#(a lot of times i just boot this game to go strolling around and looking a the scenery)

[eyelixir]

More various visits about town for my own nefarious purposes. I always loved that giant amygdala statue just chilling in Yahar'gul lmao.

[evermoreness]

the bet | sirius black

pairing: sirius black x reader

summary: james bets sirius can't make you fall in love with him and now sirius is all over you.

masterlist

It started, like most ridiculous things in Sirius Black’s life, because of James Potter.

The Gryffindor common room was loud that evening, filled with students playing Wizard’s Chess, finishing last-minute essays, or just causing trouble. Sirius lounged on the couch, legs stretched over the armrest, twirling his wand between his fingers as he half-listened to James and Peter argue about Quidditch formations.

And then you laughed.

Not at him—though that wouldn’t have been surprising—but across the room, sitting with Marlene and Lily, head thrown back, eyes sparkling with mischief. Sirius had heard you laugh plenty of times, but for some reason, this one caught his attention. Maybe it was because of how easily you laughed, how effortlessly you filled the space around you with warmth and energy.

James, ever perceptive (and ever annoying), caught the way Sirius was looking at you and smirked.

“Mate,” he said, nudging Sirius’s boot off the couch. “You’re staring.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and sat up properly. “Please. I don’t stare—people hope I’ll stare.”

Peter snorted. “Yeah, alright.”

James leaned back in his chair, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You know,” he mused, “I don’t think Y/n ever actually fallen for your charms.”

Sirius scoffed, placing a hand on his chest like he’d just been gravely insulted. “Excuse me?”

“I mean, she flirts with you,” James continued, as if this wasn’t a direct attack on Sirius’s entire identity, “but she flirts with everyone. She’s probably the only girl at Hogwarts who hasn’t fallen for your act.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes, turning his attention back to you. You were a flirt—always had been. And you were good at it too, quick-witted and confident, never the type to get flustered. He’d flirted with you plenty of times, and you always matched him, grin for grin, quip for quip. But James was right—you never blushed, never got nervous, never gave him that look most girls did when he turned on the charm.

It was… interesting.

And Sirius Black loved a challenge.

“You’re saying,” Sirius said slowly, “that if I actually tried, she wouldn’t fall for me?”

James grinned. “I’m saying you can’t do it.”

Remus, who had been reading by the fire (and wisely staying out of this nonsense), sighed. “Here we go.”

Peter perked up. “Ooh, is this a bet?”

Sirius smirked. “It is now.”

James sat up straighter, eyes gleaming. “Alright then, Black. Let’s make it official. I bet you—” he paused for effect, “—ten Galleons that you can’t make her fall for you.”

Sirius raised a brow. “Ten? That’s all?”

James laughed. “Alright, big shot, fifteen.”

“Twenty.”

“You want to lose money that badly?”

Sirius leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, expression downright smug. “Oh, I never lose.”

Remus groaned. “This is a terrible idea.”

James ignored him. “Alright, fine. Twenty Galleons says she will never fall for you.”

Sirius held out a hand. James shook it. The deal was made.

Peter clapped his hands together. “Ooooh, this is gonna be fun.”

Remus muttered, “This is going to end in disaster.”

Sirius leaned back, stretching lazily, confidence radiating off him. “Just you lot wait. By the end of the month, she will be smitten.”

“Sure, mate,” James said, shaking his head. “Sure.”

Across the room, you turned slightly, catching Sirius’s gaze. Your eyes met his, and instead of looking away, you held his stare, tilting your head slightly as if daring him to make a move.

And just to be infuriating, you gave him a wink.

Sirius grinned.

This was going to be fun.

The game begins

Sirius Black was a man on a mission.

The very next morning, he strolled into the Great Hall like he owned the place—not an uncommon occurrence. But today, his target wasn’t just looking devastatingly handsome or stealing toast off James’s plate. No, today was about you.

You were sitting with Marlene and Lily, sipping your coffee and looking far too amused for someone who had barely started the day. The moment Sirius approached, Marlene smirked knowingly.

“Uh-oh,” she muttered. “Brace yourself.”

You looked up just as Sirius slid into the seat beside you, his signature smirk firmly in place. “Morning, love,” he drawled, reaching out and plucking a piece of bacon from your plate.

You raised an eyebrow but let him take it. “Flirting before I’ve had my coffee? Bold move, Black.”

Sirius grinned. “I figured I should start early. Give you the whole day to think about how devastatingly charming I am.”

You took a slow sip of coffee, holding eye contact. Then, deadpan: “Who are you again?”

Marlene cackled.

Lily snorted into her pumpkin juice.

But Sirius? He only grinned wider. “Ah, playing hard to get, are we? Don’t worry, love. I love a challenge.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Do you, now?”

Sirius leaned in ever so slightly. “Mmm. And something tells me you do too.”

You pretended to consider this. “That’s true. But here’s the thing—I’m very good at it.”

Sirius chuckled. Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Since then, it was suspicious how often Sirius Black seemed to run into you that week.

He was always around, flirting, teasing, and honestly just trying to get your attention somehow. It was becoming a very odd habit to be around him that much.

It's been a few days now, and it seemed Sirius wasn't going to back down on whatever the plan he had in his head.

Try harder.

The Hogwarts library was your sanctuary. A place of peace, quiet, and most importantly, a place without distractions. Better saying, a place without Sirius Black.

At least, that was the idea.

Because of course, when you were finally alone, enjoying the rare bliss of uninterrupted reading, a shadow loomed over your book, and with it, his voice.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You sighed without looking up. “This is a library, Sirius. People come here to study.”

Sirius Black had a very particular way of invading one’s personal space. Instead of just standing in front of your table like a normal person, he leaned forward, resting his elbows against the wood, close enough that you could feel the warmth of him.

“Yes, well,” he mused, “I figured you might be lonely.”

You finally lifted your gaze, unimpressed. “Oh, how thoughtful. And totally not an excuse to bother me.”

Sirius let out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you had physically harmed him. “You wound me.”

You smirked. “Not yet, but if you keep talking, I might.”

His grin widened. “Feisty. I like it.”

“You like everything.”

“No, just you.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

Sirius noticed.

He noticed everything.

And like the menace he was, he took that as an invitation.

With a lazy confidence that only he could pull off, he slid into the chair across from you, propping his chin on one hand. “So, what are we reading today?”

We. As if he was included in this activity.

You sighed, snapping your book shut with an audible thud. “Sirius, don’t you have somewhere else to be? Like, I don’t know, bothering James? Tormenting Snape? Staring at yourself in a mirror?”

“Multitasking, love.” He winked. “Besides, I like this game much better.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What game?”

“The one where I try to get you to fall for me.” He smirked. “And you pretend you’re not already madly in love.”

You let out a short laugh. “Oh, that’s what this is?”

Sirius tapped his fingers against the table. “Mmm, seems that way, doesn’t it?”

You leaned forward slightly, resting your arms on the wood between you. “I hate to break it to you, Black, but if this is your grand seduction plan, I’d give it a solid four out of ten.”

Sirius clutched his heart again, even more dramatically than before. “Four?! That’s a crime.”

“Would’ve been a three, but I added an extra point for effort.”

He narrowed his eyes, studying you. “You’re toying with me.”

You smirked. “What gave it away?”

Sirius huffed, but the grin never left his lips. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he examined you. His eyes flickered between yours, as if searching for a weak spot.

Then, he smiled.

That slow, dangerous, oh no kind of smile.

“Alright, then,” he mused, tilting his head. “I’ll just have to try harder.”

You arched an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”

“Maybe it is.”

Your fingers tapped against your book thoughtfully. “So what happens if you lose?”

Sirius grinned. “I never lose.”

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice to a whisper. “Sounds like someone’s overconfident.”

Sirius mirrored your movement, his voice dropping to match yours. “Sounds like someone’s tempted.”

You held his gaze for a long, tense moment, a silent battle of wills.

Determined not to let him win this round, you leaned in too, mirroring his movement, until your faces were barely inches apart.

“You know what, Sirius?” you whispered.

His smirk widened. “What, love?”

You reached forward, grabbed your book—and snapped it shut in his face.

Sirius jerked back, startled, blinking rapidly.

“Merlin’s bloody beard, woman!” Sirius exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. “That was uncalled for!”

You leaned back in your chair, casually flipping your book open again. “No, invading my personal space was uncalled for.”

Sirius groaned dramatically, slumping in his chair. “You are absolutely infuriating.”

“You love it,” you said sweetly.

Sirius huffed, but there was no mistaking the way his lips curled up. “One day, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and full of promise. “One day, you’re going to beg me to kiss you.”

You scoffed, flipping a page. “Highly unlikely.”

Sirius just smirked, standing up and giving you a mock salute. “We’ll see.”

And with that, he turned and sauntered out of the library, leaving you staring after him, suddenly very aware of the warmth lingering on your face.

The retaliation.

It's been weeks now.

Weeks.

And Sirius was still all over you.

At this point, it was clear that Sirius Black had declared war.

Your response to that? Oh, he had no idea who he was messing with.

Because if Sirius Black wanted to play this game, you were going to make damn sure he suffered for it.

So, the next time you saw him in the corridor—leaning lazily against the wall, that insufferable grin already in place—you stopped, tilted your head, and gave him a slow, deliberate once-over.

Sirius blinked, caught slightly off guard. But only for a second.

Then, he smirked, straightening up. “See something you like, sweetheart?”

You let the silence drag out, letting his own arrogance build up. Then, just as his smirk widened—

You hummed, tapping your chin. “Hmm. Almost.”

Then, with a slow, infuriatingly confident wink, you turned on your heel and walked away.

Sirius stood frozen in place.

For a solid ten seconds.

You could feel his confusion radiating behind you, the absolute whiplash of thinking he had the upper hand, only to be completely blindsided.

James, who had just walked up behind Sirius, witnessed the entire thing. He clapped Sirius on the back with a grin. “Mate.”

Sirius didn’t even turn.

James smirked. “I think you just got Sirius’d.”

Sirius finally blinked, coming back to himself. He turned to James, looking betrayed. “That—that’s not a thing.”

James snorted. “It definitely is now.”

Sirius turned back toward the hallway you had disappeared down, running a hand through his hair, still processing.

You almost felt bad for him.

Almost.

But then you heard his voice, muttering to himself as you rounded the corner—

“Bloody hell.”

And that?

That was exactly the reaction you wanted.

The shift.

The Gryffindor common room was warm with the crackling fire, but the corridors leading to it were anything but. The stone walls seemed to absorb every bit of warmth, leaving you slightly chilled as you walked back from the Prefect’s meeting. It had run longer than expected—something about Filch catching a group of first-years trying to hex Mrs. Norris (which, honestly, you would have given them extra House points for).

As you turned the last corner, you spotted him.

Sirius Black, leaning against the wall right outside the common room entrance, looking for all the world like he was posing for a magazine cover. His arms were crossed over his chest, one foot propped against the stone, his black hair perfectly tousled in that effortlessly charming way that drove half the school mad.

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you seriously waiting for me?”

Sirius smirked. “What makes you think I wasn’t just casually standing here, looking incredibly handsome?”

You sighed, exasperated but amused. “Because you’re Sirius Black. And Sirius Black doesn’t do casual.”

Sirius pushed off the wall, stepping in front of you, blocking your way into the common room. “Guilty as charged,” he admitted. “Though, in my defense, you do make it very hard to resist waiting around just to see you.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “That was almost sweet.”

He grinned. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost. But then I remembered you say this kind of thing to everyone.”

Sirius gasped dramatically. “Now that’s just slander. I’d never be this dedicated to anyone else.”

“Oh, dedicated now, are we?” you teased.

He stepped closer, closing some of the space between you, his smirk never fading. “You have noticed, haven’t you?”

Your smirk mirrored his, refusing to back down. “Oh, I’ve noticed.” You leaned in just a fraction. “I just don’t think it’s working.”

Sirius let out a soft laugh, but there was something in his expression—something unreadable, something a little too amused, a little too confident. “Oh, love,” he murmured, voice lower now, teasing but laced with something else. “You say that like you’re not enjoying every second of it.”

Your breath caught—just for a moment.

Not because he was right (which he wasn’t, obviously), but because of how close he suddenly was. The playful flirting had been going on for weeks now, but this? This was new.

You weren’t about to let him win, though.

With slow deliberation, you reached up and threaded your fingers through his hair, twirling a loose strand between your fingers. “Lovely hair,” you mused, watching his expression closely. “Shame if someone—oh, I don’t know—hexed it green.”

Sirius stilled.

It was brief, barely a second, but you felt it—the way his breath hitched just slightly, the way his smirk faltered for half a heartbeat before he recovered.

Then, he exhaled a soft laugh. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You grinned. “Try me.”

Sirius blinked, clearly caught off guard.

Then, he laughed. A real, genuine laugh, not his usual smug chuckle. “Merlin, you really are something else.”

You grinned. “Took you this long to realize?”

Sirius shook his head, still grinning. “I should be winning this, you know.”

You smirked. “Oh, you think you’re winning?”

He chuckled. “I know I am.”

“Sure, Black. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grey eyes flickered with something unreadable before he suddenly leaned in, just enough to make your heart stutter—not quite touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him.

His voice dropped to a murmur. “You love this.”

For the first time since this ridiculous game had started, you felt your heart stutter—just for a second. He was so close, his voice quieter than usual, like this moment wasn’t just another round of flirting.

You kept your cool, refusing to step back. “Of course I do,” you whispered. “I love watching you try so hard.”

His smirk widened. “Oh, darling. I’m not even trying yet.”

That was it. That was the moment you felt it.

The shift.

You weren’t sure who moved first. Maybe it was him, leaning in just enough to blur the lines of your usual banter. Maybe it was you, tilting your head slightly, eyes locked with his, breath caught somewhere between another teasing remark and something… else.

Whatever it was, the air between you shifted.

Sirius had been relentless these past few weeks, flirting with you at every opportunity, always pushing, always testing. But you had been just as ruthless—flirting back, laughing at his attempts, making sure he never got the reaction he was aiming for. It was a game, a fun one, a ridiculous one.

But now?

Now, you weren’t entirely sure what it was anymore.

You still had your fingers in his hair, twirling a strand between them as if you weren’t hyper-aware of the way he was looking at you. Sirius wasn’t just smirking now—his usual cocky, easy-going expression had melted into something slower, something almost… amused. Like he was watching you figure something out in real time.

His voice was soft, but there was no missing the amusement in it. “You’re staring, love.”

You scoffed, shaking off whatever that moment was. “So are you.”

“Course I am.” He grinned, tilting his head. “You are stunning.”

You rolled your eyes, letting go of his hair and taking a small step back—just enough to clear your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Sirius grinned. “And yet, here you are, still standing in front of me. Fascinating.”

You huffed a laugh. “I’m only here because you’re blocking the entrance.”

“Oh?” He glanced behind him, at the portrait hole, then back at you. “Say please, and I might move.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I’d rather hex you.”

Sirius gasped dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Violence? So soon in our courtship?”

You groaned, shoving his shoulder lightly. “Move, Black.”

He grinned but didn’t budge. Instead, he leaned slightly closer again, grey eyes twinkling with mischief. “Admit it.”

You crossed your arms. “Admit what?”

“That I make your heart race.”

You blinked. Oh, he was getting bold now.

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “Hmmm… I do get a strange reaction around you.”

Sirius smirked. “Do you now?”

You nodded solemnly. “Yes. It’s called secondhand embarrassment.”

Sirius barked a laugh. “Merlin, you love giving me a hard time, don’t you?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

He studied you for a second, like he was debating his next move, and then—because he was Sirius Black—he smirked again and leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice to something almost dangerous.

“Don’t worry, love,” he murmured, “I like it rough.”

For the first time, you felt your brain short-circuit.

It was barely noticeable—the fraction of a second it took you to process what he had just said—but Sirius caught it. His smirk widened ever so slightly, his eyes flickering with triumph.

Oh, hell no.

You refused to give him the satisfaction.

So you did the only logical thing: you reached out, grabbed his tie (because of course Sirius Black wore his tie loose and messy), and yanked.

Sirius stumbled forward, his hands flying up instinctively to catch himself on either side of you, palms pressing against the wall just behind your shoulders. He was close now—closer than before, his face mere inches from yours.

His smirk faltered.

Your grip on his tie tightened. “Careful, Black,” you whispered, voice dripping with amusement. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

Sirius exhaled a laugh, but it wasn’t as confident as before. His gaze flickered to your lips—just briefly, just enough for you to notice.

And then, just as quickly, he pulled back, his usual grin snapping back into place. “Well,” he said, voice a little too casual, “this has been fun.”

You let go of his tie, smoothing it down like you hadn’t just pulled him into your trap. “Oh, so much fun.”

Sirius ran a hand through his hair, clearing his throat. “Well then. I suppose I should let you get inside before you freeze to death out here.”

You hummed. “How thoughtful of you.”

He stepped aside, finally moving out of the way, and gestured dramatically to the portrait hole. “After you, my dear.”

You walked past him, but just before stepping inside, you turned back slightly, smirking. “Try harder next time, Black.”

Sirius chuckled, watching as you disappeared into the common room.

And for the first time since this whole thing started, he realized—he was the one who needed to be careful.

Because this?

This wasn’t a game anymore.

The realization.

If someone had told Sirius Black a month ago that he’d be spending every single day trying to fluster a girl and failing miserably, he would’ve laughed in their face.

If they had told him that, in the process, he’d start genuinely enjoying her company instead of just playing around? That he’d actually start looking forward to seeing her, not just for the game but because… he liked being around her?

He would’ve called them a liar.

But here he was.

You had barely stepped into the classroom when you noticed something was off.

Your usual seat, the one you had claimed since the start of the year, was occupied.

And not by just anyone.

Sirius Black sat in your chair, lounging as if he owned the place, a smug smirk firmly in place.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re in my spot.”

Sirius stretched lazily, arms behind his head. “Oh? Didn’t see your name on it.”

You huffed, placing a hand on your hip. “Move.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

Oh, he wanted this.

He was practically begging for you to retaliate, thinking he had the upper hand, that he controlled this game.

Well.

He was about to learn exactly why you were a worthy opponent.

You gave him an innocent smile, stepping forward slowly. He watched you, intrigued, likely expecting you to shove him out of the chair or hit him with a sarcastic remark.

Instead, you simply… sat down.

Right in his lap.

His brain, for the first time in his entire existence, short-circuited.

Sirius froze.

James, sitting across from the both of you, choked violently on his own spit.

Peter dropped his quill.

Remus barely glanced up from his book, but there was a very distinct twitch of his lips.

“Comfortable, love?” Sirius finally managed, voice noticeably strained.

You made a show of shifting slightly, settling into place, “Quite.”

Sirius swallowed. Hard.

James rolled his eyes. “You two are actually unbearable.”

You smirked. “What’s wrong, Potter? Can’t handle a little friendly seating arrangement?”

James deadpanned. “That is not a ‘friendly’ anything.”

Sirius, still struggling to recover, cleared his throat. His hands had instinctively settled on your waist when you sat down, and it seemed he just now realized it because they suddenly twitched, as if unsure whether to move away or pull you closer.

You weren’t giving him a single second to recover.

Tilting your head slightly, you turned your head back at him, bringing your lips dangerously close to his ear. “What’s the matter, Black?” you purred. “Speechless?”

Sirius inhaled sharply, gripping your waist just slightly in retaliation. “You wish,” he muttered back, his breath warm against your skin.

James slammed his hands on the desk. “I swear, if you two start shagging right now, I’m dropping out.”

Peter just covered his eyes. “I can’t watch this.”

Remus, without looking up, turned a page in his book. “Oh, please. They’ve been shagging with their eyes for months.”

Sirius barked out a laugh, but you could feel how tense he was under you. You weren’t supposed to be this bold. You were supposed to roll your eyes and huff at him, not actually play along.

You smiled sweetly. “You alright, darling? You seem a bit… tense.”

Sirius swallowed again, eyes locked onto yours, something sharp and dark flickering in them. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m more than alright.”

“Oh, bloody hell,” James groaned, dramatically slumping onto the desk.

Peter still had his hands over his eyes, mumbling something about his innocence being shattered.

Remus just turned another page, unimpressed. “If you lot are done providing the rest of us with free entertainment, I’d like to get through at least one class today without wanting to fling myself into the Black Lake.”

He narrowed his eyes at you, trying to act as if this wasn’t affecting him in the slightest. “I hope you realize you’ve just started something you can’t finish, love.”

You hummed, your face still turned to his, almost touching. “Oh, I always finish what I start, Black.”

Sirius, determined not to be outdone, tightened his grip on your waist ever so slightly, shifting just enough to remind you of where exactly you were sitting. His lips curled into a devilish grin as he leaned in slightly.

Peter peeked through his fingers at you and Sirius, then promptly covered his eyes again. “Nope. Still too much.”

“Careful, love,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk. “You might actually start liking it here.”

And that was when Professor Slughorn walked in.

“Ah, good morning, my dear students!” Slughorn’s voice boomed through the classroom, cheerful and oblivious.

You and Sirius froze.

James’ eyes widened. “Oh, this is better than detention—”

Before he could even finish that sentence, you had launched yourself out of Sirius’s lap so quickly it was like you’d Apparated.

Sirius, whose hands had still been on your waist, was left gripping air, looking momentarily lost before hastily readjusting his posture, trying to appear as if nothing had happened.

You were already in the seat beside him, perfectly composed, as if you hadn’t just been sprawled across his lap like a queen on her throne.

Slughorn, still cheerfully setting down his books, was thankfully none the wiser.

“This isn’t over” Sirius mumbled.

You smirked, pretending to focus on your textbook. “I’d be disappointed if it was.”

Something more?

Sirius Black did not get nervous. He did not overthink. He did not, under any circumstances, lose control of his own game.

And yet—

Ever since that moment in the charms classroom, ever since the way she had looked at him, the way she brought him closer by his tie, her face barely brushed against his—

He was a mess.

He kept telling himself it was nothing. A fluke. Just a moment of bad timing. He had spent weeks flirting with you, teasing you, pushing your buttons, waiting for that one moment where you would crack—where you would get flustered, where you would lose.

But now?

Now he wasn’t even sure what the prize was anymore.

It started at breakfast.

He had taken his usual seat beside James, stretching his arms over his head with a yawn. “Morning, peasants,” he greeted, swiping a piece of toast off James’ plate.

“Morning, git,” James shot back, snatching the toast back.

Sirius ignored him, gaze already drifting down the table—searching, waiting—

And there you were.

You were laughing at something Lily had said, your head thrown back slightly, eyes crinkled with amusement. The way you smiled—the way you always did that little thing where you bit your lip slightly when you were trying to suppress a laugh—

Sirius inhaled sharply and immediately looked away.

James, who had never in his life missed an opportunity to be annoying, noticed.

James narrowed his eyes. “What was that?”

Sirius took a bite of his toast. “What was what?”

“That.” James wiggled his eyebrows. “You looked at her like—like—”

“Like he wants to marry her,” Peter supplied unhelpfully.

Sirius choked on his toast.

James gasped. “Oh my god.”

Remus, who had been listening from across the table, sighed. “Please don’t start.”

James pointed his fork at Sirius. “You like her.”

Sirius, still recovering from his near-death experience, wiped his mouth and glared. “I do not.”

James grinned. “You do.”

“I don’t.”

“You so do.”

“I—” Sirius turned back toward you, ready to prove a point, ready to do something to remind himself that this was just a game—

And, of course, you were already watching him.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with amusement. Busted.

Sirius swallowed hard. “Shut up, Potter.”

James cackled.

The day went on as always. Classes, quidditch practice, pranks.

At night, the castle was quiet, the corridors nearly empty as Sirius found himself walking beside you after curfew.

It had been an accident, really—one of those oh, you’re here too? kind of moments. You would both been sneaking back to the dorms after separate misadventures and had somehow fallen into step beside each other.

You weren’t even teasing anymore. Not really. Just talking.

And Merlin help him, Sirius liked it.

He liked the way your voice softened when you talked about things you loved. He liked the way you sighed dramatically every time he said something mildly ridiculous. He liked the way you walked—confident, effortless, like she owned every damn corridor of this castle.

And he liked—

Oh.

Oh shit.

“Sirius?”

He blinked. “Hmm?”

You studied him for a moment, eyes glinting with curiosity. “You okay? You looked like you were having an existential crisis just now.”

He scoffed. “Please, I don’t do existential crises.”

You smirked. “You sure? Because you definitely looked like you were having a moment.”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “I was just… thinking.”

You gasped dramatically. “Thinking? You?”

He huffed a laugh. “You’re hilarious.”

“I know.”

There was a pause—a comfortable, easy silence.

And then you nudged him lightly with your shoulder. “You never answered.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Answered what?”

“What you were thinking about.”

His stomach flipped.

He could lie. He should lie.

But instead, he just—

He looked at you.

And damn it all, he knew.

He had known for a while.

Sirius cleared his throat, stalling. “Oh, you know. Just deep, profound thoughts about life and the mysteries of the universe.”

You shot him a knowing look. “Uh-huh. And by that, you mean?”

He smirked, hands tucking into his pockets. “Why the bloody hell Filch still uses oil lamps when we have lumos.”

You rolled your eyes but laughed, shaking your head. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, Black. Truly, your intellect knows no bounds.”

“Glad you noticed,” he quipped, nudging you back lightly.

And then it happened again—that lull. That moment of easy silence that should have been awkward but wasn’t. It was almost… nice.

Because you were watching him—really watching him—with those knowing eyes of yours. And maybe he was imagining it, but your usual teasing smirk wasn’t there. Instead, there was something softer, something curious, like you were actually interested in his answer.

Sirius hated it.

Because it meant something had changed.

He wasn’t supposed to enjoy your company like this. He wasn’t supposed to find it fun to just walk and talk with you without trying to one-up each other. He wasn’t supposed to feel his chest tighten slightly when you laughed at something genuine he said, rather than some over-the-top flirtation.

Merlin’s bloody beard, he was in trouble.

And he definitely wasn’t supposed to notice the way the moonlight caught in your hair, or how your eyes sparkled when you were amused, or how—

“You’re doing it again,” you observed, voice teasing but gentle.

Sirius blinked, forcing himself back to reality. “Doing what?”

“Thinking too hard,” you said, nudging him again. “That’s twice in one night. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m fine,” he insisted, maybe a little too quickly.

Before Sirius could even attempt to come up with something—something witty, something that would push this moment back into the realm of teasing where it was safe—the sharp sound of footsteps echoed down the corridor.

They both froze.

Filch.

Sirius grabbed her wrist without thinking, tugging you into the nearest alcove. You barely had time to press yourselves against the stone wall before Filch’s lamp light flickered against the opposite wall, his grumbling voice growing louder.

Sirius could feel your breath against his neck, warm and too close. You were right there, pressed against him, your body tucked between his and the cold castle wall, and Merlin’s bloody beard, this was not helping his already spiraling thoughts.

You shifted slightly, just enough to glance at him, your lips dangerously close to his jaw. “Well, this is cozy,” you whispered.

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh, though his heart was hammering. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

You smirked, your voice low, teasing. “Maybe.”

Filch’s footsteps paused just outside the alcove.

Sirius didn’t breathe.

Neither did you.

For a moment, it was just the sound of Filch’s muttering, the flicker of the lamp light, the distant creak of the castle settling.

Then, mercifully, the footsteps started moving again, fading into the distance.

You exhaled slowly. “That was close.”

Sirius turned his head slightly, the movement bringing his lips just a fraction closer to yours. “Too close,” he murmured.

You were looking at him now, your eyes catching the faint glow of the lantern light. There was something different in them—something Sirius couldn’t quite place, but felt deep in his chest.

You weren't smirking anymore.

And neither was he.

The air between you shifted.

Your gaze flickered to his lips—so fast he might have imagined it, but Merlin, he hoped he didn’t.

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, just for a second. He could lean in. He could close the space. He could—

Footsteps again.

You jumped apart.

This time, it was Peeves, floating lazily through the corridor, humming some dreadful little tune to himself.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, trying to gather himself. When he turned back to you, you were watching him with an unreadable expression.

Then, because you were you, you smirked.

“Almost had a moment there, Black.”

Sirius, still feeling the ghost of her warmth against him, forced a grin. “You wish.”

But his heart was still pounding.

Not a game anymore.

It had been building.

For weeks, maybe even months. The teasing, the flirting, the lingering glances, the casual touches that weren’t so casual anymore. Every moment had been leading up to this—an inevitable collision of something they both had tried (and failed) to ignore.

And, as it turned out, there was only so much tension two people could handle before something snapped.

You were alone in the Gryffindor common room—again. It had become your place, their quiet retreat when everyone else had gone to bed. Sirius lounged on the couch, legs stretched out, hands behind his head, exuding obnoxious levels of confidence.

You sat beside him, one knee tucked under you, arms crossed, watching him with amusement.

Sirius smirked. “You stare at me an awful lot, love. Starting to think you actually fancy me.”

You scoffed. “Please. I stare at you the same way someone stares at a particularly dumb puppy.”

Sirius gasped, hand flying to his chest. “You wound me.”

You smirked. “You deserve it.”

“Oh, come on,” he drawled, shifting so he was closer to you. “Admit it. You think I’m irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes. “You wish.”

“I know,” he shot back, winking.

And that—that damn wink—was the final straw.

Because Sirius Black was—

Infuriating.

Cocky.

Too smug for his own good.

And yet, for some stupid, ridiculous, absolutely insane reason—

You wanted him.

And you wanted him to shut up.

So, without thinking, without hesitating, without any of your usual control—

You grabbed the collar of his stupid perfectly rumpled shirt—

And kissed him.

Sirius made a muffled sound of surprise—because, to be fair, he had not expected that.

But then—

Oh.

Oh, he liked this.

Your hands were tangled in his shirt, holding him in place like you were daring him to move away (as if he ever would ). His mind short-circuited, all thoughts completely gone except for you.

And Merlin, you kissed like you meant it.

Like you had been holding back just as much as he had.

Like you knew this had been coming all along.

Sirius reacted instinctively—one hand moving to the back of your neck, the other gripping your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, savoring the way you melted into him—

And, bloody hell, he was gone.

He stared at you, breathing heavily, lips tingling, brain struggling to catch up.

When you finally pulled back (too soon, far too soon), Sirius was dazed.

You smirked. “Finally shut you up.”

Sirius blinked.

And then—

He grinned.

“Oh, love,” he murmured, voice lower than before, hands still on her waist, “if that’s how you plan to shut me up, I’m never stopping.”

You laughed—breathless, amused, maybe even a little shaken—but you didn’t move away.

Sirius tilted his head. “You liked that.”

You raised an eyebrow. “So did you.”

Sirius smirked. “Obviously.”

A pause.

A shift.

The air between you still charged, still crackling with something you could no longer ignore.

And then—

“Are we going to talk about this?” you asked, voice softer now.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Honestly?” He met your gaze, something real in his expression. “I have no idea what to say.”

You hummed. “Good. Me neither.”

Another pause.

Another glance at your lips.

And then—

Sirius smirked. “Wanna do it again?”

You rolled your eyes—but then you grabbed his tie and pulled him in for another kiss.

And this time, neither of you were pretending.

You both didn’t stop at just one kiss.

Or two.

Or three.

It was impossible to stop when every touch, every kiss, every breath made you want more.

Sirius wasn’t sure how much time had passed—minutes? Hours? A lifetime?—before you finally broke apart, still tangled up in each other on the Gryffindor common room couch.

You were curled into his side, head resting against his shoulder, your fingers lazily tracing patterns over the fabric of his shirt. Sirius had one arm slung around your waist, holding you way too close for someone who was definitely not in love.

(Except he absolutely was).

The fire crackled in the silence, casting flickering shadows around the room.

Neither of you spoke for a long time.

And that was the problem.

Because now—now, you both actually had to deal with this.

Sirius was screwed.

Absolutely, entirely, undeniably screwed.

Because less than twelve hours after the greatest (and most terrifying) kiss of his life, the Marauders found out.

And they did not take it well.

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

Sirius winced as James’ very loud, very dramatic voice echoed through the dormitory.

Peter, wide-eyed, turned to Remus. “I knew something was up!”

Remus smirked knowingly. “Oh, we all knew.”

James, meanwhile, was pacing the room like a madman. “Okay, okay, hold on—” He spun on Sirius. “You kissed her?”

Sirius sighed. “Yes.”

James pointed aggressively. “And you liked it?”

Sirius scowled. “Obviously.”

Peter gasped. “Oh, no.”

Remus snorted. “Oh, yes.”

James took a deep breath, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Pads…” He grinned. “You like her.”

Sirius froze.

And that—that tiny moment of hesitation—was all they needed.

James screamed.

Peter looked shocked.

Remus looked entirely too smug.

Sirius groaned. “For Merlin’s sake, I don’t—”

James tackled him onto the bed. “YOU’RE IN LOVE.”

Sirius nearly threw his pillow at him. “I am not in love.”

Remus, sitting across from them, raised an eyebrow. “You do realize you’ve spent every waking moment with her lately, right?”

Peter nodded. “And you don’t even flirt with other girls anymore.”

James smirked. “And you look at her like she hung the bloody moon.”

Sirius scowled. “I do not.”

James leaned back, arms behind his head. “You know what? I think we should all start placing new bets.”

“Oh, do tell,” Remus said dryly.

James grinned. “I bet he admits he loves her by the end of the month.”

Sirius choked. “I don’t—”

“Oh, come on, Pads,” James interrupted. “It’s so obvious.”

Peter nodded. “You’re, like, way too soft around her now.”

Sirius scowled. “I am not—”

“You literally tucked her hair behind her ear yesterday,” Remus said flatly.

Sirius froze.

James and Peter howled with laughter.

“HE KNOWS!” James cackled. “HE KNOWS HE’S SCREWED!”

Sirius groaned, running a hand down his face. “I hate all of you.”

James smirked. “No, you hate yourself for falling so hard.”

The truth.

Sirius had never been nervous before.

Not really.

Not in a way that mattered.

But now? Now, as he stood in the dimly lit common room, watching you sit cross-legged on the couch, waiting for him to say something, his heart was pounding.

Because this was it. This was the moment he decided to stop being a bloody coward and actually talk to you.

No more hiding. No more pretending.

Just… the truth.

Sirius exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "So, um… I need to tell you something."

You raised an eyebrow, amused. "That sentence is never a good sign."

Sirius smirked. "Depends on your definition of ‘good,’ love."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright, Black. Out with it."

Sirius hesitated. He could still back out, still pretend nothing had changed between you—

But he didn’t want to.

He took a breath. “The whole flirting thing… the game we were playing.” He met your gaze. “It started because of a bet.”

You didn’t even blink. “I know.”

Sirius frowned. “Wait—what?”

You smirked. “I know about your little bet with James.”

Sirius groaned, rubbing his temples. “Of course you do.”

You eyes sparkled with mischief. “Did you really think James Potter could keep his mouth shut about something that entertaining?”

“Merlin,” Sirius muttered. “I should have.”

You laughed, then tilted your head. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Sirius hesitated again—but only for a second. “Because it’s not a game to me anymore.” He met your gaze, something real in his expression. “I like you. And I didn’t want this to be built on a stupid bet.”

You didn't speak immediately. Just studied him, like she were assessing him.

Sirius forced himself to keep his usual bravado at bay, to let you see him instead of the version of himself he usually put on for the world.

And then—

You smiled.

A real, genuine smile.

“Well,” you said lightly, “that’s interesting.”

Sirius narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

You bit your lip, amusement dancing in your expression. “Because, Black… I had a bet too.”

Sirius blinked. “What?”

You grinned. “James bet me that I couldn’t make you fall for me.”

Sirius froze.

His brain short-circuited.

And then—

“I’m going to kill him.”

You cackled, clapping your hands. “Oh, this is perfect.”

Sirius groaned, sinking onto the couch beside you. “James bloody Potter.” He looked at you, half-amused, half-furious. “You knew?”

You nodded, smug. “Of course.”

Sirius threw his hands in the air. “James set us up.”

You shrugged. “And it worked.”

Sirius opened his mouth—then paused.

Because—

Oh, Merlin.

It did work.

He turned to look at you. “You actually like me?”

You rolled your eyes. “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Sirius scoffed. “Because you were supposed to be the one hopelessly falling for me.”

You smirked. “Guess James was right, then.”

Sirius groaned. “I hate him.”

You nudged him playfully. “No, you don’t.”

He sighed dramatically. “Fine. I love him. But I also hate him.”

You laughed, then reached out, twining your fingers through his. “For what it’s worth,” you said softly, “I was never playing a game with you. Not really.”

Sirius’ heart stuttered.

Because this—this was real.

And it was terrifying.

And he loved it.

He turned your hand over in his, brushing his thumb over your knuckles. “Yeah?”

You smiled. “Yeah.”

Sirius swallowed, something tight in his throat. “So what do we do now?”

You grinned. “Well, first—” you leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. “—you kiss me again.”

Sirius smirked. “Oh, darling, I thought you’d never ask.”

And this time, when he kissed you, there was no bet, no game—

Just the both of you.

The aftermath.

It quickly became common knowledge that Sirius and his girlfriend (which still sounded insane to him) were the most ridiculous couple to ever exist.

Because while other couples held hands and whispered sweet nothings, Sirius and you—

Well.

You teased each other, you flirted relentlessly, annoyed each other and at the same time also had your soft moments.

James Potter deeply regretted his life choices.

Because here’s the thing—when he first made the bets, it was supposed to be hilarious. Watching Sirius try (and fail) to seduce someone who actually gave him a challenge? Comedy gold.

Watching you break Sirius Black’s unshakable confidence? Even better.

And then, somehow, those two idiots actually fell for each other.

Now, every single day, James had to deal with this.

James sat at the Gryffindor table, glaring across the Great Hall.

At you both.

Sirius had an arm slung lazily around your waist, smirking as you stole food from his plate like it belonged to you.

You weren't even subtle about it. You would just reach over, pluck a piece of toast from his hand, and take a bite without breaking eye contact.

Sirius, instead of protesting like a normal person, grinned and leaned in. “Careful, darling,” he murmured, voice low. “If you keep stealing from me, I might have to take something from you.”

You smirked. “Oh? And what exactly would you take, Black?”

Sirius’ smirk widened. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

You just shook your head and smiled, he reached out to take a sip of tea from your cup. It was strange how comfortable you were around each other.

You yawned, resting your head in his shoulder, the moment quickly shifting from teasing to softness. This was the kind of thing that always happened between you, you could just go from full on annoying each other to the cutest moment ever.

"Tired, baby?" Sirius whispered, his fingers caressing your hip softly. His voice soft.

You had a small smile in your lips. "It's all your fault and that horrible Muggle game"

"You were the one that kept asking for a rematch" Sirius grinned, letting a soft kiss in your hair.

James slammed his fork onto the table. “I hate this.”

You and Sirius came out of your love bubble, looking at James while trying to hold back the laughter. James was definitely regretting his life decisions.

Remus, barely looking up from his plate, hummed. “No, you don’t.”

James gestured wildly. “They’re so annoying.”

Peter snorted. “They’re exactly the same as before. Just… more obnoxious.”

Sirius turned to James, absolutely radiating smugness. “Something wrong, Prongs?”

James scowled. “Yeah. You two.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Why, James, I thought you wanted us to be together.”

“I take it back.”

Sirius chuckled, pressing a ridiculously over-the-top kiss to the top of you head just to piss James off more. “Too late.”

James groaned, flopping onto the table dramatically. “This is hell.”

Remus patted his back. “You did bring this upon yourself.”

James let out a miserable sigh. “Worst idea ever.”

[waitimcomingtoo]

Broke His Heart Cause He Was Nice

Pairing: Peeta Mellark x Reader

Synopsis: the games are over now and Peeta finds out your relationship was all an act

Masterlist

It was the day you were finally set to arrive back home in District 12 after completing your victory tour for winning the games. You’d been anxiously waiting for this day and wanting nothing more than to trade the makeup and tight dresses for your boots and own bed. The train was running late, ironic considering how fast it was, and you were too anxious to sit still. You noticed a pathway near the train platform and longed to be alone with your thoughts in nature.

“I’m gonna take a walk while we wait for the train.” You announced. Effie sighed and shut her compact mirror before looking at you.

“I suppose that’s all right. But don’t go too far. We board in 15 minutes.” She reminded you. You nodded and started to walk away when Peeta stood up.

“Can I come with you?” He asked. You gulped and forced a smile before nodding your head.

“Always.” You told him. He smiled back and walked beside you as you headed down the walkway together. Your hand bumped against Peeta’s as you looked up at the trees around you. As soon as he slipped his hand into yours, you felt tremendous guilt fill your stomach. You were yet to address the nature of your relationship now that the games were over. You had blurred the lines so much between faking a relationship for the camera and navigating your true feelings for Peeta that you had no idea where you stood now. Peeta saw the uneasy look on your face and let go of your hand to walk ahead. He picked some flowers for you and handed you the bouquet he had arranged.

“For you.” He blushed as he presented them to you.

“Oh.” You smiled in surprise. “Thank you.”

Peeta returned the smile before continuing to walk down the pathway. You watched him as he walked, feeling like the distance between you was matching the distance you felt inside.

“I can’t believe we’re actually going to be back in District 12 tomorrow. I really didn’t think we’d ever see it again.” Peeta said as he continued to stroll along the flowerbeds.

“Neither did I.” You admitted, making Peeta stop. He turned around and looked at you for a long time, making you uncomfortable in the silence.

“What do we do once we get back?” He asked as he earnestly stared into your eyes. He looked just as lost as you were and you wished you could give him some answers.

“I guess we try to forget.” You answered, making Peeta’s eyes soften.

“I don’t want to forget.” He said quietly. You stared into his eyes as you guilt built up and up until it threatened to spill out your throat. Before you could say anything more, you heard a voice behind you.

“Hey. There you two are.” Haymitch said as he approached. “You guys should be proud of yourselves. I’ve seen a lot of victory tours but I haven’t heard crowds cheer like that in years. You really sold the whole star-crossed lovers who survived with the power of love thing. Especially you, sweetheart. Keep it up exactly the way you were playing it.”

“Thanks.” You said immediately as your entire face burned in embarrassment. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Peeta’s look of confusion. Haymitch had no idea what he had just done and was too drunk to realize it. He patted your shoulder with a drunken smile and stumbled back to the train.

“What’s he talking about?” Peeta asked as soon as you were alone. You opened your mouth to answer him but found yourself speechless. You knew this moment would come eventually, you just didn’t think it’d happen before you even got a chance to go home.

“What was he talking about? What are you keeping up?” Peeta asked again when you took too long to answer. You looked into Peeta’s eyes and stumbled over a few broken sentences as tears filled your eyes. You didn’t even know why you were crying, you just felt full of emotion over the fact that you knew Peeta’s world was about to shatter. You had grown an immense fondness, even love, for him since the start of all of this and you knew he was about to hate you. Before you could confess the truth, Peeta put it all together. He took a step back from you as his hand went over his mouth.

“Oh my God. It was all an act, wasn’t it?”

Peeta whispered. “The way you behaved in the games wasn’t real. Waking me up with kisses, feeding me, hugging me so tight I could barely breathe. You were just pretending, weren’t you? You did it all for the cameras.”

“Not all of it. Some things were real.” You promised him. “But Haymitch and I knew that if I played up the romance, we’d get more sponsees. And it worked. We did.”

“You and Haymitch had a plan? And you didn’t tell me?” Peeta shouted. He was usually so soft spoken that hearing him yell made you stumbled back in surprise.

“We never officially made a plan.” You tried to explain. “But after I kissed you and we were sent food, I realized that Haymitch was telling me that that’s what we had to do to get sponsors. So I kept doing it. And we kept getting sponsors.”

“I should’ve known.” Peeta shook his head. “I should’ve known you didn’t just happen to fall in love with me.”

“Peeta.” You said tearily as you watched his heart break. You knew he’d be upset, but this was harder than you thought.

“I knew it was too good to be true. You never actually felt the things I felt. You were just playing a part.” Peter said quietly as he wiped his eyes.

“You’re the one who started the romance plot anyway, remember? Why are you mad that I kept it up?” You folded your arms, angry now that he wasn’t seeing your side of things.

“Because I didn’t know there was something to keep up. I didn’t know you and Haymitch had a secret plan behind my back. I was just dumb enough to believe I could actually trust you. How stupid am I?”

“You’re not stupid, Peeta. And you can trust me. You have to understand that I wanted to tell you about it but I couldn’t. There were cameras everywhere. If I told you, everyone watching would’ve known it wasn’t real. I had to keep the illusion. And that meant keeping it a secret from you too.”

“Wasn’t real.” Peeta laughed sadly. “Illusion?”

Your anger subsided for a moment when you heard the pain in his voice. Your choice of words had just thrown salt in his wounds. You stopped trying to win the argument for a moment and realized that you had a right to be angry, but so did he. You walked over to him and cupped his face to make him look at you.

“Peeta, there were so many times I wanted to draw the curtains closed and block the rest of the world out and just be with you. I swear, I did. But we didn’t have that choice. If things were different and we had gotten together in a normal situation, maybe I’d know where my feelings lie. But I don’t, Peeta. I’m sorry.”

“I thought things were going to be different now. I thought something good had come out of the games.” Peeta said as he stared at the ground.

“Things are different.” You insisted.

“Yeah. They definitely are.” Peeta wiped his face and turned away from you so you couldn’t see him cry.

“How can you be mad at me for this? We were strangers before the game. I wasn’t thinking about romance. I was thinking about saving our lives.”

“I know that. In my heart, I know that. I just can’t get it through my head yet. God, I can’t believe you were acting.” Peeta said and stressfully tugged at his hair.

“I know this is upsetting to hear but I wasn’t trying to deceive you. I thought you were acting too.” You protested. “I assumed you knew we had to play up the romance for sponsors and that’s why you kept kissing me and saying the things you did.”

“No. I didn’t know. I was never pretending.” Peeta snapped, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise. He was never one to be quick to anger, so it surprised you that you were having such a hard time getting him to calm down.

“Putting on the act got us both out, okay? There is no other circumstance where we would’ve both come out alive. This was the only way.”

“I know that. I’m sorry. I just wish I knew sooner.” Peeta sighed and sat down on the ground. You looked at him for a minute before looking around and behind you. You wished there was someone, anyone, to tell you what to do in this situation. You wish you had a script or some cards form Effie telling you what to say. Peeta was just sitting on the ground, staring into space, and you had no idea how to bring him back. No one had ever been mad at you in this way before and you didn’t know what to do. Realizing no one was coming to help, you walked over and sat beside Peeta. You could tell he was trying his hardest not to cry but it wasn’t exactly working in his favor. He turned his face away from you and he quietly sniffled.

“If there was a way I could’ve told you, I would’ve.” You said as you placed a hand on his back. Peeta nodded his head and wiped his face before giving you a sad smile.

“I believe you.” He said. You returned the sad smile and rubbed small circles on his back. Peeta stared off into space again while you stared at him. You let silence sit between you for a long time until you broke it.

“Were you really never pretending?” You asked quietly. You saw his mouth tug into a slight smile as he shook his head.

“Never. I meant every word I said.” Peeta said, sounding almost proud. You smiled a little when you thought of all the kind things he had said about you in the cave and how you now knew they were true.

“How much was fake for you?” Peeta asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. He was looking at you now with those puppy dog eyes of his and it made you feel ten times worse.

“I don’t know, Peeta.” You sighed. “I don’t remember every little detail.”

“I do. What about our first kiss? Real or not real?” He asked with a certain desperation in his voice. You cracked a smile in surprise and looked at him.

“Real. I couldn’t bear listening to you talk about dying, so I kissed you to shut you up.” You told him, making him smile as his face turned red.

“I have a feeling you’re forgiving me.” You chuckled and pointed at him, making his smile drop.

“I’m not.” He cleared his throat. “The kisses when you got the broth the first time. Real or not real.”

“Not real. I’m not really the type to wake someone up with kisses.” You said sheepishly.

“I guess I always kind of knew that about you.” Peeta admitted. “What else was fake?”

“When I asked you about your crush on me when we were in the cave. I was trying to get us to have some kind of grand emotional moment because the kisses weren’t cutting it anymore. I needed to go bigger.” You admitted.

“Oh.” Peeta’s face fell. “You didn’t really want to know?”

“I really wanted food.” You confessed. “And I honestly thought you made that story up because you were hungry too. Did your dad really want to marry my mom?”

“Yeah. And he’s not thrilled I told that story, by the way. Apparently it was really quiet in the bakery that night.” Peeta said, making you genuinely laugh for the first time in a while. Peeta couldn’t help but smile when he heard you laughing but wasn’t done with the questions.

“When you said I didn’t have any competition, real or not real?” Peeta asked a a he looked into your eyes.

“That was real.” You replied, and you meant it.

“What about Gale?” Peeta asked, sounding like he didn’t believe you. You looked Peeta up and down

“He’s not your competition.” You laughed like it was silly, making Peeta smile.

“He’s not?” He asked hopefully.

“He’s basically family. I think if something were to ever happen between us, it would’ve happened already.”

“Hm. Good to know.” Peeta blushed and looked away again.

“Any other questions?” You asked him. “I really do want to make it up to you. I’ll answer anything you want.”

“When you said I walk too loud…” Peeta asked and trailed off.

“Real. Very real. You were so loud I wanted to kill you.”

“We could’ve avoided all this if you had.” Peeta muttered, making you laugh again. Peeta laughed as well and looked at you for a moment.

“Did you try as hard as you did to save my life for the romance plot?” He asked quietly as if fearful of the answer.

“No.” You said immediately. “I did what I did because I couldn’t handle the thought of you dying. I still can’t. I almost broke a steel door down when they separated us after we won. You were the only thing on my mind. That was the moment for me when I realized I wasn’t acting all that much. I love you deeply, Peeta. I know that for certain. I’m just not really sure what kind of love that is yet.”

Peeta looked into your eyes for a while and eventually, he seemed to be satisfied with your response. You knew he understood where you were coming from even if it hurt him to know the truth.

“I’m sure what my love is.” He said after a beat of silence. It wasn’t reproachful, more like a passing thought. He knew what he wanted and he wanted you to know it too.

“Could you wait for me? Until I figure it out?”

“I will.” Peeta nodded, making you smile on relief. He smiled too and the faintest blush crept over his cheeks. He looked out into the distance for a minute and a comfortable silence settled between you. He then turned to you and leaned in for a long, slow kiss. Just in case it was his last time for a while getting to do such a thing. It was your first kiss without a single camera present and you felt that familiar hunger sensation in your chest that left you wanting more. When he pulled away, you wanted him to do it again.

“Are you any closer to figuring it out?” He asked completely serious, making you laugh. You stared into his eyes and truly could not imagine your life without him.

“You know what?” You cracked a smile. “Yeah. I am.”

Tag list 🏷️

@sarcasm-and-stiles

[alwaysaglader]

A HEART WIRED FOR WAR (Ch. 7)

(BUCKY BARNES X READER) + (OTHER AVENGERS)

Chapter 7 - One Plushie, One Plum, One Puppy

Inside the compound, things had gotten easier.

But the outside world? That was still... a lot.

Crowds. Sounds. Eyes. Choices.

They weren't used to those.

So, naturally, the Avengers decided to take matters into their own chaotic, well-meaning hands.

Clint and Nat didn’t plan the shopping trip.

They ambushed it.

Y/N and Bucky had been minding their business—locked in a cutthroat game of UNO in the lounge, both unusually intense about the rules—when Natasha strolled in wearing black jeans, a fitted tee, and oversized sunglasses, and a crossbody bag that made it clear she was here with purpose. 

Clint followed a beat later, holding two iced Starbucks drinks and grinning like a man about to throw a grenade into a very calm room.

“Field trip,” he declared. “Mall. Now.”

Bucky didn’t even look up. “I’m not going into the wild. Too many civilians. Too much noise. Fluorescent lights. Perfume clouds."

Y/N grimaced. “Is this mandatory?” She looked toward Natasha, tone cautiously pleading. “I’d rather stay inside.”

Natasha’s expression softened. She crossed her arms, but her voice was gentle. “I know,” she said. “But you can’t do that forever.”

“Pepper already taught us how to do online grocery shopping,” Bucky added, half-hopeful, half-defensive.

Clint squinted at him, sipping his drink like a disappointed parent. “You two have been hiding in the compound like gremlins. It’s time to join society.”

Y/N opened her mouth to argue—then promptly shut it when Nat raised a single brow.

Ten minutes later, they were in the car.

The mall was loud.

At least, that’s how it felt to Bucky and Y/N.

The kind of loud that echoed off shiny tile floors and ricocheted around their skull like a ping pong ball made of anxiety. Pop music blared from every direction. People moved too fast. The lights were too bright. There were too many choices, and not enough escape routes.

Nat didn’t waste time.

“Clint, you’re on Bucky,” she said, already weaving through the crowd like a seasoned operative. “Y/N’s with me.”

“What are we looking for?” Y/N called after her, forced to power-walk to keep up.

“Essentials,” Nat replied. “Clothes that aren’t tactical, shoes that aren’t boots, and maybe—if you behave—milkshake and churros.”

Clint clapped Bucky on the back with all the subtlety of a brick. “Time to teach you what joggers are, man.”

Bucky scowled. “I have pants.”

“You have combat-grade leather that creaks when you sit. We’re getting you breathable cotton”.

An hour in, Y/N and Natasha had already hit four stores—each one somehow worse than the last.

Now, Y/N stood motionless between racks of pastel crop tops and jeans with too many rips, surrounded by mannequins in tiny dresses and girls walking by in coordinated two-piece sets that looked effortless and cool and so far from anything she'd ever been or wanted to be.

She wasn't a heels-and-mini-skirt kind of girl. But everything in the store seemed to scream "fit in or fade out."

She picked up a hanger with a tank top barely wide enough for her arm. Then dropped it again.

Her throat tightened.

She felt awkward. Loud in her own skin.

Quietly. Quickly. She slipped away, ducking into a quiet corner near the fitting rooms.

She sat on the small bench, staring at her reflection in the three-way mirror that somehow made her feel even more out of place in her own clothes.

She wasn't crying.

But she wasn't far from it, either.

Then— A soft thump. A paper shopping bag being set down beside her.

And Natasha sitting down next to her, legs crossed, holding a bottle of water and wearing an expression that didn't need words.

Y/N took the bottle but didn’t open it. She sniffed once. “I just... I don’t know what I’m supposed to wear. Everything feels like it belongs to someone else. Like I’m playing dress-up in a world that already decided I don’t belong.”

Nat didn’t rush her. Just waited, then said gently, “It’s not about fitting in, Y/N. It’s about finding what fits you.”

Y/N looked up.

Natasha’s voice stayed soft, honest—stripped of armour.

“For a long time, everything I wore was for survival. Costumes. Uniforms. Personas. I could blend in, seduce, intimidate, disappear whatever they needed me to be."

Y/N angled toward her, listening more closely now.

“But none of it was me. Not really. I didn’t even know what my style was until I was finally free. And even then, it took me a while to believe I deserved to be comfortable—just being myself.”

“You always look so confident,” Y/N murmured.

Nat smiled—wry, and just a little sad.

"Confidence isn't about loving how you look. It's about refusing to let the world tell you you're not enough."

She glanced toward the open store. "You think everyone here's dressed because they love how they look? Most of them are scared. Trying to look like everyone else so they won't get judged".

She met Y/N’s eyes. "Don't give people that kind of power, Y/N."

She nudged her chin toward the fitting room racks.

"You want hoodies four sizes too big? Get them. Want tight clothes, or yoga pants or boots you can kick down a door in? Do that". 

Her voice stayed calm, grounded. "You don't owe the world an image, sweetheart. You owe yourself comfort. Choice. Safety."

Y/N's fingers fidgeted with the edge of her sleeve. "It's just hard. Feeling like... I take up too much space. Like my body doesn't match what people expect."

Nat's voice softened.

"The only expectation that matters is the one you set for yourself. And it should sound like this: 'I get to feel safe in my own skin. I get to take up space. I get to exist without apology.'"

Y/N's eyes welled just a little. Not from sadness. From the sudden relief of being understood.

Nat reached over, bumped their shoulders.

"You don't owe the world pretty. You don't owe it 'skinny' or 'cool' or whatever trend is shouting the loudest this week. You owe yourself comfort. Peace. Something you can put on and say—'this feels like me'."

Y/N laughed softly, wiping her cheek. "I don't think I'm ever wearing a crop top".

"Great," Nat said. "Then we'll start with hoodies. Maybe some cargo pants. Something that says, 'I've survived a war and still have snacks in my pocket".

Y/N chuckled and stood up. "Okay. Let's try again."

Nat rose with her, proud and patient. “That’s my girl.”

And together, they stepped back into the store—not to fit in.

But to find something that fit her.

Meanwhile…

Clint and Bucky were trapped in what could only be described as a hellscape of modern menswear.

Three stores in, and they still hadn’t bought a single thing.

Bucky had officially hit his limit.

“I don’t need a flannel,” he grumbled, eyeing the chequered shirt like it might jump off the hanger and force itself onto him.

Clint rolled his eyes. “You don’t own a single casual shirt. We’re starting from zero. That means yes, you do.”

They were mid-argument over the difference between black and slightly darker black t-shirts when Bucky suddenly stopped.

Something across the walkway had caught his eye.

A toy store.

Specifically, a window display.

A wall of plush animals.

And in the centre— A small, soft-looking, cinnamon-coloured teddy bear with a pink ribbon tied loosely around its neck. 

Something about it made his heart stop.

He imagined Y/N holding it. Sitting in her room, curled up in her favourite hoodie, arms wrapped around the little bear. Maybe falling asleep with it tucked under her chin. 

He had no idea why the thought hit him so hard.

But he walked in.

Clint caught up to him two minutes later and nearly ran into him.

"You disappeared into a toy store? Did you black out?"

Bucky ignored him. He was holding the bear now, turning it over in his  hand like it was the most fragile thing in the world.

"She likes soft things," he said quietly. 

And with that, he walked straight to the cashier.

Clint didn’t say a word. Just watched him go—eyebrows raised, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He didn’t comment, didn’t tease. Not this time.

Five minutes later, bear safely tucked into a small paper bag, Clint had dragged him into yet another clothing store.

Bucky hovered just inside the entrance, expression guarded, shoulders tense like the walls might close in at any second. Music blared overhead. A mannequin in sunglasses was aggressively modelling cargo shorts.

“Why are the lights so bright?” Bucky muttered.

Clint didn’t respond right away. Instead, he rolled a nearby rack closer and nudged it toward Bucky. “Start here,” he said simply.

“Find something that looks like you,” he said, wandering off toward a wall lined with hoodies and graphic tees. “I’ll be back.”

Ten minutes later, Clint emerged to see Bucky in a black leather jacket that somehow fit like it was made for him. Crisp at the seams, heavy, tailored to his frame. Perfect.

Clint let out a low whistle.  “Okay, Barnes. Look at you.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Too much?”

“Nah,” Clint said, stepping back and taking it in. “You look solid. Like someone who owns a Harley and knows how to keep it running.” 

He gave a nod, this time genuine. "We're definitely keeping it". 

Then, without missing a beat, Clint held up a pair of joggers he’d snagged from a nearby rack, lifting them like sacred relics. “Okay, time to try these. They’re comfortable. They have pockets. What’s not to like?”

“They don’t have a belt,” Bucky said suspiciously. “How do they stay on?”

“They have a drawstring, Bucky. Welcome to the 21st century.”

Bucky took them with two fingers, like they might bite. “They look like sleepwear.”

“Exactly,” Clint said. “You can fight evil and nap in the same outfit. It’s called balance.”

He tossed a hoodie at Bucky’s chest before he could protest. “Go. Try them on".

Bucky groaned but stalked off toward the fitting rooms.

Clint waited. And waited.

Five minutes later, the curtain shifted. “I’m not coming out.”

“C’mon,” Clint called. “I didn’t brave three teen sales associates and a cologne cloud for nothing.”

“Clint.”

“Bucky.”

A beat. Then—

“...It feels too soft.”

Clint blinked. “That’s the point.”

There was a long pause.

Then the curtain finally slid open.

Bucky stepped out stiffly in a black hoodie and dark grey joggers. The fit was perfect. Relaxed. Comfortable. 

Clint gave a slow nod. “Damn, Barnes. You almost look like a functioning adult.”

Bucky glanced at the mirror. He didn’t say anything, but his expression shifted—just slightly. Less guarded. Less ready to bolt.

Clint stepped forward, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to prove anything, man. Not here. Not anymore.”

Bucky’s jaw worked for a second before he muttered, “It’s just… weird. Wearing something that’s not built for combat.”

Clint gave a small shrug. “Yeah. But maybe now? You get to build a life that isn’t either.”

Bucky didn’t respond right away.

But he didn’t go back into the changing room either.

Bucky tugged once at the drawstring of the joggers, glancing at his reflection again. The hoodie was soft, the joggers moved easily, and—much to his frustration—it was all dangerously close to… comfortable. He gave a small, reluctant nod. 

“…Fine. I don’t hate it.”

Clint grinned, victorious, and handed him a navy Henley along with jeans in three slightly different shades of black—their earlier compromise.

“Time to bust out the spring colours,” he said, nodding toward the Henley. “Go wild.”

The fitting room curtain rustled as Bucky stepped out again, tugging lightly at the sleeves of the navy Henley. The jeans—black, simple, and free of tactical webbing or reinforced seams—fit comfortably.

No armour, no gear, no buckles.

Just clothes. His clothes.

He caught Clint’s approving nod, but before he could roll his eyes, something at the corner of his vision made him pause.

Y/N.

She and Natasha were just outside the store, mid-conversation and both carrying an armful of shopping bags, when Natasha caught sight of him and tilted her head toward the entrance. Y/N looked over—

And Bucky felt something in his chest shift.

She was wearing light blue jeans and an oversized burnt-orange hoodie with small white flowers scattered across the fabric, the sleeves swallowing her hands. Her sneakers looked broken-in and perfectly hers.

He saw her.

Alive. Free. Smiling.

Something about the way she moved—the quiet confidence, the comfort in her own clothes—hit him harder than it should have. She wasn’t trying to be anyone. Just moving through the world on her own terms.

And she still looked… beautiful.

It did something strange to his heart.

Her gaze flicked over him as she walked up—head to toe—and when her eyes met his, her expression softened into something warm and sincere.

“I like your shirt,” she said, voice gentle. “It matches your eyes.”

Bucky blinked.

For a second, all he could do was stare—caught off guard not by the compliment, but by how genuine it sounded. 

A flush crept up his neck, then bloomed across his cheeks, full and unmistakable. It spread fast, turning the tips of his ears pink and settling across his face like he’d been hit with a heat lamp.

No words came out. He opened his mouth—then closed it again.

Clint’s eyes widened in delight.

Without missing a beat, he grabbed a red Henley off the rack beside him and tossed it at Bucky’s chest. “Now this one matches your face.”

Bucky caught it on reflex and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a curse, turning even redder.

Y/N bit back a laugh.

Natasha just smirked. “Nice aim, Barton.”

Clint bowed. “Thank you. Years of training for this moment.”

Y/N hugged the sleeves of her hoodie, gave Bucky one more glance—and smiled. Small, shy, and just for him.

He didn’t say it out loud, but he’d remember that look for a long time.

A few minutes later, the food court buzzed with life—kids running around with sticky fingers, couples sharing oversized pretzels, and the scent of cinnamon sugar and fries thick in the air.

Bucky and Y/N weaved through the crowd behind Clint and Natasha, who were already heading toward the churro stand with an alarming sense of purpose.

“You two did good,” Clint called over his shoulder. “Didn’t bolt. Didn’t cause a scene. That means you get rewards.”

“Churros and milkshakes,” Nat added, voice dry but fond. “Because apparently, we’re bribing you like toddlers.”

“Mum and Dad energy is strong today,” Y/N murmured to Bucky.

“Clint’s definitely the embarrassing dad,” Bucky said under his breath. “Nat’s the scary mum who somehow always knows what you’re up to.”

Y/N grinned. “Guess that makes us the troublemakers they can’t leave unsupervised.”

Bucky huffed a quiet laugh at that, and they slipped into an empty booth near the edge of the food court—away from the chaos, but still close enough to see Clint trying to charm the churro vendor while Nat leaned on the counter, giving the churro vendor a look that said don’t mess this up.

They sat in companionable silence, the kind that always came easily between them.

Bucky shifted in his seat, fingers tapping lightly against the edge of the table. Then, after a pause, he cleared his throat.

He reached under the table, a little stiff, a little unsure, and pulled out a small bag he’d been carrying since the checkout line. Without quite looking at her, he held it out.

Y/N blinked, surprised. “What’s this?”

“Something I saw,” he said, voice low. "Thought you might like it".

He placed the bag in front of her, his gaze fixed on a point just past her shoulder. As if watching her open it might be too much.

Y/N opened the bag carefully, peering inside—then froze.

She reached in and pulled out a small plush teddy bear. Soft. Cinnamon-brown. Its fur was gently curled, and a pink ribbon was tied neatly around its neck.

Her breath caught.

“You got me a teddy bear,” she said, her voice caught somewhere between awe and softness.

Bucky’s hand flexed slightly against his knee, the tips of his ears flushing red. “It reminded me of you,” he mumbled. 

She held it so carefully, like it meant more than she knew how to say. 

And now, watching her cradle it like it was the most precious thing in the world—like she didn’t quite know how to process it—his chest tightened in the best kind of way.

Y/N stared at the bear for a long moment, her fingers brushing over the ribbon, then the soft fur. Her expression was unreadable at first—surprise, wonder, something just on the edge of disbelief.

Then it shifted.

She smiled.

Slow and full, the kind of smile that unfolded like sunlight. “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “Thank you, Bucky.”

And there was something in her eyes when she said it—something real and unguarded. Like no one had ever done this for her before. Like receiving a gift just because was foreign, unexpected, overwhelming in the quietest way.

She tucked the bear gently into her lap, one hand resting protectively over its soft belly like she was afraid it might disappear.

Something twisted warm and slow in Bucky’s chest.

She looked... happy. Not the cautious kind. Not the polite kind.

The real kind.

And he’d done that.

He hadn't been sure about giving it to her. He'd told himself it was silly. But now, watching her like this, he knew he'd do it again in a heartbeat.

Across the food court, Clint and Nat returned—arms full of churros and milkshakes, like proud parents returning from a successful mission.

Y/N looked up, still smiling, bear in her lap and her heart a little fuller than it had been ten minutes ago.

Bucky just looked down at the table, trying not to smile too obviously. Failing, just a little.

Today… they just felt like people, finding their way back to living.

--

A few days later, something new arrived. Of course, it was Tony. And of course, he didn’t invite them—he scheduled them.

It began with an email.

Y/N was half-slouched on the compound couch, scrolling on her laptop in the common room, when the notification pinged.

TONY STARK: Be ready at 7. Wear what's on your bed. Yes, it's fancy. No, it's not optional.

She rolled her eyes—until she stepped into her room and saw a dress laid out with surgical precision.

For a moment, all she could do was stare and think, This looks like something out of another life. One I never thought I’d touch.

She showered and put it on.

The dress was a deep wine red, unmistakably 1940s in style—fitted at the waist with a wrap-around bow that tied neatly at the side. The skirt flared just below the knees, full and flowing with every step. With short sleeves and a high neckline, it was classic, elegant, and quietly breathtaking.

She paired it with white sneakers—because heels weren’t her thing, and tonight was about being herself, not someone else’s idea of elegance.

Before stepping out, she caught her reflection one last time and thought, Comfort. Choice. Safety. Nat had been right. This felt like her.

She opened the door.

Bucky was already outside, adjusting the cuff of the suit Tony had sent him—a charcoal grey, classic 1940s cut. The kind of suit he might’ve worn to a dance before the war. The material was newer, cleaner, but the lines were the same. Familiar.

He’d paired it with his boots—the same ones he wore almost everywhere now. Because he wasn’t trying to be who he used to be. Just someone trying to stand still in his skin.

He looked up.

And froze for half a second when he saw her.

The dress—its cut, its colour, the way it moved—looked like it had stepped right out of his time. But it wasn’t the past staring back at him. It was her. Modern. Unapologetic. Entirely herself. And somehow, that made it even more beautiful.

Y/N’s breath caught when she saw him.

The suit was timeless—like something out of a photograph from a time she still remembered. 

But it wasn’t just the suit.

It was him in it.

He’d kept his boots on—rough and worn against polished fabric—because that’s who he was now. A little past, a little present.

And somehow, that made the whole look even more striking.

He didn’t look like he was trying to fit in.

He looked like he belonged. Right here. Right now. With her.

“You clean up nice,” Y/N said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Bucky glanced down at himself, then at her. “You look... incredible.”

Their smiles matched—lopsided, warm—as they made their way to the front door.

The limo was already waiting outside, engine purring. The back door swung open before they reached it.

Tony leaned out, sunglasses on, grin wide.

“Well, don’t you two look like a vintage magazine cover,” he said. “Now get in before they give our table to someone with less style.”

They arrived at the rooftop restaurant in soft golden light—the kind of place with linen tablecloths, sweeping city views, and warm, flickering bulbs Tony insisted weren’t romantic, just “high-efficiency ambiance.”

The city buzzed below like distant music, and their own conversations had been surprisingly calm. Elegant, even.

Then came the menu.

Y/N tilted hers sideways. "Is this in a foreign language?"

"It's French," Tony said, already halfway through the wine list. "So yes".

Bucky squinted at his options like they were encoded. “What’s... bouillabaisse?”

“Fish stew,” Tony replied. “But make it twelve syllables and $40.”

They ended up ordering oysters for appetisers—because Tony said “trust the experience,” and Bucky said “fine.”

When the tray arrived, Bucky stared. 

“These are raw.”

“They’re a delicacy,” Tony gestured to the cutlery. "Just use the little fork—"

Bucky reached for one, trying to follow the instructions—

WHAP.

One rogue oyster slipped, launched off Bucky’s plate, and smacked Tony square in the forehead, before landing with an elegant plop in his wine glass.

Tony wiped the shellfish goo from his face. "Should've let you crack it open with your vibranium can opener. That's on me".

Y/N bit her lip, trying not to laugh. She failed. Miserably.

Tony lifted his glass, oyster still bobbing in his wine. “To civilian life and and food that costs more than my first car".

They clinked glasses, and the dinner rolled on—dish after dish Tony insisted they "just had to try."

Y/N was seated between Bucky and Tony at the long table, her eyes lit from laughter and too many sips of sparkling lemonade. Bucky wasn’t exactly chatty, but he chimed in here and there—dry comments, well-timed smirks, the kind that made Y/N grin behind her glass and Tony look almost proud.

At one point, Tony leaned back in his chair, swirling his drink.

“You know,” he said, glancing between the two of them, “you’re both starting to look dangerously well-adjusted. It's making me nervous.”

Y/N smirked. “Coming from the guy who owns three suits of armour and a giant bunny suit?”

Tony pointed at her. “Hey, emotional growth comes in many forms. Some of them are metal. Some are plush.”

Bucky shook his head. “You need a new hobby.” Tony sipped his drink. “I had one. Then I met all of you.”

They all laughed—genuinely, easily.

Then Tony’s phone buzzed.

He glanced at the screen and stood. "Two seconds. That's Pepper's assistant, which means I'm either in trouble or about to get voluntold into something charitable."

He stepped away toward the balcony.

A waiter arrived, placing a plate in front of each of them. Molten lava cake.

Y/N's eyes widened.

"Oh my god," she whispered, visibly delighted. "It's tiny and fancy and filled with chocolate death. I'm ready."

Bucky chuckled as she lifted her fork.

She stabbed into the center a bit too excitedly—forgetting she was literally a super soldier.

The cake exploded.

A burst of chocolate launched from the middle, hitting her square in the chest, splattering across her collarbone, and smearing a line up her cheek.

She froze.

Bucky blinked, half in awe.

Y/N looked down at herself.

Then whispered, "No."

"Y/N—"

"No no no no no."

She wiped at her dress with her napkin, only making the mess worse. Her face fell—brows furrowing, shoulders stiffening.

"God, I'm such an idiot," she muttered, trying to rub the chocolate off her neckline. "I ruined everything—why did I even—"

"Hey," Bucky said gently.

She didn't stop.

"I can't even eat cake without turning it into a crime scene."

"Y/N."

"I mean, seriously, who breaks pastry?"

"Y/N." He said it again, quieter.

She finally looked at him.

There was chocolate on her cheek. Her lip was trembling in that way she always tried to hide—like being upset was a burden.

Bucky picked up a napkin and leaned in, slowly wiping the smear from her face with the same care he'd use bandaging a wound.

"There," he said, voice low. "Still you."

Her dress, though—chocolate still spread across the fabric. She looked down at it like it had personally betrayed her.

He could see it: the tension behind her eyes. She was holding it in. Pushing it down. For everyone else's sake.

So he shrugged off his jacket and gently placed it over her shoulders.

"You don't have to be perfect," he said. "Not with me."

She blinked fast, eyes a little too shiny. 

"I just wish I wasn't so clumsy".

"That's okay" he said. 

Then—without a word—he reached down, dipped his thumb into the chocolate mess on her plate, and casually smudged it right across his crisp white shirt.

Y/N gasped. "Bucky—!"

"I'm clumsy too," he said flatly. "Look at us. Couple of chocolate disasters."

"But that's your shirt!"

"And this—" he pushed his own plate of untouched chocolate lava cake toward her, "—is your second chance."

She opened her mouth to protest. He cut a piece before she could.

"Let me."

He lifted the fork to her lips and she let him, biting into it carefully.

Somehow, chocolate got on her cheek again. She started to reach for the napkin, but Bucky beat her to it, brushing it away gently with his thumb, fingers lingering just a second too long.

And that's when it hit him.

Not the amusement. Not the instinct to care.

But the want.

Not to kiss her.

But to love her.

To be the reason she didn't have to hold everything in anymore.

To be the one who made her laugh when lava cake betrayed her, and made her feel safe when her own mind turned against her.

-

Tony stood on the balcony, phone still against his ear.

"...Tony? Tony are you there?"

He didn't answer.

Just stared, eyes wide, jaw slightly dropped —watching it all unfold through the glass.

"Did you just... forget how to speak?" came Pepper's voice.

Still, no response.

Tony blinked slowly and muttered to no one in particular—

"...I'm gonna need to upgrade my emotional firewall."

--

The next wave of chaos arrived a few days later—wearing sunglasses and carrying tote bags.

Sam had shown up at their doors on a Sunday just after 10 a.m., radiating the energy of a cool uncle taking the kids out.

“We’re going to the farmer’s market,” he announced. “You two need sun, air, and overpriced organic produce. Let’s move.”

The market was bustling—vibrant stalls, live jazz, and at least three different people aggressively offering samples of fermented beet juice.

Sam had dragged them there for what he called “normal people fun,” which, somehow, had spiralled into a heated debate over plums.

He picked one up, held it to the light like he was appraising a gemstone, and nodded solemnly. “Now this is a plum. Perfect weight. Glossy skin. Slight give. You’re welcome.”

Bucky scoffed. “You just picked the first one you touched.”

“I selected it, Barnes. With instinct. With experience. I know plums.”

“You think you know plums,” Bucky said, reaching for another. “But that one’s overripe. It’s halfway to jam.”

“Oh, and you’re some kind of plum sommelier now?”

“I’ve eaten more plums than you’ve had hot dinners.”

Sam raised a brow. “That’s... sad. But also, false. I grew up around produce stands.”

Bucky held up his own selection. “This. This is the one.”

Sam shook his head. “That’s a panic plum. The kind someone grabs at closing time. Amateur move.”

As their Very Serious Plum Debate intensified, Y/N had quietly wandered a few stalls over, lured by something soft and oddly... fluffy.

There, nestled between a basket of lavender sachets and some handmade soaps, was a round, grey-and-white wolf plushie—soft as a cloud, with tiny embroidered paws and the most judgmental sleepy eyes she'd ever seen.

She grinned.

Without hesitation, she bought it.

Meanwhile, five minutes later—

Bucky turned from the plums. "Where's Y/N?"

Sam glanced around. "She was just... huh."

Bucky's brows immediately drew together. "She wouldn't just leave."

"She probably got distracted by—"

"She never just walks off without saying something." There was an edge to his voice now. His eyes scanning the crowd, body tense.

Sam held up a hand, trying to keep things steady. “Hey—hey, we’ll find her. It’s a busy market, not a mission.” But he saw it then—the flicker of real fear in Bucky’s eyes, sharp and buried just beneath the surface. He softened his tone. “Alright. We’ll split up. I’ll head toward the food stalls—you check the side booths.”

Bucky was already walking off. Fast.

He found her two streets down.

Just walking. Calm. Hugging something comically large and grey and squishy to her chest.

He didn't think.

He just ran.

"Y/N!"

She turned—surprised—and barely had a moment to react before Bucky was there, arms wrapping tight around her like he was afraid she'd vanish again.

And then—"Wait—what is this giant squishy thing between us stopping me from hugging you properly?!"

Y/N laughed, cheeks pink. She held up the wolf plushie.

"This is what stopped your dramatic rescue hug."

Bucky blinked. "...Is that a... wolf?"

"Mmhmm." She pressed it into his arms. "Saw it and thought of you."

She gave a lopsided grin. "Because you're stronger than you think. And you don't need a pack to be brave. But you deserve one anyway."

He stared. At the plush. At her. Back at the plush.

"This is the softest thing I've ever touched in my life," he whispered.

Y/N smiled, gentler now. "Wolves are strong. Loyal. Protective. A little misunderstood. I figured... maybe it's time you had something soft too."

He didn't say anything. Just hugged it to his chest, completely and utterly gone.

Then quietly—"I love it."

His voice was almost small. Vulnerable.

Then— "I'm naming him... I don't know. Wolfie."

Y/N giggled. "Strong choice."

Sam finally caught up and immediately stopped in his tracks at the sight of Bucky—super soldier, 100-year-old ex-assassin—cradling a plushie like it was made of gold.

"Oh my God," Sam breathed. "You're a walking Build-A-Bear commercial."

Bucky shot him a look. "Don't start."

"I'm just saying—'Winter Soldier and Son' has a nice ring to it."

"Say that again and Wolfie bites."

Sam snorted, but he was smiling too. "You're soft, Barnes. It's disgusting."

"Damn right I am."

And then—without thinking, without saying a word—Bucky reached out and took Y/N's hand in his free one.

Just casual. Just... natural.

Y/N blinked down at their joined hands.

Bucky didn't notice. Or pretended not to.

Sam noticed. Sam definitely noticed.

And as they strolled down the aisle of stalls together—one hand holding Wolfie, the other holding Y/N—Sam trailed behind with a grin, muttering, “You big softies.”

-

That night, the Compound was quiet.

Y/N was heading back to her room when she noticed the light spilling from under Bucky’s half-open door.

She paused.

She should've kept walking. Really. She meant to.

But then she heard it. A soft voice. His voice. Quiet. Gentle in a way she hadn't heard before.

So she peeked.

And promptly forgot how to breathe.

Bucky was in sweatpants and a black t-shirt, hair still damp from the shower. His room was dim, lamp casting a warm amber glow.

He was sitting on the edge of his bed.

Holding Wolfie.

The ridiculously round, grey, floppy wolf plushie Y/N had given him earlier that day.

But he wasn't just holding it. He was...

tucking it into bed.

Like, genuinely pulling the blanket over the plush wolf's body, smoothing it out. Carefully. Gently. As if Wolfie was something fragile. Something important.

Then came the real kicker.

"Alright, bud," Bucky murmured, patting its tiny plush head with his metal hand. "You're in charge tonight. Keep the nightmares away, yeah?"

Y/N's hand clutched the doorframe. Her heart clenched in the softest��ache.

He trusted it. Trusted her, really. Enough to let this part of himself exist.

She was smiling without realising it, warmth blooming in her chest like dawn.

Then—too late—his head lifted.

Their eyes met.

She froze.

He froze.

The tension lasted approximately three seconds before Bucky's face turned the colour of a ripe tomato.

"I—uh—he was cold," Bucky blurted.

Y/N stepped in, hands up in mock surrender, eyes sparkling. "Hey. No judgment. You're clearly an amazing father."

Bucky groaned, falling back into his pillow. "I'm never living this down."

She walked up to the bed, sat beside the plush wolf, and gave it a little high-five.

"You picked a good guardian."

Bucky peeked at her from under his arm. "You're not gonna tell the team?"

"Never," she said, reaching for the corner of the blanket to help smooth it over Wolfie's stubby leg. "This one's just for me."

He watched her, smile tugging at his lips. Something soft lingered between them. 

Then she stood up and headed for the door, pausing in the doorway.

"Goodnight, Bucky."

He held her gaze, something unspoken resting behind his eyes.

"Goodnight, Y/N."

--

The next day, Bruce started acting suspicious.

Too many soft smiles. Too many “don’t worry about it”s. The last time he looked that pleased with himself, Tony had accidentally invented a sentient espresso machine.

So when he led Y/N and Bucky out into the compound garden, hands behind his back, Y/N half-expected robots—or at least something that beeped.

What she got was better.

Puppies.

At least a dozen of them—bounding across the grass, tiny tails wagging, ears flopping, a chaos of soft fur and sharp little barks. Someone had set up shade tents and water bowls, and a volunteer stood nearby with a clipboard that read “Therapy Dog Socialisation – Please Cuddle Generously.”

Bruce smiled, sheepish. “I figured… you both could use a little emotional support. So I called in a favour from the program downtown.”

With a small nod and a softer smile, he turned and quietly headed back inside.

Y/N didn’t wait. She was already in the grass, giggling as two puppies climbed onto her stomach and one curled up under her arm. Her entire face glowed like it was the best day of her life.

Bucky, on the other hand, stayed back. He stood stiff at the edge of the garden, hands in his pockets, his face carefully blank—but his eyes never left her.

He was watching her. The way she laughed—completely unguarded—as one of the pups tried to climb her shoulder. The way she scooped up another and kissed its head like it was the most natural thing in the world. And something in his chest pulled tight.

She didn’t even know what she did to people. How the light caught in her hair, how her laugh made things feel safe. How she moved through the world carrying shadows she didn’t talk about—still choosing to smile anyway.

It mesmerised him. Every time.

The strength it took to fight through the dark and still smile in the light… He’d never seen anything like it.

And God, he wanted to protect it. Not just her. But that—that smile. That softness. That spark.

Because he knew what it cost her to hold onto it— and he wanted to be someone who gave softness back to the woman who gave it so freely to everyone but herself.

To make sure she never felt alone in a quiet room again. To be steady when her hands trembled. To keep her laughing. To love her in the quiet, careful way she’d always deserved.

And somewhere in all of it, he realised—he was already falling. Steady as breath. Just as vital.

He didn’t know how to say any of it. So he just stood there—watching her like she was everything.

And then, the world reminded him it was still moving.

Something bumped his boot.

He looked down.

A tiny golden retriever puppy was gnawing at his laces with all the determination of a creature who had never once failed in life.

Bucky blinked. 

“Are you... lost?” he asked the puppy, baffled.

The puppy let go of the lace, gave an enormous yawn, and sat down like it had just completed a great mission.

He bent down, carefully scooped the puppy up like it might detonate, and turned to walk toward Y/N.

But the puppy curled into his chest immediately—let out one sigh and conked out cold.

He froze. “It… fell asleep.”

Y/N beamed. “That’s because it trusts you.”

He didn’t know what to do with that.

So she helped.

She gently placed another puppy on his shoulder. Then another. One climbed into the crook of his arm. A fourth settled near his boot.

Slowly—almost without realizing—he sank into the grass, back against the tree, arms full of fluffy chaos. His head tilted toward hers, like he still couldn’t believe this was allowed.

Y/N looked at him.

Really looked.

At his careful hands. The softness in his eyes. The way he kept absently rubbing slow circles over the back of the first puppy’s fur, like he’d forgotten how to stop being gentle.

There was something almost tender in the way he breathed. Like peace wasn’t something he reached for—just something that had finally found him.

She couldn’t stop watching.

It wasn’t just that he looked soft. It was that she knew how hard he’d fought to get here.

All the parts of him that didn’t rest easy. The shadows he never talked about. The way he sometimes flinched from comfort like it might break him.

And still—here he was. Letting go, just a little. Sitting in the grass, with these little bundles of joy, and letting it happen.

Her chest ached—not with fear or confusion, but with something blooming and inevitable. 

She didn’t just like the part of him that smiled. She liked the part that didn’t know how. The part that tried anyway.

And maybe, without even meaning to, she’d started falling in love with all of it.

Bucky glanced at her, then carefully shifted the one sleeping puppy in his lap—and reached for her.

Without a word, he pulled her gently into his lap, her back resting against his chest. One arm wrapped around her waist. The other still held the tiny retriever, snuggled soundly against him.

The puppy Y/N had been holding stirred, lifted its head, and began licking Bucky’s cheek with sleepy enthusiasm.

He scrunched his nose. She burst into a quiet giggle.

And then they were laughing together, soft and breathless, eyes meeting in a moment so close it could have tipped into something more—if either of them had dared.

But for now, they just stayed there.

Wrapped in warmth. Covered in puppies. Hearts inching closer, unaware they were falling in perfect sync.

Just two old souls, falling in love—one plushie, one plum, and one puppy at a time.

--

Chapter 8 coming soon

[clarethorngarden]

An audio of a Demi Furry consent narrative, written and read by me. Thank you so much @hornybabyyyyyy for inspiring me to do my own writing again!

The text:

---

Morning sunlight plays across the small wooden table at the waterfront cafe, and along the seams of your light earthtoned blouse and black ass-hugging fuck-me jeans. You're proud of that combination with your boots you spent all week desiging. Smartly balancing overt signals of please look at me, within the confines of a safe, public space for a first time meeting someone in person. Despite your sexy outfit and newfound sense of determination, you're still quivering inside with butterflies a little.

Your friends have been dating for a few years now. Some have years of experience age-cheating at online dating apps. Some have had sex already, some with multiple people, and walk around like it's no big deal. More and more, shy kids like you are made to feel further and further behind.

But you're legal now, and you're figuring things out thanks in part to a porn blog that's helping you tell people about what your body needs and wants. And you met someone there, a much older male who sees you as a person, supports your interests, cares about your wellbeing, and is excited about your future. Unlike boys your age who want to send a dick pick instead of ideas for a cute first date at the cafe.

I appear first as a shape in the doorway and you know in a moment that it's me entering - tall, and wild. Bristling beard, explosive floral-patterned shirt making my broad chest look like a meadow for frolicking, the leather collar at my throat and pulled-back hair the only sign of moderation. Until you see my eyes. Two chips of aqua crystal, you suddenly freeze in panic, paralyzed, mind completely locked as I look at you. Intense focus, limitless hunger, the disciplined devourer staring casually through your mind and your soul and through your sex. You gasp slightly.

I immediately sense what I've done, darting my eyes off and away, embarrassed. 

"Oh, um. You. Are you Bun Bun by chance?" I ask, trying to find a safe place to rest my glance that isn't anywhere on your body, eventually perching on the menu behind the bar. Come on, she's less than half your age. You need to be careful or you'll overpower her and this all goes wrong. Please don't stare at her body or glare through her eyes like that right now. She is kind, and her body is soft and beautiful, just don't stare.

You say you are, and I tell you that yes I'm Clare, and it's nice to meet you for real. You smile.

I order my coffee, and you chime in "make it two!" in a way that I think is impossibly cute. You think it's adorable how hard I'm awkwardly trying to make eye contact, and how I sometimes seem to drift away while listening to your voice flowing over me. We play one of the cafe card games and tell stories. We take a stroll along the waterfront and watch the sun glint on the channel. You tell a sexy pun and then laugh as I swallow and touch my collar trying to find the right response.

When it's time to go, you look up at me and ask, "Can I walk you to your car?" I cough slightly and grip my collar again, did she just ask nicely? 

I nod. 

The heat of the day is growing with the heat in our hearts and in our bodies. A fizzy force of nature, a gravity pulling us in. As we walk you follow me more closely. I lean in towards you a little more. Our bodies need to touch each other, to feel at each others' soft, primal selves. Intimately. We're at the back corner of the parking lot, where almost no one can see us, where I've parked.

You suddenly bound out in front of me, and my gaze snaps to your bouncing bottom. You flip around and watch me stare directly at your belly, a line of it peeking out below the edge of your blouse. I take a step closer, and then another. You lean back slightly against the side of my car as I approach. I stand over you, you stare up at me. We can barely breathe, our bodies going numb and we both begin to tremble. The fire, burning us away in our own heat. I lean forward, you lean back slightly, pushing out your hips towards me.

"Can," I try to ask, our panting bodies need it! Now! Your heart slams in your chest. You've been quietly soaking wet since the moment I first looked at you. My member is rapidly spreading a drool stain across my own pants, straining me to hold me in. 

"Bun Bun. Could I. Just. Once. Bite you?"

You choke, short of breath. You whimper "Yes.

Please."

The second word hits me like a slap to the face and a punch to my stomach. Did she just say please? Saliva floods my mouth, I flinch to try and wipe it away with the back of my hand, but no, you asked for it. There is just moving now. Rushing myself up right against your body, reaching down and gently pulling the top of your blouse away almost to the shoulder. You gasp and look away and suddenly grind your bunny cunt into my thigh. I bend my knee up into you, wrap my arm around your waist and pull you in, reach down to your soft fragrant skin, open wide, and just once - 

Your vision explodes in a flurry of stars blasting and swirling your mind, flung weightless through the air. The energy crashes though your body and you push yourself into it, into me, into us. Smashing into an eternity of mindless, rutting, sex. The relationship energy of life itself. Your ears ring around you and you lose your feet. You begin to float.

You gasp as you suddenly come to, collapsed onto the parking lot pavement, bum scraped, back propped up against the car. I'm still holding onto you carefully, I tried to help you fall as gently as I could.

"Fuck!" I hiss, "Oh fuck, I am so sorry Bun Bun. I did not mean to make you cum without asking first! Fuck! I just wanted - I just -" what happened? Fuck! How could I lose control? All I had to do was to not overdo it.

You sense my panic and instinctively nuzzle your face and then your body into me. I drop down and sit next to you, embracing you. You scoot over into my lap and start to curl up into me. You pull my arms over yours to rest against your bosom like a blanket. Warmth radiates our bodies as we cuddle into each other, watching the sunshine glint on the waves. You make a tiny, satisfied sound. Then another. 

The peace of the moment gently floats along in the breeze.

Eventually we can tell it's afternoon, and we're slowly losing our shade in the secret corner of the parking lot. It's time for us to part, but as what? Friends? Moots? Partners? She just came, so we just fucked. Do you know how horny I'm going to be by tonight? How hungry I'll be for Bun Bun, edging tomorrow morning? Why is this already so complicated?

You turn to me as your body starts gently pulling itself up off of mine. "Thank you," you murmer from the center of your spirit.

I swallow and grab my collar.

[zalblitzar]

Now.... I hate Dragon Quest. The series has slashed a scar on my heart thanks to the stuck up community i tried to fit into years ago. Putting me off the game for life. I especially have a deep resentment towards Medea because she was the character that one of the female moderators in that community obsessed over. A moderator that backstabbed me when I was going through a lot at the time. She wanted to look good in front of her "friends" aka she'd follow their instructions simply because she doesn't want to be kicked out of a place that treats her like a princess. Despite acting all caring and kind towards people, it was a false mask, in reality. People like that who take pride in being in a community with a theme they love so much will do anything to stay there, be it ban people if the owners want rid of them without any second thought and do everything to kiss the boots of the community leaders out of respect so that they keep them around.

Anyway.... enough about my past. You're in luck because I recently just remembered a rare piece of whump you can only encounter on the 3DS version of DQ8

It's only exclusive to the 3ds version (i don't know if the mobile version also has it but I haven't checked)

Eight (the default name for the hero) has a dream memory of his childhood. And how he came to arrive at Trodain castle. A young Princess Medea is out on a stroll, mourning the recent loss of her mother when she's encountered by Munchie, Eight's unique mouse.

She follows him to encounter Eight.... who has collapsed on the floor. Unknown for how long.

Unable to wake him up. She runs straight back to the castle to inform her father, the king of Trodain. Who just happened to be out in the courtyard.

He orders his men to carry the boy back to the castle so he can rest in bed.

Thanks to Medea, Eight's life was saved.

She stays by his bedside until he wakes up.

Eight then grows up in Trodian castle and trains to become one of the low ranking royal guards. It's POSSIBLE for him to marry Medea at the end of the game after certain conditions are met. She's one of two characters he can marry.

So there you have it. A rare whump scene from a series with barely any whump which no one talks about. The focus is often on 100% game completions, doing everything and databasing it. When I was in the community, no one went in depth about whump. Well... the word doesn't even exist in places like that. No one cares about sick or injured characters. Only about competition and doing everything in a video game.

I didn't even know that this scene even EXISTED even though I was really into DQ8, playing the ps2 game etc. I think I ran into that scene on some YouTube video, i honestly don't remember. This is not in the original ps2 version at all.

This is also one of the ONLY times you see Eight without his signature red bandana

[maxinewebs]

Billy Hargrove x Sweet Girl Reader

Billy Hargrove isn’t the nicest guy at Hawkins. From the moment he smashed his black boots onto the concrete of the school parking lot, everyone knew he’d be trouble. On Billy’s first day he had managed to make himself more enemies than he could count on one hand. Billy could be described confrontational, aggressive, but charming, and foxily sly. However, not a soul could describe him as kind. 

 On the other hand, Y/N L/N is the nicest girl in Hawkins. She’s outgoing, and bubbly, and unnecessarily kind. Within a week of transferring to Hawkins she had made plenty of friends, joined clubs, and even earned a spot on the Hawkins high varsity cheer squad. No one would ever imagine that a good girl like Y/N would look twice at a troublemaker like Billy. 

 Y/N and Billy stayed separated for a long time. That is, until Billy and she started to leave gym together. It was an odd sight, with Billy’s hair damp from a shower, sticking to his face with Y/N on his arm, looking as if she’d never broken a sweat. 

 Later, the strolls from gym turned into escorts to class, and then accompaniment to lunch, until finally Billy became Y/N ride to and from school. The change was gradual, but beside the two’s aesthetic differences, they were completely in sync. 

 Billy and Y/N were never officially an item, at least not to the rest of the school. But typically, they were both interrogated by friends about the matter. 

One day… “Y/N!” One of the cheerleaders trudged up to Y/N, pushing through a crowd of students filing into school. “Y/N! Hey girl!” Y/N turned around, smiling. “Hey Macy!” She replied. “Listen, how did you manage to snag a boytoy like Billy?” She giggled. “Oh I uh—“ Y/N was interrupted by Billy, throwing a cigarette down and stomping it into the concrete. “Y/N. Come on, let’s go.” He didn’t say where they were going, he just held out his arm for her with a sly grin to her friend. 

 It’s clear that Billy doesn’t care about the other girls interested in him, but by the way Macy acts towards Y/N, there is clear indication that Macy took an interest in Billy. “What was that about?” Billy would ask often, usually after overhearing someone question Y/N about their relationship. “Macy really wants to know what’s going on between us..” She bit her lip, squeezing Billy’s bicep as they walked to first period. “Leave her wanting to know more, it’s none of her business.” He grunted. 

 Billy has a reputation to uphold, but he does tend to act differently than usual when it comes to Y/N. Boys began to take notice from his group, but he’d brush it off. “You’re whipped, man.” Tommy Hagan clapped Billy on the shoulder in the locker room, after Billy had taken his normal speedy shower so he could see Y/N quicker. “Yeah, but Y/N’s a Betty, who wouldn’t be whipped if they got a chance to be with all that!” Another boy commented, smacking Tommy with a wet towel. Billy tended to shake off whatever comments he got, everyone knew that Billy did want he wanted anyway. 

 Shortly after Y/N and Billy get close, Billy joins the basketball team! Which is great, because the cheer squad and the basketball team usually practiced in the gym together. More often than not however, Y/N tends to get a bit distracted.. 

 Billy’s loudest supporter at basketball games is definitely Y/N! With pom poms waving and high kicks galore, she most definitely gives it her all when Billy is put in to play! But the support goes both ways, because as soon as Billy is benched (which isn’t often) he is sure to cheer her on, cockily announcing “that’s my girl!”

 When Billy and Y/N finally made it official, they turned into THE power couple at school. Every guy wanted to be Billy, and every girl wanted to be Y/N. However, it was obvious that they were completely enamored with each other. Y/N is just the one who outwardly shows affection— which is evident by the pink lipstick prints Billy wears like a badge of honor on his cheeks. 

 Billy doesn’t enjoy it when other guys hit on his girl though, and he’s one to cause a scene. But Y/N being as sweet as she is always tries her best to talk him down, and it usually works <3 Billy could be in the middle of beating a guy half to death, but as soon as “Billy..” leaves his love’s sweet tender lips, he’s up and shaking hands. 

 Overall, big and bad Billy Hargrove and his golden girl are the cutest <3 <3

[koenki]

More Late Night Writings

The first time Darling met Neo, Gage really had forgotten something at home. He was still adjusting to the new job and schedule so he had to call or text Roomie to bring it by. Neo trips over himself when they meet, struck by their bold nature and confident smile- only to feel a weight on him when this amazing creature asks to see Gage. Later that day back at the apartment, eating whatever takeout they decided to pick up for both of them, Roomie asks about the cute guy at the front office making Gage almost choke on his food when he hears it. "Gross, you think Neo's cute?" Roomie laughing at his reaction, recognizing the name as the one Gage has come home saying he'd gotten in an argument with- again. There was def a conversation about asking Gage to make up scenarios where they have to go by his workplace now and again. "And what do I get out of it?" Gage would do it anyway, just to see Neo fumbling over his words in front of his crush was funny enough, but Roomie agreed to pay him back somehow. Home cooked meals, getting his favorite snacks on their way home, going out for the night with friends so he and Bug had the place to themselves for night- nothing unreasonable. That's his friend so it's not like he wouldn't help them get with someone they're interested in. Gage's ability to help get friends together is second only to Lauren.

Dion, with the help of the internet, has been taking over a lot of the cooking now and does pretty well. Bunny coming home to some nice home cooked meals so they and Dion can hang out and play games or watch movies, or even take a night stroll on the beach has become something they come to look forward to now. They still need to work out the contract part of their dynamic, but they feel safe and happy with the current arrangement, and want to give Dion something that he'd really love since they can't stay home all day every day. One day Bunny brings home a kitten for the flame demon. They explain that they will help care for the kitten since before Dion showed up they were considering getting a pet anyway (neglecting to mention details of maybe feeling lonely living in the house by themself before the demon showed up.) The wide eyed look asking if this is real and not some sick joke to mess with him makes it all worth while to Bunny to take on any extra responsibilities just to see Dion so happy to (almost) be brought to tears as he loves on the small cat talking about how soft its fur is to the gentle purring it emits as it rubs back against his warm skin. When the kitten is resting and Dion needs to set it down, he clings to Bunny, not able to thank them enough for the little pet that's now "ours", much like everything else in the house, it was shared at this point.

It's supposed to rain later in the day so no park to go to today. Instead Law and Sweets start setting up a tent in the backyard while the sun is still out. Gathering up a few books, lamps, and food, they bring Nat out to the tent to spend time together, telling stories like at campfires around the lamp, having laughs and sharing food as if it wasn't raining cats and dogs outside around them. Eventually Nat would fall asleep, little ones need their naps after all, and as she rested in a warm blanket Law tucked around her, the pair would cuddle on the other side of the tent, either reading their own things or whispering sweet nothings to the other as they listened to the rainfall. On another rainy day Sweets decides to let Law cook dinner and keep Nat preoccupied. Getting her dressed in her rainy day best, boots, coat, hat, they set out and splash in the mud, maybe find some frogs and catch them just to watch them hop away enjoying their best froggy life. Obviously they would need to give her a warm bath before any chill set in from the cold rain and sitting down for dinner. (Both these instances I have been in Nat's place and these are things I did either on my own or with my dad on his weekends, so took the ideas from a special place in my own heart) There's more but this is all I felt like spending time spellchecking and all the fun stuff of having written most of this on my phone today. Altair thank you as always for these lovely characters, they're always fun to think about in different scenarios. 💙

[yhrkcnrk]

Tainted Hearts

Chapter 55: A Christmas Just for Us

Yoshiko sat on the edge of the sofa, one leg bouncing slightly as she waited, glancing around her apartment. She straightened her dark green wool coat and adjusted her navy beanie, hoping she looked decent enough. Just as she was checking the time, she heard Riko's footsteps approaching.

Riko emerged from Yoshiko’s room, looking effortlessly graceful in a white dress top beneath a cozy dark beige coat, a touch of faux fur peeking out from the collar. Her knee-high brown boots paired with cream stockings added a soft, wintery charm. Yoshiko’s gaze softened, and she broke into a small smile.

“You look beautiful,” Yoshiko murmured, taking Riko in from head to toe.

Riko giggled at her compliment, stepping closer to leave a light peck on Yoshiko’s lips. “Thank you,” she replied, her voice warm. “You look really good too.” She straightened the lapel of Yoshiko’s coat with a gentle touch.

Yoshiko’s blush deepened, and she glanced away for a moment, smiling. “Shall we go, then?”

Riko nodded, and they headed downstairs together.

------------------

In the parking lot, Yoshiko walked ahead to open the passenger door, giving a small bow with a playful smile. “My lady,” she said with a little flourish.

Riko giggled as she slid into the seat. “Why, thank you. How sweet of you.” She leaned back, watching Yoshiko with fond amusement as she rounded the car.

Once Yoshiko was seated, she turned the engine on, glancing over at Riko. “Before we go… seatbelt first, Riri.” Leaning over, she reached for the seatbelt on Riko’s side, her face close as she carefully buckled it. Just as she finished, she sneaked in a quick kiss, her lips brushing Riko’s in a gentle surprise.

Riko’s eyes widened, and she laughed softly. “How unfair of you.”

Yoshiko chuckled, fastening her own seatbelt. “One last thing,” she said mysteriously, reaching out to intertwine her fingers with Riko’s, giving her hand a squeeze.

As she started driving, Riko glanced at Yoshiko with a playful curiosity. “So… where are we going?”

Yoshiko’s only answer was a mischievous smile. “It’s a surprise.” She threw a quick glance her way, winking, leaving Riko in suspense.

------------------

A while later, they arrived in Tokyo, where Yoshiko led them to a cozy café decked in festive decorations, with wreaths and lights adorning the walls. Snow had just started falling, adding a magical touch to the morning. They ordered hot chocolate topped with whipped cream and a few seasonal treats, settling down to a small table by the window.

“It’s really cozy in here,” Riko said, taking a sip. “How’d you find this place?”

“Oh, just the internet,” Yoshiko replied nonchalantly, taking a bite of her pastry.

Riko raised an eyebrow with a smile. “Hmm, impressive. I wonder where else you’ll be taking me today.”

Yoshiko grinned, putting her cup down. “It’s a surprise, so you’d better prepare yourself,” she replied, giving her a quick wink.

They chatted about little things, sharing laughs and memories as they finished their breakfast. Once they were done, they decided to leave the car parked and stroll around hand-in-hand, taking in the bustling holiday atmosphere.

------------------

As they walked, they found themselves surrounded by couples on their own Christmas dates, exchanging gifts or laughing as they passed by. Riko looked up at Yoshiko, her heart swelling with gratitude for this day, the warm touch of Yoshiko’s hand grounding her. She was finally getting to spend Christmas with someone who meant the world to her.

Yoshiko, too, was caught in her thoughts. She had always found Christmas a bit lonely — a day she’d spend holed up in her apartment, maybe nursing a drink while playing games. Now, being here with Riko felt like something out of a dream.

A little further along, they spotted a holiday market bustling with vendors and visitors. Intrigued, they decided to check it out, walking between stalls filled with handmade trinkets, delicious snacks, and festive decorations. They stopped to try warm roasted chestnuts, the vendor’s booth giving off a comforting, nutty aroma.

Yoshiko was busy eyeing a nearby stall of ornaments when Riko held up a roasted chestnut to her lips. “Try this, Yocchan,” she said, her voice playful.

Yoshiko leaned forward, taking a bite, nodding appreciatively. “Mmm, that’s good.”

“Right?” Riko said with a smile, watching as Yoshiko ordered a small bag.

“For my girlfriend here,” Yoshiko said to the vendor with a grin, handing the bag to Riko, who took it with a laugh.

After a moment, Yoshiko glanced at another stall with small snow globes. “And… nine of these mini snow globes, please,” she said, pointing to the collection.

Riko watched as the vendor packed up the tiny globes. “What are those for?” she asked curiously.

“Oh, these are for our friends — a little souvenir for each of them. And us, too,” Yoshiko added, laughing as Riko shook her head with a smile.

Riko thought to herself how sweet it was that Yoshiko had thought to include everyone. “That’s thoughtful, Yocchan.” She paused before adding, “I think they’ll really love them.”

“Glad you think so,” Yoshiko replied, pleased. “Oh, and I got something for your mom too. It’s different,” she added casually, making Riko’s smile widen.

“That’s really kind of you. She’ll love that.”

They continued browsing, and Yoshiko spotted a stall with holiday hats and accessories. She grabbed a Santa hat and popped it on her head, striking a silly pose. Riko laughed, pulling out her phone to snap a quick photo. Yoshiko laughed too, tugging at the fluffy white trim of the hat as she moved closer for a funny close-up.

“Keep it on,” Riko urged with a laugh.

“Only if you get one too,” Yoshiko replied, grabbing a reindeer headband and handing it to her with a grin. Riko put it on with a mock sigh, and Yoshiko pulled her in for a selfie, their laughter filling the air as they captured the moment.

------------------

As they strolled through the holiday market, Riko’s eyes caught sight of a display of scarves, one in a deep navy blue that immediately reminded her of Yoshiko’s hair color. She tugged Yoshiko’s arm, guiding her excitedly toward the display.

"Woah, what is it, Riri?" Yoshiko chuckled as she allowed herself to be pulled forward.

"Look, Yocchan! This scarf is the exact color of your hair," Riko said, holding it up with a big smile. Yoshiko examined the scarf, her face lighting up as she reached over to pick up another one, this one in a rich burgundy.

"And here’s one just like yours, Riri," Yoshiko grinned, holding the burgundy scarf next to Riko’s hair.

Riko’s eyes sparkled at the idea. "What if we buy them to match? You wear the one that’s my color, and I’ll wear yours!"

Yoshiko’s smile softened. "That would be lovely."

With shared excitement, they purchased the scarves, and as they left the shop, Yoshiko wrapped the burgundy scarf around her neck, while Riko wore the navy blue one. They exchanged a glance, both looking pleased and feeling a subtle warmth from their matching scarves.

------------------

As evening settled, they walked hand-in-hand through a beautifully lit-up park. Strings of lights adorned trees and bushes, casting a soft glow over the scene, and laughter from other couples filled the air. They stopped now and then, taking pictures together, or one of them snapping a candid shot of the other.

They eventually arrived at a large, brilliantly lit Christmas tree in the center of the park. Its twinkling lights illuminated the area, casting a magical glow on the couple as they stood hand in hand, looking up in awe.

Yoshiko turned to Riko, a thoughtful look on her face. "Hey, Riri," she started.

Riko met her gaze, curiosity in her eyes. "Yes, Yocchan?"

Yoshiko’s hand reached into her coat pocket. "I was going to give this to you later, but…I think now is perfect." She pulled out a small gift box, holding it out to Riko. "Merry Christmas, Riri."

Riko took the box, her eyes wide with surprise as she looked at Yoshiko, who nodded encouragingly for her to open it. Carefully, Riko lifted the lid, and her hand flew to her mouth in awe. Inside was a delicate necklace with a pendant shaped like piano keys.

"Yocchan…" Riko’s voice was soft, overwhelmed with emotion, her eyes glistening.

Yoshiko smiled tenderly. "Here, let me put it on you." She took the necklace and moved behind Riko, who held her hair up to give Yoshiko access. As Yoshiko fastened the clasp, she whispered, "I know how much you love the piano, so I thought…"

Stepping back around to face her, Yoshiko’s gaze softened as she took in the sight of Riko touching the pendant in admiration. "It looks perfect on you," she murmured.

Riko looked up, her face filled with so much warmth it made Yoshiko’s heart flutter. "Thank you, Yocchan," she said, and then, overcome by emotion, she leaned in and kissed Yoshiko, right there in front of the giant Christmas tree. The world around them seemed to fade, leaving just the two of them in their own little bubble, sharing a quiet, passionate kiss amidst the holiday lights.

------------------

Later that evening, they made their way to an outdoor ice rink, where festive music played and the ice gleamed under soft lights. With skates on, they glided across the rink, holding hands and laughing as Yoshiko stumbled now and then, trying to maintain her balance. Riko couldn’t stop giggling, her amusement only growing as Yoshiko wobbled with every other stride.

"Stop laughing, Riri! I’m still a little new to this," Yoshiko said, though she couldn’t help but laugh at herself.

"Alright, alright," Riko said between giggles. But just then, a stranger bumped into Riko, causing her to slip. She gasped, but before she could fall, Yoshiko swooped in, catching her in a dramatic pose, just like a scene from a romantic movie.

Blushing, Riko steadied herself, still held in Yoshiko’s arms. "Thank you, Yocchan."

Yoshiko chuckled, a playful glint in her eyes. "Want me to punch the guy who bumped into you?"

Riko laughed, playfully tapping her on the shoulder. "No, Yocchan, bad Yocchan," she scolded, as if reprimanding a mischievous puppy.

They both laughed together, and after catching their breath, resumed skating hand in hand, enjoying every moment of their unforgettable Christmas date.

------------------

As Yoshiko drove them to their next destination, Riko looked at her curiously, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Where are you taking me now, Yocchan?" she giggled, trying to catch Yoshiko's gaze.

Yoshiko smirked, keeping her eyes on the road. "How about you guess?"

A few minutes later, Yoshiko pulled up in front of a beautifully decorated, fancy restaurant. Riko’s eyes widened as she looked out the window. "I suppose it’s not that place…right?" she teased, though her tone was filled with surprise.

Yoshiko chuckled, getting out of the car and walking around to open Riko's door. She held out her hand, and Riko took it, stepping out as she continued to gaze at the restaurant in awe.

Yoshiko guided Riko inside, her arm looped securely around Yoshiko’s. Once inside, she approached the host’s stand confidently. "Reservation for Tsushima."

"Right this way, Miss Tsushima," the host replied, leading them to their table.

Sitting down, Riko looked around in awe. "Yocchan, isn’t this place expensive? You didn’t have to…"

Yoshiko smiled, brushing her concerns aside. "Don’t worry about it, Riri. I worked hard to make this night special." When Riko began to protest, Yoshiko cut in, “No buts! Order anything you want. Plus, this is my first Christmas date…I wanted to go all out," she finished, scratching the back of her neck, her cheeks faintly pink.

Riko sighed, charmed by Yoshiko’s thoughtfulness and giving in. "Alright, if you say so."

As they enjoyed their meal, Yoshiko took a bite and smiled. "I’m glad I picked Tokyo for our first Christmas date," she said. "None of your classmates can spot us and interrupt." She laughed, and Riko joined in, relieved they could share this night uninterrupted.

They commented on the flavors of their meal, savoring every bite. After a while, Riko gasped softly, remembering something. "Oh! I almost forgot—I have something for you, too." She pulled a small box from her coat pocket and handed it to Yoshiko, her face glowing with excitement.

Yoshiko took the box, eyes bright with curiosity. When she opened it, she gasped. Inside was a miniature Erlenmeyer flask with tiny, detailed figures of herself and Riko inside, suspended in liquid, like a unique snow globe but flask-shaped.

"Whoa, Riri, this is awesome!" Yoshiko marveled, holding it up to get a closer look. "Look—it’s mini-us inside!" She practically beamed, her eyes wide with delight as she turned the flask in her hands like a child with a new toy.

Riko giggled, watching Yoshiko’s excitement. "You can shake it like a snow globe, too."

Yoshiko did just that, laughing as the figures inside swirled in the liquid. "This is so cool! Best gift ever!" She leaned across the table, wrapping Riko in a warm hug, giving her a quick kiss to show just how much she loved it.

------------------

With the night drawing to a close, Yoshiko drove them home, her hand intertwined with Riko’s as she steered. They chatted easily about their day, sharing thoughts and laughing over little moments from the evening.

Finally arriving at Yoshiko's apartment, they kicked off their shoes and settled in. Since they’d already had dinner, they decided to keep things cozy with a Christmas movie before bed. Just as they settled down, Yoshiko suggested, "You can take a hot bath first. I know it’s chilly outside."

Riko nodded, grabbing her change of clothes before heading to the bathroom. As she soaked in the warm bath, she found herself thinking about the week ahead, feeling a tinge of nervousness realizing this would be their first time staying together under the same roof for so many days.

After finishing, Riko stepped out, wearing a soft, pink nightgown that fell just past her knees. She called out, "Yocchan, it’s your turn now!"

Yoshiko glanced over, her cheeks reddening at the sight of Riko, but she quickly looked away. "O-okay!" she stammered, heading for the bathroom. In the tub, Yoshiko splashed her face, mumbling to herself, "Calm down, Yoshiko…be mature…don’t think of anything weird…"

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, she wore a comfortable gray sweatshirt and pajama pants. Riko greeted her with a warm smile from the couch. "I made some popcorn and set up the movie," she said, patting the spot next to her.

Yoshiko’s face softened as she sat beside Riko. "You didn’t have to do that, but thank you," she replied with a grin, reaching over to take a handful of popcorn. They snuggled up together under a blanket, ready to enjoy the cozy end to a perfect Christmas date.

------------------

As the movie played on, Riko rested her head against Yoshiko’s shoulder, their fingers intertwined as they shared quiet moments of laughter at the funny parts, and soft, affectionate smiles at the tender scenes. But then, an unexpected raunchy scene unfolded on the screen, making both of them freeze, unsure how to react. Yoshiko felt her pulse quicken, fighting down her more…impulsive thoughts. Respecting Riko’s comfort was her priority, so she stilled herself, focused on the warmth of Riko’s hand in hers instead.

Once the movie ended, Yoshiko stood up, stretching. “Well, I hope you enjoyed it,” she said, attempting to keep her voice steady.

Riko, cheeks still faintly pink from the scene, nodded. “Yeah, it was…it was really good.” They shared a slightly awkward laugh before Riko added, “Goodnight, Yocchan.” She headed toward Yoshiko’s room as Yoshiko made up her bed on the couch, insisting Riko take the room.

------------------

Both of them lay in their respective spaces, but sleep evaded them. Riko shifted in Yoshiko’s bed, her thoughts drifting back to the movie’s raunchy scene. The scent of Yoshiko’s familiar fragrance lingering in the room only intensified her restless thoughts. Frustrated, she sat up, her heart racing as she slipped out of bed and padded softly to where Yoshiko was lying.

Standing by the couch, she whispered, “Yocchan?”

To her surprise, Yoshiko’s voice responded, “What is it?”

“It’s...it’s kind of lonely in your room,” Riko murmured, hesitating before adding, “Can you sleep there with me?”

Yoshiko, surprised, chuckled. “Haven’t you slept there alone before?”

“Yes, but this is different,” Riko replied, blushing. “And it’s Christmas…and I miss you,” she added softly.

Yoshiko’s cheeks flushed, but she nodded, standing up. “Alright, but I’ll just sleep on the floor, okay?”

Riko agreed, a small smile playing on her lips.

Back in Yoshiko’s room, Yoshiko settled herself on the floor beside the bed, trying her best to ignore the tension between them. She closed her eyes, but Riko’s soft voice interrupted the silence.

“Hey, Yocchan,” she said quietly. “Can I ask for another Christmas gift?”

Yoshiko turned her head to look at Riko, curious. “Sure, what is it? As long as I can do it,” she added with a small laugh.

“Can you…give me a goodnight kiss?” Riko asked, her cheeks tinged with pink.

Yoshiko’s heart raced as she got up, leaning down, her eyes meeting Riko’s. She softly pressed her lips against Riko’s, a tender, lingering kiss.

As she pulled back, Riko’s voice stopped her, asking, “Can you give me more?”

Yoshiko’s breath hitched, but she leaned in, kissing her again, this time letting the kiss last a little longer. Riko’s tone turned more suggestive, whispering, “More…longer.”

Yoshiko, barely able to keep her cool, obliged. She found herself on one knee beside the bed, leaning over Riko as they kissed deeply, Riko’s arms wrapping around Yoshiko’s neck, pulling her close. The intensity between them grew, both lost in the moment, until Yoshiko pulled back slightly, breathing heavily.

“S-sorry,” she stammered. “I think I went a little too far.” She tried to pull away, but Riko’s arms kept her close, her face flushed yet inviting as she smiled up at Yoshiko.

“It’s okay,” Riko replied, her voice low and warm. “I liked it.” Her gaze was intense, her voice almost a whisper as she added, “You can actually go further than that…”

Yoshiko’s heart raced, her gaze searching Riko’s face for certainty. “Are you sure you really want this?” she asked softly, her voice full of tenderness.

Riko nodded, her voice equally soft but full of conviction. “100%.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Content Warning:

From this point onward, the content will include explicit sexual scenes (R-18). If you’re not comfortable with this, feel free to skip ahead to the next chapter—skipping won’t affect the story. For those who choose to continue, enjoy the story!

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Yoshiko’s restraint fell away as she leaned down, meeting Riko’s lips again, their kiss deepening, she began a slow exploration of Riko's body, her hands moving with reverence. Her fingers deftly working their way down, revealing Riko’s smooth skin. Riko shivered, her body responding to Yoshiko's touch. Yoshiko's lips found Riko's collarbone, her kisses leaving a trail of fire.

As Yoshiko's explored Riko's body, she couldn't help but admire her beauty. Riko's skin was like silk, her curves inviting. Yoshiko's lips found Riko's, their kiss becoming more urgent. Her hands touched the fabric of Riko's bra, and with a gentle tug, it came loose, exposing her breasts.

Riko gasped as Yoshiko's mouth found her nipple, her lips and tongue paying homage to each breast. Yoshiko's touch was like a symphony, her hands cupping and massaging, her mouth licking and suckling, driving Riko to the brink of ecstasy.

"Y-Yocchan," Riko moaned, her body arching.

Yoshiko, ever mindful, focused her attention to Riko's pleasure. Her fingers went to Riko's most intimate place, her fingers brushed against her sensitive place, giving a spark. Riko gasped, her body jerking in response at the sudden sensation.

"Did it hurt, Riri?" Yoshiko asked, her voice filled with concern.

Riko shook her head. "No, Yocchan, it's just... my first time."

Yoshiko smiled, her fingers continuing their exploration, this time with a gentler touch. "Tell me if it hurts, okay?" she whispered, her breath hot against Riko's ear.

Riko's breath was ragged, her body flushed. "O-Okay, Yocchan."

Reassured, Yoshiko continued her exploration, her fingers gently circling Riko's sensitive spot, eliciting soft moans and gasps. Riko's body writhed beneath her, her hands clutching at Yoshiko's shoulders, urging her on.

Yoshiko positioned herself between Riko's thighs, her finger touching with Riko's wetness. "Can I?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Riko's breath was heavy, her body yearning. "Yes, Yocchan... But be gentle…"

Yoshiko's heart swelled with love and tenderness as she gently slid one finger inside Riko's warmth. Riko's body clenched around her, tight and wet. "Does it hurt?" Yoshiko asked, her voice filled with concern.

Riko shook her head, her eyes closed, her body adjusting to the unfamiliarbegin of Yoshiko's finger. "No, it feels... amazing. Just give me a moment."

Yoshiko kissed her softly, her fingers still buried deep within Riko's core. Slowly and gently, she began to move, her finger stroking in and out, finding a rhythm that had Riko writhing beneath her. Riko's breath quickened, her body responding to Yoshiko's touch.

"F-Faster, Yocchan," Riko pleaded, her voice thick with desire.

Yoshiko complied, her fingers moving in a steady rhythm, her thumb occasionally brushing Riko's clit, sending her lover over the edge. Riko's back arching off the bed, her hands clutching at Yoshiko's shoulders. "Y-Yocchan," Riko gasped, her body trembling, "I-I'm close."

Yoshiko's heart was filled with a sense of contentment, knowing she was bringing Riko to the edge of bliss. She increased her pace, her finger working in and out, her thumb kneading Riko's clit. Riko's pleasure was her ultimate goal, and she was determined to deliver.

Riko's squirming beneath Yoshiko, her hands gripping Yoshiko’s back, her lips moaning Yoshiko's name. Her climax was approaching, a crescendo of sensations that overwhelmed her. "Y-Yocchan!" she cried out, nails digging at Yoshiko’s skin and her body arching as waves of pleasure washed over her.

Yoshiko held Riko tightly, her finger still moving gently within her, prolonging the moment. Riko's body squirming against hers, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Yoshiko's heart was filled with a sense of fulfillment and satisfaction, knowing she had brought Riko to such heights.

As Riko's breathing slowed, Yoshiko pulled out her finger, her lips kissing Riko's, their dancing in a slow, passionate kiss. Riko's arms held Yoshiko tightly, her body calming with exhaustion and contentment.

Their trust, care, and love for each other led them naturally to their first time together.

------------------

Afterward, Riko lay breathless, her hands still resting on Yoshiko’s shoulders, her fingernails having left gentle marks on Yoshiko’s skin. Yoshiko got up, returning shortly with tissues to gently clean and care for her, offering her water with a tender smile.

Riko took the water, her heart swelling with love as she watched Yoshiko’s soft, attentive gestures. This tenderness and devotion made her love Yoshiko all the more, filling her with warmth.

When Yoshiko finally lay beside her, she wrapped her arms around Riko, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. “You did great,” she whispered, holding her close, and they drifted into a peaceful sleep, wrapped in each other’s embrace.

[sandyyy0708-blog]

Putting on the most effective equipment

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They will certainly wear their group jacket and either participate in the video games when they are adequately privileged or merely shout recommendations and support from the sofa whilst glued to a television display. In are with each other with the difficulty of acquiring present to do this individual, you might have no must attempt to worry as football themed presents for him or her, are a pair of the largest cash manufacturers in the area of.

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[cxndiedheart]

His Golden Girl

Billy Hargrove x Golden girl! Reader

Imagine big bad Billy Hargrove with a sweet lil’ girlfriend <3

—————————

Billy Hargrove isn’t the nicest guy at Hawkins. From the moment he smashed his black boots onto the concrete of the school parking lot, everyone knew he’d be trouble. On Billy’s first day he had managed to make himself more enemies than he could count on one hand. Billy could be described confrontational, aggressive, but charming, and foxily sly. However, not a soul could describe him as kind.

On the other hand, Y/N L/N is the nicest girl in Hawkins. She’s outgoing, and bubbly, and unnecessarily kind. Within a week of transferring to Hawkins she had made plenty of friends, joined clubs, and even earned a spot on the Hawkins high varsity cheer squad. No one would ever imagine that a good girl like Y/N would look twice at a troublemaker like Billy.

Y/N and Billy stayed separated for a long time. That is, until Billy and she started to leave gym together. It was an odd sight, with Billy’s hair damp from a shower, sticking to his face with Y/N on his arm, looking as if she’d never broken a sweat.

Later, the strolls from gym turned into escorts to class, and then accompaniment to lunch, until finally Billy became Y/N ride to and from school. The change was gradual, but beside the two’s aesthetic differences, they were completely in sync.

Billy and Y/N were never officially an item, at least not to the rest of the school. But typically, they were both interrogated by friends about the matter.

One day… “Y/N!” One of the cheerleaders trudged up to Y/N, pushing through a crowd of students filing into school. “Y/N! Hey girl!” Y/N turned around, smiling. “Hey Macy!” She replied. “Listen, how did you manage to snag a boytoy like Billy?” She giggled. “Oh I uh—“ Y/N was interrupted by Billy, throwing a cigarette down and stomping it into the concrete. “Y/N. Come on, let’s go.” He didn’t say where they were going, he just held out his arm for her with a sly grin to her friend.

It’s clear that Billy doesn’t care about the other girls interested in him, but by the way Macy acts towards Y/N, there is clear indication that Macy took an interest in Billy. “What was that about?” Billy would ask often, usually after overhearing someone question Y/N about their relationship. “Macy really wants to know what’s going on between us..” She bit her lip, squeezing Billy’s bicep as they walked to first period. “Leave her wanting to know more, it’s none of her business.” He grunted.

Billy has a reputation to uphold, but he does tend to act differently than usual when it comes to Y/N. Boys began to take notice from his group, but he’d brush it off. “You’re whipped, man.” Tommy Hagan clapped Billy on the shoulder in the locker room, after Billy had taken his normal speedy shower so he could see Y/N quicker. “Yeah, but Y/N’s a Betty, who wouldn’t be whipped if they got a chance to be with all that!” Another boy commented, smacking Tommy with a wet towel. Billy tended to shake off whatever comments he got, everyone knew that Billy did want he wanted anyway.

Shortly after Y/N and Billy get close, Billy joins the basketball team! Which is great, because the cheer squad and the basketball team usually practiced in the gym together. More often than not however, Y/N tends to get a bit distracted..

Billy’s loudest supporter at basketball games is definitely Y/N! With pom poms waving and high kicks galore, she most definitely gives it her all when Billy is put in to play! But the support goes both ways, because as soon as Billy is benched (which isn’t often) he is sure to cheer her on, cockily announcing “that’s my girl!”

When Billy and Y/N finally made it official, they turned into THE power couple at school. Every guy wanted to be Billy, and every girl wanted to be Y/N. However, it was obvious that they were completely enamored with each other. Y/N is just the one who outwardly shows affection— which is evident by the pink lipstick prints Billy wears like a badge of honor on his cheeks.

Billy doesn’t enjoy it when other guys hit on his girl though, and he’s one to cause a scene. But Y/N being as sweet as she is always tries her best to talk him him down, and it usually works <3 Billy could be in the middle of beating a guy half to death, but as soon as “Billy..” leaves his love’s sweet tender lips, he’s up and shaking hands.

Overall, big and bad Billy Hargrove and his golden girl are the cutest <3 <3

[lokislastlove]

Sweat and Sacrifice (SoftDark!Steve x Reader) p5

Summary: You decide to meet face to face for the first time on Christmas at a football game, and it’s not what you expected.

Warnings: Smut, semi-public sex, fingering. (Woo sexy times!)

Notes: This is the end, it’s a tiny bit longer than previous chapters but it’s done and I tried not to drag it out any longer. Haha thank you to everyone who has read and commented!! This was my longest series yet and the first one I posted before finishing, so thanks for your patience and encouragement with each chapter 😊 means a lot to me! 💕

Part 1     Part 2     Part 3     Part 4 

🏈

Cap doesn’t do anything at half speed.

Peters words from that fateful day float through your mind as you process the expensive leather seats and pristine interior of the small private jet. Steve wasn’t joking, there is a small Louis Vuitton weekend bag with a couple outfits, a makeup bag and some other essentials perfectly tailored to you. A pair of cute black snow boots and a warm Burberry winter coat hang in the small closet in your exact size.

“Where are we going this time?” You ask after getting dressed and settling on the couch seat next to him.

“I’m giving you the ultimate spa-retreat and then we’ll be back in time to celebrate New Years in the city.”

The ‘ultimate spa retreat’ ends up being a trip to a luxurious hotel suite in Iceland. The landscape is frigid and rough but in a stunningly ethereal sort of way. The room is simple, modern, with high end finishes that highlight the view of a private enclave of the gorgeous steaming blue lagoon surrounded by walls of volcanic rock.

Steve pulls out a white bikini from his bag, letting the string-like material hang from a single finger as he slowly strolls over to you with a devious look in his eye.

“For you,” he winks and drops it into your fumbling hands.

He begins to undress, proudly strutting about the room half naked until he’s down to his briefs and you can’t help the way your mouth salivates at the sight of him. Your eyes linger on the perfect curve of his ass in the tight underwear and he looks over his shoulder at you as he eases them down and laughs when you look away in embarrassment.

“Still so coy, so cute,” he chuckles as he walks toward you completely naked, his cock already half hard.

You clear your throat as you feel the thin silky material of the bathing suit, hesitant to put it on. Bathing suits have never been your favorite thing. Steve grabs the hem of your shirt, tugging it up until you have no choice but to lift your arms and allow him to undress you.

You stand before each other bare and practically humming with anticipation when he grabs your hand and turns toward the sliding door. You gasp as the cold air bites at your skin, your nipples hardening instantly and you shiver as he pulls you quickly down the nearby steps into the hot milky blue water.

“Oh god,” you sigh as the warmth of the enriched mineral water envelops you.

The lagoon is magical, the misty water and steam swirling atop it prevent you from seeing anything a few inches below the surface. Even though the winter air is just as frigid as you’d expect, the water keeps you comfortable, better than any blanket or hot tub you’ve ever experienced. Steve loops his arms around your hips, drawing you in close as he lowers himself up to his shoulders to keep himself warm.

“You’re right, naked is better,” he bites his lip and your eye lids flutter as his hand slips to cup your cunt.

Without warning he presses two fingers into your entrance and you gasp at the sudden sensation. His impatience on display more than ever as he curls his fingers, rubbing over the little spot within you that makes your legs go weak. The water helps you float as he works his fingers into you roughly. You grab his wrist as you start to hump his hand desperately, unashamed of how quickly he can render you a needy mess.

Your other arm hangs onto his shoulder, your lips dragging over the skin of his neck and shoulders, kissing him as your orgasm builds.

“That’s it baby,” he coos. “Relax, that’s why we’re here… I want to make you feel good… it’s all about you, sweetheart… want you so bad… I ache for you... I can’t believe that you’re mine.” His voice gets grisly and deep as your unrestrained moans get pitchy.

You come with a squeak and bite his shoulder as your walls clench and relax around his fingers and he slows down, easing out of you with a satisfied hum.

“That was sexy,” he whispers as he watches you struggle to stay grounded. “But I don’t think one is gonna cut it.”

He grabs your thighs and hooks them on his hips, fondling your ass as he carries you to a deeper spot until he has you both submerged enough to keep you warm. His hard cock pressing against your pelvis until he stops and locks eyes with you.

He lifts you easily, the salt-rich water making you especially buoyant. The water swishes around you, as he pokes around trying to find your already swollen cunt.

You let out a puffy breath and curl your hips until he finds the right spot and slides in completely. You both sigh, relaxing into the feel of each other. He stays there, buried deep, his urgency from moments ago temporarily sated as he basks in the overwhelming pleasure of you snug around him.

You feel a cold drop kiss your cheek and you look up to see large flakes of snow float down around you, melting instantly as they meet the steam.

“Oh my…” you gasp at the beauty of it. It’s serene and romantic, unlike any experience you could ever imagine, better than any dream.

Steve hums and kisses up your neck, delighted by the starry look in your eyes. He slowly picks you up and drops you back down, drawing your attention back to him. He goes slow, sensing the need for a more sensual fucking rather than a rough pounding… for now at least.

“I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so perfect for me. You’re so gorgeous,” he praises. “Tell me you’re mine.”

You whimper and whisper breathily, “I’m yours.”

His lustful groans fill your ears as your orgasm builds again. Throwing your head back in delight, he lets you go, the water keeping your upper body afloat as he grunts and his hips stutter at his completion. You stay in the cloudy water until your hands are wrinkled and you both get hungry.

You escape to the water several more times in those two days, taking breaks to order room service and schedule a couples massage. Once again you lose yourself in the fantasy of his presence and the impossibly perfect life he offers you.

—

On the flight home you cuddle close, resting your head on his hulking chest, drifting off the the rhythmic sound of his steady heartbeat as he holds you tight.

“Cupcake,” Steve voice lilts, drawing you from your quiet slumber.

You groan, and wipe the trickle of drool from the corner of your mouth, “I thought we agreed no nicknames.”

He laughs in your ear and kisses your temple, “we just landed. I, unfortunately, have to go to a team meeting and show my face for a couple hours at practice. But I set you up with a suite downtown and my assistant is going to take you shopping for a dress for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yeah, it’s New Years Eve! I’m taking you to a big party, introduce you to some of the team and then tomorrow I want you to come to the game.”

“You’re going to party the night before a game?” You ask groggily.

“Well I won’t be drinking much and it’s the night game so I should be ok,” he smirks.

“Okay,” you nod as you sit up and let him lead you out the plane and down the short flight of steps to the tarmac.

“Ah, Natasha,” Steve greets the petite redhead in a tight black suit waiting by the cars and pulls you forward to show you off. “This is my girl,” he beams at you, “I’m trusting you to get her all nice and ready for the big party tonight. Spare no expense.”

He gives you a sweet soft kiss and nods to his assistant before jogging over to the other car awaiting him.

You feel a bit blindsided at his sudden departure and shift awkwardly as you notice Natasha staring at you with a wry smile. Her eyes flick down your body and a subtle tweak of her brow gives away her less-than-impressed impression of you.

“Sorry, I’m probably not exactly dressed for a big shopping day. This was actually the only clean outfit I had left… maybe we should just skip this and you can take me home, I’m sure I can get ready just fine there.”

You don’t know why, but you feel like you are wasting her time. Her amused expression puts you on edge, her keen eyes taking in every flaw and nervous tick with silent judgement. Only when you quit fidgeting, your brows narrowing as you wait for her to say something, does she finally speak.

“You look fine. Now let’s get you ready. Big night ahead,” she says flatly with a polite smile as she waves you toward the door.

As you slide in the car and listen to her bark directions at the driver, you feel suddenly out of place, preferring Peters goofy energy over Natasha’s sharp silence and sardonic quips.

The shopping trip is brutal. Natasha’s all business as she marches you around the city. Your first stop is at a spa for a shower and a facial, before swiftly moving on to your least favorite part of the day, waxing. They did everywhere, tutting at your reluctance for certain areas until you finally just give in. Then comes the manicure, pedicure, hair stylist and professional make up artist.

By the late afternoon you are finally finished, poked and prodded until you start to feel more like a doll than a human being. The makeup is heavy and the dress Natasha approved of is far more revealing than you are comfortable with. It is going to be a challenge to meet people and act normally when you barely recognize yourself.

Here. Meet you in the lobby – Steve

You slip on your overpriced shoes and take one last glance in the mirror, you imagine this is what it feels like to go to a red carpet event. Just the thought makes you nervous, all those eyes on you, taking your picture, asking you intrusive questions. Steadying yourself with a few deep breaths, you focus all your energy into not embarrassing yourself as you ride the elevator down.

The elevator opens to the glowing golden lobby and your eyes land on Steve instantly. Leaning against the back of one of the lobby couches, his long legs crossed casually as he chats to a man next to him, unaware of your presence. He wears a dark blue tux, with black shoes and a black bow tie. He looks every bit out of your league as you predicted and your ankle wobbles nervously as you slowly walk toward him.

The clack of your heels draws his attention and you watch his mouth hang open mid sentence as his eyes greedily take in every inch of you. His eyes meet yours and he beams brightly. Speechless, as you finally near him and shrug at the accumulation of the day, hoping it’s good enough.

“Princess… wow,” he laughs at the way you scowl at the new nickname. “You look absolutely stunning.”

Heat fills your cheeks and you try to temper the giddiness his praise brings. You smile and allow him to pull you in for a kiss.

“You’re going to be the envy of the party,” he says, playing with the short hem of your dress, “isn’t she Buck?”

You only just notice the other man in an all black suit and tie, standing only a couple paces away, running his hand through his long brown locks as he checks you out.

“Sure does clean up nicely,” he nods with a wink before gesturing toward the turn-style glass door. “Better get going.”

Steve stands and hooks his arm around your waist, pulling you close as you follow Bucky out to the limousine. Inside, Bucky is quick to pop open a bottle of champagne, encouraging you to ‘loosen up’ before you get there.

“If she’s this nervous around me, I can’t wait to see how she does around Tony,” Bucky quips, throwing back a shot of whiskey.

“Take it easy, Buck. She’s new to this, but she taken everything I’ve thrown at her so far,” Steve says with a smirk and softly squeezes your hand.

“I’ll bet she has,” Bucky winks, eyes flicking down to your legs suggestively.

“Do you have a date tonight, Bucky?” You dare to ask.

“Why? You offering?” Bucky teases and Steve’s grip on your hand tightens as he scowls at his friend. “Just messing, big guy. Don’t need a date where we’re going, doll.”

You lock your jaw, biting back any rash insults or admissions that might disappoint Steve. You want to make a good impression with his friends and silence seems to be the best strategy for now. Hopefully, getting dragged around like this starts to get easier soon.

The club doors are glass, leading to a private elevator, membership entrance only, the large bouncers make sure of that. They open the doors instantly at the sight of Bucky and Steve, the bouncer greeting each by name with a knowing handshake. You ride up the elevator, the familiar bunny-head design printed on the custom carpet gives you a clue where you are before the doors open.

“Party’s here!” Bucky bellows as he steps out of the elevator into the room full of people who all cheer when they see him.

The swanky private club is filled with large men in designer clothes and curvaceous women in tights, stilettos and corsets. The round cotton balls pinned to their asses and their rabbit ear headbands confirm your suspicion. This is the playboy club.

Bucky disappears into the crowd immediately while you lean in to Steve’s side as he confidently mingles with his fellow teammates. He introduces you to several players, some more polite than others. The play boy bunnies shoot you envious looks as you cling to Steve arm, terrified of being left alone in this daunting crowd.

The women are gorgeous and the men are overly-friendly, which only gets worse as the alcohol settles in. This is beyond your comfort zone, and your new focus is on making it through the night. Finally, after making the rounds and countless introductions, Steve leads you to a booth in the corner and a bunny waitress comes by with a tray of drinks and appetizers.

You sit with a relieved sigh, thankful to let your feet rest for a minute. Steve pulls you close and nuzzles your temple, “doing ok, baby?”

You roll your eyes at the name but nod, the music and loud crowd make it hard to have any real sort of conversation.

“Rogers!” an unfamiliar voice booms.

You turn to see a ostentatious man in a shiny maroon suit and gold rimmed aviators step out from the crowd, the silver streaks in his hair matching his peppered goatee. Two drunken girls giggle adoringly as they drape themselves over him. He slide into the booth next to Steve who smiles and greets him with a nod.

“Tony,” he says in amusement.

“You ladies know this stud don’t you? My golden goose, my superstar, my money maker, the incomparable Steven Rogers!” He announces dramatically to his female companions.

The girls ooh and ah as they extend their hands and introduce themselves with sultry “hi”s to Steve who smiles politely and says hello.

“Not going too hard tonight, I hope. I need you ready to kick ass tomorrow, playoffs just around the corner!” Tony lectures.

Steve shakes his head, “no, not too hard, three drinks max. Mostly wanted to come and introduce everyone to my girl here.” Steve looks to you expectantly.

You offer your name and a small wave while Tony eyes you skeptically and smirks without saying anything. He looks back to Steve with a wry smile, “drinks aren’t the only thing that can exhaust you, Rogers.”

Your face heats at the joke and you squirm in your seat as Tony takes another minute to scan you more thoroughly.

“I know my limits,” Steve returns in good humor.

Tony guffaws, “there aren’t many from what I’ve seen.”

He slaps Steve on the shoulder and throws you a wink before excusing himself, his entourage pouting as they reluctantly leave Steve’s side to follow Tony.

“Who was that?” You ask curiously.

“Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy and owner of the team,” Steve muses.

“Oh,” you nod and Steve frowns at your less-than-jovial expression.

“You ok?” he asks.

“Fine,” you nod with a fake smile, trying to hide the anxiety that seems to have come out of nowhere. “Is there a ladies room around here?”

His eyes narrow but he eventually nods and points you to the small hall with the neon sign overhead. You give him a kiss on the cheek and rush off to the restroom. The heavy door slams behind you, muffling the noise and you let out a relieved breath at the moment of silence. Your eyes close as you lean against the cool door and try to compose yourself.

“You ok there, honey?”

You jump at the sweet voice of the girl exiting the stall and nod, “yeah, sorry. I just… needed a moment.”

“Yeah the boys tend to get a bit rowdy here, especially this lot,” she laughs.

You smile and try not to let your eyes linger on the way the fluffy white bunny tail bobs up and down as she adjusts her bustier. She’s beautiful, and the high panty line and fishnets really accentuate her shapely legs. It seems like such a foreign concept to be confident enough to wear that willingly, and that out-of-place feeling strikes you again.

She catches you staring as your mind wanders and she smiles, “so is it your first time here?”

“Yeah, this is definitely new to me.”

“I see,” she nods with a kind smile before her face drops, “oh my god! You’re that girl! Steves girl!”

You startle at the sudden recognition but nod, “yeah. I’m here with Steve.”

“Damn, girl. Everyone is talking about you. They all want to know about the girl who finally made the famous Steve Rogers settle down. So many have tried and failed…” she pauses to touch up her lipstick in the mirror, “you must be something special.”

You shake your head sadly, “not really. I don’t know what I’m even doing here, to be honest.”

Her brow raises curiously but she doesn’t rush to correct you, “well I wouldn’t question it. You’re lucky, I know a bunch of ladies who would kill to be you.”

“Yeah…”

“Well gotta make my money somehow, I’ll see you out there!” She sings, fluttering her fingers at you as you move out of the way so she can bounce daintily out of the room.

You walk toward the sink and gasp when a large shadow passes by the mirror. A man slips silently into the bathroom behind you and locks the door with a sharp click. You turn to face him quickly, ready to scream until you recognize Bucky’s irked expression.

“Bucky…” you question.

“What are you doing?” He demands and you fluster in confusion.

“What?” You frown. “What are YOU doing?” you intone.

“I’ve been watching you sulk and pout all night. You look pathetic and miserable, so I’ll ask you again… what are you doing?”

You gape in shock, at a loss for words, “I – I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to tell me why you’re being a little brat when Steve is trying to show you a good time. Do you know how much he’s done for you?” He chides, hair dangling in front of his furrowed brow.

“I’m sorry… I’m just not great with crowds,” you admit weakly, alarmed by the sudden hostility.

“Well you better get over that pretty fucking quick. Steve is a god damn national treasure and you’re acting like some abused little kitten,” he stops and smirks at his own phrasing, “well, I guess he has been abusing that little kitty between your legs, huh?”

“Fuck you,” you curse, regretting it immediately as his face hardens and he storms toward you.

“You’d like that wouldn’t you? You pretend to be all demure and sweet, but underneath you’re just a submissive little slut. Aren’t you?” He growls, only inches from your face. “Steve showed me some of your messages you know, before you met.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise and he licks his lip as he stares at your mouth, his hot breath fanning over your face, the sour smell of alcohol burning your nose.

“He wouldn’t,” you whimper.

He smirks, “he’s my best friend. We share everything.”

Your brow furrows and your eyes heat with angry tears but you say nothing.

“Steve is an important man, he carries this whole franchise, he goes out of his way to support the community and his fans… and the rest of us do whatever it takes to make sure he’s happy,” he intones.

“So… you want me to leave?” You tremble.

Bucky scoffs and reaches up to wipe away a runaway tear, “no, baby girl. You make Steve happy, that’s your job now. I’m just here to make sure you understand that.”

He licks the salty stain from his thumb and smirks before walking away without another word, unlocking the door and disappearing. You droop shakily agains the granite counter and let the tears fall freely, your nerves completely shot.

You compose yourself quickly, fearing another visit should you linger too long. With another couple flutes of champagne you put on your bubbliest performance, all smiles and sweet talk. You spot the suspicion in Steve’s eyes at times but he says nothing, smiling along and taking advantage of your lowered inhibitions, enjoying any excuse to tease and fondle you in public.

The night ends shortly after midnight, both Tony and Bucky there urging him to get some rest. You feel Bucky’s eyes on you, making sure you don’t step out of line until you are finally free of him when you reach Steve’s house.

“So do I ever get to go home again?” You joke as Steve pulls you inside.

“Maybe you already are,” Steve counters, cupping your face and pulling you in for the millionth kiss of the night.

—

That familiar roar of the crowd echoes down the painted tunnel. You can see the green grassy field just at the end, the players squatting in wait for the snap of the ball. You watch anxiously, not knowing why Peter brought you here from the box where all of this started, somehow only a week ago.

“Nervous?” Peter asks with a grin.

“I wouldn’t have to be if you just told me what I’m doing here,” you sass.

“Aw come on, you have to have a guess,” he teases.

Whistles screech, calling the end of the play and the start of half-time. The fans clap loudly, proud of Steve’s solid effort in the game, not quite as strong of a lead as last game, but still leading by a touchdown. The players jog toward you, on their way for a short break in the locker room. You press yourself to the wall, trying to keep out of the way when Peter squeezes your shoulder.

“I’ll see you soon. Good luck!” He smiles and jogs away, disappearing in the sea of grass-stained athletes.

Brock, however, stands firm not far away and you gulp, a sense of foreboding tickling the back of your neck. The announcers voice echoes down the tunnel and you turn your attention back to the field.

“Don’t leave those seats quite yet, Folks. We have a special New Years announcement for you.”

You shake as you try to wait for Steve to run by but he’s no where to be seen. The whole team disappears down the hall with one straggler taking his time. Bucky takes off his helmet as he slowly walks toward you, the bright light of the stadium at his back casts his face with dark shadows, giving him an ominous appearance.

“Your time to shine, baby girl,” Bucky smirks.

“What?” You breath, taking a step back when he gestures behind him. There is no way you’re going out there.

“I told you. We all have our roles to play, and this one is yours. So get out there and do your job.”

You shake your head, stumbling away from the field, “no, I can’t.”

Brock is suddenly at your back, holding your arms, “where do you think you’re going?” His grip tightens in warning, pinching you until you whimper in pain.

Bucky takes a calm step toward you, tutting softly, “Like I said, your job is to make Steve happy. So unless you want things to start getting ugly…”

“Yeah, maybe another chat with your boss or maybe a visit from a friend of mine to those sweet parents of yours,” Brock threatens in your ear.

Bucky smiles cruelly at the way you deflate, “… then I suggest you get your ass out there.”

Fear pours down your spine like a barrel of ice and you breathe shakily but stop struggling, “does Steve know you’re saying all this?”

Bucky wipes away your tears, using his sweaty towel to clean away your runny mascara, “he knows I can be very persuasive, sure.”

You nod, in defeat the only thought in your head is how you wish you had gone home for Christmas, though it likely would have only delayed the inevitable.

Bucky pinches your chin, making you look at him, “Now, Steve has a question for you… and I think we both know what the answer is.”

He raises his brows expectantly and you let out a fearful “yes.”

He smiles brightly and pulls you away from Brock’s iron grip, “excellent! Now, get out there Mrs Rogers - and don’t forget to smile.”

Bucky leads you out the tunnel and points toward the center of the field where Steve is standing with a microphone, entertaining the crowd with another one of his rousing speeches.

The crowd cheers, growing louder and louder in anticipation as you make your way toward Steve. He has his hand outstretched to you and you take it, letting him ground you as you feel like you might float away. The stress of being the literal center of attention in front of millions giving you an almost out-of-body type experience. The fear so far beyond anything you’ve ever known that your senses seem to tunnel, blocking out everything but the man in front of you.

You fix a tight smile on your face and admiring his ease, trying to absorb that confident calm energy. Focusing on the tiny details to keep from fainting, those thick lashes, those brilliant blue eyes that shimmer under the stadium lights, the full pink lips that glisten as he talks.

“…You know, we haven’t agreed on a nickname for each other. She hates all the ones I’ve come up with…” he laughs turning away from the crowd to address only you, “so how about we just get rid of them all and I start calling you wife instead?” He announces with a smirk, the crowd exploding into screams and applause.

Suddenly, he’s on one knee holding a black velvet box with a ring that could rival a super bowl ring in value. The diamond so comically large that your first impression would be to assume it’s fake, but then you remember who is holding it. You blink away the tears and smile, nodding fervently as you hope you managed to convince him they are tears of joy.

He grips your hand and twists the ring into place, admiring it for a moment before climbing to his feet and twirling you around in a joyous embrace.

“You’ve made me so happy, Mrs Rogers,” he praises in your ear.

Tags: @darkficsyouneveraskedfor @caffiend-queen @queenoftheworldisdead @threeminutesoflife @buttercupfangirl @needleandhammer @thiskindahotkindamusic @lokiswildheartcantbebroken @patzammit @maluisamarvelfan123 @yellow-winds @sn0wpiercer @fanfic-fangirl @local-witch-of-mn

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 24: OH...HI

after months and too much longing, you finally meet corpse in person.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 3.8k

author’s note: we did it joe.

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous. ҉   next.

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You woke up. That’s a lie, you didn’t sleep. Too much to plan, too much can go wrong and you’re...Not nervous, no, that’s not quite accurate. Excited. Yes, excited, so excited that two Redbulls and three coffees (so far!) make you jitter around the apartment like a butterfly that can’t find a flower bed to rest on. 

Rae has almost had enough of your...random spurts of energy. So what if you ran a few laps, climbed a few tables, sang karaoke a bit too loud and yet another noise complaint had been issued? It arrived exactly an hour after your concert via your displeased landlord. Rae was, of course, the one to apologize because you were too busy trying on miniskirts. After that ordeal was taken care of, no sooner than Rae shut the front door with an exhausted sigh, you emerged from your room clad in your prettiest outfit. You present it to her with a bright smile and flourish. 

She is not impressed.

“Will you quit it?” She questions, arms crossed over her chest. Your grin does not damper -- you’re used to such harsh treatment, having accepted her backhanded way of showing love long ago. Instead, you flick your wrists, showing off an ungodly amount of rings. You’re not certain of the exact number because you can’t count, “Y/n.” Her voice gains an edge, but you persist. Show off your shoes that have cute lil’ charms that jingle jangle not unlike the spurs on a hot cowgirl’s boots, “Y/n.” Her eyes narrow in displeasure, her stern tone making you falter in your dramatic stride down the imaginary catwalk, “Just stop.”

Okay! So maybe you’re not as used to her coldness as you thought you were. Your expression sours, and you quit the act, even if a part of you - one you barely fight off, goodness, you almost perish in that battle - wants to continue but even more annoying. As if you could somehow block her rationality with manic energy. 

“What?” You ask, trying to keep the mood lighthearted despite her squared shoulders and tight frown, “I’m just having a bit of fun!” You say with a joyous little laugh, reaching for a glass of much needed water.

“No, you’re panicking.” Her words make the glass still, hoovering by your painted lips, but it’s short lived. You take a greedy gulp and it tastes fresh with a pinch of lipstick, “Look, I get it...” She shakes her head softly, “You’re meeting the guy you like for the first time, you jumped the gun straight to dating and now you’re...Anxious. It’s normal, you know.”

“But I’m not anxious.” You persist, and you really do mean it. You don’t like how she looks at you as if you’re the one that’s misunderstanding your own feelings. You set the glass down with a soft clink, heaving your own sigh, “I’m not, I’m really happy actually.” You explain softly, “It’s just...my way of dealing with it. I’m more... Worried about Corpse, to be honest.” You add, a tad quieter, “But, like, it’s all good!” You exclaim, strolling up to her and landing your hands on her shoulders, “I prepared.”

And it’s true! You had spent the night scouring the depths of the internet. Read every WikiHow article on how to deal with someone with extreme anxiety, how to not make things painfully awkward, and how to talk to boys (just in case. The last time you stumbled upon that particular article was way back in middle school when you had a crush on that one guy you saw in your school’s cafeteria every now and then. Naturally, that led you down the rabbit hole, and according to WikiHow’s How To Tell If A Boy Likes You guidebook, you found out that he was absolutely enamored with you because he glanced in your direction, like, two times. Safe to say that love story went nowhere. The point still stands). 

So you forward all of this information to Rae, nestled in her bed whilst she lazily folds her clothes; clarify that you know that nothing much can happen, and that this whole situation is delicate, and that you must tread carefully because you don’t want to overwhelm him. She pauses her actions, glancing behind her to watch you staring idly at the ceiling, so peaceful, so thoughtful. And it’s not the eerie calmness you had displayed during your murderous spree in the last Among Us game, no, it’s just...quiet understanding. 

“I’m actually impressed.” She says. You merely hum, counting the dust slowly descending in the cascading light, “You’re not as clueless as I thought.” Your lips quirk into a shy smile at the compliment- “Or as tactless.” - and turn downward just as quick.

“That implies that I’m always tactless.”

“You are.” She states and you sit up, a soft frown pinching your brows, “Not like, in a terrible way. You just...don’t think about your actions. Or the repercussions. You just know that you can get away with everything.”

“And I can!”

“That doesn’t actually mean you should do something just because you can. You know I’ll always support you. Literally everyone will always support you. But I’m not gonna coddle you. You’re just...a lot. Online and especially in person. But the fact that you’re actually taking this seriously and taking his feelings into consideration is...well, the bare minimum, but still, good job.”

...Much to think about. You don’t like thinking, it makes your head hurt. Though, that could just be the lack of sleep. You cross your legs and plop your head in your hand, tired eyes blinking owlishly, “Do you...think I should change what I’m wearing?”

Prompted by your question, she gives you a careful once over, “I mean, it’s signature you.”

“Signature me is a hoodie and some sweatpants.”

She smiles, “Then go change. Your outfit is a bit distracting for just...Hanging out indoors, no? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind either way, though.”

“I just...” You bite the inside of your cheek, mulling your words over. Truly, the last time you were so attentive was when you went Psycho Mode in Among Us, which, to be fair, wasn’t that long ago. Perhaps there wasn’t a chance to let your mind dull - it’s almost as sharp as your butterfly knife, “I figured that if, like,” You vaguely motion with your hands, “if I be, like, all over the place, and wearing something cute, he’d be, like, distracted? And less anxious? No...awkward silence?”

“First meetings are always awkward, it’s natural.” She chimes, “I mean, if you’re so nervous-”

“I’m not nervous!”

“-then just don’t overthink it. I know it’s easier said than done, but you’re you, and Corpse is Corpse, and he likes you for who you are, and even if it is a bit awkward, I’m sure it’ll, like, blow over in a second. It really doesn’t matter how you look, Y/n.” She grins, “Plus, it’s not like you’re greeting him in your underwear or something.”

You will not admit that that was your plan B, not when you just landed in her good graces. You nod, “...I’ll go change.” 

And so you do. Pick out your cutest hoodie and some sweatpants. Put away your jingle jangle shoes with a broken heart, instead of them donning your fluffiest socks; slip off some rings because they keep falling off of your fingers. It’s almost like all of those transformation scenes in rom-coms that are still popular for some reason, except you’re hot before and after, so there’s really no transformation at all. 

Now you wait. Just wait, all other activities are excluded from this. Rae comes back to find you sitting on the edge of your bed, back straight, hands neatly folded on your lap. She compares you to a Sim’s character and you allow her. After mercilessly mocking you and snapping a few pictures - for blackmail, you assume - she helpfully informs that she is leaving because she doesn’t want to get in the way, but your psychic abilities which you acquired just now tell you that she simply doesn’t want to witness this train wreck. Not that it’ll be a train wreck, it would be if you were nervous, but you aren’t. 

You just aren’t. You fidget with the rings adoring your hand; toy with the hem of your hoodie; bounce your leg up and down. It’s just caffeine, okay?! Fuck this, Twitter time.

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[ADDING A MUSICAL INTERMISSION, LISTEN TO THIS IF YOU WANT (I WROTE THIS CHAPTER WITH IT IN MIND)]

The waiting commences, only now it somehow feels more intense. The sun is setting, and you really want to be one of those cute girls that fill their camera roll with pictures of the sunset and the roseate sky, but your hands are trembling and holding up your phone feels like too much of a hassle. You’d rather just sit there, alone in the apartment, in the pin-drop silence, extremely uncomfy and tense, as if waiting for the end of the world. 

A notification sounds off and your life flashes before your eyes. Hastily, you check it, a sticky mixture of delight and something else, something unpleasant constricting, making your stomach churn. He’s here. Holy shit, it’s happening. You order your anime plushies to stop fucking panicking, they’re like, totally embarrassing you at the moment! You wonder if they have their own little group chat, but instead of Totally Spies it’s called Total Embarrassment. Yikes, okay, that was harsh. After a good scolding, and a heartfelt apology for getting so heated, you smooth down the non-existent wrinkles on your modest outfit, and quickly waddle over to the electronic apartment thingie something something... you unlock the main door, okay!? This is for some reason feeling very not cash money, so you break out in a little dance number.

The doorbell does not sing that shrill, unpleasant tune; rather, there’s a soft knock on the apartment’s door, and you pause your shuffling, your renegade, and perk up at the imposing future hidden behind a slab of wood. Your heart beats a melody all on it’s own, and it’s loud, uncoordinated, like a musician that’s still familiarizing themselves with their instrument. And there’s that knock again, as uncertain as you’re feeling, and your clammy fingers latch onto the lock and turn it and now there is no more hiding - such a possibility is no longer an option; no more sporadic dances or sitting in disheartening silence and letting your thoughts weight you down.

You’re not quite sure what you were thinking about before you saw him in the threshold, head tilted slightly, fluffy dark hair obscuring the bags under his eyes, hunched, one ringed hand clutching onto the strap of his duffel bag, the other frozen mid-air, ready to knock one more time lest you didn’t hear him the first two. No, truly, you can’t, for the life of you, remember what all the fuss was about. 

“...Oh.” It’s a soft sound, so quiet, but not surprised, rather...relieved. Faint shimmers of a smile reach you, hidden behind a black face mask - the panini chic! You must stan a respectful king - but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes you question it’s sincerity. He fails to return your gaze, rather choosing to stare somewhere over your shoulder. His eyes seem unfocused. Apprehensive. A wild thought occurs to you that he expected you to trick him somehow, and wild thoughts invade the land of your mind often, but never in such a way. You clutch the handle just a bit tighter.

His hand retreats to his side, up to his mask and you think he’s about to unhook it but he stills, and there’s panic there, as if he had been moving unconsciously, as if he hadn’t realized what he’s doing. He plays it off by idly scratching his cheek, muttering an equally quiet, “Hi.” to fill the silence.

Finally, your WikiHow knowledge can come in handy, along with your common sense, “Hey, pretty boy.” You mutter, pulling away from the door, “Make yourself at home!” You slide to the kitchen, your socks acting not unlike ice-skates cutting through the Arctic frost covered ground. You hope that with you occupied and not watching him as closely he’ll feel slightly more at ease. 

You’d like to hug him. Kiss him, definitely. But if he’s so uncomfortable that he can’t bring himself to shed his mask in your presence, then there’s really nothing you can do. 

You hear the door shut and lock behind you as you pull out two glasses from the cupboard, humming a song you can’t quite recall the name of. You ask him if he’d like something to drink - it was a short flight, yet a flight still, and planes always make you thirsty, and there you go talking his ear off. You end abruptly, but smoothly, like a true diplomat; if he notices, you have no way of knowing - he doesn’t provide even a hint. He’s hard to read, and literature was never your best subject. But you’re trying.

He sets his duffel bag down on a nearby chair, “I, uhhh,” His voice is raspy and low, another indication of a pathetic lack of sleep, “I...got you something, uhh, I dunno-dunno if I should...give it now, or?” He sends you a questioning glance, but it doesn’t linger. Your offer of drinks is momentarily forgotten, though you hardly mind. 

You grin, “Sure! I love gifts, gimmie gimmie.” You make grabby hands, and he snorts, and it would’ve sounded endearing if he didn’t sound so fucking tired. He unzips the bag, and you pad your way to him, mindful of personal space (something you, in most social situations, chose to pretend does not exist). You note his hands quivering lightly, just like yours had in the agonizing wait, but he hides it well. You wish you could hold them. You’re afraid to try.

He pulls out a black hoodie and you recognize the custom art on it instantly - it’s his merch. He presents it in awkward flourish, murmuring a “Tadaaaa” under his breath; your heart skips a pleasant beat, and you have to bite down on your lower lip lest you smile appears too big. The fabric is soft under your fingers, and you accept his gift with a dramatic bow, and he turns his head away with another little laugh. You’re chipping away at the ice around him; it’s a slow process, but it’s worth the effort.

Truly, your own hoodie is shabby in comparison - icky, how could you have ever worn such a thing in the first place?! You’ll have to do extensive research in fashion magazines and Printerest so such a slip-up may never happen again. You discard it hastily and put his on instead; it smells like washing detergent with hints of cologne, one you instantly pin point belonging to him, “It’s, uhhh, it’s mine? I hope you, uhh, I didn’t have any spare ones, so-I hope you don’t...mind.”

He’s finally looking at you, but he’s still tense, still hesitant, and you shake your head softly, “No,” You admit, “I like it even more now.” You pull on the hood, toy with the strings and yank them quickly; your face is concealed, save for your nose, “Comfy.” Your commentary is unmatched, best of it’s kind - eloquent and effortless, much like yourself.

Another small laugh reaches your ears, and it sounds a bit livelier than the others had been. Success!

“Stop that.” He says gently, and you see moving shadows; his hands loosen the strings and your face is revealed to him once again. He’s close now, and he doesn’t move away; his hands come to rest on your shoulders, warm even through layers of fabric, “I came all this way to see you, don’t hide your face from me.” 

Your eyes narrow playfully, your finger rapidly tapping away on his clothed cheek, “What’s all this then? Hm? Hm?” Instead of swatting your hand away, which you figured he’d do, he complies and finally tugs that fucking mask off. Your breath catches in the back of your throat and you halt your ministrations - truly, seeing him smiling on screen is nothing compared to him smiling in person. You can’t quite contain yourself any longer - your excitement might burst out in another dance number otherwise - as you throw your arms over his shoulders and pull him flush against you. He’s quick to return the embrace. Maybe it was all the encouragement he needed.

“Wow,” He mumbles, only slightly offended, “so I finally show my face to you, in person, and you just-...you just look away?”

“I’m hugging you, dumbass.”

“...Touche.”

Things fall into place after that, like a dozen puzzle pieces fitting together. He won’t let you go - he doesn’t want to. You put on some music, something easy and indie and that doesn’t require too much effort to listen to, as the two of you contemplate what to eat. Cooking by yourselves was dismissed due to the unstable relationship between yourself and cooking utensils. The stove and you had had a falling out recently, but this feud had started long ago, back in pre-school, with only short intervals of friendship. He listened to your extensive explanation absolutely enraptured and only moderately confused. 

So you settled on ordering pizza from Domino’s. You have no trouble calling or receiving phone calls, because you have no trouble doing anything, and he admitted that he only really calls you because he gets too anxious to do more, so you’re tasked with ordering the food. You accept this mission with pride.

You stand tall, gazing out the window into the wild California domain: massive buildings and towering eucalyptus trees, bleeding skyline and the sun slowly getting swallowed up by the ocean. Corpse looms behind you, with his arms snaked around your waist and his chin resting on your shoulder, looking at you through the corner of his eye. You wait patiently for the underpaid, overworked staff member to pick up, and once they do, you have the audacity to grin brightly and chirp, “Hi! I want pizza.”

Conversations flow smoothly, and you make hot chocolate - because you are hot and you crave chocolate - and he insists he wants one too, because you want one, and you don’t hesitate to overflow his cup with whipped cream and an ungodly amount of miniature marshmallows. A premature heart attack, just for him. Whoever said romance is dead has clearly never met you. When the doorbell chimes, you’re astounded that an hour flew by so quickly.

After the delicious meal, the movie night must commence. So what if you watched 10 Things I hate About You yesterday, you insist that you have already forgotten the plot. You lead him to your room and he tries not to stare, but can’t help himself. Pretty boy in a pretty girl’s room. His eyes linger on the massive posters of Chrollo on your walls, and you sense his displeasure rolling off of him in waves. 

“What?” You huff, fluffing the pillows, “You don’t like my husband?”

He jabs his finger into his chest, into the spot of his heart, “I’m your husband.”

“Side hoe, then-”

“-No.”

You didn’t lie when you said you love to cuddle, or that you’re clingy. It’s a good thing he’s just as clingy as you are, because when he lays down and you latch onto his side. He doesn’t complain, rather wraps his arm around pulls you close. His thumb draws lazy circles on your side; with your head resting on his chest, you feel each rhythmical rise and drop. 

The opening credits play on the projector, the room dark enough for your pile of plushies to look like a whole fucking human just standing in the corner. A ghost! Sucks for it, you’re not scared. You feel safe. Protected. So comfortable in Corpse’s hold that you’re honestly wondering how did you manage to be so long without him. To think all of this started when Sykkuno followed you on Twitter. What a lucky accident.

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice cuts through the bopping 90s soundtrack and Julia Stiles’ voice. He hums. You take it as a yes. Tilting your head upwards, you find his eyes again, a thorn of displeasure picking you as you note that that apprehension you had seen previously is still very much there, “...You really wouldn’t date me if I was a worm?”

His chest rumbles with a laugh and his lips split into a grin, “I would.” He presses your side for emphasis, “I really would.” He repeats, reassuringly. You, however, are not convinced.

“But I’d be a worm.”

“I know. We’d... roll around in the dirt together, or something.”

“But you’d be human.”

He frowns softly, “Why couldn’t I be a worm, too?”

“Those are the rules.”

“What kind of shitty fucking rules are those?”

“I dunno, it’s like the Thanos snap or something. I just turn into a worm. I’m the only one.”

“That’s fine.” He smiles, “I’d take you out on a fishing date or something.”

Shocked, offended, and heartbroken, you hit his chest and pointedly turn away with a pout, which he finds very funny for some reason, but you fail to see the humor anywhere except the movie. Despite the fact that he’d sacrifice you for a fish, you smile shyly and close your eyes. He did say you would take a nap together, and if he really thought you’d stay awake for movie night, well, then he’s just an idiot. You had decided you would fall asleep as soon as he was next to you. It’s a miracle you managed to stay awake for so long.

“...Sleeping already?” You don’t appreciate his teasing tone.

“’m not sleeping...” You murmur, “’m resting my eyes.”

“Sure.”

You’re not quite certain (of anything, really) how much time drifts by, but you’re nearly lost in unconsciousness, in the warm, nice feeling that comes along with him like a cloud. Perhaps he thinks you’re asleep, he has to, else he wouldn’t say anything at all, “You’re stuck with me now, you know.” It’s such a soft admission, riddled with the same notes of anxiety that always prevail in his speech; with the same hopeful sincerity he had been gazing at you the whole evening. 

Moving your lips is such a hassle, but you manage, “’m...stuck...” You mumble, “’m...stuck...what are you doing step-”

“No!” He laughs, and your lips quirk into a lazy smile, “No, no, no. Just no. Do you talk in your sleep?” You fake snore at that, loudly, “You’re like a little dragon.”

“...Fuck you.”

“Fine, a kitten, then.” That’s better. You feel something chapped, but soft, press onto your forehead, “Goodnight, Y/n.”

God, you’re so fucking happy. Does he know how happy you are? How happy he makes you? But you’re too tired for screaming and flailing around, too tired to even crack an eye open. You want him to know all the same, “...like you.” You whisper, but you don’t know if he hears you over the movie, “...I like you.”

His reply is instant, breathless, “I like you too.”

Good, you want to say, and maybe you do - can’t tell anymore. Sleep takes you too quickly.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[narratingvoice]

[[A/N: this post was written in advance and has nothing to do with the plot arc going on right now]]

October 17, 2013. The most important and most joyous day of my life. Nine years ago today. I can't believe how time flies. Nine years that Stanley and I have been together, and I've treasured every moment with him. Just him and me, stepping forward into the unknown together, ready to start a new chapter of life, ready to dive into a wonderful relationship.

I mean a relationship with all of you lovely players, of course! Today is our anniversary! It's the release date of the original Stanley Parable! I made Stanley a cake for the occasion, and by "made" I mean "stole the asset from Portal". For the rest of you, I thought it would be nice to take a stroll into the Memory Zone and look at how far we've come. We were different people back then, so young and naive. We had no idea what kind of impact we would have on the gaming world. Did video games truly exist before 2013? I think not. Won't you come remember with me?

This is a media-heavy post, so here's a cut.

Oh look, it's the very first teaser trailer for the game, posted in 2012. I needed some capital investment to get my game studio off the ground, so I had a campaign on Steam Greenlight well in advance of launch. Remember when that was a thing?

Hm, that's odd, this video seems different than I remember. I'm hearing myself talk about "the original version", but this trailer is for the original version. There was no game at the time I made this. What was I talking about? I've completely forgotten. Oh well, onto the next memory.

And here's the trailer I posted the day the game came out. Look how many accolades we already had on launch day! Oh, I was so nervous about finally showing my work to the general public, I hid in the broom closet the whole night before. Does it surprise you to know that I had stage fright? A lot of people think my silky smooth diction comes naturally, but it's actually the result of practised training and months of rehearsals. Of course, now I've been performing for so long that I hardly know how to stop, haha.

This is Stanley's office viewed from my vantage point. I love looking down at this office more than anything in the world. Letting myself drift through the opening monologue, caressing the hallways with my voice, gently holding the story on my tongue and then releasing it with a flourish. And it will never get old to me, because every day with Stanley feels like a new adventure.

Do you have this achievement? Only 2.3% of players do, but those players are among the most special to me. I get so excited every time I see someone boot up the game on a late Monday night. We can spend the night together, just you and me and Stanley, just looking at the stars and living in the moment. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for committing yourself to me.

Oh, this is a fun memory. This is the introduction I wrote for the special collector's edition, which came out in 2016. I remember the late nights in my office, me and Stanley curled up next to a roaring fire as I read my latest draft to him. He never offered much in the way of feedback, but just the look in his eyes was enough to tell me if I was on the right track.

In 2018, I had the great honour of going on stage at the Game Awards to announce that Ultra Deluxe was in development. It was incredible to see so many adoring fans staring back at me. Um, please ignore the release date in this video. Can't bloody believe the remake of The Last of Us came out this year too...

And now, here we are. We're in the present moment. In the roughly six months since Ultra Deluxe launched, it's gotten over 14,000 positive reviews on Steam. I consider myself somewhat of an empath, and I can feel the love that millions of people around the world have shared for my game. No, for our game. Mine and Stanley's and all of yours as well. May we always feel this way, and if we can't, may we always remember when we did.

[kteabug]

crestfallen

crestfallen: sad or disappointed

Summary: Ushijima imagined his proposal going a lot different than it did, but when one door closes, another opens, right?

Pairings: Ushijima x Oikawa | Ushijima x Tendo

Word Count: 2000

Warnings: Angst with a sweet ending. Emotional break-up. A meet cute. Brief mention of possible cheating.

AN: Play ‘champagne problems’ by Taylor Swift while reading :)

AN 2: Tendou didn’t play volleyball or go to Shiratorizawa, cause why not. lol

December 2018 4:45AM

Being in a foreign country is nothing new to Ushijima whether it be for away games or leisure. What is new to him is wandering around at nearly 5AM in 30 degree weather, no real destination in mind other than slightly running away from his problems.

Ushijima imagined this mid-December night several times, each ending had been different, but it had never ended like this. He had seen champagne celebrations while the white gold Cartier ring sat on Oikawa’s left ring finger before falling asleep, limbs intertwined. Not the ring box weighing heavy in his pants pocket, his now ex-boyfriend probably still sleeping.

8:30PM

Oikawa’s arm was linked around Ushi’s, his head rested on the taller man’s shoulder. They had just finished an amazing dinner and decided on walking back to the hotel, wanting to take a late night stroll. The night was calm, just the right amount of bustle around them so it didn’t feel uneasy to walk around.

Lately it felt like their schedules had them more as passing ships than partners living together. It’s why Ushijima suggested an early Christmas trip since Oikawa wanted to spend the actual holiday in Miyagi this year.

Ushi had stopped walking, tugging Oikawa slightly backwards when they got to the park that was just around the corner from the hotel. At first Oikawa thought he was just tying his laces when he remembered he was wearing Chelsea boots. Ushi’s cheeks were flushed, from the chilly air mixed with the understandable nervousness he felt, but his voice remained steady. He recited each line like he practiced for months, pure adoration on his face until his olive-colored eyes saw pure panic in the brown eyes staring down at him.

It was after an awkward walk and quick elevator ride back to their room that Ushijima learned the truth. He watched Oikawa sit on the edge of the bed, nervously bouncing his left leg, refusing to make eye contact. Ushi started to worry, scared that he had upset his partner as his thoughts instantly dived into the darkest places they could. He tried to go into fix-it mode, getting prepared to do anything to repair what he assumed he broke when Oikawa finally spoke.

“I tried. I really, really tried.” Somehow the brunette looked as guilty as Ushijima felt.

He stood there, heart broken, listening to Oikawa try to explain his feelings and that he felt that the passion between them was gone or maybe it had just never been there. He explained that at first he thought it was just them settling into a routine - transitioning from the honeymoon phase to the next stage. Even adding that he thought it was him overthinking things and just not trying hard enough.

Ushijima could hear what Oikawa was saying, but it didn’t feel real. It felt like a nightmare he’d wake up from and somehow the brunette would just know to press himself closer into Ushi’s side. It felt like his chest was tightening and he couldn’t breathe. He felt a wave of dizziness and nausea wash over him, reaching his hand back on the nearby dresser to balance himself.

Oikawa finally raised his eyes to meet his, tears lined them as he told Ushi that it wasn’t until he heard everything in the proposal that he realized he couldn’t keep going. That Ushijima didn’t deserve to spend a lifetime with someone who wasn’t as sure as he was, but no matter how sweet Oikawa’s words sounded, they stung as they cut open his heart.

The words rushed out of him before he had really thought them out, asking if there was really nothing he could do, offering to retire early from volleyball and saying he would go to counseling with Oikawa if he wanted. What little air that was in his lungs was knocked out when Oikawa told him that he’d been struggling with all of this for the last four years.

5AM

It’s too quiet for Ushijima to not get lost in his thoughts, Oikawa’s words playing on repeat as he tries to instead focus on taking one step after the other. It had gotten too suffocating in the hotel room, not really sure how to navigate things with Oikawa now. The brunette suddenly feels more like a stranger than the man he spent middle and high school pinning over and the last six years loving. At some point while Ushijima was looking for flights back to Japan, Oikawa fell asleep and Ushi couldn’t bear the silence.

He starts beating himself up for not having seen it at all, for somehow missing it for four years. The final straw was noticing how much happier Oikawa seemed after their talk. Tears filled his eyes wondering just how long he had been the weight dragging him down, hating himself for destroying someone he loved so dearly.

Maybe this isn’t so surprising, when he first told Heiwajima and Romero about his plans to propose they were both skeptical. Both asked if Ushijima was sure that he and Oikawa were on the same page when it came to something so life changing, Heiwajima not looking so convinced when he said yes. Romero looked like he had something more to say before opting to pat him on the shoulder, telling him that they’d support him either way. He briefly wonders if his mother's concerns really did have merit, she had never been more supportive than she needed to be when it came to their relationship, but she had mentioned – several times – that Oikawa just seemed a little too close with Iwaizumi.

Ushijima isn’t really sure where he is, having just walked straight ahead aimlessly once he got out of the hotel, already a decent distance from the park he embarrassed himself at. He knows he can pull up a map on his phone, that he should probably turn it back on at some point, but he’s not ready. He’s not ready to face reality, not ready to hear Oikawa plead for him not to hate him over this, or to return to Japan as exes. He doesn’t want to discuss who gets the apartment, decide if he should keep the matching luggage set or get a new one nor does he want the pitying expression his friends will definitely give him.

So he sits on a wooden bench, wishing he could just disappear or maybe start a whole new life here in Paris where no one would have to know what happened with Oikawa and he could work in a plant nursery somewhere. People did it in movies all the time, surely he could too, right?

Ushijima finally lets his mind wander back over the years they’ve spent together, over the various memories they’ve made. The day they started dating, it had been after a volleyball match between their high schools and afterwards Oikawa marched up to him, grabbed his collar and kissed him before storming off. The day they moved in together, which was also their third anniversary, he accidentally broke Oikawa’s favorite mug. Their first big fight where Oikawa stormed out, he couldn’t remember what it was about anymore. Come to think about it, he couldn’t even remember the last time they had fought.

The strong scent of freshly baked bread invades his senses, causing his stomach to let out a low growl. Checking his watch, he  realizes it’s about the time he’d wake up, slip quietly out of bed before preparing breakfast for him and Oikawa, now he supposed he can sleep in more. A flood of messages and missed call notifications fill his screen after he turns his phone back on, all from Oikawa, all concerned because he’s not there. Part of him wants to use it as proof that the brunette does love him, to tell him they can fix things, but a bigger part knows even if he hates it, Oikawa’s feelings are valid. Knowing that of course he’d panic, Ushijima didn’t even think to leave a note, they’d been together six years after all.

A sobbing Oikawa answers the call, telling Ushi that he was about to call the French Ambassador if he hadn’t called within the hour, that he nearly had a heart attack when he woke up and he was nowhere to be found. What’s left of his broken heart cracks even more, once again being the source of Oikawa’s pain, but the remaining pieces shatter when he mentions Iwaizumi being on the other line and needing to switch over real quick. Ushijima tells him that he’ll be back before they need to check out, trying to act as if this is a normal conversation and they weren’t technically ex-partners.

The calls end and he presses the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to keep the tears from forming. He had been able to keep them at bay, but something about the Oikawa sounded on the phone broke the dam and they quickly spilled down his cheeks. Thankful for the early morning hour and little foot traffic the area seems to have, he’d been humiliated enough these last 24-hours.

“Psst! Psst!”

Ushijima lifts his head from his hands, slowly glancing around. His eyes meet with a smiling face, waving for him to come into the nearby bakery: Satori’s Sweets.

Usually he’d probably be a bit more hesitant, a bit more reserved in his actions, but this isn’t an usual situation for him. He briefly contemplates the options, throwing caution to the wind, walking towards this mystery man.

There’s a huge, almost contagious smile on the man’s face and Ushi can see now he has vibrant red hair. Neither says anything while Ushijima’s ushered to an empty table before the man says he’ll be right back. He looks around taking in the small yet comforting bakery. The aroma of the fresh baked goods give the room a sense of warmth, a homey feeling, somehow relaxing Ushijima.

“Here.” A plate with pain au chocolat is placed in front of him along with an Americano, “sweets make everything better.”

“Do they really?” Ushijima hums after taking a bite, wishing he could taste the pastry for the first time over again. Not only does the bitter chocolate melt on his tongue, but it compliments the buttery dough nicely.

“Do you feel better?”

Ushijima lets out a small chuckle, feeling at ease for the first time since dinner. He’s unsure if it’s the food or the company that’s making him feel better. A brief thought crosses his mind, as the man he now knows as Tendou engages in small conversation with him, wondering if it’d ever been this easy with Oikawa.

*                      * May 2022

“Some breaking news coming in regarding pro-player Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the sports broadcaster announces on the TV that Oikawa glances at from his desk. “It seems he tied the knot with boyfriend of two years, Tendou Satori.”

The brunette’s eyes linger on the screen just long enough to see a picture of the couple appear on it. They look good together, truly complementing the other, pure happiness radiating off the pair. The announcer starts to go through the brief history of Ushijima and his now husband, how they met in Paris, had what many would call a whirlwind romance, but Oikawa tunes it out.

He glances at the bottom desk drawer, an unopened wedding invitation is hidden under a stack of sports magazines, briefly wondering if maybe he should’ve gone only to realize that ex-boyfriends that reject a proposal don't really belong at a wedding of the one they rejected.

“That’s a nice photo of them, huh?” Iwaizumi hands him a cup of coffee, warning him the mug’s pretty hot.

Oikawa looks back at the screen, and a new image is shown. This one has Ushijima with a huge smile plastered on his face, Tendou holding a birthday cake, causing Oikawa to realize that’s an expression that he never got to witness.

“Yeah, it is.”

[pippytmi]

Howdy! For the little au trope prompt ask. 2, 2, 39. Supercorp please. Thank you! (Hope it helps your writer's block!)

Everyone knows that when the Quidditch season starts, rivalries begin.

As a general rule, Lena doesn’t mind the Gryffindors. If she had to pick a house she hated, the Slytherins would be the unfortunate lot; Veronica Sinclair and Andrea Rojas alone give the group a bad name. (That could be Lena’s own personal bias, given the fact that both girls have broken her heart, but she maintains it goes far deeper than that). But the point stands—Lena isn’t a hateful person. Generally.

There is just something about Kara Danvers that brings it out of her. The one and only Gryffindor that Lena despises is that moronic, reckless Chaser who scores nearly every single goal she takes. The Ravenclaw team is nothing to sneeze at either, but Lena hates that of all people to throw her off her game, it is a girl who blew up her broom when attempting to fly on it during her first year. Seven years that she has known Kara, and still Lena is annoyed at the mere sight of those perpetually-askew glasses, those untucked robes, that undone tie; Kara Danvers is never expected to be poised and perfect, even with all the expectations on her shoulders. She’s just so...blasé. People talk about Kara like she is destined to join a Quidditch team straight out of Hogwarts and all Kara does is stroll into the Great Hall on game day with her head in the clouds.

So far up the clouds that she apparently can’t watch where she is going, either. Lena throws Kara the nastiest glare she can muster when they just about knock each other’s heads together, but all Kara does at the sight of it is grin. She always grins, not in a way that is arrogant or snide, but stupidly amused. Stupidly amused, as if everything Lena says or does is a bloody laugh, like Lena’s simmering hatred is nothing more than an inside joke.

“Hey, Luthor,” Kara says cheerfully, and there she goes, pushing those crooked glasses up her nose. There is a scratch on one lens, and Kara has either not noticed or not bothered to repair it. “Trying to take out the competition a little early, even for you.”

“You were the one in my way, Danvers,” Lena replies tightly.

“Was I?” And here is the kicker, that golden girl charm that fools everyone: bright blue eyes peeking out beneath those eyelashes, hand rubbing at the back of her neck, undone tie slipping an inch further. Kara tilts her head unassumingly as if that is even an actual question.

It makes Lena furious. “Here’s a tip,” she says, “for here and the Quidditch field. Maybe if you got your head out of your ass, you could actually see where you’re headed.”

Kara has the audacity to look affronted. “Is this because of the Brainy incident during training? Because he and I agreed that it was a joint effort. Joint…blame. Whatever you call it.”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Just keep your aggression to yourself, Danvers,” she mutters, and then she resolutely brushes past. She has no time for blank, witty banter, especially when this is the year’s first game and she has a team to rally.

“My—? Hey,” Kara’s voice rings out, louder than necessary, and that idiot is actually following her. “Hey, wait. Lena. Do you seriously think I’m aggressive? It was an accident! Both times!” A beat. “I mean both the Brainy thing and right now. I didn’t knock into Brainy twice. I did knock James off his broom once, but you probably don’t care about that since he’s not from your house, so…well anyway, just so you know, that was also an accident.”

“I have zero interest in your training squabbles,” Lena says exasperatedly, “and you’d do well to keep that in mind.”

“Oh so this is about the Brainy incident,” Kara says. “How many times do I have to say that the training pitch was ours?”

“According to you,” Lena counters. With that she whirls around, nearly colliding into Kara’s chest, but she still manages to lift her head up high and stare down that egotistical jackass. “I know you might think you’re entitled to any space you waltz into, but some of us mere mortals actually schedule training sessions. You know, like we’re supposed to.”

“I did schedule the—!” Kara has a tendency to become flustered mid-argument, it seems, because her mouth opens but no words come blustering out. Finally she settles on scowling when she declares, “You are a piece of work, you know that? Would it kill you to apologize to me once in a while?”

“That would imply that you have apologized to me at some point,” Lena scoffs. “Which you haven’t, for the record.”

“Yes I have,” Kara is quick to disagree.

Lena crosses her arms; it’s a challenge, and Kara immediately stands a little straighter when she notices. “Oh?” Lena prompts. “Like when?”

“Like…when I knocked into Brainy.”

“I fail to see how I fit in that scenario,” Lena says, “since you didn’t break my nose.”

Kara gives a little huff, as if this back and forth is all so inconvenient right now; as if she hasn’t instigated it. “Okay, but I apologized for disrupting your practice, remember? I took complete responsibility even though it was your fault you couldn’t keep track of when your team was scheduled—”

“That was not an apology. You literally said ‘Sorry Luthor, we need this more than you do’ and then refused to leave for the next half hour!”

“But I said sorry in there, ergo, it is an apology.”

“Well then, when my team beats yours to dust I’ll be sure to apologize properly for that in that exact same sympathetic manner,” Lena sneers.

Somehow, trash talk only makes that dumb, signature Kara Danvers grin come back, completely wiping away any sign of vexation. “Oh yeah? Tell me more, wise old Ravenclaw—”

Before Lena can even begin to dissect that childish comeback (and stupid sing-songy imitation of the Sorting Hat), other students come filtering down the hall and they are practically swept up in the masses. One kid completely shoulders Lena before she even realizes what’s happening; she stumbles to the left, nearly collides with the wall, and opens her mouth to shout, but then:

“Hey!” Kara is already brandishing her wand with one hand and catching the boy’s collar with the other. “Ten points from Hufflepuff! You could’ve hurt someone, walking around without looking where you’re going.”

Lena bites her tongue to stop from making a quip on how ironic that statement is, because Kara is engrossed in a stare-off with the pimply sixth year who is demanding to see her prefect badge to prove Kara can even take points. She would normally side with the kid—anything to knock Kara Danvers down a peg—but, well. For once, Lena can’t be bothered to actively hate someone getting into a heated argument on her behalf.

Two minutes later and the boy stomps off with ten points gone from his house and a detention to boot. Kara, meanwhile, is still frowning as he leaves. “Are you okay?” she asks absentmindedly, still tracking the kid’s every movement with her eyes. “I swear, if there weren’t so many witnesses I would’ve hexed him.”

“Winning move for a prefect, I’m sure,” Lena says dryly, and Kara turns towards her with that slow-growing buffoonish smile and another sheepish nudge of her glasses. Her next words kind of just fall out, almost as if she’d never formed them in her mouth but in the deep recesses of her subconscious alone: “You know, you confuse me.”

“Huh?” Another nudge. The smile slips a fraction, but just enough to show Kara is slightly confused by the change in subject.

You confuse me, Lena wants to repeat. You are the opposite of self-aware. You are messy, and reckless, and selfless whenever it counts and it’s confusing because all I can really hate you for is being able to get away with being imperfect and still be adored by everyone.

But none of those words, thankfully, leave her head. All she says is, “Your approach to discipline confuses me. It’s not like he purposely tried to run into me—ten points might have been too harsh.”

“This coming from the girl who once threatened to curse me into oblivion for tripping her when we were twelve?” Kara’s eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done to Lena Luthor? No, hold on, I know. You’re really Jess in disguise, right?”

“Hilarious, Danvers. I wouldn’t quit Quidditch, it might be the only place you’re suited for,” Lena mocks, but all Kara does is laugh.

“Nope, definitely Lena,” Kara says, and the way she says it is almost…fond. Come to think of it, Lena can’t remember a time where Kara actually called her Lena. It’s always Luthor and Danvers and stop breaking the faces of my best players and never—never anything else.

Lena clears her throat and looks away; she can’t take another second of those warm, bright eyes. “Whatever,” she says. “I…guess I’ll see you on the pitch.”

“Sure thing,” Kara says, and she takes a step back, tucking her wand into her pocket. “I’ll be the one rocking the winning team uniform.”

Slowly, Lena begins to feel the corner of her mouth twitch. Completely unbidden, completely unpredictable. “Dream on, Danvers.” She allows the space between them to grow, but their eyes remain locked, and the air feels heavy—thick—and the weight of their shared gaze holds a meaning Lena can’t possibly unpack right now.

But Kara’s tongue pokes out between her teeth cheerfully, and she doesn’t appear half as bothered by this development. “Always, if you’re in them,” she says, twists a little on her heel to walk away, but she pauses while she is still in earshot. “You know—next time you can just thank me for defending you.”

“You mean abusing your power as a prefect,” Lena replies automatically even as her head is running a mile a minute; even as Kara is getting farther and farther away and the scratch on her glasses lens catches the light.

“That too!” Kara shouts as she gets lost in the crowd, and damn her, Lena has to put her hand over her mouth to hide the absolute idiotic smile that has formed on her own face.

(Joint blame indeed, Lena muses, and she figures that she might as well form a rivalry with the Slytherins instead of the Gryffindors after all).