#BUT IT IS OBVIOUS THAT THERE WAS A CHANGE

[nova-rogue]

bc voice changers are incredibly difficult. it's one thing to have AI "know" words and sounds and put them in sequence, it's an entirely different beast that functions completely differently to in real-time adjust for sounds, tones, inflections, timbre, formant, etc.

they're not even remotely the same thing.

We are living in 2025 in the age of Big AI the fuck do you mean nobody has made an open source voice changer that doesn't suck yet. We put a man on the fucking man.

[saedyne]

Batman (2016) #160

batman. are you fucking stupid??? is that even in question?!!??!?!

[pittrabbit]

warning: kind of inappropriate work behavior(??), reader wears thongs, robby is down horrendously bad, suggestive, smut, p in v sex, etc etc etc.

summary: after overhearing certain rumor about you, robby just can't get his head back in the game

word count: 3.8k

note: this is based off that one scene in er where some doctor tells carter you can see lucy's thong through her scrubs and the dumbass tries to get a peek

➽──────────────────❥

"one word: thong"

"really?"

"yeah. when the light hits right, you can see it under her scrubs."

those were the last words robby had the ability to register while he stood there finishing up some overdue charts.

he really hadn't meant to eavesdrop. it wasn't exactly a habit of his. in reality, he couldn't have really cared less about the gossip that had a tendency to spread around at the pitt. he just so happened to catch wind of it almost every time. blame his habit of being stationary at the nurse's station.

this time it just so happened that you were the point of interest in such gossip.

and the gossip in question got to him more than he could've predicted.

his mind zeroed in on the conversation as soon as the male PA mentioned your name. but it wasn't until the word thong was put in the same sentence that his mind went completely blank. whatever else was spoken after that went completely over his head. it was only white noise that he heard after that, charts completely forgotten as his hand stilled on the tablet he was working on.

everything else was a blur after that. he wasnt really sure how long he sat there before dana nudged him on her way to her station, giving him a confused tilt of her head in curiosity at his odd behavior.

he shook his head after that, clearing himself of the thought for the time being. he felt like an absolute pervert being affected like this. what was going through his head? why did he even entertain the thought of overhearing a conversation just because you were the subject matter? he had no business caring about your personal life, much less about rumors some other doctors were bringing up about you.

he tried to focus on work after that, to keep his mind away from any thoughts of you. he had to see you in a bit, make eye contact without letting his eyes stray south as soon as you turned around.

it was going to be a long shift.

➽──────────────────❥

dana had been eyeing him ever since.

it was easy for her to put two and two together, chuckling at his adamant effort in avoiding eye contact with you whenever you'd show up in the same room as him.

he kept his eyes low, way too low — on your feet, on your badge attached to your hip, just not on you. it was comical to dana, really. she hadn't seen robby this flustered since, well, ever.

the rumors were true as far as dana knew.

not only could she see the 'under the right lighting' argument, but she had also seen you change in the locker rooms. the thong thing wasn't really a secret among the female members of staff. you weren't particularly shy when changing into your scrubs on the occasional extra shift, those days when you came in wearing your outside clothes and needed to change into the appropriate apparel for work.

still, it was funny that some stupid, jock PA's found it as good gossip material. it was 2025, a girl's choice of underwear wasn't that scandalous anymore.

robby, however, dana knew, was nearing old man status. so, receiving information that his controversially young work crush was donning such an illicit piece of apparel under her clothes had the expected effect on his poor, old, soul.

she could see robby's soul leave his body any time you came around, any time you rounded the counter and your back faced him. he couldn't have been more obvious about it, looking away as if he'd been burned, jumping out of the way when you passed by. he was far too respectful for his own good.

it made dana sad to see sometimes. maybe if he had all those worries about being inappropriate out of his mind, he could've landed on the conclusion that the interest was mutual.

dana was an observant woman, perhaps the most observant out of everyone else in the building. no word made its way through the department without passing through her ears first.

of course she had caught wind of your crush on the emotionally constipated attending.

she hadn't even needed to hear the rumor about it (because of course there had been hushed talks of it). her eyes had landed on you checking robby out countless times. she had registered the flushed cheeks whenever robby threw off his hoodie, she had heard the stutters when he'd praise your work. and most of all, she had noticed your discouraged demeanor when robby began avoiding you all day, your poor eyes reflecting the confusion behind his behavior.

idiots. the both of you.

➽──────────────────❥

"okay, uhm, is the pressure right, or should i-"

"no, you're doing great. just make sure you don't— yeah, that's it. good job."

robby was arguably standing way closer than he needed to be, he knew that.

he was never this attentive to other students of his (maybe whitaker once or twice, but he couldn't help himself; he saw a bit of himself in him). and he knew other attendings took note of his preferential treatment towards you.

however, this time he had a perfectly acceptable reason to stand over you as you stitched up some drunk guy's eyebrow laceration. you hadn't done your plastics rotation yet, mostly keeping your focus on trauma. you were hesitant to mess up this guy's face, robby had noticed it within seconds. he knew how to read you by now, having stuck around you long enough to get your moods in advance.

when you seemed to have the hang of things, he sat back, watching you and santos work on the guy on your own.

he stuck around just in case, knowing the flight risk of inebriated patients, aware that despite santos being there to help you out, he didn't trust leaving you two alone in a room with some guy.

but sitting back was his a terrible mistake. or at least sitting where he did.

because just as he let his back lay on the recline of the chair, he realized that his view was the source of all his problems that day.

he had the perfect angle of your backside, with you bending down slightly to get a good angle on the man's injury, giving robby a front row seat to your ass. and the lighting? well, it was as perfect as the PA had described. it gave robby what he was ashamed to call an amazing view of your ass.

the rumors had been true, by the way.

under the perfect lighting, he could see the line of your thong digging right into the plush of your ass, thin line disappearing between the cheeks.

he swallowed at the sight, eyes doing their best attempt at looking away but failing miserably.

not only could he see the outline of your thong, but he could see the perfect shape of your ass. it was the optimal view of you bent forward, the same view he'd have if he had you over one of the tables in the on-call rooms. he licked his lips at the thought, hand coming to rub at his beard in a distracted manner.

"dr. robby?"

it was santo's voice what broke his trance, forcing him to shake his head of any illicit thoughts before meeting her eyes.

there was a slight smirk on her face, a smug little grin that he'd gotten used to seeing from her any time she was able to one-up the other med students (which was pretty often, if robby was honest). but this time he was on the receiving end, and he didn't like it.

he looked to her left, finding you with a slightly shocked look on your face, eyes looking to santos in amused confusion before finding his again, eyebrows raised and head tilting to the side in a questioning manner.

"y-yeah?"

"you with us, dr. robby?"

santos could be cruel sometimes.

"yes, sorry. i, uhm, just got distracted for a second there." he cleared his throat. "what'd you need?" his eyes were now as far away from your ass as humanly possible.

"just wanted you to check my work." this time it was you, voice sweet as ever. but still, there was a mixture of shock and smugness in your eyes, mirroring that of santos'.

he got up slowly, awkwardly, taking the few steps towards you and leaning over the man sat in front of you, hesitant in his movements as to not get too close. he was still close enough to get a whiff of lavender from your shampoo, but he willed himself not to react.

"yep. that's pretty good. great job, doctors." he clapped his hands to signify the end of his praise, taking a few steps back. "if you'll excuse me, doctors, i'll go check on whitaker and the rest now." he bowed his head down as he had a tendency to do, stepping away from the embarrassing scene in hopes he could will it away from having happened.

as soon as he was out of view, he grimaced at himself, wishing the ground would just swallow him whole.

his steps were fast enough that he missed out on the aftermath of his embarrassment, missed out on your questioning look towards santos and her cackle in return.

"was he checking out my ass?" you'd asked, a little shocked, yet weirdly flattered.

"i don't blame him."

➽──────────────────❥

"oh, fuck. i'm sorry, i didn't know there was anyone in here."

"oh, no. don't worry, i was just-"

"no, yeah, i'll leave. you just-"

"no! you can, uhm, yeah. i'll leave."

the awkward exchange didn't end there. nor did the constant interruptions of one another.

you'd just been in the process of falling asleep, having made yourself comfortable on the bed located inside the on-call room, lights off and blinds drawn already. the interruption had been robby's fault, but you couldn't find yourself being angry at him, instead offering to leave the room to him if he so wished.

you'd already sat up, any sleepiness leaving your body the moment you realized who had just walked into the room.

it just so happened to be the man you'd been thinking about all day.

it was difficult not to think about him. not when you knew he was also thinking about you.

catching him checking you out had felt like a bucket of ice water being dropped on you. there were times in which you'd catch him staring, in which you'd feel like he was giving you preferential treatment, but none of those instances held a candle to the blatantness of what had happened today.

santos had burst out laughing as soon as robby was out of earshot, confirming your doubts as to whether or not his eyes had been zeroed in where you thought they'd been. you flushed, biting your lip and looking down, only to be the next victim of santos' berating when she realized you'd liked it. you'd enjoyed the attention; that specific type of attention from that specific man.

the rest of your day was spent with robby in your mind. he'd become a parasite wedged in there, unable to leave your thoughts. your eyes went to look for him multiple times during the day, always finding him fleeing your gaze, not even trying to be subtle about his avoidance.

this was the first time ever since the incident in which you'd been able to get him to meet your eyes. you wanted to take the chance.

you were already up from the bed before he could attempt to walk out, your hand reaching out to his arm without so much as thinking. you were unsure why you stopped him, but you were glad when he didn't pull away.

"i- i should leave." he uttered, looking at you and then at the ground. he then took a deep breath, eyes squeezing shut before looking up at you once more. "i'm very sorry about today. that was- that was incredibly inappropriate of me. i have a lot of respect for you and-"

"do you want to see?"

his eyes nearly bulged out. the arm that was in your hold clenched, hardening under your touch.

"excuse me?"

you took a step forward, with the same delicacy you'd approach a wild animal.

"do you want to see if the rumors are true?" you looked up at him, mouth slightly agape.

"i- you- you know about that rumor?"

giggling, you let your hand slide down his arm, reaching his hand and grasping his fingers lightly. he was receptive of this, eyeing your intertwined fingers for a second before nudging you with his hand in return.

"yeah, of course i know. dana told me about it. silly rumor, isn't it?"

"oh, i wouldn't- i wouldn't really entertain it." he half chuckled, half scoffed, clearly uncomfortable by how forward you were being. yet he was still in the room holding your hand, eyeing you like he felt guilty for how hungry he was.

"no? you seemed awfully interested earlier."

okay, that was a little mean. but you had him right where you wanted him. all you needed to do was catch him.

he groaned. like, belly-groaned, chuckling humorlessly once more as he dropped your hand to run his hands down his face in mortification. his skin turned a few shades redder, ears now the shade of tomatoes.

"you're really fucking mean, you know that?" he said but didn't mean. he was easy to read in this moment. any man would be.

"i wouldn't call it mean. more like ... decided." you eyed him up and down, making your intentions as blatantly obvious as possible, adding a lip bite just for good measure.

"you haven't answered my question, by the way."

you took a few steps forward, leaving enough distance to give him a chance to reject you in the odd chance he wasn't interested (but you knew the truth by now).

he bit his bottom lip, hesitant in taking a few steps towards you, ultimately close the distance, but doing so in the end.

"i'd love to confirm the rumors." his hand reached for yours, interlacing them once more, "if you'd let me."

now close enough for comfort, your eyes lowered to his lips, chin tilting towards him in a challenging manner. it was time for him to make the next move, to brave that last step towards an hr violation.

and then he did, nose nuzzling your own for a few turns before closing the gap, eyes closed and lips open, taking your lower lip captive for an open-mouthed kiss.

sighing in relief against him, you grasped at his scrubs, pulling him inhumanly close. his hands remained reserved, but yours found every part of him you wanted to touch. they went under his shirt to feel up the creases of his back, to his biceps, grasping at the hard muscle, to his hair, his beard, to his hands, to lead them to your body.

finally, his hands landed on your ass, groaning into your mouth when they squeezed at the flesh, feeling the thin lack of fabric your lone scrubs provided, no underwear in sight. nothing but a tiny string.

"fuuuck, you really wear these to work?" he groaned in between kisses, almost growling when you took that chance to lick into his mouth.

"wanna see up close?"

he groaned again, gruttal, mindless, hands slipping under your scrub top to feel your skin. his flat palm drove itself up and down your back, pulling you closer, tracing at the strap of your bra when it came into contact.

"i wanna see everything." he breathed.

he reached down, fingertips finding the hem of your shirt and helping you throw it off. when he looked down, he found a red bra, a tiny gem at its center and soft lace trimming the cups. his hands reached up, hesitating in touching the lace, face leaning down to trace the freed skin of your chest.

"is it matching?"

hands now digging at his hair, you pulled him up to your eye-line, kissing his lips softly a few times.

"you should see for yourself."

this was all the permission he needed.

your bra was off in seconds, your scrubs being pulled down with zero finesse as you kicked off your shoes. it was a dumb idea to get fully naked for a quickie, but he was so receptive, so into you that you wanted to give him a full view of your body.

and he adored the view. he held no reservations in letting you know about this.

"fucking shit, kid. this what you've been hiding under those scrubs?" he groaned, grabby hands feeling every inch of your body, pulling you as close as possible before digging his tongue right back into your mouth. "gorgeous fucking thing."

you wanted him just as bare, your hands demanding he undress, earning a chuckle from him as he aided you in getting his clothes off.

"shit, robby." you sighed at the view, at the large expanse of skin now bare before you.

he was broader shirtless, his chest a landscape for you to kiss and mark up to your liking. short nails dragged up and down the expanse of tanned skin, leaving light marks across it before your lips joined in on the mix, sucking the odd mark here and there, some high enough they'd likely be seen while he donned his scrubs. the thought made you giddy.

it was only fair, seeing as he had his fun with your body, kissing, licking, sucking, grabbing, pinching at any inch of skin he had within his reach. there was no precision in his touches, all simply driven by sheer lust. the lazy desire in his eyes made your knees buckle, glad his strong arms were wrapped around you, providing you with the much needed support.

one large hand wrapped around your hip, trailing down to the back of your knee and wrapping your leg around his waist and pulling you up against him with little to no effort — his easy demonstration of his strength almost making your eyes roll back. he took a few steps with you half-wrapped around him, pushing you up against the wall and crowding you there with his large frame, mouth open as he captured your lips in his.

his hips began moving along with yours, making you gasp at the weight between his legs. you moaned and sigh, scratching at the skin of his back and shoulders, already way too affected to even think coherently. your mind was completely overtaken by thoughts of robby and how good he'd feel if he actually pushed aside that tiny string and made his way inside you.

it seemed he was just as needy as you, haphazardly lowering his boxers just enough to free his dick, now pushing it off against you with a groan. you were dripping by then, frustrated at your inability to form any actual words to beg for more.

"kid." he called out. "need you, fuck. this okay with you?" his nose nuzzled you, eyes barely open as they zeroed in on your lips, his own lips and his heavy breath circulating against you.

you nodded desperately, attempting to press yourself even closer.

"no, sweetheart. need you to tell me."

"please, robby." you begged, hips grinding against his with an embarrassing neediness.

he grabbed onto his dick, tucking it under your hip and between your legs, drawing it up and down the length of your pussy. your thong had been pushed aside already, leaving the perfect door for him to finally breach you.

"ohhhh, fuckkkk."

his groan was throaty, coming deep from his diaphragm. his lips chased yours quickly after, wanting to muffle himself as much as possible. still, you could feel him grumble and growl against you, the vibrations of his chest felt deep within you at the contact.

"feel so fucking perfect, sweetheart." he groaned. "god, how the hell are you this tight?"

he was way better off than you, at least able to form words. you were so full, so perfectly breached that you could do nothing but whine against him, cry and pant and wail his name, biting onto his shoulder any time his lips would leave your own.

and when he began to move, things got catastrophic for you.

he held no reservations, hammering into you with fervor, with so much desire you felt like you were well on your way to passing out. the strength of his thrusts created a nasty sound of skin slapping, the door hitting the wall with every rock of his hips. you were sure any bystanders would be able to guess what was going on on the other side of the door, but you didn't have enough of your faculties active in order to care.

"r-robby, fuck. so full..."

"yeah? tell me about it, sweetheart."

and you did. you babbled and cried, letting him know of every thought going through your head. some were nasty, some were nonsensical, but he loved every single one, you could tell. he'd either groan or bite your shoulder, praising you for how good and tight and perfect you were for him. he had you losing your mind, had your eyes rolling back and your mouth agape, drool practically seeping down your lips.

one large hand dipped between you, searching for your clit for a few seconds before striking gold, two long fingers circling it messily yet precisely enough to have you hiccupping with pleasure.

"you're gonna come for me, aren't you, baby? hmm?" he basically barked into your ear. "c'mon, do it for me."

it only took you a few moments to finally let go, having to bite the back of your hand in order to not scream out his name. your leg was burning from resting your weight on it, with the other one likely bruised by robby's tight hold, but any pain took a backseat to the blinding pleasure.

much to your dismay, robby pulled out a few moments later, using his free hand to work his dick between the two of you, groaning expletives when he finally let go, staining the window of skin between you; his chest, yours. you were practically drenched in his juices by the end of it.

"shit."

"yeah. shit." he chuckled, finally letting go of your leg and helping you balance yourself. when you began wobbling, he pulled his pants back up and helped you get back to the bed you'd been lying on earlier, sitting you down with a kiss to your hair.

"you good?"

you nodded, hand taking his, kissing the back of it and getting a soft chuckle out of him. he walked over to gather your clothes, handing you a rag from nearby to help you clean up, and proceeding to aid you in dressing up.

"so, did the rumor live up to its hype?" you giggled.

he rolled his eyes, chuckling, "you're going to make me tachycardiac, kid."

[ri-writes-if]

Chapter 6 is released!

You’ve been wandering in the darkness, but now the light is here, and it blinds you. Your vision clears, and you see it. You see the trap closing right above your head, leaving you with no way to escape.

The situation with Vezriel’s sibling becomes troublesome. Because of your abilities, you learn more than you should know. But it gives you a chance to see Vezriel from a side they show to few demons.

A strange vision promises you misery, though you don’t know why or how. Is it connected to Os? You can only guess, though you don’t have much time for it as Os pulls you back into the high society and shows you how they deal with some matters.

Perhaps Laz would’ve preferred to keep you at a safe distance, but when trouble knocks on the door of their home, Laz can’t refuse your help with an important matter. If you want your payment in honesty, you might just get it this time.

You and Ashmedai both walk closer to something you would rather not remember. For you, it is a painful reminder; for them, it’s another stone added to the weight of their guilt. They’re not prepared to give their last, most painful ‘secret’ to your judgment, but they must.

Az seems so simple, but the more you learn about them, the less you understand them. They’ve opened their home for you—which you never expected to happen—and have shown you unprecedented trust, but you still can’t stop wondering about what they’re hiding from you.

Over 100K words of new content!

Other updates/changes:

Content warnings are updated!

Added the Oracle’s appearance description and the characters’ heights to the profiles.

The relationship’s statuses will update almost at the end of the chapter, so take a peek at these 👀

Serif font is changed. I don’t think anyone cares, lol, but this one is easier to read.

A new hidden stat. It is an obvious one, so I’ll let you find it in the chapter. It’s not here to make or ruin your playthrough, so don’t fret about it and choose what is suitable for your Oracle! :) It’ll mostly give you additional flavor text depending on the other choices you make in the future.

There are lots of variables and branches at work, and I couldn’t go through all of them. So if you see something wanky, or a bug, or a double space line, or typos, or anything that sounds like it shouldn’t be in your specific playthrough/etc., please let me know! You can put it in the tumblr askbox, in the form, or message me directly anywhere.

LINK

I’ve been waiting for this chapter (this and the next one) for so long. When I was coming up with ideas for this story, the last scene of this chapter was among the first things I wrote down. At last you can guess where I’m leading the Oracle and what their journey will look like. Their journey and their growth... or downfall. And you’ll be the one to decide what it is and what the Oracle thinks of it :)

I wonder how many readers will be surprised by it and how many have been expecting it 👀 Let me know what you think about it!

@interact-if

[sortagaysortahigh]

Juno | James 'Bucky' Barnes

A/N: Heyyyyy, here's part 2 to Lovefool, can technically be read as a stand alone if you're a fluff kinda person. This is the most fluff I've written in YEARS, some angst is thrown in as well! They're getting MARRIED! ugh my babies <3, also writing joaquin was so much fun in this fic, love his comedic timing as readers bestie! Anyways I hope you all enjoy! This is definitely also named after the sabrina carpenter song, so just GUESS WHERE THIS FIC GOES. Also everyone say thank you to @love-chx for beta-ing most of this, and to @anxietyandtacos for encouraging my bs <3

Summary: In the early stages of your relationship with Congressman Barnes, you swore he was kidding anytime he mentioned the idea of being his wife, however, it is apparent that he wasn't kidding. It's also obvious that there's nothing more that you want in the world.

Warnings: 2nd PERSON POV, use of Y/N, spelling and grammar errors fr (I am who I am), angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of bucky sleeping on the floor, mentions of insecurities, mentions of vomiting/throw up, pregnancy (AHHH), cursing, anxiety, Joaquin being an amazing bestfriend (he's so annoying i lvoed writing him), kissing, SMUT: unprotected p in v, praise kink if you squint, choking, smacking/spanking, spitting, squirting, somewhat rough sex, BREEDING KINK, wife kink, hair pulling, oral (f receiving), creampie, getting absolutely railed fr, honestly theres not a ton of smut but it's there fr and they're freaks.

Word Count: 14.8k Part One

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Secretary!Reader

UGHHHH LET ME AT HIM GOD DAMNIT IM FERAL!

The past eight months have been a whirlwind. 

In the early stages of your official relationship with Bucky, you swore he was kidding anytime he mentioned his ‘bright idea’ of you being his wife rather than his secretary. 

He was still a Congressman and you were still his bossy secretary, but behind closed doors, you were much more than that, and the both of you were irrevocably in love with one another.

It was obvious that you two were more than just professionally involved. Bucky would pull you closer to him in large crowds, his arm wrapped around your waist as if he was safeguarding you from the public. You’d both hold hands on your walks through Capitol Hill, and he’d even pull you into shaded areas to plant quick kisses along your jaw and neck, a series of giggles leaving your lips accompanied by ‘Bucky! Stop it’. 

Not to mention the way he’d sit back and let you speak during committee meetings, not a single argument or glare exchanged between the both of you.

Some journalists even reported that he’d been doing a much better job as a congressman, stating that it was clear something had changed in his life that brought Bucky more satisfaction and genuine joy. That joy clearly spread into all aspects of his life—publicly and privately.

You also didn’t shout at him as much. Sure, you’d still argue with him, and in the first few months of dating, it was obvious that you knew how to separate your professional relationship from your romantic one, but that didn’t stop him from fucking you in his office or workspace in both D.C. and Brooklyn. 

That usually only occurred after an argument on the principle that Bucky knew how to put you in your place. He’d always known, but prior to being romantically involved with you, he would’ve never crossed that boundary.

Slowly but surely you’d let your guard down, easing into being in a publicly known relationship with him. There was still an element of controversy surrounding dating your boss, but the bits and pieces of media coverage on the two of you focused on your relationship prior to his Congressional career, then segueing into the career, and even focusing on the future regarding the New Avengers.

Truthfully, Bucky didn’t care about what the future held, as long as you were with him. He even considered running for re-election after you helped him get his first major bill passed that addressed homelessness in New York and other major urban metropolitan spaces.

You moved in with Bucky one month after the night of the fundraiser. It made sense to live with him—he had two residencies, one in New York and Washington D.C., and you were pretty much always with him regardless. It also alleviated the financial stress of paying rent in two different states. 

Plus you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy being around him all of the time. Especially when your predominant residence was in New York, and now it was with him in a cozy apartment in Brooklyn. Although his lack of furniture in his Brooklyn apartment was shocking.

You were used to seeing his furnished apartment in D.C.. Sure, you knew that it came furnished, but you thought with him having the same place of residency in Brooklyn for so long, that he’d have more than a worn couch and a few bar stools. His bed also looked almost untouched, as if he never slept in it.

Then two weeks into living with him, you found out that he didn’t sleep in his bed. 

The two of you would usually go to sleep at the same time and you were always a heavy sleeper, so when you’d wake up in the morning and he was already up brewing coffee, you didn’t think much of it.

Not until the night that you’d woken up around two in the morning from a nightmare. You jolted out of your sleep, eyes wide, hand to your chest as you caught your breath. Then you looked around the room, squinting, eyes adjusting to the darkness as you used your right hand to feel around—looking for Bucky.

He wasn’t there. 

You thought that maybe he was in the bathroom, so you waited a few minutes, grabbing your phone from the bedside table, looking at the time, letting a few minutes pass as you read through the missed texts from your group chat with Joaquin, Kate, and Peter.

After ten minutes had passed and he didn’t come back, you got out of bed, wrapping a blanket around yourself as you padded out of the room, down the hall a bit, noticing there weren’t any lights on, and into the main living room space. Then you saw him, the faint yellow glow from the overhead stove light illuminated the space just enough for you to make out the sight of Bucky on the floor, his head against a couch pillow, and your thin pink throw blanket overtop of his figure.

You were confused at the sight of him on the floor. 

He clearly wasn’t sleeping peacefully, not when his chest was rapidly rising and falling and a sheen layer of sweat coated his skin. It was evident that Bucky had been tossing and turning, the sheet beneath him wrinkled and tangled around his lower body.

The sight of him like that made you tear up. You knew he still dealt with the nightmares, he’d told you about it a few weeks ago, said that they weren’t common anymore, but they hadn’t exactly disappeared overnight.

Bucky had spent a while in Wakanda working on coping with them as well. Once he was finally free of the Hydra brainwashing, it had gotten easier to manage the nightmares. He knew grounding himself usually helped, but after seventy years of being tortured, brainwashed, and constant cryopreservation, sleep didn’t come easily. 

You slowly kneeled beside him, placing one hand on his chest, and the other gently caressing his face as you whispered, “Buck, baby it’s me.”

He stirred at the sound of your voice, taking in a deep inhale while squeezing his eyes a bit tighter, then slowly opening them. His eyes met yours in the dimly lit room as he blinked a few times, adjusting to the light.

“You weren’t supposed to know about this,” his voice was groggy, laced with sleep as he whispered. His vibranium hand met yours on his chest, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You sleep like a rock, didn’t think you’d find me this soon.”

You shook your head, sniffling slightly, bottom lip quivering a bit as you tried to hold in your tears. “I don’t like seeing you like this Buck.” You slowly moved your thumb along his cheek, caressing it ever so slightly as he leaned into your touch.

“I should’ve told you, I know.” He sighed, taking the chance to wipe away a few of your tears. “It’s hard for me to fall asleep sometimes, it’s just easier on the floor—bit of a bad habit.” He wasn’t telling you everything, and he knew you saw right through his bullshit.

You nodded, leaning closer to him, kissing him slowly, sincerely, pouring every emotion into the moment. He easily kissed you back, hand now on the back of your neck as you focused on deepening the kiss, tongue sliding along his bottom lip.

Bucky pulled away first, blinking a few times while looking at you, faces inches apart. 

“This your plan? Kiss me until I feel better?” He was clearly joking, but it came off a bit harsh. It wasn’t that he was upset with you for finding out, he didn’t know how to cope with someone caring so deeply about him. Even in the dark, he could see the emotion and concern evident on your face. Your heart was practically racing, and it was clear that he was making you upset.

“No, actually, I was gonna kiss you until I felt better. Don’t think there’s anything I can say to convince you to come back to bed.” You sounded so defeated.

He felt as if he’d broken part of your heart.

“Doll, I’ll come back to bed with you.” His voice was soft as he spoke, peppering kisses along your cheek and jaw. 

You shoved him back a bit. “Not if you think I’m forcing you to come. I just want to know that you’re alright, if you’re more comfortable out here, that’s okay with me—it just hurts to see you like this. To know that you’re still dealing with the nightmares and that I can’t help fix it.” You sounded so small, eyes leaving his to look down at your intertwined fingers.

He lifted your intertwined hands, kissing the back of your hand. “Sweetheart, I’m coming back to bed with you, won’t sleep out here anymore. It’ll just take some getting used to ‘s all.”

You nodded your head, still avoiding his gaze, feeling as if you were pushing him, pressuring him into something that he didn’t want to do. This wasn’t work, it wasn’t something that you could fix for him or something you could save him from. All you could do was be there for him, and that in and of itself wasn’t enough for you.

But it was more than enough for him.

Bucky took the time to stand up, pulling you up with him, then he was grabbing the throw, tossing it onto the sofa before picking you up bridal style. He kissed the top of your head as he made his way back to the bedroom, placing you down onto your side before climbing back onto his.

It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable, quite the opposite really. Especially considering you’d added two mattress toppers to it, claiming that you needed to ‘sleep on a cloud’. Then, with you next to him, it added another element of comfort that he hadn’t anticipated. 

Maybe his problem was that the bed was too comfortable. 

He felt too safe, and that scared him. It terrified him. He hadn’t gone a single night feeling nothing but comfort in decades, and so, each night for the past two weeks, after you’d fallen asleep, he’d ease himself out of your hold, and snuck away, finding familiarity in the discomfort of the hard wooden floors.

That familiarity also welcomed the nightmares in a way, he hadn’t had them much anymore, but maybe it was the fear of him hurting you that had the negative memories and emotions resurfacing. Bucky knew that it also had to do with his own personal fear of being genuinely unlovable.

He was scarred, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he was very self-aware of that. He’d managed to land the woman of his dreams, but he thought you could do better, that you’d be a better fit for a man that hadn’t been through hell and back, someone who wasn’t scarred and jagged.

The two of you laid in silence before you finally turned to face him, shifting even closer, slipping your leg between the both of his, one hand on his abdomen while you propped your head up with the other arm, now looking at him in the moonlight.

“Tell me how to be there for you,” your words were quiet, but they were full of emotion. You needed to be there for him, you wanted nothing more than to show him how much you truly cared for him.

He bit his bottom lip, gaze leaving the ceiling, eyes landing on you. “You already are there for me.”

His response made you blink a few times, brows knit together, “Then why are you leaving in the middle of the night?”

“Because I’m afraid of hurting you.” There was so much raw emotion in Bucky’s voice as he spoke, he’d never been more sure of anything. He was terrified of hurting you, terrified of showing you the worst parts of himself, terrified that you’d leave the second you got to see who he truly was.

You shook your head, “You’d never hurt me James. I know that. I trust you with my life, I don’t think I’ve ever trusted or loved someone more than I trust and love you.”

Bucky smiled, eyes tracing every detail of your face, you’d never looked more serious.

“I don’t care about your scars, physically, or metaphorically. I want to be there for you, I want you to let me in, I want you to know that I’m here—I don’t want you leaving in the middle of the night when I’m asleep—” your voice cracked “—I love all of you. I want you to know that you’ll never, ever hurt me. Even if you did hurt me, I’d kick your ass.”

You sniffled again, blinking away your tears, “If I have to tell you that every night, I will. I love you—all of you.”

That night was the first night that he’d slept in his bed in years. 

Every night following, he was in bed, right beside you. Even when he’d wake up in the middle of the night in a harsh panic, you were right there, right beside him, curling into his side, whispering sweet nothings to him, calming him down and reassuring him. 

Even on days that you two would fight over work, you never went to bed mad at one another. It was an unspoken rule, someone had to swallow their pride and apologize, going to sleep upset wasn’t an option. 

Your shared bedroom was a place of peace, a place of genuine solace for the both of you.

If you hadn’t already been in love, two months into living with one another, you and Bucky were definitively truly, madly, and deeply in love.

James Barnes proposed to you six months ago, on a rainy day in D.C. under the awning outside of 54 after carrying you in his arms while sprinting through a storm.

The neon glow from the signs in the window reflected against your skin in a way that made his breath hitch and head spin. You looked so beautiful, splotches of color along your damp face as you looked at him with a wide smile, followed by a series of contagious laughs and giggles at the sight of his soaked attire. 

The umbrella he’d brought had broken when a large gust of wind hit, leaving the both of you to sprint to your destination, or rather, he picked you up bridal style and ran down the block until you were both fully shielded from the rain.

Both of your outfits were soaked, your hair was a bit of a mess as you scooped it into a claw clip, and he had to shrug off his suit jacket because the material was weighing down on his shoulders. 

He hadn’t planned to propose at that moment. Bucky actually wanted to propose to you by the Cherry Blossoms. He was going to wait a month until they were in full bloom, but he always carried the small red heart-shaped box in his pocket, squeezing it slightly anytime he felt anxious or irritated.

In a way, it grounded him. The thought of you grounded him.

But you looked so beautiful and joyous in that moment. He couldn’t help himself.

You were utterly confused as you watched him get down on one knee, your brows knit together as you glanced around, trying to figure out if maybe he’d dropped something, or if he was trying to adjust his shoe. Then you glanced through the window of the restaurant, watching Ms. Minh’s eyes widened as she shot up from her seat behind the counter.

You were too focused on her actions to notice Bucky placing his briefcase on one of the chairs outside of the restaurant, then fishing through his pocket for the ring box. Ms. Minh was quick to grab her phone, holding it up as if she was recording something while rushing through the front door and standing a few feet away from the two of you.

Then, you were looking back at Bucky, confusion quickly shifting into shock as he ran his hand through his wet hair, looking up at you, then with one hand he opened the heart-shaped ring box where a beautiful golden ring with a princess cut diamond sat. 

“Bucky what are you doing?” You tried to laugh it off, biting into your bottom lip as you stared at him.

He smiled at you, icy blue eyes full of nothing but pure adoration and love.

When Bucky said your full name—middle name included—your jaw dropped, this was really happening. He was actually proposing to you.

“I’ve loved you since you kicked my ass on top of a moving vehicle in Germany when we were both technically war criminals—” You laughed, shaking your head, eyes welling up with tears. “—and I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you and everything about you. I love your good qualities and the uh—not so pleasant ones—” He laughed a bit while shaking his head. 

“I’ve lived a thousand lives and the one thing that I’ve ever really wanted is to spend the rest of my life with you by my side. So, will you do me the honor of marrying me?” He watched as you sniffled, nodding your head, red teary eyes blinking several times as if you were trying to stop crying. 

Then you gave him your left hand, and he slid the ring onto your finger.

“I’d be an idiot to say no to you James Buchanan Barnes.”

He was off the ground in seconds, right hand intertwined with your left as he pulled you into a kiss. His left hand on your cheek, gently caressing your face while he kissed you under the awning of the Vietnamese restaurant that you two had been frequenting for years. 

The first place that you’d genuinely bonded at was now the place you’d gotten engaged at. It made you laugh, smile, and cry as you kissed Bucky under the old rusted awning. The world around you frozen, and in that moment, all you cared about was James Buchanan Barnes.

Breaking the news of your engagement to everyone had been stressful to say the least.

Sam was the easiest person to tell, he was already in D.C. on base, so when you strolled into his office at the Airforce base with Bucky in tow, he was somewhat surprised. You’d visited the base a few times in the past, having the top secret clearance to do so, but never with Buck.

You sighed, hoping that Joaquin would’ve been there, but you knew he’d probably cry so maybe it was better to wait on telling him. 

“Care to explain the impromptu visit? I know this isn’t to talk about anything work related—we already had that call this week. So, what’s going on with Capitol Hill’s hottest couple?” He wiggled his brows, looking between you and Bucky. Your arms are crossed in front of your chest, hands tucked into your sides as if you were hiding something.

“Don’t tell me you’re here with bad news.” Sam clearly braced himself, jaw clenched as he took a deep breath. “Okay, lay it on me, I’m ready.”

You couldn’t hold your laugh in as you elbowed Bucky, smiling up at him before approaching Sam. When you were a few feet away you paused, now leaning against Joaquin’s messy desk, looking around at his different trinkets and small gifts that he’d clearly gotten from his girlfriend.

Then, you glanced back at Sam. “I’m pregnant with Joaquin’s kid.” You deadpanned.

Your poker face had Sam in a clear panic, and that made you crack as you shook your head. “I’m kidding! Sam please! Oh my god!—” Then you looked over at Bucky who was shaking his head, hands in his pockets “—told you it would get him! Dinners on you tonight, Congressman,” you winked at him.

Sam had a hand over his chest as he caught his breath, a disappointed look on his face as he spoke, “Don’t do that shit to me again! You had me worried that Bucky was here to kill Joaquin. Or even worse, you were in a weird throuple and I’d never hear the end of it! You know he never shuts the hell up!”

You were smiling, shaking your head at Sam, then you glanced over at Bucky before nodding. He walked towards Sam, handing him a smaller blue box with a velvet finish.

Sam raised a brow, taking the box, then walking towards his desk, taking a second to open it, seeing the silver custom watch sitting in it, followed by the small folded note. His eyes widening as he read it, gaze snapping to yours, then Bucky.

“Excuse me? Be your best man?! You two are engaged?!” he smiled as you flashed your left hand.

“So, what do ya say? Will you be my best man?” Bucky smiled as he asked Sam, who pulled him into a hug immediately.

“Of course I’ll be your best man, what the hell kind of question is that?!”

Telling Joaquin wasn’t easy, not when he’d found out from Sam first and had blown up your phone in the middle of the night, calling you six times before you finally answered him, a bit hazy from being asleep.

Your head was still resting against Bucky’s bare chest as you held the phone to your ear. “Hello?”

“What the hell do you mean hello?! You’re engaged and I had to find out from Sam?! What kind of best friend are you! Have you no shame?! I get it that Sam’s clearly the best choice for his best man! But you didn’t think to tell me first?!”

He was moving a mile a minute, practically yelling into the phone. From your end, you could picture him pacing back and forth in his girlfriend’s apartment, phone in hand while you were on speaker.

“Joaquin, it’s like two in the morning—can we talk about this tomorrow?” 

He scoffed. “Talk about this tomorrow?! I was overseas in Cambodia on some mission with Sam, just for him to ask me if I was part of your wedding party on our flight back? Y’know he made a joke about me being your maid of honor! I was so confused! Then he lays it on me that you’re engaged!” 

You sighed, Bucky now stirring from his sleep at the sound of Joaquin’s voice. He wasn’t on speaker, and he was still the loudest in the room.

Then you sat up, now placing him on speaker after realizing Bucky was awake. “To be fair, I tried to tell you the day we told Sam, but you weren’t there. If I’m not mistaken, you were out living your life with your girlfriend. Who by the way, shouldn’t you be with right now? Instead of shouting at me at 2am?!”

Joaquin clearly let out a ‘tsk’ sound, and based on the silence following, you knew he was rolling his eyes. “I am with my girlfriend thank you very much, and she agrees that you were wrong as hell not to tell me!”

In the background you heard the muffled ‘No I didn’t say that! I said you were overreacting! He told his best friend first, she just happened to be there with her man!’. Followed by “Seriously baby?! Whose side are you on! Hers or mine! I’m the one who’s been wronged here!”

Bucky sat up next to you, rubbing one of his eyes as he processed the sound of Joaquin’s voice in the room. “Hang up on him.” 

Joaquin gasped again “Seriously Bucky?! Now you’re saying to hang up on me! I have every right to be offended right now! Besides, it’s not like I called at five in the morning!”

You sighed, pinching your nose bridge while taking a deep breath. You looked over at Bucky who was shaking his head, glancing from the illuminated phone screen to you. 

“What time is it, Sweetheart?” His sleep-laced voice made you smile, but he was clearly glaring at your phone, considering going to the base in D.C. next week and kicking Joaquin’s ass.

“It’s 2:33 in the morning. Also, Joaquin, just because you didn’t call at five doesn’t make it any better. You know damn well I’m asleep by one!” You yawned, rolling your shoulders back, scooting a bit closer to Bucky who was now sitting up and leaning against the headboard. He wrapped an arm around your waist while you rested your head against him.

“Okay but I couldn’t wait! What was I supposed to do?! Not sleep and be bothered all night by this betrayal!” 

You groaned again “Joaquin, can you go to bed, or go eat something, or go have sex?! Please, get off of my phone right now before Bucky kicks your ass the next time we see you.” 

Bucky laughed at that, the low rumble in his chest vibrating against you. His chin now resting on the top of your head slightly. 

“Wow! So this is it, huh? Now you’re hanging up on me?...Baby you’re being dramatic, let them go back to sleep. I don’t think you’d win a fight against Bucky Barnes…So now you’re doubting me too?!” Joaquin sounded hurt as he gasped, and you knew for a fact he had a hand over his chest right now, jaw dropped, and brows knit together while he looked at her.

“Goodnight Torres. I’ll call you tomorrow.” With that you hung up the phone, ignoring his protests before double checking that your phone was set to ‘do not disturb’.

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

You laughed at Bucky, shaking your head before moving to face him, planting a firm kiss to his lips, then straddling his lap. One hand on his jaw, the other on his shoulder as you smiled at him. “Since we’re awake, you wanna kill some time?”

He nodded his head, pulling you into another kiss as you rolled your hips against him.

It’d taken two days for anyone and everyone to find out that you were engaged. Joaquin sent an over dramatic text about how hurt and heartbroken he was in your shared group chat with Kate and Peter. Peter replied with a quick ‘That’s great! Congrats!’ 

Kate had also called, but she was squealing in excitement for you. Then Kate told Yelena, and she’d sworn to you that she had her girlfriend promise not to tell anyone else. That promise clearly didn’t apply to her father, who called you from Yelena’s phone to give you a long winded speech about how happy and proud he was that you were getting married.

He’d even thrown in a few bits and pieces about how strong your children with Bucky would be, and how ecstatic he was for the wedding. Which you hadn’t even started planning yet, and he volunteered to help plan it, stating that he was an excellent decorator and knew his way around a good celebration. 

After Alexei’s phone call, you received several texts from unknown numbers, which were also followed by everyone stating their names, and adding you into a group chat titled ‘The New Avengers’. It included Yelena, Bob, John, Ava, and Alexei. They’d mentioned that they had tried to add Bucky, but he left each and every time.

From there, it all spiraled. 

Eventually you’d gotten a call from Clint, who you hadn’t spoken with in years following his somewhat psychotic break during the Blip when he decided to be a hitman assassin to grieve his family. 

You’d even gotten a video call from Thor Odinson himself, who was squinting at the large screen, calling you through one of Bruce Banner’s intergalactic communication devices that you only had access to at the Avenger’s tower. 

He was all smiles and laughs, telling you how happy he was to know that Bucky would be marrying ‘such a beautiful human!’ You hardly knew the God of Thunder, so to say it was strange was an understatement. But you did find out that Thor was a lot friendlier than expected, and that he was really sweet, and had a daughter! 

Bruce and Thor had spent more time talking to Bucky and looping Sam into the call as if it was some kind of reunion. 

The weirdest call you’d gotten was from a talking raccoon, some guy named Peter Quill, an alien woman with antennae, a large blue man, a talking tree, and a blue cyborg woman. Bucky had to spend an hour explaining how he knew all of them, and he even mentioned something about giving his previous metal arm to the raccoon as a Christmas present.

The next few weeks passed by in a blur, with an ongoing impeachment trial, several rising intergalactic threats, and a constant debate on the sanctuary agreement regarding Celestial Island, the last thing you and Bucky had time to think about was a wedding.

So you focused on work, at least you tried to focus on work until Joaquin had practically broken your door down on a Tuesday afternoon, bursting into the penthouse with the box that you’d left on his desk two days prior.

He didn’t bother acknowledging you and Bucky’s closeness, the both of you sitting on the sofa together, your legs in his lap as you read off important bullet points in preparation for tomorrow’s major Foreign Affairs Committee meeting. He nodded his head as you spoke, answering and asking questions, ensuring he knew his stance, and knew it well.

“What the hell?! You guys didn’t even bother to call me about this—” He held the forest green box up. “I haven’t been in the office in a few days! I was busy running drills with Sam! He didn’t even tell me you dropped this off?! You mean to tell me you want me in your wedding party?!” 

You and Bucky both stared, shocked expressions on your faces as the two of you stared at Joaquin. How did he even get a key to the penthouse? You had no idea. Should you have expected him to barge in as if he owned the place? Absolutely.

“Oh shit—one second I forgot my girl’s coming up!” he rushed back towards the door, opening it again, looking down the hallways “—Baby speed it up! I didn’t mean to ditch you! I was excited!” 

“What the hell is wrong with him?” Bucky leaned closer to you, whispering the question.

You laughed at him, shaking your head, “I told you, Quino’s special. There’s a reason he’s my best friend.”

Then Joaquin was back in front of you both, this time with a girl beside him. She had an awkward smile while she waved at the two of you.

“For the record, he dragged me here. We were supposed to be going to get dinner, he said this was a pit stop.” She said her name, glancing at Joaquin who was now pacing back and forth, holding the card that you’d left in the box, a long hand-written note on it with a major question on the bottom of it. 

You smiled, introducing yourself to her. “So you’re the doctor right? Tell me, what motivated you to choose Joaquin of all people to be in a relationship with? He’s uh—well. He’s who he is.” 

Joaquin gasped at that, now looking at you, then at his girlfriend, then back at you.

“Okay! Let’s not make this into the Joaquin hate club. I came to say that I’d be honored to be your Man of Honor! Kate and Peter are gonna be so jealous! Oh my god! I love you guys so much.” He smiled, nodding his head, eyes clearly tearing up at the sight of you and Bucky together.

You shared a look with his girlfriend, who now made herself comfortable on the other couch, shaking her head while she watched Joaquin’s emotional moment.

“Can I just say, I always knew you two were perfect for eachother. Even though you still intimidate the hell out of me Bucky—can I call you Bucky? Well, it’s too late, I already did so here we are. Wow. You two are a beautiful couple.” He sniffled, wiping away a stray tear. “I always told her to just jump your bones man, she used to angry text me everytime Mel would breathe in your direction. Oh by the way, Kate told me to tell you that Mel said congratulations! She tried to text you, but I guess you blocked her.”

You shushed Joaquin, jaw clenched and eyes wide as you slowly looked over at Bucky, whose brows were both raised, and you knew he’d be making fun of you for that later.

He then moved around the coffee table, pulling you into a bone-crushing hug, then he hesitated when he looked at Bucky. Against Joaquin’s better judgement he also pulled Bucky into a hug.

The shock on Bucky’s face had you bursting into a fit of laughter, then you nudged him slightly with your foot, laughing even harder as Bucky awkwardly hugged Joaquin back.

“I love you man. We’re family now.” 

You blinked a few times, looking at Joaquin. “We’re not even related?” 

He shushed you “We don’t need to be related! You’re like a sister to me! I love you! We’re family god damnit! And as your man of honor, we need to start planning your wedding. I’ll call you tomorrow. Lots of details to sort through, and don’t even think about wearing a black dress. This isn’t a goddamn funeral.” Then he looked back at his girlfriend, “Okay baby, thanks for stopping by with me, we can go now—also you guys know a good place for dinner around here?”

You and Bucky shared a look, and a smile, speaking at the same time “54.”

Once they were gone, you sighed, placing your laptop on the coffee table before stretching.

“We really do need to start planning our wedding,” Bucky spoke as you yawned, his hands massaging your feet. “I’m thinking we should get married in the late Winter, January sounds nice.”

You blinked a few times “Buck, January’s less than a year away…you really wanna get married that soon?” your brows knit together as you waited for his response. Eyes trailing along his features, watching as his brows knit together, then he rolled his lips inward, nodding a few times.

“If it was really up to me we’d go to the courthouse tomorrow. But I know you want a dramatic wedding.” He sounded so serious, and that had you moving across the couch, pulling him into a frantic kiss. 

“We can get married in January—hell December if we find a place.” Then your lips were back on his, hands in his hair as you kissed him until you were lightheaded.

Planning a wedding was a level of stress that you hadn’t fully anticipated. Sure Joaquin, Kate, Peter, and Yelena were helpful when you needed them to be, but you were quite the Bridezilla. It wasn’t even a purposeful development, you just wanted the day to be perfect, to the point that you’d argued over the kind of chairs at the wedding venue. 

Peter and Joaquin had gone with you to tour venues, and you settled on a renovated winery. It was a beautiful building in Upstate New York, each and every single detail had you in love. From the custom woodwork along the walls, to the stained glass windows, to the field of iceland poppies outside, all in full bloom during the peak winter months with a thin layer of snow around them.

Picking the venue was just the first hurdle, you also had to figure out a color scheme, find the right kinds of flowers, pick the song for your first dance, find someone to walk you down the aisle, and focus on not murdering Joaquin everytime he made a suggestion you didn’t agree with.

Then, there was the issue with finding a dress—something most brides-to-be did first—but you were dreading it. Mostly because you thought you’d never find the perfect dress, or maybe the dress would be perfect to you, but Bucky would hate it and think you looked like a sack of potatoes, and suddenly he’d be running away and leaving you at the altar. 

So what if you were being dramatic? Picking a wedding dress is difficult.

That didn’t stop everyone from ambushing you, letting you think that you were all going to lunch together, instead you ended up in a bridal boutique in Manhattan. They practically dragged you into the shop when you refused to go, more specifically, Peter and Yelena had dragged you inside while Joaquin and Kate cheered them on.

Three and a half hours later you’d tried on sixteen dresses, some too big, some too small, some too short, some too tall. 

You felt like a children’s book.

At least you did until the sales associate walked out with a dress you hadn’t noticed prior. You were currently sitting on the ground, brows knit together in frustration while you were practically swimming in a large poofy dress fit for a princess. There was too much fabric, too many sequins, and it was irritating you.

“I like that dress she is holding. It’s much better than the fabric disaster you’re sitting in.” Yelena spoke as she looked at the Ivory dress the associate held. It had a sweetheart neckline and thin off the shoulder straps that would sit perfectly against your arms. The dress was simple, the fabric smooth, bodice fitted, and the skirt flared out.

Honestly it reminded you of a longer pin-up dress without the halter straps.

“Try that one on.” Yelena motioned to the dress, Kate nodded in agreement.

So you huffed, reluctantly following the associate back to the changing rooms, letting the older woman help you out of the fluffy disaster you’d been in. Then she was helping you into the much simpler dress.

“It’s a timeless piece, simple yet elegant, I think your Fiance will love it.” 

You nodded at her as she zipped you up. It needed a bit of tailoring, but you liked it much better than any of the other dresses, and honestly you could imagine yourself walking down the aisle in it.

Kate gasped as she saw you, eyes watering a bit, Peter smiled and nodded his head, Joaquin whistled as he clapped, and Yelena let out a shocked ‘oh my god!’

Once the dress debacle was settled, you had time to focus on planning everything else out. Eventually, after months of stress, arguments, and threatening to kick Joaquin and Kate’s asses, the wedding was officially here.

You were set to get married in six hours.

There were six hours until you’d be walking down the aisle and marrying the love of your life. Even if he was over a century old and could be quite the grouch at times. 

Things were not going as smoothly as they should’ve, not when Joaquin was chasing down the florists, letting them know the arrangements weren’t perfect, Peter was busy with an electrician after he noticed half of the lights in the reception hall weren’t working properly, Kate was going back and forth with the makeup artist, and Yelena had to remind Alexei several times that he was not your wedding’s bouncer. 

There was a distinct list of guests that would be let in, and only some got a plus one. Everyone else who wasn’t supposed to be there, shouldn’t have shown up. Although, it was nice to know that Alexei had taken it upon himself to escort several people off of the property…and to argue with them until they finally left the vicinity.

Your head was pounding and you were fighting the urge to drink until you blacked out.

Getting black out drunk before your wedding is a terrible way to go into a lifelong commitment. 

“Can you leave her alone Kate! Jesus Christ she’s just doing her goddamn job!” Your shout left the room silent. You blinked a few times, processing that you were much louder and meaner than intended.

“Okay, sheesh, I just want today to be perfect for you.”

You sighed at her, shaking your head, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scream at you. I’m just stressed out okay. I’m not feeling very bubbly and happy or however the hell a bride-to-be is supposed to feel. And I’m worried about Bucky, he was so distant last night when we were on the phone. He’s never like that with me. It was all ‘mhmms’ and ‘okay Sweethearts.’ Then I told him I loved him and he said ‘love you too’ but without the ‘I’ and maybe I’m overthinking it, but he never just says ‘love you’.” You took a deep breath, now glancing at yourself in the full-length mirror, running your hands along your robe.

Initially, you were just supposed to be looking at your hair, making sure you liked it. It was the vision that you initially had, large curls and waves, two braids pulled back, hair cascading down your shoulders. The extensions in your head were a bit uncomfortable, but you told yourself beauty is pain. 

You were supposed to have a few blue flowers in your hair, however, they weren’t here, which is also another reason you’d sent Joaquin to find the florist. You hated how the centerpieces turned out, not because the flowers were wrong, but because the arrangement was off, and that was also making you mad.

“I’m having a shitty morning, and has anyone heard from Sam?! Is he even here?” you spoke as you walked towards the seat that you were supposed to be getting your makeup done in. 

“Yeah, Peter said he’s here, you want me to call him?” you nodded at Kate, a silent thank you.

Then you were told to close your eyes and relax. So you sat stiffly with your eyes shut, mind focused on Bucky and why he was acting so off last night.

One floor below where you were, Bucky was. He wasn’t dressed, rather he was pacing back and forth in his dress pants and undershirt, hands on his hips while he tried to remind himself that today was a joyous occasion.

Sam shook his head, watching Bucky pace back and forth. He’d been doing it for about ten minutes now.

“I’m not understanding what the problem is, Buck? You love her, don’t you? Today’s supposed to be a good day for you two, the best day of your life actually.” Sam’s eyes followed Bucky’s movements, studying his figure. It was clear the wedding stress was getting to him. This was a stressful time overall, as he was coming up on the end of his Congress term, and the ongoing public debate about whether or not he would be running for re-election was prominent.

He was also dealing with the stress from being an Avenger, even if he wasn’t in practice on missions. Sam and Bucky had come to the agreement to continue helping one another, and anytime a large threat surfaced on either side, they’d make one another aware, and their teams would work vigilantly.

But this stress—this stress was a different look on Buck. Sam had known him long enough to understand how stress impacted Bucky. He didn’t look irritated, annoyed, or even bothered in the slightest. Instead he looked worried and anxious, the fact that he was pacing back and forth said enough.

“I love her, of course I love her. She’s everything to me, I just—I don’t know. What if this doesn’t work out? Y’know her parents are divorced? Actually, she doesn’t even speak to her parents. What if we both have shit relationship habits that’ll surface when we’re married?”

Sam blinked a few times, brows knit together as Bucky voiced his concerns.

“Or what if we get married, then she meets someone younger, someone smarter, someone better fit for her. Someone without decades of emotional trauma and baggage, someone that won’t wake her up in the middle of the night panicking over something that happened forty years ago?” 

Bucky ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, shaking his head a few times, trying to ground himself, but it was as if he was falling, deeper and deeper into a hole that he couldn’t get himself out of. 

Then Sam’s phone started ringing, his brows knitting together at the unknown number calling. He quickly answered, raising a single brow at the frantic voice on the other end. “Okay…slow down Kate. Jesus Christ? Her too? Okay I’m on the way.” 

Sam sighed. “Listen Buck, you love the girl, you want to spend the rest of your life with her, don’t let some insecurities or fears get in the way of that. She loves you for you, she wants to spend the rest of your life with her and vice versa. I’ve gotta go check in on her as well.” 

Then he was grabbing his things, tucking his phone into his pocket before leaving the room. He knew that there wasn’t a single thing that he could say to Bucky to get the man to relax. This was something that Buck would have to figure out, and unfortunately Sam couldn’t tell him what to think, or give him some best case scenario about today.

Weddings had a way of stressing people out.

When Sam rounded the large stairwell, he spotted Joaquin with a handful of blue flowers. Which gave him an idea.

“Joaquin, I need you to go talk to Buck. Give him one of your classic pep talks, and between me and you—he’s getting cold feet. Go remind him that he’s in love.” Joaquin nodded at Sam, handing him the flowers in hand.

“Give those to Bridezilla, and fair warning Sam, she’s not the sweetest right now.”

They both exchanged a knowing look, one descending the steps, the other ascending.

Joaquin got to the Groom’s suite. He hesitated before opening the door, swallowing, anticipating the possibility of Bucky literally throwing him out of the room. What shocked Joaquin was the sight of Bucky seated on the edge of an ottoman, hunched over slightly, running his hand through his hair while he stared at the handwritten note you’d given him two days ago, telling him he wasn’t allowed to open it up until the day of the wedding.

“Uh—are you alright Bucky?” He grimaced as he watched Bucky sit up a bit straighter, now looking over his shoulder at Joaquin.

“I’ve had better days. Thinking your best friend might regret marrying me one day.” He sounded so defeated as he spoke, now looking back at the sealed envelope, your messy writing reading ‘To my Bucky, Everything that I wanted to say in my vows, but can’t because I’d probably ugly cry’.

Joaquin scoffed, his genuine reaction ruining the pity party that Bucky was throwing for himself. The older man now stood up, letter still in his vibranium hand as he stared at Joaquin who was quick to let himself into the room fully, then shut the door behind him.

“Listen, I know I might be annoying as hell, and I know I’m probably the last person you want to talk to about this right now, but Y/N loves you. Like, pathetically so, and I would know because I’m also pathetically in love with my girlfriend. There isn’t a single other person on this planet, or in this universe, or galaxy, hell even in the multiverse that she would rather marry than you.”

He paused for a second, now crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head. “She used to text me about how angry it made her anytime you’d even smile at another person when you two were ‘strictly professional’ or whatever bullshit you both told yourselves. She would literally pause whatever she was doing to spam me with angry texts because of how jealous she was that you were giving other people your attention.” Joaquin sighed, shaking his head.

“She literally hates Mel. Like, hates her—like, even after you two are husband and wife she’s never going to like that woman. All because she was there when you answered the phone the first time she’d ever called you about the shady shit Valentina was doing. Y’know she ranted to me for half an hour about the fact that your voice supposedly got softer when talking to Mel? There’s a reason Valentina got an invite today and Mel didn’t.”

Bucky slowly nodded his head, processing Joaquin’s words, stifling a laugh at your undying jealousy. 

“Now, do me a favor and stop getting cold feet before she kills everyone here. She’s terrifying right now, Yelena told me that she yelled at Kate over Kate talking to the makeup artist. Then, she was apologizing profusely for yelling at Kate. It’s like she’s hot then she’s cold and she practically chewed me out this morning because I couldn’t find the florist to find the right flowers for her hair.”

“You really think we’ll last, Torres?” Bucky sounded so vulnerable, and in that moment, Joaquin shook his head, walking right over and pulling him into a bear hug—or rather what would’ve been a bear hug if Joaquin was the same size as Bucky.

When he pulled back, he nodded his head, “I don’t think I’ve ever met two people more perfect for one another. Read her letter. Trust me, it’ll give you every ounce of reassurance you need. I cried when I read it, and it’s not even about me!”

Joaquin sighed, running his hands over his light grey suit jacket. Then he was fiddling with the icy-blue tie. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta go make sure she’s not actively murdering anyone.”

When Joaquin left the room, Bucky took a seat closer to the windows, looking outside at the thin layer of snow covering the valley, small pops of color from the winter blooms peaking through.

Then he opened the envelope, pulling out the note, smiling at the pastel pink paper.

James Buchanan Barnes, your name is a goddamn mouthful. 

But when I’m saying my actual vows, I’ll say it and hopefully I won’t start sobbing. Knowing myself though? I will. I know we’ve only been together for a year, and some people have said it’s stupid to get married this early. But you’re genuinely it for me. I don’t think I’ve ever felt the way you make me feel. You’ve shown me bits and pieces of myself that I didn’t even know about. Sure, you piss me the hell off with your lack of punctuality, and terrible media training, but everything else about you makes up for it.

I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you smiled at me on that truck in Germany, after I totally whooped your ass, with your bloody smile and terrible timing. You called me ‘Doll’ and I think that moment made me realize that maybe, just maybe, life could be more than just running and surviving. 

Every second of every day I think about you, which I know is a little creepy to say out loud, good thing I’m writing it, huh? You’ve taught me that loving someone doesn’t need to be difficult, and though we have our jagged edges, I love each and every piece and part of you. I love you on your best and worst days, I love you when you wake me up in the middle of the night and ask me to just hold you. I love the way you smile at me during someone else's long winded speech. I love the way you say my name and the way you call me Sweetheart. 

You always tell me I’m obnoxious, and I know I am, but I’m so thankful that I get to be obnoxious around you, that I get to be myself with you. I’m not afraid of your judgement because I know you’d never actually judge me. Thank you for that by the way. Shit I’m crying now. Okay, I have to focus. This is the edge of the page so make sure you flip it over! I’m not done!

Okay good, you flipped it. Back to what I was saying before. You’re the love of my life.

When I first started working for you, I wanted nothing more than to kick your ass. Some days, I still feel the same way, but it’s not the same. I’ve never wanted to be around someone so often, I’ve never felt the kind of emotions you make me feel. You honestly make me crazy.

Thank you for letting me in. Thank you for letting me past your walls, thank you for letting me love you and care for you, and thank you for loving me. Not to be a total sap, especially because I’m not even thirty yet, and technically you’re not even forty in terms of physical age, but I hope when we’re both old and wrinkly, everyday you make me feel the same happiness I feel now. God forbid I ever get something like dementia, but if it happens, I hope you’re the only person I consistently remember time and time again. Or at the very least, we can fall in love, each and every day, over and over again.

When our time comes, I hope I find you in the next lifetime, and the next one after that. 

I love you James Buchanan Barnes. I can’t wait to marry you.

He sniffled, shaking his head, a wide smile on his face as a few tears streamed along his cheeks. Bucky took a minute to wipe his tears away, licking his lips as he reread the last two lines of the letter. He carefully folded the paper again, slipping it right back into the envelope, then into his pocket. 

Then he started getting ready, and he let all of his doubts wash away at the thought of you smiling at him as you walked down the aisle.

You had finally finished getting your makeup and hair done, Sam helping the stylist slip the flowers into your hair, opening bobby pins with his teeth as he secured them. He had a sister, it only made sense that he’d know how to do things like this.

“Y’know Bucky loves you, right?” 

You nodded your head at Sam, gaze focused on your reflection, the woman staring back at you looked so ethereal, so beautiful. Like a genuine princess, straight out of a fairytale, waiting on her prince charming.“You think he’s gonna ditch me at the altar?”

Sam sighed, pinching his nose bridge as he took a deep breath. “What is with you two? I’ve never met two people more in love! Do you both have anxiety or something? Is it the super soldier serum running through your veins?”

You sighed, shrugging. “Last night, he didn’t tell me ‘I love you’ and since then I’ve been literally spiraling, Sam. I feel like an idiot. I’ve been mean and grouchy and rude all day, I can’t get comfortable, and I’m so overwhelmed. I don’t doubt that he loves me, I doubt that he wants to marry my psychotic ass.”

Sam now faced you, both hands on your shoulders. “I’m only saying this once, okay kid? That man is utterly in love with you, he wants to spend everyday with you, he wants to be the father of your kids. He has an entire domestic fantasy in his head about the both of you. James Barnes wants nothing more than for you to be his wife. Forever. Now, stop sulking in self doubt, get your happy ass up, and put on your wedding dress.”

It was the tough love you needed, it had you sniffling slightly, bottom lip quivering a bit as you nodded. 

By the time you were in your wedding dress, your nerves had settled, and you were now looking down at the folded piece of paper Joaquin had brought to you, he was out of breath as he said ‘it's from Bucky—shit.’

You recognized his handwriting anywhere, and you didn’t hesitate to unfold the note.

Beautiful, where do I even start. I wanna keep this short and simple because I already cried reading your note to me. Also, I’m gonna cry watching you walk down the aisle, just so we have it out there. We’re both gonna cry today. I just want you to know that I love you, I can’t wait to marry you today, I can’t wait for us to be Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. I’ll see you on the other side.

With Love, Your Bucky.

You smiled, laughing at the letter, shaking your head a bit.

You really loved Bucky, and he really loved you.

After you’d spent an hour or so taking photos with your wedding party, it was time for the ceremony to begin, and you were nauseous, feeling as if you were about to keel over and vomit. The nerves came back tenfold. You didn’t have cold feet, but you weren’t exactly alright.

Then it was time for you to walk down the aisle, the opening chords to ‘Here comes the bride’ playing loudly, the large wooden doors opening, and your grip tightened around your bouquet. Taking a deep breath, glancing to your right, Alexei giving you a reassuring smile.

You weren’t really sure how he ended up being the one to walk you down the aisle, all you knew was that you’d grown pretty close over the past six months, and when Yelena suggested it, you didn’t even think twice.

“You look beautiful, are you ready?” 

You nodded at him. He linked his arm with yours, the both of you walking in tune to the song, everyone’s gaze on you as you smiled, eyes trailing your wedding party.

On your side, Joaquin stood with a wide smile, Peter beside him, and finally Kate. 

On Bucky’s side, Sam stood, wiping a single tear away, then Yelena, then Shuri who smiled at you, shooting you a wink. You were glad she was able to make it in, the Wakandans were family to Bucky.

Then there was your husband to be, in his black tux, white shirt below, with an icy blue tie and a singular blue cornflower pinned to his jacket. He smiled as he looked at you, a red flush to his skin as he bit his bottom lip, teary eyes focused on you. 

When you finally made it to the altar his gaze hadn’t left yours. You faced him, handing the bouquet to Joaquin. Then your hands were in Bucky’s and he rubbed his thumbs against your hands, offering silent reassurance.

Sam’s sister Sarah was officiating the wedding, you thought it was a nice touch. One of his nephews was even the ring bearer. 

You knew it was time for your vows, and you’d known you were up first. Joaquin handed you the slip of paper, while you looked up at Bucky, bottom lip quivering slightly as you tried not to cry.

“James Buchanan Barnes, you are the love of my life. It took me a few weeks to write these vows, mostly because I didn’t know where to start. I promise to always be there for you, to always be present, to always show how much I truly care for you. I promise to keep you on your toes, to continue being my obnoxious self. You’ve taught me so much about myself, and I’ll forever be grateful for our love—” your voice cracked slightly. “You make me a better person, even on my worst days, and I promise to never stop trying. You’re my person, and I love you so much, even if you are technically my boss, and this is highly unprofessional.”

Your joke had the crowd laughing, smiles on their teary faces as they focused on you.

Bucky nodded his head, and as Sarah gave him the queue to start, he pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, swallowing as he looked down at it.

He said your full name. “I’ve been alive for a long time, longer than almost everyone in this room. Before meeting you, I was positive I’d never find ‘the one’. I remember Steve used to talk about finding ‘the one’ all the time, and I thought maybe it just wasn’t something I’d experience. Then I met you. You’re the biggest know-it-all I’ve ever met, but I love the sound of your voice. I promise to always be there with you and for you. You’re my everything and more, and I’ll forever be grateful that Sam dragged me halfway across the world to be a hero because it let me to you. You inspire me every single day to keep going, and I love you, Sweetheart.”

You were both crying now.

Then Sarah had Bucky start.

“Will you, James Buchanan Barnes, have this woman from this day forward, to be your wedded wife, to live and love together, in this sacred state of matrimony? Do you promise to love her, comfort her, honor, and cherish her. For rich or for poor, in sickness and health, in trying times and smooth, all the days of your life?” 

He didn’t hesitate, grasping your hands again. “I do.”

She smiled, looking at you.

“Will you, Y/n Y/l/n, have this man from this day forward, to be your wedded husband, to live and love together, in this sacred state of matrimony? Do you promise to love him, comfort him, honor, and cherish him. For rich or for poor, in sickness and health, in trying times and smooth, all the days of your life?” 

You nodded, “I do.”

“By the power vested in me, you may now kiss the bride.”

Bucky pulled you into him, lips against yours in an instant, the both of you smiling into the kiss as he dipped you, your lips moving in sync while the room filled with cheers, claps, and even a few whistles.

The day was full of emotion, you cried over and over again. During Sam and Joaquin’s speeches you found yourself laughing, crying, and leaning into Bucky, head against his shoulder while you both whispered amongst each other.

The two of you danced to A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. You’d chosen the song, teasing Bucky about it over the span of three weeks prior to the wedding date, constantly making jokes that you’d chosen it because he was ‘like a thousand years old anyways’. But truthfully, you’d chosen the song because it managed to describe every single emotion that he made you feel.

That and one night four months ago you’d drunkenly waltzed to the song in your shared living room. 

He spun you around, the both of you laughing as you stumbled through the front door, wide smiles mirroring one another. Then you started dancing, he was humming, and you were giggling. Bucky’s hands on your waist, practically guiding you through before he intertwined his right hand with your left.

Then you got an idea, gasping as you shoved him slightly before grabbing your phone, a playlist on shuffle that Kate had sent titled ‘love songs that you might enjoy?’. 

The two of you spent two hours smiling, laughing, and dancing in the dimly lit living room, bumping into pieces of furniture every now and then, cycling through different songs from different eras, all of which shared the common thread of love. Then A Thousand Years started playing, and as you looked into his eyes, you knew at that moment, it would be your wedding song.

The rest of the night felt truly magical.

You felt like a princess getting to marry Prince Charming. 

All of the stress from before had finally faded away, you were finally happy, and you were finally Mrs. Barnes.

Bucky was practically insatiable throughout the entire night. The knowledge that you were his wife was chemistry altering for him, you were his in every sense of the word, and he was yours. His domestic fantasy about you with a ring on your finger was finally real, and you were finally his wife. 

He almost pulled an Irish goodbye at his own wedding. Of course you shushed him, forcing him to stay a bit longer, then you both made your dramatic exit as everyone threw flower petals above the two of you, the photographers perfectly capturing the moment, an image that you’d leave framed in your home for decades. 

Once you finally made it back to the large cabin, you smiled at the sight of it being fully decorated, trails of rose petals from the entrance, leading to the bedroom, different sized faux candles lit along the walkway, creating a welcoming ambiance. Then Bucky grasped your hand, a smile on his face as he looked at you.

“Finally don’t have to worry about that professionalism issue huh?”

You laughed at him, biting your bottom lip and nodding. “Guess your idea made sense after all huh? Now, Mr. Barnes, would you do me the honor of taking me to bed and getting me out of this dress?” 

Bucky didn’t need to be told twice, he was scooping you up bridal style and walking down the hallway, smiling as you laughed at him, shaking your head at the flowers all over the house, vases full of roses, rose petals all over the floor, Kate and Yelena had gone all out for you.

He gently put you down, taking a moment to truly admire you, the glow of the candlelight reflecting against your skin, you truly looked beautiful in every sense.

“Can you unzip me?” You turned away from him, moving the mixture of your hair and extensions out of the way, shivering at the feeling of his hands against your shoulders, then he was slowly tugging the long ivory zipper down, the dress cascading down your body onto the floor.

Bucky’s eyes widened at the sight of the matching white lacy lingerie, which also included a thigh garter that made his head fuzzy. Then you spun to face him, stepping out of your heels, looking up at him with a smirk.

You were silent as you unbuttoned his shirt, moving slowly, one by one, all the while he watched you with a lust-filled gaze. Once the shirt was fully open, you gently slid your hands along his torso, stopping at his belt before making eye contact with him.

“Go ahead Mrs. Barnes.” 

The name made you smile, rolling your eyes playfully as you undid his belt. You paused to push his shirt off of his shoulders, he shrugged it the rest of the way off. It was clear he was running out of patience as you toyed with the button of his pants.

Then suddenly he was picking you up and tossing you right onto the bed, a loud creak as your back hit the mattress, the noise had both of you laughing. He raised both brows as he looked at you in a pile of rose petals, biting his bottom lip while unbuttoning his pants and kicking off his own shoes. 

As you spread your legs for him, he easily slotted himself between them, vibranium hand on your throat, pulling you closer to him as he pressed his lips to yours. 

Bucky kissed you like a man starved, all teeth and tongue, moaning against your lips, holding you in place with a firm grip around your throat that had your head spinning. He poured every ounce of love and adoration into the kiss, with a smidge of frustration. 

You bit his bottom lip, giving yourself the chance to pull back slightly, catching your breath, already feeling light headed as you rested your forehead against his. 

His voice was strained as he spoke, as if he was holding back, “Am I wrong if I don’t wanna go slow with you tonight?”

You smiled, laughing a bit, “I never asked for you to go slow with me, James. I’m your wife, so fuck me like it.”Your seductive tone was all he needed to hear, lips back on yours for a brief moment before he was moving his hand away from your neck, trailing wet opened mouthed kissed down your jaw. 

Usually he wouldn’t leave marks, tonight was different though. He was nipping and sucking marks into your skin, listening to the way you whimpered at the feeling of his teeth against your soft skin. He took a moment to bite into your shoulder, lapping his tongue over the inflamed skin. Bucky was staking his claim onto you, he was practically feral.

You moaned as he cupped your tits, squeezing and massaging them before practically ripping the lingerie off of you—earning a loud gasp. He shushed you, his mouth back on your chest, kissing along the swell of your breasts, biting against them slightly before taking a nipple into his mouth.

Your hands were in his hair while his tongue lapped at your hardened peak, then he moved to the other one, using his free hand to lightly tug on your nipple before smacking your breast. 

He moaned against your skin, smacking your tits a few more times, listening to your loud whines and whimpers, smirking at the feeling of you arching into his touch, hips bucking against him slightly.

Eventually he let up, kissing down your stomach, looking up at you as he situated himself between your thighs. 

“Tonights all about you Mrs. Barnes,” he spoke as he ripped off your panties, literally grasping the material at your hip, then tearing it and pushing it out of his way. “I’ll buy you more—fuck keep you dressed up like this for me all the time.”

You nodded, biting your bottom lip as he peppered kisses along your hips, both hands pushing your thighs even further apart. Bucky trailed wet open mouthed kisses to your inner thighs, biting into the supple flesh a few times, coaxing moans out of you. He also tugged on the thigh garter with his teeth, moaning against your skin.

Then he placed a soft kiss to the mound above your cunt before licking a singular flat stripe from your sopping hole to your clit. The motion had you rocking your hips forward.

He used his vibranium arm to keep you still, pinning your lower half to the bed, hand practically bruising as he held onto one of your hips, his other hand steady on your thigh, offering a few smacks while he teased you with his tongue.

Bucky moaned against your cunt several times, letting himself get lost in the taste of you as he licked along your slit, back and forth, over and over again until you were whimpering.

“Baby please—I need more” 

He looked up at you, your hooded eyes staring right back at him. “Anything for you Sweetheart.”

He wrapped his lips around your swollen clit, sucking against it, your moans only motivated him to keep going. He swirled his tongue around your pearl, even lightly grinding his teeth against it. That had your eyes crossed as you tugged on his hair.

The sting against his scalp had him moaning, the vibrations made your toes curl. You were already so close.

Then he pulled back slightly, a ‘pop’ leaving his lips as Bucky let go of your clit, opting to swiftly flick his tongue against it—the way he knew you loved. Then he was tracing his name against it, taking his time with each and every letter, applying just enough pressure to make you scream his name, a rush of euphoria overtaking you.

He laughed at you, biting his bottom lip, “Already cumming for me baby? You didn’t even ask nicely.” 

You whimpered, shaking your head.“Don’t start with me, Bucky.” your voice was strained, words a bit frantic as you tried to catch your breath. However, he didn’t give you a break, his tongue was back on your clit and one of his fingers was sliding into your entrance, the feeling had you whining his name, not Bucky—James.

Then he slid a second finger into you, still lapping at your clit while your walls fluttered around the thick digits, moaning against you as he closed his eyes, getting lost in the taste of your cunt. Bucky slid his tongue to the edge of your sopping hole, gathering your juices, groaning, before moving back to your clit, fingers rapidly fucking into you, hitting the spongy spot inside of you that nearly had you screaming.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t bucking his hips into the mattress.

You were biting your bottom lip, brows knit together, back arched as you tried to rock your hips against him. Still he held you down.

“Take what I give you, baby.” 

You nodded at his words.

“Can I cum—fuck please—let me cum baby—” your moans were getting louder and louder as you tried not to cum.

“C’mon baby, wanna taste more of you—cum for me” 

His voice sent you over the edge, you were creaming along his fingers, cunt squeezing against them as he kept his motions up, prolonging your orgasm in the best way. Then he was slipping his fingers out of you, and usually he’d put them in his own mouth, but you watched as he moved up a bit, raising his arm, then he tugged on your bottom lip with them.

“Know you want a taste—” his voice was deeper than usual, a bit strained as he watched you take his fingers into your mouth, tongue swirling around them, moaning at the taste while holding eye contact with him.

It wasn’t long before his pants were off and he was between your thighs, lips back on yours, relishing in the taste of your cunt contrasting with your usual lip balm. 

Your hands were on either side of his face, kissing him with your all as he struggled to keep up with you. Then you pulled away for a brief moment, whispering, “Need you to fuck me,” against his lips. One of your hands now between your legs, grasping his cock, sliding along the thickness of it for a few seconds as you kissed him.

Then you were angling him towards your cunt, teasing him, running the head of his cock through your dripping slit, even tapping it against your clit a few times, whimpering against his lips. 

He smiled into the kiss, bucking his hips slightly before you angled him perfectly against your entrance. “You sure you don’t want it slow baby?” his voice was low as he spoke, pulling away from the kiss, looking down at you, then glancing between your bodies, groaning at the sight of your smaller hand wrapped around his cock.

“We have a lifetime to go slow James—” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, not when he was bottoming out inside of you, a deep moan leaving him as he filled you to the brim. Your eyes were squeezed shut, hands now on his back, nails digging into his skin while you tried to remember how to breathe.

Bucky rested his head in the crook of your neck, shallow breaths against your skin while he gave you a moment to adjust to his size. “You’re gonna kill me one day,” his voice was strained as he spoke, earning a laugh from you.

“You can move baby,” you were already breathless, then he slowly pulled out of you, taking his time as he thrusted back in. You knew he was trying to go easy on you, giving you the chance to fully adjust to him—but that’s not what you wanted right now. 

“Bucky I need you to fuck me like you mean it.”

He blinked a few times, and it was as if all of his restraint suddenly snapped. Hips pistoning in and out of you as he sat up a bit straighter, two hands making their way to your thighs, pushing them back, practically folding you in half as he fucked into you with no remorse.

Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, pleasure overtaking all of your senses. The world around you faded to dust, all you could focus on was Bucky.

“Take it so fuckin good-fuck look at you baby—so pretty—my pretty fuckin wife.” 

You nodded at him, biting your bottom lip, whimpering as you struggled to keep your eyes open. His hands dug into your thighs as he held you in place, fucking into you like a man possessed.

You started rocking your hips into him, trying your best to meet his thrusts, chasing your own high—moaning his name in a chant as he pounded into you.

His gaze moved from your perfect face down to your cunt, biting his bottom lip as he watched his cock disappear into you, “Cunt’s practically swallowing me whole—fuck always so tight for me—keep taking it baby—just like that.” Bucky smirked at the sight of his cock coated in your cream, your cunt soaking him over and over again.

“Love this little pussy—might even fill ‘er up—you’d like that wouldn’t you baby?” he looked back at you, watching as you stared at him through hooded lust-filled eyes. Lips spread as uncontrollable moans slipped through, brows knit together while you focused on him.

“Yeah, gonna fill this cunt, make it all mine—forever—just like you. Fuck might keep filling you up until it sticks—have you all round with my kid.” he paused, eyes trailing your figure again, biting his bottom lip for a few seconds “—gonna give you my kids baby, make you into my perfect little housewife.” He moved one hand, leaning forward, vibranium hand wrapped around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze-apply just enough pressure to make you forget anything and everything that wasn’t Bucky.

He also had your hips angled a bit more, the new angle giving him room to fuck you deeper, cock stretching you out and filling you sinfully.

“Gonna make you the mother to my kids—keep fuckin filling you all night.” 

You nodded at that.“Please—fuck—need it so bad-” You didn’t even know what you were begging for, part of you needed to cum again, the other part of you wanted nothing more than for Bucky to cum inside of you, fucking you full of himself.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ll always take care of you.” He let go of your other thigh, hand now between your legs, thumb rubbing harsh half-moons against your clit. “C’mon Sweetheart, know you wanna cum—so cum for me,” 

A white heat flooded your body, your eyes squeezing just as you moaned “James—fuck—” orgasm flooding through your entire body, you felt like you were on fire and the only thing that could extinguish it was Bucky.

He moaned at the sight of you gushing around his cock, coating your inner thighs and his cock in your juices as he kept fucking into you. Then he was tensing up, jaw clenched as he shuddered, cumming deep inside of you, moving his hips to fuck it all into you.

It took a few seconds for the both of you to finally relax. You laughed as he practically plopped on top of you, his head against your chest while he groaned. Then your hands were in his hair, toying with the strands as you giggled.

“Consummating the marriage went well I think?” Your voice was a bit hoarse, and he nodded against you, mumbling an ‘mhmmm’, clearly tired from the day.

“I was serious by the way—want you to be the mother to my kids,” he spoke quietly, arms wrapped around your body, holding you even closer to him. 

You knew the topic of kids had always been touchy for Bucky, it wasn’t like he never wanted them, prior to Hydra, he constantly imagined settling down with the right woman, having his own family, two kids running around the house and raising hell. It was a domestic fantasy that he kept to himself, something that he was afraid of talking about because there were too many ‘what-ifs’ involved.

James Buchanan Barnes was a sergeant in the military during one of the largest historical wars, his life was constantly on the line at that point. Then he spent seventy years brainwashed, used as an assassin, and traumatized. He’d done the work, he’d faced his traumas and he was a better person in the end. But in the back of his mind he was always afraid of hurting his loved ones, always afraid that one day something might go wrong, that he might turn back into the monster they’d made him.

You were the one to finally convince him that it wouldn’t happen. That he’d never hurt you or anyone else he cared about, that he wasn’t a monster. You always told him, “Bucky, just because you’ve done bad things, doesn’t make you a bad person.”

You’d even promised to keep reiterating that to him for the rest of his life. 

Four months following the wedding you’d been feeling sick for two weeks straight. 

So sick in fact that you couldn’t keep anything down and would wake up at random hours throughout the night and early morning to vomit, mumbling that you were ‘praying to the porcelain gods’ anytime he asked if you were alright. 

Bucky was always up with you, kneeling beside you in the bathroom, holding your hair back, making sure you were alright as he rubbed reassuring circles into your back. Half the time he was still partially asleep, rubbing his eyes while asking you the same question multiple times between yawns.

It wasn’t until Kate and Joaquin showed up to your Brooklyn apartment with concerned expressions and a CVS bag in hand that you’d even considered the possibility of being pregnant.

“I need you to piss on these sticks.” 

You scoffed at Joaquin, throwing a pillow at him while you sat up in your bedroom. You’d been laying down in a pile of blankets and pillows that you’d sprayed with Bucky’s cologne. He had to be in D.C. for a few hearings and given your ongoing illness, you weren’t fit to travel.

So instead you hunkered down, with a basket full of saltines and ginger ale for four days, constantly reheating a pot of soup Yelena had made for you with the help of Alexei. She’d mumbled several words in Russian that you didn’t understand when she was cooking it, arguing with her father on the phone as he told her she was adding too much or too little of something.

Joaquin and Kate stood side-by-side in your bedroom, he held up two boxes of pregnancy tests, each a different brand, while Kate held the CVS bag and a new bottle of ginger ale. 

It had taken an hour of convincing before you were in the bathroom, taking multiple pregnancy tests while Kate leaned against the sink and Joaquin stood outside of the door, doing his best to be ‘encouraging’.

“If I strangle him, will you help me hide his body? Actually, Bucky’s coming back tonight, maybe he’ll help me.” 

Kate shook her head at you, glancing down at the four tests sitting on the countertop, then at her phone with a timer set. You were seated on top of the closed toilet, one leg rapidly bouncing up and down.

“Y’know how excited Joaquin is at the potential to be an uncle? Y’know I was sparring at the tower with Walker when he randomly stormed in and said we needed to go to CVS as soon as possible.” She then motioned to her clothes.

“I assumed you were just into the athleisure look. It’s fine Kate! It looks good on you. I think maybe we should let him in now, he’s probably pacing outside looking insane.” She nodded, then opened the door, the two of you watching Joaquin suddenly stop in his steps, eyes wide as he walked into the doorframe, leaning against it as he looked at you two.

“Well?! What do they say?” you shrugged, glancing at Kate.

“Timers not up yet, we don’t know.” Kate looked back at her phone as she spoke, then at the tests on the counter, her eyes widening before doing a double take. “Uh…well…we’ve got like two minutes left but I don’t think we’ll need them.”

You shot up from your seat, grabbing one of the tests, eyes wide as you stared at it, the positive sign staring right back. Then you looked at the other three—all positives.

“Oh shit!” 

Joaquin practically shoved you out of the way to see them, then he turned around and pulled you and Kate into a group hug “This is so exciting! I’m gonna be an uncle! Oh my god how are you gonna tell your husband?! Shit, I need to call my girlfriend!” 

You immediately shushed him, shoving him away while shaking your head, one test still in hand as you pointed it at him. “No—you’re not telling anyone! Not until I tell Bucky! We’re not having a repeat of my engagement!” Then you turned to Kate, pointing the test at her too “That goes for you too! Don’t tell a soul!”

Joaquin slowly nodded, “What about Peter?” You raised a single brow and he cracked, “Okay, I told Peter that Buck might’ve knocked you up! But to be fair! To be fair! It was because I wanted him to go to CVS with me and Kate—but he’s with his girlfriend.”

You smacked Joaquin with a bottle of hand soap. 

Then you heard the door open. Blinking a few times, the sound caught you off guard. Your shocked expression met Kate and Joaquin’s who ushered you out of the bathroom before slamming the ensuite door shut.

By the time that Bucky walked into your shared bedroom, you were already back in bed, tucked under your layers. He relaxed at the sight of you, a smile on his face while he shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Missed you baby, you feeling better?” He spoke as he approached you, pulling off his tie and unbuttoning the first few buttons of his white dress shirt. Then he was leaning into your space, one hand on the bed to brace himself as he kissed you. 

You couldn’t hold it in, and you were shoving him off of you as you sat up. He blinked a few times, and you knew he was worried he’d done something wrong. But you immediately shushed him the second his mouth opened to say something.

“I’m pregnant and Joaquin and Kate are in the bathroom hiding and I didn’t think you’d be home until tonight and holy fucking shit I’m gonna have a baby—your baby.” You spoke so fast you hardly even registered what you were saying.

He blinked a few times, brows knit together as he tried to process what you’d just said, all he’d gotten was ‘Joaquin and Kate…bathroom…baby’. He then sat down beside you, grabbing your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Sweetheart, I need you to slow down and say it again.”

You sighed, nodding your head, eyes watering for some reason as you looked into his eyes. “James, I’m pregnant, and Joaquin and Kate are hiding in the bathroom because I thought you’d be home later tonight and they had me take the tests, and they’re all positive.”

Bucky nodded slowly, shock evident on his features while he stared at you.

“So we’re gonna have a baby?” 

You nodded “We’re gonna have a baby.” Then your tears started falling while he pulled you into a hug, planting a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re gonna look so good pregnant.” 

You knew he was joking, trying to make you feel better, and truthfully it worked. You moved to kiss him, a soft, tender kiss. Then you leaned your forehead against his, “We’re gonna have a baby.”

Joaquin practically fell through the bathroom door with Kate on top of him, both of them had clearly been eavesdropping, and whoever used the doorknob for leverage was an idiot (newsflash, it was Joaquin). They both groaned in pain at the impact, blinking a few times while you and Bucky stared at them.

“Get the hell out, both of you.” Bucky’s voice had their eyes widening, both shooting up and mumbling awkward goodbyes. Once they were out, you started laughing, lightly swatting his arm.

“You’ve gotta stop intimidating everyone like that! They’re just excited for us. But just so you know, we’re gonna be getting a lot of calls soon about the whole baby situation.” 

He nodded. “Is now a bad time to say that Sam’s in the living room?”

-

As always thanks for reading sexies <3 feedback is appreciated!!!

[tyrantisterror]

Ok one last bit that's been gnawing at me. So, like, the resolution of Lilo and Stitch could be (and probably has been) criticized for presenting an impossibly happy ending to Lilo and Nani's very real problem - the solution to the issue of their family being pulled apart is to have aliens from Outer Space make protecting them a matter of intergalactic peace, forcing the United States government to offer them more support, and also having two aliens (one of which is a mad scientist) stay and help out around the house. Not exactly a workable solution for real people with these issues.

I would argue that this is, in fact, the point of that resolution. I think you're supposed to look at Lilo and Nani's situation, see how cruel and horrible the real world solution of "tear these two sisters away from each other for their own supposed good" is, and then sit there and think, "Well, surely it shouldn't take the miraculous intervention of fictional aliens to solve this issue in real life." Why can't, like, real humans do that work? Why couldn't the U.S. government better fund social workers so they could keep these small families together, why can't communities band together around those who are suffering the way these fictional aliens banded together for Lilo and Nani? Why is the solution presented here, which CAN be done by humans, only feasible to us in a fictional world full of whimsical aliens?

Lilo and Nani's happy ending requiring the intervention of fantastical made up beings isn't a flaw, it's a crucial feature. It's the point.

Because there is no world in which the "solution" that real life would offer - i.e. Nani losing custody of Lilo and, at best, visiting her occasionally - is a happy ending. The movie establishes so, so clearly that the vast majority of Lilo's problems are a result of fear of rejection and abandonment. Her parents are dead, she will never see them again. The kids at school treat her like a rabid dog. Other adults treat her with well-intentioned condescension at best and visible anxiety at worst. Only Nani loves her unconditionally (well, and Stitch too eventually), and in fact Nani is the only one who actively fights to keep Lilo around. You think that kid's behavior is going to improve from having the government step in and say, "Nah, you can't have your sister in your life the way you used to. She has to leave you." Fuck no, dude! Her trauma's just going to get worse, and the bad behaviors she has a result of it are going to get more extreme!

I feel stupid for even having to write that out - the movie cannot make it more plain and obvious how bad of an idea it is to separate Nani and Lilo, how cruel it is, how it does nothing to solve the real problems these girls face, and how it's ignoring what they both need, which is support from their community, not isolation from it. The movie is not subtle about this! It is in fact very, very blunt about the need for a big community - AN OHANA, if you will!

So, again, it'd be REALLY, UNFATHOMABLY STUPID to adapt this story and, say, decide to end it with Nani losing custody of Lilo so she can live on her own! Kind of unthinkably cruel too! Just really bad story telling! I don't know how dumb and inhuman you'd have to be yourself to want to change the story that way!

It'd be a bad idea!

Fuck it, I didn't want to make a post on this but it's bugging the hell out of me so let's exorcize the thought.

Lilo and Stitch is an extremely good children's movie. I've been working at a daycare for over five years now, and out of all the children's movies I've shown to an auidence of twenty or so school-age kids (i.e. between the ages of 5 and 12), the only movie that's held their attention as well as Lilo and Stitch is The Emperor's New Groove, and the only one that's held it better is An American Tail. Of those three, Lilo and Stitch has won the vote of "what movie we will watch" the most. It not only entertains kids, but emotionally captivates them from start to finish, because it very thoroughly understands how to engage children on their level. It's a smart, tightly written children's movie.

The feat of story-telling genius it pulls of lies in its ability to reach both where children's imaginations want to go and where their lived real-world experiences lie - most children's movies focus on one or the other, but Lilo and Stitch dives deep into both. On the imagination side, there's Stitch's whole plotline of being a little alien monster being chased by other weirdo aliens onto earth because they want to stop him from running amok and causing havoc (which, of course, happens anyway in fun cartoony comedy/action spectacle). On the real-world side, you have Lilo's plotline of being a troubled little girl who has an abundance of very real problems that, like an actual child, she struggles to comprehend and deal with, as well as the many adults in her life that care about her to some degree but all struggle to fully understand her. Kids want to be Stitch and run amok and cause cartoony havoc. Kids, even the least-troubled kids, relate to Lilo, because all of them have been in a similar situation as her at least once in their lives.

Balancing these two very different stories, with very different tones and scopes to their respective conflicts, is a hard writing task, but Lilo and Stitch manages to do it in a way that seems effortless with one very powerful trick. The two plots are direct mirrors to each other, complete with the characters involved in each having foils in the respective plot. To break it down:

Stitch, the wild and destructive alien gremlin who everyone has labeled as a crime against existence, is Lilo, the troubled young girl who's viewed as a "problem child" by all the adults in her life. In both plotlines, Stitch and Lilo are facing the threat of being "taken away" from the life they know because they act out, and in both plotlines, we see that this is an unfathomably cruel thing to do to them and will not actually solve the problems they have.

Dr. Jumbaa, the mad scientist who made Stitch because making monsters is what mad scientists do, and who had no intentions of ever being nurturing or parental to anything or anyone in his life, is Nani, Lilo's older sister whose parents died when she was young and now is forced to act as a parental substitute despite not being mentally or emotionally prepared for that responsibility yet. Both Dr. Jumbaa and Nani are trying to get their respective wild children in line with what society wants them to be, and both are struggling hard with it because they in turn have a lot of growing to do before they can actually accomplish that.

Pleakley, the nebbish alien bureaucrat who ends up being assigned to help Dr. Jumbaa despite being mostly uninvolved in creating the whole Stitch situation, is David, the nice but mostly ineffectual guy who's crushing on Nani and wants to help her but doesn't really have much he can provide except emotional support. Ultimately Pleakley and David prove that said emotional support is a lot more helpful than it seems on the surface, as they give Jumbaa and Nani respectively a lot of the pushes they need to become better in their parental roles.

The Grand Councilwoman, who runs the society of aliens that is trying to banish Stitch forever for his crime of existing, is Cobra Bubbles, the Child Protective Services agent who is in charge of deciding whether or not Lilo needs to be taken away from her home forever for, ostensibly, her own good. Both are well-intentioned and stern, with a desire to follow the rules of society and do what procedure says is the most humane thing to do in this situation, but both lack the understanding of Stitch/Lilo's situation to actually help until the end of the movie.

Finally, we have Captain Gantu, the enforcer of the Galactic Council who is a mean, aggressive, sadistic brute but is viewed as a "good guy" by society because he plays by its rules (well, when he knows can't get away with breaking them, anyway), who is the counterpart of Myrtle, the mean, aggressive, sadistic schoolyard bully who is viewed as a "good kid" by other adults because she plays by the rules they established (well, when she knows she can't get away with breaking them, anyway). Both Gantu and Myrtle are, in truth, much nastier in temperament than Stitch and Lilo, but are better at hiding it in front of others and so get away with it, and often make Stitch and Lilo look worse in the eyes of others by provoking them to violence and then playing the victim about it - in fact, both even have the same line, "Does this look infected to you?", which they say after goading their respective wild-child victims into biting them.

The symmetry of these two plotlines allows them to actually feed into each other and build each other up instead of fighting each other for screentime. The fantastical nature of Stitch's plot adds whimsy to the far more realistic problems that Lilo faces so they don't get too heavy for the children in the audience, while the very real struggles of Lilo in her plotline bleed over into Stitch's plot and make both very emotionally poignant. When both plotlines hit their shared climax, they reach children on a emotional level few other movies can match - the terror of Lilo being taken away from her family, and the emotional complexity of that problem (Cobra Bubbles pointing to Lilo's ruined house and shouting at Nani, "IS THIS WHAT LILO NEEDS?" is so starkly real and heart-breaking), is matched and echoed in the visual splendor and mania of the spectacular no-way-this-is-going-to-work chase scene where Stitch, Nani, Jumbaa, and Pleakley all team up to rescue Lilo from Gantu.

The arcs of the characters all more or less line up. Nani confronts her own failures to be a guardian and parent to Lilo and resolves to do better and learn from her mistakes. Jumbaa, who through most of the movie protests to be evil and uncaring, nonetheless comes to not only care for Pleakley, but more importantly for Stitch too, and ends up assuming the role he never wanted but nonetheless forced himself into from the start: he is Stitch's family. Hell, the moment that reveals this is really clever - Stitch goes out into the wilderness to try and re-enact a scene from a storybook of The Ugly Duckling, hoping, in a very childish way, that his family will show up and love him. Jumbaa arrives and, coldly but not particularly cruelly, tells Stitch that he has no family - that Stitch wasn't born, but created in a lab by Jumbaa himself. But in that moment Jumbaa is proving himself wrong - because Stitch's creator, his parent, DID show up, and did exactly what happens in the story by telling Stitch the truth of what he is. It can't be a surprise, then, that later in the movie Jumbaa ends up deciding to side with Stitch, to help him save Lilo, and to stay on Earth with his child.

David and Pleakley go from being pushed away by Nani and Jumbaa respectively to essentially becoming their partners in the family. The Grand Councilwoman and Cobra Bubbles finally see how cruel their initial solution of isolating Stitch and Lilo from their family would be, and bend the rules they are supposed to enforce to protect and support this weird found family instead of breaking it apart. Gantu and Myrtle are recognized for the assholes they are and face comeuppance in the form of comedic slapstick pratfalls. And most importantly, Stitch and Lilo both get the emotional support and understanding they need to thrive and live happy lives as children should be allowed to do. It's like poetry, it rhymes.

It's a very precise, smartly written movie. It's a delicate balancing act of tone and emotions, with a very strong theme about the need for family and understanding that hits children in their hearts and imaginations. It's extremely well structured.

...

So it'd be kind of colossally fucking stupid to remake it and start fucking around with the core structure of it, chopping out pieces and completely altering others, with no real purpose beyond "Well, the executives thought it might be better if we did this."

[sanguineterrain]

Jason Todd being a freak of a man ♡

AKA weird/borderline red flag behaviors that Jason exhibits. TW mention of self harm in a passive way.

You got a period? He's tracking that.

Watches you sleep. The worst part (or the best for him) is that he's so good at being quiet that you've never woken up to catch him.

Jason gets the building plans for your apartment/house so he can identify weak spots, renovations, etc. He also likes to identify places that he can hide in. Just in case. :)

Jason's memorized every squeaky stair or door hinge in your place so he knows what to avoid so he won't make a sound.

He would hurt himself for you if he needed to. Take a bullet, break his wrist, whatever. Jason won't tell you because you'll get all concerned which is SO unnecessary because it's not going to change anything. You may not realize how precious you are but Jason does.

Sometimes Jason cups your neck and you think he's being sexy but he's actually checking your pulse.

He's made a copy of all of your keys. He knows all of your passwords. He doesn't break in or login to your laptop or phone (he doesn't need a password to do that anyway) but he has them for emergencies.

When you were first dating, Jason secretly ran an allergy test on you (don't ask how. He just did.) This was because he didn't want to bring you food you'd be allergic to or take you somewhere where you might have an allergic reaction.

Jason has a blood sample from you without your knowledge. He knows your blood type and significant DNA markers.

Sometimes Jason gets afraid that you're losing interest in him (because he's paranoid) so there are times where he brings you food every day and runs errands for you and makes himself extra available. It... borders on Pavlovian training.

He has a secret cabin far from Gotham, in case you ever want to leave for whatever reason. Jason mostly has it in case he or you ever committed a serious crime and needed to go on the lam.

He would break you out of jail, if that wasn't obvious. You'd have to do something disgustingly unforgivable to make him leave you there. Seriously. Jason has a low bar.

If you two had to leave the country, Jason also has several contingency plans for that.

Jason has at least sixty plans for what to do if you fall into some kind of danger or if he becomes indisposed and can't get to you. You do not know about these plans. You will never know about them unless they're needed.

If you get pregnant, Jason will know first.

He has hidden weapons in your place. No, you won't find them. No, they're not all guns.

Jason can do any kind of shopping for you. This is because he's so observant that he's memorized what kind of food you eat, what clothes you wear, what products you buy, what furniture you like, etc.

Jason has a shameful, repressed fantasy of you becoming a supervillain and making him your partner in crime. He would consent to this in a heartbeat. He knows you'd have a very good reason to turn evil.

Jason Todd would kill for you.

Sometimes he has nightmares that you're gone and Jason has to rest his head on your chest and listen to your heartbeat to fall back asleep.

Jason has another buried fantasy of you being a mad scientist and doing experiments on him. Do you want to do experiments on him? Please say yes.

At least three of your belongings (jewelry, headphones, shirt tags, etc) have an embedded tracker in them.

Jason always seats you so you'd be able to escape an area quickly (i.e., putting you in the aisle seat at a theater).

When Jason's on a mission and he's trying to force himself to do the right thing, he'll say "(Your Name) would want me to be good. I'll be good for them." You're kind of his god. Whatever works, right?

When you were first dating, Jason made a little shrine of your things in his apartment. He also stole some of your clothes so he could smell you at home (he replaced them so you wouldn't notice! So thoughtful.)

Jason has a lock of your hair for... reasons. You never know when you'll need someone's hair. 🤷‍♀️

The last person who figured out Jason's civilian identity and commented on you landed in the ICU. They didn't make it. So sad.

Jason replicated your scent in a lab and bottled it as a perfume. He sprays it when he's away on a job and misses you.

That's all I have for now! Perhaps there will be more weirdo Jason behaviors in the future 🥰

[100vern]

in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[meanderingwistera]

Suguru is the hottest dad in the kindergarten pick up line. He has a charming personality and is always on time. His car is always first in line, blasting Black Sabbath and Metallica as he waits, leaning back against the car. His arms crossed and his sleeves riding up to show just a hint of ink on his upper arms.

It really is no surprise that all the Mothers (both single and not) flock to him like moths to a flame. They try not to be too obvious about it and make up little excuses to talk to him, like getting that cookie recipe he made for the school bake sale a few months ago and so on.

You are not completely oblivious to his magnetic pull but your position as the girl’s teacher puts you in a bind. You really don’t want to date one of the Dads of your kids. As much as you would love to give into his advances you want to keep it professional.

Sadly you are failing miserably at it.

His funny little quips and deep chuckles turn you into a blushing mess. He seems to enjoy that, pushing you as far as he can get. Suguru always has an innocent smile on his face as he shamelessly flirts with you as you hand over the twins. You feel like you may have a heart attack if this continues.

After a particularly hard week your car breaks down. You don’t exactly know what is wrong with it considering you only know how to change a tire and absolutely nothing else. Luckily you aren’t too far from a car shop.

You call the car shop and they send someone out to tow you in. The man sent out, who you can see from his name badge is Sukuna, is gruff and barely talks to you as he instructs you to put into neutral so he can hook up your car to the back of his truck.

You sigh in relief once you are at the car shop. Sukuna doesn’t say anything after his job is done, he just walks away. He is a little rude but at least you aren’t on the side of the road somewhere so you don’t mention it.

“Well-” Suguru’s teasing voice comes from behind you, “I never thought I would see you here.”

His grin is wide and shows off a pair of silver snake bites you have never seen before. He looks up and down horribly slow. You try to formulate a basic sentence but come up short.

“I- umm- I- broke down.” You offer to him and he chuckles.

“I see that. Let me take a look at it.”

You watch as he checks your car over. He knows what he is doing and you just hope that he can fix it so you don’t have to get a new car. Getting a new car on teacher’s salary would suck.

“It’s the battery-” Suguru wipes his hands off with a rag as he tells you his diagnosis, “the battery has also damaged the alternator so we will have to replace both to make sure that the alternator doesn’t damage a new battery.”

You nod with a dejected expression, at least you don’t have to get a new car.

“Also, I will need to keep it here for a few days while we wait for a new alternator.” He says and you try not to panic.

How will you get to work? You need your car!

“I know that it will be difficult to find a ride so do you want me to take you? We do go to the same place every day.” His offer is genuine and a little nervous if you look closely.

Maybe accepting his help won’t be so bad.

“Sure.”

[written-in-knife]

Hello! Love your Floyd fic and may I ask a request about Reader/Yuu having a crush on Floyd, but Floyd is not ready to commit yet/doesnt see the point of it so reader keeps getting lead on and reader realizes that it would go to nowhere so they stopped pursuing. Floyd was supposed to be happy that the courting stopped but found out that he can't stop looking at reader interacting with someone else other than him.

Basically like the Flipped movie, just wholesome/hurt/comfort with the main theme of figuring out ones feelings. Reader and Floyd don't require to be together in the end just like in the Flipped movie but Im fine if they get together too! Im torn between the two. Please disregard this if you don't feel comfy creating it ^^

Disappointed

Floyd Leech x gn!reader one-sided both ways, background Ace Trappola x gn!reader, not explicit, could easily be read as platonic and/or fake dating

they/them pronouns, is THIS angst? I think this is angst, background hurt/comfort for reader but not Floyd :)

Word Count: 1098

I've never seen Flipped, but I love this premise and I'm going to make it Worse :) pretty short but this is what we call a tasty little morsel lmaoo

Floyd knew you were interested in him, how could he not? You made it so obvious. He thought it was funny at first, how you kept handing him little trinkets and rushing away, eventually getting brave enough to hang around him. But you kept coming, even on his bad days. For months, you kept stopping by the Mostro Lounge or catching him in the hallways or showing up to basketball games. It stopped being so fun after awhile. He'd thrown most of the trinkets that you'd given him away, not really interested in your courting attempts in the first place. It was just fun for him to watch you flit around like the little shrimp you were. He never stopped you, even if he knew this would never go further than your silly little attempts.

You'd brought him a tiny blown glass eel you'd found in town after a basketball game, catching him before he went into the locker room. You handed it to him with that same hopeful smile you always had on your face, and he took it from you with the same minimal acknowledgement that he always did. The second the door closed behind him in the locker room, he tossed the little eel into the trash with as much acknowledgement as he'd given you before moving to change out of his uniform.

"What was that?" Ace scoffed as he pulled off his jersey, tossing it into his locker haphazardly.

"Shrimpy keeps givin' me crap I don't want." Floyd shrugged, moving over to his locker as Ace gave him a confused look. "I've just been throwin' it away."

He didn't pay any attention as Ace moved over to the garbage, pulling the little glass figure out of the bin with a loud huff.

"You could just tell 'em you don't want it, you know." Ace snapped at him, taking the figure back to his locker. "They spent money on this crap trying to get you to notice them! Quit leading 'em on!"

Floyd rolled his eyes dramatically as he turned to Ace, glaring him down. "And hafta see 'em cry or somethin'? Hard pass."

You knew you were being blatantly obvious about your attraction to Floyd, you thought he might've been flirting back whenever he teased you about it. What you perceived as flirting was the only thing keeping you from getting discouraged after so long trying to court him. You didn't realize exactly how wrong you were until Ace came to find you when he was done in the locker room, the glass blown figure you'd given Floyd in his hands. Your heart sank as he apologized, telling you that he'd watched Floyd throw it away the second you wouldn't see, that apparently that's where all your gifts had gone. In the trash. You were embarrassed and disappointed, a lot of Floyd's actions making much more sense to you now. You took the figure back with trembling fingers, trying to put on a brave face for your friend, but you were devastated. You'd tried really hard to pick out things you thought Floyd would like, you thought you might've been getting somewhere. It hurt to find out where all that effort was really going.

Floyd noticed before the end of the week that you hadn't come by. You'd become a regular presence in his life, not necessarily daily, but often enough that your absence was notable. At first, he really didn't care much, it was one less thing he had to deal with. But something nagged at the back of his head about it. He tried to ignore it, but it was making his mood significantly worse. He didn't even know what it was, he was supposed to be happy that you weren't hanging around him all the time... wasn't he?

He didn't start to realize what the feeling was until he saw you weeks later. Basketball practice had just let out and he spotted you in the hall outside the locker room. Before he could go over and ask where you'd been, Ace pushed past him to you, throwing an arm around your shoulders and poking at your cheek. He watched you laugh at whatever Ace had said as the two of you turned away from him to leave. The nagging feeling in the back of his head returned tenfold, surprising him as he watched you disappear around a corner. Why was he jealous of Ace? He hadn't been interested before, why would he be jealous of something he didn't want? It wasn't even on purpose, it felt more like karma that Floyd kept seeing you in the halls every day now. Always with Ace. He saw the delighted smiles on your face, the way you would blush and smack his chest when he whispered in your ear, the damn arm that was always around your shoulders. You'd sure moved on quick, if you could call multiple weeks quick. And why wouldn't you? Ace had likely told you what Floyd had been doing after he found out, he was probably there to comfort you in the aftermath, he was one of your best friends after all. Rationalizing it in his head didn't help, he still had an awful pit in his gut whenever he saw the two of you. You leaving him alone was what he wanted anyways, wasn't it?

Floyd let it go on for a few more weeks, even Jade tried to figure out what had him so upset. But how could Jade help when Floyd couldn't figure out his own feelings about it? It came to a head after another basketball practice, back in the locker room. Floyd was slow to get changed, waiting until Ace had gotten dressed and was about to leave.

"So you and Shrimpy, huh?" He asked as Ace walked past, trying to keep his tone casual.

"You snooze you lose?" Ace offered with a shrug, shooting him a smirk before walking out of the locker room.

"Yeah..." Floyd muttered to himself.

He sat in the feeling for a moment, finally able to see it for what it was. He was disappointed. Disappointed he hadn't realized sooner, disappointed he hadn't just turned you down so he could maybe try himself later. Disappointed it wasn't him. You had become such a regular presence in his life, he hadn't realized he was taking it for granted. Hadn't realized that when he stopped finding your courting fun, it wasn't because he didn't like it, it had just stopped being surprising. And he had no one to blame but himself.

I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE MY WORK TO TRAIN AI

MASTERLIST

[hanquokkasjeekies]

[how they react to you being angry/horny] - lee know

stray kids scenarios/headcanons

idol!lee know x f!reader word count: 0.4k (kinda not proofread) genre: smut, established relationship, (angst- if you squint) warnings: dry humping ⋆ slight dom/sub dynamics ⋆ dom(ish)!lee know

ot8 list

~ ~ ~

ovulation

you had woken up an hour before lee know. you were already showered, changed and had eaten breakfast– all while lee know’s been fast asleep in your bed. 

any other time of the month, you wouldn't have a problem with this; but not now, not when it happens to be the first day you're ovulating. no, today it was unacceptable.

you burst into your bedroom and you're met with the sight of lee know, still in bed and looking like the gorgeous model he is. 

with a hand draped over his eyes to block the sunlight and his top ridden up exposing his toned body– he looks unfairly handsome, practically unreal. 

you sit down beside him on the edge of the bed and resist the urge to run your fingers through his messy hair.

you know he’s awake. it’s so obvious that he’s just pretending to sleep even though you're right next to him. 

so you take a deep breath. 

“lee minho, i’ve been eating breakfast alone every day for the past week– aren’t you ashamed that you’re still in bed at this time of day?” 

“10 o’clock isn’t that late…” lee know mumbles, interrupting your rant.

“well it feels late when it’s like i’m living alone until you decide to appear halfway through the day.” 

you’re aware it’s not as big a deal as you’re making it… but you just find it so unfair that he’s so relaxed and calm while it’s taking you every bit of self control to not make out with his adorable sleepy face.

“it’s my day off, you know that right? and... is it so wrong to sleep in anyway?”

something flickers in his eyes, like he’s just remembered something important. he slowly sits up, smirking. he's manspreading now and you can't help but think about how delicious his thighs look- even through his sweatpants.

“ahh, that’s right– you’re ovulating, aren’t you?.” 

“what– how do you know that-”

“you think i don't keep track of your cycle?” he lets out a slight chuckle, “it's silly to think i wouldn't even know such a basic thing about you, sweetheart.” he pulls you over by your waist so you’re on top of him. 

“i know what you want; why you’re angry– so how about you work for it, hmm? show me how much you want me.”

your legs shake as you move to straddle him and you feel your face heat up. you try to give him a glare but fail when he presses his thigh on your clothed cunt and a moan escapes your throat. he smiles as you slowly move your hips so you’re grinding on him.

he holds your hips and pushes you down firmly, making you breath shudder.

“that’s it, sweetheart, –wanna see you cum all over me ~”

[heavyhitterheaux]

You're My Home

See Me Through You Blurb

Synopsis: You and Joe go house hunting in anticipation of you moving to Ohio once you graduate from LSU

Pairing: Boyfriend!Joe Burrow x Girlfriend!Reader

Requested by: beautiful anon 💕

Series Masterlist

Please Do Not Repost My Content Anywhere

“I don't like the kitchen. Too small. My apartment kitchen is bigger.”

–

“Babe, this bathroom isn't big enough. I can't even fit my face products in here.”

–

“Did she really show us this house? Is this the best she can do? I thought you said she had a good rating?”

–

“Joey, this is UGLY. ADMIT IT! Forget trying to be nice! Like everything needs to get replaced.”

–

“Bubssss, this can't be the closet. We can fit one shirt in here between the both of us and maybe one shoe. And your feet are way bigger than mine.”

–

It was currently your summer break before you started your last year at LSU and you and your boyfriend were house hunting.

After he had graduated from LSU and moved back home to Ohio, he wasted absolutely no time in telling you that he wanted you with him as soon as you graduated. His thought was to look for a house the next time you came to visit him, but instead you told him to get something small for now and once it got closer to you graduating then the two of you would go house hunting.

And apparently it was not going well… at all.

In the back of your mind, you honestly thought that you were being difficult and was trying your hardest not to be but however, Joe could read you like a book so there was literally no use in trying to lie. If you didn't like something he could immediately tell.

And besides you liked what you liked, and you should thoroughly enjoy and love where you and Joe would truly be starting your forever lives together.

He hadn't proposed yet, but had been holding onto your ring for almost a year. It wasn’t a secret to anyone how he felt about you, but wanted it to be absolutely perfect.

Plenty of times he would pull it out and stare at it while playing with it. He had changed the design multiple times until he felt that it was a perfect fit for you.

This had to be the eighth house that the two of you looked at during the week since you had landed and you were once again not impressed. The two of you were currently in the master bedroom when Joe heard you sigh.

“Baby doll, what's wrong with it?” He asked as he came up behind you to wrap his arms around your waist.

“I… I'm sorry. I feel that I'm being really difficult with this house hunting thing.”

“No you aren't. I want you to feel comfortable and not to settle. If you don't like it then you don't like it.”

“I just… it doesn't feel right. It doesn't feel like us.”

“Then we keep going until something does. We literally have almost an entire year before you graduate.”

“But I wanted to do it before that. I feel if we wait too long we'll be rushing.” You told him as you went to see how big the closet and bathrooms were.

“When the perfect house comes along, we'll know.”

“But what if it doesn't?” You asked as he grabbed your hand and was now leading you back down the stairs.

“We have one more to look at tomorrow and if you don't like it, I'll build you one.” Joe told you as he shrugged.

“Wait, what? But you have to like it too.”

“And we'll design it together so that it has everything that we want.”

“Now, I feel like I'm really being difficult.” You told him as he closed the front door behind the two of you.

“That's not being difficult at all. If my wife asks for something, I'll do my best to get it for her.” He told you and your cheeks immediately heated up and turned around to look at him.

“You called me your wife.” You said as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Mm hmm, you are my wife, right? Calling it like I see it. Just unofficially since you don't have your ring just yet.” He replied as he kissed the tip of your nose.

“You really want to be stuck with me forever?” You asked.

“I thought that much was obvious. I haven’t run away yet.”

“I don't know. You could change your mind tomorrow. You know I'll probably ask you at the altar before we say our vows just to be sure, right?”

“And my answer isn't going to change. Even when you send me a venmo requesting 11.19 for being a good girlfriend.” Joe snorted as he opened the passenger side door for you and closed it.

You waited until he was settled in the car to respond while letting out a small laugh.

“I literally don't see the problem. And I'll do it again when we're officially married, requesting whatever the wedding date is. I thought it was a good idea so you have no excuse to forget our anniversary.”

“It is ingrained in my brain so that isn't happening any time soon.”

As he started driving back to the condo where he was residing temporarily, he grabbed your hand and brought it up to his mouth and lightly kissed it before rubbing small circles on the back of it.

“You want to know something?” Joe asked and you turned to look at him.

“What's that?”

“It honestly doesn't matter where we end up finding a house or building it because my home is wherever you are. And that's something that is never going to change. No matter how far apart we are.”

“And that feeling is mutual. You've always been my safe space even when we were just friends. I don't think I give you enough credit because you definitely saved me.”

“No I didn't. You saved yourself and I just helped you to realize your worth. And don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise or let anyone dim your light.”

[ducky-women]

Barcelona’s Plan (More like Alexia and Aitana’s)

Alexia Putellas x Reader (platonic), Aitana Bonmati x Reader (platonic), Barcelona femeni x Reader

Sumarry: Alexia and Aitana being lunatics together

Maserlist

Author's note: I know the kit is not the appropiate one for the timeline but that's how I imagine them being at some point in the fic, also hope you like it, remember English is not my first lenguage so I'm sorry if there are mistakes if you see one you can point it out so I can know about it also sorry if it's a little bit shorter than the others, enjoy <3

....

“Ale please go to sleep” Irene muttered while taking her pillow out from under her head and cramming in on top of it, trying to block out the light and the sound of Alexia’s maniac clicking of her iPad

“Can’t, I’m planning and sadly for you my plans come at me in the middle of the night” Alexia grumbled while waiting for a moment and then erasing everything she had written on the Ipad

“This is going to be a long night” Irene muttered sadly

“Why don’t you come and help me instead of being miserable” Alexia said while glancing briefly towards her, Irene counted on her head to five just to prevent herself from strangling Alexia

“Alright what are we doing” Irene muttered while getting up and going towards Alexia in her desk, when she arrived she glanced towards the screen and saw a bunch of plays and positions and statistics being displayed “What is this” she asked Alexia

“I’m trying all of the possibilities and combinations with Alejandra in Barcelona” Alexia told her as if it was obvious “Did you know that she plays multiple positions?” Alexia said excitedly while turning to look at her

“Really?” Consider Irene intrigued, ok sue her, the kids really intrigued her “What positions does she play?”

“Well Salma found old footage of her, from when she played in little tournaments before the national team and she basically plays everything except goalie and defense, but defense only if she can, if she needs to, she can do it”

“Wait Salma? You enlisted a 19 year old to help you?” Irene asked while side eyeing Alexia, her friend was really starting to worry her

“Yes, her, Ona and Aitana helped me find the footage, Aitana has half of it so she can formulate her own tactics and we’re going to compare them during breakfast tomorrow morning” Irene just closed her eyes

“Yeah Ale, my brain is fried, I can’t help you” Irene told the midfielder while rubbing her eyes trying to not fall asleep while standing

“That’s fine, go to sleep” Alexia answered while scribbling something in the screen

“Yeah, I don’t think I will” Irene whispered while walking towards her bed, she waited for a moment and then took her headphones to try and at least muffle the sounds of Alexia writing in her iPad

….

“Look if we move replace her with Oshoala we have a better chance at scoring or if we change her with Mariona she can help Patri on the wing and that will transition into beautiful goals” Aitana muttered to Alexia next morning during breakfast

“Yes but we can also give Lucy more rest and now with Ona as a full back too we can try them together, they are fast paced so they will be able to support you, Caro and anyone else up but still be back if the defense needs help” Alexia whispered giddy, looking up and seeing the same happiness in Aitana’s eyes, Alejandra could really be the answer to some of their problems

“The possibilities are endless” Aitana whispered happily and looked down at her sheet of paper, full of scribbles and tactics and options of formations

They were both seated in a little corner away from prying ears and eyes, their plates left untouched to the side and the warm food has long since gone cold

“Girls please you look like a pair of lunatics straight out if the psych ward” Irene muttered at the pair as she arrived at the table with her own breakfast being followed by Jenni, Mariona, Ona and Misa

“What are you doing” the Real Madrid goalkeeper asked curious and Alexia and Aitana reacted as if they just got shot, straightening in their seats and pulling their sheets of paper out of sight

“Nothing” They both answered while hiding their sheets like naughty kids who just got caught with their hands inside the cookie jar

“Really?” Jenni said teasingly towards both midfielders while lifting an eyebrow enjoying a little watching them squirm in their seats

“Oh look, Salma is calling for me” Aitana said quickly while getting up from her chair and going around the table as fast as possible “Come on Ona, let’s go” as she passed she grabbed her friend’s arm who was just setting down her plate and getting ready to sit down herself 

“Wait my food” Ona whined trying to free herself but Aitana was so much stronger than her

“Come on you can grab another one” Aitana said not willing to slow down in her pace of going away

“Seriously Ale, what are you planning?” Jenni asked while sitting down next to the midfielder who instead of answering her retrieved Ona’s plate full of warm food and started eating it

“Mmmm delicious breakfast don’t you think” Alexia tried to diffuse while looking up at Jenni and batting her eyelashes acting confused

“That might have worked some time ago Ale, not now” Jenni laughed while getting a bit of cream from her coffee into Alexia’s nose who scrunch it in response

“Don’t know what you’re talking about” Alexia denied while wiping her nose clean

“Mmmm are you sure you’re both definitely not talking about Alejandra Mendoza’s possible signing for Barcelona?” Jenni asked with a knowing smirk and full on belly laughing once Alexia choked on her juice

“What” Alexia said between coughs accepting Irene’s napkin to clean her chin from the juice that dribbled free form her mouth

“You’re not as slick as you think Ale” Jenni laughed in a teasing manner “Beside I’m sure you’re not the only player plotting in snatching her up before anyone else” the striker shrugged her shoulders innocently when the midfielder turned to look at her with wide eyes

“Real Madrid is preparing a juicy offer” Misa singed the words making Alexia cringe

“That would be a terrible loss for the football world” Irene muttered while shaking her head

“Oi we’re not that bad” Misa said indignantly

“You’ve never one a) a classico and b) a trophy” Alexia reminded her

“That’s exactly why the offer duhh” Misa rolled her eyes as if it was obvious

“Yeah, they’re not the only ones” Jenni said while taking a sip from her coffee “I’ve heard rumors that all of the Mexican teams are pulling out her big guns”

“I think every single team on the planet is doing it, they’d be fools to not at least try” Irene shrugged

“Her parents inbox must be going crazy right now” Jenni said while whistling at the end

‘Yeah…..but hopefully Barcelona comes through’ Alexia thought while looking up and finding Aitana already looking at her as if they were having the same thoughts

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warnings: teasing, breeding kink, lingerie

A/N: Introducing a new oc of mine, Kuro Ume. He’s connected to Momo’s dark past… also Momo stickers are now available in my kofi shop!!

“You’re the one who lost the bet, Kuro Ume,” you said with a huff, watching as he grumbled while removing his suit jacket.

“I barely even remember making that bet in the first place. You’re depraved, you know that?”

This made you laugh, and his cheeks reddened even further at your response.

“Oh hush, I’m the only one that’s going to see. Now put it on, I’m tired of waiting.”

The dark haired bunny hybrid stared at the items of clothing laying on the bed. A cow print bikini, a pair of cow ears and horns, and a tail were placed neatly in front of him.

“This is demeaning. Why would you ever suggest this in the first place?”

“Well, why did you agree to it?”

“Because I thought there was no way Momo would get that girl’s number-!”

Kuro groaned, his bunny ears twitching in annoyance as he slipped his pants off. He definitely remembered the previous night.

He was a couple drinks in when you sauntered up, sitting beside him at the bar. As per usual, his heart began to race the second your eyes met his.

“Hey, Kuro. Been a long day, huh?”

Truly, the day had been horrible. After taking out two hybrid traffickers, he had a run in with a rival mafia gang and had to escape before he could clean up the mess.

Now, he was covered in a few bruises, his right arm bandaged. “Yeah, long, you could say that again.”

Kuro downed another shot of whiskey, the pain he had been feeling slowly numbing with each new shot. You reached out and gave his uninjured hand a squeeze.

“You should really slow down. If you don’t, you’re going to make yourself sick.”

He huffed. “You’re not my mom, (Name). Quit smothering me.”

Despite being quite intelligent, Kuro was also stubborn and often rude, even if he didn’t mean to be. He regretted his words the second he noticed you recoil, your eyes closing as you took in a shaky breath.

“I just worry about you.”

He stared into the amber colored liquid before setting his glass down. “You don’t need to, I’m fine.”

Both of you knew that wasn’t true.

You looked around the bar, trying to find something to talk about besides the elephant in the room. “Is that… Momo?”

The two of you spotted him chatting up a girl, nearly tripping when he leaned against the wall and lost his footing.

“Ah, trying to flirt again,” you said with a laugh, taking a sip of your drink. “Wanna bet on if he’ll get her number or not?”

Kuro smiled, leaning his elbow against the bar. “Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

And now, he was paying the consequences of that spur of the moment decision.

“This doesn’t cover anything!”

You covered your mouth to quiet your giggles as his muffled voice came through the bathroom door. “That’s kind of the whole point, Kuro. I want to see what you’ve got going on~”

“Oh, so that’s your real intentions, huh? I wouldn’t have pegged you for a pervert, (Name).”

He peeked his head out, a frown on his face when he noticed your excited expression. “This gets you off, really?”

“Just a little. Now come out so I can see you already!”

With a huff, he walked out into the opening. His lean, scarred frame was on display, and you could already see the bulge in his cow print panties. His cotton tail wagged, giving away his true feelings on the matter.

“Excited already?” you mused, stepping forward so you could get a better look. “Pose for me, I’m getting some pictures.

“I can’t help it, you- h-hey, don’t take so many pictures!”

He tried to cover himself, but you pushed his hands out of the way. “Oh stop it, you know I won’t show anyone.”

“I know…” he murmured, pouting at you. “Doesn’t change the fact I didn’t want you of all people to see me like this.”

Once you had enough pictures, you pressed your chest against his, smiling up at him. “Why’s that?”

The bunny hybrid huffed. “I’m sure you know why by now. Isn’t it obvious I’m head over heels for you? Everyone can tell, except you.”

This news made your heart rate spike, and you found yourself unable to breathe for a moment.

“I…”

Your cheeks heated up, and Kuro let out a deep sigh. “It’s hard, you know? Being in love is something I wanted to avoid. You… make things difficult for me.”

It was hard to take him seriously when he was standing in front of you with his hard on barely being contained by the small cow print panties.

“Kuro…”

You cupped his bulge, fondling it while you pouted up at him. His cheeks flushed red and he let out a strangled moan. “Did you think I’d go easy on you just because I love you?”

“Th… that wasn’t the point but-“

He yelped when you pushed him onto the bed, straddling him before rubbing your clothed cunt against his bulge. You played with the strings of his top, your bottom lip poked out in a pout.

“Come on, you love me, don’t you? Breed me and make me a mama.”

That activated his bunny hybrid instincts, his hands instantly bringing your hips down to properly grind against him. “You’re playing with fire… mmm…”

He buried his face into your neck, taking a wiff of you before marking you with his own scent. “You want to mate? Fuck, I’ve wanted to mark you for ages…”

His tail swished behind him, smacking the bed as he lifted your skirt. Kuro felt his cheeks turn red the decks he laid his eyes on your bare pussy.

“It’s like you planned for this…” he murmured, rubbing at your wet slit. “No panties, and you’re already this wet…”

You gave him a sheepish smile, biting your lip when his fingers pumped in and out of you. “I was hoping this would go well, that’s all.”

Precum soaked the front of the cow print panties, and you could see he was panting every time you grinded against him.

“I want you…”

Kuro gripped your hips tightly, but not enough to hurt. His thumb rubbed over the soft fat, almost tenderly. “So much that it hurts… I know that right now we can’t be mates, and honestly that hurts even more. I… just can’t put you in danger like that.”

He laid you down, his bunny ears flicking as he hovered over you. “Don’t cry… I do love you, and tonight I’m going to show it.”

You hadn’t realized you had been crying. He wiped a stray tear from your cheek, licking it from his thumb. Kuro had a troubled past, and was still running away from it. He knew that right now, he couldn’t be a proper mate to a wonderful woman like you.

If anything were to happen to you because his past came back to haunt him, he wouldn’t be able to live with himself.

“I love you too, Kuro… maybe one day…”

His lips moved across your neck, leaving hickeys and love bites. “Don’t think, just feel.”

Kuro pulled his bottoms down just enough for his cock to spring forward. He rubbed against you, groaning against your lips as he tangled his tongue with yours in a lustful dance.

“Fuck, princess…”

Just the scent of your arousal was enough to have his cock twitching with need, Kuro was ready to be inside of you already, to breed you like a proper mate would.

He pushed in, his fingers leaving bruises on your hips as he pulled you closer. You were unbelievably tight, milking his cock already. He came inside almost instantly, but fucked you through his firts orgasm.

“K-Kuro!” you babbled out, pleasured tears falling down your cheeks. He leaned forward to kiss them away, his fluffy bunny ears brushing against you.

“Take it, princess. So good, fuck you feel so good!”

You looked down, watching as his cock moved in and out of you, his balls slapping against your ass. He was completely entranced by you, and by your third orgasm you were a blubbering mess.

Kuro pulled out, staring at your pussy with hazy eyes before moving down to taste you. The taste of your fluids mixed together was like heaven, and he licked his own cum out of your dripping pussy.

“You’re doing so good for me, princess. Such a good girl,” he murmured, looking up at you with pussy drunk eyes.

You came on his tongue, feeling worn out. Kuro sensed you were tired, and laid down with you.

“I have to leave in the morning,” he murmured, lifting your leg so he could fuck into you softly. You whimpered, but relaxed as he carefully played with your clit. “I won’t be back in town for a while.”

“Don’t… want you to go…” you murmured, rubbing your sleepy eyes. “I’ll miss you.”

Kuro’s movements slowed until his cock rested inside of you, kept warm in your cunt. “I’ll miss you too, princess. I have to go, though. It’s for your own safety.”

You could barely keep your eyes open, glancing back at him. “… you’ll come back?”

He was quiet for a moment, rubbing your thigh tenderly. “…”

His bunny ears lowered slightly, and he pulled you so close he could feel your heartbeat against his chest.

“I hope so.”

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @avalordream @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @hammerhead96-blog @slightlyusedfloormat @bubblez-blop @sunshineangel-reads @heroneki-neko @soapybabyboop @anonymouskiwi @flamefoxx @sandramalikstyles-blog @breathingstarlight

[quercus-queer]

Just to clarify: the social worker isn’t played by a white woman, she’s played by the original voice actress of Nani from the movie. Honestly I think this choice is even more insidious because casting a white woman for that role would be Too Obvious so instead they pick the original voice of Nani to change the entire message of the show. I think they also picked this role for the og cameo so that people who may be like “why’d you switch a black man out for a woman to play a social worker?” can be told “oh we just wanted the original voice actor to interact with new Nani 🥰.”

Also if you were wondering I would consider Bubbles a good social worker. Bubbles gives Nani ALOT of leeway in the movie. Nani kicks his car and calls him a stupid head on his way to their house, the home visit goes TERRIBLE, Nani looses her job, Stitch assaults him (lol), and a couple other things. He says something along the lines of I can ignore everything else “but I cannot ignore you not having a job” and THAT is the prime reason he is even so present in the movie to see any mistakes Nani makes. He’s not like comically evil, hovering waiting for the perfect moment to snatch Lilo up, he’s doing his job and it just unfortunately isn’t great for Nani lol. He doesn’t give Nani any resources from what I remember but we also only see into their interactions for like two days lol. Also, at the end of the movie he is the one who gives Lilo the opportunity to keep Stitch, helps them rebuild their house, shows up for holidays and random tv nights, and I at least think it was implied he pulled strings for them to get some additional income for housing aliens.

In case anyone was wondering about the Lilo and Stitch movie here’s the highlights from someone chronically online enough to have seen the movie through snippets lol

Nani does in fact give Lilo up to the government, ppl defend it by saying David’s mom is her foster mom now but Lilo is still in fact in the system and can easily be taken away from David’s mom if conditions are “unfit”… the exact same situation Nani was in before lol

Took away all of Nani’s support system that the original movie develops for her except for David/his mom

Had Nani treat Lilo like a burden for “realism”… anyway…

Lilo literally says “you’re so smart Nani, I think you should join the Marines”

Nani was deeply connected to her culture and family, that aspect of her just isn’t there at the end of the day (and part of that is because Sydney is not indigenous Hawaiian and it shows… in looks, actions, and line delivery) and the conclusion to her story being giving up her kid sister to the state and leaving her home for a “better” education and future is atrocious

They had her go to California to study marine biology. First of all, it was implied she was a pro surfer in the og movie no hint of marine biology. Not every persons dream is college and it doesn’t need to be part of everyone’s story… the choice of “putting yourself first” in order to get a better education is very #girlboss… Second of all, Hawaii has multiple universities with marine biology programs that would give far more money and benefits to a native Hawaiian than literally any Californian school let alone UCSD lmao

They changed their island from Kauai to Oahu… most obvious reason they did this was because that is the island their resort is on and overrun with tourists. However, with this location change and their wack ass narrative changes they also made going to California even more blatantly propaganda because that is where the University of Hawaii at Manoa is… ALSO, Oahu has major cities… you know how Sitch has to find new meaning for existence because he can’t do what he was programmed to do because he’s stuck on an island with no big cities… yeah…

On this note, pretty much removed all substantial tourism commentary

Jumba is the villain, he sounds like a whiny computer nerd and it’s miserable

Pleakley is lame, rip queen 🕊️

Lilo is pretty well adjusted and normal lol? No fights, no biting, no trying to curse her enemies etc… she’s literally a normal girl which… alright then???

There is no Gantu (rumor has it this is at its core because they don’t want to make law enforcement look bad)

CGI is literally so fucking bad like besides aesthetics the actors literally don’t point to where Stitch is and when they’re supposed to touch it they often miss lol

Editing is also terrible. Every scene lasts like 5 seconds and is jarring, so genuinely terrible I think shows like this are gonna further ruin kids attention spans lmfao

Nani misses Lilo’s actual performance instead of just being late to pick up Lilo from practice after getting into a fight…

Myrtle isn’t white #diversity win

No ugly duckling subplot

Bubbles is not the social worker and is working against the gang (again removing all of Nani’s support system, he literally shows up for every holiday with the fam in the og)

Changing the social worker role from an externally imposing black man with good intentions to a gentle woman has some undertones tbh considering this is the justification: “According to Camp, it was easy for audiences to believe that a towering man with a "Cobra" tattooed on his knuckles was a social worker in the animated movie​​​​​. However, that kind of exaggerated character design doesn't translate convincingly to live-action.”

The new social worker literally tells Nani that the right thing to do is to give up Lilo… very different from Bubbles doing his best to keep the sisters together. Keeping family together is a prime goal in social work btw…

[papayainsectorone]

Morning Problems.

summary: lando wakes you up with a very specific request and a very obvious problem in his sweats. What starts as lazy banter under the blankets turns into morning sex that’s somehow hotter than it has any right to be.

content: 18+!! smut, nsfw, friends-to-lovers, friends with benefits, explicit sexual content, p in v, unprotected sex, sexual humor, light banter and teasing, morning sex, casual intimacy

word count: 3.9k

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

a thought: the middle picture is so lando coming to the room i swear walls are way too thin - series

The wine is warm now. Half a glass each, nursing it like it’s a post-race cooldown. You’re curled into one corner of the couch, oversized hoodie swallowing your thighs.

Lando’s on the other end, one leg thrown over the armrest, looking entirely too smug for someone who fell asleep drooling into a couch pillow earlier, his hair damp from the quick shower he took after waking up, to rinse off the—his words—“sex crimes.”

Lando lifts his glass with a flourish like he’s performing Shakespeare instead of sipping lukewarm wine. His leg bounces lazily where it’s slung over the armrest, fingers curled around the stem of the glass, wrist cocked in mock elegance.

“So,” he drawls, mouth twitching, “is that what Valerie taught you back then?”

You glance at him over the rim of your own glass, smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “She said it changed her life. Figured I should pay it forward.”

His brows shoot up, grinning now. “Damn. When I hooked up with her, she didn’t know shit.”

You laugh—full, unbothered. “I remember you telling me about that. And how you cried during your first fucking blowjob.”

He sits up a little, gasps dramatically, hand clutching his chest like he’s just been slandered. “It was emotional!”

“Yeah,” you snort, “because it was bad.”

“I highly anticipated that moment,” he defends, jabbing a finger in your direction. “And then it was just… so, so bad. I couldn’t hold my tears back. It was traumatic.”

You're already wheezing, legs shifting as you curl tighter into the couch, wine nearly sloshing out of your glass.

“But if she taught you how to do it,” Lando says, eyebrows raised, wine glass tilting dangerously in his hand, “she must’ve gained experience since we were, what—fifteen?”

You snort, nearly spilling your drink. “Oh, she did. Valerie went on a whole tour. Took a gap year in dick.”

He chokes on his sip, coughing through laughter. “Jesus. Why didn’t I sign up for that?”

“Because you were too busy trying to unhook bras like they were bomb diffusers.”

“I got better,” he says, mock-offended, sitting up straighter. “Eventually.”

“After that girl in Spain literally slapped your hand away and told you to Google it.”

Lando groans and lets his head fall back against the cushion. “You said you’d never bring that up again.”

“I lied,” you grin, stretching out your legs to poke his thigh with your toe. “Besides, that’s nothing compared to James.”

He perks up. “James the karting guy?”

You nod solemnly. “Tried to eat me out through my jeans.”

His face contorts. “Oh my God.”

“And I let him.”

There’s a beat of silence—then he bursts out laughing, full belly-shaking laughter, eyes squinting and cheeks going pink.

He’s grinning—lazy, soft, eyes half-lidded and cheeks flushed from laughing too hard. You haven’t seen him this relaxed in a long time. Not since pre-season, maybe not even before that. His whole body looks loose, sunk deep into the couch like it finally let him breathe.

You stifle a yawn behind your hand, stretching where you sit. “Alright. I need a shower.”

He hums, stretching with a loud, unnecessary groan, arms overhead and shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of skin. “Bathroom’s still where it’s always been. Knock yourself out.”

You narrow your eyes, dragging yourself upright. “You’re really just gonna lie there?”

“I’m emotionally and physically spent. What do you expect?”

You roll your eyes and head to the bathroom.

When you return, towel twisted around damp hair, you’ve traded your hoodie for one of his enormous T-shirts—an ancient, stretched-out thing with a faded Valentino Rossi print on the front and a tiny hole near the hem. He hasn’t moved much, though his eyes flick up when he hears you pad into the hallway.

He smirks faintly, still sunk into the cushions.

You lean against the doorframe. “You were pretty decent, y’know.”

His lips twitch, feigning modesty. “You were alright.”

Your brows shoot up. “Alright?”

He shrugs, eyes sparkling now. “I mean… if you ever wanna suck me again…”

You grab the towel from your shoulders and whip it at him with a snort. “You’re actually the worst.”

He catches it, barely, laughing under his breath. “Sweet dreams.”

You shake your head and disappear into the guest room, your footsteps light but your grin stubbornly lingering.

You wake up to the soft buzz of your phone beside the pillow, the screen flashing with notifications like it’s in a panic. Blinking through sleep, you fumble for it, dragging it toward your face with one hand still buried under the blanket.

13 messages. All from Lando.

are you awake???? ????? 🫣 🚪 helloooo 👀 🥺 👉👈 pls I’ll bring coffee… if you earn it .... wake uuuuup

You groan, dragging a hand down your face, thumb clumsily tapping out a half-conscious reply with one eye still shut.

what is it

The reply doesn’t come on the screen. It comes in footsteps, quick, too heavy, unmistakably. Then the soft creak of your door opening just a crack.

His head pops in like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Good morning,” he chirps, entirely too energetic for a man who used to refer to anything before nine as ‘cruel and unusual punishment.’

You roll your head against the pillow to glare at him. “What do you want.”

He shrugs, tone all innocent mischief. “Sooo now that we do... stuff—you know—I was wondering if maybe you could help me out?”

You raise an eyebrow, sitting up slowly with a yawn, hair wild and tangled from sleep, one shoulder slipping free of your borrowed shirt. Your eyes are still puffy, lashes clumped at the corners, and there's a crease on your cheek from the pillow. The faint morning light peeks around the blackout curtains, casting a dusky gold sheen across the room.

He steps in, bare-chested and barefoot on the hardwood, the soft pad of his steps barely registering. Still in his so called grey lucky sweats that hang low and worn, and absolutely no shirt, like that might help his case. Hair sticking in five directions, curls flattened on one side and puffed on the other, like he rolled right out of his own bed to roll into yours. His eyes are bright, guiltless. His smirk only deepens when he sees you trying not to smirk back.

You catch it then—the slight pull in the front of his sweats, the way the fabric tents, tight and obvious.

Your grin sharpens. “Seriously?”

He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck like he's just remembered modesty exists. “I kinda have a... morning problem.”

You snort, laugh escaping loud and delighted. “Fuck, Lando. You’re ridiculous.”

He tries to look wounded but the blush climbing his cheeks gives him away. “Well, I thought that was the point of this? Casual sex? Problem solving?”

You shake your head, already reaching for a pillow to chuck at him. “You’re insatiable and we didn’t even have sex yet.”

He catches the pillow mid-air and tucks it under his arm with exaggerated grace, shrugging. “You´re right not ... yet. Not my fault you started so strong.”

“You are unbelievable.”

“And hard,” he says, blinking with faux innocence.

You collapse back into the nest of blankets with a groan, flinging an arm over your eyes. “Fine. But I’m not making a habit of this.”

He’s already crossing the room, victorious. “Too late.”

You scoot over just enough to make room, the sheets still warm from where you’d been curled. Lando slips under the covers like he’s done it a hundred times before, movements instinctive—knee brushing yours, shoulder bumping yours, skin warm and familiar. This time, when your legs tangle, it isn’t an accident. Your foot slides over his shin on purpose.

He flops onto his side to face you, one hand braced under his head, his other already creeping toward your waist. His voice is low, teasing. “God, you really don’t do mornings.”

You blink at him through heavy lashes. “You woke me up for your boner.”

His grin returns, boyish and smug. “I said problem. You’re the one who assigned it a personality.”

You groan again, tossing the blanket over both of your heads, plunging you into soft cotton dimness.

“Shut up.”

He shifts closer, bare skin brushing yours under the sheets, the warmth of him instantly more alerting than any alarm. You can feel him—hard, obviously—pressing against your thigh, and you instinctively roll onto your side.

There’s a beat of quiet.

It’s not awkward—it’s loaded. Like you both suddenly remember what you started. What you agreed to.

And then his hand slides to your waist.

“You’re warm,” he mutters.

“You’re annoying.”

“Yet here you are,” he says, voice lower now.

You don’t answer. You just shift again—this time deliberately, dragging your thigh across his lap until he sucks in a sharp breath.

“Okay, yeah,” you say with mock seriousness, “you do have a problem.”

He lets out a half-choked laugh. “Glad we’re in agreement.”

Your hand slips beneath the covers and finds the waistband of his sweats, teasing just inside—not pulling, not stroking—just letting your fingers rest, feather-light. His breath stutters.

You feel him twitch against your thigh. He shifts, trying to angle closer without being too obvious, but you notice—and smile.

“You’re really gonna beg for this, huh?”

“I woke you up for this,” he says, half laughing, half panting now as you slowly grind your hips against his, friction layered between his sweats and your underwear.

It doesn’t take long before the teasing turns into something heavier—his hand sliding under the hem of the shirt you’re wearing, his mouth chasing the curve of your jaw in lazy, open-mouthed kisses. The kind that don’t ask for permission. The kind that feel earned.

Beneath the covers, the light is dim and close. Breath-warmed air. Fabric brushing skin. His thigh nudges yours apart with all the grace of a sleep-drunk boy too pleased with himself to be smooth, and it just makes you laugh, biting your lip against his neck.

“You’re so cocky,” you murmur, hand drifting low over his back. He’s warm everywhere—skin on skin, familiar and new all at once.

He shifts against you, half-smiling into your collarbone. “Not cocky. Just confident.”

“Confident in what? Your charm? Your questionable hip strength?”

“Hey,” he mutters, pushing your thigh up with one hand while the other finds your jaw. “My hips are elite.”

“Prove it.”

It’s lazy and drawn out—like neither of you are in a rush to finish, just drunk on the way it feels to be pressed together like this. Slow rocking. Soft moans. His hand slipping further under your shirt to touch your ribs, the pad of his thumb brushing the underside of your breast in a way that makes your spine arch.

His head drops to your shoulder.

“You’re evil,” he mutters.

You hum, dragging your nose against his jaw. “You’re the one who started this.”

His hips jerk forward at the same time yours roll down and—

“Fuck.”

It slips out of him like a confession. You respond with a slow, deliberate grind that makes both of you gasp. The heat spikes quickly—his hand tangling in your hair, your nails scraping down his side. He dips his fingers past the waistband of your underwear this time, and you're too turned on to tease him about it.

His fingers drag your underwear down your legs, slow and reverent, like he’s only just realizing what he gets to do now—and maybe, who he gets to do it with.

You help him shove his sweats down just enough, and suddenly he’s bare against you, hard and hot and pressed right where you’re throbbing. There’s a pause, a beat of silence—your eyes locked.

No jokes this time.

No sarcasm.

Just breathing.

“Are you sure?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, slipping your hand between you to guide him, your voice quiet. “Yeah. I want to.”

The second he pushes in, it’s like the air disappears from the room.

It’s not fumbling or awkward—just thick with pressure, with the weight of something that’s been a long time coming. He stretches you inch by inch, slow and deep, and you both gasp like you didn’t think it would feel quite like this.

“Fuck,” he whispers, forehead falling to yours. “You feel…”

You press your mouth to his before he can finish—half desperate, half needing to shut him up because you feel it too. Too much.

“Lando—fuck—” you gasp, head tipping back, lips parting around a whimper.

He moves inside you slowly at first, giving you time to adjust, his hand cupping the back of your neck while your nails scratch down his spine.

And then he pulls back and thrusts in again, harder this time.

You moan into his shoulder, legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. Your body meets his without thinking, every snap of his hips hitting deeper, every slide of skin against skin lighting you up from the inside.

There’s nothing careful about the rhythm now.

It's all teeth and gasps and hands clawing at skin—like you’re both chasing something you didn’t even know you’d needed until now. Your name slips from his mouth more than once, broken and breathless. His hand slides up between you, finding the slick heat between your bodies, rubbing tight, fast circles that make your breath catch. Your hips jerk up into him, chasing friction, chasing the edge.

“You feel so good,” he pants, pressing his forehead to your cheek, his thrusts growing rougher, more erratic.

You can barely breathe. “Keep going.”

He shifts slightly, angling deeper, and you cry out—your hands flying to the headboard, fingers curling into the wood for leverage. Lando grabs your thigh and hikes it higher around his waist, grinding deeper, faster.

It’s too much and not enough all at once. You clench around him and feel him stutter, like he’s trying not to fall apart too soon.

“Shit—don’t do that,” he groans, dropping his head to your chest. “I’m close.”

You grin, sweat-slick and flushed, voice wrecked. “You’re weak, Norris.”

He looks up at you through messy curls and grits out, “Say that again.”

You don’t.

You just clench again—tighter—and that’s it.

He groans, hand flying to your hip as he thrusts in once, twice, and then he’s coming, hips stuttering, breath ragged against your skin.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps moving through it, dragging his fingers between your legs, determined to take you with him. Your legs are shaking, your body arching, and then you’re coming too—loud, sharp, your back bowed and nails dug into his shoulders.

The room is quiet after.

Just the sound of your breathing and the slow tick of the wall clock.

Eventually, he drops beside you, arm slung across your stomach, both of you sweaty and flushed and still half-drunk on sleep.

You turn your head and smirk.

“Well. That escalated.”

His chest rises and falls. “Remind me to have more morning problems.”

You laugh softly, tossing the blanket higher over both of you, and let your eyes drift closed again.

You let the silence sit for a beat, still catching your breath, staring at the ceiling like it has answers.

Then you glance sideways, smirking. “You did promise coffee.”

He groans dramatically into your shoulder, voice muffled. “You’re gonna make me stand up?”

“You’re the one who woke me up, remember?” You nudge him with your foot under the blanket. “This is part of the deal.”

Lando sighs like a man facing war. “If I stand up right now I’ll faceplant and die. That’s on you.”

“Tragic,” you murmur, stretching out. “I’ll drink your funeral coffee.”

He chuckles, lazy and warm, then slowly sits up with a hand braced on the mattress. His curls are a mess, cheeks flushed, chest still rising fast. “Alright, fine. I’m going. But if I collapse in the kitchen and spill the beans everywhere—”

“—I’ll step over your corpse and make it myself.”

He looks at you, amused. “That’s love wow.”

You just grin. “No feelings, remember?”

He shoots you a wink as he pulls his sweats back up. “Right. Just coffee.”

And then he disappears out the door, barefoot and shirtless, mumbling something about the beans being in the stupid top cabinet again.

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