholas leaned down, his forehead resting against hers. "I’m so lucky," he whispered.

"We’re both lucky," she corrected, her hand gently resting on his chest. "I’ve always known it was you too."

They kissed then, softly, tenderly, the world around them disappearing as they lost themselves in each other, in this moment they had both waited for so long.

[snoopychris]

leave me alone

in which... chris just cant get reader out of his head

inspired by this song!

chris was three drinks in when he saw you walk into the club. they were minimally alcoholic, but it was enough for him to feel a buzz. it felt like his drunkness hit him like a ton of bricks when you walked over to him. he had been fine just a few minutes ago, what had happened during the thirty seconds it took you to walk over? chris swallows as his grip on his drink tightens instinctively, glancing at nick for a lifeline. that’s when chris pieces together that you weren’t here for him. you were here for nick. right. you could still be friends with nick even if you and chris weren’t on speaking terms. chris pushes all of his emotions to the side as he pretends to be okay. just for the night. for his brothers sake. 

the alcohol streaming through him wasn’t doing any wonders right now. he couldn’t help but glance the way you moved on the dance floor. your black dress was incredible on you. it sparkled like you were the only diamond in a jewelry store. chris wanted to know if feeling this way five months after a breakup was normal. if it was normal to have what’s basically a heart attack whenever he locks eyes with you. he hopes it is. 

“chris?” chris hums in response to the voice, whipping is head to find the source. the last thing he expects is to see matt standing with a girl by his side. well, two girls. one to his right and one to his left. how was it possible that matt could get two girls in one night and chris was still struggling to work up the guts to talk to one of them. chris brings up one of his hands to run through his hair, the other extending to the girls next to his brother. matt gestures to the one on the left, smiling gently. “hailey here… is hoping that someone’s gonna take her home tonight. do me a favor and grant that wish for her will you?” matt smiles, heading back into the crowd with the other girl. chris can’t help but chuckle at the fact that matt got him a date. this was a step in the right direction. a step in the direction towards moving on from the girl who had the entire dance floor in a trance. 

“so you’re the youngest triplet?” hailey asks, her hand resting on the small of chris’ neck. the club is so crowded that there’s barely any room to move, but he’s making it work. he nods slowly, his grip on her waist tightening. “yeah… by twenty or so minutes.” he smiles, lips moving close to her ear. she lets out a shaky exhale as he nips on her earlobe, tightening the grip she had on his hair. chris is so close to closing the deal and taking her home that he feels freer than he has in weeks. he feels like there’s nothing restraining him. he feels just fine. it all ends in a flash when he bumps into you while dancing. 

“shit… sorry.” you whisper, sipping your drink as your eyes go between the blonde and chris. you hold back a laugh at the sight, biting down on your bottom lip. the look you give chris at that moment gives him flashbacks to the day you broke up. a day full of yelling and screaming and crying where the last words you said to chris were  “you’ll never be moving on.” he hated how right you still were. Chris felt so sad right now. he didnt feel sad in the way that he thought he was about to cry, but sad in the way that he felt pathetic. he felt pity for himself. he didnt know it was possible for a person to pity themselves until now. “you two have fun tonight…” you whisper, locking eyes with the girl who was seemingly your replacement. “hes a power bottom by the way… hope you can do some squats.” chris feels his breath hitch as you walk away, talking another step in the direction towards moving on from you. he pulls hailey from the dance floor and the club entirely, walking towards the alleyway nearby. she looks a lot like you now that he can see her in slightly better lighting.

Chris, still continuing his move on journey, presses a long passionate kiss to her lips. the alcohol is still coursing through his system, but its a different kind of rush thats going through him right now. this feels right. moving on feels nice. he thinks that maybe, just maybe, hes finally out of the woods and at this point, youre just a thing of the past. when chris pulls away, he smiles at the lip gloss smudge on haileys lips. he licks his own for a brief moment, eyes furrowing as he pieces things together in his mind. “you um… what is that? that lip gloss? thats colourpops cherry glaze lipgloss?” he whispers, rubbing his mouth with the back of his palm. Hailey nods slowly, pulling out the product from her purse and placing it in lips hand.

he’s all too familiar with the packaging. the flavor. the color. the scent. the way it was yours. you had at least three different tubes of it when you were together. one at chris’ place, one in your car, and one in your house. Chris sighs when he realized that he liked kissing hailey so much because it was the closest he would ever get to kissing you again. God, chris hated himself so much right now he could cry. he felt like he was leading the poor girl on by thinking that she was you in his head. he hates himself more because he doesnt let that stop him at all. 

it doesnt take long for chris to end up back at his house with hailey. and yet, it takes a lot longer than he wouldve liked it to take. within seconds of having her inside, shes being pinned to the wall. flashes of you in her place fill chris’ mind. he wants to shout to whichever version of you is haunting him and tell it to stop. to leave him alone. he wants to tell you so desperately that one day youre going to have to leave him alone. but he cant bring himself to. especially since chris knows that deep down, you left him alone months ago. he moans against the girls lips quielty as she slips off his shirt, pulling him further and further through the depths of his house. they end up in his bedroom eventually, quickly jumping onto the bed. Chris goes first, and despite wanting you out of his life, despite wanting to move on, all chris can picture is your naked body next to him.

his eyes dart his bedside table when hes grabbing a condom, holding back a sigh when he lays eyes on the picture frame you had gotten him once. as if that wasnt enough, theres an old bobby pin laying there too. its also yours. Chris doesnt want to begin to think about the amount of things in his room that are all rightfully yours, and thats still where his mind is going. despite having kicked you out months ago for the final time, youre still living in the roots of the room. you had helped him put the bed together. you helped him paint the walls a color he enjoyed. this room would always be part you. the poor girl above him doesnt even know that the entire time that shes doing anything with him, all chris can think about is you. its a relief to chris that this night is probably going to end and he’ll never have to face poor hailey again, but he still wants to keep her around long enough just to be able to have any version of you nearby. 

a/n: this song has actually been stuck in my head all day. this was also supposed to come out last week but. whatever.

tags! @ifwdominicfike @frankoceanfanpage @mattssslutbby @sophand4n4 @matthewsturnsgf @izzylovesmatt @m11rx @chris-hallelujah @sturniolotoast @wastelandzella @le4hsblog @mattsd0llfac3 @st7rnioioss @isabellewhatt @sturnslutz @bluessturniolo @courta13 @sturns-mermaid @ivysturnss @slutformatt17 @emely9274 @princessesgarden @marrykisskilled @cykss @13hoax @riasturns @oopsiedaisydeer @darksturnz @chrisbratt333 @throatgoat4u @whore4mattsturniolo @camzeecorner @joanakaulitz @starrysturns @muwapsturniolo @darksturnz @bernardsbendystraws @strnilolover @ilovedanielcaesar @sturnshood @immaqulate @batbabylolo @lol-milfy

[sturniololuvz]

hii could you pls write abt the triplets and their sister living in boston and justin comes to visit and they basically leave out their sister and then just much angst and then fluff please?

okayy!

“Forgotten in Boston”

Sturniolos x sister

Y/N had always known that the bond between the triplets and Justin was different. He was their older brother, someone they looked up to, someone they hadn’t seen as often since he moved away. So when he came back to Boston for a visit, she knew they’d want to spend as much time with him as possible.

She just didn’t expect to be left out completely.

It started small—little things like the boys making plans without asking if she wanted to come. At first, she brushed it off, thinking maybe it was unintentional.

But then, it became obvious.

“Yo, let’s hit the North End for dinner,” Justin had said earlier that day.

Y/N, sitting on the couch, perked up. “Ooh, can I come?”

Chris barely glanced at her as he grabbed his jacket. “It’s kinda like… a brother thing, you know?”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh.”

“Yeah, but we’ll be back soon,” Matt added quickly, ruffling her hair as he walked by.

Nick tossed her the remote. “You can pick a movie for when we get back.”

And just like that, they were gone.

Y/N sat there, gripping the remote, her chest tight.

It happened again the next day. And the next.

Every time she tried to join in, it was always the same excuse. “Brother time.”

As if she wasn’t their sibling too.

By the fourth day, she’d had enough.

They had just come back from some stupid arcade, all laughing about inside jokes she wasn’t part of. Justin was throwing an arm around Matt’s shoulders, Nick was talking about some game he won, and Chris— the one who always made sure she was included—was just as wrapped up in it as the rest.

She stood up from the couch, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. “I’m going to bed.”

Chris blinked. “It’s, like, seven?”

“Yeah, well, there’s not much else for me to do alone,” she snapped.

The room went silent.

Nick frowned. “What?”

She let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “You guys have completely ignored me this entire week. Every time I try to spend time with you, I get shut out because I’m not part of your ‘brother time.’ Do you even realize how shitty that feels?”

Matt opened his mouth, but she cut him off.

“No, actually, don’t answer that. Because I already know—you don’t realize, because you haven’t even noticed I’ve been sitting here alone every single day.” Her voice cracked, and she hated it.

Chris looked like she had just punched him in the gut. “Y/N…”

She swallowed the lump in her throat. “Forget it. Just enjoy your time with Justin.”

And with that, she walked to her room, slamming the door behind her.

It was maybe an hour later when she heard the soft knock.

“Y/N?”

She stayed silent, hugging her pillow.

Another knock. “Can we come in?”

More than one voice. She sighed, wiping her eyes before mumbling, “Whatever.”

The door creaked open, and the triplets walked in, looking… guilty.

Chris sat on the edge of her bed first. “We’re dicks.”

Nick sighed. “Huge dicks.”

Matt nodded. “Like, the biggest dicks.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, even though she was still upset. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Chris ran a hand through his hair, looking down. “I didn’t even realize we were leaving you out. I swear it wasn’t on purpose.”

Nick leaned against her desk. “We just got caught up in seeing Justin again, and—fuck, that’s not even an excuse. We just… we messed up.”

Matt sat next to her, nudging her shoulder. “We’re really sorry, Y/N/N. We feel like shit.”

She stayed quiet for a moment, picking at a loose thread on her blanket. “It really sucked,” she admitted softly.

Chris exhaled. “I know.”

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. “Can we make it up to you?”

She raised a brow. “How?”

Matt grinned. “You get to pick what we do tomorrow. Anything. No complaints, no excuses.”

Chris nudged her. “Even if it’s something super girly and we look stupid.”

Y/N sniffled, but a small smile crept onto her face. “Even if I make you guys get pedicures with me?”

Nick groaned. “God, please, anything but that.”

Chris laughed. “Nope, no complaints! That’s the deal.”

Matt sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if they put rhinestones on my toes, I’m blaming you.”

Y/N let out a real laugh this time, and the tightness in her chest started to ease.

Chris wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “We love you, you know that, right?”

She leaned into him, finally feeling like their sister again. “Yeah,” she murmured. “I love you guys too.”

[queen-of-nightmare-16]

Can I request Warwick Vander and daughter reader where they reunite in Viktor sanctuary after Vander gets his memories back. She’s scared a bit, and the last time they spoke it was a huge fight and she said she hates him. And it’s Hurt/comfort.

GHOSTS | Vander/Warwick X Daughter Reader

CONTENT WARNINGS - Threat • Injury • Angst • Mention of death • Comfort • Season 2 Spoilers! • Reunions

PAIRING: Vander/Warwick X Fem Daughter Reader

SUMMARY: you were Vander’s daughter and forced to leave the Undercity after your family’s deaths. Only to return when one of your companions needs healing from a mysterious herald and you realises ghosts do exist?

WORD COUNT: 2.9K

——————————————————————————

“You sure this guy can help?” You asked your second in command.

Rek’yr, a large powerful white bear Vastaya, crossed his arms over his broad chest glancing back to the rest of your crew. “It’s all I’ve heard recently. Shimmer addicts, crippled children, all of them: back up on their feet, healed and better than ever,” he replied in a gruff voice, glancing down to one man in particular. “Could be Fink’s only chance”.

A grimace set on your face as you glanced down to the man in particular. Well, rather young lad. 17 and dumb as a bag of rocks but fiercely loyal and brave. Brave enough to stupidly take on a large Noxian warrior at a check point only to take a blade in the gut. No, matter what your healers did, he wasn’t getting better. Maybe the blade had been coated with a poison of some kind or it had nicked an artery, either way your people didn’t have the facilities or equipment necessary to check. Then you heard the rumour. A man -- or a herald -- that could heal anyone of any ailment.

There was no could about it. It was Fink last chance. The only problem it took you into the depths of the Undercity. A place you hadn’t called home for 8 years now. Ever since … that night.

Many people of the Undercity was shocked that when the Uprising ended in failure, the famed Hound of the Underground starting adopting children of the fallen. First the two daughters of one of his closest friends. Then two boys. But they always seemed to forget that he already had one by blood. You. It was a classic love story of the Lanes. Two dumb teens getting together and 9 months later another mouth to feed was born. There was no malice between your parents. They loved you equally, yet you lived with your mother as Vander was one of the leaders of the Uprising. Always said it would be too dangerous to stay with him. That was until she too fell that day on the bridge and Vander brought you home to The Last Drop. Your family had grown exponentially as did your responsibilities. Now the older sister to 4 new siblings.

But fate deemed your happy family was not to last.

“Hey, you still alright being here?” Rek’yr asked noticing your discomfort. “If it’s too much--“.

“I’ll be fine,” you lightly snapped, immediately feeling regret wash over you. “Sorry. Let’s … let’s just help Fink and get out of here”.

With your order, Reky’yr and another one of your crew picked up the stretcher carrying Fink and continued through the canyons. Following each curve and twist of the rock, until it came to an open area. More people of different varieties entering the compound, all with their own issues or injuries. It was more than a shock when you were greeted at the entrance by a familiar face. Huck. He seemed lighter, more content, less afraid. With weird white swirls to the right of his face, along with five prominent evenly spaced dots on his forehead.

“Dear Y/N, lovely to see you again,” he greeted politely with a bow of his head. Even after all these years, he still recognised you.

“Huck? Is that you?” You said almost speechless.

“Yes,” he nodded, his new watercolored eyes glancing over your shoulder to spot your companions. “In need of help?”.

“Y-yeah. My friend, he’s been stabbed,” you explained, waving Rek’yr forwards. Huck stared somewhat blankly down at Fink, his face covered in a sheet of sweat. “Your healer … can he fix him?”.

“The Herald can help all,” Huck responded brightly before gazing at the glaive strapped to Rek’yrs back. “But I’m afraid your weapons must remain here. There are no weapons allowed in the commune”.

Your fingers twitched on the handle of your sword, uncertain but Finks pained coughs made your mind clear. Unsheathing the blade from its scabbard, you stabbed it into the ground and ordered the others to do the same. When almost all of your weapons sat before you, Huck stepped back and welcomed you inside.

“Just to the centre and you’ll find him there,” he informed, smile forming once more. You nodded in appreciation and took a step only for him to place a hand on your shoulder. “The rest of your family is here too”.

Your brows immediately furrowed. What did he mean? The only “family” you had left was Jinx and the two of you were now estranged ever since Silco chased you out of the Last Drop. With a tight gulp, the four of you entered. Rek’yr took the lead, offering Fink reassuring comments whilst you fell behind slightly, eyes wavering through the crown for a glimpse of blue hair. If Jinx was here it couldn’t have been for anything good. Upon staring behind you, you hadn’t noticed you strayed into someone’s path until you clipped their shoulder.

“Hey, watch it!” You immediately snapped, watching the black haired woman glare right back.

“You’re the one who walked into me you--” she started to snark only to fall short. Her blue eyes squinted, staring you up and down before a look of realisation dawned on her. “Y/N?!”.

Your nose twitched. “How do you…” you eyes drifted onto her left cheek. There was a small tattoo. And those eyes, they suddenly became very familiar.

“V-Vi?!” You stuttered.

“Oh Y/N!” She cried, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You slow breaths heaved from your lips as they awkwardly wrapped around her waist. Vi let out a sigh of relief before pulling away, running a hand over your cheek. “You’re alive”.

“I’m alive?! You’re alive!” you retorted, taking her all in. She really wasn’t the same 15 year old kid you once knew. Now a woman grown, strong and formidable. The only thing that spun you off was the ridiculous black hair. “How? I- I thought you … I thought you died. With Mylo and Claggor and …”. You voice drifted off before you could say that painful word.

“No, I got arrested. I was in Stillwater for the last 7 years,” she explained sadly, her pleased gleam swiftly shifting into one of irritation. “Where the hell did you go?! You left Powder to Silco!”.

“Whoa, calm down! I didn’t want to leave but Silco didn’t exactly make it easy!” You snapped, shoving her hand from your shoulder. Like she knew. She had the benefit of a routine, even if it was inside the walls of a prison cell. You in the other hand had to live from one hour to the next, wondering if this one was when you’d meet your end. “Do you know what it was like? As far as I was aware you were all dead! You! The guys! Pa! Then Silco took the Last Drop, he nearly killed me and I had no one! I had to run!”.

Vi was stunted by your anger. Just as she had changed, so did you. Once a sweet 17 year old girl that happily worked pouring the odd drink at The Last Drop or delivering pints to patrons. Anything to help your father out whenever he needed it. “So … where did you go?” She asked.

“Bilgewater. Got a job, formed a crew and I swore I wasn’t gonna come back to Zaun but work lead me here. Then a friend of mine got stabbed so we need this herald to heal him.” you answered, stressfully pinching the bridge of your nose. With a huff your eyes turned back to her, looking her up and down. “Is he as good as they say? You look in good spirits”.

Vi glanced down at herself. “We’re not here for me,” she replied.

“‘We’? Who’s we? I-is Jinx here?” You question, receiving a nod as a reply. A snarky snarl grew on your lips. “Hmph, finally getting her head fixed is she?”.

“No. Look, this--” she started harshly but faltered. “… this might be hard to understand but don’t freak out”.

Her words were cautious like she was talking to a child, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder and rubbing it soothingly.

“Dad … dad’s alive”.

A sharp pain stabbed you in the chest at her words. That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible. You could feel it bubbling in your chest, like your heart and your head was going to explode. The painful memories you had attempted to shut out came flooding back like a tidal wave. Your voice. His voice. They coiled in your head like a constricting snake.

“You can’t do this! They’ll throw you in Stillwater for good! You’ll never get out!”.

“It’ll only be for a few years. Vi’s just a kid, she shouldn’t be throwing her life away”.

“So it’s fine for you to throw yours?! You’re leaving me! Just like Ma did!”.

“I’m not. I don’t want to do this, but we both know it’s the only way. I need you protect the family now”.

Protect the family. What family? It would all end with him.

“You’ll understand why when you’re older”.

“No, I don’t think I will. Just know, that if you do this, I’ll always hate you”.

That sorrowful look in his grey eyes. It was the last thing you ever saw of your father.

“I’m sorry, little pup”.

A deep fury burned in your eyes as you glared at her. “Wow, and I thought Mylo was the cruel one out of us all!” You seethed through clenched teeth. If it was anyone else they would’ve already been knocked on their arse. You shoved her arm from your shoulder and took a step back. “I’m getting my friend healed and I’m getting out of here. Have a nice life Vi”.

“Y/N, I’m serious! Why would I lie about this?!” She argued, grabbing you by the arm so you couldn’t walk away. “Vander’s the one we’re getting healed”.

Once again your heart clenched. Rage and guilt battling it out for control. “H-he’s here? Where?”.

“In a greenhouse,” she gestured over to a small building just a short distance away. “I … I can take you to him if you want”.

Your breath was hitching, desperately fighting against a wave of tears that crept behind your eyes. “Y/N, you alright?” Rek’yrs voice called behind you. You turned to face him, noticing Fink and your other crew member a distance away; the so called herald gazing down at your injured friend.

“Rek’yr, see to Fink. I … I need to deal with something,” you softly ordered. The humanoid bear stared suspiciously between you and Vi for a second but nodded none the less.

“On it. You need me, holla. I’ll come running,” he offered. The two of you shared a gentle smile before he marched away. Inhaling deeply, you huffed and turned back to Vi.

“Take me to him”.

The two of you walked together, you palms becoming clammy at you growing nervousness. But not at the near impossibility of his survival; rather at his potential anger towards you. Did he know of all that happened after he was taken by Silco? Or that you failed his last request. Or maybe, would he be mad at your last harsh words to him. It was pathetic; childish.

Before you had even realised, you both stood in front the door to the greenhouse. Your fingers nervously twitched behind your back, seeking the leather bound handle of the dagger you had hidden under your corset for comfort.

“Y/N, you need to know … he-- he’s not the same as he was before. He’s different, like really different,” Vi warned, her hand hesitating on the door handle.

“He’s my father. I want to see him,” you firmly stated. Vi sighed and finally opened the door. She crept in first; slow and cautious. Which confused you. You swiftly followed, standing by her side as the room was painted in a slight darkness.

“Vander?” Vi called out once you closed the door behind you. Your desperate eyes squinted, trying to peak through the foliage to spot him. That’s when a large shadow shifted behind a fountain, your brows furrowing as a baby blue eye stared through the leafs. It wasn't his familia grey. And the sclera, it was black. Fear crept up you spine as the head turned, the blue eye joined by a green one. The plants shook, your eyes doubling as a large paw-like hand planted itself on the ground. Another followed, this one modified with large metallic claws and obvious signs of chem-technology. Your lips curved into a horrified sneer at the sight of a mouth full of fangs, its large ears twitching in curiosity as it revealed itself.

“Vi, what the fuck?!” You heaved, wrenching your blade free as it stepped closer; your heart pounding in terror.

“Y/N, just calm down,” she begged, standing defensively in front of the beast. The fear in your eyes, it made the creature jump and shrink away. As if it was ashamed to scare you, like it wanted to hide in itself. “Just … just look at him. It’s him,” she pleaded.

How could it be him? Your father was a man, not this. Not some monster of creation. But the way it held your gaze, the way a parent would a child. It was unsettling; unnerving. It struck you to your core. The blade glimmered in the light as your hand shook unsteadily. Yet it made no attempt to threaten you. As you took a step forward so did the beast. The knife felt heavy, its comfort becoming unwanted. Taking a shaky breath you stepped closer, Vi slowly shuffling to the side so there was nothing between you two.

Tears built up behind you eyes, your head tilting upwards as it stood over you. Its eyes soft and longing. “P-Pa?” You spoke. Its pawed hand rose up causing you to shudder slightly. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to run, to attack and protect yourself but you were frozen in a mixture of fear and intrigue. Its hand hovered just before your face until one of its clawed fingers gently tucked a lock of hair that had come loose behind your ear, grazing your cheek before it pulled away. Just like he always used to do before.

By the gods, how was this possible. “Vi, can you give us a moment,” you asked, your voice somewhat frail. Your sister nodded and swiftly left. Now, it was just you two. Alone.

“So it really is you. After all this time,” you uttered, taking him all in. He had always seemed larger than life when you were younger but now he truly was. “How is this even possible?”.

Vander glanced down at himself, though he wished he could he was unable to voice an answer. But it wasn’t like he wanted to give your the gory details that had suddenly came back thanks to Viktor’s healing either.

Your nose twitched at his silence, as did an old familia anger that had been bottled up for so long resurfacing as well. “What did you expect of me? What, did you think I could look after them without you?!” You hissed, your hands coming up to stressfully scrunch your hair. By the gods, this was insane. This was too much. “I needed you!”.

Vanders eyes bulged slightly, mildly taken back by your burst of anger. Your body trembled in hysteria as you took a few steps away.

“You just had to go and be the damn hero! Vi was a kid b-but the Council would’ve gone easy on her! Whilst you! You lead the uprising! You never would’ve seen the light of day again!” You yelled, throwing the knife across the room where it became embedded in the wall far away from him.

Seething breath after breath, you marched back towards him; despair blending with anguish. Your hands came up to shove him but you found it was like punching a brick wall. He hardly moved, nor did he attempt to stop you; allowing you to vent. “This isn’t right! NONE OF THIS IT RIGHT! You coming back after 8 years, looking like this! It doesn’t change anything!” You bawled, growing more frustrated by the second. Hot tears burned behind your eyes, desperately trying to break free.

“I still hate you!” You screeched, your fist coming up to slam against his broad chest. ‘No, I don’t,’ your brain screamed. ‘I hate myself’.

Vander barely budged at your pounding fists. “This doesn’t change anything! This doesn’t make anything better! No better!”.

Your voice cracked, hands becoming stagnant upon his chest; unable to fight anymore as his large arm wrap around you. “No, fu-cking better”.

You could feel his breath tussle your hair as he tugged you close, his nose resting on the crown of your head. So gentle, even at this monstrous size. A low grumble reached your ears. It was rough but nonthreatening. His words slow yet heartfelt. “I … missed you … little pup,” he whispered softly.

All your resolve broke, the damns in your eyes breaking with a cascade of tears poured down you cheeks. Your clenched fists fell open and latched around his waist, pulling him to you as tightly as you could. The shame and regret you once felt for not holding him close that night slowly faded away. You face became buried in his chest, sobs shuddering past you lips. As did a tiny breathless laugh. It was swift. This feeling was one you hadn’t truly felt in years.

Happiness. He was here, alive. Home.

“I missed you too, Pa”.

——————————————————————————

Hey, I wrote some more! Sorry, to the requester if this felt like a long time since you asked. I don’t have the luxury to have Christmas off like other jobs, oh the joys of hospitality! Anyway, I hope this was what you desired.

I don’t know if I’ll do more requests in the future but, who knows. I might feel generous. Have a Happy New Year y’all!

[gigiii1sblog]

KISS ME LIKE A SECRET 004

Warnings : mature content, cheating, fluff, sexual content, 2 year age gap, 18 & 20 and more

Chapter four: Can’t take it back now

Y/N:

I couldn’t sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him — his hands on my thighs, his mouth crashing into mine, the heat of his breath whispering against my lips right before everything burned.

And it had burned. Hot and fast and way too bright.

Now the morning felt cold.

I stared at the ceiling of my room, limbs tangled in the sheets, stomach twisted in something between guilt and something worse: craving. I could still feel him — the phantom weight of his hands on my waist, the taste of weed and want on his tongue. It clung to me like smoke.

God.

I kissed Chris.

I let him touch me. I wanted him to.

And I had a boyfriend.

The thought made me curl into myself, fists bunching the blanket. I should’ve told Josh not to come for the summer but now I knew that even if I had, it wouldn’t have been about him. It wasn’t. It hadn’t been for weeks. Josh didn’t make my heart stutter like that. Didn’t make my head spin or my throat ache with things I couldn’t say.

Chris had.

Chris — who used to ignore me. Who used to ruffle my hair and call me kid in front of Nate.

Chris — who was now the one person I couldn’t be around without my body betraying me.

The morning light crept in under the curtain, too bright, too sharp.

I hated myself for what happened.

I hated how I didn’t want it to stop.

CHRIS:

I didn’t go back inside that night.

I just sat in the car long after she left. Her lip print was still smudged on my cheek. Her perfume still clung to my shirt.

Fuck.

What the hell did I do?

I knew better. She was Nate’s little sister. I was supposed to protect her, not get high with her. Not kiss her like I owned her. Not touch her like that.

But I did.

And I would’ve done more. I wanted to. I wanted her so bad it made me feel sick.

I dragged a hand through my hair and leaned my head against the steering wheel.

She’d kissed me back.

That was the worst part. It wasn’t one-sided. It wasn’t a mistake in the moment. She wanted it — me — just as badly.

And still, the second Nate’s name lit up her phone, I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.

I’d crossed a line I couldn’t uncross. And now we were stuck living in the same house, dancing around the same fire. I couldn’t even look at Nate right now. Couldn’t be in a room with him without thinking about how I’d had my hands all over his sister hours earlier.

How I still wanted her.

I hadn’t slept. My throat was raw from the joint. My chest tighter than ever.

And when I finally walked into the kitchen that morning, sleep-deprived, guilt-ridden, and pissed off, there she was.

Y/N.

Sitting at the counter like nothing happened, coffee mug cupped in both hands, dressed in one of those stupid soft T-shirts she always wore to bed. She didn’t even look at me.

And I hated that more than anything.

Y/N:

I felt him enter the kitchen before I saw him.

My body stiffened. The air shifted.

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Because if I did, I might remember how he kissed me like he needed it to breathe.

And how I kissed him like I forgot I belonged to someone else.

Nick glanced between us, eyes narrowing just slightly. He always noticed too much.

I sipped my coffee. “Josh texted. He’s not coming today.”

Chris said nothing.

Matt and Nate were laughing at something by the sink. The sound barely registered.

“You okay?” Nick asked me quietly.

I nodded too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”

Chris leaned against the counter across from me, arms folded, jaw tight. He looked wrecked. Like he hadn’t slept. His eyes flicked to mine for a second then away.

God, this was torture.

I stood too fast. “I’m gonna shower.”

Nobody stopped me. But I could feel Chris’s stare burning into my back.

⸻

CHRIS

I didn’t sleep.

She didn’t speak.

We were back to being strangers.

But now I knew what her lips felt like.

Now I knew she wasn’t just Nate’s sister.

And no matter how hard I tried to forget…

I couldn’t.

Two Days Later:

Y/N:

I’d been avoiding him.

Two days of short answers. Dodging rooms. Slipping away just as he entered. Two days of pretending I didn’t feel the way his eyes stuck to me when I walked past. The way my chest got tight every time I heard his voice downstairs.

Because if I didn’t ignore him, I was afraid I’d do something.

Something I couldn’t take back.

I thought if I stayed quiet long enough, the fire would die down. But the silence only made it worse like oxygen fueling everything we weren’t saying.

So when I found myself alone in the driveway at midnight barefoot, hoodie zipped up to my chin, and the weight of the house finally off my chest it wasn’t a surprise that Chris was there too.

Leaning against his car.

Like he knew I’d come. hoodie sleeves pushed up, jaw sharp in the moonlight. Smoking like he didn’t care if it killed him.

Chris looked up the second I stepped off the porch. His gaze burned.

“You done ignoring me?” he asked.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t trust myself to.

My feet moved on their own across gravel, across the line we kept pretending didn’t exist until I stood in front of him, chest tight, fingers twitching at my sides. he looked at me like I was fire he wanted to touch anyway. Like he didn’t care how badly it might burn.

“I tried to forget that kiss,” I whispered.

Chris’s hand came up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I didn’t,” he said. “I replayed it a thousand times.”

His fingers trailed down to my neck. My breath hitched.

“We shouldn’t—” I started, but the words died the second his mouth crashed into mine.

There was no hesitation.

No slowness.

Just hands and teeth and breath and months of restraint snapping in half like dry kindling.

His hands slid under my hoodie, palms scorching over bare skin. I tugged at his hoodie like I needed him out of it, needed to feel him, all of him. He let me. Let me pull it off and toss it to the gravel like it didn’t matter.

He kissed like he hated himself for wanting me.

And I kissed him like I hated myself for letting him.

His mouth moved to my jaw, then down my neck. I gasped as his hands found the waistband of my shorts, thumbs dragging beneath the elastic in a way that made me dizzy.

I yanked at his shirt. He pulled it off.

Our bodies pressed against the hood of his car, breathless, frantic. I felt the cold metal at my back, but I didn’t care. His hands were everywhere. My nails dragged down his chest.

He groaned. “Y/N.”

My shorts were halfway down my thighs when his forehead pressed to mine.

I froze.

He didn’t move either just held me there, breathing ragged, eyes closed tight like he couldn’t bear to look at me.

“What are we doing?” I whispered, voice cracking.

He exhaled hard.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just know I don’t want to stop.”

“But we have to.”

His hands didn’t leave me. Neither did mine.

We just stood there—half-dressed, half-mad, fully broken.

“I- I have a boyfriend ,” I whispered.

“I know,” he said quietly.

I felt tears sting the backs of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

Slowly, carefully, I stepped back. Pulled my shorts up. Tugged my hoodie down.

Chris didn’t say anything. He didn’t move either. Just stood there, shirtless, lips red and swollen from mine.

We didn’t touch again.

We didn’t speak.

I turned and walked back into the house like I wasn’t shaking.

Like my skin didn’t still burn where he touched me.

Like I hadn’t wanted to keep going.

CHRIS:

She walked away.

She actually fucking walked away.

And I didn’t stop her. I couldn’t.

My chest was still heaving, lips bruised from kissing her like I meant it which, fuck, maybe I did and I just stood there, watching the sway of her hoodie disappear through the door like the whole thing didn’t just happen.

Like I wasn’t still half-hard and completely wrecked over the fact that I almost had Nate’s little sister stripped on the hood of my car.

I dragged both hands through my hair and turned, gripping the edge of the hood like it might ground me. My heart was pounding in my throat, sweat cooling against my skin.

What the fuck was I doing?

This wasn’t supposed to happen. She wasn’t supposed to happen.

Y/N was Nate’s little sister. The kid who used to trail behind us on family beach trips, always sunburned and stubborn, begging to be part of everything we did. I remembered her braces. Her oversized shirts. That stupid sparkly phone case she used to carry around like it was sacred.

I remembered laughing with Matt once, swearing she’d never grow out of being annoying.

But now?

Now she was eighteen and confident and mouthy and gorgeous. With long legs and a sharp tongue and a belly piercing that flashed when she stretched. And every time she walked into the room wearing something tight or talked back to me, it was like something short-circuited in my brain.

And tonight?

Tonight, I touched her like I owned her.

Ripped her shorts halfway down. Felt the hitch in her breath when I dragged my hands over her skin. Kissed her like I wanted to leave a mark.

And she let me.

Until she didn’t.

Until we both remembered what this actually was and who she was to me.

I stared at the gravel under my shoes, heart still racing, lips still tingling from where hers had been.

This shouldn’t be happening.

But I couldn’t lie to myself anymore: I wanted her. In a way I wasn’t supposed to. In a way that made my chest tighten and my hands ache and my head spin.

She had a boyfriend. She hated me most of the time. She’d spent two whole days ignoring me, like she was trying to prove to herself that I didn’t matter.

But then she touched me like she needed me.

And the second her hoodie slid up, revealing the soft curve of her hip and the waistband of her underwear, I completely lost my fucking mind.

I pressed my fingers to my lips. I could still feel her mouth there.

Still hear the way she whispered “we can’t” even though she didn’t pull away at first. Even though she kissed me back like she meant it. Like she’d been thinking about it just as much as I had.

And I didn’t even know what the hell that meant.

All I knew was that she wasn’t a little girl anymore.

And maybe that was the problem.

Because now that I’d touched her like that seen her like that, I didn’t think I could go back.

Not without losing my mind.

Not without wanting more.

Later that Night:

Y/N:

Fifteen minutes ago, I was on the hood of his car, gasping into his mouth like he was the only thing keeping me alive.

Now I was walking beside him in silence my thighs sore, my lips swollen, my hands trembling in the sleeves of my sweatshirt.

Fifteen minutes ago, Chris had pushed my shorts halfway down my thighs, hands bruising my hips, eyes wild like he couldn’t believe what he was doing.

Like he couldn’t stop.

Until he did.

Until we both did.

It was too much. Too fast. And somehow, not enough.

Now everything felt different.

The house came into view again, lit up with warm yellow porch lights and laughter drifting from the windows. I could hear Josh’s voice somewhere inside. That made my stomach twist.

I swallowed hard and stopped walking.

Chris stopped too.

He looked at me, jaw clenched, still breathing like he hadn’t come down yet.

I couldn’t look at his mouth. Not again.

“What are we doing?” I whispered.

Chris exhaled, slow. Like he didn’t know how to answer that without setting everything on fire.

“Don’t ask me that right now,” he said, voice low and raw. “Not when I can still taste you.”

I flinched. “Don’t—”

“I’m serious,” he said, stepping in closer. “I can’t go in there and act like I wasn’t just about to—”

“Don’t say it,” I snapped, louder than I meant to. “God, Chris. Just—don’t.” The silence burned.

I could feel how hot his skin still was. How badly we’d both wanted it. How badly I still did.

“You’re with Josh,” he finally said. But it didn’t sound like a reminder it sounded like a punishment.

“I know that.”

“Then why’d you let me touch you like that?”

“Why’d you do it?” I shot back, eyes shining now. “Why’d you kiss me in the first place? Why’d you act like I wasn’t just Nate’s little sister?”

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t have to.

We both knew the answer already:

Because something snapped.

Because he saw me differently now.

Because we were already too far gone.

CHRIS:

I couldn’t stop seeing her mouth. The way she whimpered my name on the hood of my car, legs around my waist, back arched like she needed me more than oxygen.

Fifteen fucking minutes ago.

And now we were walking back into the same house with her boyfriend inside, and I was supposed to sit across the room from her like my hands weren’t just on her bare skin.

Like I wasn’t shaking from how much I wanted her.

She stopped walking. Her arms wrapped tight around herself, like she was holding everything in. Trying to keep herself from falling apart.

“What are we doing?” she asked me.

I could’ve laughed. Instead, I looked at her.

God, she looked even better now. Flushed, frustrated, mascara a little smudged, hair messy from my hands in it.

“I can’t go back in there and pretend,” I told her honestly. “I can’t look at you and act like I didn’t almost—”

She cut me off. “Don’t say it.”

So I didn’t.

But I thought it. Felt it.

And I hated that it wasn’t enough. That I’d pulled away. That I’d had her and still didn’t.

I watched her swallow down whatever storm she was fighting in her chest.

“You’re with Josh,” I said, because I needed her to say it. To mean it.

But she just looked at me like it hurt.

And I hated myself for loving that.

Y/N:

By the time we made it back, my heart had barely slowed.

The porch was filled with voices and half-dressed bodies wrapped in towels. Nate was hauling a speaker toward the hot tub, Matt was handing out cans of beer, and Nick, always observant gave me a once-over that made me wonder if I looked as wrecked as I felt. I avoided Josh’s eyes.

I avoided Chris’s, too.

The heat in the air wasn’t just from the summer night anymore. It was in my veins, crawling under my skin. I grabbed a towel from the pile by the door, disappearing into the bathroom to change.

I peeled off my clothes slowly, wincing when I saw the faint red marks on my hips from Chris’s hands. The same hands I’d let touch me like I didn’t belong to anyone.

My bathing suit felt too small. Or maybe I just felt too exposed.

I could still feel the weight of him between my thighs.

I told myself to breathe.

By the time I came back out, Josh was already in the water, drink in hand, head leaned back like nothing in the world could touch him. Chris was sitting at the edge of the tub, legs dangling in, a beer between his knees.

His head snapped up the moment I stepped out.

Red bikini. No straps. Belly ring glinting in the low light. I saw the way his jaw tightened. How his fingers curled slightly around the bottle. He said nothing.

Good. Neither did I.

I climbed into the tub across from him and let the bubbles cover my thighs. Josh slid over and put a hand on my waist, kissing my cheek like he had any idea what I’d done with someone else fifteen minutes ago.

I tried not to flinch.

Chris was watching us. I knew it without looking.

Matt sat beside him, laughing about something Nate said, but Chris’s eyes were locked on mine. And when I finally looked back…

It was a war zone.

Something dangerous. Possessive. Quietly unraveling.

And I hated how much I liked it.

CHRIS:

I hadn’t touched my beer. Couldn’t.

Y/N walked out in that tiny red bikini, and my entire body went still. My mouth dried. My thoughts blacked out.

She looked like a fucking sin.

Every guy in the hot tub noticed her. Hell, even Matt’s eyes flicked up and down before looking away all red. But me? I didn’t even pretend to look somewhere else.

She didn’t glance at me. Not once. Slid into the tub like she hadn’t just been on my car, grinding down on me like I was hers.

And now she was letting Josh touch her.

My knuckles turned white on the bottle.

Her skin was glowing, wet, golden in the porch light. I could see the faintest marks I’d left on her hips and something ugly twisted in my stomach.

I wanted to touch her again.

Wanted to pull her to the side of the tub, sink my fingers under the water, and remind her who really got to make her breathless.

I looked away. I had to.

Matt was saying something about the beer being warm. Nate made a joke about adding ice to the hot tub. Everyone laughed.

Except me.

I caught Y/N’s gaze once just once and that was enough. Her eyes were wide, glassy from whatever she was drinking, but they burned. She blinked slow. Bit her lip like she was trying not to fall apart again.

I wanted to pull her under the water and kiss her until the bubbles stopped.

Instead, I stood up.

“I’m getting another beer,” I muttered to no one.

Her eyes followed me.

Y/N:

I didn’t follow him inside.

Instead, I turned around and climbed back into the hot tub.

The water hit my skin like fire. Or maybe it was the way Chris had looked at me before he left. My head was a mess my stomach, worse but I dropped into the corner seat across from Nate and slid next to Nick, trying to play it off like I hadn’t almost gone after the guy who just wrecked me against the hood of his car.

Nick leaned close, whispering, “You okay?”

I nodded. “Just hot.”

He raised a brow, but didn’t push it.

Across from me, Chris came back. New beer. Same tense jaw. But this time, he didn’t sit on the edge. He slid right into the water.

Next to me.

My heart stuttered.

I could feel his thigh brush mine. Could feel the ripple of the water shift around us.

He didn’t look at me. Not really. Just drank from his bottle, watching Matt and Nate argue over some dumb memory from last summer. But his hand?

It found my thigh beneath the surface.

And I couldn’t move.

I didn’t want to.

CHRIS:

told myself to stay cool. To act normal.

I was good at faking things, pretending I didn’t care. That I didn’t notice the way she kept adjusting the bikini top that barely covered anything, or the way her eyes would flutter shut every time my knee bumped hers.

But this wasn’t pretend anymore.

I slid my hand under the bubbles, slow. Casual. Like I wasn’t losing my mind.

And when my fingers found her thigh again warm, soft, still trembling faintly—I felt her inhale sharp through her nose.

No one noticed.

Not Matt, who was too busy talking about the party tomorrow. Not Nate, who was scrolling through his phone, not even Josh who had gone inside for another drink.

Just me and her.

And the water.

I let my fingers trace small circles. Lazy. Just above her knee at first, then sliding higher. Her breath hitched. Her nails dug into the foam edge of the tub.

Still, she didn’t stop me.

She never did.

I brushed under the hem of her suit bottom. Just enough to remind her what fifteen minutes ago felt like.

Just enough to remind me.

She shifted, knees closing slightly, trapping my hand between her thighs.

That alone almost made me lose it.

She leaned over then—barely an inch—her lips brushing against my ear like she was whispering something innocent.

“I hate you,” she breathed.

I smirked, eyes still forward. “No you don’t.”

Her knee pressed into mine. Her foot slid against my calf under the water.

“No,” she said, “I really fucking do.”

But her thighs didn’t move.

And neither did my hand.

Y/N:

I’d closed my legs instinctively at first.

But now?

Now I opened them again.

Not wide. Just enough.

Just enough to tell him: I’m not stopping you.

And he got the message. His hand moved again confident, slow, deliberate. His fingers finding the softest part of my inner thigh under the water and staying there.

I didn’t look at him. Couldn’t.

Matt and Nate were on the other side of the tub, arguing over who drank the last seltzer. Nick was leaning against the edge, head tilted toward the stars.

And Chris?

Chris was lighting me on fire under the surface.

I clenched the edge of the tub, hard. My breath caught in my throat when his fingers traced higher. The jets of the jacuzzi masked the ripples of movement, the accidental-turned-intentional contact. But I felt every inch of it.

Every press. Every pause.

I shifted, not away but toward. My skin flushed so hot it made the water feel cold. And when his hand flexed slightly, pressing in a rhythm that made my hips twitch

I almost let a sound slip.

He leaned in closer, his lips near my ear.

“You’re not stopping me,” he murmured, barely audible under the laughter and splashing.

I didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

Because he was right.

I should’ve pushed his hand away the first time.

I should’ve left the hot tub.

I should’ve thought about Josh.

But all I could think about was him.

How he touched me like he owned me. Like he already knew the places to go, how to make my body sing without ever being seen. How reckless it felt to give him this here where anyone could turn their head and see. The way he rubbed circles with his fingers right on my clit

I let my legs drift open further.

Just enough to give him more.

I didn’t look at his face, but I felt the smug smile against my shoulder.

I hated it.

I needed it.

The water sloshed faintly when I shifted again, pretending to adjust my hair but really, I was letting him get closer. Letting him explore every inch of me, slow and aching.

I bit my lip, hard. My nails dug crescents into my palm under the water, when he started to tease my enternece with his two fingers.

He was just inches from-

“Anyone want more drinks?” Matt called out, breaking the tension like a snap of cold air.

Chris’s hand slid away. I nearly whimpered.

I stood quickly, shaky and flushed, grabbing my towel with trembling fingers.

“Gonna rinse off,” I muttered.

I didn’t wait for anyone to respond. I didn’t trust myself to.

Because I knew if I stayed another second, I’d beg for more.

And if I looked back at Chris?

I’d see the same wildfire in his eyes that was tearing through me now.

CHRIS:

I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.

No, that’s a lie. I knew exactly what I was doing.

I just didn’t know why it felt like life or death.

She let me touch her.

After all the ignoring. After the silence. After she told me to stop an hour ago in the car…

She let me in under the water, in plain sight, with Josh in the house and her brother across from us.

She didn’t push my hand away.

She let me tease her.

She opened her legs further.

She chose me.

And that? That broke something in me.

Because this wasn’t some hookup anymore. This wasn’t teasing. This was real. This was her melting against my fingers, biting her lip, and pretending to laugh at Nick’s joke while I pushed every single boundary we’d been pretending didn’t exist.

And when I whispered to her, when I said what we were both thinking—

She didn’t deny it.

She didn’t even flinch.

Just breathed harder. Stayed still.

And I gave her more.

Until Matt spoke. Until reality snapped back. Until she stood up like she couldn’t take it anymore.

I watched the water slide down her legs as she walked away, the towel clutched tight around her. Her back was rigid. Her skin flushed. Her silence loud.

She wanted it.

She hated that she did.

And me?

I was still underwater, hands burning, jaw clenched, needing to follow her. Needing to feel her again.

I just didn’t know if I wanted her out of lust or punishment anymore.

Y/N:

I didn’t go to the bathroom like I said I would.

I went upstairs. Straight into my room. Locked the door. Dropped my towel. My skin still tingled from the heat of the water or maybe from his touch. I didn’t know anymore.

I was trembling.

I leaned against the dresser, heart hammering, eyes locked on the reflection of my flushed skin in the mirror.

Why did I let him?

Why did I want him to do it again?

There was a knock. Quiet. Hesitant.

I already knew it was him.

I didn’t answer.

The doorknob turned. It was locked.

Another knock—then a pause—and his voice. Low. Controlled. Barely.

“Y/N,” he murmured. “Open the door.”

I didn’t move.

Another silence.

Then, louder: “Open the fucking door.”

My feet moved on their own.

The second I unlocked it, he pushed inside. His eyes were wild. His hair still damp. His chest rising like he ran up the stairs.

We just stared at each other.

The room was too quiet.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” I whispered.

“You let me,” he said, stepping closer.

“That doesn’t mean I—”

“You opened your legs for me.”

I flinched. His voice was sharp, brutal, but real. And so was mine when I hissed, “And you didn’t stop.”

“Do you want me to?”

I hated him. I hated him for asking. For knowing exactly how to hurt me. For making me want more.

“No,” I breathed, barely audible.

That was all it took.

He closed the distance and crashed his mouth into mine. There was no hesitation, no slow burn now. Just pure heat. His hands found my waist, gripped tight, dragging me to him until there was no space left between us. I clung to him like I’d break without it. Like I needed his mouth, his hands, the scrape of his teeth against my lip just to breathe.

He lifted me—effortless—and sat me on the edge of the dresser, bodies flush, skin damp and burning. My legs wrapped around his waist without thought. His hand dragged up the back of my thigh, making me gasp into his mouth.

My fingers tangled in his wet hair. His mouth trailed to my neck, my collarbone, the space just under my jaw that made my head fall back, eyes shut.

Everything was too much. Too good. Too wrong.

My breathing hitched when he pressed against me there, hard and unrelenting. I arched into him, hips grinding against his, and the sound that escaped his throat was almost inhuman.

“Fuck,” he muttered, teeth grazing my skin. “You’re gonna ruin me.”

I didn’t care.

I needed him.

I tugged at his shirt, dragging it up, nails raking against his chest. He growled when I bit his bottom lip, when I moaned against his mouth like I was already too far gone.

His hands slipped under the hem of my bikini bottoms, palms gripping my ass, pulling me tighter.

It would’ve happened.

I would’ve let him take everything.

But then—I paused.

Something cracked inside me. Just for a second.

Josh.

Nate.

My whole life before this moment.

I stilled in his arms. Breathless. Dizzy.

He felt it.

“Y/N,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

“I—” My voice cracked. “I can’t.”

He didn’t move. Just held me there, heart pounding against mine.

I buried my face in his shoulder, shaking.

He didn’t pull away.

Didn’t speak.

Just stayed.

Because even he knew, if we went any further, there’d be no going back.

CHRIS:

She pulled away.

Her breath was still warm on my neck, and her thighs were still wrapped around my waist, but her body had gone still. And I knew.

She was backing out.

Again.

And this time… I couldn’t even blame her.

I didn’t let go of her right away. I just stood there, hands still on her hips, forehead resting against hers like I was praying she’d change her mind. That she’d kiss me again. That she’d forget Josh, forget Nate, forget everything but the way I made her feel.

But she didn’t.

She slid off the dresser slowly, eyes wide and lips swollen, avoiding my gaze like it burned.

“I need to shower,” she said, barely above a whisper.

It wasn’t just the water she wanted to rinse off. It was me.

I nodded, jaw tight.

I couldn’t say a damn thing without it sounding like a beg. Like a mistake. Like I was that kid again, watching her trail after Nate with her little notebook and wide eyes, always looking at me like I was someone she couldn’t touch. But now she had.

And I couldn’t forget it.

I left the room before I said something I’d regret. Before I kissed her again and made her hate herself for letting me.

Y/N:

The water was ice-cold.

I didn’t even care.

I stood under it like it could erase the bruises his mouth left on my collarbone. Like it could wipe away the ache between my legs. The ache of almost.

I was shaking—but not from the cold.

I should’ve stopped him sooner. I should’ve pushed him away when he first touched me under the water. Should’ve slapped him when he whispered in my ear like he already owned me.

But I didn’t.

Because I wanted it.

Because I let him.

And I would’ve let it go further if my heart hadn’t screamed at me at the last second.

I wrapped my arms around myself, trying not to cry.

He’s not yours, I told myself.

He never was.

You were just Nate’s little sister. That’s all you ever were. Until one day, you got your belly pierced and you wore a black bikini and he looked at you like you were something to touch instead of protect. And now look where it got you.

I stepped out of the shower, dizzy. Like the walls were closing in.

And when I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—hair wet, skin flushed, eyes glassy—I didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

She looked like someone who’d made a mistake.

Someone who couldn’t take it back.

CHRIS:

I couldn’t sit still.

I went out back, lit a blunt, and stared into the dark. The jacuzzi still bubbled across the yard like it hadn’t just witnessed a breakdown disguised as a hookup.

Matt came outside, but I didn’t say anything. Just passed him the joint and kept my eyes low.

He didn’t ask.

And I was glad because if he had, I might’ve told him the truth.

That I didn’t know who I was when she touched me like that.

That I felt like a criminal for craving someone who used to wear friendship bracelets and smelled like florar shampoo. That watching her grow up ruined me. That now I couldn’t stop imagining her on me, under me, saying my name like it belonged to her.

I didn’t want to want her.

But I fucking did.

And I didn’t know how to stop.

@izzylovesmatt @ansteeze @amiraisafreakokaysorry @pair-of-pantaloons @sturnslux3 @riggysworld @kitty-meow-meow44 @kalel2005

[byhuenii]

Romcom 101 w/ Reluctant Super Soldiers

CHAPTER 0 – “For Optics” → The Setup

(Word Count: 4,600)

(Warnings) Bucky, fake marriage, mr tall broody, stupid idiots who like eachother, mentions of romcoms, semi-tower fic but theyre all watching this mission play out, lots and lots of teasing! lmk if i missed anything, ALSO NO MENTION OF NAME

Masterlist | Next Chapter

The mission was supposed to be simple. Pretend to be engaged. Blend in at a diplomatic summit. Make sure no one tried to poison the Latvian prime minister.

But Nick Fury, being Nick Fury, had a flair for chaos. So instead of sending seasoned SHIELD agents with an actual romantic history, he sent Bucky Barnes—the most emotionally constipated man alive—and you.

"You'll be fine," Fury had said with a dismissive wave. "Barnes is broody, you're charming, it's believable."

That was all it took. No planning. No detailed cover story. No psych evaluations or compatibility testing. Just forged marriage paperwork, a diamond ring with a price tag that could fund four years of college and a decent first apartment in Brooklyn, and a room key.

Just you and Bucky, thrown into a luxurious suite in Vienna courtesy of Stark.

When you both stepped into your shared suite for the first time, the tension was high—so high, it might've had its own gravitational pull.

It was awkward. Painfully so. The tension hit harder than a gut punch from a super soldier under Hydra’s control. Bucky dropped his bag wordlessly by the dresser, his eyes scanning the room like it might be booby-trapped.

Of course. One bed.

You glanced at the hyper-aware soldier. "Rock paper scissors for the floor?"

He blinked slowly, face unreadable. "I’ve slept on concrete for seventy years. I’ll be fine."

"You’re willingly taking the floor?"

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it up in the closet with the kind of precision that deserved a jazz soundtrack.

"Less complicated."

You sighed and opened your suitcase, filled with gowns tailored perfectly to your measurements. "We can share the bed. I call the left side."

All you got was a grunted acknowledgment.

Great.

Sharing a bed with a man who once assassinated JFK but couldn’t make eye contact while you changed into your pajamas.

Gentleman? Maybe.

You hoped so.

Back at the compound, chaos had already erupted.

Sam Wilson had laughed for a solid five minutes when he saw the fake engagement announcement on the mission board.

"This is gold," he choked out between wheezes. "Barnes? Romance? I give it two days before one of you throws a pillow at the other."

Peter Parker was thrilled. "Oh my God, is this like—Mr. & Mrs. Smith?" he'd asked with way too much excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Do you get spy gadgets? Matching disguises? Oh! You should totally get matching tattoos."

Kate Bishop added with a snort, "If either of them blows up a mansion, I’m calling dibs on the security footage. And the explosion angles. I’ve got a whole highlight reel in my head already."

Steve had been confused. Disbelieving. "Bucky? Seriously? He hates holding hands. He physically recoils when people breathe too close to him."

Natasha had leaned in close to the screen and smirked. "Maybe the threat of poison will loosen him up. Or maybe this'll be the mission where he finally learns how to flirt without looking like he wants to escape through a wall."

Tony had already started taking bets.

"I give it three days before she snaps and murders him. Or vice versa. Either way, entertaining. Friday, start the office pool. Put me down for 'awkward sexual tension implosion' on Day 5."

Clint just whistled. "Guess I gotta move 'Mission Baby Shower' from December to next year."

Yelena cracked her knuckles with glee. "Can I be godmother? Even if it’s a fake baby. Just give me a fake baby. I want to test its espionage potential."

The earpiece teasing started almost immediately.

"Barnes, if you don’t compliment her dress, I swear to god, I will," Sam's voice buzzed in Bucky’s ear as you descended the hotel stairs, shimmering in a sleek navy gown. "Don’t make me call dibs."

Bucky grumbled, "You’re not even on this mission."

"Don’t need to be. I got the livestream."

You smiled faintly, aware of Bucky’s silence. "Is Sam threatening you again?"

"He’s threatening you, technically."

Yelena's voice chimed in, all fake innocence. "James, you look very... tense. Maybe she should give you a massage. For cover. For the mission."

"Not helping," Bucky muttered, ears tinting pink.

"Oh, but I’m excellent at helping," Yelena replied. "I helped Kate dye her eyebrows once. Only burned a little."

Peter added in a whisper-shout, "Guys! He just looked at her like she invented breathing. I’m writing this down."

Tony: "I better get at least a five-act romantic arc or I’m cutting funding."

Bucky was quiet.

Then he looked at you, slow and deliberate, and asked, "You okay with this?"

You nodded. Something in him settled. Maybe.

Day one already felt long, and the gala hadn’t even started.

It was a mess of security walkthroughs, earpiece tests, rehearsed interactions, and learning which fork went with which entree. Bucky didn't speak unless he had to, and when he did, it was clipped and functional. You filled in the silences with charm and diplomacy, making Peter laugh over text, and trying to ignore the way Bucky flinched every time your shoulder brushed his.

The ring was beautiful—sterling silver, classic cut, not too flashy. You slipped it on and felt the weight of it. Too real.

Bucky adjusted his tie and muttered, "You sure this looks okay?"

You stepped closer, smoothing the lapels of his jacket. His eyes dropped to your hands.

"You clean up alright, Barnes."

He looked up. Something unreadable passed between you.

The summit was held in a grand hotel ballroom, chandeliers glittering overhead. You and Bucky were introduced as "James Barnes and fiancée." That word sounded strange in your ears.

"Annnd fiancée," you drawled. "I’m going to start introducing myself as Fiancée Barnes."

Bucky chuckled—light, airy, almost out of character. That was strange too.

Even stranger when he placed a hand on the small of your back, warm and possessive. You thought it would be hard to make him act like he loved you. God, this already felt natural.

You didn’t have to fake the shiver.

You passed diplomats, smiling, nodding, sipping wine you hated. Bucky played his part with quiet grace, moving like a shadow at your side. When someone asked how you met, he surprised you by weaving an elaborate, entirely made-up story about a coffee shop and spilled books and rainy afternoons.

He smirked when he saw your face.

"What?" he murmured. "Figured I’d contribute to the fantasy."

Back in the surveillance van, Tony clutched his chest.

"He’s improvising! Our boy is growing up!"

Clint mimed wiping away a tear. "It’s so beautiful."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Idiots."

Sam: "Wait, did he just adjust her necklace for her? I swear Barnes is going to combust."

Yelena: "Let it happen. Combustion is very romantic."

Peter: "Do you think they’ll kiss by Day 6? I have a theory."

For the first day it was stiff, silent, and filled with the kind of micro-interactions that would make a body language analyst cry from secondhand embarrassment.

You fumbled with your earpiece while Bucky stood in the corner like a brooding gargoyle. When it came time to descend to the gala, you slipped into a sleek navy gown and caught him watching you—not staring, just... noticing.

"Barnes, if you don’t compliment her dress, I swear to God, I will," Sam’s voice buzzed in Bucky’s ear. "You’re not even on this mission," Bucky grumbled.

“Something wrong?”

“No,” he said too quickly. “Just... didn’t expect that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t expect what?”

“That color. Looks good on you.”

You blinked. Was that a compliment? From Bucky Barnes? Sam’s voice crackled in your ear from comms. “He’s evolving. Give the man a sticker.”

"Don’t need to be. I got the livestream."

You smiled faintly. "Is Sam threatening you again?"

"He’s threatening you, technically."

The gala was a blur of forced smiles and champagne. You looped your arm through his. His was solid, warm, unmoving. People asked questions. Where did you meet? How long had you been together?

 "Coffee shop," he said smoothly. "She dropped three books on my foot." You turned, wide-eyed. "It was raining," he continued. "I offered her my umbrella. She told me to get my own."

The man could lie. And worse—he could lie well. He even smirked at your shocked expression. "What?" he murmured. "Figured I’d contribute to the fantasy." Tony, listening from the surveillance van, clutched his chest. "He’s improvising! Our boy is growing up!"

Back in your suite that night, you lay side by side but a safe foot apart, both staring at the ceiling.

"Day one down," you said quietly. "Yeah," Bucky replied. "You snore."

Day Two was a little looser, a little less like you were two strangers playing house. The mission was still the priority, of course—but the details got blurrier.

By morning, something had shifted—imperceptibly, like the temperature rising just one degree. He handed you coffee before you could ask. Black, just the way you liked it.

You blinked. “You remembered?” “You said it yesterday.” You hadn’t realized he was listening.

During your daily romantic walk, meant for optics, Bucky offered you his arm. You blinked.

"It’s for the cover," he said stiffly. "People are watching."

Later, walking the manicured palace grounds for ‘optics,’ Bucky offered you his arm. No warning. Just extended it stiffly like it was procedure. You took it without hesitation, ignoring the way your heart thudded against your ribs.

“People are watching,” he murmured.

“You say that like you’re not enjoying it,” you replied.

He didn’t respond, but his thumb brushed the inside of your wrist once. Soft. Unintentional, maybe. But it lingered.

At brunch, you stole bacon from his plate.

“You’re going to start a war,” he muttered.

“You could’ve stabbed me. You didn’t.”

“I’m evolving,” he deadpanned.

Sam: “Ohhh, he’s learning. Next up: eye contact that lasts longer than three seconds.”

Yelena: “Wait until he accidentally brushes her hand. He’ll short-circuit like a toaster.”

Later, you helped him adjust his tie before a security debriefing. You were close—too close. The knot was slightly crooked. Your hands stilled on his chest.

“Hold still,” you said.

“I’m trying,” he said quietly.

Neither of you moved.

That night, in bed, he rolled onto his side, closer than the night before. Not touching, but nearer. Intentional.

“You don’t snore,” he said softly.

“You lied?”

“I wanted you to stop talking.”

You laughed into the dark. “It didn’t work.”

You both laughed—soft and tired. His shoulder brushed yours. Neither of you moved away.

Day three started with a near wardrobe disaster.

You had exactly 12 seconds before your zipper betrayed you, and your communicator crackled with static as you wrestled with it.

"Uh, problem," you muttered.

Bucky, dressed and brooding by the minibar, looked over his shoulder. “What?”

“This damn zipper. It’s stuck, and I’m not showing up to the ambassador’s brunch half-dressed.”

You turned your back to him, exposing the rogue zipper. He hesitated, like you’d just asked him to dismantle a bomb. Slowly, reluctantly, he stepped forward.

His metal hand brushed the small of your back.

And then—

Sam (over the earpiece): “Easy, Romeo. That’s a zipper, not a detonator.”

Nat: “Use the thumb, Barnes. Gently. She’s not a nuclear device.”

Yelena: “If he rips her dress, I get to pick the next one. Leather. Black. Combat-ready.”

Bucky’s jaw tightened as he zipped you up in stiff silence. You could feel the heat radiating off his skin like sun-warmed steel.

“There,” he mumbled.

“Thanks.” You turned to face him, trying very hard not to notice the proximity.

Clint: “Can we get a little less eye contact and a little more moving toward the door, lovebirds?”

Peter: “I bet they stared at each other for five whole seconds. Classic pre-kiss energy.”

Kate: “Let them build tension, damn. This is peak romcom pacing.”

Later, during a stroll through the ornate gardens for your daily “fake romantic walk,” Bucky offered you his arm.

You blinked.

He cleared his throat. “It’s for the cover. People are watching.”

Right. Sure. The hand he offered was warm and steady. You looped your arm through his, ignoring how your heart stuttered.

Sam: “Ohhh, he’s learning. Next up: eye contact that lasts longer than three seconds.”

Yelena: “Wait until he accidentally brushes her hand. He’ll short-circuit like a toaster.”

You squeezed his arm playfully. “You're getting good at pretending.”

He glanced sideways. “I’m not pretending as much as I probably should be.”

Your breath hitched. You weren’t sure what to say to that.

Luckily—or unluckily—you were interrupted.

Tony: “Heads up, kids. Possible security breach in the south hallway. Eyes sharp.”

Bucky stiffened. His whole demeanor shifted into soldier mode, the warmth fading into stone.

You touched his arm gently. “Hey. You’ve got this.”

He gave a short nod. "Stay close."

The breach turned out to be a glitchy security drone—nothing dangerous, but it had thrown everyone into high alert.

That night, exhausted and a little shaken, you found yourself brushing your teeth beside Bucky in awkward silence.

Your pajamas were mismatched—Stark’s branded t-shirt and plaid pants—and Bucky was in a henley and sweatpants, somehow looking like a sleepwear model anyway.

He spit into the sink and caught your eye in the mirror.

“You drool in your sleep.”

You squinted. “You’ve been watching me sleep?”

“You talk, too. Something about… pancakes and fighting a goose.”

“That sounds accurate.”

You both laughed—soft and tired—and your shoulders brushed as you leaned over the sink.

Nat (deadpan): “If you kiss right now, I swear to God I will make you both run sparring drills in full formalwear.”

Sam: “You think he’s that brave? Barnes would faint.”

Yelena: “I vote, we place bets. If they kiss within the week, Peter owes me churros.”

Peter: “What? I didn’t—fine, but only if it’s on the lips.”

By Day Four, the ease between you and Bucky had settled into something strange and wonderful.

You had inside jokes. Shared routines. A rhythm.

He always poured your coffee first. You always stole the blanket. He grumbled, but didn’t take it back.

At breakfast, you caught him staring—not in the creepy way. In the you-had-no-idea-you-were-doing-it way.

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

He looked away, ears pink. “Nothing.”

Yelena: “That wasn’t nothing. That was ‘I wonder what she looks like in my hoodie’ eyes.”

Kate: “He’s definitely thought about that. Multiple times.”

Tony: “He’s doomed. She’s doomed. Everyone’s doomed. This mission is a romcom masquerading as a diplomatic op.”

That night, after the gala, you were tipsy from champagne and barefoot in the kitchenette, eating strawberries from the minibar.

Bucky leaned against the doorway, watching you.

"You’re not making this easy,” he said, voice low.

“Easy?”

“This is supposed to be fake.”

You blinked. “And?”

“I’m not doing a great job pretending.”

Your heart stopped.

He stepped forward. One slow, deliberate step at a time until he was close enough to touch. Close enough that you could smell his cologne—earthy, clean, too expensive for someone who still used flip phones.

You swallowed. “Then don’t.”

He leaned in—and just as your breath caught, he pulled back.

“We’re still on a mission.”

Nat (over the earpiece): “…You absolute coward.”

Yelena: “Throw a chair at him.”

Sam: “He’s gonna regret that for the rest of his unnatural life.”

You turned away, chest tight. “Right. Of course.”

But Bucky didn’t move for a long moment.

Neither did you.

Day 5 was like watching the whiplash movie, its like there was a switch flipped in bucky.

You woke to find Bucky already awake, perched near the window with a book in hand, sunlight cutting across his cheek. His hair was damp from a recent shower, curling just slightly at the ends. He looked peaceful in a way that made your heart ache

A  lazy morning and too many strawberries. You padded barefoot through the suite in one of his T-shirts because yours was in the laundry.

He saw you and just... stared. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Say it.”

“It’s just... you look comfortable.”

You shrugged. “Should I not be?”

“No,” he said. “It’s good.”.

"What are you reading?"

He lifted the cover. "The Hobbit."

You blinked. "You're reading Tolkien?"

Bucky shrugged, almost sheepishly. "I like the world-building. And the maps."

"You're a secret nerd."

"Wasn’t much to do in cryo. I read a lot."

Peter’s voice crackled through your earpiece. "Wait, wait, Barnes reads The Hobbit? I knew he was cool. I knew it."

Sam added, "Bet he's got a Gandalf quote tattooed somewhere."

"One book does not a nerd make," Yelena chimed in. "But if he starts quoting Elvish, we riot."

You rolled your eyes and grinned. "You know what? You should watch Game of Thrones next."

He gave you a long, skeptical look. "That the one with the dragons and... everyone dies?"

"Basically."

He turned a page. "Alright. I’ll give it a shot."

Later that night, while reviewing the security layout, Bucky mumbled, "So what’s a Lannister again?"

You choked on your water. "You're actually watching it?"

He smirked. "I said I’d give it a shot."

That evening, he surprised you even more. You were rambling about a diplomat who couldn’t pronounce ‘Latvian’ when Bucky cut in dryly:

"Maybe he thinks it’s a kind of cheese."

You burst into laughter, nearly dropping your earpiece.

Sam’s voice cracked through. "DID HE JUST—DID BUCKY BARNES MAKE A JOKE?"

Natasha chimed in, amused. "Mark the day."

Bucky looked satisfied. "I like hearing you laugh."

You paused. He didn’t meet your eyes, but his words lingered.

Day six felt like a real fantasy.

It was the final day of the summit. The atmosphere was electric and draining all at once.

Just before the summit dinner, the entire team was monitoring the ballroom through comms. You and Bucky had split up to schmooze the various delegates—at least on paper. In reality, you were sneaking glances at each other across the room like teenagers with a crush.

That’s when Sam’s voice crackled in your ear again.

“Hey, Barnes. If you keep staring at her like that, the Latvian prime minister’s gonna think he’s your type.”

You nearly choked on your champagne.

Yelena hummed. “Honestly, I ship it.”

Bucky covered his mouth to hide the smirk.

Natasha chimed in smoothly, “I give it two more flirtatious remarks before one of you combusts.”

Clint: “My money’s on Barnes.”

Then Steve’s voice, smooth as ever, broke through the static:

“Welcome back, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky visibly froze, one corner of his mouth twitching, like he wanted to grin and groan at the same time. A blush crept over his cheeks, and he instinctively rubbed the back of his neck like a kid caught passing notes in class.

You caught his reaction and grinned. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” he muttered quickly.

“Oh no, no. That blush is something. What’d Steve say to you?”

“Nothing important.”

You tilted your head. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

He blinked. “Did you just—?”

“Say you’re cute?” You shrugged. “Yeah. What, shocked I find you attractive now that you’re letting your 40s flirt game show?”

He gave a soft chuckle, voice low. “I’m not even at full power yet.”

“Oh no,” Sam said in your ears, “he’s back, and he’s flirting. World, prepare yourself.”

Peter whispered dramatically, “This is better than the ending of descendants 2.”

You wore a dark green gown that hugged your frame, matched with gold accessories. Bucky was already dressed when you stepped out. His eyes flicked up and down once, then stayed on your face.

"You keep dressing like that, and I’ll forget how to speak."

You blinked. "What?"

"You heard me."

Your breath caught, because this time he wasn’t flustered. He was smooth. Almost cocky.

"Barnes, are you flirting with me?"

He gave a sly half-smile. "Might be. You gonna report me to HR?"

You narrowed your eyes. "You’re the worst."

"And yet here you are, still holding my hand."

Your fingers were laced together. You hadn’t even noticed.

Throughout the night, Bucky dropped more of those subtle jabs:

"Careful, you keep looking at me like that, I might get ideas."

"I’d offer you a drink, but I already make your head spin."

"We’re married, technically. I’m allowed to be obsessed."

Each time, your face warmed. Each time, your heart thudded a little harder.

During a slow dance, he leaned in close.

"Still fake?"

You swallowed hard. "I don’t know anymore."

Over the earpiece, Yelena whispered, "God, finally."

Sam sighed dramatically. "My ship is sailing."

Nat: "They’re disgustingly cute."

Peter: "Can I be the flower boy? I have glitter cannons."

You both laughed.

Day seven came and went, that also meant it was the end of your play pretend marriage.

The mission wrapped. No explosions. No gunfights. No poisoned desserts. Just a hundred photo ops and a thousand half-smiles.

That morning, you found Bucky asleep beside you. Fully on the bed now, one arm sprawled across the pillow between you. His copy of The Hobbit lay open on his chest, pages crinkled.

You picked it up carefully and bookmarked the spot.

He blinked awake slowly, eyes meeting yours. "Morning."

"Morning. I think Bilbo’s about to meet the dragon."

He smiled. "Good part."

You watched him stretch, muscles flexing, hair a glorious mess.

"You’re not making this easy," you whispered.

He looked over. "Easy to do what?"

"Forget this was fake."

The night before you left Vienna, you and Bucky took one final walk around the quiet city. The summit had wrapped. The threats were neutralized. The diplomats had all gone home, and the cobblestone streets glistened under the glow of old-world lanterns.

Your arms brushed as you walked.

Neither of you spoke.

Eventually, you found yourselves on a small bridge overlooking the river. The air smelled like rain and blooming jasmine. He leaned on the railing beside you, his shoulder just grazing yours.

You turned to him, quietly.

“This whole week…” you started.

He didn’t look away. “Yeah.”

“Feels weird to take the ring off.”

He swallowed hard. “Feels weird to pretend none of it meant anything.”

You stepped closer.

His hand reached out, almost involuntarily, to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His fingertips lingered on your cheekbone, calloused and gentle. You looked up at him.

His eyes searched yours.

You swore he was leaning in.

You leaned in too.

Then he froze.

He stepped back, jaw tightening.

“We… we can’t. It’s not real,” he said, voice low but tense.

You blinked. “Right.”

The air snapped like a rubber band. The moment dissolved.

You straightened, quietly crushed, nodding even as your throat burned.

Comms exploded.

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?” Tony bellowed. “You didn’t kiss her?! You were right there! That was a million-dollar moment! Do you know how much money I’ve lost on this stupid betting pool?!”

Nat groaned: “They’re both hopeless.”

Yelena: “I am embarrassed for them.”

Sam: “One job, Barnes. You had one job. You just had to lean in.”

Clint’s voice cut in, sharp: “Break her heart and I break both your kneecaps.”

Peter, heartbreak in his tone: “This is just like 10 Things I Hate About You. Kat finds out Patrick was paid to date her... then she cries in English class... I’m not okay.”

And then Wanda’s voice joined, lilting with sarcasm and judgment.

“Oh please, Barnes. Do you want me to bend reality so you did kiss her? Because that’s the only way this is going to feel less tragically awkward.”

Bucky groaned audibly. “Wanda…”

She laughed. “You’re telling me, Mr. Flirty-1943 suddenly forgets how to close a three-inch gap? I have seen you take out Hydra bunkers with more confidence.”

You tried not to laugh but failed—shoulders shaking silently as Bucky rubbed his face in embarrassment.

Wanda: “This is coming from a literal witch, Barnes. There are hexes for this kind of thing. I’m tempted to use them.”

Tony again: “God, even Maximoff’s fed up. Do something, Barnes. Before Clint and Yelena form a vigilante group.”

Fury’s voice returned, a growl now: “I’m going to destroy this comm system myself. With a hammer.”

Click. Silence.

You let out a soft breath and glanced at Bucky. He was still red in the ears, jaw tight, clearly rattled by all of it.

You tried to smile. “Well. That was dramatic.”

Bucky stared at the ground, fists clenched at his sides.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said quietly.

You nodded. “I know.”

He muttered, “I liked it better when I was just the guy reading Tolkien.”

You smiled, and despite it all—despite the nearly kiss, the tension, the sudden cold feet—there was a glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

The walk back was quiet. Not tense—just full of things unsaid.

When you got to your suite, he held the door for you. His hand hovered at your back but never touched you.

That night, he slept facing the wall.

You stayed awake a while, staring at the ceiling, the ring cold on your finger.

When Fury checked in that afternoon, you and Bucky were side-by-side on the couch, feet tangled beneath a ridiculous fur throw Stark had insisted made the room “romantic enough for Europe.” You’d both been laughing—soft, quiet laughter over nothing important—when Fury’s face appeared on the screen.

He stared at you both for a long beat.

Fury sighed. “You two are too good at this. Almost makes me believe you idiots are in love.”

Sam immediately jumped in. “We told you.”

Yelena: “Kiss already.”

Natasha: “They’re too stubborn. Bet they’ll need another mission to figure it out.”

Clint: “I give it a week.”

Peter: “I HAVE A PLAYLIST. It starts with Can’t Help Falling in Love. I’m emotionally invested.”

There was a loud click as Fury cut the comms with what could only be described as fury.

You and Bucky stared at each other in the silence that followed.

The warmth in your chest dimmed slightly.

“We’re not really in love,” you said softly, barely louder than a breath. There was a hesitation in your voice you didn’t bother hiding.

His fingers brushed yours.

His face was unreadable. He just stared, eyes flicking to your lips and back to your eyes. There was something warring in his gaze—something fierce and afraid all at once.

Then he looked away.

The moment slipped again.

When you returned to New York, everything about the mission felt like it evaporated the second your feet hit Brooklyn pavement. You unpacked in silence. The diamond ring went into a drawer, buried under spare socks and tangled phone chargers. The dresses went back to their Stark Industries garment bags. You didn’t even look at the photos.

But the silence was too quiet. Your bed felt too cold.

And you missed him.

Three days later, there was a knock.

You opened the door to find him there.

Hoodie. Sweats. Hair tousled like he’d slept terribly. A Tolkien bookmark poked out from his pocket—crinkled from being carried around too long.

He didn’t say anything at first.

Then he held out the ring.

"You wore it better," he said.

You blinked, heart doing something very unhelpful.

You took it slowly. Your hand lingered on his.

He didn’t leave.

And neither did you.

It was supposed to be fake.

But the warmth of his hand, the way he looked at you—not as a soldier, not as a partner, but as a man who had chosen to be here—felt more real than anything in Vienna.

He sat beside you on the couch.

You sat in silence for a moment before you reached into your drawer and pulled out The Hobbit.

You nudged it toward him.

He smiled. "Read it to me?"

"Start of something real," you murmured.

He leaned his shoulder against yours. And maybe, next time… You’d finish The Hobbit together.

(You've got mail!) Honestly let me know if i made any mistakes but also heyyy i hope you guys liked the first chapter well..introduction chapter. I honestly had to rethink all this and be like uhhhhh i have no clue if this is good since this is my first bucky fanfic. CHAT IM SCAREDDDDDDDDD

(Tags) @bbsbrina @captainnnatheweirdo

[canthelpit0]

Enemies (With Benefits) PT3

Pairing: Cold!Chris x Reader

Word count: 3.9k +

Summary: Chris and reader have always been enemies ever since they’ve known each other. neither knew why they had this burning feeling in their gut. So one day they decide to fuck it out. Until, eventually doing it regularly

Warnings: language, smut, mentions of weed, (implied) RichKid!Reader, jealous!Chris, pet names (cherry), choking, humiliation, heavy degradation, sub!Chris, dom!Reader, I think that’s all.

(A/N: I got this idea from this request. Tysm for the idea & inspiration. Hope this is good.)

PT1 PT2 PT3 PT4 FINAL

I haven’t talked to Chris ever since that party.

wich wouldn’t be too shocking, since we hate each other. but I’ve been ignoring him fully. I wasn’t even responding to his mocking or arguing with him.. just…

The entire situation of us, two people who hate each other so much, and have for so long, hooking up, is extremely toxic.

And I’m self aware, I know that.

It just never bothered me before... But he was treating me like shit. And I’m done with it.

It’s been a week now, and I don’t think he cares that much honestly. At first he went on like normal making witty remarks trying to start arguments and disagreements, but since I didn’t respond he started to do it less and less.

It feels so refreshing not to have a headache everyday.

Only con is, that we share most classes. So i have to see his face all the time. Tho I just ignore him.

At first I saw him walking a round with charlotte, and honestly I don’t know why she is still talking to him after almost hooking up.

I don’t know what he was trying to achieve with that. But if the point was to make me jealous he is so bad at it.

I’ve been talking to Ethan a lot though.

And like I thought, he’s a nice guy, and he always shares his weed.

Even though I have enough friends, most of them are ‘lunchbox friends’. Well except for Matt and Nick, but I can’t really talk to them often considering I’m trying to avoid their brother.

I feel like most of my friends are fake. Wich they are.

We’ll talk and have fun in school, but if I walk past them at the mall they will act like they’ve never seen me in their entire life.

Ethan though. Ethan is nice. His skater friends not so much. Well I guess they’re just critical. After all I’m not any type of alternative at all, and I frankly, don’t know how to skate.

But at least they respect me. Probably because I’m wealthy but ih well.

Ethan and I haven’t done anything.

Other than kiss.

I walk out of history class, a class I share with Ethan. We walk down the hallway side to side.

When we get to my locker- wich is only two away from Chris’ -I unlock it to put my books in it.

All this time Ethan had been complaining about how his next class would be math and whatnot. I had noticed that Ethan was skipping less and less classes now. I never realized how many classes we shared because he was always skipping. But now he wasn’t. And the lack of tobacco in his system was making him itchy and I could tell.

Once you got to know him he actually got quite talkative.

I look over my shoulder to look at Ethan but see Chris in the corner of my eye.

Chris…

Chris.

Without thinking I grab the collar of Ethan’s sweatshirt roughly crashing my lips onto his.

Ethan, having not expected it, doesn’t do anything for a moment, before he kisses back.

Pushing me against the lockers behind me roughly. His tongue finds its way into my mouth as we start to make out.

In the middle of the hall.

My arms wrap around his neck holding him close.

He was kissing me like i was the only source of oxygen. And it felt good. I could tell he liked kissing me, and he wasn’t bad at it.

“Gonna suck face in the hallways now too?”

I pull away slightly. My breath was coming out in short and harsh pants.

I ignore the voice. Chris’ voice.

…Chris

Instead I stare back into Ethan’s eyes. I try to focus on the way his hands feel on my waist as he holds me against the lockers.

His grip isn’t too tight, but it was firm. His forehead pressed against mine as I stare back into his dark eyes.

“Disgusting.”

I look over at him at the disgusted tone. I scoff. My eyes lock onto Chris’ and it feels like electricity shoots up my spine.

Ethan looks a lot like Chris, but he doesn’t have the blue eyes.

The blue eyes that I-

I pause all the thoughts leaving my brain as I hear Chris let out an irritated huff.

And suddenly the feeling of Ethan’s hands on my clothed skin feels too hot. Even tho he unironically resembles Chris a lot, he isn’t Chris.

And god when did my standard become: Chris.

I tare my eyes away from Chris’ gaze. My eyes locking back onto Ethan’s dark eyes.

While Chris’ seem cold and icy, Ethan’s are warm and welcoming. But I don’t want to be welcome and the warmth seems too hot.

It feels like going out in a hoodie on the hottest summer day.

-suffocating

“Fuck off Chris. You’re not any better”

I say to Chris, while staring back at Ethan. But before I can hear Chris reply the bell rings.

I let out a breath. Out of the corner of my eyes I see Chris slam his locker harshly and leave. And once he does I leave a peck on Ethan’s lips.

I slide out of his grip chuckling.

“Imma go now pretty boy, I’ll see you later” I smile at Ethan.

I quickly take out my stuff for my English class and speed walk past him.

★ ★

I’m late to my class but I can’t help but not care.

I share this class with none of them.

Not Ethan, not Chris, not charlotte.

Wich was a relief. Because I don’t know what that was. Ethan has never done anything to make me feel uncomfortable.

Chris had.

So why am I comparing them.

Why do I feel like the lack of just simple bickering with Chris is giving me withdrawal? Why does his glare burn through my soul? Why does it feel wrong being near Ethan when Chris was there? And why the tell did it feel like Ethan’s touch burned?

Why did I want Ethan to be Chris?

Well no let me rephrase that.

Why did I want Chris to be nice to me.

He’s always been rude and mean. I knew what I was getting into. And I liked it, and it felt great. So why am I missing the attitude.

Am I that much of an attention whore?

My eyes trail around the room. I take in the whiteboard none of the words written on it register in my head. I look over the students, mostly only seeing the back of their heads, since I sat all the way in the back

I’ve never felt so loved, alone and hated at the same time.

I know Ethen likes me, and it feels like I’m using him for escapism. To distract myself. I’m leading him on..

I feel so alone. Literally the only people I would usually tell, are the brothers of the problem.

And I’ve felt hatred so intense from Chris. And I know he hates me, and I know that’ll never change

★ ★

He days seem to pass so fast, yet so slow. And at this point I don’t know what I’m doing.

I stick to Ethan. Sometimes I’ll make out with him other times I’ll just stay close to him. Especially when Chris is around.

And I can see that he is getting more and more pissed off.

I’ve been wearing more revealing clothes. Atleast as revealing as it can get with the dress code and all. Mocking the fact that Chris can’t do anything about it.

I was hanging out at home. Alone since my siblings were once again at a sleepover. It wasn’t like they were always at one. And I feel like they’re too young to party and I trust them.

I trust that they aren’t lying to me.

Anyway, since they’re only one year apart they share some friends. So they both went to a sleepover birthday party from one of them.

I’m sitting on the couch, for once enjoying the pice and quiet. I have a movie playing, but I’m drowning more in my own thoughts than watching the movie.

I pause when I suddenly hear the doorbell ring.

I think that maybe it could be my siblings? No neither can drive yet.

Maybe it’s a package. Did I order something? But no it’s midnight they wouldn’t still be delivering orders at midnight..

I get up anyway trading over to the door.

I mean if it’s a killer and I go out this way…. Oh well.

My eyes meet Chris’ as soon as I open the door.

I go to slam the door in his face, but he catches it roughly throwing it open.

“Cherry, please” he huffs. He walks in his sharp eyes trained on me. Chris closes the front door behind him.

“Chris get out” I sigh. I purse my lips glaring right back at him.

If he stays i don’t know for how much longer I can control myself. I feel like I’m having withdrawal symptoms. I miss the way he hates me.

“Cherry, listen” he snaps slightly. I raise an eye cockily. I shift on my feet and cross my arms. My glare doesn’t let up.

But Chris is looking at me different. He doesn’t glare, he looks at me with… desperation?

“What?” I snap back harshly.

“Cherry, please? Literally give me anything?”

Oh, so he is as desperate as he looks.

“Give you what?” I play dumb. My arms stay crossed. I keep looking back at him, his pathetic state only serving to piss me off more.

He can’t even drive, how the fuck did he get here. Nobody knows were fucking so he probably didn’t ask Matt. But Ubers are expensive at this time.

“You know what I mean. Cherry, I’ll literally get on my knees right now and beg.” He says that slightly jokingly. He doesn’t actually think he’ll have to go that far, but if he needs to he will.

“So, get on your knees than, Chris” I mock back, thinking that he wouldn’t actually do it.

But before I can blink he’s going down on his knees right in front of me.

I raise my eyebrow staring down at him.

He dramatically puts his hands together making a begging motion. “Please, please, please cherry??”

I look down at him. He looks so cute when his eyes don’t look like they want to bore through me.

He actually looks desperate and needy right now.

I know I said I wouldn’t hook up with him, and I’ve been doing good at ignoring him for almost a whole month. But god he looks so cute, so… god

I thread my fingers through his messy long hair. His wavy brown hair. And I suddenly pull him up. He winces at the harsh treatment, but he lowkey deserves it for being an ass.

I hate how he stands just a little bit taller next to me.

I crash my lips on his and it feels like fire works go off. I’ve kissed Ethan so many times these past few weeks but it never felt this good.

My arms wrap around his neck. My fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck. Chris’ hands instinctively go to my waist. He holds me flush against him and I feel so comfortable under his touch.

I pull off of the kiss scoffing. My hand wraps around his neck harshly. I pull him down to my eye level while slightly choking him, and he just lets me.

“Hm? Did you not get your dick sucked by someone else?” I mock him, my tone is harsh and condescending.

“Did she not do it as good as I did?”

“Don’t flatter yourself” he grumbles under his breath. He has the audacity to roll his eyes at me.

My grip on his neck tightens and he lets out a sharp breath, one that almost sounds like a moan.

“And yet you still came to my house, got on your knees and begged for me?”

He falls silent at the harsh words. He purses his lip staring back at me with what looks like shame in his eyes.

I move him harshly, changing the place where we stand so I’m close to the door. I harshly squeeze his neck before letting go.

“Go to the living room, I’ll be right there” I nod to the living room behind him. Chris eagerly nods before going to the living room.

I sprint up the stairs and with in a minute I’m back again.

“You’re so fucking pathetic you know that?” I glare at him while towering over his sitting figure.

I go to slowly straddle his lap. His back is pressed against the back of the couch. He looks up at me with ever so pleading eyes. Looking at me like he was desperate, wich he was.

“Such a pathetic bitch. Going to your enemies house and begging to be fucked” I say harshly. My grip goes back to his neck as I choke him slightly. Not enough to actually choke him, but enough to make him lightheaded.

“Sorry, sorry” he closes his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

His eyes meet mine and he looks purely submissive now. It’s funny to me how he is so needy. Maybe I need to ignore him and make him submissive more often, because I like this sight.

I pull him closer by his neck kissing him again. His hands ghost over my sides not daring to actually touch.

I pull away abruptly, listening to his whine.

“Undress.” I says simply standing in front of him.

While I watch him undress I turn off the TV fully. The movie had been paused, but I hadn’t paid attention to it anyway.

He does as I say. He slips off all of his clothing. He’s left fully nude in front of me for me to look at.

He squirms under my harsh gaze. But he is turned on. It’s obvious by his rock hard dick. It’s already red and swollen, leaking pre cum, looking for some release.

I pull out the vibrator from my pj pants pockets. I had gotten it from upstairs. Chris never let me use it on him, unless he was being really submissive.

And since he was, I might as well have fun.

I press it to his tip gently, not turning it on anything yet. I look back at him. I capture his mouth in a kiss. And then turn the vibrator on. He actually flinches at the sudden stimulation.

The kiss is messy, mainly because Chris can’t focus. But The vibrator is literally on the lowest level.

I pull away from the kiss listening to Chris whines and moans. He keeps his hands at his sides. He knows better than to try to get it away. But he looks like he’s itching to just push it away, overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure.

“You look so stupid right now” I chuckle.

I put the vibrator on the secound lowest level. But that alone is high enough for Chris to physically hold himself back from flinching. His moans and whines turn into breathless whimpers.

“Answer.” I scoff. And before I knew it I slap him across the face harshly. The clap echos through the room.

I was letting my pent up enger out, but Chris was enjoying it. As soon as I slap him, his mouth falls open in a silent moan.

Chris didn’t seem like the type. But he had a raging degradation kink.

The sting of the slap traveled right to his dick. His length was twitching in my hand. He was sinking further and further into the couch. He was enjoying this.

“I know-“ he breathes out. But I cut him off by turning the vibrator on higher.

His body practically jolts forward in pleasure. He tries not to come right then and there.

His hand grabs my wrist, the one that was holding the vibrator. “I’m close-“

“I don’t care Chris. If you come now you’ll have to go through the rest overstimulated.” I shrug. Then I abruptly turn the vibrator to its highest setting

He tries to curl his body in on himself but I push him back. And within seconds hes coming all over himself.

I keep the vibrator situated on his tip. I watch how he stays rock hard. His dick starts twitching as his whines get louder and needier.

He weekly pushes my hand off. But after A moment I take it off fully.

While he heaves for breath, I start to undress. I straddle him. When he feels me sink down on his tip his hands go to my waist out of instinct.

I sigh at the feeling. We haven’t fucked in what feels like ages. The stretch hurts. But still I purposefully clench around him to make it even tighter.

His eyes are clenched shut. He’s a moaning mess.

“Chris open your fucking eyes” I slap him again. His eyes flutter open.

“You look so cute all submissive” I taunt. I’m only half way down and I’m struggling. But he doesn’t need to know.

Before he can whine in answer I ram myself down. I wince at the feeling. But Chris’ moans are louder.

I start to gently bounce on him. But he is growing overstimulated quick.

I keep on doing that, my glare focused on Chris. Chris’ eyes shut tightly for a moment. He breaths harshly.

His eye meet mine again. He looks purely submissive. His head tilted down slightly, mouth slightly agape.

“Handsome boy, all needy to get fucked like this hm?” I wait for him to answer but he just whines and moans in response to my movements.

“Can you talk baby?” I ask, huffing. I grab his face, slightly squishing his cheek together with one hand. “Hm? You like getting fucked like this?”

He gasps when I speed up the pace. He blinks a few times, halfheartedly throwing back his head.

Another slap echos through the living room. His head is turned to the side his eyes wide. His mouth is agape as he tries to hold it together. “I told you to fucking talk Chris”

One of his hands goes to his cheek. He grits his teeth trying to formulate words.

But before he can, my hand goes to his neck gently squeezing as I start to ride him harder.

“So good- fuck-“ he breaths out harshly.

His eyes are half lidded. The rough treatment only serves to turn him on even more.

“Yeah, you like that?” I scoff. My hand snakes from his throat to his neck. I pull him in for a sloppy kiss. He can barely focus on anything, every sense in him overwhelmed.

I pull away from the kiss. My hands both move to his shoulders, To use as leverage to ride him harder.

Chris throws back his head, his eyes shutting. He only gets increasingly louder. My movements get harsher and more relentless.

I take one of his hands from my waits and position it at my clit. “Rub it” I demand. And as soon as I do he starts to rub it vigorously.

I clench around him, feeling my release wash over me. Chris’ hand on my hip gets harsher and harsher. I keep moving though, until I feel him twitch.

I quickly pull off an hover over him.

I sit down on his thighs, then start to jerk him off harshly. I put the vibrator back to his tip and turn it on.

Chris’ body harshly jerks forward. I put a hand on his chest and push him back.

And within a few seconds Chris is coming all over himself again.

We both pant as I stare at him. I keep sitting on his thighs as I watch him for a moment.

I lean down and leave a peck on his forehead. I pull him into me. My arms wrap around his neck, putting his face into the crook of my neck.

I pull away from him and slowly get up off of him. I pull on my panties, and pj pants again. As well as my top. Quickly getting dressed again.

I really don’t want to, but he needs to go. As much as I missed him, I made it a point to not hook up with him.

And now that I have, I might as well treat him like he treats me.

“You have to leave.”

He pause looking at me questioningly, It’s like he hadn’t expected me to tell him that. Like he expected us to just hang out and cuddle or something.

Which is not going to happen.

“What?” He questions, his tone sounding blunt, almost harsh.

“Christopher, I want you to leave” I say more sternly. I overpronounce every word to make sure his stupid brain understands it.

“Why” he scoffs frustrated. He stares at me like I’m crazy. Like I’m crazy for telling him to leave when leaving is literally all he ever does.

“Christoper.” I grit out my tone more harsh and serious.

I can’t help the loud scoff that I let out. I walk to the nearest bathroom. I grab a towel halfheartedly dampening it.

I walk back to the living room, where Chris sits mildly stunned. I throw the damp towel on him watching as he awkwardly cleans himself.

“What’s up with you” he sasses me. His gaze is judging.

“I hate you, Chris. I always will.” My words are harsh. And the more I talk the more I can see him narrow his eyes at me in anger, growing more upset by the second.

“Just because we fuck, doesn’t mean I like you. You’re a shitty person.” I take in a deep breath. I feel like I could say worse than that.

“I hate you, and you should leave.” I purse my lips. I watch his expression shift. His jaw clenches, and I can see that he looks like he is about to blow up on me.

The withdrawal symptoms of not fucking me were too much, but now he feels the rage. He remembers why he hated me so much. I can literally feel the hatred and anger radiating off of him.

His already sharp jawline only seems accentuated by the way he clenches it. He swallows his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Chris’ eyes narrow at me, but he just gets up and puts his clothes back on. He looked furious.

I hate him, so why would I let him stay, why would I forgive him. He got the Sex he wanted, so why was he so pissy about leaving?

Now fully dressed he walks closer to me, not touching me.

“What’s wrong with you?” He scoffs. His mood was now definitely sour.

“That’s how you always treat me Chris. Now leave” I snap back at him, getting just as angry as him.

“Okay cherry, have it that way” he gives me a halfhearted sarcastic nod. He then brushes past me to the door, opening it, before a loud slam echoes through the house.

I had sworn to not hook up with him anymore. And if I did that I’d treat him like he treats me. But why do I feel so shitty now?

Can’t a girl have sex and then he all giddy and want to cuddle?

Yes but Chris’ presence irks me. It’s disgusting. He is disgusting.

Masterlist

A/N: requests are always open. pls give me ideas on how to continue this <3 comment if u wanna be on the taglist

‼️please don’t copy my work/idea‼️

Taglist: @muwapsturniolo , @sturnad , @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 , @evie-sturns , @me09love , @fratbrochrisgf , @spideylovin , @chrissgirlsstuff , @stunza , @whicked-hazlatwhore , @sturniooolos

[matts-girlfriend]

It’s You I Welcome Death With- Chris Sturniolo

TattooArtist!Chris and MakeupArtist!Reader

chapter 13

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

warning this series will contain, substance abuse, angst, arguing,tension,swearing, mentions of absent family, blood, abuse (not from chris). smut, oral, this is a warning for all chapters

Chris hadn’t seen her in a week.

A whole fucking week.

Seven days of nothing but silence. Missed calls. Unread messages. Showing up to her work like some pathetic ghost, only to find out she’d taken extra shifts elsewhere or wasn’t scheduled at all.

He was going insane.

He hated this. Hated the quiet. Hated the fucking ache in his chest. But mostly, he hated himself—for letting it get this far. For pushing her. For saying the one thing he knew would break her. For trying to act like she didn’t matter when she was all he thought about.

He sat hunched over in the back of the shop, rubbing at the bags under his eyes like it would help. His phone was in his hand again. Another message he wouldn’t send.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. You didn’t deserve that.”

Delete. Re-type.

“Can we talk? Please.”

Delete.

“I’m sorry.”

Send.

No response.

Across the shop, Nick was pacing, chewing on the inside of his cheek like it might fix the guilt twisting in his gut.

“This is my fault,” he finally said, voice low. “I pushed you that morning. I fucking baited you, and you snapped.”

Chris looked up at him, eyes bloodshot. “Yeah, well, I didn’t have to say what I said. I chose that.”

Nick’s voice cracked. “But you didn’t mean it.”

Chris let out a bitter laugh. “Doesn’t matter if I meant it. I said it. And now she thinks I used her. She thinks she was just a way to kill time until someone better came along.”

Matt looked up from the back booth where he was sketching, his tone rough. “You hurt her. You get that, right? I know you’re sorry, but sorry doesn’t cut it this time. Not for her.”

Chris’s jaw locked. “You think I don’t fucking know that?”

“You called her disposable,” Matt said, flat. “To her face. After you made her think she meant something to you.”

“She did,” Chris said. “She still does. She’s all I think about. She’s—she’s it for me, man. And I ruined it. I ruined it for something fucking stupid I said to shut you up—” he cut a glare at Nick “—because I was fucking scared.”

Nick looked down, guilt etched into his face.

Chris swallowed hard. “She’s not like anyone I’ve ever known,” he said quietly. “She’s—fuck, I don’t even have the words. She’s just… it’s her. It’s always been her since the first goddamn time she walked in here with that smart mouth and that attitude.”

He exhaled like the words were burning his lungs.

“I had her,” he muttered. “For one second, I fucking had her. And I fucked it up”

Nick looked down at his shoes. “She won’t even answer my texts,” he admitted. “I tried.”

“Same,” Matt said. “She’s shutting everyone out. I don’t blame her.”

Chris stood abruptly. “I need to see her.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “You sure that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Chris said. “But I can’t sit here doing nothing. If she tells me to fuck off to my face, fine. I’ll deal with it. But I have to try.

⸻

Y/N hadn’t said a word about what happened.

Not to Ava. Not to anyone.

She came home, locked herself in her room for three days straight, and the only thing that got her out was school. She had an exam coming up for the social work program she’d worked so fucking hard to get into, and she was determined not to let a boy—even if it was him—ruin it.

But Ava noticed.

She noticed how Y/N didn’t sleep much anymore. How she’d get randomly quiet mid-sentence. How her shoulders tensed every time her phone buzzed. And most of all, she noticed how Chris’s name made her flinch like a bruise being pressed.

“What happened?” Ava asked softly, one evening while Y/N was reviewing flashcards.

“Nothing,” Y/N muttered, avoiding her eyes.

“You look like you’ve been crying for a week.”

“I said nothing, Ava,” she snapped, too sharp, too fast.

Ava flinched, and Y/N instantly regretted it. But she didn’t apologize. She couldn’t. Because if she started talking about it, she’d break.

So instead, she studied. She shoved everything down. Buried it beneath school and routines and quiet nights with the door locked.

⸻

Chris hadn’t even planned it. He just… ended up outside her house.

He didn’t think about the consequences, didn’t think about what he’d say. He just knew he couldn’t go another night without trying.

So he knocked.

And when the door opened, it wasn’t her.

It was him.

A tall, slightly stocky man with graying facial stubble and eyes that flicked over Chris like he was prey. His expression was friendly—but in that too friendly way that made the hair on Chris’s neck stand up.

The man smiled like he knew something Chris didn’t. “Can I help you?”

Chris cleared his throat, trying to stay calm. “Uh… is Y/N home?”

The man raised an eyebrow. “You her boyfriend?”

Chris hesitated. Froze. “No,” he said eventually, the word burning in his throat.

The man laughed, stepping aside. “Well come in anyway. I’ll go get her.”

Chris didn’t move at first, but something about the man’s tone sent ice through his veins. Still, he stepped in.

As the man disappeared into the hallway, Chris glanced around. Everything looked clean. Tidy. Normal. But it felt… wrong. The silence was too stiff. The air too thick. And when the man called out her name—

It wasn’t just a call.

It was a warning.

“Y/N!” he yelled, loud and sharp. “Someone’s here. Don’t be rude, girl.”

But Chris heard it. The way he said it. That don’t-make-me-look-bad-or-else tone. He’d heard it before. He’d seen it in old friends, in his own broken home. He suddenly realized exactly who he was standing in front of.

And he fucking hated himself all over again for not seeing it sooner.

⸻

Y/N heard it too.

That voice.

She froze at the top of the stairs, textbook in hand, her breath catching in her throat.

It was that voice. That tone. The one she heard before too many bruises and too many slammed doors.

But when she came down, it wasn’t a distant cousin or an old neighbor standing in her living room.

It was Chris.

And her heart dropped.

Everything stilled.

His eyes met hers, desperate, wrecked. Her mouth parted slightly, like she wanted to speak, but the words got caught.

He took a small step forward. “Y/N…”

Her stepfather loomed behind him, smiling like a threat.

And all she could think was: Not here. Not now.

a/n: god i hate her step dad...but only 7 parts left

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[freshlove-sturn]

house on the cape.

pt 1 pt2

based on last friday’s video bc im obsessed with it. (events that happened in the vlog may not be in order just so the story flows how i want, also might add or get rid of some things for that same reason ofc). definitely gonna be multiple parts if yall like it so please let me know!!

summary: when the triplets come back home from la, they reunite with their favorite summer tradition, staying in the house on the cape. amidst all of the familiar laughter, and reminiscing on old memories, y/n can’t ignore the feeling stirring in her heart. something that went deeper than friendship. as she grapples with the fact that her feelings for her lifelong best friend, matt, are more than what’s just at the surface, she must learn to navigate and balance the unspoken feelings, and the gut wrenching fear of risking it all.

a/n: sorry guys but i think im scrapping all my old fics. i just have lost interest in them and i dont want to give yall something that i just half assed yk. i just need something new 😖🙏 don’t hate me pls. also i didn’t proof read and i never do so hopefully this all makes sense LMAO

……………………..

“BOYS TRIP!” chris shouts through the house.

the triplets are back in boston from being in la. i’d be lying if i said that i didn’t wish that these visits would last forever. being across the country from my best friends sucked.

“oh yeah , and you’ll be there too. you’re one of the boys.” chris points at me, smiling before loading the car with our bags.

“chris please never say that again.” i cringe, but fail to keep in my laughter.

“i agree. that was disgusting.” nick chimes in.

“just wanted to make sure you know you’re included.” chris throws his hands up in defense.

“thanks.” i smile and shake my head before getting in the car.

we were staying at their house in cape cod, something all of us looked forward to each summer growing up.

we arrive at nate’s house to pick him up. after the group effort of showering him in compliments for his new hair cut, we get back in the car.

sandwiched between nick and nathan, i check the time on my phone. nick grabs my wrist and moves it out of the way to give himself a better view of my lock screen.

“that is such a cute picture.” he says admiringly. it was a picture of matt and i. the picture was taken from behind while matt gave a piggy back ride back to the car because my feet hurt from wearing heels to madison’s concert.

“you took it.” i laugh.

“i know. i really out did myself huh.” he hypes himself up. i smile and roll my eyes.

once we get to the cape house, we unload the car. all of our bags scattered haphazardly throughout our respective rooms. the same rooms each of us have stayed in for years. nate with chris, nick with matt, and me, having been the only girl, with my own room.

“let’s go to the beach!” nate walks out into the kitchen, clapping his hands together.

…

the beach was just within walking distance. matt and i fell behind the rest of the group.

“i’m so glad you’re back.” i tell him.

“me too. i missed you.” he replies.

“i missed you too.” i admit. “a lot.” i look up and meet his eyes. we just stare at each other for a second. we didn’t really need to say anything. it was almost just a mutual understanding that each other were our favorite person.

if only he knew the extent.

the only person i’ve confided in about my feelings for matt was nate. which was precisely why he kept shooting me knowing glances anytime matt and interacted. nate swore that he knew i was in love with matt for years, before i even knew myself.

i can’t exactly pinpoint when i fell in love with my best friend, but i do remember when i realized.

flashback

matt and i sit together in the hammock string between two large oak trees in the backyard of the cape house. the gentle breeze swaying us back and forth softly. the sun was going down just to the right of us. beautiful pink and orange hues paint the sky.

“i could stay right here forever.” matt breaks the silence that had fallen between us.

“me too.” i reply softly.

“oh hey i have something for you” he digs his hand around in his pocket and pulls out a baby pink seashell. he hands it it me.

“i’ve never seen a pink one like that before.” he tells me as i admire the gift.

“me either. i love it. thanks matt.” i smile sweetly at him.

“of course.” he returns the smile.

i feel the heartbeat in my chest racing and my cheeks heating up. the feeling i had been carrying around with me for quite some time became abundantly clear.

i was in love with my best friend.

when i got home that night, i tied a string around the shell, and wore it as a necklace. and i haven’t taken it off since.

end of flashback

that was back when we were 16. 4 whole years i’ve gone hiding my biggest secret from the one person i told everything to.

our gaze was interrupted by chris. “jesus, yall are some slow pokes” he hollers back at us.

we both laugh and pick up out pace.

soon we arrive at the beach. i’ve always loved the beach. it truly is my happy place.

especially when i’m with matt.

nick snaps pictures here and there.

“oh my gosh matt look! this is just like your tattoo!” i hold out a shell to him.

“oh shit you’re right.” he holds out his arm, revealing his tattoo.

“that’s sick.” chris admires the similarity while nick takes a picture.

…

later that night, we all sit in the living room debating on what movie to watch.

“chris im not watching planet of the apes again. we’ve watched it like 9 times already.” nick argues, shutting down chris’s pleads.

“how about grown ups?” matt suggests.

“yes i love that movie.” nate agrees.

“that’s fine with me.” nick shrugs and starts typing it in.

“is that good with you?” matt leans down to where i was sitting in front of him, his voice soft and genuine.

“yeah that’s good with me.” i tell him.

he smiles and pats the spot on the couch next to him, gesturing me to come sit up there with him. i stand up from my spot on the floor and sit down next to him. he drapes a blanket over the both of us.

about an hour or so into the movie, my eyes get heavy. i lean my head on matt’s shoulder, to which he responds with wrapping his arm around me. this was nothing out of the ordinary. there’s pictures going back to when we were in preschool of the two of us practically fused together passed out on the living room floor.

suddenly, a gentle shake of my shoulders woke me up from a sleep i hadn’t even known i fell into. my eyes flutter, slowly regaining focus. when they do, i’m met with matt’s gentle blue eyes.

“hey, you wanna go lay down in your bed? i don’t want your neck to be sore.” he asks, genuinely concerned for my comfort.

i look around, everyone else appeared to have gone into their rooms.

“yeah i probably should.” i say through a yawn.

matt grabs my hand and helps me stand up from the couch. we walk down the hallway. my room came before his and nicks.

“goodnight matt.” i say, slowly turning the doorknob.

“goodnight y/n. see ya in the morning.”

i toss and turn in bed, unable to fall asleep. i stand up from bed, and leave my room. slowly making my way to the kitchen to get a drink, careful to not wake anyone up.

i open the fridge and grab a water. before i can take a sip, i hear a familiar voice behind me.

“can’t sleep?” the sudden breach of silence made me jump a little. i turn around and see matt. he was leaned up against the door frame. his sweatpants falling dangerously low on his figure, his arm under his shirt itching his shoulder, exposing his midriff.

“nope. you?” i set my water down on the counter.

“hm mm” he replies.

we stand in silence for a few moments before matt breaks the silence again.

“wanna go to the beach?”

….

a/n: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE LMK IF YALL LIKE THIS. SUGGESTIONS ALWAYS WELCOME AND MY INBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN 🙏 i’m using my old taglist, so lmk if you want taken off or added to it!

taglist: @honestlybabymiracle @pepsiimaxx @creamoncreamoncream2 @mattestrella @luvmxtt @rac00ns-are-c00l4

[theyonlytoldthemoon]

do the hustle!

little jily drabble, enjoy!

also on ao3

James is close. So close, she could just purse her lips and they’d be kissing. 

Lily thinks this might just be the night. 

They’ve been playing this game of chicken for weeks, where one of them gets close (almost always Lily), too close, maybe, until the other snaps and moves away (always James). 

If you had asked Lily in September, she would’ve said her silly crush on James Potter was the worst thing that ever happened to her. But a lot changes in seven weeks, and now all that’s on her mind is putting James’ lips on hers. She can deal with the rest later. 

It’s Halloween, they’re in the Common Room. Sirius, James and Peter have all moved the furniture out of the way, opening up a makeshift dance floor, where every fifth year and up (except the Slytherins, obviously) is currently standing. Dancing. 

Mary is in control of the music tonight, which explains why there’s been absolutely no rock whatsoever, not that Lily’s complaining, she’s always found disco to be sexier. And it works for her purpose tonight. 

She’s moving her hips, close, very close to his hips. James places a hand on her waist, sending lightning bolts throughout her body. And honestly, it probably looks ridiculous from an outside perspective: Stevie Nicks (or a girl with a pretty accurate costume, if Lily does say so herself) hip-to-hip with a tanner, bespectacled Freddie Mercury. It’s more than ridiculous. But it’s Halloween, so it’s allowed.

Lily tilts her head, mouth watering, heat at the bottom of her gut, and she’s getting ready to close her eyes—when James freezes, mouth agape, eyes wide. 

“I need some water,” he says, strained. 

Lily stays, dumbfounded, frozen. 

She turns, blinking, to find that all of her friends are just as confused as she is. Except now they’re all sitting on the same couch. Sirius and Remus have even produced a bar of chocolate.  When did they all leave? 

She breathes and plasters a smile on her face, like nothing happened. 

“Mary!” she yells, walking over. “Dance with me.”

“But I’m tired!” Mary yells back, scrunching her face. 

“You can never be too tired to dance,” Lily replies. “You told me that.” 

Mary scoffs. “I hate it when I’m wise.” But she smiles all the same. She stands up, wobbly due to the amount of alcohol in her bloodstream. “Wait. I need to go to the loo first.”

Lily laughs, because she’s drunk and everything is funny. 

In the bathroom, Lily stares at her reflection in the mirror, while Mary pees right next to her and hums a Donna Summer song in her sweet voice. She looks at her stained lips, unkissed. She stares at her shoulders, untouched. She looks at her waist, at the exact place James put his hand just a few minutes ago. 

Mary stands up and flushes the toilet. Lily gets out of the way so her friend can wash her hands.  

“So,” the girl prompts, scrubbing her hands. “You and James? I didn’t want to believe it, but Peter told me all about it. I said, if Lily’s feeling something, she’ll tell me about it. Sirius was so smug about the fact that I had no idea.”

“We were just dancing,” she responds, because it’s all she can process right now. 

Mary closes the tap and turns to point at Lily, splashing her face in the process. “You were about to kiss.”

Lily sighs, “But he moved away! So.” She doesn’t have the strength to tell Mary all about it. She wonders why she hasn’t told any of her friends about her silly not-so-silly crush. “Obviously he doesn’t want me back. Not anymore.”

Mary’s eyes turn soft, her eyelids glittering under the fluorescent light. “Lily–”

“It's fine!” she interrupts. “Right now all I want is to dance with my best friend so I can forget all about it.”

The other girl sighs, “Fine.” And she presses a kiss on Lily’s forehead, leaving a mark of red lipstick. 

As they’re walking down the stairs back to the Common Room, she hears her song playing. the mystic guitars and the powerful bassline. Stevie Nicks’ voice reverberating through the stone walls. Rhiannon. 

She squeals excitedly, and grabs Mary’s wrist forcibly. They run down the stairs, almost missing that James is standing by the stairway, almost. 

“Come dance with us!” She tells him, moving to grab his hands. She doesn’t notice where Mary has gone. 

James shakes his head, and doesn’t say a word. Which is unlike him. 

Lily tilts her head, pouting, “Aw. Are you gonna be sick?” 

James laughs, and really, she shouldn’t feel proud to be making him laugh, but she does feel it. Every time he so much as smiles at her. “No,” he says. “Not yet. But if I spin around one more time, I might.”

He tightens his jaw, and Lily does believe him, because now that she’s looking at him, he does kind of look green in the face. 

She bites her bottom lip. “Alright.”

And so she reaches Mary in the middle of the dance floor. And she moves her hips in the way the song demands you do. She moves her arms, touching her body the way James hasn’t. She twirls and moves her hips. 

But it doesn’t even occur to her that James might be watching each and every move. Until. 

“He can’t stop watching you,” she hears Mary say, resting her hand on Lily’s hip. She turns her around until she’s facing him. 

Lily smiles at him, and doesn’t miss the way his tongue darts out of his mouth when she starts moving again. She watches the way his eyes follow her body, like they can’t process all of her at once. 

She dances until the music stops.

And the world stops. 

The next song starts. A beat and voices humming. 

Lily breathes heavily. 

Do it. 

Her body starts moving out of its own accord, walking towards him. 

Do it. 

His brown eyes look absolutely black, pupils blown, and she’s sure hers look just like that, too. 

She reaches him, stands right in front of him. 

“Alright, Evans?” 

Do it. 

“Never better,” she answers. 

Do the hustle!

Her hands find his neck. His hands find her waist again. Finally, she breathes. 

When her lips touch his, the music stops. Not literally of course, but Lily’s ears start ringing and she starts feeling weightless, like she could conquer the world if only she had James’ hands on her back like that. His touch is deliberate, confident, like she always dreamed it would be. His hands roam her body like it’s the only thing he needs, his tongue tastes of firewhiskey and she finds it just as addictive as the real thing. 

With her hands on his soft, messy hair, all she can think is, I can’t believe we haven’t been doing this all this time.  

[starringthesturniolos]

bite me(part 6)-Matt Sturniolo

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6

summary: matt hates your guts but all of that changes when he wakes up and finds out your his mate.

contains: vampire!matt x reader, highschool au! (18 years old), dark themes, death, smut (not in this part)

A/N- THIS CHAPTER IS KINDA SAD but y'all will be alright, trust. a lot of violence in this chapter so by all means if that is not your thing please don't read. I want everyone that reads this to ENJOY it. love yall, bye!

matts pov.

the drive back to my house was silent. even with my heightened sense of hearing, I could only hear the sound of our breathing and the quiet hum of my engine. two minutes ago, she had been crying and I saw into the darkness that was her life. key word, was. between the protection spell and me, no one is ever going to hurt her again. a dark thought pops into my head, and ,unlike any other time, I welcome it with open arms.

"do you want him dead?" I mutter, letting the thought free. I said It quietly, but it sounded like I might as well have screamed compared to the quiet of my car. it made my skin crawl and judging by the look on her face, it made her's crawl too. "what is that supposed to mean??" she whips her head to me with fear in her eyes. merciful. I added that to a list of chracteristics that y/n had that I subconsciously accumulated in my own head. even though he hurt her in the worst ways, she'd never want anyone to lay a finger on him.

"he's my dad, matt!" she panics taking my lack of response as a promise that I would go back to her house and finish him off. I put one arm up in defense. "I was just asking. you panic too much, someone should go check your blood pressure.Jesus." I scoff, playing it off as if I wouldn't have gotten rid of him the moment she told she wanted me too.

she slumped back in her seat, clearly relieved. its right then that I notice the dark circles under her eyes. she's tired, and humans need rest. "go to sleep, you look like shit." I quip. if she were in her right mind, she probably would have said something back. instead she brings her knees into her chest and puts her head on the window. her eyes close and in a few minutes her breathing and heart rate slow. she's asleep and my eyes stay on the rough, pot - hole infested road. all the way home, I dodge the holes so she sleeps fine.

unreasonable fear hits my chest at my own actions. when did you start to care so much? is the question I ask myself as I gently lift her sleeping form into my arms to bring her into the house.

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

y/n is in the other room, and I wake up to my phone buzzing incessantly. I pick up my phone to see that nick is calling me. "he disappears off the face of the earth for two days and all of a sudden he wants to chit chat at the crack of dawn", I think to myself before smashing the accept call button in annoyance. "what?" my gruff voice answers in a more than grumpy tone.

"I need you to come to meet me, now! I'll send you my location. do not bring anyone with you, and do not to take your sweet ass time either matt." he says seriously. I can hear in his voice he is fighting to keep himself from sounding panicked. sensing the danger he's in, worry surges through me, and I can't help but wonder what he's gotten himself into. "don't worry nick, im coming." I say back just as seriously before hanging up the phone and rushing out the house.

I drive over as fast as I can to the unknown spot. it's just a clearing of trees and grass where two cars are parked side by side. ones nicks' and the other is someone's I don't recognize. I hop out of the car quick on high alert. nick where are you??

"you think you can just take my daughter and get away with it. I'm sorry son, but you're in for a real treat." says a terrifying voice that-unless god forbid I took another girl to my house tonight- could only be y/n's fathers’. I turn slowly to see him, a tall, burly man. he's holding nick close too him, a knife pressed lightly against the sensitive skin of his neck. regulary, I would look at this and shrug, vampires aren't supposed to be able to die. but nick's neck is bleeding from where the knife lightly grazes him. vampires can make other people bleed, but they themselves can't bleed, at least that's how it's supposed to be. even though the wound wasn't deep enough to be lethal, the wound itself was the problem to begin with. All thoughts aside, I lunge forward to grab nick away from the man but he dodges with unnatural speed. he smells human, but he's quick, too quick, which can only mean one thing.

y/n's dad is a fucking lunatic magic user, and, based on the position he's got me and nick in right now , he's a damn strong one too.

he throws nick to the side right then, and nick flops to the floor gasping for breath and clutching his bleeding throat. I freeze in fear for what's happened to nick. for what is going to happen to me. he waves the same knife he had pressed against nick at me in tauntingly cold, cut motions.

"matt, run" nick says weakly. my feet listen to nick's instructions, and I turn to bolt, only to find the powerful magic user right in front of me in an instant. before I can react, he plunges the knife into my stomach in three quick motions. unbearable pain laces through me and I feel something coming that I never thought I'd ever have to experience. that something is death.

"should of asked for a protection spell yourself." he lets out a cold, hard laugh as I drop to the floor slipping into an abyss of darkness.

@bbernard-03

@sturnthepot

@hoeformatt

@sturtriple16

@faygo-frog

@sturniol0s

@katie-tibo

@cindylcuwho

@I34n

@chrissv4amp

@sturnslimited 

[sonics-atelier]

𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞

Summary: House gets himself hurt in some grand, self-sacrificial display because, of course, he does. Wilson, ever the ray of sunshine, gets to play nursemaid while trying not to strangle him. Between the whining, the sarcasm, and the endless "I'm fine" routine, these two might just figure out their feelings—if Wilson doesn't kill House first.

. . .

Wilson barely registers the man before the knife is already in House’s gut.

One moment, he’s leaving the hospital, exhausted, his mind preoccupied with the thought of an empty apartment and the half-eaten takeout he’s too tired to reheat. The next, there’s a blur of motion—a man stepping out from the shadows near the parking lot, voice thick with rage.

“You killed my brother, you piece of shit.”

The words don’t make sense at first. Not until Wilson sees the flash of metal, hears the sharp, sickening sound of impact. It takes another half-second for his brain to catch up—long enough for him to watch, frozen, as House stumbles back a step, eyes widening.

His cane clatters onto the pavement. His hands press against his stomach. And then Wilson sees it—dark, blooming red seeping through his shirt, pooling around his fingers.

It doesn’t register. It can’t register.

“House—”

The attacker is gone before Wilson even thinks to look for him. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is House, leaning heavily against the side of Wilson’s car, his face a shade too pale, his lips barely parted as he exhales—shallow, uneven.

“Well,” House breathes, voice tight with pain, “that was stupid.”

Wilson is already yanking off his jacket, pressing it against the wound, hands shaking. “Jesus Christ, House—sit down, just—just stay awake—”

“You’re a terrible doctor,” House mutters, even as his knees buckle. Wilson barely manages to catch him, easing him to the pavement, cursing under his breath as he fumbles for his phone.

“You’re a terrible patient,” Wilson snaps. “You idiot—why the hell did you do that?”

House lets out a breathless chuckle that turns into a grimace. His fingers twitch against Wilson’s sleeve. His eyes are unfocused but sharp—cutting through Wilson in a way that makes his stomach twist.

“…Didn’t think,” House murmurs. “Just—moved.”

Wilson swallows hard. His throat is tight, his chest impossibly heavy. He presses harder against the wound, hears House suck in a sharp breath.

“Hold on,” Wilson says, and he hates how unsteady his voice sounds. “Just—just hold on.”

House doesn’t respond.

The sirens are too far away.

The blood is too warm against Wilson’s hands.

And for the first time in years, Wilson is absolutely terrified.

. . .

The hospital is a blur of shouting voices, sterile white light, and the metallic scent of blood. Wilson barely processes anything beyond the too-fast beeping of monitors, the clipped urgency in the surgeon’s voice as House is wheeled away, the words liver involvement and hypotensive cutting through the fog like a blade.

Then House is gone, swallowed by the operating room, and Wilson is left standing in a hallway that suddenly feels too empty.

At some point, Cuddy appears. She tries to talk to him, but Wilson barely hears her. He registers her hand on his shoulder, the quiet way she says, “You should go home,” but he just laughs, humorless.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, staring at the blood under his fingernails. “I’ll just leave while he’s unconscious and bleeding out. Great idea.”

Cuddy exhales, but she doesn’t argue. She leaves a cup of coffee beside him before walking away.

Wilson doesn’t touch it.

It’s nearly three in the morning when the surgeon finally appears.

“The knife missed the aorta,” he says, and Wilson’s knees nearly give out in relief. “It did nick the liver. We repaired the damage, but he lost a significant amount of blood. We’ll be monitoring for complications, but—he’s stable. For now.”

For now.

Wilson nods, forces himself to exhale. His chest still feels too tight. “Can I see him?”

The surgeon hesitates, then nods.

Wilson doesn’t waste another second.

. . .

House looks wrong in a hospital bed.

It’s not the setting—he’s been in plenty of them, has made a damn sport out of taunting the nurses and ignoring medical advice. But this is different. He’s too still, his skin too pale, the IV line in his hand a stark contrast against the bruises forming along his knuckles.

Wilson sinks into the chair beside the bed and exhales slowly. He should say something. He doesn’t. He just watches, waiting.

Minutes stretch into an hour.

Then—

House stirs. His eyelids flutter, and then sharp blue eyes—dazed but still irritatingly perceptive—fix on Wilson.

“…Wilson,” he rasps.

Wilson lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“You moron,” he mutters.

House’s lips twitch, but it’s barely a smirk. “Harsh.” His voice is hoarse, wrecked, and Wilson hates how much it shakes something deep inside him.

Wilson leans forward, gripping the bedrail. “You could’ve died.”

House exhales slowly. He shifts slightly, grimacing. “But I didn’t.”

Wilson shakes his head. “You should have thought. You shouldn’t have—” His throat closes around the words.

House watches him for a long moment. His usual smugness is gone, stripped away by exhaustion and pain and something raw that Wilson refuses to name.

“…Didn’t want you to get hurt,” House mutters.

Wilson goes still. His fingers tighten around the bedrail.

His heart is beating too fast.

“That’s—” Wilson swallows. “That’s not a reason to get yourself stabbed, House.”

House huffs a quiet laugh. “Worked out great, though.”

Wilson stares at him. His stomach twists. His mouth is too dry.

“Why?” he asks, and his voice is too quiet, too unsteady.

House shifts against the pillows. His eyes flicker away for a brief second before coming back, piercing.

“…Because it’s you.”

Wilson’s breath catches.

House holds his gaze. There’s no sarcasm, no deflection. Just honesty, in a way that House rarely allows himself.

Wilson forces himself to inhale.

“You idiot,” he murmurs.

House’s mouth twitches. “So I’ve been told.”

Wilson rubs a hand over his face. His chest feels too full, like something is pressing against his ribs, trying to break free.

And maybe it’s exhaustion, or adrenaline, or sheer recklessness, but before he can stop himself, the words slip out.

“You know I love you, right?”

The room goes silent.

House blinks. He looks startled—actually startled—but he doesn’t look away.

Wilson exhales slowly, shaking his head. “Of course you do.”

A long beat. Then House smirks, but it’s softer. “You love an ass.”

Wilson lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “I really do.”

House hums, closing his eyes for a moment. “Well. Your problem now.”

Wilson smiles, just barely.

House shifts, grimacing. Wilson reaches for the call button.

“Don’t,” House mutters. “I hate nurses.”

“I know.” Wilson rolls his eyes but presses the button anyway. “Consider it punishment for your hero complex.”

House groans. “Never saving your life again.”

Wilson leans back, crossing his arms. “We’ll see.”

A long pause. Then, softly—

“…Thanks, House.”

House rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t look away.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Anytime, Jimmy.”

Wilson smiles.

And for the first time in a long time, everything feels like it’s going to be okay.

. . .

- @sonics-atelier 2025 ( do not repost or reuse in any way, shape or form )

[handsomeamoeba]

WRONG.

Try again.

Actually let's get into this. As someone who loves a great many fantasy RPGs including BG3, Skyrim, and Dragon Age, let me explain what BG3 gets that Skyrim misses, in my opinion.

And this is the big one: the characters in BG3 feel like real fucking people. They have backstories, demonstrable feelings about the events and the other characters, they react to the things you do and they develop as people as you further your relationships. Even minor NPCs often feel fleshed out with distinct personalities and opinions. Hell, going out of my way to cast Speak to Animals is usually rewarded with at least one charming remark. I have never given even a little bit of a shit about 99% of Bethesda NPCs. I usually choose to travel without a companion rather than with unless I need a pack mule to carry my stuff, because their primary function seems to be to get in my way, set off traps, or attract aggro. I can't remember most characters' names unless I'm actively playing. I'm more likely to casually murder people in Skyrim than I am in BG3 or DA because Bethesda hasn't really made any of their NPCs feel like real people, and consequentially I feel no guilt. By comparison I tried to do an evil run of DA:O and gave up the instant I had to kill Wynne (the grandmotherly spirit healer) when she refused to let me go through with my plans, because I hated doing it. Lydia will watch me gut an innocent man and do NOTHING because she has no life, existence, or personality outside of me, the player. This extends to romances, obviously. While optional in all the games, most people will pursue a romance path in BG3 or DA for the additional character arcs it brings to the characters, the emotional nuances they unlock. In Skyrim romance is a box you tick of tasks to complete. In fact, once you marry them, most marriage candidates personalities change *completely* because all spouses have the same few stock dialog lines. That is, if they had a personality to begin with (again, see Lydia). You know how everyone wants to romance unromanceable characters in Bethesda games? Like Brynjolf in Skyrim, or Nick Valentine in FO4? It's because Bethesda actually bothered to give them stories and opinions.

Honestly, this extends to the player character themselves. To a certain extent every player character is a blank slate, but in BG3 and DA it at least feels possible to develop a feeling about who that character is and what they would or would not say or do. I've tried to do that with the Dragonborn and rarely feel strong feelings about them or have strong opinions about what kind of person they are. The only one I've made who I have much of an idea about is my wood elf Parafina, who is Chaotic Evil. Which again is an option I only pick because no one in Skyrim feels real.

The stakes also feel more real in BG3, more personal. Obviously there's the central quest involving the tadpoles, but more than that, it is about a credible threat to your world and the people and communities in it and the people you love. There are tons of reasons to invest yourself emotionally in the narrative. I have never, ever completed the main storyline in Skyrim nor picked a side in Skyrim's civil war. Why would it? Basically nothing happens if I choose not to. Furthermore, if you're not playing as a Nord (which I usually don't), why would you care about Skyrim as a place? You are a faceless, voiceless (pun intended) outsider who gets microaggressed at every turn being asked to choose between two different flavors of fascist. Also dragons are back but like... listen, I don't care? They get pretty easy to pick off at a certain point, it's like swatting flies, they're just a nuisance on the way to my daily errands. And isn't that such a common story? Don't you know so many people who don't really bother with the main storylines of Skyrim? Yeah it's one of the bestselling games of all time but I feel like the fact that most people don't really care about its narrative should be a sign of failure. We all know it's mostly maintained its popularity due to the modding community.

Ultimately both games have rich worlds which reward exploration with little secrets and environmental storytelling. But BG3 feels more "meaningful" because they give me reasons to care about what happens. The writers worked hard to give the game emotional resonance. So I come to the two games for different experiences. I go to BG3 to engage with an interesting story. I go to Skyrim for the quick serotonin hit of completing tasks and hoarding items.