#ideas keep presenting themselves

[anunquenchableflame]

I've no intention of retiring Rani but I do think I might finally have another Shep I want to develop. Here's Kameron Shepard. She's a colonist, sole survivor, soldier, much taller and buffer than the game lets her be, and an unexpected ray of sunshine. Also very Scottish.

[danwhobrowses]

CR's Godly Option C: Who will go for it?

Spoilers for Campaign 3 Episode 119 below

Okay so there was a development.

After a long and painstaking dance of circling around the Predathos and Gods situation, we have reached the pivotal point. Bells Hells are fighting the God Eater, Imogen is still tethered to it, and the Gods are sending reinforcements to try and seal it again.

Sealing Predathos again is unlikely, since it required the Primordials before, and it'd only be a temporary fix. Most of Bells Hells are advocating for change within the relationship between gods and mortals as the Matron of Ravens had hinted, with all of them (yes, ALL of them, including Ashton and Dorian) wanting to prevent the gods from dying, but they also believe Predathos will get out either way. I think it's implied that defeating Predathos will force it to be suppressed within Imogen, that or it'll just discorporate and another Ruidusborn will become the vessel once it recovers its strength, but since it's intent on consuming divinity and can threaten to overwhelm her again, the third option was presented: to become mortal.

While the Matron explains that if the process is possible they will still regain their memories similar to how the Luxon and the mortality route they took in Downfall work, the gods will also need to be convinced of this outcome between death, departure, or depower. In this post I will discuss the potential of each god's reaction and willingness to enact this option C. I'm also thinking this under the impression that the gods will reincarnate, it wasn't fully clear that's the case but since this is meant to shift the relationship between gods and mortals long term I'd suspect it'd be a cycle.

We'll go alphabetically, also because we all know who begins with A.

Asmodeus, The Az-hole Lord of the Nine Hells Given that the Lying Cheating Whore Bitch that is the Lord of Terror, Lies, and the Hells has a massive shtick up his butt about mortals being lower than him, becoming mortal permanently is like a worst case scenario for Azzy M. He will be the hardest to convince, especially since as Lord of Lies he will have obscenely high charisma to resist potential persuasion rolls. The only opening is to appeal to his insecurities about his family, the deep but warped longing to be with them again, but even that is a paper thin line not even Braius can easily stay on the right side without the risk of a ripped-off face and a shattered spine. If he is convinced, however, there has to be the expectation that a betrayal or loophole is inbound.

Avandra, The Changebringer The Goddess of Change is someone you'd expect to welcome the very nature of her domain. Had FCG survived perhaps she would've been more present or be in the position the Matron is in right now for the story, since in hindsight she is similarly suited to be the vehicle of this path. Also a Goddess of Adventure, she might even be enticed with the idea of getting to partake in her own journeys, so a low amount of convincing is likely to be needed for this one, the Hells may spend more time chatting to check in on FCG with her instead.

Bahamut, The Platinum Dragon We don't get much info on the Platinum Dragon in the campaigns despite its looming presence and adjacency to the parties, its influence is central to Vassalheim, the religious capital of Tal'dorei, which has a big hand in a lot of Exandrian Politics. Given its strong sense of justice and protecting the weak, I think the Platinum Dragon would need some convincing that this is the right call - which can be difficult given the prospect of chaos that'd unfold from it - but would bend to its logic if the majority were in support, the Lawbearer and Knowing Mentor may be linchpins to encouraging them since they all have the air of sharing the same sense of pragmatism.

Bane, The Strife Emperor War and Conquest are Bane's bread and butter, and while peace can be established in the aftermath it is sadly in mortals' nature to fight and take from one another through violent means, bread and butter (metaphorically, but imagine if it were literally for a moment). For that reason I think Bane would be fine with mortality - war could perhaps be more fun if there's jeopardy involved and death this way is just a respawn. They may put on a front to be against it because it's for reasons of peace, but Bane would rather live to fight another day than never fight again.

Corellon, The Arch Heart The Arch Heart is a curious one. They wanted to leave, they told Bells Hells as much in the feywild, but the Matron is convinced that the Arch Heart simply wants change and would be open to mortality. Due to them having the chance to present their case for departure, I think the Arch Heart would take probably a medium level of convincing. As SILAHA they enjoyed the indulgences and hedonism of mortality and can do so again, but may feel a little slighted by Bells Hells not following through with their plan - they are a vain god after all. Overall I think they too would bow to the majority if it came to it, since their plan involved all of their siblings running with them.

Erathis, The Lawbearer There is a downside for the Lawbearer and Wildmother with mortality. As lovers, sacrificing their divinity will mean life apart from one another for long periods at a time, and by the time their memories are restored it can open up a massive can of worms if they found love with others as mortals. The Lawbearer would be one who'd acknowledge the logic, but resist the offer from an emotional standpoint - perhaps preferring to run or to die in each other's arms than to be apart. It'd take convincing the Wildmother to convince them, so it'd be a tall order for Bells Hells to achieve, but it can be done given how she bends more to logic - seeing as she's the one who proposed the idea of the Divine Gate.

Grummsh, The Ruiner Grummsh is a brute, a lover of blood and slaughter. As a result, the Ruiner will probably need as much convincing as Bane does; adverse to the logic of peace but secretly salivating the idea of future conflicts and being hands-on with it in a continual reincarnation cycle. Some convincing required to bypass the facade of hesitation, but not a lot.

Ioun, The Knowing Mentor Ioun has spent centuries collecting information and knowledge, in turn being a deity of prophecy and teaching, she may have already seen this coming. However, she hates secrets and reverse-engineering the forbidden knowledge that is the Ritual of Seeding may make her hesitant of the path. Some convincing is required, but The Knowing Mentor is a fair and logical god, and in logic she can be persuaded and understand that this is among the better solutions to the problem at hand. The Hells may also entice her with the hands-on approach of learning new things, possibly citing Dunamancy - through Ashton and their head maybe - since the gods treat it as foreign and alien.

Kord, The Stormlord The Stormlord is renowned for being badass and stoic, which unfortunately makes him hard to read in this situation. Unlike Bane and Grummsh, Kord doesn't lust after war and battle but prepares for it nonetheless. It may be hard to convince him though, because they could see the option as abandoning the fight - going against their tenets of strength and bravery in battle - but his awareness of Imogen can come into play in her influencing him, and if Bane and Grummsh's excitement can't be hidden it can be used as incentive to keep their warmongering at bay. He can be swayed, but not easily - it cannot be framed as giving up.

Lolth, The Spider Queen Lolth has a disdain for mortals on a similar maybe-slightly-lesser level to Asmodeus, she's possessive and proud of her power, and mortality would mean that she would have to confront the many enemies she has made - such as the Kryn - without the comfort of being out of their reach. She's also petty, and feuds with the Arch Heart and Stormlord can make it harder to convince her if they're already convinced - and vice versa. The Spider Queen strikes as someone who will agree to something so long as she benefits, curiosity can only go so far after all, she may even ask for some grovelling or a tribute/offering as a sweetener. It will be difficult, but the Opal incident is indicative that she fears Predathos, Bells Hells would need to infer that it's the most profitable option to her but also make sure it's not framed as her conceding to their request or being threatened.

Melora, The Wildmother As with the Lawbearer, the Wildmother will struggle to be convinced not because of the logic but because of the heart. Being separated from her lover is a big sacrifice she will very likely show her teeth to avoid, but in exchange she will get to return to her beloved domain properly once more. This may make the Wildmother easier to convince, or it could be harder given how she has trouble letting go of things - since she protested the idea of the Divine Gate in Downfall's epilogue, and the only thing stopping her from being a Betrayer was a reluctance to leave Exandria. It will probably fall to Orym, who has had experience being apart from people they love, to turn the scales and convince her, which will domino into convincing the Lawbearer too.

Moradin, The All-Hammer Not much is known about the All-Hammer, which is a shame since the past campaigns have had such inventive and artistic characters. That being said, I don't think the All-Hammer will need much convincing. Some convincing may be warranted since they are a God of Family and Legacy too, so they'd want to ensure that the rest of the gods are in agreement, but the All-Hammer admires creativity, ingenuity, and craft; and that is something Chetney has the edge to appeal them towards. A chance to see what more mortals can create, to unlearn and relearn various artforms for lifetimes, Chetney's own pursuit of legacy makes him the perfect one to relate to the All-Hammer, and thus there is limited convincing needed.

Pelor, The Dawnfather There have been two sides to the Dawnfather when in conflict in Campaign 3; on one side you have Ayden, the sunshine multiclassing do-gooder who clings to hope and humanity, on the other you have the Dawnfather that sent an angel to suppress Hearthdell and threatened to withhold power from Deanna for questioning him. Like the Stormlord, the Dawnfather could protest or take offence to the idea of becoming mortal permanently, as he could also see it as abandoning their sworn and solemn duties. Asmodeus and The Arch Heart paint him as chief among the 'but mah children' gods in their internal debate to stay or flee, which can be used in convincing him. But he is prideful, and stubborn, and wrathful, meaning it will require a lot of tact and careful wording to achieve, possibly moreso than it would the Stormlord.

The Raven Queen, Matron of Death As the one mulling over the method of enacting the plan, the Matron is a definitive yes who won't need convincing, she's already been convinced. Mortality is not new to her, and she has no disdain for it.

Sarenrae, The Everlight Aside from the All-Hammer and Changebringer, I think the Everlight is perhaps the one Bells Hells won't need to convince at all. The events of Downfall showed that she loves mortals, and loved mortality; the chance to live and love, to raise children, she loved it all and the moment she parted from it she missed it dearly. She might have a bit of guilt about leaving her followers like Pike, but she might also relish the idea of getting to know them on a more personal and mortal level too.

Sehanine, The Moonweaver The Moonweaver's tenets include to live untethered and free and to seize one's own destiny, which could act as a pro or con to encouraging the idea of becoming mortal. It leans more towards the pro side, since lifetimes of experiences can entice her against running away forever - and Fearne is the likely candidate to frame it that way if she is in need of convincing - but it falls to whether she has already made up her mind about which path she wants to take. If she's already chosen another option, it may be difficult to change her mind because it'll be something she doesn't want to do. If she's open to the idea there's little convincing, if not then it requires Bell's Hells to sell the idea.

Tharizdun, The Chained Oblivion Tharizdun is a strange case. The ancient primordial evil trapped in the Abyss - a visual representation of 'too much chaos' - that creates demons and aberrations with its mind to sic on Exandria isn't exactly one who was sent through the Divine Gate willingly. Mortality and reincarnation is likely something it'd leap at, freedom and the floor to corrupt and influence more directly, but also something the other gods would be greatly against them having given their efforts to seal it near the end of the Calamity. Because of this, the convincing would be for all the other gods - mainly the primes - rather than the entity itself, and thus it can be a deal breaker. As a non-Tengar god however it may be 'off the menu', and thus a compromise to keep it trapped may be achieved - it's actually a little unclear if Matt includes them and another non-Tengar god when discussing 'the gods' in this context, since they are included in the pantheon but not exactly a 'god'.

Tiamat, The Scaled Tyrant Another god eager to get out is Tiamat, Arkhan stole the Hand of Vecna for this sole purpose after all. 'Let no affront go unpunished' is a tenet that'd mean Tiamat would take little convincing to return to the Material Plane. In contrast to Lolth, paying back her grudges would be high on her agenda, as well as amassing wealth and her kin, it'd be more of a challenge to convince the Platinum Dragon of her release given how destructive chromatic dragons can be and have been in the past. So not much convincing on her side really, just opposition from opponents.

Torog, The Crawling King Torog's time as Zaharzht in Downfall was intriguing. Without it the jealous god of torture, jailers, and slavers would ironically be someone you'd expect to desire freedom from imprisonment, but Zaharzht hated being mortal and constantly harmed themselves throughout Downfall. Their monologue about peace implied that Torog may be the only god to welcome Predathos' consumption of them, which makes it difficult to say how much convincing they'd need and if they'd even acknowledge Bells Hells' offer in the first place. There's a chance they may bend to family majority, since Zaharzht had a soft - albeit warped and abusive - spot for Asha, but it's probably not something they'd like to agree to out of the three options.

Vecna, The Whispered One Centuries as a Lich leads to only 3ish decades of godhood, damn does it suck to be Vecna. The Whispered One is a god who would definitely reject the idea of returning to mortality, and someone who would probably rather take their chances and run. Much like the Chained Oblivion, being a mortal would probably be very bad for Exandria anyway, since he knows how to Lich himself and knows the Ritual of Seeding to undo the process anyway - Vassalheim has not quickly forgotten his attempt to raze them. He doesn't want mortality and the mortals won't want him, and without the sense of family that Asmodeus may have for the other gods he might be the joint-highest lost cause among the gods. However, the lack of familial ties and potentially also being off-menu might mean the gods are less enthusiastic about staying as a set with him in it, and would be willing to accept mortality without him. As a result, very difficult to convince, not a positive to do so, but there may be a willingness from other gods to just let him run.

Zehir, The Cloaked Serpent Our final god is a mystery, as obscurity is among his domain. We know more of Zehir's treacherous servant Uk'otoa (uk'otoaaaa) than we do of the god himself, but from what we do know is that they are unique in having the most enemies even among their fellow Betrayer Gods, Torog and Lolth. Their small amount of worshippers, mainly Yuan-ti and other snakefolk, are often described as ones looking to be equal to them, which may make it a tall order to convince Zehir to give their followers and enemies a better shot at killing them. There is perhaps the opening of playing to his pride, an assassin would be proud of their ability to kill, and fluffing his ego in order to 'prove' his skill among these bloodthirsty followers and enemies is a route that can be used with solid enough deception. Niche degree of convincing due to poor knowledge of him, but still possible.

[squidaped-oyt]

Finished clearing out the first level of Moonrise before the Ketheric fight and realised Karlach was nowhere in sight, so I clicked on her portrait, wondering if she died, and got a black screen that made me think my game had crashed ... but no.

Somehow she'd gotten ungrouped and she was still twiddling her thumbs back in the fucking Shadowfell

[mortalityplays]

This is a dangerous sentiment for me to express, as an editor who spends most of my working life telling writers to knock it off with the 45-word sentences and the adverbs and tortured metaphors, but I do think we're living through a period of weird pragmatic puritanism in mainstream literary taste.

e.g. I keep seeing people talk about 'purple prose' when they actually mean 'the writer uses vivid and/or metaphorical descriptive language'. I've seen people who present themselves as educators offer some of the best genre writing in western canon as examples of 'purple prose' because it engages strategically in prose-poetry to evoke mood and I guess that's sheer decadence when you could instead say "it was dark and scary outside". But that's not what purple prose means. Purple means the construction of the prose itself gets in the way of conveying meaning. mid-00s horse RPers know what I'm talking about. Cerulean orbs flash'd fire as they turn'd 'pon rollforth land, yonder horizonways. <= if I had to read this when I was 12, you don't get to call Ray Bradbury's prose 'purple'.

I griped on here recently about the prepossession with fictional characters in fictional narratives behaving 'rationally' and 'realistically' as if the sole purpose of a made-up story is to convince you it could have happened. No wonder the epistolary form is having a tumblr renaissance. One million billion arguments and thought experiments about The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas that almost all evade the point of the story: that you can't wriggle out of it. The narrator is telling you how it was, is and will be, and you must confront the dissonances it evokes and digest your discomfort. 'Realistic' begins on the author's terms, that's what gives them the power to reach into your brain and fiddle about until sparks happen. You kind of have to trust the process a little bit.

This ultra-orthodox attitude to writing shares a lot of common ground with the tight, tight commodification of art in online spaces. And I mean commodification in the truest sense - the reconstruction of the thing to maximise its capacity to interface with markets. Form and function are overwhelmingly privileged over cloudy ideas like meaning, intent and possibility, because you can apply a sliding value scale to the material aspects of a work. But you can't charge extra for 'more challenging conceptual response to the milieu' in a commission drive. So that shit becomes vestigial. It isn't valued, it isn't taught, so eventually it isn't sought out. At best it's mystified as part of a given writer/artist's 'talent', but either way it grows incumbent on the individual to care enough about that kind of skill to cultivate it.

And it's risky, because unmeasurables come with the possibility of rejection or failure. Drop in too many allegorical descriptions of the rose garden and someone will decide your prose is 'purple' and unserious. A lot of online audiences seem to be terrified of being considered pretentious in their tastes. That creates a real unwillingness to step out into discursive spaces where you 🫵 are expected to develop and explore a personal relationship with each element of a work. No guard rails, no right answers. Word of god is shit to us out here. But fear of getting that kind of analysis wrong makes people hove to work that slavishly explains itself on every page. And I'm left wondering, what's the point of art that leads every single participant to the same conclusion? See Spot run. Run, Spot, run. Down the rollforth land, yonder horizonways. I just want to read more weird stuff.

[girl-debord]

"why don't trans women do any domestic labor" is right up there with "why do trans women never date each other" in terms of questions that show that you know nothing about trans women. except in this case the idea that trans women don't do domestic labor is instrumental in maintaining the social hierarchy that keeps trans women doing domestic labor. the idea that trans women are male-socialized and therefore predisposed to exploit the domestic labor of people who are female-socialized keeps trans women in the insecure position of having to prove themselves by taking on historically feminine domestic roles. the reification of economic feminist analysis into biological/socially-essential categories presents the perfect opportunity for tme partners & roommates to benefit from exactly the type of economic exploitation being criticized.

[cursezoroark]

Weh…. ppl are following for my old art and I lie down in thanks. thank u for liking my art. Art block has been killing me. I have so much I want to share but I can’t draw a line without feeling unsatisfied. it’s being slowly put together….

[mcmansionhell]

McMansion Hell urges all New Yorkers to Rank Zohran Mamdani #1 for Mayor of NYC

I know I am just a blog about ugly houses but I want to say something important here: the ruling class in this country does not want you to have affordable housing. They don't want you to have clean, reliable public transportation. They don't want you to have access to groceries you can afford. If something bad happens to you, they don't care if you live or die. If you lose your home, they will hole up in their penthouses, McMansions, and mommy-bought apartments and tell you it's your fault -- but it's not. It is theirs. Everything from budget cuts to rent hikes, is their fault, their way of ensuring that the city becomes a place made up solely of people like themselves.

Zohran Mamdani is the only high profile candidate I've seen in my narrow, millennial lifetime running for any position -- least of all the mayor of the biggest city in the country -- on a platform of decommodification in terms of access to food, housing and transportation. City-run grocery stores would ensure that food stays affordable because there is no profit motive. While some are critical of his policy of fare-free transportation (as opposed to spending the same amount of money improving services), given the amount of policing involved in watching the fareboxes, it's something I'm coming more and more around to.

In demanding a rent freeze, Zohran is one of the only politicians able to articulate a direct plan for keeping people in their homes at a time when rent is skyrocketing with no end in sight. Zohran is one of a limited few in this miserable, cowardly country who are willing to speak out for the rights of Palestinians being murdered en masse by Israel. A vote for Zohran is a vote for the idea that better things are possible and, if you ask me, I think we live in such dire times that we've begun to forget this fundamental truth: things do not have to be like this. We do not have to live under the jackboot of privatization and exploitation forever. That choice, however, is up to us.

I am forever skeptical of the power of the ballot box to enact lasting change, especially in recent years. In fact, I am the most skeptical of electoralism I have ever been. However, why is it that the right can use what little sovereignty and enfranchisement is available to us to enact sweeping, if devastating changes, and yet, when the opportunity presents itself to the left, all we hear is that such things are no better than pissing in the wind? The answer to this question, of course, is that the ruling class is perfectly content with a party that hinders rather than ushers in change. Zohran may be using the sclerotic party system we've been doomed to inhabit, but despite these limitations his candidacy has surged immensely in the last few months, and the momentum of the people is on his side. This may be one of the last chances wherein one can attempt a truly progressive campaign like this.

Now that things are heating up, the ruling class, the backers of Andrew Cuomo, an abuser of women and a man responsible for the untold deaths of the elderly because he valued profits over their lives so early on in the pandemic, will stop at nothing to make sure that Zohran Mamdani does not win, that things stay the same. That the rent goes up, that the grocery prices continue to explode, that New York City becomes the playground of the rich and famous at the expense of everyone else. The party will try to intervene in undemocratic ways just like they did with Bernie Sanders in the 2020 primary. There will be untold lies and accusations, the press will abandon what few journalistic obligations they still abide by, and it will get ugly. There are even rumors that Cuomo will run as an independent even if he loses the primary, which, to be honest, isn't a bad tactic -- he's just the worst guy to be using it.

I realize this post may be annoying to some (hell, I myself live in Chicago), and I'm sure there's some rightful criticism for my not having used my blog like this before. (However, for those of you who don't know, I usually write about all manner of politics in my column at The Nation!) That being said, if you follow me and you live in New York City, rank Zohran #1 and Brad Lander #2. DO NOT RANK SUBURBANITE BIKE LANE-PARKER ANDREW CUOMO.

Anyway, that's all. I'll be back with a new McMansion Hell this Friday, so stay tuned.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

The Roaring Knight encounter at the end of Chapter 3 is a masterclass at showing you that the REAL protagonist of Deltarune isn't Kris - it's Susie.

This doesn't really make much sense at first glance - you can't even really FIGHT the thing on equal footing without the Shadow Mantle, and to even get that Kris has to go through a harrowing gauntlet and fight a whole OTHER secret boss that doesn't even use the battle mechanics we've grown accustomed to. Kris Suffers to get that item, the one thing that can let them stand up to the Knight's merciless assaults. Hell, the game won't even let you retry if you lose until you have the Mantle in your possession. You would therefore assume that the Mantle belongs to Kris, and that they are the ones who should wear it.

And yet. Even when you don't have this item, who stands up to defy it? Susie. Who stops it from doing... whatever it was trying to do to Toriel, TWICE? Susie. And who gives chase across the boundary between light and dark, across the entirety of hometown, to stop it from abducting Undyne? Why, it's Susie. Her actions are those of a hero standing up to a terrible villain of unknowable power, and she does it without a shred of hesitation, even faced with the very real prospect of being killed.

And if that were it, it'd be kind of boring. But that's not it at all, because the reinforcement of this idea continues into the fight itself. Because if you can keep Susie alive for five turns, she starts monologuing against the boss, telling it how much it sucks and that she'll always have her friends behind her.

The Knight is presented to us as unknowable, invincible, unstoppable. Regular attacks bounce off of its absurdly high HP, it cannot be Checked like a normal enemy, attempts to reason with it fall on deaf ears. And yet, what's the one spell that can meaningfully hurt the Knight, to the point of temporarily disrupting its form? Susie's Rude Buster.

And then, when you throw yourself at the Knight again and again, trying to figure out its weakness, trying to outlast its brutal onslaught, it hits you - the Shadow Mantle does NOTHING for Kris in this fight, but it does EVERYTHING for Susie. Susie's the one doing all the damage. Susie's high HP perfectly compliments the shadow mantle's protection against the Knight's more absurd attacks. Ralsei has no way to meaningfully contribute to the fight at all, and while Kris can use Hold Breath to give the SOUL a boost, their utility begins and ends there. The most that either of them can really do is to act as TP and healing bots for Susie, and to equip weak armours that have beneficial effects, such as the TwinRibbon, Silver Watch, Blue Ribbon, TensionBow and Lodestone - the effects of these items persist regardless of whether the character wearing them is DOWNed or not, and, you guessed it, are equipped not to help them survive, but to allow them to support Susie even when incapacitated.

Then you start seeing it in other areas. Who is it that facilitates change in the other characters - Ralsei, Noelle, Berdly? Susie does, each and every time. She effortlessly upends their own myopic views of the world, defying them to change and be better, without even really realising that's what she's doing - is it any wonder that EVERYONE in the main cast seems to have a thing for her? She's magnetic in the way that heroes are, not despite her brashness and short temper but BECAUSE of them - because she cuts so effortlessly through the FICTIONS that other characters cling to, the stories they tell themselves about who they are, what they can do, and how they ought to be. Susie shatters those preconceptions and offers an alternative - live how you want to live, make the choices that you want to make, and let no-one else ever tell you who you are.

Susie is the hero of Deltarune, and the Roaring Knight's fight encapsulates why perfectly, without ever once drawing attention to the fact. It's sheer genius on Toby's part and I salute the skill with which it conveys those ideas in such an organic way.

[itendtothinkalot]

how to not fall in love

summary: you’ve been in love with heeseung for as long as you can remember, but to him, you’ve always just been the best friend—reliable, familiar, safe. so when you hear him say he doesn’t see you that way, you decide it’s time to stop. stop caring, stop hoping. but ignoring someone you’ve loved for years is harder than it sounds… especially when he starts acting like he doesn’t want you to stop.

genre: fluff | best friends to lovers

characters: best friend!heeseungx f!reader

words: 7.6k

warnings: none i think!

a/n: and here is my first enha fic!!!! <3<3 and yes heeseung is my bias

You don’t even remember when it started.

Maybe it was the first time Heeseung flashed you that ridiculously charming smile on your very first day of kindergarten—doe eyes, dimpled cheeks, and a shy little wave like he was offering you his entire heart with just a look.

Or maybe it was that time in middle school when he forgot there was a major history exam and you stayed up until 2 a.m. making color-coded flashcards for him, highlighters smudged on your fingers and worry tugging at your chest. He showed up the next morning at your door, hair a mess, holding a bag of greasy Chinese takeout and two cans of your favorite peach soda.

"Have I ever told you how much I love you?" he said, in that effortless, playful way of his, ruffling your hair like you were some helpful little puppy.

You laughed, but your heart did a triple somersault.

Love. He said it like it was casual.

Not knowing it felt like a confession to you.

Truth is, it only got worse from there.

Your unrequited love? It grew legs and started running wild.

You became that friend. The one in the front row of every basketball game, waving a glittery sign that said "LEE HEESEUNG" like your life depended on it. The one who always brought him coffee after his late-night study sessions, who memorized the snacks he liked at the convenience store, who texted him good luck before every presentation even though he always forgot yours.

And Heeseung would flash that same boyish grin—the one that made your knees a little weak—and casually sling an arm around your shoulders.

“Man, I don’t know who I am without you,” he’d say, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And you? You’d fall just a little harder.

Just a little. But it added up.

You didn’t mean for it to. You tried to keep your heart in check. But all those little things—the inside jokes, the shoulder bumps in the hallway, the way he said your name—slowly stitched themselves into something deeper. Something messier. Something real.

Heeseung never treated you like you were just anyone. That was the cruel part.

Like that time you got lost at one of his away games. You’d shown up early, too excited, only to realize you had no idea where to go. The school was huge, the gym impossible to find, and every hallway looked the same.

And then—there he was.

Heeseung, panting, scanning the sea of people until his eyes landed on you.

“There you are,” he breathed out, like he hadn’t just run halfway across campus. His brows furrowed like he was worried, and before you could say anything, he grabbed your wrist.

“C’mon,” he murmured, pulling you through the crowd like you were something precious he needed to protect. He didn’t let go—not even when the noise got louder or people jostled you. Somewhere along the way, he slid your bag off your shoulder and carried it himself.

He only let go once you were seated, right in the front row.

“There,” he said, still a little breathless. “Gotcha here safe and sound.”

Then he jogged off, leaving your heart pounding, your bag heavy in your lap, and a quiet kind of warmth blooming in your chest.

You found out later that he’d skipped the team’s pre-game drills just to look for you. As team captain, he was supposed to be rallying the others—but instead, he was making sure you weren’t lost.

Coach made him run three extra laps.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, guilt curling in your stomach.

Heeseung just laughed, brushing his damp hair back and flashing you that familiar grin. “It’s okay. I kinda liked looking for you.”

Moments like that—where he made you feel like the center of the universe—those were the hardest.

Because deep down, you always knew he didn’t see you the way you saw him.

The final straw came a few weeks later.

You’d been waiting by the bleachers again, holding his jacket like you always did, when you overheard Jake teasing him.

“She’s here again. You two are practically glued together. You sure you’re not… boinking?”

Heeseung laughed. “Boinking?”

Your heart fluttered. Just a little.

Then he said it. With zero hesitation.

“She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.”

Friend.

The word echoed in your head like a slap.

And just like that, something inside you snapped.

The next morning, you opened your journal, flipped to a blank page, and wrote in bold, all-caps letters:

HOW TO NOT FALL IN LOVE (feat. Lee Heeseung)

Goal: Stop giving a damn about Lee Heeseung. Duration: One month.

And for the first time in forever, you meant it.

Really, really meant it.

—

The next day at school, you walked through the gates with an air of fake confidence and a heart wrapped in duct tape. This was it. Day one. 

No more overshooting your texts to Heeseung. No more waiting by the court with his water bottle. No more volunteering to help him with homework he didn’t even remember to start. He was perfectly capable of surviving without you.

Probably.

But the moment you saw him in the courtyard, laughing at something Jake said, your heart betrayed you.

Your hand lifted in an automatic wave before you even realized what you were doing. And—ugh—was that a smile forming?

You gasped like you'd caught yourself mid-crime and yanked your hand back down with enough force to nearly dislocate your shoulder. You spun around so fast your bag almost knocked over a freshman. You tried to act cool, casually pretending the ground was the most fascinating thing you'd ever seen.

Behind you, Heeseung paused, confused. He blinked. Tilted his head. Squinted at your retreating back like he was trying to solve a very strange math equation.

But then he shrugged it off. Probably nothing.

Probably.

Too bad he didn’t know this was just the beginning of the end.

—-

“This little tough girl act,” Sunghoon said with a smirk, reaching into your popcorn bucket like he had every right. “How long do you think it’s going to last?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, pulling the bucket closer. “Keep your hands out of my popcorn, you menace.”

Out on the court, Heeseung was practicing, all focused determination and smooth movements. You were trying—not entirely successfully—not to watch him. You’d even worn sunglasses. Indoors. As if they could protect your heart.

“Come on,” Sunghoon drawled. “Don’t pretend I didn’t see you freeze up this morning when he smiled at you like a puppy with a college degree.”

You exhaled sharply. “It was a momentary lapse in judgment.”

“Right. And I’m the Prime Minister of Canada.”

With a dramatic sigh, you leaned back against the bleachers. “I’m serious this time. One month. No more hopeless pining. No more letting him carry my bag like we’re a couple. No more doodling ‘Mr. and Mrs. Heeseung’ in the margins of my notebooks.”

“You still do that?”

“I–No.”

Sunghoon laughed under his breath.

You risked a glance at the court.

Mistake.

Heeseung dribbled the ball between his legs and sank a perfect shot, his lips tugging into that maddeningly confident smile, turning to you..

And, shamefully, you made a noise. A small, undignified sound that gave you away entirely.

Sunghoon gave you a long, knowing look. “You’re doomed.”

“I am not doomed,” you said, clutching your popcorn like a shield. “I’m just... recalibrating. This is emotional detox.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re detoxing the way someone digs a chocolate wrapper out of the trash.”

You groaned. “Why are you even here?”

“Free snacks. And the immense satisfaction of watching you pretend you’ve moved on.”

You stuffed a handful of popcorn in your mouth, avoiding his gaze. Because, regrettably, he wasn’t wrong.

And worse? You missed Heeseung. More than you cared to admit. Everything reminded you of him. A bouncing basketball. A laugh down the hallway. A lamppost that was, in your defense, approximately his height and general vibe.

This was going to be the longest month of your life.

—

Heeseung was starting to notice.

At first, it was little things. You stopped walking with him after class. You sat further away during lunch. You didn’t show up at practice with your usual energy, pretending to be absorbed in something else when he looked your way. It was subtle but to him, it felt like someone had lowered the volume on his favorite song.

He found himself scanning the bleachers more than usual, eyes flicking toward the spots where you usually sat, only to find them empty or occupied by someone else. You were still around, just... not with him.

Jake noticed first.

“You good?” he asked during water break, glancing at Heeseung who was frowning at his phone.

“Yeah,” Heeseung replied, not looking up. “I just... I don’t know. Have you talked to her lately?”

Jake raised a brow. “She was literally just at lunch.”

“She barely said a word to me.”

Jake took a long sip from his bottle. “Maybe she’s busy.”

Heeseung nodded, but it didn’t feel like busy. It felt like... distant. Like you were pulling away, and he didn’t know why.

He scrolled back through your messages. There weren’t any unread ones. Just a few recent texts from him that you’d responded to with short answers. No smiley faces. No exclamation marks. Just plain, flat replies.

And it bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

He was used to your messages being filled with too many emojis, random inside jokes, and links to memes you knew he’d find stupid but would laugh at anyway. You hadn’t even sent him your usual “good luck” before the last game.

Heeseung didn’t say anything out loud, but he could feel it—a little ache forming. Like something was shifting. Like something he’d taken for granted was slipping away.

And he didn’t know how to ask you why.

—

You were power-walking down the hallway like a woman on a mission—head high, steps brisk, thoughts screaming something along the lines of Do not look back. Do not turn around. You are ice. You are steel. You are—

“Hey!”

You nearly tripped over your own feet.

Heeseung.

You turned around slowly—casually, you hoped—and gave him what you prayed was a totally normal smile. Not awkward. Not panicked. Not like your internal monologue was screaming.

“Oh! Hi,” you said, like your voice hadn’t just jumped an octave.

He jogged the last few steps to reach you, a little out of breath, but still managing that soft, easy smile of his. “Didn’t see you after practice this week.”

“Oh,” you said quickly. “Yeah, I’ve just been… around. Super busy.”

“Busy?” he echoed, tilting his head slightly. “With?”

You blinked. “Uh, Yearbook Committee.”

His brows knit together. “I didn’t know you were in the Yearbook Committee.”

“I’m… new,” you added, voice trailing off as your brain gave up on its own excuse.

There was a beat of silence, but he didn’t push. Just nodded slowly, like he was trying to make sense of it all.

Then he smiled again—gentle, like always. “Well, I was just wondering if you were free to—”

“Oh no, sorry!” you cut in, way too fast. “I have to go walk Sunghoon.”

He blinked. “Walk... Sunghoon? The third year student from Algebra?”

“Yes,” you said, forcing a bright smile. “He’s full of energy. If I don’t walk him, he gets cranky. Like a puppy.”

He stared at you, clearly confused. His lips parted like he wanted to ask another question, but instead, he just... laughed. Not a mocking laugh—more like he didn’t quite know what else to do with this absurd turn of conversation.

“Okay. Well… I guess I’ll see you later then?”

“Yup! Later!” you squeaked, turning around so fast you nearly dropped your bag.

You could feel his gaze on you as you walked away—light, warm, lingering. Like he was trying to figure you out.

And you? You were trying not to look back. Trying not to feel how much you missed being around him. How much you wanted to stay.

Because the truth was: you missed him. You missed you with him.

But you’d started something. And for now, you had to stick to it.

Even if it sucked.

—

Heeseung swore something was off.

You weren’t gone, exactly. You still passed him in the hallways. Still laughed a little too loudly with Sunghoon and Jay at lunch. Still wore that bright-colored scarf he once said made you look like a strawberry popsicle.

But you weren’t with him.

Not the way you used to be.

He sat on the edge of the court after practice, towel around his neck, eyes scanning the bleachers again. He hated how natural the motion had become. How instinctive it was to search for you—even when he knew you wouldn’t be there.

Jake flopped down beside him, cracking open a sports drink. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Heeseung muttered.

“You don’t sound like it.”

Heeseung shrugged, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Have you noticed... she’s been different?”

Jake raised a brow. “You mean how she’s not orbiting you like a lovesick planet anymore?”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “That’s not what I meant.”

Jake took a slow sip of his drink. “Isn’t it?”

Heeseung didn’t answer.

Because maybe it was what he meant.

Maybe he had gotten used to you being everywhere. At his games. At his side. Texting him about nothing and everything. Laughing at his dumb jokes. Holding out his bag like it belonged more to you than to him.

And now? Now the silence felt sharp. Uncomfortable.

He scrolled through his messages again. No new ones from you. The last conversation ended with your half-hearted “haha yeah” two days ago.

You didn’t even send him a good luck text before his test today. You always sent him one. Usually something stupid like “Don’t choke! But if you do, make it dramatic so you can retake it with pity points.” It used to make him laugh. It used to calm him down.

Today, he hadn’t laughed before the test.

And he hadn’t done all that well, either.

He sighed, tipping his head back against the wall of the gym.

He didn’t know what had changed. But something had.

And he was starting to think he really didn’t like it.

—

Heeseung wasn’t looking for you.

He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent was not looking for you.

He just happened to glance over at the courtyard. That’s all.

And okay, maybe his eyes landed on you instantly—like a magnet snapping into place. You were standing with Sunghoon and Jay, your laugh bright and easy, head tipped back like you didn’t have a single worry in the world.

And then Sunghoon did it.

He leaned in and ruffled your hair.

Casual. Familiar.

Too familiar.

Heeseung’s stomach twisted.

He didn’t understand it at first. Not really. He just kept staring, a weird sort of tightness building in his chest, like something was pressing down on him. And then—just to make it worse—Sunghoon said something that made you laugh again. You reached out and lightly shoved his shoulder, still smiling, completely unaware of the storm brewing across the courtyard.

Jake noticed immediately.

“You’re staring again,” he said, biting into an apple with all the serenity of someone enjoying the drama but pretending not to.

“I’m not,” Heeseung muttered.

“Your eyes haven’t left her for five minutes.”

“I’m just… wondering what they’re talking about.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “You mean, what she and Sunghoon are talking about?”

Heeseung said nothing.

Jake smirked. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’re just planning their wedding. Probably picking out the cake flavor right now.”

“Shut up.”

Jake laughed. “So this is jealousy, huh?”

“It’s not jealousy.”

“Oh yeah, no, of course not. You're just glaring at Sunghoon like you’re mentally photoshopping him out of existence for completely unrelated reasons.”

Heeseung turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

It wasn’t like he had a claim on you. You could hang out with whoever you wanted. Laugh at anyone’s jokes. Let anyone ruffle your hair.

So why did it feel like something in him was unraveling?

—

Heeseung wasn’t sure what was bothering him, but he knew something felt... off.

You were still around—at lunch, in the halls, in some of your shared classes—but somehow, you were always just out of reach. If he turned one way, you turned the other. If he called your name, someone else answered for you. It was subtle. Strategic.

And frustrating.

Now, walking alone down the hallway, books tucked under one arm, the other gripping his backpack strap, he found his thoughts drifting back to you. Again.

Jake wasn’t there to tease him for it today, off doing who-knows-what, so for once it was just Heeseung and the quiet, creeping ache of your absence.

And then he saw you.

You were halfway down the corridor, walking like you had somewhere to be, light on your feet as always. Maybe it was the way you moved like you had a secret no one else knew or maybe it was just that he hadn’t really seen you in days. Not properly. Not up close.

Before he could stop himself, his hand reached out, catching you gently by the wrist.

“Hey,” he said, smiling before he realized it.

You blinked up at him, startled. “Huh?”

“It’s been a while since I walked you home,” Heeseung said, tilting his head slightly, trying to sound casual. “Want to go together?”

You froze. Your mind scrambled for an excuse—any excuse.

But he was already one step ahead of you.

“You don’t have Debate. Or Yearbook Committee,” he added knowingly. “And I don’t have practice today.”

You exhaled sharply. Damn him for remembering your fake clubs.

“…Sure,” you murmured, defeated.

He smiled again and reached for your backpack, tugging the straps gently off your shoulders so he could carry it for you—like he always did. Like nothing had changed.

The two of you fell into step, walking side by side. Your arms brushed once. Then again. Each time, a jolt of electricity shot up your spine.

“So,” he said after a pause, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, “did you get an A?”

You blinked. “What?”

“The math test,” he clarified. “You were stressing about it for, like, a week. Mr. Kim probably handed it back by now. I’m assuming my smart girl did well?”

Your lips parted slightly.

He remembered?

A slow smile tugged at your lips. “First in class,” you announced proudly. “Take that, Jake Sim.”

Heeseung laughed, the sound warm and familiar. “Good. Someone’s got to put him in his place.”

Then, without warning, he reached over and ruffled your hair. “Proud of you.”

Your heart launched itself into your throat.

His fingers lingered a moment too long, just enough to make you dizzy before pulling away like nothing had happened. Like your world hadn’t just turned upside down.

Typical Heeseung.

You were just trying not to propose.

At the crosswalk, as the light turned red, he reached out again—this time gently guiding you by the elbow, pulling you closer to him.

“There was a bike coming,” he said, eyes on the road ahead.

You squinted. The bike was a speck in the distance. Miles away.

But his hand stayed there.

Just resting.

Light. Thoughtless. Careful.

You swallowed hard.

If he was going to keep doing things like this, you needed revenge. You needed balance. You needed him to second-guess everything the way you did.

So you stopped walking and tugged his arm slightly.

Heeseung turned, confused. “What’s wr—”

And then you stepped in.

Too close.

Your fingers reached up, brushing against the base of his neck as you adjusted the collar of his uniform. It was crooked—only slightly—but you took your time, smoothing the fabric with slow, deliberate movements.

Your knuckles grazed his skin.

He inhaled sharply.

His shoulders stiffened.

And suddenly, the effortlessly charming Lee Heeseung looked completely out of his depth. Like you were the one throwing him off balance now.

His gaze dropped—eyes flicking from your face, to your lips, then quickly back up again.

Heeseung swore he could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

You finished adjusting his collar and smiled up at him—soft, proud, just a little smug.

“There,” you murmured, patting it into place. “All fixed.”

He blinked.

Swallowed.

“…Thanks,” he managed, voice lower than usual, a little hoarse.

And then because apparently his brain had melted, he turned on his heel and walked ahead a little too quickly.

“Slow down!” you called after him with a grin. “Not all of us have basketball player legs, you know.”

He didn’t answer, but you could see the tips of his ears turning red.

—

The walk home with Heeseung did something to you.

Something bad.

You missed him more than you thought you would. Not in a soft, quiet way—but in a way that gnawed at your chest like a small, aggressive squirrel.

Everything reminded you of him. A fork. A book you’d never read. Even Jay’s left toe (don’t ask, you didn’t know why either). You couldn’t stop thinking about him—his laugh, the way his eyes sparkled when he was excited, the little way he tilted his head when he was listening.

You were, quite frankly, losing it.

Your Lee Heeseung withdrawals were at an all-time high.

Every time you saw him across the room or heard someone say his name, your heart did a thing and your brain spiraled like a bad romcom montage. You were whiny. Pathetically so.

Jay, ever the long-suffering saint, was reaching his limit.

You clung to his jacket sleeve dramatically, voice pitched high with despair. “I can’t do this, Jay. I miss him so much. Why is this so hard?”

Jay gave you a deadpan look that could only be described as emotionally done. With a sigh that came from the depths of his soul, he turned and made a beeline toward the shop’s earplug section.

“If you don’t just tell him how you feel,” he muttered, “I’m going to lose my entire mind.”

You chased after him, still attached to his sleeve like a ghost with commitment issues. “But I can’t! He doesn’t even like me like that!”

Jay stopped in front of the shelf, scanning the rows of earplugs like he was shopping for peace. “What if he does, huh?” he shot back, a little too fast. “This whole walk home story you just told me—it doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You froze. The words you’d overheard days ago came rushing back: She’s cute. A great friend. But I don’t see her that way.

The echo of it still stung.

You let go of Jay’s sleeve and crossed your arms, suddenly quiet. “I heard him, Jay,” you said softly. “He told Jake I was just a friend.”

Jay looked at you. Really looked at you.

And then he grinned.

“Are you laughing at me right now?” You smacked his arm, thoroughly offended.

“It’s just—” he choked back a laugh. “I could’ve sworn that guy was practically drooling over you.”

You scowled. “Well, clearly you’re wrong.”

Jay shook his head, dramatically dropping a pair of foam earplugs into the basket. “Okay, look. So what if he said that? Guys say dumb things all the time. Heeseung’s probably still catching up to his own feelings.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

Jay raised an eyebrow. “Come on. You’re not the type to wait around forever. If you like him, say something. Stop pretending you don’t care.”

You groaned. “Fine, fine! I’ll think about it.”

“You’ve been thinking about it for three years,” Jay replied, clearly unimpressed.

You crossed your arms and pouted. “You don’t get a say.”

“Oh, but I do.” He popped the earplugs into his ears with a triumphant smirk.

“You’re the worst,” you muttered.

Jay tilted his head dramatically. “Sorry, what was that? Can’t hear you over the peace I bought for $2.99.”

—

That night, Heeseung lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all of life’s biggest questions.

Unfortunately, it did not.

He shifted. Then again. Then once more for dramatic effect. The blanket felt too warm. The pillow was suddenly too flat. Everything was wrong.

But mostly? It was the thoughts. You.

The walk home played on a loop in his mind, like a scene from a movie he couldn’t turn off. He could still feel how close you’d stood to him, the way your arm brushed his, how your fingers had grazed his neck when you fixed his collar. The soft sound of your laughter still echoed in his ears. It was... cute.

Too cute.

Heeseung sighed and rolled onto his side, shoving his face into the pillow.

You had always been his best friend. His safe person. You were fun and loud and comfortably chaotic. You made everything feel easy. But lately, being around you hadn’t felt easy—it felt... intense. 

And ever since Jake had made that dumb “are you dating” comment, the idea had rooted itself in his brain like a stubborn weed. He tried to shake it, but it kept growing. Fast.

He used to think about you in a simple way—someone he could count on. Someone who’d be there with snacks and jokes and glittery signs with his name. But now?

Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the tiny flecks of color in your eyes. Or how your laugh made his chest feel tight. Or how you’d smiled up at him after fixing his collar like you had no idea he was short-circuiting.

He groaned again and rolled onto his stomach.

This was bad. He was in trouble.

—-

Across town, in a room filled with fluffy pillows and heartbreak, you were also wide awake.

Staring at the ceiling. Then the wall. Then your blanket. Then the ceiling again.

You sighed and ran your fingers over the threads of your comforter like they held answers the universe refused to give.

Everything reminded you of Heeseung. Your school notes. Your chipped nail polish. The way your lamp was slightly tilted—he was the one who’d knocked it over during your last movie night.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Was this what pining felt like? Not just the longing or the ache—but the sheer, annoying presence of him in everything? Your brain had become a highlight reel of his smiles, his voice, his laugh. It was embarrassing.

Still… there was a part of you that wondered.

Maybe he felt it too.

You weren’t imagining it, right? The way he looked at you lately—like he was really seeing you. The way his fingers had lingered on your arm a little longer than necessary. The way he had remembered your test, remembered your nerves, and had been genuinely proud of you.

Your heart did a stupid, hopeful little flutter.

But the thought of confessing? Saying it out loud?

You rolled onto your side and buried your face in a pillow.

What if it changed everything? What if he didn’t feel the same? What if he looked at you like you were ridiculous—or worse, like you were just some girl with a dumb, one-sided crush?

Still.

What if he did feel something?

You both lay in your beds that night, across the city, wrapped in your own blankets and your own thoughts—completely unaware that the other was doing the exact same thing.

Thinking about you.

Thinking about him.

—

“Hey, look who it is!” Jake nudged Heeseung with his elbow, already grinning like a devil who’d spotted drama on the horizon.

You looked up, eyes widening as you spotted the two of them heading toward you. There was no time to escape. No possible exits. Just Heeseung, Jake, and a hallway suddenly way too small.

You and Heeseung locked eyes.

And just like that, the walk home replayed itself in your head. The brush of his hand against yours. The weight of your bag over his shoulder. The way he’d looked at you when you smiled at him. You swallowed.

“Uh… hey,” you said, lifting a small, awkward wave. Your voice came out two pitches too high, like someone had sat on the remote.

“Hey,” Heeseung replied, mirroring your stiffness with a half-hearted wave of his own. He was smiling, kind of, but it was tight—uncertain. His heart was pounding. His brain? Completely blank.

Jake, of course, was having the time of his life. “Wow,” he said cheerfully. “This is fun.”

“I—I have to go to the restroom!” you blurted, pointing wildly in the wrong direction before fleeing like a sitcom character mid-episode.

Heeseung stood there, watching you disappear around the corner, every nerve in his body buzzing. His legs felt like jelly. His chest? Tense. His thoughts? Loud.

By the time he stumbled into the locker room, he collapsed dramatically onto the floor like a man defeated.

“I think…” he muttered into the floor, “I might have feelings for her.”

Jake, already sprawled on the coach’s beanbag, didn’t even flinch. He was too busy chewing on a piece of licorice to care.

“Oh, welcome to the club,” he said, voice muffled. “I’ve been a member since the year you told her she looked pretty in green face paint during our third-grade Wicked play.”

Heeseung didn’t react. He just stood up and started pacing—back and forth, back and forth—like his thoughts might rearrange themselves if he walked hard enough.

“I—no, I really like her, Jake.”

Jake raised a hand lazily, like a talk show host mid-monologue. “Please. Continue. This is riveting.”

“I just... I don’t get it. I didn’t realize it before, but now? Now I can’t stop thinking about her. Everything reminds me of her. Like, she fixed my collar yesterday and I think I blacked out for a second.”

Jake popped another licorice into his mouth. “Gross. Cute. But gross.”

“I feel like,” Heeseung continued, running a hand through his hair, “when she’s around, everything just makes sense. And when she’s not? It’s like something’s missing. It’s stupid.”

“Cringe,” Jake said dramatically, slumping deeper into the beanbag. “Do all crushes feel this emotionally inconvenient? If so, I want out.”

Heeseung shot him a glare. “Are you ever helpful?”

“Emotionally? No,” Jake said with a straight face. “But I do hand out brutal honesty like candy.”

Heeseung groaned, flopping onto the bench next to him. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I tell her and she— I don’t know—ghosts me?”

Jake rolled his eyes. “You’re being ridiculous. You’ve been losing your mind for days because she didn’t bring you water after practice. You have hands. Hydrate yourself.”

Heeseung let out a pained noise and buried his face in his hands.

“Just tell her,” Jake said with a shrug. “Worst case, she doesn’t feel the same. But I’m 99.7% sure she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Heeseung muttered into his palms. “And what if I look like an idiot?”

Jake leaned back, tossed a licorice stick in the air, and caught it with practiced ease. “Buddy, you already look like an idiot. Might as well make it romantic.”

Heeseung lifted his head just enough to glare at him.

Jake grinned. “Start simple. Tell her she’s cute. That’s it. It works. Trust me.”

Heeseung blinked. “That’s it? Just ‘you’re cute’?”

Jake nodded. “You’d be shocked how well that lands when you mean it.”

Heeseung stared at him, unconvinced. “You’ve said that to how many people?”

Jake smirked. “Doesn’t matter. It’s worked every time. I am very charming.”

Heeseung groaned again. “I’m not you, Jake.”

Jake sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I know. Which is why this is a 50-50 shot for you. But hey—if you don’t end up with her, can I ask her out?”

Heeseung shot him a death glare.

“Just kidding,” Jake said quickly. Then he paused. “Mostly.”

—-

It all started during lunch.

Jake leaned across the table, eyes gleaming with evil genius energy. “Operation ‘Make Them Walk Home Together So They Finally Kiss or at Least Make Prolonged Eye Contact Without Panic’ is officially in motion.”

Jay blinked. “That's… a terrible name.”

Sunghoon took a bite of his sandwich. “I kinda love it.”

Jake waved a hand. “Name pending. Point is—we trap them. She thinks she’s walking with you two. He thinks he’s walking with me. And then? We disappear. Vanish. Leave them alone. Together. With no backup.”

Jay tilted his head. “And what? Hope the romantic tension forces a confession?”

Jake smirked. “Exactly.”

Sunghoon raised a brow. “This feels like emotional entrapment.”

“It is. And it’s working,” Jake said proudly. “Heeseung’s got it so bad he thought she had a thing for you.”

Sunghoon choked. “Me?”

Jay snorted into his drink. “You do ruffle her hair a lot.”

“Because she’s cute! Like a little puppy!” Sunghoon exclaimed, scandalized.

Jake shrugged. “Well, he’s spiraling. Yesterday he saw you hand her a pen and he went silent for ten whole seconds.”

Sunghoon blinked. “That’s... tragic.”

Jay leaned back in his chair, visibly entertained. “I’m in. For the record, not because I care, but her whining is starting to affect my appetite.”

“Same,” said Sunghoon. “We were on FaceTime for 2 hours and most of it was about Heeseung. I fell asleep after 10 minutes.”

Jake clapped his hands together. “Excellent. Gentlemen, you know your roles. Subtle distraction, coordinated exit, zero guilt.”

Jay raised a brow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

“I’ve earned it,” Jake said, already standing. “He stole my last banana milk. This is revenge and service to the nation.”

—-

“Crap,” he muttered. “I forgot my earbuds in the music room.”

Jay snapped his fingers. “Oh shoot. Me too. I left my jacket in the library.”

You raised a brow. “You two always forget things at the same time.”

They both grinned. Suspiciously.

“It’s twin telepathy,” Jay said, winking.

“You’re not twins,” you deadpanned.

“We are in spirit,” Sunghoon added, already stepping backward toward the school building.

Before you could protest, they were both jogging away, waving casually.

“We’ll catch up!” Jay called over his shoulder.

“We swear!” Sunghoon added.

You stood there for a moment, blinking in confusion. “...Okay?”

Then you turned around.

And there he was.

Heeseung.

Standing a few feet away, also holding his bag, looking around like he had just been ditched by someone.

Your eyes met.

Both of you froze.

Heeseung blinked. “Wait… where’s Jake?”

“I... thought he was with you?”

He furrowed his brows. “He texted me like five minutes ago saying we’d walk home together.”

You glanced down at your phone, where a suspiciously vague message from Sunghoon read: “Don’t wait for us. You got this.”

Your stomach dropped.

You looked back up at Heeseung. His phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked at you with slowly widening eyes.

Jake’s message: “Have fun ;)”

There was a beat of silence.

You both stood there.

Just you.

And Heeseung.

And an entire empty sidewalk.

“Oh,” you said softly.

Heeseung scratched the back of his neck. “So... I guess we’re walking together.”

You gave a weak laugh. “Guess we are.”

Silence.

Then, at the exact same time:

“You don’t have to if—” “We can walk separately if—”

You both stopped.

Then laughed.

And for a moment, just a moment, the awkwardness melted. Heeseung smiled—not his usual big grin, but something softer. Warmer. Like he wasn’t so mad about being ditched.

“Let’s just walk,” he said. “Might as well.”

And even though your heart was pounding and you were still very much aware that your so-called friends had just shoved you into a live wire of unresolved tension...

You nodded.

“Yeah. Okay.”

So you walked.

Side by side.

You weren’t sure how Jay and Sunghoon managed to get you walking next to Heeseung but you were sure it had something to do with Heeseung’s ratty friend Jake.

Heeseung shuffled beside you, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying to ignore the weird tension in the air. You, on the other hand, kept your eyes fixed on the road ahead, trying to think of something to say, but nothing came out. It was funny how just a few days ago, this silence would’ve been comfortable—soft, even. But now it felt a little too loud. A little too full.

Suddenly, Heeseung’s foot caught on a small rock, and before he could stop it, he stumbled forward, arms flailing like one of those inflatable tube men outside a car dealership.

“Hee!” you yelped, half-laughing, half-panicked.

Heeseung straightened up, cheeks flushed, but laughing anyway. “Oh, so now you’re laughing at my near-death experience?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry—are you okay?” you teased, though you made no effort to hide your giggles.

“Yeah,” he nodded, brushing imaginary dust off his knees. “Just bruised my pride, that’s all. I think the rock has a vendetta.”

The laughter between you settled, but the tension lingered like steam on a bathroom mirror. You shifted on your feet, exhaling softly. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been acting weird. I’ve just been… going through some stuff.”

Heeseung tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “What kind of stuff?”

You shrugged. “It’s nothing.”

“Are you sure?” he nudged your shoulder gently. “You used to tell me everything. Even the time you cried because your goldfish ignored you for two days.”

“Nugget was emotionally manipulative,” you mumbled.

Heeseung grinned. “Still, I miss that. Not Nugget—just... when you talked to me.”

Your cheeks burned. You ducked your head. “It’s just... a little personal.”

Heeseung narrowed his eyes playfully. “Like, family personal? Friends personal? Or…” He leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was about to drop a bombshell. “Boy problems?”

You cleared your throat, refusing to meet his eyes. “I guess… the last one?”

He went still beside you.

“Oh…” he said, and his voice had that very specific tone guys get when they’re trying to sound neutral but are actually spiraling.

“So you’re going out with someone?”

“What?! No!” You waved your hands frantically. “I just… I don’t know. It’s stupid. I don’t really wanna talk about it.”

“Oh, come on. Please?” he stopped in his tracks, grabbing both your hands in his and squeezing them dramatically. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t know. Think of my well-being.”

You sighed, glancing away. “Fine. It’s just… I think I like someone, and I’m not sure how to tell him.”

Heeseung swore he felt his soul leave his body. You liked someone? Was it… Was it that no-good, pretty-boy Park Sunghoon? Heeseung should’ve stuck with ballet when he was five. Or maybe joined drama. Something, anything, to compete.

“Is it Sunghoon?” he asked before he could stop himself.

You blinked at him, then let out a laugh that was way too loud for the empty sidewalk. “Ew?! No!”

He looked utterly baffled. “What? You’ve been hanging out with him a lot lately, and he’s always ruffling your hair and whatever.”

“He’s just a friend, Hee,” you said gently. But when your eyes dropped to the pavement, something about it made his stomach twist.

A silence settled between you before Heeseung cleared his throat, voice a little hoarse. “Well… you should just tell him.”

You raised a brow. “Oh, should I?”

He nodded, trying to keep his tone even. “Yeah. You’re... pretty. Funny. Smart. If he doesn’t like you back, then he’s probably an idiot. Or stupid. Or a fool.” He paused. “Or all three. Simultaneously.”

You snorted. “Funny you’d say that.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You waved it off. “What about you? What would you do if you liked someone?”

Heeseung hummed, pretending to think. “I’d probably always wanna hang out with them. Walk them home.”

You nodded. “Mhm.”

“Have them at all my basketball games. Cheering me on.”

“Right, you wouldn’t want your girlfriend missing those,” you mused.

He nodded solemnly. “Yeah. And it’d totally suck if she stopped showing up to practice too. Especially when the whole team’s used to seeing her in the bleachers... eating snacks loudly.”

“I see how that would suck,” you said, biting your lip to hide a grin.

“I’d also wanna protect her. From oncoming bikes. Sudden rainstorms. Teachers who give pop quizzes.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Protect her from quizzes? What is this, magical girlfriend armor?”

Heeseung smirked. “Exactly. I’d be her human shield.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart was thudding in your chest.

“And in case she’s, I don’t know... absolute trash at directions?” he continued. “I’d wait for her. Walk her home. Walk her wherever she wanted to go. Be her personal GPS. And not even charge her.”

You muttered, “Wow. What a bargain.”

“I’d also probably carry her bag,” he added, like it was a casual afterthought—as if he wasn’t literally carrying yours right now.

You puffed your cheeks, trying to play it cool. “Okay, let’s move on to the next topic.”

“I kinda like this topic, though.”

“We get it. You’ll treat her like a princess,” you mumbled.

Heeseung laughed. “How are you not getting it?”

“Getting what?”

“Alright, fine. Let’s make it easier.” He took a deep breath and started counting on his fingers. “Who has never missed a single one of my basketball games?”

You squinted. “Uh... Jake?”

He facepalmed. “Someone not on the team.”

“Me?” you blinked. “I don’t under—”

“Who has no sense of direction?”

“Me?”

“And who always helps that person find their way?”

“You?”

He gave you a flat look. “So... do you catch my drift?”

You stared at him blankly. “No?”

He groaned. “Okay. Last question. Whose bag am I carrying right now?”

“…Mine?”

He smiled at you, exasperated and fond. “Exactly.”

Your heart pounded in your chest like it was trying to make a dramatic exit.

So, hesitantly, you whispered, “What are you saying?”

Heeseung let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. Then, like it physically hurt him to keep it in a second longer, he blurted, “For god’s sake, I’m telling you I’m in love with you.”

Your breath caught.

“I. Love. You,” he repeated, staring at you like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“Oh.”

Heeseung groaned loudly, dragging his hands down his face. “Oh? That’s it? After all that?!”

“I—I mean—” You sputtered, brain rebooting. “I didn’t think—”

“God, you’re so dense,” he muttered, but the way he said it was so soft it made your knees weak.

You swallowed. “Say it again.”

He paused, then leaned in slightly, a small smile playing on his lips. “I love you.”

You grinned, cheeks on fire. “Good. Because the guy I like is you.”

Heeseung blinked. “Yeah. I know.”

Your jaw dropped. “Am I that obvious?”

“No, but I kinda figured when you started scowling after the third time I described how I’d treat my ‘potential girlfriend.’”

You let out a groan, covering your face. “Ugh.”

He laughed, slinging an arm over your shoulders like he’d been waiting years to do that. “It was cute. You’re cute.”

“You can’t blame me for overthinking when you—YOU!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You told Jake I was just a friend!”

Heeseung froze, eyes wide. “You heard that?!”

You nodded—hard. “Word for word. ‘She’s cute, a great friend, but I don’t see her that way.’ Ring any bells?”

He winced like he’d just been personally attacked by a ghost of his own idiocy. “Okay, wow. That sounded so much worse than I meant—”

“You think?” you snapped, crossing your arms tightly. “Do you know what it’s like to hear the person you’ve liked for years say something like that? To be standing there, holding your dumb varsity jacket like some lovesick intern, while you laugh at the idea of liking me?”

Heeseung opened his mouth, but you weren’t done.

“You don’t get to say you love me now and expect it to just erase that.”

His face dropped. For a moment, he looked completely lost for words—completely unlike the smug, charming boy who used to ruffle your hair and make your heart do gymnastics.

“I know,” he said finally, voice soft. “I know I messed that up. I thought... if I said it out loud, it’d make it less real. That if I kept calling you my best friend, I wouldn’t have to deal with how badly I wanted more.”

You blinked, arms slowly falling to your sides.

“I didn’t get it until you weren’t there,” he continued, gaze fixed on yours. “Until I looked for you everywhere and hated that you weren’t looking for me back. That you weren’t smiling at me like you used to. That you started smiling at Sunghoon instead—who, by the way, I totally thought you had a crush on, which sent me into a minor emotional spiral.”

You snorted before you could stop yourself. “You spiral?”

“I laid on the locker room floor for twenty-five minutes while Jake threw licorice at my face.”

That image alone almost broke your resolve.

Almost.

“I need you to know,” Heeseung said, his voice gentler now, “I was scared. But that doesn’t make it fair to you. And I don’t expect you to forget it overnight. But I meant what I said. I love you. Stupidly. Probably too much. And I’ll wait for you to believe that.”

You stared at him. And he stared back—like he didn’t mind if you took a second or an hour or a whole year to respond. As long as you were looking at him again.

Your heart beat so loud, you were almost sure he could hear it.

You swallowed. “Dropping the L-word before our first date is kinda crazy.”

Heeseung gave a sheepish smile, scratching the back of his neck. “Right. Sorry. I should’ve started with ‘like.’”

You looked down at the ground, then back up at him.

And smiled—softly, finally. “No. I like crazy.”

[jaxon-exe]

I’ve seen that future…

If you had told Danny that joining the justice league would mean getting up at the ass crack of dawn to go to some stupid meeting, he never would have joined. Well that not fully true but he might have agreed to have a Zata tube installed in Amity. Even with how much he hates those things it still seems like a better idea now that he is flying through space trying to catch up with this stupid satellite. He was already late thanks to Skulker, which means he missed his perfectly times window to catch the watchtower in orbit so now he’s here playing catch up.

He didn’t even bother to slow down from his Mach 20 pace when he reached it. Just turned intangible and shot through the window into the meeting room. He was expecting to get scolded for being late. Or for his dramatic entrance but he was not expecting the other members to not notice him at all on account of them arguing.

Taking the golden opportunity to get out of a scolding, (he did not want to be the victim of another bat glare) he kept he’s mouth shut and floated down to Hal. Who seemed to be sulking off to the side of the fight. “Dude, what’s gonna on?”

“Batman,” the name was spat like a curse. “Had plans on how to take us all out.” Hal waved to the screen before him, inviting Danny to look.

“Really?” He floated to the screen, seeing files with each leaguer’s name. After a moment of hesitation, he clicked on his own.

“Yeah! Can you fucking believe this?” Hal growled out. “He planned on how to kill us all and is now acting like we’re the unreasonable ones.” Danny would normally be shaken by Hal’s anger. The guy so rarely got truly anger that it startled Danny every time. In that moment however he couldn’t bring his attention way from the screen. It was a decent plan. Risky, unlikely to work but decent. The fact Batman did this at all though. “You think you know a guy, right? Phantom?” Hal asked when he saw the ghost wasn’t responding to him.

Before he could continue his questioning Phantom shot off across the room. All leaguers that could keep up with the ghost speed braces from a fight when they saw him heading straight for Batman. They were anger with him yeah but they didn’t want him dead. They all knew Phantom was physically capable of doing that and had only seen him fly this fast in battle.

Their concern turned to confusion however when Danny stopped dead still just before the dark knight. Looking the man over before reaching to the side, Danny’s hand disappearing into a green vortex that appeared out of thin air. When he pulled back, a small metal box, no bigger than a watch box, laid in his hand as he presented it to Batman.

“This is a blood blossom.” The soft words cut through the tense silence. “It is one of, no it is the only thing that can kill me. For good.” Batman looked at the box, then at the boy. Determination sat on his brows despite the tired sadness that coloured his eyes. “If I…” His eyes broke away from the white lenses. “If I go bad. Please. I understand you don’t want to kill. So please, give this to someone who will kill me.”

No one moved for a moment as they processed the request. Emotions shifting wildly in them all. Superman’s landing on anger. “Why would you give him that?!” He stepped forward. “He already plans to kill us all why would you give him that?!”

“Because I’ve seen that future.” The conference was stated plainly. Melancholy waiting down on the boy as he turn to the others. “The realms are different than here.” His trembled. “Time works differently. You can walk into tomorrow and run into yesterday. Every possibly future exists within the realms.”

He scanned each heroes face as his voice harden. “I’ve seen what happens. I know what happens if I turn.” Danny took a deep breath as he met superman’s eyes. Gazing at him with eyes that saw more than what was in front of him. “I killed you first Clark.” It was stated as fact. Non of them could bring themselves to doubt him. “Then Diana. Then Hal. One by one each one of you were killed… by me.”

His breath came out frosted, his emotions making it hard to keep from freezing the watchtower as he turned back to Batman. “You survived the longest. Out of everyone here you got the closest to stopping me. In that reality however, you didn’t know about ghost. Didn’t know how to fight me.” He held out the box again. “Please, I can’t let that future happen.”

Everyone was stunned. Watching in silent shock as the horror of what Phantom said sunk in. Batman recovers quickest, slowly reaching out to grab that box which he now identified as being made of lead.

“Thank you Phantom.” There was more to those words than what it may appear. A silent reassess that the ghost picked up on.

[arolesbianism]

This is where I reveal that I have very conflicting feelings on the current afterglow disbanding plot going on but god I hope they can make me like it plssss

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: Online Siren

Danny makes a mistake. Or maybe he struck gold. Depending on the perspective you were looking through.

It starts one night when Sam, Tucker, Danny, and Jazz get together for a private party on Tucker's birthday. Mr. and Mrs. Foley had let them have the whole house to themselves on the agreement that it would only be the four of them. They would be keeping an eye on the security camera and motion detectors around the property. At the slightest hints of Tucker having a house party, the pair would return from Mr. Foley's sister's house to shut it down.

The group of teenagers were more than happy not to invite anyone. It's not like anyone would show- at least not with good intentions. They had an entire night plan- coffee drinks based on their types, video games, boardgames ones, painting hour, karaoke, movies, and cake after presents.

They all pitched in for pizza, and Sam offered to buy everyone breakfast in the morning. The party started at four and would end at ten the following morning. The boys would sleep in Tucker's room while Sam and Jazz crashed in the guest room together.

Danny hadn't had that much fun in such a long time that he didn't even shy away from Sam's video camera while singing. The youngest Fenton has always had a fantastic singing voice, but his stage fright has stopped him from showing off his skill in front of anyone who was not close friends or family.

The following morning, while eating at Tucker's favorite breakfast restaurant, Sam checked her phone after noticing all the buzzing. Danny could catch her face turning pastly white at whatever was on her screen. She taps aggressively, nearly frantically, which gains the attention of Tucker and Jazz.

"Sam? Everything good?" Jazz asks gentely.

"I..no..I'm sorry, Danny," She whispers after staring hopelessly at her screen. "I meant to save it in our private share, not...the anonymous one."

"What?"

"I...post poetry anonymously on this voice website. It's audio recordings only." She explains, placing the phone on the table. Her voice is hesitant. "Last night....I accidentally posted the video of you singing from the Karaoke machine I saved. The one from the Realms. And some of my followers saved it and shared it. It's trending."

Danny feels his stomach drop into his legs. "What?"

"No one knows who you are!" Sam blurts as Tucker quickly pulls out his own phone. A few seconds later, Danny's voice blares out of his speaker, the melody blending well with his singing. The Karaoke has a recording option that deletes background noise, making it far more professional than four teenagers dancing around the Foley's coffee table.

"Dude, this sounds amazing," Tucker says after a moment. "I can't believe I finally have a recording of your singing. Just look at these comments!"

The song is an open domain in the Infinite Realms, telling the tell of the first King's fall. It's rather popular for its revolutionary themes and near musical lyrics that blended with the rapid flute melody, so finding a ghost willing to share a Karaoke version took nearly no effort. People online think Danny was the songwriter.

The song on Sam's page had ninty-thousand listens, with just as many downloads- each download places ten cents in her account. So far, Danny's singing has made nine thousand dollars. It's only been twelve hours!

It got so much traction because Damian Wayne had made an edit with a popular anime and posted it on his personal account. His small usage had exploded Danny's song in only a few hours.

"Take it down!" Danny hisses, slapping a hand over Tucker's screen and glancing at nearby tables. "Sam, please take your post down."

"I did! I swear! But it's too late to stop it from spreading on the WorldClip." She tells him, and Danny's heart feels like it will explode until Jazz gently speaks up.

"Sam, can Danny have those nine grand?"

His best friend blinks momently, thrown by the question before she nods, "Of course! It's his money."

"Hmm." Jazz taps her fingers under her chin before turning Danny's face towards her. It's not until her gentle pats on his back that he realizes he is hyperventilating. "You should post more on that anonymous website. Sam can write the songs, Tucker can make the music, and you can sing."

"What!?" He choked, shocked she would even ask him. Tucker and Sam are eyeing them with wide eyes, frozen in their seats. No one knew where the fear had come from, but the two knew how badly Danny reacted to the idea of performing.

Tucker first met Danny when the boy panicked in the music room. After it was announced, the students would be singing Twinkle Little Star in the first grade. It was the first time Tucker had ever called nine-one-one, too.

He was praised as a hero, while Danny was scolded for overreacting. Tucker had held his hand until the sobbing boy's parents came to pick him up and has never left his side since.

"Danny, this fear has always left you in shambles. I think it would help you. This could be a form of exposal therapy," She says, then shrugs her shoulder. "Think about it. No one will know who you are, but your music could reach thousands without you ever having to show your face. You could pay for the college you wanted to go to in Gotham this way. All of you."

Neither Danny's nor Tucker's parents could afford to send them to Gotham University despite it being their dream school. Sam's parents refused to pay for a "useless" degree such as Botany. They had been growing uneasy with the realization dreams were not always promised as the end of the senior year approached in only a few short months.

They would never ask it of him, but Danny could see the genuine hope tucked in their eyes as they waited for his response. He licked his lips, feeling his heart still beating a mile a minute under his rib cage.

He didn't like being this paralyzed by an irrational fear. He also really wanted to help them reach their dreams.

So Danny opens his mouth and whispers, "Only until we can get to Gotham to find jobs"

Jazz's smile is bright.

________________________________________________________

A few months later, Damian practically runs Tim over in his rush to connect to the game room's surround system. Jon is hot on his heels and has the decency to shout an apology as the pre-teens rush by.

"Hey! Watch it!" He still screams at their backs, irritated. "I could've dropped my croissant!"

"Sorry again Tim!"

"You're fat anyway, Drake!"

Tim rolls his eyes, adjusting his hold on his plate as Dick rounds the corner that the children had appeared from. "What's got them rushing?"

"Online Siren just dropped a new song." Dick laughs. "Dami is a bit of a fan."

"Online Siren?"

"That's right, you were in space for five months. Online Siren is this anonymous singer that everyone is going crazy over on the internet. He's an amazing singer, but because no one knows anything about him. Not even Babs."

Tim raises a brow. "He could be using autotune."

"Maybe, but Tim, I'm telling you. Listen to his music, and you'll find you can't stop. Siren is a fitting name."

"He can't be that good," Tim mutters, following his eldest brother into the game room, where Damian and Jon have blared the speakers to the loudest setting and dancing around.

Tim draws up short at the sight of Damian Wayne actually crying as he sings along to the lyrics, acting as if the singer was right there in front of him and he was a long-time fan.

Then, the music invades his ears, and Tim feels like he is ascending on a different plane. The smooth, near silk-like voice glinds into his chest, rattling his bones, and his knees shake when the man holds a soft, seductive "Oh" for a few seconds longer then necessary.

It sends shivers down his spine.

"What is this!? It's so good!" He screams at the dancing Dick, who laughs.

"I know, right!?"

"It's too good. I think this is a real siren." Tim continues, pressing his hands over his ears. His mind flashes back to the few months he spent with his team, running for a mind-controlling alien that had nearly trapped them in the third space sector. "Dick, we're in danger! Get around from the speakers! Mind control!"

Dick stops dancing with a sigh, muttering under his breath as Tim rushes to the control panel of the speaker system. As soon as he slams it off, Damian releases a screech of an angered cat and launches at him, demanding his music back. Jon flouts nervously on the side as the two youngest Waynes brothers roll on the ground, yelling insults and taking dirty shots.

"I wish I could enjoy things with my siblings without them ruining it." He mumbles, striding forward to break up the fight, only to scream when Tim pulls out pepper spray, yowling like a madman.

"Mind control! Mind control!"

"My EYES! "

"Drake, stop!"

"You'll never get me Siren! Never!"

".I'm going to go get Mr.Wayne!"

"Make haste, Jon! Bring my father to stop this baffoon-my eyes! Drake, you bastard!"

[beloveds-embrace]

(Couldn’t stop thinking about this… so here lol)

The day you arrived as the new Duchess, the household braced for the worst.

The rumors about you had long preceded your arrival. The maids whispered in worried tones, recalling the vicious words printed in the society columns: that you were proud and frigid, a woman with no warmth in her heart, incapable of love or kindness. The footmen steeled themselves for the cold treatment they assumed you would bestow upon them. One butler, an old and steady man who had served the Price family for decades, stood rigid along the halls, his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his expression carefully blank- though tension lined his shoulders.

And the men watched with quiet wariness as you stepped from the carriage with Kyle’s help, your gown flowing like water, your posture straight and your face unreadable. John had married you out of necessity, pressured by his position and the expectations placed upon a man of his standing. He had expected many things of you- pride, coldness, disdain.

The first sign that the rumors were false came in the way you carried yourself.

You did not sweep into the estate like a queen expecting devotion; you entered cautiously, your movements precise, your gaze flickering from one unfamiliar face to another with something that almost resembled apprehension. You were quiet, barely speaking unless spoken to, and when you did respond, your voice was soft and measured, never sharp.

The second sign came with the staff.

They had expected cruelty. Some had even resigned themselves to enduring the rule of a cold and haughty duchess, one who would scrutinize their work, find fault in the smallest details, and wield her authority like a blade- especially maids who came from other estates, serving under other nobles. But instead, they found that you hardly seemed to know what to do with them at all.

You never raised your voice. You never scolded or criticized them unfairly. In fact, you barely issued orders at all, preferring instead to quietly accept what was given to you- your meals, your gowns, your schedules- without complaint or demand. The maids had watched in stunned silence when, upon being asked if you wished for a particular set of linens in your chambers, you hesitated for a long moment before murmuring, “Whichever you think best. I am not particular about it.”

The maids quickly learned that you disliked being fussed over. You did not preen before the mirror or demand endless, impossible adjustments to your hair and attire. If anything, you seemed almost uncomfortable with prolonged attention, your hands clasped together in your lap, your eyes averted as if uncertain where to look. When they had first presented you with an elaborate, albeit a bit… gaudy, gown adorned with gemstones and intricate embroidery, you had stared at it in silence before hesitantly asking, “Is there… something simpler?”

And then there were the men.

John had assumed that, at best, you would be a distant and indifferent wife, content to live separate lives while maintaining appearances. Kyle and Johnny had expected someone who would look down upon them, someone who might sneer at the idea of her husband keeping company with his own butler and chef and another duke, should the day come you’d find out about their relationship. Simon had expected to dislike you entirely.

None of them had expected you.

You, who startled so easily when Johnny laughed too loud or Kyle joined your side to help you with your duties.

You, who shied away from lingering gazes, who seemed to struggle with conversation not out of rudeness, but out of a deeply ingrained discomfort with being the center of attention.

You, who kept your hands folded neatly in your lap at the dinner table, answering their attempts at conversation in soft, careful words before retreating into silence, averting your gaze when you’d notice how touchy they were with one another.

They were used to seeing behind masks, and yours was not a mask at all; it was simply the way you were.

And the worst offense you ever committed, in the eyes of society, was that you did not smile.

The rumors had always described your expression as cold, John remembers, but the truth was far simpler: you did not smile often because you did not know how.

You had spent so long avoiding unnecessary interactions, so long trapped beneath the weight of others’ expectations, that smiling had never become natural to you. And when you did attempt it- when you forced your lips into an unfamiliar curve- it often came out wrong, too stiff, too hesitant, almost a grimace rather than an expression of joy.

You had learned, early on, that this only made things worse. That people took your forced smiles as sneers, your awkward expressions as condescension.

So you stopped trying.

But your lack of smiles did not mean you were unkind.

The staff saw it in the way you murmured thank you whenever something was brought to you, even though you never expected to be served.

The men saw it in the way you listened, truly listened, when they spoke- not out of obligation, but out of genuine interest, even if you did not always know how to respond.

The head maid saw it when you found her in the hallway one afternoon, an unopened book in your hands, hesitating before asking: “Would this be of any interest to you? You- you said your granddaughter is learning her words, and this book might be of help…?”

Kyle saw it when you stepped aside one morning to let a maid carrying a basket pass first, even though no one of your standing would ever be expected to do so.

John saw it when he caught you in the garden, sitting in the sun with a book in your lap, your fingers tracing the edges of the pages, your expression soft and unguarded. You were not cold. You were not cruel.

You were simply quiet.

And that, he realized, was why the world had hated you.

Because high society thrived on spectacle, on sharp words and bright smiles and effortless charm. Because they did not understand a woman who did not laugh at the right moments, who did not command attention, who did not play the game the way they expected.

Because they had never looked closely enough to see you for what you truly were. But he- them, and all of the staff did, and It did not take long for the estate to settle into the truth of you, to grow accustomed to the quiet rhythm of your presence.

You were not the cruel woman they had feared.

You were simply you.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Along the Line

Main Masterlist - Bucky Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Bucky Barnes/Female Reader, sex pollen, smut (fingering, oral f!receiving, handjob, p in v sex), angst, light fluff, humor, no use of y/n, love confessions

Summary: After you get hit with a chemical on a mission, Bucky has to take care of you. But he won't do the one thing that will fix it, no matter how much you want him to.

And he wants it too. Maybe more. And, at some point, something has to break.

Author's Note: Sex pollen won the poll. First Thunderbolts fic. Big things happening. Enjoy!

Word Count: 11.4k

“I told you this was a bad idea, Walker.”

“Yeah, you’re a genius. Do you want a trophy that says I knew it was a bad idea, or a sash-“

“Can I have a trophy?” Alexei pops into the screen, and you really don’t think this has to be a group activity.  “I could make it into a very fancy cup!”

You’re lying flat on the granite counter of the safe house, Bucky stiff at your side as he glowers to the video feed, and you might be dying. Or just burning alive. There’s a hot prickle over your skin that’s only getting worse, a series of cramps in your gut that feels like you’re being shredded apart then slammed back together, and an ache between your legs that isn’t foreign—at least, not when Bucky’s present—but is far too powerful given the circumstances. 

Maybe you’ve just lost it. You had been giggling an awful lot while Bucky killed all those Hydra agents, but he’d also called you doll again, and there had been a blissful, fuzzy feeling over your skull. And you’d moaned—really loudly, too—right in Bucky’s ear when he’d hauled you over his shoulder and carried you out of the building. 

“Fuckin’- Gonna throw Walker off a roof- We all told him this was a stupid new protocol-“

You’d hummed along to his grumblings, and most of your attention had been fixed on his hair. It was longer now. And he’d been taking care of it, so it was soft, and kind of smelled like vanilla. You’d wanted to tug on it. To run your fingers through it and see if he’d hum. Maybe yank on it while he was deep inside of you-

His muscles had flexed around you, and you’d whined that time. 

Whined and buried your face in his neck, before biting back tears as he’d tensed.

The line. 

You’d had to remember the line. 

Bucky smiles at you more than most people, but the line means that smiles are all you get. He sticks to your side most days, but you’re pretty sure he just feels responsible for you. You’re the lost puppy they picked up off the street. Sweet and likable, but mostly useless. 

You aren’t useless. 

You try not to be useless. 

That’s part of the line, too. 

You do a little more for Bucky than the rest of them. You’ll make sure Yelena has all the hamster food she needs, track down Bob all those coloring books he likes so much, and explain to Alexei that no, the government does not know how this season of Yellowjackets is going to end, so you’re not going to ask. But they can figure those things out themselves.

You think.

The point of your job is that none of these people have ever lived normal, 21st century lives, and they need to be likable to the public so please teach Ava about knocking, but none of them are stupid. 

They could all live without you. 

Bucky maybe the most of all. He has lived a life. He managed to—some fucking how—get his way into congress. 

So the line is do everything for him, because you’re a pathetic idiot with a crush on her boss, but also don’t do so much that you’re over stepping. 

Prioritize all his questions but don’t neglect the others. Return all of his smiles, and talk to him whenever you can, but he always has to initiate it. Always come when he calls—you really are a puppy—but don’t abandon other conversations for him.

Be an idiot, but keep your dignity. 

You’ll let him flirt with you—he doesn’t flirt with you, he just makes polite conversation, and you look at him like he’s sprouting gospel—but you won’t encourage it, because you really do like this job. It pays well. It’s morally questionable, but no well-paying job isn’t. And you’re going to use this money to pay off all your debts, and then your family’s debts as well. 

So if Bucky offers you his arm at an event, take it, and pretend you don’t want to grab him by the collar and climb him like a tree.  

If someone makes a comment—passing jokes from Walker about how you’re supposed to work for all of them, not just Barnes, or a dry look for Yelena when Bucky says good job and you flush like he just called you pretty—brush it off. Don’t make it weird. It’s obvious, and everyone knows, but don’t make it weird.

You’d whined, though. Whined and tried to nuzzle into Bucky as if he’d want that. 

You made it weird. 

And you’d pulled back with a mumbled apology, but Bucky had just grunted. You hadn’t spoken for the rest of the walk back to the safe house. If Bucky’s hand on your thigh had been squeezing on purpose, you’d bitten your tongue until you’d tasted the tang of blood. He couldn’t have been doing it on purpose. And you couldn’t make it weird. Again.

You’d gagged yourself with a cloth, when Bucky had set you down on the counter. If he’d thought anything of it, all you’d gotten was raised brows and a small frown before he moved on. Gotten you a second cloth—cold and wet and resting on your brow to combat the dry fever—and called the tower to report that the new protocol was, in fact, a stupid fucking idea. 

“Nobody’s getting any trophies.” He grunts, his arms crossed over his chest, and you want to spring up and tackle him. 

Maybe the metal arm could go inside of you, while the other one wrapped around your neck and kept you still against his chest, and that low, commanding voice would be right in your ear-

You’re moaning again. And your hips are jerking off the counter. 

It’s a good thing Bucky positioned himself where he did. You don’t need everyone to see you humping the air to the thought of metal fingers inside of you, cold and hard, pressing deep into your cunt at an abusing pace and-

That might have been another moan. 

The sound might have been too close to Bucky.

Fuck.

“Hey, I’m not handing them out,” Walker raises his hands on the screen. “And Yelena’s the one who started it-“

“No, I did not-“

“Uh, yeah you did. You said my idea was stupid-“

“It was stupid! It is going to get the bumblebee killed-“

Walker voice becomes almost a whine. “She’s not dying, she just got drugged! We’ve all been drugged, it’s not that big a deal-“

“Walker.” Bucky grunts, and that’s his everyone shut the hell up and listen voice, and your nails are digging into your skin with the effort not to grinding onto your hand. “Shut up. It was a stupid fucking idea-“

“But-“

“She’s a civilian-“

“She should know how to defend herself-“

“She shouldn’t have been here.” Bucky’s yelling now. The world is blurring slightly, and he’s not mad at you, but it’s still making your heart howl.

He’s not mad at you.

He still said he didn’t want you here. With him. 

The line says you should swallow that, then cry in your room later. 

But whatever is making your heart burn and your skin feel raw doesn’t care about the line. It’s just pressing on your eyes and feeding the sting behind them, lumping in your throat and shaking at your lips-

The first sob is soft, and weak. Muffled in the gag. If you’re lucky, too quiet to hear-

You’re not lucky. 

Bucky turns to look at you with wide eyes, his brow furrowed in tight lines your fingers are literally fucking itching to trace, and you shake your head. 

No attention. If he’s kind, he’ll pretend he can’t see the tears rolling down your cheeks and he’ll ignore you and let you just choke on it. On the overwhelming soreness in your chest and the way your heart is pressing into itself until hairline fractures start to form, and soon they’re going to turn into chasms and why is he moving, he’s a good man that should let you deal with your own problems, so why the fuck is he moving-

A warm, calloused hand rests on your face, wiping your cheeks before moving to your brow, and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. If you look at Bucky hovering above you, you’ll either cry more, or moan his name again. If you turn your head you’ll see the rest of the team on the computer, and they’ll be looking at you with all that sympathy—the kind that calls you weak—and you’ll scream.

Eyes shut. 

Don’t lean into his touch, even when his finger tangle slightly into your hair. Even when thumb brushes over your lips—why the fuck is he doing that too, he must secretly fucking hate you—hold the line. Don’t open for him. Don’t moan his name into the gag. Don’t-

“Shit.” Bucky’s voice is low, and you squeeze your eyes tighter. “You’re- Shit-“

“What is wrong with the bumblebee?” Alexei calls from the computer, and you can hear Yelena’s sigh.

“Walker’s brilliant plan got her exposed to something. She’s sick.”

“It was a brilliant plan-“

“She is crying, you dickshit-“

“I think you mean dipshit-“

“I am going to kill you-“

“Alexei.” Bucky grunts, his hand still on your face. You’re losing resolve. You’re going to lean into his touch. “Don’t let them kill each other.”

“Do not worry, Barnes. I will stand right between them, and their attack will not affect- Ow!”

Bucky’s hand moves away. 

Thank Christ.

“Yelena, why did you punch me-“

“I was trying to punch John, and you were in the way-“

“Yelena.” Bucky’s voice is a little further away now. 

You’d wanted him to move away. It was best for everyone that he moved away. You can open your eyes and stare at the ceiling now. 

But where his hand had been now feels white-hot, like he’d lit you on fire then poured liquid nitrogen over your skin. And it’s spreading. Through your blood before pooling in your gut, then leaking between your thighs-

“I need you to focus. Walker, shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything-“

“Good. Keep doing that.” 

“Whatever-“

“That’s not shutting up.” Bucky says your name, and you really hope he’s still blocking you from view. You’ve started to palm at your breasts—just for something—and you don’t really want to be a full, on display sex show. “We need to focus on her.”

Fuck. Your eyes roll back in your head, and his words are sending shivers through your whole body. Up your spine and over all your nerves, and he’s nowhere near you now, but he’s still fucking talking, and that seems to be more than enough.

“Whatever was in that gas, it’s making her- She can’t walk without falling over. And she’s got a fever.”

“A fever?” You can hear the frown in Yelena’s voice. “How bad of a fever?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a thermometer. But,” you turn your head slightly to see the screen, just in time to watch Walker’s mouth snap shut. “I can feel her skin burning. It’s bad. I need options.”

“Options?”

“What can we do.” Bucky mutters, and you can’t see his face, but there’s a strain in his voice that just makes you want to moan for him again. “We’re miles from a hospital, and it’s a two-day flight back. I gotta know how to make it better until we get pickup.”

Yelena hums, her eyes meeting yours through the camera. “Why is there a gag in her mouth.”

“I- Uh-“ Bucky glances over his shoulder, and you choke on another whimper. “She did that. To herself.”

“Can she talk?”

“Yelena-“

“Take the gag out.” Yelena shrugs, still holding your gaze. “She can tell us what she feels.”

No. 

That’s a horrible idea. 

And you’re trying to tell Bucky that, before it’s too late. Trying to plead with him, using an open, desperate expression. Begging him with your eyes to ignore Yelena and say that he can see that you’re in pain, so the best thing to do is just send the jet. 

But he just glances at you, his jaw tenses, and he shakes his head.  

It doesn’t look like it’s for you. 

It still pulls an almost broken howl from your throat. Like he’s driving a blade right into your chest. 

His knuckles brush your lips as he moves the cloth out of your mouth. He won’t look you in the eyes.

The howl splits through the room, falling into more of a whimper by the end, and if the ground opened up, you’d jump down to hell without a second thought.

There’s a long, taut silence—Bucky still won’t look at you—and Yelena clears her throat.

“Are you in pain?” She says your name carefully, and you nod. “Can you speak?”

“Yes.” Your voice is barely a breath, and Yelena’s lips move into a thin line. 

“Bucky, she needs to be closer. I cannot hear her from there.”

Bucky grunts, and suddenly you’re being scooped up into his arms. Your face is near his neck again, and you’re being cradled right against his chest, and you can’t tell if that’s your heartbeat, or his-

“Why didn’t you just move the computer, man.”

Bucky tenses around you. “Shut up, Walker.”

“No, I’m not insane about this one. I mean, Alexei, he could have moved the computer right- Fuck!”

“You are not helping.” Yelena snaps, and Walker groans from somewhere off the screen. “Be quiet, or go.”

Walker sighs, but doesn’t move away. There’s a tightness to his face that’s mirror on Bucky and Yelena’s, and that can’t be a good sign. You haven’t even said anything yet. 

Yelena says your name carefully, leaning closer to the camera. “What are you feeling.”

“A- a lot.” You whisper, and someone’s—you’re still not clear on if it’s yours or Bucky’s—heart stumbles slightly. “My- Skin. It’s on fire. And, um- I- My throat hurts, and it’s so much and empty and cold-“

“Cold?” Yelena cuts you off with a frown. “You are feeling cold?”

You nod, then shake your head. “It- I’m feeling everything. I- It’s- It’s like I’ve been turned up to a million and it all hurts-“

“Does anything feel good?”

Bucky. Bucky feels good. The feeling of him all around you and the smell of that shampoo and his woodsy body wash. The strength of him around you. Bucky feels so good-

The line.

You nod, and bite your tongue again. You can’t say it. Everything falls apart if you say it.

And Yelena sighs, scanning over you carefully, and shakes her head.

“Bucky, leave the room.”

He goes rigid. You don’t love the idea either. “What.”

“Put her back on the counter and go outside.”

“I am not-“

“Do you want to help her?”

“Of course I-“

“Then go.”

No. 

No, no, no. He can’t leave. If he pushes you away it will be like shooting you with a toxin, he can’t, no-

Bucky sets you down with far too much care, and you’re not fast enough to squeeze your eyes shut. He’s cupping your face. Forcing your gaze onto his, looking right into you with an unreadable expression, and your mouth is falling open—a split second from begging him to stay—but he shakes his head. 

“Call for me. If you need anything.” His grip tightens, and your hand flies up to his wrist. “I’ll be upstairs. I-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and something flashes over his face. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you’re asking for. It doesn’t really matter anyway.

Bucky flinches back as if you’ve burned him, grumbles something to Yelena you can’t hear over the ringing in your ears—it was his heartbeat—and then stomps away. When your vision clears—it’s unclear when you started crying, but you’re really starting to lose track on everything—the laptop is right next to you, and nobody is on the screen but Yelena. 

“Are you done?”

You nod, wiping your nose with your sleeve, and she lets out a slow breath.

“Good. I mean, keep… Letting it out. As you have to. But if you are done, we can talk.”

“Yelena-“

“I am going to ask you a question.” She holds your gaze, and your arms wrap around your stomach. It’s honestly a miracle you haven’t collapsed to the side. “And you will need to be honest.”

Your voice is still too soft. “Okay.”

“What are you thinking about, right now. And,” Yelena raises her brows before you can answer. “Honest. Whatever you are thinking, I have seen and thought worse-“

“Bucky.” You whisper, and the floodgates open. “And his hands. And arms. And legs. And his face, his face is so nice, and his beard and hair look so good, and I- I need him- His hands- In me. And he smells so good, and I think he’ll taste good too, and if he kisses me I’m going to die- And if he doesn’t touch me I’m going to die- and he- he won’t look at me-“ You’re fucking crying again. You can’t stop. “And if he doesn’t look at me I’m going to die- But if he does look at me I’m going to- Shit, I want him to look at me and touch me and kiss me and his hands-“

You take a long, shaking breath as darkness creeps at the corner of your vision, and Yelena blinks at you.

“So you are… Thinking about Bucky.”

Fuck.

You give a tiny nod, and she- 

Grins.

“Oh, thank God.” Yelena leans back in her chair, running a hand over her face. “I was actually worried. I mean- If I say Bucky’s cock, what-“

You let out a loud, lewd moan, and Yelena’s still grinning. 

“And if I say we all hate you-“

It’s immediate. The rush of pain tightening in your chest, almost like an electric shock. You burst into tears, pulling your knees right up to your chest, and Yelena’s eyes widen. 

“Oh, shit-“

Something slams, and Bucky’s shouting your name far too close to your body. He shouldn’t be close to him. He hates you, they all hate you, you’re going to get fired and die alone and empty and you can’t breathe-

“What the fuck did you do to her-“

“I was testing it! I’m sorry, I didn’t think-“

“Obviously you didn’t fucking think-“

“Don’t yell at me, Bucky, I was helping-“

“She’s fucking crying-“

“I know, I-“ Yelena says your name, and you curl into a tighter ball. “We don’t hate you. Nobody hates you. You’re the bumblebee. You do all the work, and you’re sweet, I was- I was just kidding-“

“Just-“ A hand rests on your shoulder. You’d recognize it as Bucky’s even if there were a million others, pulling you right down into Hell. “You told her we hate her?!”

“It was a test-“

“What the hell, Yelena-“

“I can fix it! Listen,” she repeats your name, and you choke on the air. “We do not hate you! Shit, it’s- Bucky loves you!”

That’s your heart. Doing the scratch and break and rewind. Stumbling over itself before kicking up to pace that’s going to burst right out of your chest. And the silence in the air is too long, and too heavy, and you want to keep crying but you also feel like you’re sort of high. He loves you. Yelena might be lying, but she’s not the type to lie about that, so Bucky loves you-

You’re giggling again.

Something is seriously fucking wrong with you.

“Yelena.” Bucky grunts, and at least he’s still touching you. Because he loves you. “What the hell is wrong with you.”

“A lot, but- Look! She’s smiling! And I know what she got hit with!”

There’s a long pause, the only sound your soft, breathy laughs—Bucky’s starting to rub circles on your back, and you can feel the moan building back up—and Bucky clear his throat. 

“Are you going to fucking tell me?”

“I was getting to it. Keep your pants on.” Yelena laughs. “I mean, for now-“

“Yelena-“

“It is an old gas. The red room used to use it for torture.”

Broad, strong fingers still on your back. “Torture.”

“Yep, that is what I said-“

“What kind of torture-“

“Physical and mental. Her brain is scrambled soup. All of her feelings have been dialed up to a bajillion, so she is going to be very suggestive, and very overwhelmed.” Yelena sighs. “Emotionally. And, ah- Her reservations maybe be… Broken.”

Bucky’s silent for a little too long, and all you can do is focus on your breathing. That explains a lot. You really wish it didn’t.

“Do we wait it out?” Bucky’s voice is impossibly neutral. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t love you, Yelena had been lying to calm you down, and the tears are pricking back into your eyes-

“No. It has to be sweat out. Exercise or torture.”

Fuck. Something low and heavy, dreadful and tight, is starting to bubble in your gut. You can’t walk, let alone exercise. And you’re not strong enough to withstand torture. Not from anyone, but definitely not from Bucky, that’s going to shatter you into nothing more than scattered sand and glass on the floor-

“Or,” there’s a drawling kind of glee in Yelena’s voice, and you keep your face buried in your knees. “Sex. Sex should work.”

Your head shoots up, your eyes land on Bucky’s own, wide ones, his mouth hanging open and something that’s either sweat or the other thing is wet between your legs. He’s still touching you. 

“I-“ He coughs, still staring at you, and you’re feeling a little light-headed. “I can’t-“

Oh. 

Okay.

You don’t get a chance to cry this time. 

Everything just goes black.

———

“No.”

“Bucky-“

“I won’t.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes at Yelena. “Stop trying to convince me.”

“I’m not trying to convince you, I am trying to get you to save her life-“

Bucky shook his head. She didn’t get it. Didn’t understand that what was being painted as the solution was really just the worst crime he could ever commit. 

He’d done a lot of fucked up things, as the Soldat. And being at war hadn’t exactly been a picnic before that. But he’d never crossed that line. There were some fogged over memories—the kind that stung at his brain when they bubbled to the surface—where Hydra had told him to, but he’d resisted. Throttled that last bit of his humanity by the throat, and said no. He wouldn’t. 

It had been the only thing he’d always been able to fight back against, even when he couldn’t remember his own fucking name. The last thing he’d been able to identify as wrong.

And doing it to Her- When She was trusting him to take care of Her, and it was his own fault this was happening at all, because that gas had been meant for him-

Bucky would rather jump off a tower or shoot himself in the goddamn skull. 

“This isn’t saving her life.” He muttered. “It’s ruining it. We’ll wait it out until you can send a jet to us, and then we’ll put her in a sauna or some shit.”

Yelena’s nose wrinkled. “Or you could just fuck the girl you are obviously in love with-“

“I am not-“

“Yes, you are. Do not lie to me, Bucky. You make a really pathetic expression at her, it’s all-“ 

Yelena’s face went slack, her brows raising and drawing slightly, and Bucky scowled. 

“I’m hanging up-“

“No, wait- Just-“ Yelena sighed. “I know you’re a man, and feelings are scary, but this gas is- It will be the worst days of her life, if you do not just get over yourself, and stick your dick inside of her.”

Jesus Christ. If She hadn’t been trying to kill him before—moaning his name and opening Her mouth when he touched it, looking at him with pretty eyes and snuggling into his chest—Yelena was trying to kill him now. All Bucky could see was Her sprawled out below him, Her eyes blown-out with lust as he slid into Her, head thrown back as she whined for more, and Bucky gave it to Her with his lips biting and sucking on Her throat- 

These were the type of things he shouldn’t be thinking about. Not now. Not when She was rolling around in bed upstairs, and the last time Bucky had checked on Her, he’d gotten too good a look at Her breasts. Flushed with peaked nipples as the sheets stuck to Her skin, and he could’ve goddamn sworn She’d moaned his name in her sleep-

Not thinking about it. He couldn’t think about it. For so many reasons, Bucky couldn’t think about it, and he’d never do it.

He’d sworn to himself he’d never do it. That the well-played fantasies would remain fantasies, because he had no right. 

He was Her boss had been the first reason. The obvious one, when She’d been bouncing in Her heels and looking around the meeting room with an open, sweet expression. Valentina had said meet your new admin, it had clicked in Bucky’s head what that meant, and then suddenly asking Her to get a drink or something had been forcibly tossed out the window. 

Then that reason had become… less effective. She’d kept being beautiful—which just wasn’t fucking fair to anyone—and She was smart and charismatic and patient, and her hips swayed a little when she walked, and Bucky’s attraction had grown. Bloomed and spread and burrowed roots over his ribs, where it was impossible to dig them out. He liked Her wide smile, and he liked Her voice, and he liked how She could shut Walker up with just a look. 

He liked Her enough to take risks. Risks like walking closer to Her than he needed to, and convincing the rest of the team that She did actually need a room in the tower. And they’d all seen right goddamn through him—he’d heard Bob whisper to Yelena it’s because he has a crush on her, right, after the meeting was over—but they’d let it slide. So he’d taken more risks. Eating lunch with Her in a very professional way. Bringing He to events and keeping Her on his arm, for safety. Casual, flirty comments that were nothing if She didn’t want them to be, but did manage to take an edge off of his own pent-up hunger for Her.

Boss hadn’t been enough. 

So he’d turned to young. She was too young. Bucky was over a hundred and She was younger than Bob. 

Then he’d walked in on Her watching a TV show with Alexei and Ava, the former looking downright terrified about the comments that were being thrown at the screen. About how hot the actors were. And She’d pointed to one with a beard and longer hair—this hadn’t helped the situation—and said I’d let him do whatever he wanted to me. 

Bucky had been a fucking idiot and googled the actor. The guy was almost fifty.

He’d needed another reason. 

Too kind. She was nice to everyone, and it wasn’t just for Her job. She never got frustrated at stupid questions, and She’d listen to anyone’s stupid rants—She’d somehow sat through a whole I just think I’d have been a good Roman General speech from Walker without one eyeroll—and Bucky wasn’t rude, but he didn’t deserve that.

The too kind reason had lasted the shortest amount of time. She’d kept being kind, and then She’d made Bucky cookies for his birthday, and he’d wanted to kiss Her right goddamn there. 

His current reason was She deserved better. That one had been serving him well. She deserved someone who hadn’t done the things Bucky had, who was all smiles and kindness, who She’d want. That was a second, incredibly useful reason. She didn’t want Bucky. 

So he wouldn’t think about Her breasts anywhere but in the privacy of his own room, alone, while he beat his cock into his hand. And he wouldn’t stick his dick in Her, because it would be wrong. He’d be taking advantage of Her while she was vulnerable. 

He wouldn’t cross that line.

“Just send the jet.” He grunted, moving his hand the top of the laptop. “I’ll call you if anything changes.”

Yelena’s eyes narrowed. “Bucky-“

He closed the laptop, and let out a long, heavy breath. 

He wouldn’t.

No matter how much this was one of his fantasies come to life, Bucky had to remember that it was really more of a nightmare. 

For Her. 

For Her, she was stuck in a painful looking state of unpredictable emotion. Bucky tried to bring Her tea, and She’d started crying again because he’d remembered the way she liked it and that was apparently tear-worthy. Then he told Her that she needed a shower—she was drenched in sweat and other things that Bucky was trying really fucking hard pretend he couldn’t smell—and Her odd, soft and happy tears changed to weak, broken sobs. 

“Shit- What’s-“

“You think I’m disgusting.” She looking up at him with glossy, watering eyes and trembling lips, and Bucky felt like he was being goddamn shot. “You- You hate me-“

“No.” He grunted. “I don’t hate you-“

“Yes, you do-“

“No. I don’t.” Bucky grabbed Her face between his hands, forcing Her attention onto him. “Trust me. You’d know if I hated you, doll.”

It was a sight, before him. Her lips parted, literal drool falling from them—that Bucky would like to kiss away, but he wasn’t allowed to—and Her hands wrapped around his wrists with an almost strangling grip. 

“I don’t hate you.” He muttered, forcing himself to hold Her gaze. “Got it?”

She nodded, sitting up a little up She was on her knees, and Bucky didn’t have enough willpower for this-

His thumb moved of its own accord. Wiping just a little bit of drool from away.

She moaned. 

Fuck.

“Bucky.” Her voice was breathless, and almost songlike. “Please. I- I need it, I need it so bad-“

“Doll-“

“Please.” Her eyes were welling with more and more tear, and a few were starting to slide down Her cheeks. “I- I’m sorry- It just hurts- You can fire me after or call the cops-“

He frowned. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because I’m-“ She hiccupped slightly. “You’re saying no, and I’m asking again-“

“Jesus- I know you can’t help it, doll, it’s the gas-“

“So fuck it out of me.” She rose higher, and Bucky wasn’t sure if she was pushing Her boobs up on purpose or not. “I- I’m sorry- I need you, Bucky, I’ll do anything, I’ll suck your cock first or after and it can be however you want but please-“

Bucky had to let go of Her. He had to release Her and take a stumbling step back, or else he would have damned it all and listened to Her. She was drugged. Her mind was being altered, and when it left her system, She’d already be embarrassed about what happened. Bucky would rather still be at Her side to assure Her, then cast out into the dirt because he’d been a selfish dick and taken advantage of Her. She only wanted him because he was the only option. If Walker was here, She’d be throwing herself at him, too. 

That made Bucky feel fucking sick. Walker wouldn’t do that—at the very least, they all seemed to clear that last, impossibly low bar—but now Bucky was fucking thinking about Her on her knees, whining for Walker to fuck Her. Promising to suck his dick. And now he was thinking about Her under Walker, and there was a bad taste in the back of his throat, and he didn’t even care that it was Walker, Bucky just goddamn hated that it wasn’t him-

No right. Bucky had no goddamn right over the sour feeling in his chest, or the sickness in his gut. If he had a right, none of this would be a problem. She’d actually want him, and there wouldn’t be any complexities, and Bucky could help Her.

But this was Hell for Her. And all Bucky could do was help Her.

She was all that mattered. 

So he wouldn’t cross the line.

The rest of the night was hell. The two days for a jet thing hadn’t been an exaggeration. It was even looking more like three. They were trapped together. And Bucky was doing everything he could to make it better, but it only seemed to be getting worse. Bringing Her more tea just led to Her begging for sex. Avoiding Her just meant he could hear Her crying about how much he hated Her, but when he’d try to remind Her that he didn’t, She’d just ask him to fuck Her again. Then She’d start apologizing for asking, all while still pleading, and Bucky would shuffle away to hide in his own room. 

A lot of sleep was lost trying not to get a boner to the sounds of Her fucking herself into Her pillows. As the next day progressed, Her activities seemed to be limited to cry, beg for sex, sleep, masturbate.  

It was going to drive Bucky goddamn insane. 

And She had no way of knowing. No way to understand exactly what She was doing to him. 

She’d plead with him, and he said no, and his heart split in two as She’d start crying once more. There had to be some way he could help. He couldn’t just fucking sit here and-

“Bucky.” 

He squeezed his eyes shut. She was calling for him again, and he couldn’t ignore Her—what if something was actually wrong—but he didn’t know how many more Bucky, please fuck me’s or I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask, it just hurts he could take. 

He murmured Her name as he opened the door, but She didn’t respond. 

The whole room smelled like sex. 

He had to ignore it.

“Bucky.” Her voice was breathy. Soft.

And when he moved to the mattress, She was knocked the hell out. Holding the sheets bunched around Her legs and pressing her face into the covers. 

Bucky whispered Her name, moving to pull a little hair out of Her mouth, and she snuggled further into the mattress. 

But his knuckles brushed Her cheek, and she let out a sweet little sound that was going to haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. 

She was shivering. Breathing too shallow, with Her fever building, and Bucky didn’t know what the hell to do. Yelena said She needed to sweat, but She was only shaking and whimpering. Running wasn’t an option. They didn’t exactly have warm, sunny days outside. Torture had never even been on the table, and touching Her- 

She leaned into his hand. The human one, cupping Her cheek because Bucky had gotten lost in thought, and failed to realize what he was doing. 

But She leaning into him. Into the warmth of his skin. 

That wouldn’t be crossing any line. Body heat was body heat. Soldiers shared it all the time. It was a necessity. 

He stared at Her for another long moment, trying to weigh it out in his mind, and then She whispered his name again. Whispered it and shivered, and that was enough. Bucky wouldn’t do that.

But he wouldn’t just let Her fucking suffer either. 

“Hold on, doll.” He muttered, and She shifted slightly on the mattress. “You’ll be alright.”

She would be. Bucky would make sure of it. 

He detached his metal arm, first. She’d never had a problem with it—that was one of the things he’d liked about Her a lot, at first—but it wasn’t warm.

Then he crawled into bed at Her side, and used his remaining arm to pull Her right into his body. Her face tucked under his chin and Her fingers curled against his chest. She wasn’t sweating, but She was getting warmer. She stopped shaking, then a lot of the tension left Her body, and within what could only be an hour, Her breathing was steady. 

Bucky should go now. His work was done. 

He couldn’t move. 

And maybe if he moved, he’d have to come back. They hadn’t gotten it out of Her system. It might be better, just for it to worsen the moment he was gone. 

It was a good an excuse as any. The closest he’d ever get to Her without losing Her. 

So Bucky stopped trying to force himself to move. She felt to right in his arms to push Her away. 

And he held Her until morning. 

He’d like to hold Her longer. 

But he could also die a happy man with only this. 

———

He was here. It wasn’t a fever dream. 

You know Bucky was here.

The mattress is still dipped where he’d lain. The sheets have been more awkwardly shoved into your arms than caught in them by restless sleep.

You can fucking smell him. Vanilla and cedar, hanging in the silent air around you. 

He was here. 

But he’s gone. 

You don’t understand why he’d be here, just to go. Why he won’t help you. 

He must know about your crush, and he thinks that once he indulges you, you’ll be weird. You won’t be weird. You’ll suck it up. You know he’s off-limits, and this would just be a favor to stop how much this hurts. He can see that you’re just in pain from the drug, and it’s amplifying all your emotions, and one of your emotions just happens to be love for Bucky. 

Maybe he’s disgusted by that.

By you.

Maybe he hates you, and that’s why he won’t just save you from this hell and fuck you.

But if he hated you, he wouldn’t have been in bed with you. He would have heard you moaning his name—you’ve done that before, only in the privacy of your own room, but the drug doesn’t seem to be doing wonders for your self-control—and curled his lip and turned a blind eye.

He hasn’t turned a blind eye all day. He’s brought you food and made you drink water and helped you stumble to the bathroom. He checks on you every hour, and his jaw always clenches whenever he tells you no, and you burst into tears.

It could be frustration. He’s told you no, and you keep asking, and that isn’t cool. It’s mean. Cruel. Wrong. And a lump is forming in your throat because he’s trying to take care of you and you’re pushing him-

But he crawled into bed with you. Without you asking him to.

And you don’t know why.

You don’t call for him. Your legs feel like paper underneath you, but you’re standing on them. Taking shaking steps to the door, and- 

You fall in a second. 

Bucky’s there faster.

“What the hell,” he’s scooping you into his arms. They’re so big. “Do you think you’re doing.”

You swallow, trying to fight off a whimper at the firmness of his tone. He hates you-

The bed. He’d been in your bed.

You’re going to figure this out. Your brain feels like a hazy of very loud songs about pain and Bucky and love and it hurts and Bucky again, but you’re going to get to the fucking bottom of this.

“I was walking.” 

“You were walking?” Bucky’s expression is incredulous, as he sets you down. You’d laugh if you didn’t think you’d cry at the same time. “Why-“

“Was coming to find you.” You mumble, staring at your hands, and Bucky sighs. 

He’s holding your face between his hands. 

Why does he keep doing that.

“Could’ve just called, doll.” He mutters. “Nothin’ is so urgent you gotta hurt yourself-“

“Why were you in bed with me?”

He freezes. “What.”

“You were in bed with me.” You whisper, ignoring the blur in your eyes as you hold his gaze. “I know you were. And I- I don’t understand why you’d do that-“

“I-“

“But you won’t fuck me!” You push up on your knees, and Bucky’s so tall over you. Tall and firm, and you want to him to wrap around you forever-

Not now.

Bucky’s staring at you, and you’re trying not to fall into him, and no matter what this ends—either in your head, or real life—with Bucky over you. Right now you just have to push through the white-hot pain in your gut and over your head, and get through this.

“You-“ Bucky clear his throat, his voice suddenly a little hoarse. “You’re not mad. That I was in bed with you.”

“Yes. No. I-“ You take a shaking breath. You won’t moan. “I- I’m mad you were in bed with me and didn’t fuck me-“

“I’ve told you, I won’t-“

“But you will get in bed with me? Without me asking?” You raise your brows, and Bucky lets out a long breath. 

“I- You don’t get it.”

“I don’t. Bucky I- I know you don’t want me like that-“

“I never said that-“

“But it hurts.” You sound pathetic. You can’t remember how to care. “I- I just need it to stop hurting, and I’m sorry, I know it’s- I shouldn’t be asking more than once, but it hurts, and if you really don’t want to I’ll survive, but-“

Stop telling me what I- Fuck.” Bucky snaps your name, and pain shooting through your head. “I never said I didn’t want to.”

You’re both silent. Far too silent, for a little too long, and the air grows thin as you stare at Bucky, and he stares right back. Jaw clenched and arms folded over his chest, and you’re either floating or falling but you can’t really fucking tell. You can still smell him. Feel the heat from his body, only a foot away. 

Words come slow. Everything that isn’t Bucky is sort of far away.

“I-“ You swallow, your skin on fire and an iron is wrapping around your lungs. “You- Bucky-“

“Breathe.” He mutters. “Slow.”

You take a loud, stuttering gasp, and his eyes flare in slight surprise.

“You should lie back down, doll-“

“No- I-“ You shift around, bunching the sheets between your thighs to alleviate some of the pressure that’s pounding in your core. 

Bucky’s nostrils flare slightly, and you’re really trying to not make him uncomfortable—if not only because, if his lips curl in disgust, you’ll start sobbing again and maybe pass out—but it hurts. 

“Bucky.” You whisper, and he grunts, his eyes suddenly fixed right over your head. “Can you please-“

“I won’t.”

“Look at me.” You dig your fingers into your thighs, just to stop them from reaching for him. “Please keep looking at me.”

His throat bobs, and if he says no, that will be fine. Right now it feels like a death sentence, but in the long run you’ll get over it. You will get over it. You’ll change your name and move to Mongolia. You don’t speak Mongolian. You’ll figure out how to speak Mongolian, then move to Mongolia. You’ll build a life there. And Bucky will never find you, and nobody will ever have to think about you ever again except for your future Mongolian husband-

Bucky’s eyes drop to yours, and they’re darkened and pretty, and the whine that escapes your throat is involuntary. But Bucky’s jaw only ticks, and he holds your gaze.

You try to mimic Yelena’s cooperate or die tone when you speak.

“I’m going to ask you a question.” You whisper, and in your voice, the authority just comes out as breathless and needy. “Can you please be honest with me?”

Bucky grunts, giving you a tight nod, and you let out a slow breath. 

“Do- Do you want to?”

“Fuck-“ He runs a hand over his face, and your whole body braces for the no- 

“I’m sor-“

“Of course I want to.” He snaps, and this is floating, not falling. “You look so- I can fucking hear you, and I’d do goddamn anything to make this better for you-“

“Then please-“

“No.”

You gape at him, your heart shooting right into your throat. No. He wants to, but no, and every single nerve in your body is burning and freezing all at once. You can’t even find tears. It’s all just fogged thoughts and pain, torn between Bucky wants to help, wants to fuck you, and no.

“Why?”

Bucky mutters your name, and you shake your head.

“You don’t have to, Buck, I’d- It’s your choice and I’ll be fine-“ You won’t be. But that’s not Bucky’s responsibility, how you broke your own heart into a million pieces because you were an idiot, and this was how it was always going to end, but picking up the mess you made of yourself is still going to slice your hands open and leave your heart bleeding and lonely on the floor. “I- I’ll be okay, but tell me why-“

“I wouldn’t be right.” He mutters, and your chest is going to split open. 

“Why not-“

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer-“

“Doll-“

“Please, just tell me-“ You take a stuttering breath, curling slightly away from him. You can’t be close. It’s only making the pain worse. “I promise, I’ll stop asking, but I- Just tell me why-“

“Be-“

“Don’t say because.” You glare up at him, and his mouth snaps shut. 

Now there’s a pain in your gut that’s hot and bitter. Sore. You were mean, and it’s not his fault-

“I- I’m sorry.” You whisper, staring down at his knees. “It hurts, Bucky, and you say you want to, but you won’t, and that doesn’t make any sense-“

He grunts your name, and you wrap your arms around your stomach. 

“I just- I want to know why-“

“Because it can’t happen like this!”

Your world does the sane little stutter-stop from yesterday. That must be your own heartbeat in your ears, but- Maybe you’ve just lost your mind, and this is all a dream, yet the sound of Bucky’s ragged breathing is very loud. And you’re leaning forward. To Bucky. 

When you drag your gaze up his body—your mouth hanging open and your heart still stumbling in your ears—he’s staring at you. His voice is hoarse when he speaks. 

“You’re not in your right mind, sweetheart.” There’s a softness to his words, and this must be a dream. “I’m not gonna do this to you, when it’s not even you askin’ for it.”

“I- I am-“

“No. You’re not. It’s the gas talking-“

“And where do you think it’s getting the words?”

Bucky blinks at you. “What.”

“Nothing I’m feeling is new.” You stare at him, and his frown deepens. “I- I’m not- Yelena said it amplifies things, not creates them-“

“You’re looking for relief-“

“Why do you think I need relief?!”

His stare is cutting right into your body. There’s no fucking way it’s been this easy. That he thought that you just- That you wouldn’t, all the time, every single time you take a breath or lay in bed alone-

“I- I giggled.” You whisper. “And cried. When Yelena said you- That you felt something for me.”

“You were crying about everything.” He counters, but even his voice is dropping to a rasp. “And- Sex is just one of the ways to get rid of it, and I’m here-“

“I wouldn’t be desperate for sex if I didn’t want you.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, his mouth opening and closing, and you push a little higher off the mattress. 

“I- I want you, Bucky. It’s not the drugs, it’s me, wanting you, and I- It hurts how much I want you-“

He whispers your name, but you just fucking push on. Too late to turn back now, anyway.

“I want you to touch me and fuck me and use me and let me touch you and- And I want you to sleep next to me and kiss me and l-“

Your words fall into a long, loud moan as Bucky grabs your face between his hands. You don’t fight him. You could never fight him. It’s just waiting for him, and you’re really good at that.

He’s examining you so carefully. Slowly. Trying to give you one last chance to tell him no.

You’re not going to take it. 

So you hold his gaze, and let out a soft little sigh when he licks his lips.

That seems to be what he was waiting for. 

Bucky leans down, his nose bumping against yours ever so slightly, and then he’s kissing you. 

He’s fucking kissing you.

And God, you were right. It’s going to kill you. It’s slow and deliberate, Bucky humming against you as his mouth slots perfectly over yours, taking far too much—and still not enough—time to let you sigh and get lost in the taste of him. Somehow exactly what you imagined—coffee and mint and vanilla—and far, far better.

His tongue starts to trace over your lips before pressing down, and you open for him without a thought. Letting him push in deeper, until you’re moaning into his mouth and he’s eating the sound with low grunts, angling your head in his hands to grant him further access. All you can think about is the warmth spreading through your whole body in a way that doesn’t hurt, and how euphoria is building up like fireworks and light under your skin, and if this is just one kiss, sex might kill you. 

It will be a good way to go. 

When Bucky pulls back—his gaze blown out and your mouth still hanging open—you’re not above begging again. If he kisses you like that then walks away, you’ll crumble into a million, dented pieces that will scatter on the wind and sink into gutters-

“Is that okay?” His brow is tightened, his thumb toying slightly with the corner of your mouth. “I can do more, but-“

“More.” You nod a little like a bobblehead. “More is good, Bucky, please-“

He shakes his head, and a sob almost breaks out of your throat—he can’t do this to you, not after kissing you first—before you hear the borderline awe in his voice. 

“You’re- I can’t believe you’re real.” He murmurs your name, and his hands are so careful on your face. “You need to tell me-“

“I’m real.” 

Bucky chuckles, and the sound only spurs your need for him, rushing right between your legs. “Was going to ask if you were sure, doll.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and nod. “I- I’m sure. I’m so sure, Bucky, I- I want you- So bad-“

“How bad?” There’s something dark and hungry in his voice, and you don’t bother to stop your moan.

“So bad, I- I need you, Bucky- Just you, I- I love you-“

There it is. 

The second kiss is a little harsher than the first. More demanding, with teeth and spit and Bucky pressing you down onto the mattress. You let him move over you, his hands finding your thighs and slowly pushing them apart-

You gasp into his mouth when the metal hand traces over your core, your hips jerking slightly off the bed your fingers scratching at his back, and Bucky chuckles.

“You like that, babygirl?”

Oh.

That’s nice. 

And whatever sound that escapes you must echo that—high and blissful—because Bucky only laughs again.

“Yeah, I think you like that.” He nips at the corner of your mouth, then starts to trail a line of open-mouthed, sloppy kisses down your throat. “Been waitin’ for this so long, think-“

He cuts himself off, pushing up to frown at you. 

“You think you can take it slow, doll? Or, uh-“ He slaps your pussy lightly over your underwear, and you squeak. “Y’know.”

He’s still rubbing you with his palm, as he waits for you to answer. And slow sounds like fucking torture, but it’s Bucky asking, and there’s already some sort of relief being offered by him liking you back, he likes you back and it’s making the world slip from under you as your heart floats away-

Bucky grunts your name. “Words would be helpful.”

“Slow is fine.” You whisper, trying to spread your legs a little wider. “Just- Don’t stop touching me, please.” 

His nostrils flare, his hand gliding up your stomach to palm at your breasts with a look of what might be wonder on his face. “You want me to touch you?”

You nod weakly, and his tongue flicks over his lips as he mimics the movement. 

“Yeah, alright.” His thumb starts to flick over your nipple as he examines your face. “I can do that. Think you can take what I give you?” He lowers back down, just enough for his lips to brush yours as he speaks. “Think you can be good?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Ye- Yes. Please.”

“Yeah.” His face splits into a wide grin, right as his hand moves away from your chest. “I think you can too.”

You’re about to shove him for the teasing tone—or just whine about how he’s not touching you anymore—but then his hand returns to your core, and he’s just rubbing, but his mouth has attached to your breasts and he’s sucking small marks all over your body, and you’re going to fly out of your skin from nothing at all. 

“Jesus, I can feel how wet you are.” Bucky words are muffled against your skin, and you start to grind against his hand. “Slow down, doll, I told you-“

Bucky cuts himself off with a groan that rolls through your body, and in the effort to stop your own movements, you’d yanked on his hair. 

Hard.

And you swallow when he tilts his gaze up to yours. He looks like he’s going to eat you alive. 

“Don’t stop doin’ that.” His voice is almost a growl. You might be able to cum from only that. “You like these?”

You frown at him. “Like wha- Oh.”

A metal finger shoves your panties to the side, his finger shoving right into your cunt without warning, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. 

He’s moving so slow. Pumping in and out at a torturous pace, holding your gaze as he kisses his way back up your body. Then Bucky slams his lips back over yours right as a second finger splits you open, and his thumb finds your clit. 

“Feel good?” He mutters, and you make a weak sound into his mouth. “Words-“

“So good.” You mumble, clenching around him slightly. “I- I like it- want more-“

Bucky hums, kissing the tip of your nose with mock charity, picking up the pace ever so slightly. “Can you tell me what kinda more you want?”

“I- I don’t-“ 

He slows down again, and you shake your head, your fingers tugging at his hair. 

“Bucky-“

“I want to hear you, pretty girl.” His drawl is lighting a small fire over your skin. “Tell me what you want-“

“I-“ He presses his thumb right over your clit, and gasp. “Mouth. Want your mouth. And your fingers. At- Shit- At the same time.”

Bucky’s brows raise, and if it wasn’t for the way his was still slowly pumping in and out of you, you would’ve pleased for the mattress to swallow you whole. “You want my mouth.”

You nod, and then add. “And the metal hand. Keep using the metal hand.”

“You- Jesus.” He shakes his head, and before you can try to take it back, he’s kissing you again. It’s getting rougher every time, and your hips jerk sightly as his fingers find that deep, spongey spot inside of you. 

“I- Bucky- Fuck-“

“Such a good girl, using your words.” He starts to kiss back down your body, following the trail of spots he left before with perfect precision. “Hold on, doll.”

Before you can register what’s happening, Bucky’s shoving your legs fully apart, and-

“Oh- Bucky-“

You arch off the bed as his mouth replaces his thumb, and the speed on his fingers triples in half a second. Pumping in and out of you at an inhuman pace, pressing up and stroking inside you as his tongue leaves small, teasing licks on your clit. His free arm is pinning you down with a splayed hand on your abdomen, and his lips are latched around you and sucking, and every time you tug on his hair it only spurs him on- 

It’s building so fast. The tight, hot coil in your gut. And it might be built up frustration from the gas, or the hypersensitivity of your body, or just fucking Bucky, but you’re- 

“Fuck- I- I’m gonna-“ You can’t get the full sentence out. Bucky doesn’t seem to care. “Bucky- Please-“

He understands. He hums against you and nods slightly, and you know he understands.

But he doesn’t slow down. 

And when his fingers press into your already burning g-spot and rub so fast it feels impossible, you cum with a high scream of his name. Stars cloud your vision and warmth crashes through your whole body, but when the fog clears, you’re not coming down.

Bucky’s not stopping. He’s finger-fucking you harder than before, his tongue moving with almost a fervor and his beard scraping at your inner thighs, and before you know what’s happening you’re flying over the edge again, and again, and soon you can’t tell where one orgasm is ending and the next one is rising. It’s all just a rolling, swirling storm of Bucky and heat and perfect, torturous pleasure. 

It’s only when you’re shaking below him that he pulls away. Leaving a soft, gentle kiss over your swollen clit before crawling back over you, and you’re a needy, dazed mess, but he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. 

“You doin’ okay down there?” He brushes a little hair from your face, and you nod weakly. 

“S’- Yeah.”

He grins. Your arousal is stuck to his beard. “Yeah?”

You hum, finding enough strength to trail your fingers down his chest. “You’re so big. And hot.”

“Thanks.” He says your name, and when you drag your gaze away from his, there’s a slight blush near his ears. “You look like a painting, doll.”

Your smile is love drunk and stupid, and you don’t care. “Thank you. Bucky?”

He hums, and you let your fingers trail a little lower.

“Can I?” You palm him over his pants—why the fuck are those still on—and he jaw clenches.

“You want to?” 

You nod and give him your sweetest smile, and he lets out a long, slow breath. 

“A- Just a little, but- Shit.” His eyes flutter closed as you squeeze him. “You’re the one who needs to attention, sweetheart-“

“I feel better.”

That earns you a flat look. “Really.”

You hum, your smile widening. “I feel good, Buck-“

“Uh huh.” Bucky rolls his thumb around your clit, his mouth lowering to rest back over yours. “I love you.”

You go slack beneath him in a second, and breathless sound escaping you as tears prick at your eyes and a giggle bubbles out of your lips, and Bucky looks way too fucking smug with himself. 

“Look at that.” He hums your name, and you pout up at him.

“That’s not fair, James-“

He groans, his cock jumping against your hand, and that’s a fun discovery.

Your mouth opens, and he silences you with a deep, rough kiss. 

“You can touch me a little, baby. Since you’ve been so good for me. But then,” he ruts into your hand, and you moan into his mouth. “I’m fuckin’ you until you can’t walk.”

He’s trying to distract you from the James thing. Trying to make you forget by rising back up and ripping his pants away, displaying his impossibly pretty cock—the perfect length and thick and making your mouth water—before stroking himself over you with a lazy grin. He’s trying to divert your attention by helping you sit up and guiding your hand up to replace his.

The strategy is working.

He fits so well in just your hand, and he’s making the most sinful, beautiful sounds you’ve ever heard as you pump him slowly. His head is thrown back, letting you suck and kiss at his neck, and deep rumbles roll from his chest whenever you squeeze the base of him or swipe your fingers over the angry head of him. You’re all but folded against him, grinding against his thigh as your hand picks up speed and he moans your name-

You’re being flipped back in a second. Bucky grabs your wrists and moves you back to the mattress with your hands pinned over your head and his mouth attacking yours. Bucky teases his cock against your dripping pussy for only a second—sliding between your folds and slapping it against your clit—and then he’s pushing into you with one, long thrust. 

“Shit-“ Bucky’s face drops to the crook of your neck, his breaths ragged against your skin. “You’re so tight, and- Fuck.”

He cuts himself off with another groan, and you understand. You didn’t know you could be this full. That someone could fit so right. And he’s staying so still, trying to let you adjust, but-

You clench around him, and Bucky hisses your name in your ear.

“Don’t do that, babygirl, you’re lookin’ to start something-“

You roll your hips, and Bucky draws over you with a narrowed gaze. 

“Askin’ for trouble, doll.” He gives you one, sharp thrust, and you gasp. “Yeah, I said you’d take it. And you told me you’d be good. You gonna keep bein’ good?”

You nod, not bothering to hide the eagerness on your face, and Bucky leans back down with one sharp thrust. 

“Say it.”

“I- I’ll be good-“

Another thrust, this one impossibly deeper. “Say you love me.”

“I- Bucky-“ His free hand is hiking your legs up, and he’s so big- “I love you-“

He groans, and his movements start to pick up. “Tell me- Fuck-“ His brow presses against yours. “Say you know I love you-“

“You love me, James, please-“

Tears are just starting to prick at your eyes when Bucky kisses you, and this one is borderline feral. The time for words seems to be over.

Now it’s just Bucky.

You can’t move, with his weight a heavy comfort over your body. He’s hammering into you and bruising against your humming and aching g-spot, but your hands remain trapped above you and whenever you try to bite at his lips he only moans and fucks you harder. Splitting you open on his cock as the bed squeaks below you, and twisting his on your thighs to rub furious circles on your clit, and you’re already ruined but now you’re never going to recover-

This orgasm hits you like a hurricane. Flipping the world on its head and drowning you in the high of Bucky, still pounding into your cunt and roaring your name against your lips as he fucks you through your orgasm, and there’s dirty praise falling out of his lips but it only sounds like a song. Then he’s kissing you down into the mattress and you can feel him painting your insides and inner thighs as he jerks a last few times, and a small, sweet aftershock hits you with a fucked-out sigh. 

Bucky’s face drops to your neck as he lets out a long, slow breath, and your smile might look fucking insane. 

You don’t really care. 

You let your fingers tangle in his hair, and you’re going to sit in the feeling of him as long as he lets you. Breathing him in and letting this last, small waves of pleasure wash away the rest of the pain. 

There’s still an ache between your thighs, but you wouldn’t trade it for the world. You might need help walking to the jet, in the morning. 

You’ll ask Bucky to carry you. And maybe ask him to keep putting that ache there, until he gets bored of you- 

“You feelin’ better?” Bucky mumbles in to your skin, and you swat that last thought far away. 

He might get bored of you. Right now, he’s still buried in your cunt and kissing a soft line over your neck. You won’t ruin this before you even have it. If you do have it. Maybe you’d just pressured him, and you’re going to lose your job, and Bucky, and he won’t get bored of you because he was never even interested in the first place-

Bucky mutters your name, pushing up over you, and you swallow. “What’re you thinking.”

“I-“ You shake your head, fixing your gaze on his neck. On the little bruises you left there. “Nothing.”

He chuckles, and there’s something so open on his face. Like all the smiles he’s given you in passing, but with a veil lifted. “You’re not a good liar doll.”

You frown at him. “Yes I am-“

“No,” Bucky lowers himself down, ghosting a soft kiss over your lips. “You’re not. You’re thinkin’ about something. Tell me.”

You shake your head, but wrap your arms around his neck all the same. You don’t want him to move away. Not yet. “It’s- It’s stupid-“

“Doubt that.”

“Bucky-“

He repeats your name back to you, his gaze driving right into yours that makes you somehow feel more bare than you already are. “If it’s- If you’re having second thoughts-“

“No!” Your voice is almost a yelp. “It’s- It’s not that-“

“Thank Christ.” Bucky lets out a slow sigh, his grin a little sheepish. “Damn near gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry-“

“No, you’re not.” He squeezes a hand on your hip, and you all but melt into the mattress. “Tell me, pretty girl. What are you thinking.”

“I- I’m-“ He’s still inside you. And when you squirm slightly, his cock jumps. “Bucky-“

“Shit-“ He groans, and suddenly his hand is pinning you down, stopping your movements. “Nope. No distracting me.”

“But-“

“I won’t fuck you again until you tell me.”

Again. 

He’s going to fuck you again. 

And some of the drug must still be in your system, because your face splits back into a wide, easy smile, and Bucky raises his brows.

“Did you…” He tilts his head slightly. “Were you worried we were done, doll?”

You nod, not trusting your voice, and Bucky sighs.

“Did you miss the part when I said I love you-“

“No. Told you it was stupid.”

“Yeah, well.” Another kiss. This one softer, and a little more on your cheek. “We’ve both been kinda stupid today. Think I’d like to keep being stupid together, though. If you’re up for it.”

You blink at him. “Like, together together?”

He nods. “You can keep your job. I’ll do all my own shit, or we can get a second admin who’s not fucking me-“

“But what if you fall in love with that admin too?” You whisper, keeping your smile wide on your face, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Nothin’ is coming close to you.”

You can’t stop the clench that his deep voice and promise spark in you, and a low groan is pulled from Bucky’s throat.

“You want a round two?”

You nod, and he grunts, rolling his hips slightly. 

“Tell me what you want, baby-“

“You. All of you.” Your hands move to cup Bucky’s face. “This and… that. Please.”

He nods, and the last kiss is just as slow as the first. Deep and gentle, filled with the knowledge that now, you have the time in the world.

“You’re mine?” He mutters, and you don’t know why it’s a question. 

You have been for months. Maybe, even without knowing it, your whole life.

“Yes.” Your voice is soft against his lips, and Bucky grins.

“Good.” He nips on your lower lip, and the gas might be gone, but you don’t think anything about him is ever going to make you not want more. “Cause I’m yours.”

End Note: his hair in the post-credit scene.... nature is healing.

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[w-40-k]

(Btw, i haven't forgotten about the things you tagged me in and i do still very much intend to go back and comment on them, I've just kind of been sucked into a thing and it has me in a chokehold [positive])

Mother

Part 1

You died. To the Primarchs you were like a mother. They came to say their last goodbyes to you. Angst.

@ghrgrsfdesfrfg @w-40-k

Lion El'Jonson

The Lion knelt besides you with perfect knightly grace, his head bowed in respect. His hands, those weapons of war, trembled as he reached out to touch your folded fingers.

"Mother" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I came as soon as I could. I know... I know I'm too late but I had to tell you."

He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

"I brought you something. A flower from Caliban, from the grove where you said you wanted to walk someday. I know it's just a simple thing but you always said the simplest gifts carried the most love."

He placed the white bloom in your other hand, his fingers lingering on yours.

"I was your knight, Mother. I was supposed to protect you, to come when you called. I was too far away, fighting battles that don't matter now. Forgive me. Please forgive your failed knight."

A single tear fell onto your joined hands.

"I love you, Mother. I should have said it more. I should have said it every day."

Fulgrim

Fulgrim approached with a canvas in his hands, his features streaked with tears he made no attempt to hide.

"I finished it" he said, holding up the painting, your portrait, now complete despite the scar his chisel had left which fell from his hands when he heard the news of your death. "I know it's not perfect but you always said my imperfections made my art more beautiful."

He set the painting where you could see it... if you could still see.

"You were my muse, Mother. Every beautiful thing I ever created was because I was trying to capture even a fraction of the beauty I saw in you. Not just your face, though you were lovely, but your soul. The way you saw wonder in everything."

His voice broke.

"I wanted to paint you forever. I wanted to spend eternity trying to show the galaxy what real beauty looked like. But I can't... I can't paint you anymore. How do I create beauty in a world that doesn't have you in it?"

He touched your cheek with infinite gentleness.

"Thank you for teaching me that love was the greatest art of all. I'll try to remember that even when the world feels ugly without you."

Perturabo

Perturabo stood besides you with his hands full of blueprints, dozens of them, architectural plans that represented years of work.

"I brought you the designs" he said, his voice rough with emotion. "All of them. The gardens you wanted to see, the palaces I designed with rooms full of light, the cities where children could play safely in the streets."

He spread them out around you, a paper ocean of dreams made manifest.

"You were the only one who understood what I was trying to build. Everyone else saw weapons and fortifications but you... you saw homes. You saw beauty. You saw the future I was trying to create."

His massive hands clenched into fists.

"I wanted to build you a garden, Mother. A place where you could walk among growing things and know that they were protected by walls that would never fall. I wanted to give you peace made manifest in stone and steel."

He knelt besides you, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"I don't know how to build without you to build for. What's the point of creating something beautiful if the most beautiful thing in the galaxy is gone?"

He pressed his forehead to your hand.

"I love you, Mother. You made me feel like an architect instead of just a destroyer. Thank you for seeing the dreams in my blueprints."

Jaghatai Khan

The Khan came to your side with wind-tousled hair and dust on his boots as if he had ridden hard to reach you.

"I'm sorry I'm late" he said, sinking to one knee beside hs you. "I was riding when the news came and I... I couldn't stop. I rode for three days straight, hoping that if I was fast enough I could somehow outrun this reality."

He took your hand in both of his.

"You understood why I had to ride, didn't you? You never asked me to stay, never tried to cage me like the others did. You knew that the hunt was part of who I was and you loved me anyway."

His voice grew thick with emotion.

"But I should have stayed more often. I should have sat with you in the gardens and let you braid flowers in my hair. I should have told you about the sunsets I saw on distant worlds, should have brought you stories from the wind roads."

He lifted your hand to his cheek.

"You were my anchor, Mother. The fixed point that let me range so far because I always knew I could return. Now I'm lost in a way I've never been before and I don't know how to find my way home."

He took a shuddering breath.

"Ride with me in spirit, Mother. When I race across distant worlds be the wind at my back. That's how I'll carry you with me, in the freedom you gave me to be who I was meant to be."

Leman Russ

Russ approached with something clutched in his massive fist. When he opened it, it revealed a small carved wolf, no bigger than his thumb, crude but heartfelt.

"I made this for you" he said, his voice gruff with suppressed emotion. "I know it's not much. I'm not... I'm not good with the gentle things like Fulgrim or Vulkan. But I wanted you to have something."

He placed the tiny wolf in your palm, closing your fingers around it.

"You were the only one who wasn't afraid of me, Mother. When I was young and the wolf was strong, when I could barely control the beast in my blood, you would run your fingers through my hair and tell me stories until I was calm again."

His voice broke.

"You called me your wolf-son and you meant it as a loving thing. Not as something to be ashamed of but as something precious. You made me feel like the wolf and the man could exist together, that I didn't have to choose."

He rested his forehead against the edge of your bier.

"I howled for you, Mother. All the way from Fenris to Terra, I howled. And for the first time in my life the howl felt empty because you weren't there to answer."

His tears fell freely now.

"Pack bonds are forever, Mother. Death doesn't break them. You'll always be part of my pack, the heart of it. I love you. My pack loves you. Forever."

[astonmartinii]

day six: not so home for christmas | oscar piastri social media au

pairing: oscar piastri x fem reader

oscar and y/n are having their first christmas in monaco because of a snow storm, unfortunately this also means they're now hosting most of the grid as well.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, landonorris and 137,094 others

tagged: oscarpiastri

yourusername: thanks a lot snow storm :( i guess it's our first ever christmas here in monaco

view all comments

user1: yall global warming might just be real

user2: you're only just realising it now ?

charles_leclerc: you kids and your complaining - a white christmas in monaco, what more could you want?

yourusername: a christmas at home with our families?

charles_leclerc: families? when you're in your adopted father-in-law's home city, i'd watch your tone if i were you

oscarpiastri: if you think of your kids as often as you say then you should be worried that your aussie son is going to FREEZE to death :(

charles_leclerc: if it's the bbq you crave, you can still do that?

yourusername: it's snowing? and he is NOT bringing our bbq inside

charles_leclerc: okay jeez, not much christmas spirit here i see

oscarpiastri: we miss our families, sue us

user3: wait... if they couldn't get out of nice... who else couldn't

user4: the storm kicked in like a day ago right?

user5: based on instagram activity, my guess is that max, lando, ollie (idk why he was in monaco anyway), kimi (i think he's attached to ollie), alex (and lily) and george

user6: i know it would never happen but wouldn't it be so cute if we got a grid christmas dinner

yourusername: please don't give them any ideas

oscarpiastri: i only just got rid of them 😩

landonorris: so, just out of interest, is y/n still free to maybe wrap my presents for me?

yourusername: do i look like the christmas fairy to you?

landonorris: well i know for a fact that oscar's ass was not wrapping those presents

oscarpiastri: well y/n actually likes doing things for me soooooo

landonorris: PLEASE Y/N I'LL HAVE TO RESORT TO USING TIN FOIL

yourusername: tin foil... please you are a 25 year old man

landonorris: does it look like i'm a man who has sellotape in his house?

yourusername: no.

user7: y/n is like a full time mum to a load of men all older than her

user8: she better get ready to cook for them at christmas because none of these men can cook for themselves

oscarpiastri

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1 and 692,108 others

tagged: yourusername & landonorris

oscarpiastri: i'm not sure how this went from our lonely christmas away from both of our families to babysitting half of the grid but what the hell, sure

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user10: i personally blame all of you for this

user11: and what??? i'm so excited

user12: i hope they post nothing more just to spite your ass

charles_leclerc: i’m kinda offended no one thought of coming to mine :/

maxverstappen1: you’re shit at cooking

charles_leclerc: how would you know?

maxverstappen1: i saw it in your vlog

charles_leclerc: you watch my vlogs???

maxverstappen1: NO?

yourusername: okay queens stop flirting and get back to your stations in the kitchen

charles_leclerc: can we flirt there?

yourusername: if you're still peeling - knock yourselves out

user13: y/n basically confirming lestappen? wow christmas DID come early this year

user14: the real question is why she would let those menaces in the kitchen?

yourusername: i have seen how much these people eat, i need help even from the useless

yourusername: also if they want certain dishes from home they have to help

maxverstappen1: i am CORING AS MANY APPLES AS I CAN I PROMISE THE APPLE BEIGNETS WILL BE WORTH IT

oscarpiastri: i know they will be, y/n is making them

maxverstappen1: okay buddy, i don't see you helping

oscarpiastri: i am keeping everyone else in line, that's a full time job as well

user15: who made the youngest couple in charge of these fools?

user16: a comedic genius

yourusername: they're annoying but i'll deal with them for you

oscarpiastri: you make such sacrifices for me, i love you

yourusername: i love you more

alexalbon: we're really not that bad you guys are being dramatic

yourusername: george walked up to our mantle piece, pointed at my baby picture and said "ugly. my condolences" ?

alexalbon: that's george ? he's mean to everyone

yourusername: HE'S IN THAT BABY'S HOUSE

olliebearman

liked by charles_leclerc, estebanocon and 418,934 others

tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri & kimiantonelli

olliebearman: first christmas with my big brother :))))

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user17: yall be on oscar about him holding onto the leclerc family joke but the real enemy is ollie

olliebearman: i think it's cute

olliebearman: and it's NOT a joke

user18: you know what? yeah i'd also keep going with the joke i need to get in that leclerc family

olliebearman: the real catch here is y/n she's going to teach me to crochet :)

yourusername: we can make little bear mans !!!

user19: the grid dad stuff was cringey... but grid brother well that's hitting like crack i fear

charles_leclerc: grid dads are cringey ??? count your days

user19: sorry?

charles_leclerc: i (and my family) will NOT tolerate sebastian vettel slander. not now not EVER

fernandoalo_oficial: and me?

charles_leclerc: i couldn't give a fuck about you old man

fernandoalo_oficial: excuse me

fernandoalo_oficial: i'll have you know i am just as much oscar's father as you are

charles_leclerc: and how have you come to that OBVIOUSLY WRONG conclusion

fernandoalo_oficial: WELL i don't know maybe his REAL grid dad is actually mark webber who i have a well documented homoerotic relationship with and therefore oscar and most importantly Y/N are my children

charles_leclerc: what a load of bullshit

charles_leclerc: if grid children were based on homoerotic tension then i'd be father to all of the red bull juniors and max would have custody of the FDA

maxverstappen1: well....

pepemarti: hi !!!

dinobeganovic: hey.....

yourusername: what happened to the original plot of the movie

user20: i think the cabin fever is getting to them

lilymunhe: no they're like this all of the time it's exhausting

yourusername: tell me about it

olliebearman: but not me :(

yourusername: no we love you

oscarpiastri: you are the least annoying one

olliebearman: omg thank you :3

yourusername

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 163,207 others

tagged: oscarpiastri, charles_leclerc & landonorris

yourusername: not so home for christmas but with family nonetheless

view all comments

user22: what was the dress code here?

landonorris: what we had left? all the dry cleaners are closed because of the storm

yourusername: you take ALL of your clothes to the dry cleaners?

landonorris: why wouldn't i do that...

yourusername: yk what, whatever !

user23: omg of course leo was there as well

yourusername: we only invited charles for him

charles_leclerc: excuse me?

landonorris: he was invited ????

oscarpiastri: well he was staying in monaco anyway and you guys all invoked your squatters rights in my house so what was one more

landonorris: i am not squatting? my ass is already big enough as it is

yourusername: i know your ass is big because YOU'RE ALWAYS SAT ON IT

oscarpiastri: god i love you

yourusername: i love you even more

oscarpiastri: nuh uh not possible

yourusername: i love you so much i'm not even that angry about half of the grid crashing our christmas

oscarpiastri: i love you so much that i personally barged a child out of the way to get you your eras tour merch

yourusername: i do love my merch.... but not as much as i love you

oscarpiastri: you're so romantic

georgerussell63: right that's it, i am SICK of you people pretending you are not enjoying our presence

yourusername: did i or did i not say family ???

oscarpiastri: george i'd appreciate if you didn't talk to y/n this way

maxverstappen1: yeah back the fuck off

georgerussell63: why is max here?

maxverstappen1: ummmm y/n busted her ass to make apple beignets for me so i had some netherlands with me at christmas so i would die for her. i am somwhat fond of oscar as well

maxverstappen1: so fuck with them, you fuck with me

maxverstappen1: and you seem to like doing that recently

yourusername: awwww thanks max!

oscarpiastri: we are fond of you too buddy

georgerussell63: how did i lose this?

user24: max out here getting wags on his side

maxverstappen1: that's my ma

maxverstappen1: wait that makes my homoerotic tension with charles incest

maxverstappen1: that's my home girl

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, jackdoohan and 1,094,577 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri: y/n absolutely smashed our makeshift grid christmas and she said she'll accept thanks in qualifying tows or easy passes on track 👍

view all comments

user25: oh they want me dead

user26: i would do questionable things to get a slice of that cake

user27: drop the recipe please xxx

yourusername: oh babe i be following the tiktoks like the rest of yall - i'll repost it

user28: woman of the people

yourusername: babe i don't really remember saying those exact words...

oscarpiastri: PLEASE ! they don't say no to you now you've filled their stomachs

landonorris: he's not wrong

maxverstappen1: you're in my will now

charles_leclerc: you're now my favourite daughter in law

yourusername: i'm your only daughter in law?

charles_leclerc: idk kimi and ollie are pretty attached with their weird tension

landonorris: like father like son

charles_leclerc: huh?

landonorris: huh?

oscarpiastri: ^^ see !!!! y/n please !!!

yourusername: fine.

yourusername: thank you all for coming, i hope you enjoyed dinner and your time with us. i loved spending time with you all but if you wish, i will be accepting thanks in the form of qualifying tows and easy passes for oscar or pornstar martinis from any hospitality

yourusername: happy?

oscarpiastri: yes

oscarpiastri: YOU HEARD THE WOMAN GUYS

maxverstappen1: oh i love y/n but i'd rather put you in the wall than let that ugly orange car past without a fight

georgerussell63: @fia i told yall

yourusername: are you ever gonna give that up ?

georgerussell63: no? and i KNOW IT WAS YOU WHO SAT ME NEXT TO HIM AT DINNER

yourusername: you'll never prove it :P

user29: oscar is such a sassy man

yourusername: he gets it from his momma

oscarpiastri: and you :)

yourusername: i will say your ability to watch my reality tv with you is a big factor in how much i love you

landonorris: is that why oscar once woke me up the night before a race by shouting "get her ass lisa" ???

oscarpiastri: we watch real housewives together on facetime :)

charles_leclerc

liked by pierregasly, carlossainz55 and 1,130,672 others

tagged: yourusername & oscarpiastri

charles_leclerc: i made the right choice in son and most importantly daughter in law

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user31: okay the cinnamon buns have thrown me over the edge now

user32: i NEED to know who asked for them

alexalbon: guilty 💅 and they slapped thanks y/m

oscarpiastri: we've been dating for years? like when i was still in f3?

charles_leclerc: semantics

oscarpiastri: no i met and charmed y/n all on my own thank you very much

charles_leclerc: because she saw the future and the potential of our prosperous family !!!

oscarpiastri: at this point, whatever you wanna hear old man

charles_leclerc: relegated below ollie

olliebearman: score !!!

user33: oh these people are never letting this joke die are they

user34: i think we're stuck with it

charles_leclerc: are you people sick of whimsy ???

charles_leclerc: i am ALLOWED to flex my son's amazing choice in women, especially a woman who will make me a swiss roll on demand

yourusername: he does have amazing taste

oscarpiastri: thank you :3

yourusername: as much as you guys were somewhat annoying, we had an amazing christmas xx

oscarpiastri: please do not bother us until march

charles_leclerc: fine. but we're still on for the double date in melbourne?

charles_leclerc: (maybe triple? idk ollie can just bring kimi)

kimiantonelli: score !!!

yourusername: we would love to !

oscarpiastri: i guess you could meet my actual family ?

charles_leclerc: not now oscar, let me enjoy chritmas with you all before you remind me of that

oscarpiastri: okay?

user35: y/n and oscar actually have the patience of saints because if these clowns crashed my christmas i'd be on the news

yourusername: any christmas is perfect with him

oscarpiastri: with y/n, i can get through even the most annoying people

user35: okay yall didn't have to flex on me that hard damn

fin.

note: here's day six! i'm not sure if you guys saw my update post but this series won't be done by christmas day but will stretch to NYE because unfortunately my cat has to be put down :( i've had him for nearly 19 years and it's really hard to think about him being gone so i'm just spending as much time as possible with him atm. anyway, i hope you enjoyed !! xx