#i actually posted this somewhere but it got flopped so i post it again

[risky-peenus]

Wife

[danysdaughter]

Drown Me Gently

pairing | new!avenger!bucky x siren!reader

word count | 6.6k words

summary | a half-siren joins the new avengers, hiding centuries of shame beneath skin that was never yours to begin with. but when bucky barnes sees past the danger to the devastating loneliness underneath, the monster you fear you are finally begins to unravel.

tags | THUNDERBOLTS* SPOILERS, (kind of ig) unprotected sex, comfort sex, emotional intimacy, hurt/comfort, emotional angst, identity crisis, soft!bucky, dark past, trust issues, body horror (light), self-hatred, non-accurate siren mythology, mutual pining, reader backstory, deep emotional healing, sensual tension, dark past, post-trauma connection

a/n | chat, I've literally had this fic in my drafts for almost a month. I lowkey don't know if I like this or not, anyway tell me what you think about it, because I'm second guessing. also based on this request

taglist | if you wanna be added to my bucky barnes masterlist just add your username to my taglist

likes comments and reblogs are much appreciated ✨✨

ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ

divider by @cafekitsune

You barely had a chance to take a seat before the interrogation began.

“Do you have gills?” Yelena asked, leaning forward like she was inspecting a specimen. “Or do they only show up when you're wet?”

You blinked. “Um—”

“Wait, hold on.” Ava cut in, arms crossed. “Do you eat people? Like, in a sexy way? Or like… teeth and blood?”

“Neither?”

Bob’s eyes lit up. “But hypothetically, if you were shipwrecked, would you rather lure sailors to their deaths or just vibe on a rock singing Adele?”

“I don’t—”

“Also,” Alexei boomed, squinting at you. “How do you have babies with tail? Is it like seahorses? Or salmon?”

“Why would it be like salmon?” Ava muttered.

“Maybe she lays eggs,” Bob said thoughtfully. “Do you lay eggs?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. This had to be a test. Some kind of extremely unorthodox hazing ritual.

“I’m sorry,” you finally managed. “Are these actual questions or did you all just watch The Little Mermaid before I got here?”

Walker, inexplicably sipping a protein shake at 8am, nodded solemnly. “So... do you explode if you drink salt water?”

You stared. “I'm from the ocean.”

“And what about chlorinated water,” he asked, completely serious.

Yelena snorted.

Before the next round of nonsense could begin, a voice cut through the chaos.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

You turned. Bucky stood in the doorway, arms crossed, expression unreadable. His eyes settled on you for a beat too long.

“Give her a second to breathe before you start asking about mating rituals.”

“Thank you,” you breathed.

He moved past the others, walking toward you with measured steps. You hadn’t realized how tense your shoulders were until he got close enough that the rest of the room seemed to dim around him.

“You okay?” he asked quietly.

You nodded, but couldn’t help the tiny smile tugging at your lips. “Do you ask all the new recruits about their reproductive methods, or just me?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Only the ones who are rumored to eat people.”

────────────────────────

A Few Days Later

You sat on the edge of the couch like a guest who wasn’t sure if they were invited or accidentally wandered in. Your posture was perfect, hands folded neatly in your lap, gaze fixed somewhere safe—like the TV that no one had turned on.

Yelena flopped down beside you with the grace of a feral cat. “You don’t talk much,” she observed bluntly. “Which is fine. Some of us overshare to make up for our emotional repression.”

“That’s just you,” Ava said from the kitchen, balancing a tray of chips and something that might’ve been experimental dip.

“Correct.”

Alexei hovered behind you, inexplicably trying to angle a photo of his dog toward your face. “This is Misha. He was trained to kill before he was housebroken. You would get along.”

“I’m… sure he’s lovely,” you replied politely, offering a tight smile.

Bob sat cross-legged on the floor like a camp counselor. “Okay, but seriously. Do you want anything to eat? We’ve got empanadas. And tofu stuff. And I think someone tried to make brownies.”

You shook your head. “Thank you. I’m not hungry.”

“No fish?” Walker smirked. “Or is it just... men on the menu?”

The room went dead quiet for half a second. Ava groaned.

“Really?” Yelena muttered.

“I’m a vegetarian,” you said quietly.

Walker blinked. “Wait, really?”

“Yes.”

“That’s even more terrifying,” Bob said thoughtfully. “You choose not to eat meat. Yet you still eat men. For sport, right?”

“I do not eat men.”

“Sure,” Ava said with a shrug. “But if you did, it’d be poetic justice. Like, ‘Oops, your ship tried to colonize my homeland, now you're lunch.’”

You gave a tight-lipped smile again, but the joke didn’t quite sit right. They didn’t notice the way your gaze dropped or how your fingers fidgeted slightly at the hem of your sleeve.

Except Bucky.

He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes on you in that quiet, unreadable way of his. Watching. Not judging. Just… observing. Carefully.

“You always like this?” Ava asked, circling to sit nearby. “Polite. Mysterious. Quiet. Like a goth librarian who also knows how to drown people with her mind?”

You hesitated. “I try not to make people uncomfortable.”

“You don’t,” Yelena said, popping a chip into her mouth. “We’re uncomfortable by default. It’s a trauma response.”

“You’re basically the least weird person in this room,” Bob added. “Which is suspicious in itself.”

That earned a small laugh from you—surprising even yourself. Heads turned, and you flushed faintly under the sudden attention.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you said.

It wasn’t much. But it was something. A sliver of trust cracked open just enough for light to slip through.

And across the room, Bucky eyes softened.

It had started with snacks and sarcasm. Someone had turned on a movie. Bob was quoting every line with annoying precision. Ava kept tossing popcorn into Walker’s protein shake. For a while, you had almost forgotten to be cautious.

Almost.

“Okay but seriously,” Yelena said, elbowing you gently, “you’ve got to let us see it sometime. The thing. With your voice.”

You hesitated. “It’s not something I do for fun.”

“But it’s, like... mind control, right?” Walker asked, overly casual. “Like Jedi mind tricks, but with falsetto?”

You glanced around. Ava watching with narrowed eyes, trying to read you. Bob leaned forward, too curious. Yelena still too close. Even Alexei had stopped mid-story. And Bucky—still across the room, still silent.

“It’s not mind control,” you said slowly. “It’s... influence.”

The air shifted.

“My voice can influence people. Not just emotion. Thought. Action.”

The joking stopped.

“And I can sense... intention. Urgency. Fear. Hunger. The things people hide.”

Then softly you added. “It’s not always... voluntary.”

There was something fragile in your voice then. Not a confession, but a warning.

Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers curling in your lap. You could already feel it. The subtle recoil in their posture. Not loud, but enough. Enough for your pulse to tick faster, warning you.

“Damn,” John muttered. “So you just walk into a room and feel everyone’s business?”

“I try not to,” you replied, softly.

That landed harder than you meant it to.

The silence that followed was heavier than any you'd felt all day. Thick with the kind of unease you’d learned to recognize long before you joined this team. Not fear. Not rejection. Just... awareness. The realization that your power wasn’t theoretical anymore. It was here. With them. Listening.

You felt the wall go up in them before they even realized they were building it.

So you did what you always did. What you were best at.

You retreated.

Your shoulders folded in. Your body went still. Not dramatically. Not enough to cause a scene. Just... quieter. Smaller. Like someone sinking slowly beneath the surface of the sea.

No one said anything.

But from across the room, Bucky watched you carefully—jaw set, brow furrowed—not at you, but at the room. At the shift. At how fast they’d gone from teasing to tiptoeing.

And you?

You didn’t need to read anyone’s mind to feel how far away you suddenly were.

────────────────────────

Later That Night

The wind was soft out here. Almost warm, brushing past your bare arms with the gentleness of something that wasn’t trying to take anything from you. You sat curled on a narrow bench, knees pulled to your chest, chin resting lightly on them.

You hadn’t meant to be found. That was kind of the point.

So when the door behind you slid open, your heart sank just a little. Until you heard his footsteps. Quiet. Measured. Familiar now.

Bucky didn’t say anything at first. Just moved beside you slowly and sat down, leaving a respectful distance between you.

“I figured you might be out here,” he said, voice low. Like he didn’t want to scare you off.

You didn’t look at him. “Why?”

“You didn’t say anything.”

The corners of your mouth turned up, barely. “Didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“You’re not. Just... noticed.”

For a while, you both sat in silence, the kind that wasn’t awkward. Just... open. A space you didn’t have to fill.

“I didn’t mean to make them uncomfortable,” you said finally. Voice soft. Still watching the stars.

“You didn’t,” he said automatically.

You turned your head, just a little. “You felt it.”

He paused. “I felt them realizing they don’t understand you yet. That’s different.”

You shook your head slowly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

His eyes flicked to you. You didn’t see the way they narrowed.

“I know what I am,” you continued. “People don’t have to say it. I can feel it. The moment it shifts. That little breath of fear when they realize I can reach inside their heads without asking. It’s not wrong. I am what they think I am.”

You looked at him then, just briefly. Enough for him to see the resignation. The calm acceptance that only comes from long practice.

“A monster,” you said quietly.

His jaw clenched, barely. You saw it, even if he tried to hide it.

“Don’t say that.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s not.” He turned toward you fully now. “You think you’re the only person on this team who’s scared of what they’ve done? What they’re capable of?”

You didn’t answer.

“You think any of us have clean hands?” His voice stayed even, but there was a tightness to it now. Not anger. Something closer to frustration. Or pained. “Ava’s killed for hire. Yelena was trained to be a weapon since she could walk. Walker…” He paused. “You saw the headlines.”

He let the silence hang for a beat.

“I spent seventy years hurting people with no choice. With no soul. If anyone here knows what it means to be used, to be feared—it’s me.”

You blinked. “That’s different.”

“Why?”

“Because you're human.”

He stared at you. Then, quietly, “And you're not?”

You didn’t respond.

The wind picked up. You turned your head back toward the night.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything.

Then, softly, “You scare them a little. Yeah. But not because you’re a monster.”

You glanced at him.

“They just don’t know you yet. And people fear what they don’t understand. But that doesn’t mean they won’t try.”

You looked down at your hands, where your fingers were laced tight together. Like you were holding something in.

“I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

“I know,” he said.

And you believed him.

Not because his words were kind, but because they were quiet. Steady. Because they didn’t ask anything of you.

Because he didn’t look away.

And for the first time since you joined this mess of a team, you didn’t feel like a weapon waiting to be triggered.

You just felt... seen.

────────────────────────

Abandoned Shipping Yard

It was supposed to be a clean extraction. In and out. Minimal resistance. Ava had scoped the perimeter, Yelena laid out the breach pattern, Walker was already ten paces ahead being Walker, and Bucky had given you a nod just before the comms went live.

You were ready. Or you thought you were.

The cold air clung to your skin as you moved through the corridor of rusted containers. You kept to the shadows, as always, listening more than speaking, watching more than acting. A quiet presence, there when needed—never more.

The first wave of hostiles came fast—mercs, jittery and underpaid. Nothing the team couldn’t handle. You barely had to use your voice.

But something changed.

Second floor. A new group. More organized. You didn’t see them until they’d already flanked Alexei. You reacted before you thought—instinct firing faster than strategy.

They raised weapons.

And you hummed.

Not loud. Not full. Just enough to stop them.

A sound low in your throat, rich with warning and pressure and pull. It rolled over the air like a tide, a siren note pitched directly into their nerves.

They froze.

Then they turned.

Not toward Alexei.

Toward each other.

Guns half-raised. Hands twitching.

Confusion swelled, slow and dangerous. One man dropped his rifle. Another started crying. A third turned to face you like he couldn’t remember why he was holding a weapon at all.

Then Walker’s voice shouted through comms: “What the hell was that?!”

A sharp click—a trigger cocked.

Bucky got there first.

He shoved the last merc down before he could swing his weapon back around, snapping a zip tie around his wrists with clinical precision.

“Clear!” Yelena called from above.

“Room’s secure,” Ava confirmed, quieter, voice tinged with something more cautious.

You stood in the center of the room, throat tight, breath short. The air still trembled faintly with the residue of your voice.

Everyone was looking at you.

No one said anything.

Until Walker.

“Was that you?” he asked, not angry—just stunned. Like he’d seen lightning strike too close. “What even—what was that?”

“I didn’t mean to—” you started, but your voice wavered.

“That wasn’t just noise. That was... influence, right? You turned them on each other?”

“No.” You swallowed. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. They were going to shoot Alexei, I—”

“But it wasn’t controlled,” Walker said sharply. Not cruel, just assessing. Calculating risk. “What if they’d turned on us?”

That stung. More than it should have.

“I wouldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t mean to—”

“She said it was involuntary,” Bucky cut in, stepping forward. His voice didn’t rise, but it carried weight. “She stopped them. That’s what matters.”

“She also almost made a guy kill himself,” Walker muttered.

“She saved Alexei,” Bucky said firmly, turning toward the others. “We’ve all lost control before. Don’t pretend we haven’t.”

You stood silent, heart pounding, the aftermath of your own power still vibrating under your skin. The others started moving again—resetting, clearing the area, checking gear. But they gave you space now.

Too much space.

You barely heard the rest of the debrief. Your voice was gone, locked behind clenched teeth. Guilt wrapped around your chest like a vice.

You walked ahead in silence.

No one stopped you.

────────────────────────

You hadn’t even taken off your boots. You sat on the floor, back against the wall, arms wrapped tightly around your knees like they might keep you from slipping any further into yourself.

The door creaked open softly.

You didn’t look up.

But you knew the sound of his steps.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Bucky said gently.

You didn’t respond.

He came closer but didn’t sit. Just leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed loosely. Watching. Waiting.

“I lost control,” you said after a long moment. “They’re right to be wary.”

“They’re wrong,” he said simply.

“You didn’t see their faces.”

“I saw yours.”

You glanced up, surprised.

“You looked like you were trying to tear yourself in half,” he said. “Because you cared more about hurting them than saving yourself.”

You looked away again.

“They don’t understand what it feels like,” you said quietly. “To have something inside you that people fear. That you can’t always lock down. That might one day hurt someone—even if you don’t want it to.”

His expression shifted. Pain, recognition, something deeper.

“Yeah,” he said. “I do.”

You looked at him then. Really looked.

The softness in his face, the tension in his shoulders—he knew. He knew.

And still, he was here.

Not afraid. Not flinching. Just... here.

You exhaled shakily.

“I think I made a mistake joining this team.”

“No,” he said. “You didn’t.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’ve been watching you,” he admitted. “And not because I’m waiting for you to snap. I watch because I see you trying. Every damn day. Even when they don’t notice.”

Your throat tightened.

“You don’t scare me,” he added. “None of this does. You do more to hold yourself back than most of us ever have to.”

Silence.

Then, softly: “You belong here. Even if it takes them time to see it.”

────────────────────────

The Next Night

Bucky wasn’t looking for you.

That’s what he told himself.

He told himself he was going for a walk. That his muscles ached. That the silence in his room was too sharp around the edges tonight.

But when he passed the door to the training pool and saw it slightly ajar, lights off, humid air curling into the hallway like a whisper—he knew.

Of course it was you.

He stepped inside quietly, the heavy door hissing shut behind him. The sound echoed across the still water.

“Hey,” he called out softly, scanning the dark. “You left the lights off.”

He moved toward the control panel instinctively, fingers brushing the switch.

“Don’t,” came your voice.

Not a shout. Not even stern. Just quiet. Low.

Carried like a ripple across the water, echoing from somewhere deep in the pool.

He froze.

“…You okay?” he asked, softer now.

A pause.

Then, “Yes.”

But there was something in the way you said it—like you were holding your breath inside the word.

The pool was a long, Olympic cut of black glass. He could barely make out your shape beneath the surface—a flicker of motion in the far end, a slow shift of shadow.

“You’re in the water.”

“Yes.”

The silence stretched again, heavy but not uncomfortable. He stepped forward, letting the heat of the pool air wrap around him.

“I thought maybe you’d gone,” he admitted. “After yesterday.”

There was a sound, something like a soft splash. A flick of fin, maybe. Movement, not retreat.

“No,” you said. “I just needed to be… this. For a while.”

He squinted toward you, his eyes adjusting to the dark. It took a moment, but then he saw it—just barely. The curve of your back breaking the surface. The subtle gleam of something slick and scaled beneath the low ambient light.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t stare. Just stayed still.

You exhaled slowly, the sound barely above the waterline. “I’m not hiding.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“I just don't want to be seen like this. Not… yet.”

He nodded, even though you probably couldn’t see it. “Alright. Then I won’t look.”

And to his credit, he didn’t.

He turned away slightly, gave you space, let you move without watching. But he still stayed. Because you hadn’t told him to go.

Because, maybe, you wanted someone to stay.

“I’m not human the way you are,” you said after a while. “Not just physically. Sometimes I feel like I’m wearing skin that doesn’t belong to me.”

He breathed in slow. “I know that feeling.”

“Do you?” you asked, not unkindly. Just tired.

Bucky shifted his weight. “I’ve worn a lot of masks. But yeah. There are days where I look in the mirror and don’t see someone who belongs anywhere.”

The water rippled quietly.

“Then you understand why I needed to be in the dark tonight.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

A pause.

“You ever wish you could just… stay like that?” he asked gently. “Who you are in here. Not the version you have to show everyone else?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Then, “Sometimes I think the version they see is the monster. And this—the water, the dark, the scales—that this is the real me.”

“And is she the monster?”

“No.”

Then you added, softer, “She’s worse.“

The words sank like stones.

You waited for him to back away. To excuse himself. To do what most people did when they saw behind the illusion.

But he didn’t.

“You’re not a monster,” he said, steady as stone. “Not in any form.”

You let out a breath—half bitter, half broken. “You should be afraid of me.”

“I’m not.”

“You should be.” A sharp breath. “Especially you. After what you’ve been through. After what it’s like to have your mind twisted, your will taken—I could do that to you. Without even trying.”

Silence.

You expected him to leave. You preferred him to leave.

Then a soft rustle.

You heard it before you saw it—fabric sliding off. The quiet thud of boots meeting concrete. A belt unhooking. Then another sound: the shift of weight, the hiss of disturbed water.

Your head turned sharply in the dark. “What are you doing?”

Bucky’s voice came low and calm. “Showing you I’m not afraid.”

His bare feet met the water first, then his legs. He stepped slowly into the pool, each movement careful, deliberate—like he was approaching a wounded animal. Like he knew you might vanish if he moved too fast.

You froze.

The lights stayed off.

The water rippled gently around him, catching faint echoes of motion from where you were submerged.

“You can’t even see me,” you said.

“I don’t need to.”

Your voice trembled. “You don’t know what I look like like this.”

“I know what I feel,” he said. “I know it’s you.”

He moved further in, the water reaching his ribs, his breath slow, steady.

You stared across the dark, at the shape of him—a silhouette against nothing. Vulnerable. Unarmed. Open.

You whispered, “Why?”

He paused, standing still in the middle of the water.

“Because you’ve spent your whole life trying not to scare people,” he said. “Trying to keep yourself small, quiet, contained. And no one’s ever just... let you be.”

You blinked.

Something deep inside you shifted.

“I’ve been used too,” he said softly. “Controlled. Hurt. Turned into something I didn’t recognize. And I’m still here. Still fighting to believe I’m not what they made me.”

The ripples between you both softened. Fewer waves. Less space.

You whispered, “You’re not.”

“Neither are you.”

For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could breathe.

Not in the way you did above water—but in the way that didn’t hurt.

“You shouldn’t trust me this much,” you said, a final warning. One last barrier.

“Maybe,” he said quietly. “But I do”

The water between you held its breath.

You didn’t move at first—didn’t trust the trembling in your limbs or the sharp edge of your pulse. But Bucky stood still, waist-deep, facing the other side of the pool, like he wasn’t waiting for danger—just for you.

So you moved.

Slowly. Silently. The water embraced your form the way it always had—your real shape, the one you kept hidden beneath flesh and clothes and fear. You glided like breath, like tide, like instinct. Your tail made no sound. Your scales caught no light. You were the shadow beneath the surface, and he didn’t flinch.

Not even when you came close.

Close enough to touch.

You hovered at his back, watching the curve of his spine rise and fall with every breath. Water clung to his skin, catching faint glints of motion—your motion—as you lifted a hand above the surface.

And touched him.

His shoulders tensed at first, just barely, but he didn’t pull away.

Your fingers were cool against his skin—webbed, slick, foreign. The pads of them brushed along the ridge of his shoulder blade, then down the line of his arm.

Still, he didn’t turn.

So you did it again.

This time, both hands—light and deliberate—placed just above his hips, fingertips resting at the base of his spine, gently urging.

He let out a slow breath.

And turned.

The water shifted as he faced you.

He still couldn’t see all of you—darkness and depth obscured your form—but he could feel you there. Close. Solid. Real.

His hands came to your waist, cautious, reverent. His thumbs brushed faint ridges along your sides—faint scales you hadn’t hidden, soft flesh beneath them. He could feel the texture of you, alien and familiar all at once.

You let him look.

Not completely. Not yet.

But enough.

You tilted your head up, and he bent just slightly toward you. His face a breath away, eyes searching yours in the dark.

“I see you,” he whispered.

And he did.

Not a siren. Not a monster. Not an aberration.

Just you.

The water lapped quietly around you, the two of you suspended in the dark.

Bucky was so close now. Close enough for the heat of his body to ghost across your skin despite the coolness of the water. Close enough that the contrast between you—his warmth, your chill—felt like static between touching wires.

He looked at you then, fully. His eyes locked on yours, no hesitation. Just slow awe.

You saw the flicker of realization behind his gaze.

Your eyes—icy and deep, nearly luminescent in the dark—weren’t human anymore. The pupils too sharp, the color too unnatural. You didn’t try to hide it.

And still, he whispered, breath brushing your mouth,

“I’m not afraid of you.”

Your lips parted, not to speak, but just to feel that warmth.

Then he leaned in—deliberate, drawn, inevitable—and kissed you.

The first touch was slow, hesitant only in reverence, like he was afraid of breaking something sacred. His lips were warm—so warm—pressing softly against yours, testing.

You didn’t hesitate.

You kissed him back, and the pull was instant. A current dragging you both under.

His hands rose, one settling against the back of your neck, the other at your waist, anchoring you to him. You opened your mouth against his—slowly—and his tongue slipped inside with a soft groan that vibrated low in his throat. You tasted him: salt, metal, heat, something earthy and real.

He tasted you: cool and mineral, like sea-salt and secrets, ancient and raw.

His tongue tangled with yours in deliberate strokes, slow and deep. It wasn’t frantic. It was exploration, mouth against mouth, breath mingling, like he was learning you piece by piece.

Then he felt them.

The faint edge of your fangs—barely exposed as your body stirred with instinct and desire.

He didn’t pull away.

He kissed you harder.

And you let him.

Your webbed fingers curled into his hair, claws grazing his scalp just enough to make him shiver. His hand slipped lower, across the slick curve of your back, dragging you flush against him in the water. Your tail brushed his legs—he felt the ripple of it, powerful and sinuous—and instead of flinching, he leaned into it.

He deepened the kiss with a quiet groan, tilting your head just enough to taste more of you, to chase the sharp edge of your teeth and the soft gasp you gave him when he sucked on your bottom lip.

He wanted more. You wanted.

But the kiss said it all: this wasn’t hunger.

It was surrender.

And when he pulled back—only slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you panting, breath fogging between mouths—his voice dropped again, rough and reverent.

“You’re not a monster.”

You trembled in his arms, not from cold.

And for the first time, you let someone hold you without fear of what they’d find in the dark.

The kisses evolved—mouths moving in rhythm, breathless and hungry, like they’d been holding back for far too long. The water around you rippled with every shift of your bodies, your bare skin slick against his, every nerve alive.

Bucky’s hands slid lower, smoothing over the firm plane of your back where slick, textured scales had shimmered moments ago. But now—he felt it.

They were fading.

His lips broke from yours just enough to murmur, breath hitched, “You’re changing…”

Your forehead pressed to his as your hands threaded through his wet hair. “I can’t stop it,” you whispered. “When I feel—”

He kissed you again, cutting the words off with a gentleness that said you don’t have to explain.

The transformation was slow, intimate.

You felt it first in your hands—your fingers unwebbing, reshaping. Human again. Your claws softened, becoming skin. You ran them down his chest, gasping softly at the warmth, the roughness of him against the new smoothness of you.

Bucky’s hands wrapped around your waist as you shifted again, the powerful muscles of your tail twitching, tensing—then separating.

Legs.

Human.

Bare.

You wrapped them around his hips instinctively, pulling him closer, water lapping between your bodies, heat blooming between where his skin met yours.

His breath caught, hard, sharp.

You were soft and solid and real in his arms, human now but still you—something wild and full of want beneath the surface. He kissed down your jaw, tasting salt and skin and a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

His voice, low and rough, ghosted along your throat: “You don’t have to be afraid.”

You shivered in his hold, lips brushing his ear as you whispered back, “I’m not.”

And for once, you weren’t.

Not of what he’d think. Not of what you were. Not even of what you wanted.

Just the sound of your shared breath, the gentle churn of the water, the beat of two hearts finally in rhythm.

Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist as he held you against him, his hands roaming—slow, reverent, learning every curve and shape as if memorizing what it meant to have you.

Not to claim.

But to be allowed.

The warmth of him bled into you, his mouth trailing over the column of your throat, lips parting around your skin as he kissed lower—slowly, like he wanted to taste every shiver.

Your fingers dug into his shoulders as his mouth returned to yours—hungrier this time. Tongues sliding together with unspoken urgency. He groaned into you, low and rough, when you rolled your hips into him beneath the water.

The sound you made—half gasp, half moan—hit him like a shot to the spine.

His hands cupped the back of your thighs, holding you up, keeping you close, guiding your body so you fit around him perfectly. The heat between you sharpened, pressed tight through soaked fabric and wet skin, every movement stoking something deeper.

There was nothing frantic.

Only build.

Only the slow, sacred pull of yes.

The kiss deepened until there was no air between you. His chest pressed to yours, heat meeting the coolness of your skin, fingers curling along your ribs, tracing the path where scales had once been.

You tilted your head back as he kissed his way down—jaw, neck, collarbone—tongue flicking against the hollow of your throat. Each touch lit up something low in your belly, and when you whispered his name, he froze just long enough to look at you.

Eyes dark, lips parted, hands still reverent.

“Are you sure?” he asked, voice hoarse, wet strands of hair clinging to his brow.

You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Bucky’s mouth returned to yours with hunger barely tempered now, his kiss pulling sounds from your throat you didn’t know you could make—not songs, not power. Just want.

He guided you back through the water, hands steady at your waist, until your spine met the edge of the pool wall. The tile was cool against your back; he was warm and solid against your front.

His fingers brushed along the curve of your ribs, then up—slowly—tracing the faint shimmer where scales had retreated. He explored each new inch of you with careful reverence, like he was learning you with his hands, like every discovery mattered.

Your breath hitched as he slid one palm beneath the water, low across your hip, then between your thighs—fingers ghosting over the softest part of you with a touch so achingly gentle you shivered.

He swallowed the moan that left your mouth as his other hand found your jaw, tilting your face up so he could kiss you again—deeper now, tongue claiming, teeth grazing your lip.

You gasped, fingers curling around the back of his neck as your legs tightened around his hips, urging him closer.

He groaned, low and wrecked, as he pressed his body into yours fully—his arousal hard against you, his mouth dragging kisses down your throat as you arched into him.

“God, you feel like…” he murmured, unfinished, overwhelmed, pressing his forehead against yours.

Your hand found his chest, feeling the steady, pounding rhythm beneath the scars. “I feel like what?”

He looked at you like you were unreal. “Like something I’ve never deserved. But I’m not letting go.”

He reached down again, guiding himself into you with aching care.

When he pressed into you—slow, stretching, deep—your mouth parted in a soundless gasp, nails sinking into his back as your body opened for him.

The sensation was molten. Your body slick and ready, still half-wrapped in water, and every movement felt amplified—rippled and weightless, like being made and unmade in slow motion.

He held still inside you for a beat—his breath stalling, eyes locked on yours.

“You okay?” he whispered, thumb brushing your cheek.

You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “Don’t stop.”

So he moved.

Rhythmic. Deep. Rolling his hips into you with intense precision, like he wanted every thrust to be a memory etched into your bones.

You clung to him as you rocked together, lips never far, gasps exchanged like prayer. The water splashed gently around you with every movement, hiding and revealing, sheltering and exposing.

And when you came apart in his arms—body shaking, breath hitching, fingers tangled in his hair—he followed seconds after, groaning into your skin as he buried himself in you one last time.

Afterward, he didn’t let go.

He just held you, still wrapped in warmth and water, as if grounding himself in the shape of you—your real form, your chosen form.

And you stayed there, arms around him, mind quiet for the first time in days.

────────────────────────

You lay together outside the pool, still dripping, the tiled floor beneath you warmed by residual heat from the water and each other.

Bucky’s body was solid and relaxed beneath yours, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped across his ribs. His breathing was slow now, steady, one hand lazily tracing your back—his fingers brushing the faint outlines of where your scales had shimmered.

He didn’t speak for a while. Just let his fingers explore you softly, as if mapping something sacred.

Then, voice low, “So… the other you. The form in the water. Is that the real you?”

You didn’t answer right away.

Your breath pushed gently against his skin, your eyes half-lidded with calm.

Then softly, “Both are the real me.”

He didn’t move, but you felt the weight of his silence.

You lifted your head slightly, just enough to brush your lips against his—light, unhurried, a kiss not driven by need but by quiet affection.

A moment passed before you added, “I’m half-human. Half-siren.”

His eyes opened, and he tilted his head to meet your gaze, brows furrowed—curious, but not skeptical.

You sighed, a faint smile ghosting your lips. “Tale as old as time. Sailor meets siren. Siren gets curious. Doesn’t immediately murder him.”

That made him huff a quiet breath against your temple.

“Sometimes… they mate. Rarely. Just to understand. Or because something stirs in them they don’t expect. The sailors rarely survive the interaction. Then they return to the sea.”

His fingers paused at your spine.

You shifted your weight slightly, eyes locked on his, and said quieter still:

“This time, the siren left with a baby.”

His breath caught, just barely.

You looked down.

“And that baby got left behind on land. Half-breed. Too human for the ocean, too strange for the shore.”

He said nothing.

But his hand moved again—this time higher, threading through your hair, cupping the back of your head gently as if trying to hold that pain, that truth, without crowding it.

You exhaled slowly, resting your forehead against his collarbone.

“A monster on land. An abomination in the sea.”

The words hung between you like steam, curling and vanishing before they hit the air.

Bucky didn’t try to correct you. Didn’t rush to wrap those words in comfort. He just moved—his hand smoothing up your back, across your hair, anchoring you to his chest. Holding you like it was the only thing he knew how to do.

His hand never left you.

Now, it moved with a new purpose—his touch slower, more intentional, tracing the skin between your shoulder blades.

You stiffened slightly.

He’d found them.

The scars.

Faint, old, but still jagged—slashing diagonally across your back in places that seemed more symbolic than accidental. He ran a thumb along the longest one, slow and careful.

“They match,” he murmured.

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Your claws,” he said. “From before. In the pool. The shape of them.” He traced another line. “These look like what they’d leave.”

You were quiet for a long moment.

Then you whispered, “They did.”

“You mean—?”

“The sirens,” you said softly.

He froze. “Jesus.”

You pushed your face gently against his shoulder, hiding from the look you couldn’t bear to see on his face—pity, horror, heartbreak, you didn’t know which would be worse.

“I didn’t belong here,” you murmured. “On land. Never really fit. So I thought—maybe the ocean would feel like home. Maybe they would understand.”

His hand stilled on your back.

You swallowed. “They didn’t.”

You pulled in a shaking breath, voice tight but steady. “They said I was soft. Weak. That I smelled too human. Felt too much. That I’d taint their species if I stayed.”

A beat.

“They tried to tear the human out of me.”

Bucky closed his eyes. His jaw tensed beneath your hand where it rested on his chest.

You whispered, almost bitterly now, “All the myths are true. They are monsters. They don’t love. They don’t feel. They don’t keep anything they can’t control.”

Silence.

Bucky’s fingers paused again, still tracing the old scars like they were something sacred. “You survived them,” he said quietly. “That says more about you than them.”

Your breath hitched, then came slow and shallow.

“I didn’t just survive them,” you murmured. “I tried to be like them.”

He stilled.

“I thought if I let go of everything human in me, they’d let me stay. If I stopped feeling… stopped flinching when they hunted. When they—”

You stopped, your throat tightening.

Bucky’s eyes were open now, watching you with more than concern. With something like dread.

“I tried,” you said, barely above a whisper. “To become what they were. To be unfeeling. A real monster.”

Your fingers curled slightly against his chest. “I even did it. Their way. Took ships off course with my voice. Lured them close. And I fed.”

His hand faltered.

“I ate humans,” you said, the words fractured, sharp. “So they’d accept me.”

Silence.

The worst kind.

Bucky didn’t move. He didn’t breathe, but you felt his body tense underneath you—hurt, not at you, but for you.

You turned your face further into his shoulder, shame crawling up your spine like ice.

“But it never worked,” you whispered. “I was still too soft. I felt everything. Even when I tried to bury it.”

His arms wrapped tighter around you—gently, but with purpose.

“I couldn’t keep it down,” you continued. “The guilt. The screaming. The way they laughed at me for choking on blood.”

Your voice cracked. “Meat makes me sick now. Just the smell of it.”

He breathed then, long and broken.

You could feel his heartbeat under your cheek. Steady. Solid. And somehow still here.

The silence between you became thick. Not with judgment, but with something worse—your own shame.

You whispered, barely audible, “I became something I hate. I wanted so badly to stop being an outcast, I turned myself into a real monster. And they still didn’t want me.”

You closed your eyes. “They didn’t need to kill me. I did that myself.”

Bucky exhaled slowly, his hand sliding up from your back to cup the back of your head again. He didn’t say it’s okay. He didn’t say you’re forgiven. He didn’t try to rewrite your past.

He just held you.

Because there are wounds too deep for words.

Because you had already condemned yourself, and he knew the last thing you needed was someone else trying to absolve what you hadn’t even survived emotionally.

Still, his voice reached you, low and rough and real,

“I hope someday you'll understand that you were never the monster in that story.”

You didn’t respond. You didn’t believe it. But you didn’t pull away, either.

And for now—that meant something.

our girlie:

Bucky Barnes Taglist:

@Ruexj283 @muchwita @fayeatheart @Leathynn @thealloveru2 @person-005 @princeescalus @lilac13 @solana-jpeg @jeongiegram @winchestert101 @s-sh-ne @n3ptoonz @avgdestitute @xamapolax @Finnickodairslut @honeyhera29 @macbaetwo @rafespeach @bythecloset @ashpeace888 @buckmybarnes @c-grace56 @ozwriterchick @slutforsr @novaslov @xamapolax @theoraekenslover @user911224 @Tafuller @luminousvenomvagrant @sgtjbbhasmyheart @yvespecially @snake-in-a-flower-crown @mencantaleer @shellsbae00 @theewiselionessss @Madlyinlovewithmattmurdockk @avivarougestan @xoxoloverb @superlegend216 @lori19 @sired4urmama @writing-for-marvel @thriving-n-jiving @ogoc-19 @fckmebarnes @excusememrbarnes @its-in-the-woods @barnesonly

those who couldn't be tagged are in bold :(

[flwrkissed]

Can I request some hongjoong fluff >~< you can decide on the topic idm I’m js so downbad for this man ,,

You Look Like My Type In That Sweater - K.H ♡

Genre: fluff

Pairings: Bf!Hongjoong x Gn!Reader

Warnings: just hongjoong being a loser in a beautiful man's body :3

Cosmos note: here go anon! I hope it's what you wanted!

my library!

You woke up to a quiet sort of brightness, the kind that made everything feel slower and softer. The room was warm under the covers, and the scent of your laundry mixed with something unmistakably Hongjoong: skin and cologne, a little citrus, a little sleep.

His arm was across your middle, flopped heavy like he’d passed out mid-snuggle, which—let’s be honest—he probably had. His face was buried somewhere between your shoulder and your neck, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble against your skin. His leg was hooked over yours like a very needy, very clingy blanket.

You shifted slightly, testing the waters of escape.

He groaned. “Don’t move. I’m in a delicate emotional state.”

You huffed out a laugh, still not fully awake. “Your ‘emotional state’ is that you’re lazy.”

“I’m clinging for survival,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “If you leave, I’ll wither.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Correct.”

You tried again, this time actually sitting up. He flopped his whole body across your back like a toddler throwing a tantrum.

“Joong—”

“No.”

“Let me pee.”

He paused.

“Okay,” he said finally. “But come back or I’ll die for real.”

You snorted and pried his octopus limbs off you, dragging yourself to the bathroom while he flopped back on the mattress like a man betrayed.

When you came out, he was sitting up, hair a disaster, face puffy, one sock halfway on, and already rummaging through your drawer like it was his.

“I’m picking our outfits,” he said without looking up. “You don’t get a say.”

You blinked. “I didn’t even ask for a say yet?”

“Exactly. Preemptive fashion domination.”

He tossed a sweater at you. It hit you in the face.

“You’re violent,” you muttered, pulling it on anyway. It was soft. Probably his. Definitely smelled like him.

He held up a pair of cargos. “These too. We’re doing layers. I want us to look like we have a joint Pinterest board.”

“Oh my god.”

“Shut up, this is important to me.”

You raised a brow. “You planned this in advance, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. “I may or may not have mentally coordinated colors at 2am. The creative mind never rests.”

“You literally drooled on my arm at 2am.”

“And still had vision. Powerful.”

You laughed, shaking your head, and pulled the pants on while he started changing too—right there, no hesitation, shirt half-off while babbling something about beige being an elite neutral.

You watched, leaning against the wall, as he fixed his hair in the mirror with one hand and shoved on a jacket with the other.

“Why are you so pretty and so dumb at the same time?” you muttered.

“Balance,” he replied, fluffing his bangs. “Like yin and yang. Brains? Gone. Jawline? Sharp.”

He spun around. “Okay. Photo time.”

“What?”

“You. In that sweater. Window light. You look like the main character of a song I haven’t written yet.”

You rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck, but he was already grabbing his film camera.

“Don’t be weird about it,” he said, already dragging you to stand by the curtain. “Just… do your face.”

“My face?”

“Yeah, you know. Your normal one. The cute one.”

You made a face.

“Okay not that one. You look like you’re about to bite someone.”

“I am about to.”

“Hot.”

You laughed and shoved him lightly, but stood where he wanted anyway. The light really was nice—warm and soft, haloing around your face. You glanced at him just as he took the photo.

He peeked at the camera. “Yup. That’s going on Instagram.”

“You never post.”

“This is worthy.”

He came over and wrapped his arms around your waist, forehead pressed to yours, swaying a little like there was music only he could hear.

“God, you’re so cute it actually hurts me.”

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

“It is. You woke up and chose violence.”

You grinned. “Alright, your turn. Stand over there. I’m getting revenge.”

He handed you the camera with a dramatic sigh. “Capture my essence.”

“You’re about to get captured looking like you lost a fight with a pillow.”

“And still hot.”

He posed half-seriously, one hand in his jacket pocket, giving you that lazy model-off-duty stare that made your knees feel wobbly.

“Wow,” you said, adjusting the focus. “How does it feel to be God’s favorite?”

He smirked. “Honestly, exhausting.”

You snapped the picture just as his smile turned into a grin. Click.

“I’m framing that one.”

“Put it in a museum.”

“Put it in my wallet.”

He walked over and tried to steal the camera back, but you held it above your head.

“Give it.”

“No.”

“Give—babe—I swear if you make me climb you like a tree—”

You cackled and backed up until he grabbed your waist and spun you, laughing against your neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you gasped.

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

He kissed your jaw, soft and lingering, then rested his chin on your shoulder.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he mumbled.

You reached up and played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “Like what?”

“Waking up late. Being dumb. Looking hot.”

“God, your priorities.”

“I’m consistent.”

You turned and kissed him, just once, slow and warm.

“Now I’m really keeping the photo,” you whispered.

“Put a heart on it.”

You did.

He let go of you long enough to go poke at his face in the mirror, muttering about under-eye circles and deciding on lip balm instead of tint.

You just watched from the bed, pulling your socks on and feeling the ridiculous weight of happiness settle in your chest like sunlight.

He came back, smug.

“Okay, I’m ready to receive compliments.”

You gave him a once-over. “Hmm.”

He narrowed his eyes. “I’m dating a hater.”

You stood, grabbing your keys. “You’re dating someone with high standards.”

“And yet you still picked me.”

“Bad decisions are part of life.”

He laughed and grabbed your hand, lacing your fingers together like it was muscle memory.

As you stepped into your shoes, he pulled you close again—less dramatic this time, more quiet, more him.

“I really do love you, you know,” he said, like he was saying something stupid and obvious.

You looked at him. Messy hair, sleepy eyes, camera around his neck, your sweater hanging off your frame.

“I know,” you said, smiling.

And that was enough.

taglist: @vampzity @sooniedoongiedori25 @mhluvie @yaorzu-blog @lze325 @felixleftchickennugget @m-325 @lezleeferguson-120 @psychicyouthfox @pixie-felix @angel-writes-here @galaxy4489 @minniesverse @gncbnahc @ari-hwanggg @alondra6011 @sk1ndx0 @doliveiraa @soona-huh @rockstarkkami @yxna-bliss @kpetts @nightmarenyxx @victoriaaf

(I'M STILL ADDING PEOPLE TO TAG! comment on any post, send an ask or a message if you want added!)

[taintandviolent]

Nosy Neighbours ; Gambit x Reader

summary: PART ONE TO TACO TUESDAY! PART THREE HERE! Reader wakes up after a night of debauchery.... and continues it. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 5.2K | smut with very little plot, French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, blowjobs, eating out, no use of y/n, a sprinkling of angst at the end because things are developing for reader.

a/n: Listen, listen. I am blown away by the love on my first Remy fic, and the fact that you guys wanted a part two made my day. Thank you so much for all the praise and I hope this one lives up to the hype as well! part 3....? peut être... - banner by @/strangergraphics, and Remy gif by @atomicfoxx!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

Sunlight filters in through the crack in your curtains, warming a stripe across your thigh and stomach. You squeeze your lids shut tighter and turn your head away from the window, trying to get away from the glaring brightness. A grogginess lingers heavy in your system, but despite that, your body is giving you all the internal signals that it's time to wake up. You stretch deeply, muscles quivering as you flay your limbs out on the bed.

You hadn't gotten that drunk. At least, you didn't think you had. You don't remember falling asleep, but you definitely remember the dreams you had. They were lusty, lewd and lascivious, and every other adjective to describe naughty; your brain had conjured up the filthiest dreams you'd had since... well, ever. And they were all with the Cajun guy you'd met at Wade's. Remy. You remembered his name because you'd said it at least a dozen times in your dream. 

Still half asleep, you flop over, throwing your arm and leg over onto the mattress. Your sheets are pulled down on one side, oddly, but you assume you just tried kicking them off or burritoing yourself in the night. Nothing out of the ordinary. You sniff and an unexpected sweet, warm fragrance fills your nostrils. Breakfast? You roll over again, and sit bolt upright to look down the hall. You suck in a breath and hold it, listening intently to the sounds coming from your kitchen; the scrape of metal against cast iron and a distinct sizzling sound. 

“What the hell?” You whisper, scooting yourself to the edge of the mattress. 

As you get up off the bed, you pull the sheet with you, wrapping it around your naked body, which honestly, was odd - you never slept nude – always in an oversized shirt. Your muscles seem to shake as you walk, and ache pings somewhere in the area of your hip flexors as you pad down the hall, barefoot. When you get to the kitchen, there’s a visual in front of you that causes you to come to a screeching halt.

Had it really not been a dream? 

You nearly have to pick your jaw up off of the floor. He – Remy – stands in your kitchen, over your stove, in nothing but his purple briefs and your polka dotted apron, which hasn't been tied and hangs from his muscular neck.

As he tends to the bacon sizzling in the pan, he sees you in his peripheral, and turns his head slightly, a bright but relaxed smile on his face — the look of it tickles something in your core. You hum quietly.

"Mornin', cher." 

What you want to say is holy shit but you instead mutter out an inquisitive and unsure: "Uhhh, morning...?" 

Even though you’ve seen him naked before, you’re still flabbergasted by the visual. You swallow, and let your eyes fall down the length of his body; tan skin pulled taut over sculpted muscles. He's just as delicious now as he was in your dreams. Maybe even moreso, with the lingering cuddle of sleep, his hair mussed, and the sunlight beaming in from the small window over the sink, kissing his skin in a yellow haze. 

"Hungry, mon ami?"

"Starved, actually." You blink away from his half-naked form and up to his face. "I'm so sorry, am I still asleep or did we....?" 

Remy chuckles and flips the bacon. "We sho’ did. I ain’t remember the last time I had it like ‘dat." 

You take a breath, and think back. It doesn’t take long to differentiate between dreams and reality as it all comes rushing back, playing out in your mind like a dirty movie. 

The way he held you close to his chest, the way his hands explored your body, fingertips kissing your flesh... the way his thick cock felt as it filled you, pleasure coursing through your body in ways that you’d never experienced before. The way he spoke, the way you said — moaned — his name. The way you nuzzled into the crook of his shoulder after you both had cum, the way he’d stroked your hair as you fell asleep… 

You swallow and blink again, bringing yourself back to reality. Remy is plating the bacon and walks it over to your small kitchen table. He gestures with a nod of his head and you walk over, plopping down into the seat, which squeaks as you do. Tucking the sheets underneath your armpits, you reach forward and pluck a single piece from the plate; it's warm and sticky, and tastes like maple syrup. You hum happily as you chew, and Remy takes a piece for himself as he sits down in the chair across from you. 

"Remy," you coo. It sounds far more wanton than you intend, almost a moan. Judging by his reaction, it sounds familiar — like the way you were whining his name last night as he hammered into you. 

"Hoo, don't start 'dat again or we gon' be havin' a repeat of last night." 

You swallow the mouthful of bacon and reach for another strip. He’s a good cook on top of everything, and made the bacon just the way you liked it. Great. 

“Listen, I… I’m not usually like… that. I don’t hook up with random guys or anything.” 

“Is ‘dat what ‘dat was?” He asks, a taunting tone in his voice. There’s something behind it, something warm and inviting, but you shake the thought off. 

“Wasn’t it? Isn’t that what that’s… classified as? I’m…”

He interjected, pushing the plate towards you. “Well, I dunno’, cher. You fell asleep in my arms… and I’m still here.”

You munch on another slice of bacon as you grapple with the fact that maybe it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Your eyes glaze over, staring at nothing in particular as you consider a couple of things. 

First, was the fact that you’d never been one for one night stands. They were frivolous, and usually ended in embarrassment or heartbreak. Neither of which had happened here. He had a glaring point; he had stayed, and apparently, you were comfortable enough to fall asleep in his arms. Another something that you never did. 

Second, was the fact that you’d also never really been one for the whole fate, destiny, or soulmate thing. That was cringy, and not something you’d ever entertained, because why would you? Save for a few meaningless relationships in college, you’d been alone and liked it that way. Less to deal with, less to have to clean up at the end of the day. You weren’t actively looking for a relationship, but Remy had just been there. Wasn’t that how fate worked? You furrowed your brows.

Third, was the undeniable fact that something – and you didn’t know what – but something about Remy had been written deep within the confines of your heart. The magnetic pull that you’d felt towards him last night still lingered heavily, and you wanted nothing more than to push yourself against him and feel his body against yours. 

Lust at first sight. That’s got to be what it is, you decide. You’re in lust with him.

But why not test it again…. Just to be sure. Your cunt clenches in anticipation, having been sent the signals that you plan to pursue him. Again. 

The wanton voice returns as you push yourself up out of your seat, leaning over the kitchen table. “Maybe we should… do it again… for good measure. Remy…”

"Chere, what did Remy say about usin' ‘dat voice...?"

"What if that's what I want?"

Remy's chewing slows and his eyes lift to yours. The legs of the chair scrape against the tile as he stands up, stretching forward to meet your mouth. Your lips barely graze each other, before – 

As if on cue, someone knocks at the door, the sound echoing in your ears. Shit. You hesitate for a moment, eyes darting towards the door. 

“I’ll get it.” 

Begrudgingly, you move away from him, kick the sheet out behind you so you don’t trip on it, and hurry to the door, unlatching it.

"Wade," you breathe as you throw open the door, almost exasperated. 

Wade pauses for a beat, assessing your appearance. "Oooh, good morning, sunshine. Looks like someone celebrated Taco Tuesday with some extra Cajun seasoning."

You heave a sigh; half out of annoyance and half out of embarrassment, because the reality was, you hadn't looked in the mirror this morning, so your appearance was a mystery. You look down at your sheet-clad body, and pull it tighter around you, as if that's giving back any of your modesty.

Wade leans on the doorframe, grinning like an absolute idiot. Lips pursed, he wiggles his eyebrows (or lack thereof) at you and waits for you to say something. Confess something. He's waiting for the juicy details, and you aren't delivering. 

"Speak, Lassie! Tell us what happened!" 

You huff. "What do you want, Wade?" 

"So hostile. Actually, like State Farm, I was just being a good neighbour. Checking on you and the Cajun Sensation since you two never came ba - oh fuck me is he in his underwear? What in the Magic Mike is happening here?" He peeks over your shoulder, spotting the half-naked Gambit behind you. 

"Wade!" You try to lean into his line of sight, preventing him from looking any further. "Look, I hardly know you, I'm not about to divulge my sex life to you-" 

"Woah, TMI, princess. But thanks for the confirmation!"

"What!? No, that's not what I meant! I'm just..." 

"Sure, pumpkin. It's okay, Disney gave it an R-rating for a reason."

"What are you talking about?" 

"What are you talking about?" 

"Nothing." You snap, obviously frustrated. "Look, I'm fine. Everything is fine, we just --" 

Remy's voice comes from behind you, fast approaching. "Cher? Everythin' alright?" 

You cast your glance behind you briefly – he’s ditched the apron, and is now in nothing but those tight fitting briefs that leave little to the imagination. God, he's so attentive. He’s already acting like a boyfriend, a thought that turns your guts to butterflies. 

Wade preens, clearly amused. "Oohh, well fuck me sideways. It was that kind of night, huh? Real x reader type plot. Cute. Have you said I love you yet? Or is that chapter three?" 

You bristle, absolutely appalled at the question. Behind you, Remy opens the door further and  raises one arm over his head, leaning it on the wood of the interior frame. He sees Wade and grins brightly, a twist to his lips, almost like he knows what’s happening.

“Mornin’, mon petit rouge.” (My little red)

“Oooh, I felt a tingle with that one.” 

Remy chuckles, shaking his head lightly. Starting with his bare bicep, which was now on full display, Wade's eyes trail down the length of Remy's body, lingering far too long at his groin before snapping back up to his face. 

"Jesus fuck, someone needs to put Agent Tequila on ice again. I thought it was Texas where everything is bigger–"

You feel your cheeks get hot and your eyes widen. “CHRIST, Wade!" 

“Oh please, drop the Sandra Dee act, pookie. You two fucked nasty and everyone knows it. At least the whole floor.” 

Behind you, Remy laughs low. You can feel his gaze on you, tunneling into you, almost as if he’s waiting for you to confirm or deny. The decision weighs heavy on your shoulders, and finally, you blurt out an answer.

“Okay, so we did. Happy now?” 

Wade’s shoulders drop and he heaves an over dramatic sigh. “Hallelujah. There, doesn’t honesty feel good?” 

Remy leans forward, his voice barely a whisper. “Not as good as what I did to you last night, huh cher?” 

“Heard that.” Wade barks. 

Your entire face feels hot, and the blush is spreading down your neck the longer this goes on. 

Remy’s hand comes forward to take a fistful of your ass, squeezing firmly before giving it a determinate smack and heading back to the table. He’s apparently ascertained that the situation is safe; Wade may be a character but he means no harm. You stiffen at the feeling, fighting against the betrayal of your body. Wade arches a brow, his eyes darting to the very subtle way that your hips pitch forward stiffly. 

“Anyway, this isn’t a threesome — could be, but isn’t — so I’m going back home. I have a big… wet… chimichanga waiting for me. Toodles.”

You’re relieved he ends the conversation before you have to; you aren’t quite sure what might’ve come out of your mouth had he stayed any longer and as an afterthought, you don’t want to create hostility with your next door neighbour. You shut your door, throwing the deadbolt into place. 

You march back to the table with an apparent chip on your shoulder over the interaction with Wade – which all things considered, wasn’t that bad, but you’re still worked up. Your muscles are tense with frustration, which you don't notice until Remy's large hands are sliding up the sides of your arms. He eventually gets to your shoulders, which he pinches and massages between his fingers, forcing them back into a more relaxed state. You let out a sigh, and buck your hips back slightly. His groin is pressed up against the ample curve of your ass, your bodies fitting together like a erotic puzzle piece.

“What’re you all mad  for, cher? C’mon now…” 

“Who does he think he is? Making me confess that… and I’m a grown wo—“

“You was pretty loud last night.” He interjects, that mischievous smirk on his lips. 

You spin around in his grasp and cross your arms, shooting him a disapproving look. “Whose side are you on here?”  

He's unphased by your anger, and instead, brings his hands up to your cheeks, pulling them forward until your head gives way, and your lips smash against his.

At this, you let out a mewl of faux discomfort, and Remy smirks against your lips. He shakes his head softly, and pulls you closer at the waist. After a moment, he breaks the kiss and looks down at your sheet-clad figure. While it is a tantalizing sight -- the way the sheet drapes over your figure, conforming to the curve of your breasts, peaking over your semi-hard nipples -- he wants to see your body again. It's been hours, and he's craving it again.

“Yours.” His voice is so sure, so low and so close. 

Well… his hands are definitely on your sides. They roam between your waist and your hips for a few moments before he makes a fist with one of them, the gray fabric bunching between his fingers. 

“Who you bein’ modest for, huh? You don’t need ‘dis. Ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” 

“I… I don’t know…” you whisper, falling into the trap of his eyes again. When he looks at you, really looks at you, you feel like you’re standing at the edge of a building, but going nowhere, because his big, brawny arms are wrapped around you tight. You’ve never felt safer. Uh-oh. That’s not good. 

As he drags his fist down the front of your body, the sheet pulls free of your arms, the fabric grazing your nipples. The sensation has them hardening, and Remy’s hand replaces the sheet, running his thumb over one of them, while cupping the fullness of your breast with the rest of his hand.

He leans forward, kissing from your hairline, over your ear and down the curve of your shoulder, sending convulsive shivers down your spine. The feeling of his lips, pressing into your soft, warm skin… your lids flutter. Your hand reaches down, sliding over his taut muscles, until you find the bulge between his legs. The fabric is warm, heated by the fire of his cock. Your fingers curl around the length of it, giving it a gentle squeeze. Unconsciously, his hips pitch forward, forcing more pressure on your palm.

"Remy," you breathe, looking down between your bodies. His briefs are tenting now, his cock straining against the fabric. You swallow back the saliva that's gathering in your mouth, literally on the verge of drooling. 'I wanna'... I have to -- need to taste you."

"In Louisiana, 'dey call 'dat having an envie for somethin'."

"Yeah, well I have an envie for your cock right now, so..." 

The surprise is apparent on his face, his brows lifting on his forehead, but it quickly morphs into something more lusty, something more pleased. His dick jumps at your words and he reaches up to grip your chin firmly, looking hard at your mouth. 

Aroused, his accent thickens. "Hoo, you a naughty girl with 'dat mouth. Why don't you show me what else it can do, huh?" 

You nod and sink to your knees, slowly. Once you're situated in front of his groin, you reach up and hook your fingers around the elastic of his waistband, peeling it away from his skin. You lean forward to trace the tip of your tongue along the lines of muscle, that tantalizing V cut. Remy chokes on his breath, as your tongue flattens against the skin. 

You continue baring him, pulling the fabric down his thighs in one quick motion. He helps you by kicking them off to the side, and now stands, completely bare in front of you. His cock bounces heavy in front of your face and you immediately take him into your hand, wasting no time. You wrap one hand around the thick shaft, towards the base, and slide it slowly up towards the tip.  

The heat coming off his cock radiates into your palm and the contrast of the velvet, soft skin, and the aching, rigid center has your mouth (and cunt) drooling. You can't help it, and the way Remy's muscles flex every time you move your hand eggs you on. You begin stroking his cock, slowly, but tightly and his breath hitches in his throat. Tightening his abdominal muscles as he does, Remy bucks his hips, forcing his dick through the circle of your fingers. The precum is spreading now, making the action easy. His head is down, watching you intently. 

“‘Dat’s it, babygirl, just like ‘dat…”

As you drag the head over your bottom lip, glossing it with precum, it twitches in your grip. Extending your tongue, you slap the heavy, fat tip against it a few times, teasing him. Your lips wrap around the head, tongue massaging the underside with a flattened tongue.

Remy braces his hands on the counter top above you, his breath rushing out. 

“Hoo, you don’t need no help from Remy, you know what you’re doin’.”

You nod and tighten your grip around the base, leaning your mouth forward to press a single kiss against the tip. Your tongue peeks out, licking a long stripe from the base to the head, and you hear Remy make a sound that can only be described as a growl. You moan against his cock, the sound buzzing against his skin. He bucks again, forcing his cock further into your mouth.

Remy’s grip tightens on the counter top. He’s doing his best to keep it together but the way that your warm, wet mouth has enveloped him, the way that you’re gently sucking as your head bobs, the way your fingers wrap around his cock, gripping him firmly and jerking him off at the base has him in pieces. Aside from last night, he can’t remember the last time he’s felt this good – certainly not in the Void, and try as he might, no memories are coming forward from before the Void. All he feels – and sees – is you. You. You, in your naked, morning messy glory. His chest rises and falls with ragged breaths, his gaze heavy and half-lidded.

You have to open wide to take him all the way in, but you don’t care. The weight of his cock on your tongue has your cunt weeping profusely between your legs, and the head nudges the back of your throat, teasing at your gag reflex. You steady yourself and get back to it. Your nose prods the thatch of coarse hair above his cock as you deep throat him, over and over again. The salty pre-cum glides over your tongue, saturating it with the taste that you’re craving.

“Mon coeur,” He exhales a low, raspy breath, and backs his hips away from your mouth, his dick leaving your lips with a wet shlick. You stare up at him with wide, unknowing eyes, chin covered in saliva. His cock twitches in your grip; the visual is erotic. 

“Believe me when I say ‘dis, cher. I wanna’ make a mess on your face, but Remy ain’t ready for it to be ova’. C’mere.” 

With a gentle tap, he urges you up off your knees, helping you to get to your feet. Just like before, he’s hoisting you up into his arms and you’re ready to be carried off again, but this time your ass comes down atop the counter, and Remy slots himself between your legs.

“Wait-wait…. What are you doing?” 

“Eatin’, mon ami.” He says it so nonchalantly and throws in the ever casual mon ami as though this is something done between friends. His hands cup your kneecaps, urging them apart with careful urgency. He looks at your cunt, and his brows lift slowly, a smirk crawling across his lips. 

“Hoo…” He chuckles, running a single finger along the slit of your cunt. As he pulls back, his finger is coated in your arousal, thick strands of clear stringing from your cunt to the tip of his finger. “You get yourself all worked up while you were down ‘dere? She is glistenin’, cher.”

You’re almost embarrassed. Almost. You hadn’t told him, but giving head was a massive turn-on. Besides that, the mere sight of his massive cock was enough to get your engines running. Something about admitting that to him sounds a little too whorish, so you keep your mouth shut. You whine, leaning your head against the cabinets and buck your hips forward, closer to the edge. 

It’s as though he can tell you’re withholding something from him. 

“Ah-ah, cher…” He brings his face close to yours, licking at your mouth. “Tell Remy what’s on your mind.”

“I… I like giving head… I like giving you head…. I like…”

He nods, encouraging you further. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks, and you roll your eyes to the ceiling. 

“Ugh, okay. You have an amazing cock, and I like having it in every part of me.” You curse yourself for being so honest. 

Now it’s Remy that’s on his knees, and he dives at your cunt like a man starved. His tongue is strong and warm against your clit, flicking upwards against the bundle of nerves. He’s burying his mouth in your folds, lapping at it. Every time his tongue nears your opening, you let out a long, whining moan. 

Pause. Let’s just recap. Just to make sure we’re on the same god damn page. You met this guy at Wade’s…. Fucked him all night long, he made you breakfast and now he’s giving you the most toe-curling head you’ve ever had. And you think, just maybe, you might be falling in love with him. Cool. Okay. 

Your hand snaps to the crown of his head, fingers lacing amongst his hair to hold him to the spot he’s working. His tongue is drilling into your clit, and that’s when you feel the pressure of two fingers, prodding your slick slit. 

“Sweeter ‘den ‘dat maple syrup up on your counter,” he says, practically into your cunt. You look down; his gaze is lust-blown, and lips are glossy, spit-slick and reddened. He presses a few gentle kisses to your clit before his tongue starts swiping at it again, and plunging his fingers deep within your core. Just like before, he knows just how to curl his fingers up into the sensitive spot inside you. You let out a moan, and bump your head against the cabinets again. 

A shudder rips through your body, overwhelmed at the dual stimulation. His mouth closes around your clit, sucking gently and you can feel the slippery puddle forming on the countertop beneath you. Briefly, you wonder if you’ll just slide off the counter, but really… the only place to go is further into Remy and his mouth. 

Abruptly, you feel the flash of heat between your legs and arch your back, readying yourself for the drop. Your cunt aches, throbs and – Remy suddenly pulls away, his chin shimmering with your arousal. 

“Huh, I didn’t hear anyone say you could be doin’ ‘dat yet, ah?” 

Holy shit. You clench her tight, holding back the wave of an orgasm. Your teeth grind together, legs quivering at the feeling of denial. You were right on the edge, right on the edge of white, hot bliss. 

“Ffffuck,” you whisper. “Fuck. Please….” 

“I said no, cher. Not yet.” There’s a playful lilt in Remy’s voice and it drives you crazy.

“Fuck me then, please…. I need to feel you.”  

He chuckles, and presses a deep kiss to your folds. “You ain’t gonna’ have to ask me twice, ma bichette.” (my little doe)

He slips his fingers out, and inserts them into his mouth, sucking the taste of you off of them. Your jaw drops. It’s such a casual, but erotic action, and your cunt responds feverishly. She’s got a heartbeat of her own at this point, thrumming between your legs. Leaving you leaking on the countertop, Remy gets to his feet and turns around to the kitchen table. He shoves the plates out of the way, somehow not knocking them onto the floor. 

“C’mere…”

You’re in his arms again, and he’s swinging you around, plopping you down on the kitchen table. Your hands go back behind you, pressing down into the wood apprehensively. 

“I don’t know if this table can support me…. ” 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout ‘dat, cher. It might not, but Remy’s gonna’ be holdin’ you tight. This is just givin’ me a betta’ angle, ‘das all.” 

He wasn’t lying; most of your weight was in his grasp. One arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you up. You scoot yourself closer to the edge, closer to him, and inhale a deep breath. Remy shuffles forward, his cock leading the way. The red, leaking tip nudges your entrance and he lifts your head to place a kiss against your lips, nibbling softly on the bottom one. He’s so passionate, even amidst the burden of his fiery, seemingly untameable lust. A lover. Fuck… you think. You’re falling into a deep, dark hole that you don’t think you can climb your way out of. 

Remy reaches between your bodies, pushing his cock down slightly, until he feels the sopping wet opening of your cunt. Groaning deeply, he stuffs himself inside, inch by inch until your bodies are flush. He finds a rhythm quickly, bucking his hips against you. As he splits you open, you can’t help but moan loud, louder than last night, his cock filling you, throbbing veins rubbing against your inner walls.

“God, yeah… yeah, fuck me hard…!” You chant, sounding more and more like a porn star with every passing moment.

“Only if you give it t’ me, cher… the way you takin’ this dick, I ain’t gonna’ last long.”

You nod hurriedly, looking deep into his eyes. He growls and pulls his hips all the way back before slamming them back into you – hard. Your jaw drops again, and you find yourself staring at the cabinets, vision going hazy with lust as your orgasm rushes to the surface, claiming your body wholly. The plates that previously hung on now go clattering to the floor, but the sound does little to interrupt you two. Remy’s got his dick so deep inside of you that you’re seeing stars, and the sounds that are tumbling from your lips are far louder than the sound of porcelain on tile. 

With a smooth, guttural sound, Remy loses it, too. He fills you, deeply, and what leaks out the sides, he hurriedly pumps it back inside of you until his cock starts to soften, his thrusts languid and spent. 

“I could do this with you all day…” You whisper into his neck, rubbing your nose against the warm, sweaty flesh there. 

“Me too, cher, me too.” He nods, blinking slowly. “But I can’t be doin’ ‘dat… not today.” 

You rear back suddenly, looking him in the eyes. They’ve still got that mischievous glimmer that he seems to always possess, but there’s something behind them. A sort of… coldness, that has your arms falling away from him. 

“You have to leave…” you say softly, suddenly understanding. 

Remy nods, and slips out of you, pressing a kiss to your damp forehead. He pushes your hair out of your face, and rubs his thumb along the fullness of your cheek. He disappears then, and your shoulders sink slightly. You stay on the table for a few minutes, your legs hanging limply off the table, just listening to the sounds of him getting dressed; the gentle rustle of clothing, the snap of his elastic waistband as it hugs him.

Finally, you hop off the table, and bend down to retrieve the rumpled pile of sheet. You hold it against your body, not worrying about what’s showing. Like he said before, he’s seen everything. You turn, and spot him – standing tall behind your couch. He reaches for his leather jacket.

He’s attractive, so the sight of him dressed is to be appreciated as much as him undressed, but there’s a pang of sadness in your chest. Your lungs feel tight, and you wring the sheets around your fingers as he smoothes a hand through his hair, tousling it lightly. Again, as though he’s in tune to your emotions, he seems to notice that you’re staring sullenly. 

“Remy be needin’ to deal with some things, cher…” he says, adjusting himself in his jacket. You wonder what it is he has to deal with, where he has to go. It’s none of your business, you’re sure. You want to ask him if he’ll be back, but your gut warns that that sounds too desperate, so instead, you nod once. 

“Thanks,” you start, trying to find the strength in your voice. “I had a really good time. My door is uh, always open.” 

“Good t’ know, cher.” He says. He sounds genuine, but he’s still leaving. Every bone in your body is screaming for him to stay. He makes his way over to you, wordlessly, and wraps his arm around your waist. His lips find yours, and he tips you backwards slightly as he kisses you. The way he tastes you feels like he’s trying to stain his own mouth with your essence, to remember it later. When he breaks off and straightens you back up, you let out a pathetic little cry that you know he hears. You bring your fingers to your mouth, stroking your bottom lip softly. 

And with that, he opens your door, slips out and shuts it behind him, but not before casting one last look at you, standing there in a sheet that he fucked your brains out on. 

To the closed door, you whisper: “I… think I love you.” 

He doesn’t hear it and maybe that’s for the best. 

[chromehoney]

AT THE SAME DAMN TIME, chap one, chap two, chap three, chap four, chap five, chap six.

synopsis; After a messy, short-lived situationship with Stack—reckless, flirtatious, and all the wrong kinds of possessive—you swear you’re done with hood boys who can’t keep up. But when you drop something off at his mother’s store and find both Stack and his older twin brother Smoke inside, something shifts.

CLARKSDALE SWELTERED that evening, a slow drag of summer heat bleeding through the cracked sidewalks and curling up between folk’s ankles like smoke. The sound of a rusted saxophone crooned from somewhere down the block — somebody’s uncle posted up near the corner store, blowing out blues like he was telling secrets. Children laughed in the distance, chasing each other barefoot, and a dog barked once and then twice before flopping into the shade.

She needed the walk.

Her phone was buzzing too much these days. Smoke was sweet, attentive — the kind of man who made you feel like the only girl in the world without saying too much.

She wore her skin like armor that evening — short denim shorts hugging her hips, a halter top that tied in the back and dipped low in the front, and her signature glossed lips. She wasn’t trying to run into nobody. She just needed the wind, needed the music, needed something to drown out the feeling curling up in her gut like guilt.

But she didn’t expect him.

Stack came out of nowhere, just like he always did — quiet steps, sharp stare, and a storm behind his teeth. “Funny seein’ you out here alone,” he said, voice low and sharp like gravel ground beneath a boot. He had on all black, of course. Something about the way it clung to him made her feel cornered. She sucked her teeth and kept walking, but he fell in step beside her.

“You really gon’ act like we strangers now?” She didn’t answer, just kept her head forward, her hands tucked into the frayed edges of her back pockets. The saxophone moaned again from behind them.

“Don’t like how close you and Smoke done got,” Stack muttered, his voice even deeper now. “All that gigglin’ and kissin’ in front of the whole damn town like y’all ain’t know what this shit means.” She finally turned to face him, jaw clenched. “You got some damn nerve, Stack.” His gaze was molten, set on her mouth like it had a memory all its own. “You really gon’ throw away what we had? All them nights I made you beg? All them times I—”

“Stop.” Her voice cracked sharp, and she didn’t miss how it made his jaw tick. “You got Mary now,” she snapped, crossing her arms tight over her chest like she could hold in the hurt. “You made your decision.”

“I left Mary,” Stack said.

That silenced her. He stepped closer. “I left her. Because I want you. Because I can’t stomach the thought of you bein’ with him. With my brother.” “You don’t get to do this!” she hissed. “You don’t get to claim me just ‘cause you lost your grip.”

“I never lost nothin’,” he whispered, and the way he looked at her made her insides clench. “You still mine. You always been mine.” She shook her head. And her heartbeat stuttered. “I like Smoke. He actually sees me.”

“So did I.” His voice was hoarse now, heavy. “I saw every inch. Touched every sound. You remember how loud you used to get for me?” She faltered. Her thighs pressed together involuntarily. His smirk deepened. “You still get wet just thinkin’ about it,” he said, voice low and venomous. “Stop it,” she breathed, but it was weak. She hated how he knew her.

He leaned in and kissed her.

The world stopped for a second. His mouth tasted like stale smoke and mint gum, like lust and hate tangled into one. She kissed him back before her brain caught up — it was instinct, memory, need — but then it all snapped into place. She shoved him back, panting. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Stack’s eyes were wild, his lips slightly swollen. “You kissed me back.” “No! You kissed me!” she shouted, taking a step away, but not too far — like her body still wanted to betray her. “I’m with Smoke. We’re working on something real.”

He laughed bitterly. “And what the hell do you think we had?” Before she could answer, something caught her eye. Across the street, half-shaded in the mouth of a corner liquor store, stood Bo Chow.

Lean and sharp-featured, his dark eyes narrowed as he watched the scene unfold. His slender frame was folded arms, his head slowly shaking in quiet disapproval. The faint glow of the neon sign flickered against his smooth skin, casting shadows that made his presence feel almost like a warning.

Her stomach dropped.

“Shit…” she breathed.

Stack turned to look and cursed. “Fuck.”

She didn’t wait. She turned and walked fast, nearly jogging back toward her car. Her lips still burned. Her conscience screamed. Bo saw. And if Bo saw… then Smoke would know. And for the first time in weeks, her heart didn’t know who it beat louder for — the man who kissed her like he missed her, or the one who held her like she was already his.

@k1ssyoursister for the dividers.

taglist! @thickianaaaa @gwenda-fav @spicypiscesssss @d1gitalb4rbie @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @queenofklonnie22 @gunznroses4life @mjustag1rl @maniifesto @nikkitheunpredict @yana3sworld @katezy2x @kqmbr1a @5starsirl @bl3ssyn @thefutureemmywinner @jackierose902109 @cardi-bre91

[nondelphic]

Where I’ve Been and the Future of nondelphic

TLDR; I’m coming back to this blog.

I’m so nervous to post this I literally had to take a nervous shit after drafting this post just THINKING about posting it but uhhh…

Long time no see!

It’s been well over 3 months since I posted regularly on this account. I never intended to take a break, but I got overwhelmed.

I started this account in the middle of August of 2024 with a very specific niche that, if you have seen my posts before, will recognise. 

Honestly, it started mostly as a distraction from my real-life problems. I’d began writing again last spring after a long time of writing block due to anxiety, depression, and getting used to my anti-depressants. Suddenly, I went from not being able to get out of bed to being able to get out of bed just to write. It became an escape. Just like writing fanfiction used to be when I was a pre-teen.

Through that, I rediscovered how much I actually love writing and creating. And when that happened, I also started craving community. I’ve never really had writing friends (the few I had were short-lived), and I found myself missing that connection.

That’s kind of where this blog came in. It was an experiment, not something I intended to take seriously. Just a low-effort, continuous space online that wasn’t too personal but could resonate with a wide diaspora of writers. Somewhere people could see themselves in my posts.

I’ve always been in fandom or hobby spaces online in some form—grew up in a developing tech society with zero internet safety guidance, so my relationship with social media is honestly decent, all things considered. But in recent years I’d mostly been a consumer rather than a creator. And I missed that. The active partaking. The sense of community. The external validation from like-minded strangers (very Gen Z of me, I know).

And also, it gave me something to do over summer, which is the worst time of year for me. I’ve struggled with seasonal depression for years, and writing got me through the worst days of my summer uni break. But it also stirred up so many thoughts and ideas I wanted to share.

So I committed to not only starting a blog about writing, but updating it continuously, with a fixed set of posts to be posted everyday. 

Part of the experiment was personal, but another part was professional. As someone studying and working in media and social media (amongst other things), I know how algorithms work. I understand how consistency, timing, and frequency affect reach and engagement. So I also wanted to test a theory—that’s not really a theory—that if you just post a lot, at the same time, every day, you’ll see growth.

And it worked. I gained over 4,000 followers in just six months.

Numbers aren’t everything, but I won’t pretend it wasn’t validating. Especially when I’d never had a following before. People were engaging, reblogging, sending kind messages. I felt seen, and I felt like what I was making had value.

It was also fascinating to experience it from both sides, both as the creator and as the media nerd in the background mentally noting what worked, what flopped, and why.

Everything was going great.

So why did I disappear?

Well, first of all, my seasonal depression carried on to constant depression and major social anxiety during autumn and into winter. I slept all day. Didn’t go to school. Could barely leave my apartment to go grocery shopping. All I did was write and update this blog. Make sure I had enough posts queued for the coming week. 

I had some visible breaks on this blog which I always announced. “sorry can’t post rn i’m stressed need time to update my queue”. Which was true, and I felt proud of myself for being transparent about it.

But the more my following grew and the more people interacted with me, the more I started doubting myself. I don’t know if it was my anxiety, depression or probable ADHD being the culprit of this, or just plain old imposter syndrome, but I started dreading opening tumblr.

I love coming up with post ideas for people to go “omg are you inside my brain rn?” or “I love your blog, your posts make me feel seen,” and I’ve had nothing but positive experiences with everyone visiting this blog. Yet, with the growing eyes on this page, I just felt this impending fear that someday it will all be gone.

So I do what I’ve always had a habit of doing! I self-destructed. And left this blog with the excuse (to myself) to work on myself and come back stronger.

And I guess that sorry excuse has kinda come true, although at the time, I was lying to myself. This post is literally me announcing I’m coming back. But back when I abandoned this blog, I, with a heavy heart, was really planning on not coming back. The more the weeks, and then months stretched on without opening tumblr, a growing guilty conscience brewed inside of me.

I’d open the app, stare at the little icon, and immediately close it again. I didn’t know how to explain myself without it sounding dramatic or like I was attention-seeking. And the longer I waited, the harder it got to come back.

Because what do you even say after months of radio silence on a blog that wasn’t supposed to mean this much to you in the first place?

But the thing is it does mean something. And even when I tried to let it go, I kept thinking about it. I’d see something funny and think, “that would make a good nondelphic post.” I’d draft ideas in my nondelphic ideas google docs, fully knowing I wasn’t posting them, but unable to turn off that part of my brain that wanted to connect with other writers, other people who got it.

I ghosted my own blog. And I won’t pretend I had a huge dramatic epiphany or breakthrough that led me back here. Just the quiet realization that I missed it. And I have better routines now. And expectations. That make it impossible for me to turn into the same all-or-nothing approach to this blog I had during my darkest days. Don’t worry, I’m still deeply insecure, anxious and depressed, so my self-deprecating posts will continue as scheduled! But I’ve found other coping mechanisms that don’t rely on…….. Tumblr’s algorithms.

I don’t need to be 100% healed or consistent or perfect to post. And everyone who has sent me a message during the time I’ve been away that I’ve been too scared to reply to has assured me of exactly that. Maybe I can just… come back. A little softer. A little slower. A little more human.

I’m not sure what the future of this blog looks like exactly. I don’t have a new “post 10 times a day” strategy lined up. But I do know I want to write again. I want to talk to you again. I want to rebuild what I tore down with my silence. Not out of pressure or expectation, but because I want to.

So this is me, stepping back into it. One foot in the door. No grand promises, just a little wave from the threshold.

Hi again.

I’m coming back soon. How soon? I think it’s best to not make any promises, but I’ve committed to coming back now, so I’m still gonna promise “soon.”

Also, genuinely thank you. To everyone who reached out in my DMs or sent something to my ask box while I was gone: I read every single message. Even if I didn’t respond, I saw you. My heart felt so big reading your well wishes and worries. Like genuinely, I didn’t know this little corner of the internet could hold so much kindness. So thank you, from the bottom of my stupid overwhelmed heart.

See you soon ♡

xoxo nondelphic

Ps. I’m gonna write another post over on @rebellenotes in the near future for anyone curious about what I’ve been up to in the last few months.

[goldfades]

https://www.tumblr.com/goldfades/768009162138517504/title-luke-hughes

What about luke’s reaction? coming into the room after the boys told him he was wrong at practice or something, maybe he saw the comments?

it’s a little past eight when you hear the front door slam. you’re curled up on the couch, scrolling through your phone with a smug grin on your face. the video you posted earlier is still blowing up, comment after comment pouring in. your favorite so far might be the one that reads “he’s so confident it’s actually heartbreaking”—but there’s stiff competition.

the sound of heavy footsteps stomping down the hallway makes your ears perk up, and you sit up straighter just in time for luke to appear in the doorway. he’s still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat and his cheeks flushed pink, but his expression is what gets you: somewhere between confusion, betrayal, and... is that a pout?

“you,” he says, pointing at you with the kind of dramatic flair usually reserved for soap operas. “you set me up.”

you blink innocently, setting your phone down. “i have no idea what you’re talking about.”

luke steps further into the room, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “don’t play dumb. the guys wouldn’t shut up about your video during practice. jack kept reading the comments out loud! ‘cuticle pusher means nail thingies? HAHAHA.’ do you know how humiliating that is?”

you’re already biting your lip to keep from laughing, but when he mimics jack’s voice, the dam breaks. you burst into giggles, doubling over as luke groans loudly.

“it’s not funny!” he protests, though the way his ears turn pink suggests he’s more embarrassed than actually mad. “i was so proud of myself, and you—you let me think i was getting them all right!”

wiping a tear from your eye, you manage to catch your breath long enough to speak. “okay, okay, listen. it wasn’t my fault you were so confident! i mean, ‘tight lines’? really?”

he groans again, flopping onto the couch next to you with a dramatic sigh. “i knew something was off when you said i got ‘halo eye’ right. but you were so convincing!” he shoots you a look, half accusing, half amused. “you’re evil. actually evil.”

you snicker, nudging his shoulder. “oh, come on. you were having fun.”

“yeah, until i realized you were setting me up for the internet to roast me,” he mutters, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “look at this—this one says i belong in a museum for confidence alone.”

you glance at his screen and can’t help but laugh again. “they’re not wrong.”

he groans, tossing his phone onto the coffee table and sinking lower into the couch. “i’ll never live this down.”

“oh, stop being dramatic,” you tease, leaning your head on his shoulder. “you made people laugh, and isn’t that what really matters?”

he’s quiet for a moment, then tilts his head toward you, lips twitching like he’s fighting a smile. “did i at least look good in the video?”

you grin, reaching up to ruffle his curly hair. “you always look good, lukey. even when you’re confidently getting everything wrong.”

his laugh rumbles under your ear as he finally relaxes, letting himself sink into the moment. “you better watch your back, though. payback is coming.”

“oh, i’m shaking,” you say with a smirk, already planning the next video in your head.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[cottonlemonade]

Fake Dating [part 2]

word count: 1865 || avg. reading time: 8 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Asahi x chubby!Reader

genre: fluff, slice of life, pining

warning: spoilers

request: fluffy-spicy, fake dating with crush

[part 1]

Stupid stupid stupid stupid.

Asahi repeatedly flopped his head into the pillow of his childhood bed he had long since outgrown.

How difficult was it to say, “No, actually, I think you’re really beautiful and I’d love to have some coffee with you. Very much as a date!” Maybe he should text you. To clear the air. But then again, what if you really only wanted to be friends, and he’d ruin his chance of even just talking to you.

Stupid stupid stupid.

While he marinated a little more in his self-pity, his phone buzzed, and for a ridiculous second, he thought it was you until he realized you didn’t have his number yet. Craning his neck to the side, he grabbed his phone and squinted at the screen in the darkness. It was a new picture from Nishinoya, lounging on a beach somewhere. Asahi gave the picture a thumbs up and wanted to put his phone back onto the nightstand when it buzzed again.

The new text said “Hey, I wanna show you something, pick up when I call!” and Asahi had barely time to finish reading when his friend’s call ID filled the screen. Tired and only about an eighth of the way through his wallowing, Asahi picked up and was met with the bright, tan smile of Nishinoya.

“Buenos tardes, mi amigo!”, he called, “That’s how they say Good afternoon, my friend here in Peru.”

The small window in the bottom corner of his phone showed that only one of Asahi’s eyes was visible. The other was still hidden in his pillow.

“Hey.”, he said, muffled, “What’s up?”

“What’s up with me? What’s up with you! Were you sleeping or something?”

“It’s 3 a.m.”

“So?”

“Nevermind. What did you wanna show me?”

Nishinoya tapped the screen and turned the camera, doing a slow swipe of the landscape.

“Look at this!”

Finally turning his whole face to the phone, Asahi only vaguely made out the stunning white beach with the strikingly blue water that sparkled invitingly in the midday sun - his glasses still sat on the side of the sink in the bathroom, if he remembered correctly - but he got the gist. Maybe he should ask him for advice. Nishinoya had always been self-assured and strangely wise in his own way.

“Nishi,”, he began while the other was still very busy panning the camera around, “I met this girl today and-“

There was a commotion on the other side and the video began to violently shake as if someone was fumbling to catch the phone. The microphone cracked a few times and in between he heard a curse, then finally Nishinoya’s face filled the screen again.

“Proceed.”, he said calmly, and Asahi dropped his head back onto the pillow, half of his face once again hidden in embarrassment.

As he recounted the events of the evening, Nishinoya reacted as Asahi expected - with snorts of laughter and knowing eyebrow wiggling.

“Did you text her already?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, don’t do that waiting three-day thing. I have come to learn women don’t actually like that.” He absentmindedly rubbed his left cheek as if remembering a slap, then snapped out of it with a small shake of his head and said, “Text her now.”

“It’s 3 a.m.”, Asahi reminded him.

“So?”

“What would I even write?”

“Something like, “Hey, beautiful, this is Asahi, the guy from earlier. Just wanted to tell you that I don’t think we should fake date. How does marriage sound to you?” But you can paraphrase.”

He did paraphrase, then hovered over the send button for a few seconds before pressing it.

Nishinoya, who saw him typing in silence, asked excitedly, “What did you write?”

“Hello, this is Asahi, the guy from earlier, and here is my number.”

“Ugh, come on! I gave you a foolproof template! Fine. Once she texts back, you’re gonna tell her.”, seemingly content with having gotten his point across, he switched topics, “How is Miyagi? Did you see the coach?”

“I did. He told me to send his regards to you. He got the postcard you sent from Norway.”

“Awesome. Man, I could really go for those yakisoba buns right now… do you think Sakanoshita Market ships internationally?”

Asahi sat up straight, staring at a pop-up window at the top of his screen.

“She texted back.”, he said quietly in disbelief.

“She texted back?!?”

“She texted back!”

Quickly turning down the volume on his phone as Nishinoya’s voice echoed through the completely silent Azumane home, Asahi popped in his earphones for good measure.

“What did she say?”, Nishinoya asked urgently.

“Hey there, perfect timing. Just got back from the restaurant and am getting ready for bed. It was nice to meet you. When will you be back in Tokyo?”

“Tell her now. Tell her that you don’t wanna fake date. Tell her, you wanna have her babies! Seahorse style.”

“I gotta ask, do these lines ever work on anyone?”

“It’s all about confidence, my friend.”

Asahi took that as a No.

For a little while longer, he texted back and forth with you about a date to meet - a calendar date, he had to clarify to Nishinoya, before finally saying good night.

Nishinoya was very disappointed that he, Asahi, hadn’t straightened out the situation yet and made him promise to do so in a few hours once the sun was up.

Mumbling something noncommittal, Asahi waved goodbye and ended the call as well. He rolled over onto his back and tucked a hand behind his head, staring at the dark ceiling.

He would tell you. Eventually, he thought.

You opened the door to the busy café a few days later and looked around. Just as expected, Asahi was easy to spot - you already knew he was taller than everyone else around him, but there was something different in the way he held himself as compared to a few days ago in the restaurant. The city air seemed to relax him as if he was back in his element in his well-fitted sports coat and bold colors. His hair was tied back as it had been that night, and black-rimmed glasses and white loafers completed the outfit. You felt slightly underdressed.

“Hey, I hope you didn’t wait long.”, you said as you put your bag on the empty chair next to you and sat down.

Asahi smiled and shook his head, pouring you a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. After ordering your coffees and each a slice of cake, you got down to business, a new page in your notepad at the ready in front of you.

“Alright. If we want to pull this off, I think time management is gonna be important, so we should both know when we’re needed for the other one. How often are you back in Miyagi?”

“At least once a month, usually it’s every two weeks for a weekend. My dad has a carpentry business so I also help him deliver big projects sometimes like a wardrobe or a kitchen. Plus, they lend a hand around the village so much that they promise people my help. And I’m not even there.”, he rubbed the back of his neck.

You frowned a little and matched his awkward smile.

“You’d think your dad has an employee to help him.”

“Yeah… you would think that. But he isn’t exactly… logical like that.”

Turning your pen in your hand to have something to do, you said, “It’s always like that, right? With parents that own their own businesses, I mean.”

“Yeah, it’s as if they’re only waiting for their children to be old enough and then-”

“Free labor.”, you said in unison and laughed.

“My parents do that, too. Whenever I go to visit for a bit I am being put right back to work. Exhibit A, last weekend.”

“Oh yeah, that one time I went over for New Year’s and my exams had just finished and I remember, I had this really nasty cold.”, Asahi said, fixing his glasses, “And as soon as my temperature dropped below near-death my dad told me to help him in his workshop.”

“You’re kidding!”

He shook his head and gave a pained sort of grin with a shrug.

As you leaned back in your chair you scoffed lovingly, “Now, see, and those are the same people that call at 11 pm panicking because they think we hate them because they can’t log into our Netflix anymore.”

Asahi snorted into his water glass and apologized a second later when the waiter stepped to your table to set down a tray with your drinks and food.

A short comfortable silence followed in which you took your first bites of cake, then pushed the plates into the center of the table with encouraging smiles, silently offering the other a forkful to try. When you pulled your plate back to you it almost pushed the notepad into your lap. Right! You’d already forgotten about it.

“Okay.”, you began after taking a sip of your drink and he sat a little straighter when he caught on, “Let’s say you have to go back twice a month.”

He nodded but interjected, “I think in those times we can mostly get away with FaceTime or even just texts if needed. My parents would understand if I don’t bring you back every time my dad has a big delivery.”

Humming in understanding you wrote it down.

“What about family functions? Anything coming up?”

The calendar on his phone was consulted.

“Nothing major.”, he said as he scrolled.

“Alright, then I’d just come with on random visits? - Okay. Let me see. My dad’s birthday is next month. We’re gonna have a BBQ, sooo… I’d bring you along then? That should also give us enough time to tell them that we’re dating and set up a whole narrative. I don’t know how involved your parents would be-“, you paused for a moment and he shrugged.

“I never introduced anyone to them.”

“Never?!”, you asked a bit too loudly.

He ducked his head a little and his cheeks turned pink.

“Nope, it never… uhm… lasted long enough to introduce anyone.”

When you cocked your brow, he turned the question around, obviously awkward about being the center of attention on this particular subject, “What about your parents?”

“They’ll wanna know everything about our first date but afterward they’re gonna be chill. They might ask how you’re doing every so often but they usually lose interest in my boyfriends pretty quickly.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they… they don’t last long usually either. Or are just kind of… jerks? So my parents don’t really wanna invest energy into them.”, before the mood could dip completely, you brightened your voice again, ”Meaning they’re gonna be absolutely thrilled about you. They couldn’t ask for a better fake boyfriend.” You chuckled a bit. “The birthday is on the third June weekend. We can have our stories straight until then, right?”

Asahi looked at you and his mouth opened slightly as if he wanted to say something but then thought better of it. After another short pause, he said, “Yes. Sounds good.”

a/n: request for @sillytoya

@haikyu-mp4 has been forced to listen to me ramble about this for days and helped me editing like the champ she is ✨

[part 3]

[seaouidbabyx]

When did you get this? || Matthew Sturniolo x Reader.

Summary: Being best friends with Nick is great, but having his brother be your worst enemy is another story. What happens when summer is rolling around and it’s time those layers peel off and the bikini’s start rocking, and Matt so happens to see a newly healed belly ring attached to the girl he’s not allowed to touch?

MATTHEW STURNIOLO X F!READER.

Warnings : Smut (no actual P n V just a lot of kisses and touching. If you’re not into it, go look somewhere else. :)) Sexual tension (obvs), bikini weather, grumpy as shit Matt, slight flirting from Chris, belly piercing, worshiping, suggestive. Lots of touching LMAO.

Authors Note: WELCOME TO MY FIRST POST YAYYY, sorry if it’s shit. I just got my belly ring pierced and wanted to write something a little spicy with my favorite brunette. Tell me what you think!

THIS IS NOT PROOF READ

———

I groan, flopping down onto Nick’s bed with my face looking at the ceiling and an eye roll received from the triplet next to me. Nick was laying on his stomach, scrolling through his phone aimlessly as we both tried to beat the hot weather. With a house this nice and their damn AC doesn’t work? I was ready to situate myself into the fridge like a damn frozen hotdog.

“Nick.” I groaned dramatically once again, rolling onto my side and placing my hand on him, trying to be more annoying than usual. “What the fuck are you on about now?” He slapped his phone down on the sheets and shuffled to smack my hand away. I smiled cheekily at him, “It’s so fucking hot man, can we not do something else instead of melt into your bed?” I pulled on a strand of hair gently, letting it fall on my face and blew it away with a huff.

“Welllll, we do have a pool. Why don’t we go and see what my brothers are doing and we can have a pool day?” He looked at me with a smile, making me frown. “I don’t have a swimsuit here you asshat.” I sat up, looking around his room. Nick got up and looked in one of his drawers, before pulling out a black bikini. I looked at him questionably, before I was interrupted. “Before you get your fucking mouth yapping, one of my girlfriends left it here. Try it on and i’ll give you a t-shirt and a towel.” He threw it at my face, causing me to laugh and take it as well as the oversized T-shirt to the bathroom. “You have other friends?” I teased as I walked out the door.

I closed the bathroom door and started to strip out of my jeans and tank top. The bikini looked a bit small, but I slipped it on anyway. I tied the bottom’s around my waist, while adjusting the top to fit correctly around my chest. I threw my hair up and out of my face as I looked in the mirror. I have to say, it’s a little small, but it did make me look good and showed my curves off in the perfect way. I looked at my belly ring in the mirror, the silver gems with a hanging star dangled from my navel. I smirked to myself, thank god it’s healed. I shuffled the t-shirt over my head and walked back out to Nick’s room.

Once Nick and I were all ready with our beach towels and fresh pairs of sunglasses on our faces, we walked through the house to the backyard. Nick was currently talking my ear off as I opened the sliding door. Chris was chilling on the side of the pool with his weight against his elbows behind him, and backwards cap covering his curls and a set of red swim trunks on. He was currently looking at his phone, which I’m assuming was connected to the speaker. Matt was sitting on the beach chair in the shade with a grumpy look on his face that matched his black swim trunks,as he watched Nick and I enter the backyard.

“Look who decided to fuckin show up.” Matt said as he crossed his tattooed arms and leaned back in the chair even more. I strutted over, placing my stuff into the chair next to him, before taking my sunglasses and placing them on my head. “Nice to see you too, Matty.” I winked, hearing him grumble at the nickname as I walked to the end of the pool by the steps. I looked at Nick, who just took his shirt off and jumped into the pool with a shriek. I laughed, placing my feet on the first step. I waved at Chris, who smirked at me. “Aren’t you gonna jump in too?” He asked.

I gave him a look, “Are you fucking joking? Do I look that dumb to you?” We shared a laugh, before I placed my sunglasses on the floor and reached for the hem of my Nick’s over sized shirt. I crossed my arms and pulled it up over my head, throwing it at Chris’s face when he decided to let out a wolf whistle. I could feel eyes on me, snapping my gaze to Matt’s whose ice blue eyes didn’t leave mine. I tried not to smile, before making it down the steps and finally pulling my head under.

I resurfaced, pushing my hair away from my face before swimming over to Nick. Chris eventually joined and we were all splashing about and having fun. Chris had made it under the water and placed my legs on his shoulders, pushing up and I was now completely out of the water. I let out a shriek and a laugh, holding onto his head as we wobbled about. I then looked at Matt, who was sitting in his chair still. “Aren’t you gonna join us Matty?” I teased, pushing his buttons. I heard a hoot and shout from Chris and Nick, but Matt just replied with a “In there with you? No fucking thank you.” And looked away.

I rolled my eyes, before letting out a shriek as Nick had pushed me off of Chris’s shoulders.

—

After a while of swimming and having fun, I had now moved to the side of the pool, where I was lying on my back and soaking in some sun. I could feel the silver gem in my naval get hot, and my mouth became dry as I eventually sat up and looked at the boys. Nick was now laying on his stomach next to me, Chris was lounging around next to Matt on the beach chairs. “Okay, i’m fucking thirsty. Does anyone want anything to drink?” I asked, Nick asking for red bull, Chris shouting for a Pepsi, and I got a scoff from Matt.

I got up, sauntering in through the sliding door before making my way to the kitchen. I obviously didn’t hear who came in, because as soon as I closed the fridge door and turned around, Matt was standing right in front of me. I gasped at the sight, placing the drinks on the counter before looking at him with a glare. “What the fuck Matt?” I asked, placing a hand on my chest to calm my breathing.

I looked up at him, his chest wise rising and falling fast, and his hands were almost in fists at his side. I looked at him with a confused look on my face. “Hello? Are you deaf?” I could basically feel the anger from where I was standing. “When did you get this?” He gently placed a hand on my naval, just under my ring and gently caressed the star dangling against my skin. My breathe hitched, looking down from his hand back up to his eyes. His gaze followed mine, “W-what?” I asked dumbly, the air around us tightening as he moved closer to me.

He looked down on me, “Do I really have to repeat myself? When did you get this?” He said sternly, both his palms now pressed against my hips, his thumbs running under my naval once again. My skin felt like it was on fire, and it was now my turn to breathe heavily. “I got it in winter, so it’s completely healed by summer.” I said quietly, keeping my eyes on his. He licked his teeth under his lips. “Do you know what you’ve been doing to me? Sauntering around in this? And then I look down you to see a fucking belly ring?” He spoke in a raspy voice, pulling at the waist band of my bikini bottoms and letting it snap against my skin. I gasped, looking down at the hands on my hips, back up to his face. His brown curls fall over his forehead, as he wet his lips.

“What are you doing to me?” He whispered this time, making me shiver. His grip on my waist tightened, pulling my closer to him as his gaze went from my lips back to my eyes. I placed my hands on his chest as he slowly leaned closer. His lips barely grazed mine, and my heart felt like it was hammering against my chest. At the same time, it felt like if I let out a single breath, the moment would be over. I gently fluttered my eyes closed, leaning my head up and taking the leap. I placed my lips on his, and immediately it was like a fire had started.

He started to kiss my lips roughly, placing a hand behind my head and bringing me closer. I whimpered a little, placing my hands behind his neck and I began playing and pulling his hair. He let out a groan, before reaching down and placing his hands under my thighs, lifting me up and having me cross my legs behind his waist. His hands then moved to my ass, giving it a firm squeeze. I gasped, allowing his tongue to enter my mouth as he moved with me to the downstairs bathroom. He slammed the door closed and placed me on the counter with my ass nearly spilling into the sink.

I pulled back from the kiss and hissed as the cold tile pressed against my hot skin. He grabbed my jaw and focused my view on him again, kissing down my jaw and neck. “Matt-!” I whined, arching my back and pushing my tiny bikini clad chest against his. “You had me riled up the whole day, looking at this gorgeous fucking body of yours.” He said, groaning into the crook of my neck as he left sloppy kisses behind. I moaned, and he pushed his hips further into mine.

His hands moved down to my thighs, giving them a rub and a squeeze, before moving his hands closer to where I needed him most. “Couldnt-.” His voice almost sounded strained, a little whine. “Couldn’t stand to see your pretty little thighs wrapped around Chris’s head and not mine.” He pulled away from the kisses he was leaving down my neck to look me directly in my eyes. My chest was heaving as I was panting from all the built up pleasure and tension I was experiencing. I almost broke from the fucked out expression he was giving me.

He then gave me a smirk, placing a kiss on my lips, then the centre of my neck, followed by ones on my collarbone. He then looked up at me as he kissed me in between my boobs, his hand snaking up and pulling my bikini from my chest, my tits falling out onto display for him. He sucked in a breath, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth before pulling one nipple into his mouth. I moaned, pulling his hair and leaning my head back at the feeling. His left hand played with the other one, and he swapped. After my boobs were covered in saliva, and growing purple and red marks, he made his way down my stomach. “You sound so good f’me.” He slurred against my skin.

He stopped just above my belly ring, before looking up at me one more time. “God, you just do things to me no one else does.” He mumbled, gently kissing against my belly ring. “This fucking ring will be in my head forever. I’ll think about this and how perfect you look forever.” He rambled, getting lower and lower before he reached my bottoms.

“P-please Matty, I need you!” I whimpered, arching my back as he was right there. He smirked, pulling his weight back up as he stood at full height again. I whined at the loss of his face between my legs, not that he was doing anything but he was just so fucking close. I looked at him confused, as he just continued to smirk. “Now, that’s what you get for riling me up the whole day.” He whispered into my ear, smirking as he kissed me one more time and opened the bathroom door and walking out.

What the fuck.

I blinked a couple times, before regaining my posture. This man, did not just get me the horniest i’ve ever been, and walk out on me? Two can play at that game.

——-

A/N 2: Agg GUYS!! this is my first ever fan fic, i’m so nervous about it. I am going to make it a 2 part series where I will eventually write proper smut, but I am just a little scared LMAO. I hope it’s good, tell me what you think!

[aihoshiino]

Was rewatching the first ep and I thought it was such a cute detail- there was a shot of Ai's old apartment and u could see she has those foam puzzle carpet tiles near the crib! They are also in Aqua and Ruby's colors + white! 🥺 And now I'm just thinking about Ai buying this and setting it all up for the twins. Sobbbb

ISN'T IT SO FUCKING CUTEEEE 😭 That first apartment of hers is honestly my favourite... it's the one that feels the most like her, if that makes sense? Idk, it just has a lot of warmth and personality to it and I can so easily imagine her puttering around it lol.

TBH, the anime did a lot of really interesting things with the designs of her homes... there's a lot of really cute characterization happening in the little details. Like, not only is all Aqua and Ruby's stuff colour coded for them but when they're small enough to cosleep with Ai, both of them have these adorable little flower (star?) pillows to snooze on...

(forgive the scrunkly cap, i had to adjust the lighting cos you can't see it too well otherwise).

Another little detail I really love is that if you keep an eye on the backgrounds of her various apartments, you can spot the star sand that Ryosuke gave her always somewhere pretty prominently in the front room - she was telling the truth when she said she treasured it. In fact, in that first apartment of hers, it's on a shelf beside two toothrottingly adorable photos of the twins which says a lot about how precious it was to her.

Consistency of objects and furniture through all her homes is another little detail I really like about the anime...! It can be harder to spot in motion, but Ai actually takes a lot of the appliances and furniture from her first apartment to her second one, like anybody would when moving.

A bunch of her kitchen appliances are the same and you can tell it's the same TV and speakers, too. And that kind of scrunkly plant from the first apartment also comes with her! She just moves it to her rehearsal space.

Interestingly, all these things are completely absent from the final apartment we see her in - that uber bougie penthouse. It's a big part of what contributes to making it feel so weirdly cold and impersonal even though the woods are all such dark, warm colours - it's because the space has absolutely nothing of Ai herself in it.

Also a great touch - we only ever see the apartment at night and the skyline is tinted super green, which makes it come off as kind of unnatural and unsettling. It really piles on that feeling of this not being a space that Ai is meant to occupy. It doesn't suit her - and maybe I'm reading a little too much into it, but the stiff-backed way she sits in the chair - at the very edge of it, no less! - contrasting the say Saitou is pretty comfortably flopped all over the sofa really gives the impression to me that she didn't feel comfortable there at all.

also; this was going to be a tag ramble but it got stuck in my brain so it's going in the main post but. Man. There really is a Vibe about the fact that she's sat on the chair at all come to think of it. Again, possibly overthinking it, but perching on a chair like that really feels to me like something a guest would do, not someone pulling up a seat in their own home to watch tv. Especially when there's all that room on the sofa - plenty of space for her to have sat by Saitou even with Ruby still in her lap and Aqua at her side.

[admiralicepop]

When we dance you have a way with me

{Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw/Jake “Hangman” Seresin} Bradley and Jake share a passion for dance. Somewhere in the middle they brake up and make up. The usual.

After a lot of years being at the sidelines I finally gathered some confidence to write and post something of my own. It kinda turned a little angsty oops! But there’s still a happy ending. Title from Sway by Michael Bublé.

Special thanks to @yukalovestopgungays for putting up with my quirks, if you still see some mistakes I’m an idiot lol.

1.6k words- Warnings: Mild angst with happy ending, Bradley is an idiot, Jake was hurt in the process

Dancing was Jake and Bradley’s thing. 

It first happened years ago, when Natasha finally dragged Bradley out to some bar after a long deployment. 

“Bradley, you need to stop brooding around and actually do something about it. Get it out of your system, I’m sick of it and am worried about you, man.” She told him as she was throwing clothes out of his wardrobe at him. 

To be completely honest, Bradley had a crush on Jake since he first saw him. He just didn’t know how to deal with that, he was intimidated. 

So when he stepped into a bar with Nat and they claimed a spot, sipping beer, talking about everything and nothing, he didn’t expect to see anyone familiar. 

Except there he was. In all his glory, blond hair usually neatly styled flopping around his forehead, his body tightly pressed against a tall woman he was dancing with. His hips were swaying to some Latino music. Bradley, of course, didn’t hear a word Nat told him in the last, probably, three minutes. 

She sighed and turned to look in the direction Bradley was staring. Little ‘oh’ escaped her lips. 

“Bradley” she tried to get his attention again, when he turned to face her again she smiled big and wicked “This is your chance. If you actually do something about it every round is on me for a month, man.” 

Bradley groaned, pushing himself off his seat. “Great, I’ll need another drink if I’m gonna do this.” 

He couldn’t believe he actually didn’t give this a second thought, especially when he was a master over-thinker. He approached the bar, giving a little wave to the bartender closest to him. 

“Can I have three tequila shots please?” Bartender just gave him a nod. 

He turned to the crowd waiting for his drinks trying to spot where Jake was. It wasn’t hard to spot him. He was in the middle of the crowd now dancing with a man slightly shorter than him. Always the center of attention. For a second he thought Jake spotted him and his nerves finally kicked in. Thank God for the tequila that was waiting beside him. He downed the shots one after another, earning some weird looks from people around him. 

I needed that, fuck you. He thought to himself.

Bradley pushed his way through the crowd to where Jake was. He pulled the guy Jake was dancing with gently. 

“Hey, man, sorry to interrupt— but do you mind if I steal your dance partner just for a few minutes?” He gave him an apologetic smile. 

“No, go right ahead, he’s great, we all got a chance with him.” The Guy smiled and slowly backed away. That went well.

Jake didn’t pay much attention to the interaction, so when Bradley finally slipped his hand around Jake’s hip and turned to look at Jake, he stopped in his tracks. 

“Bradshaw?” 

Bradley just chuckled. “Mind if we danced?” 

Jake’s face flushed a pretty pink color at the familiarity of their interaction. 

“Be my guest! Didn’t know you danced.” He slowly slid his hand down Bradley’s back and pulled him a little closer.  

Bradley’s skin was burning like a thousand suns with Jake pressed close to him, and tequila he downed just minutes ago, thank you. He smirked, more to him self. 

“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.” 

Jake was looking at him with a raised eyebrow, big smile painted on his face.

“That so?” Amusement dripped from his voice. “Mind sharing some secrets with the class?” 

 At that moment Bradley twirled him, so Jake’s back was pressed to Bradley’s front. Bradley leaned closer to Jake’s ear, their hips swaying to the beat in perfect unison. 

“I’m more of a ‘show’ kinda guy,-” Bradley whispered.

He couldn’t see it, but all the hairs on Jake’s body stood on attention. On instinct his hips bucked back. 

“Show me then, Bradshaw,-” He replied, challenge present in his voice. 

Just where he wanted him. Bradley turned him around once more. Hands resting low on Jake’s hips. 

“You want that, baby?” Suddenly he’s so close to Jake he can smell him, a strong mix of his cologne, sweat and sweet alcohol making him dizzy with desire. He closed the distance between them and Jake. Jake just gave in. No fighting. No harsh words. No snarky comments or eye rolls. 

Jake wanted him too.  

“We should…uh..get outta here?” Bradley fumbled with his words. 

“We should, you stud. Just give Phoenix a heads up, don’t wanna end up on her bad side.” Jake smirked. 

“You saw us?” Bradley blinked at him. 

“Well don’t think too hard. Let’s go before you change your mind.” Jake said, pulling him through the crowd in Natasha’s direction. 

“Oh, you show off, of course you gave me a performance.” Bradley chuckled. 

“What? You needed a little push to get down from that perch of yours.” Jake said just as they reached Nat. 

Dancing brought them together.

Bradley, trying to be funny, took Jake to dancing class for their first date. It came easy to them. Bradley was a naturally good dancer, and so was Jake, given the fact he had four sisters determined to make him learn all the possible dances until he was better.

Their bodies worked so well together. When other people struggled, they were on fire. Bradley never felt so alive.

Countless nights went on dancing in the kitchen. Jake preparing dinner and Bradley pressed at his back, chin propped on his shoulder, his big hands resting on Jake’s stomach, swaying their hips and Bradley singing softly in his ear.

It was the most fun Bradley had in years. He loved Jake so much, but he was scared. Getting so out of his comfort zone. Dating. Especially dating Jake Seresin. It was a risky business.

Also, he loved to torture himself, denying himself what he desires the most. So he ran. After almost two years, when things got serious, he ran.

I’m a fucking coward for leaving him behind.

Bradley liked to lie to himself that it didn’t mean anything. But it did. And it hurt seeing Jake after so many years. He was the first thing he saw as he walked inside The Hard Deck. His blond hair perfectly styled, face clean shaven, his uniform neatly pressed. Still so perfect, painfully familiar, but not his.

He spotted Natasha at one of the pool tables. They did a round of greetings, and as he was trying to walk away she grabbed him by the wrist.

“Just the heads up, he’s here too.”

He let out a slow breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Thanks Nat, I saw him.”

She gave him a reassuring squeeze before he strolled off.

And then, the moment Jake spotted him, he put on his best performance face.

“Bradshaw, as I live and breathe!” Venom dripped from his voice.

“Hangman..” Bradley stoped to give him a once over but just managed to get to his lips. You can’t think about this now, dude.

“You look, uh, good.” Smooth.

Hangman.. And given everything it was kind of ironic that in the end, it was Bradley who hanged Jake out to dry.

Bradley couldn’t wait for this mission to be over. One way or another.

Jake was hurt, he had full right to be. But he wasn’t mad anymore. He couldn’t be.Not now that someone might not come back from it all. That someone being Bradley…

So he swallowed his pride and caught up to Bradley.

“Hey!” He tried, but the roaring of the engines and ocean waves splashing were just too much. “Bradley!” He tried, louder.

Bradley finally turned around. Seeing Jake made his heart swell. You could see glimmer of hope still in his eyes.

“Give’em hell!” Was the only thing Jake could say in that moment, trying not to fall apart from the look Bradley had on his face.

For a moment, Jake’s world stopped. But he made it move again.

Bradley, once again, I’m telling you to get your shit together.” Nat knew that Jake was the one for Bradley the moment she spotted them dancing in the middle of the crowd all those years ago.

“I hate you!” Bradley groaned as he started to walk away. Stumbling to the bar where Jake was standing he found his place.

It wasn’t crowded, but he stood right at Jake’s side, touching from shoulder to his ankles. Before he started to overthink what’s coming next he blurted out. “Baby, dance with me.”

Jake didn’t look at him. “Bradley, you are drunk.”

“I’m not, just concussed.” He gave him a small smile, still looking at the side of his face. He could swore he saw a smile forming on Jake’s lips. “You would know if you didn’t avoid me the whole goddamn night.”

“I was just trying to avoid doing something stupid-“ Jake finally gave him his time of day. “-But it looks like ’stupid’ follows me.”

Bradley just looked at him with his sad eyes and Jake caved. In mere seconds they were swaying, pressed closely, Jake’s head snuggled at the crook of Bradley’s neck. He still smelled the same. Bradley placed a quick kiss at the side of his head. lips brushing on soft hair.

“Baby” he inhaled through his nose. “I’m sorry, you know? For everything. Not being ready, leaving like I did, all the years without a word, and now…this. Whatever shit this was.”

Bradley felt tears on his neck.

“You did a number on me Bradley. But hell, all I wanted since I saw you walk in here three weeks ago was this moment right here.”

Jake slowly looked up and Bradley spared no time, their lips were pressed together finally after all the longing they endured.

“I love you, baby.” Long overdue Bradley admitted to Jake, but also to himself.

There was a long way ahead of them.

But dancing was always their thing.

[enokito]

i actually realized i cant gift this to you on ao3 @mangocurist bc you only post on anon so ill self-promo on tumblr for once in my stupid kenwatt baka life 😔

read infinite amethyst on ao3 (where my notes and stuff are) or ill also try my hand at formatting on tumblr meow. wc 1357

“It helps if the tick speed is higher,” they’re saying, as they guide Seawatt to stand under the budding amethyst crystal. Ken’s hand stays warm on his waist through the thin fabric of his tunic, pressing firm, maybe to help him keep his precarious balance on the pointed dripstone, maybe because they’re afraid he’ll run as the crystal above him grows downward towards his head. Before long, it forces him into shifting, the sharp point digging into his hitbox uncomfortably as it changes shape and makes way, even though his knees are bent enough that it doesn’t literally grow into his scalp.

“Okay, but when would I literally ever use this?” he complains. 

“Budding amethyst is a surprisingly common item in escape rooms!” says Ken, and he gets to watch their eyes light up (staring into their eyes is almost the same feeling as escaping, like solving a difficult puzzle and finally flopping down onto soft grass, the endless possibilities of normal terrain generation all around him). “It technically generates infinite blocks, I could give you a pickaxe with silk touch and make you do a crawl glitch like this one, amethyst buds have all kinds of weird hitboxes to play with, there’s allay duplication – I’m honestly not that familiar with allays but I’m sure there’s something cool you could do with them,” 

Seawatt’s hitbox flexes from the suddenly increased pressure, compresses, and then complies, popping him into crawl mode. He breathes a sigh of relief as the strain melts away, sliding backwards into the 1x1 hole. “That wasn’t too bad,” he admits, and Ken leans down to grin at him. “The ones where you clip through a block are cooler though.” 

“Now you’re seeing things my way,” they crow. “I won’t make you practice this one, it’s pretty self-explanatory and you’ll be fine as long as you can remember the setup. Ready for the next room?” 

“Hear me out,” he says, and they flick an ear with amusement at his premature defensiveness. “I know you don’t like to carry around useless trinkets, but maybe you can hang it up somewhere, whatever you want to do with it.” He holds up the present he brought them, a little amethyst shard strung on a cord – Seawatt isn’t presumptuous enough to make it a skin modification rather than an item, Ken knows how to do it themself if they ever wanted to. “I just got this for you. I don’t know,” he says again. 

“It’s cute,” they agree blandly, looping it around their neck. “Something for me to remember you by? My memory isn’t that bad.” 

He flushes. “That’s not what I was implying.” 

“Right, right, of course not. You’re the one who needs something to remind you of me,” they tease, already digging through their pockets. Their tail flicks from side to side. “We’ll make it a trade. Here.” They thrust out their hand, holding a simple, dandelion yellow hair-clip. “You’re kinda right that I don’t carry anything I don’t use, but I’ve been mostly wearing my hair short anyways, and this won’t screw up your whole aesthetic that you have going on.” 

“I don’t know man, are you sure?” 

They roll their eyes. “Just take it, Seawatt.” He takes it from their outstretched hand and clips it tentatively into his hair, not really keeping any of it out of his face but just making sure the clip won’t slip out of place, a mirror of Ken’s golden ear. It’s a little sad that he can’t see what it looks like, but they crease their eyes at him. “Cute.” 

“I’m not cute,” he pouts. “I’m devastatingly hot and attractive.”

Ken looks at him this way and that, before shaking their head with a smirk. “You feed your own ego enough, bud,” they reply. “You don’t need me doing it too.”

“It’s amethyst,” Seawatt says, “spelled with an E, and then a Y.” He watches his old friend and the newest champion jump from command block to command block, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. The deletion of the fighter layer took with it memories of amethyst, ice, glass… even the proper way to make neos, though one technically didn’t need deepslate bricks for neo jumps. He’s mourned enough though, now, for the loss of his people, and he has no desire to bring back the monstrosity that was a neo jump around glass panes onto a trapdoor – he just wants to see amethyst again, just a few pieces, and not even for parkour. 

Amethyst has the special property of being able to capture memories, after all, and keep them secure, bouncing between their glittering facets. He curls his fingers around a shard of it back in his new lab, the edges digging into his palm, and it drags out worlds that feel familiar and foreign at once: the warmth of golden sunlight, the sensation of flopping down onto soft grass, the infinite possibilities of normal terrain generation all around him. Intuitively he knows that this is what the world is supposed to look like, though he’s never experienced it, though he’s never seen anything like it before. It’ll be a brilliant start, anyways, for what the champion needs from him. 

One thing Seawatt appreciates about the champion is that he never asks questions; not so long ago, when the Old Man was champion, it would’ve been too dangerous to reveal where he came from and what he remembers. He still doesn’t inquire about how Seawatt has knowledge of blocks that, as far as the champion is aware, have never existed in parkour civilization – as long as he does everything he promised he’d be able to and doesn’t protest, as long as the new champion stays in power, he’s safe now. It will never matter that he has a million memories he shouldn’t, not only of the fighter layer, but of something more than this (it can’t matter to him that his lab is intentionally placed exactly where all new players spawn in, and yet he remembers being a kid on the fighter layer, the way being held by his mom felt, if not her face. That he remembers being a child but not what it feels like to grow up).

It’s a long time before he sees Kenadian again, and for a few seconds he doesn’t even recognize them – a fact that prickles uncomfortably at his skin even after the contours of their face have slotted back into his mind like a missing puzzle piece. They still wear his amethyst shard on a cord around their neck, and he wonders what memories it holds before remembering that amethyst doesn’t actually work like that. Still, knowing these things logically doesn’t stop him from wanting to see what dreams leap across its facets (in parkour civilization, even abstract thoughts and images have to parkour). 

“Parkour civilization?” they ask, looking around skeptically. Their voice takes on a mimicry of his own cadence. “Everyone knows Seawattgaming’s biggest weakness is parkour – this is a known Seawattgaming fact.”

“Oh, fuck off,” he says, but he can’t stop himself from smiling. 

“Do you still think three-block jumps are scary, or have we moved past that?” Ken continues to joke, widening their eyes innocently. “Have we moved on to being scared of four-block jumps now?”

He shakes his head, feeling lighter than he has in a long time – and not just because he died and has been stuck in spectator mode to watch Evbo become a god, and then left to float around listlessly, slowly getting his old memories back until Ken came and found him. “Shut up, man. Can we just leave now?”

“Sure.” They grab his hand, and he can feel it when they hit pause, getting ready to leave the server, but waiting for him to catch up. “Let’s get going?” This is how it is with them: Ken leads and Seawatt follows, tries to keep up, laughs off a mocking word, curls his fingers more tightly around theirs. They still wear the amethyst shard, even though it’s functionally useless, even though they’re not a particularly sentimental person – and that’s more than enough for him. 

[hope-you-brought-kneepads-bitch]

Agatha all along spoilers:

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Okay okay okay? Soooooo heyyy Billy erm don’t trust you, anddd actually I think your brother’s better so yeah fuck you actually also how dare you talk to a prolific witch killer like that, if Rio wasn’t busy taking Alice’s body (fly high! RIP girlie, rest with your mum now!) she would’ve taken your ass all the way to the astral plane, dead or alive

Nicolas scratch voice reveal! Poor baby wanting his mama to stop like is he watching all this happening? Poor sweetheart, Agatha just wants her baby back (should’ve also had the camera pan slightly to Rio because bet she would’ve had a reaction too 👀 notes for next time)

Also fuck evenora harkness okay, listen I support all mothers but “I should’ve killed you the moment you left my body” ??? Bit harsh, I’m from the north of England and even mothers here aren’t that cruel

“I can be good” yes sweet angel baby witch killer you can do no wrong and will always be good and I love you and will stroke your hair when you sad and never leave your side -Rio Vidal probably

“Or we could slit her throat”

“Her mother can’t have her!”

Rio you can’t keep flip flopping in front of the other witches, they don’t know your humour yet and how deeply in love with your ex wife you are, they don’t know the throat slitting thing is fun to you as a joke (dw baby I got you)

Also Lilia being all ‘I hate flying brooms because of the Halloween corporations’ ‘profiting off our inability to travel like everyone else’ to “I haven’t done this in centuries (massive grin) she loves it and definitely will be doing it again. Bless her heart I hope she’s safe and happy for more centuries to come 👀👀👀👀 (marvel I’m at your fucking door)

Agatha and Rio choosing each other for the broom spell because they’ve done it hundreds of times and it’s probably the intimate thing besides the almost kiss in the last episode

Also when they’re handing the brooms to each other and Rio grazes Agatha’s hand, she was like ‘hold my hand you coward!’

Teen’s blue powers are pretty cool I have to admit but I would also like to say, and I’ve seen a few other people say it, I think he was subconsciously controlling the trial, because a few of them were a little ooc, like jen, instantly flipped to punishing Agatha and the others followed (Rio just wanted to play, know full well you can’t control death)

But he didn’t know what he was doing so when Alice (gone but never forgotten) jumped in to save Agatha and she died ☠️💔 he was so distraught, not only because she was so cool but because he made her do it, he just couldn’t comprehend what happened but knew it was him so he struggled with that knowledge (just like Wanda when she found out about the town)

‘You’re just like your mother’ (😰 her voice) but! I think at the end of the last episode when Agatha smiled at Rio after she told her he wasn’t her son, she knew then, she knew he was Wanda’s son but obviously she was still holding out hope, and when Rio confirmed it she knew what had to be done

Also! The Salem seven these freaky, creepy acrobatic bitches they’re fantastic! But if they’re the children of the coven that Agatha killed right? Didn’t they have other people looking after them? Like I don’t know much about the Salem era of course I wasn’t there ( or was I? 👀) I assume these mothers didn’t just leave 7 kids playing in dirt somewhere on their own like ‘mommy will be back I just have to go and kill a witch because her mother doesn’t like her and is very jealous of her’ like did they not return and the kids found friends in the animals that obviously gathered around them and form powers to turn into them and just decide well! Time to kill Agatha in a few hundred centuries or whatever

I’m thinking to much about this I know I am, but isn’t it fun?!

Also finally, Wanda I love you I love you to pieces but! This is Agatha all along maybe a post credit scene for you to come back and be like ‘my son! I’ve missed you, now let’s find your brother’ but this show is about Agatha and her ex wif- search for power!

I’m rambling and it makes no sense but god I can’t wait until next week, hopefully the witches come out of the quick sand mud and kick teens ass and Rio helps of course!

[lookingfts]

Talking about the fics I've written but not shared inspired me to go through my Unfinished Fics folder. Some of these are drabbles that I never posted, some of them are snippets of fics I never finished (and likely will never finish), but I'm going to share them today!

The first one is a fic where Kate is a cafe owner and Anthony plays at her open mic nights. I only really wrote the first scene (using The Night We Met before I used it in Sugar, lol.)

“Was this a stupid idea? Didi, am I actually an idiot?”

Kate rolled her eyes at Edwina’s theatrics as she wiped down the milk frother with a worn rag. “Of course not. It’ll go great, okay?”

She genuinely had no idea whether her idea would flop or not, but Kate wasn’t going to let on. She’d been trying to get Edwina to be more involved in the shop for months, and this was the first thing her sister had seemed genuinely excited about, even designing flyers and promoting the event online.

And if it did flop – if no one performed, or everyone was a talentless hack – it would be awkward but amusing, and they would never do it again. Kate hoped that wouldn’t be the case, of course, because new events had real potential to help their business, and she hated to picture the disappointment on Edwina’s face. Failure might build character, but Kate wasn’t quite ready to expose her sister to the harsh realities of the world so soon. Within those four walls, at least, she wanted to keep it at bay a little longer.

Kate felt Edwina’s anxiety rubbing off on her and waved her hand in the general direction of the tables. “We still have an hour. Go clean something and work off your nervous energy.”

Eddie bounced off to do just that as Kate stifled a yawn against her wrist. It had been a slower day, the foot traffic diminished by a steady drizzle of rain, which had fortunately stopped thirty minutes ago. They normally closed at eight but were staying open until ten, ready with decaf and homemade pastries delivered by Sophie that afternoon.

Even though mornings were their busiest time, Kate had always liked the atmosphere of the shop after dark. The aging brick walls and overstuffed leather chairs felt even more homey in the dim glow of the string lights crisscrossing the wooden rafters. During the day, her patrons were grabbing coffee or tea in a rush to somewhere else or camping out for the day to work anywhere but their cramped flats. At night, people were reading – or attempting to write – books. Chatting nervously on first dates. Business was slower, but Kate didn’t mind when the world slowed down a bit too.

Gradually, people started to filter in and take their seats, the sign-up sheet filling with names. Edwina seemed to relax at that and came back behind the counter to help Kate with the incoming orders. She spotted a few regulars, but was pleased to notice new faces as well.

“Hi, erm – do you still have spots for the open mic night?”

Kate nodded, pointing to the sheet without looking up. “Add your name there, everyone is performing in the order they signed up. The show starts in twenty minutes, would you like to order something?”

“Okay. Thanks. Espresso?”

“Sure, do you want-.” Kate’s sentence cut off abruptly as she finally glanced up, her mind going momentarily blank. Mr. Espresso was – striking, to say the least. He had a guitar case slung over his dark grey t-shirt, curly brown hair that swooped across his forehead in that way that seemed incidental but probably took quite a bit of effort, a jaw that could cut glass and dark eyes that were watching her so shrewdly that it was mildly disconcerting. “Uh, a pastry or something?”

“No, thank you.” He tugged his card out of his wallet and tapped it against the reader as Kate mentally chided herself. Since when was she into guitar boys? Ugh.

Fortunately, the odds were good that the spell would be broken the second he got on stage and broke out a mediocre cover of the white-man staple Wonderwall.

He waited by the counter as she quickly made his espresso, purposefully limiting eye contact with him lest she horribly embarrass herself again. Kate slid his cup across the faux marble surface, telling herself that she was just being polite as she muttered, “Good luck.”

“Thank you.” He took his coffee and found a seat near the corner. Kate allowed herself to indulge in one last glance before she was swept up in a new wave of last-minute attendees.

The crowd settled as Edwina directed the first performer onto the little platform they’d set up as a stage, with sound equipment rented from the music store down the street. Kate had counted sixteen sign-ups on the sheet, more than she was anticipating. They were, to her utter relief, mostly good. Two people, one man and one woman, performed five-minute standup sets about their spouses, only to reveal at the end, to much applause and laughter, that they were married to each other. Three read poems; their own, she thought, though Kate wasn’t familiar enough with poetry to know for sure. There were plenty of musicians, of course, a violinist and the typical singer-songwriters with varying degrees of vocal talent. One person did magic tricks. Edwina beamed through the whole thing.

“Please welcome Anthony Bridgerton!” Eddie said into the microphone after the magician had done his grand finale with a disappearing coin.

Mr. Espresso – Anthony, apparently – positioned himself on the wooden stool on stage and checked his guitar. The audience cheered and he grinned shyly. “Thank you. I don’t perform that often, so forgive me if my nerves get the best of me.”

Kate didn’t know if she bought the whole nervous act from a man with that bone structure, but it was clearly working. A redhead in the front looked like she might throw her bra on stage, and he hadn’t even started singing yet. Kate noticed that he had his guitar case closed, a rarity among the other starving artists who had kindly requested tips.

“This song is from Lord Huron, it’s called The Night We Met.” Anthony took a deep breath and Kate was lost from the first note.

I am not the only traveler Who has not repaid his debt I've been searching for a trail to follow again Take me back to the night we met

It was a lovely song, one Kate didn’t know but was certain she would listen to again. Anthony’s voice was good, soft and deep, a little raspy in the way Kate usually liked. But it was the emotion he was spilling into the lyrics that captured her attention. She was almost certain that someone’s ghost lived behind every word.

And then I can tell myself What the hell I'm supposed to do And then I can tell myself Not to ride along with you

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

He looked up, his gaze locking with hers. Kate’s breathing hitched roughly in her chest. Those eyes that had been watching her too carefully before, dissecting and analyzing her, it had seemed, were downright devastating now. She found herself unable to move, pinned in place by the heartbreak that lanced his voice and traveled along the sharp contours of his face, triggering something in her stomach that Kate couldn’t recall feeling before.

When the night was full of terrors And your eyes were filled with tears When you had not touched me yet Oh, take me back to the night we met

I had all and then most of you Some and now none of you Take me back to the night we met

He reached the final chords and the song faded out. The fervent clapping, interspersed with a few whistles, snapped Kate out of her trance and she jerked back as if she’d been burned. Anthony wasn’t looking at her any longer, smiling down at his new, primarily female fans in the front row, and – oh.

She was really falling victim to the musician cliché, wasn’t she? He’d probably learned guitar to pick up women, not that Kate thought he had any problem with that to begin with, and she was just one of the many women in the crowd who had gotten caught up in his magnetism. Truly pathetic, honestly. It wasn’t often that Kate allowed herself to be swept away like that.

It was natural, of course. Musicians had an inherently sexy quality about them, and Kate had not exactly been drowning in male attention as of late. He might have a real shot at being successful, if he could win over even a card-carrying cynic like her.

Edwina announced the next act, and Kate got back to work, willing her heartbeat to settle.

[storkmuffin]

Second Ateez Concert (Post performance Write up)

Stream of consciousness again, and not an attempt to make a perfect record.

-That performance was so fun. I don't know why but it felt 'better' than Day 1. Seonghwa was visibly more relaxed - day 1 he was stuttering during his opening comments and admitted to being extremely tense. The group seemed much more at ease with how big this space was, and had specific plans for how they were going to address the floor fans and the nosebleed seaters. Most importantly, Hongjoong and Mingi had better teamwork in terms of Hongjoong explaining what was going to happen next (and what role Mingi was going to play) and how the audience should respond, and Mingi ran the show.

-Mingi was MVP. Now that it's the day after, I really think that Ateez's first really big stadium performance in the Home Country may have been a borderline flop without Mingi. He had maximum presence as well as this general sense of control and ease that the others just did not have, and it helped so much that they let him play a bigger role on day 2 than on day 1. He was the only one that was having a lot of fun in the big huge stadium. Second came Yunho, but he has that superpower capacity for projecting being really happy to be somewhere, happy to see you, even if he's neither, (LIKABILITY) so that's to be expected. More importantly, it was his birthday, and Mingi likes Yunho best out of everyone in that group so he made Yunho the most important. (Giver and Taker dynamics again lol). Everyone else gave beautiful and well-calibrated performances, but there wasn't this sense of I own this place so trust me and we will go somewhere cool together coming from anyone but Mingi.

It made me wonder if Hongjoong was scared of this space too, or if he was infected by Seonghwa, his partner, but I'd been expecting some sort of blast of of charisma from HJ that just didn't happen.

The thing that Mingi did that I appreciated so much was that he didn't have a "conserve energy" moment. Everyone else visibly paced themselves - like Wooyoung, San and Seunghwa were WILD and went ALL OUT during their actual set pieces, but during the in between portions they stood mostly still, gently waving at the audience in the privileged seats, and went into 급차분 (calm / serious/ subdued) mode when they had to speak, but Mingi was just hepped up the whole time and stayed that way. I really like performers who go for broke. Much respect. And again, Yunho was the only other one who kept bouncing around, doing extemporaneous dances, and inviting audience participation. There's a reason these two are a pair.

-Whoever directs this thing did a hardcore assessment overnight, and they fixed a lot of things (First and foremost was letting Mingi take over as frontman.) Sound was better. Screen related camera work felt better. None of the singers complained about their in-ear piece not working. The lighting on the main stage still sucked from the point of view of the nosebleeds, but perhaps the privileged floor seats got great atmospherics? Since I too benefit from those hyper dedicated fans' camerawork and content making, I certainly hope so. The K-Atiny next to me who seemed like a typical K-pop fan from my imagination pointed out to me that San kept touching his mike (her bias) and she was worried that he was having equipment issues. I had seen him touch the headpiece same as her and I didn't really think about that.

-I had such a good time. I still didn't bother filming much of anything, because I just wanted to watch the show they were putting on. I also know that the DVD will eventually be released, and there's a cinema experience in the works. But more than that, actions matter - if you're FILMING an experience, you're experiencing it as a photographer/ cameraman, no matter how hard you try. Other people can do that work. I went there to play.

-There was a really accomplished K-Atiny in my row who knew ALLLLL of the words to ALLLL the songs as well as ALLL of the chants that are supposed to be the fan's response. She looked like a smart little bean of a girl, but she was also EXTREMELY LOUD. I loved her so much that I turned to her in the break to thank her personally for being such a great section-mate, and I thanked her again before we left after it was over. I said it was a blessing to sit next to someone who could do the fandom thing properly. I appreciated her so much.

-San is majorly beautiful. Just. Astonishing. Oh my GOSH. It felt like being at a really big pagan fertility festival to sit at my section, which was majority Korean this time (unlike Day 1, which was majority not-Koreans) because we all lost our minds at San coming on screen. Women celebrating our being alive in the same space as this person at what has to be the peak of his masculine beauty. Receiving a blast of very pure, very delicious yang energy, to be really old fashioned about it. The mind-blank mouth-open situation happened with every costume change and every close up. Just, the HOLLERING. He's just so good at what he does. All Hail Choi San.

-Yeosang has the prettiest ass on the planet and the prettiest face ever and it was a lot to take in at once.

-Mingi showed skin while making very sexy faces & motions for when they're all at the saloon dressed as cowboys. The Equipment Conscious Atiny to my right made a comment - '미친..." - to mark the moment. Then right afterwards, Yunho, fully dressed, got on top of the saloon bar and delivered his line about 나는야 고독한 총잡이 탕탕탕탕... which is such a very cheesy lyric but he made it work and made it just as hot, and I felt like they were fighting about who was sexier and chose entirely opposing paths and came out neck and neck and it was SUCH A GOOD TIME

-Equipment Conscious K-Atiny did the typical Korean thing of never looking up from her phone while we were waiting for the show to begin, but once we began yelling together (i.e. confirming that we were the same kind of crazy) we bonded. We talked about her success in obtaining the Lightiny that I failed to get. And then we mostly just kind of shook each other's arm about San when screaming about him wasn't enough, which was extremely fun.

-It was really fun to sing Happy Birthday to Yunho. He seemed very happy to be made a big fuss over (because of course LOL). Someone in the floor seats had HER birthday according to her sign so we all sang HER a happy birthday along with Ateez. What a special day for her, too, lucky Atiny.

-I will have to review the closing comments again when those videos come up, but I found them improved from the stuff they said at their fan meetings and the previous concert. I can't tell if it's because they actually are improved or if I've become accustomed to Idol culture, and accepted its norms for how Idols are supposed to talk at the end of concerts. Because the stuff that Ateez have said? Stray Kids and NCT and Enhypen also say, almost word for word, at the end of their concerts, from the clips I've seen. I used to find these speeches unbearably horrifying, to pay to listen to this undignified begging for continued attention from an audience that's paid hundreds of dollars to be in attendance, but now I'm like, Oh that was quite correct, he's supposed to say that, and he said it well.

HongJoong couldn't help but add, as he left, "DON'T GO TO ANY OTHER IDOL GROUP CONCERTS!"

I now understand, fully, why they all say this. (It's the job of Lee Know of Stray Kids to say this at the end of their concerts, I think. I've seen him do it more than once.) It's a very Korean thing they're doing - they're acknowledging that if you're actually going to stan a group, it does take up so much time and effort and money to keep up. If you're the type to need to make output for any input you get (ahem, comme moi), and make fan accounts or run fan groups, it's a LOT of work in toto. I don't see how I could follow TWO groups. Which means if I were to take on a new group, I would perforce have to abandon this one. Sort of like how I didn't finish the process of becoming a Stay when Wooyoung took me into Ateez - I fought for Ateez tickets but not Stray Kids ones which were going on sale at almost the same time. Time and resources are limited - you want to be the one chosen. Economics!

[pilotingdreammsss]

Hello 💥💥 I saw your latest post and im gonna ask if i could request this :

Dreamweaver Cookie X Reader

they don't have any "X Reader" content and im going feral over that /j

OOOOH ANON!! I've never seen any X reader content.. I had to go research for this one ehe.

Dreamless Night ੈ✩‧₊˚

Warnings: Mention of nightmares. No description of them though.

Premise: As nightmares begin to seep into your reality, you find your nights to grow increasingly sleepless. Though one night, it all changes.

"Goodnight, Y/N cookie!"

You slam the door as your dear acquaintances leave. Tired as you are, your nights had been increasingly tainted by the presence of torturous nightmares. So much so that you'd barely dragged yourself out of bed this morning. Your friends had tried to drag you out of the house to lighten the mood, but you doubt it'll negate the onslaught of insidious dreams.

You down a pair of melatonin jellies in hopes that you'd get a passable amount of sleep tonight. So when your body hits the plush mattress of your bed, you're out like a light. You know, deep down, it wouldn't be long until the tantalizing displays of nightmarish imagery graced your mind again.

So when you wake up in cold, paralyzing sweat, only to be graced with a cookie emanating a dream-like light...

"Those nightmares have been causing some real problems with you!"

You dart upwards, convinced they're some home invader, they barely dodge an incoming pillow at their head. They frown, clearly a little conflicted.

"It's been so long since I've appeared in reality again. I forget how spooked cookies get.."

You don't throw any more pillows at their head, thankfully. When they start to articulate that they'd been trying to chase your persistent nightmares away, you sit tight and watch. Your 'attentiveness' is actually just you starting to doze off.

"...I wish for all cookies to have good dreams, you just seem to be a little problematic, tee-hee! I'm Dreamweaver Cookie, and your nightmares are really causing problems... I've been trying for weeks to chase them away for good!"

How flattering. Your very own dream guardian.

They cease their hovering and land softly on the matress. You whine and flop over right back into bed.

"You're such a cute cookie, too. Deserving of good dreams..."

You confide that you'd experienced relentless nightmares for at least a week. They frown again - now in deep thought again. The two of you share a still silence, only disrupted by the ambient crickets chirping outside and the faint swish of the wind. It would be a nice night... if you were able to sleep conclusively.

"... How about I sit here for the night, with you? Surely, that'll help them go away."

You wince. Nobody's ever been around to observe you sleep. The idea's always freaked you out a little. Though you're so desperate for 1 night of good rest, you allow them to rest your head on their lap and observe you drift to the land of sleep.

When you awaken the next day - you don't remember what you dreamt. But you're well rested, and Dreamweaver Cookie seems to have slinked away somewhere. You stretch your still sleepy limbs and glance around your room for that signature dreamy glow. It's gone, but something tells you they won't have left you for very long.

Not when you once more slip away into the land of dreams the following night, graced with pleasant trajectories of dreams and the slight, adorning laughter emanating from somewhere...

A/N: I hope you were well fed, anon! Tell me if I got Dreamweaver totally wrong too LOL, I had to rewatch their event to grasp them a lil. I'm ironically finishing this off at almost 11:30 pm.