#First time we have to do this for a fic idea and it feels like a writer level-up of some kind?

[theballadofthesunandthestars]

Hello! I'm an aroace lesbian, here's my thoughts on the soulmate trope! I'll be talking about real life too, but I promise it all relates back to ship tropes and fanfic. And sorry it's kinda ramble-y!

So, I am not really a fan of the idea that each person has only one soulmate, and I especially hate the idea that soulmates are purely romantic. But I actually do believe in soulmates! I believe that each person has multiple soulmates, but soulmates are not necessarily a romantic partner that you're destined to be with. I believe that there are people that are meant to be in our lives one way or another, sometimes forever and sometimes temporarily. I think that soulmates can be not just romantic, but platonic and familial as well. All soulmates are just people that you are meant to have in your life.

A big aspect of this belief is that I don't see love between friends as lesser than love between romantic partners. I absolutely despise the phrasing "more than friends" when talking about romantic relationships, because friendships are just as nuanced, wonderful, and powerful as romances. And maybe that's just because I don't experience romantic attraction, but I don't think that's why. I know straight girls who have boyfriends, yet they share this deeply intimate connection that goes almost deeper than the feelings they have for their romantic partners. There's nothing romantic or sexual about their relationship; they just love each other deeply, and cannot imagine life without each other. In my mind, they're soulmates. They're meant to be in each other's lives, and they're linked to each other. In a romantic sense, we all have multiple people in the world that we could be romantic soulmates with. You can lose a soulmate due to bad timing or the relationship not working out, and there's still someone out there in the world for you if you want them. Some people dedicate themselves to one soulmate. Others have multiple throughout their lives. But one lifestyle is not above the other.

I've read one soulmate AU fic that I kind of liked. It was one where soulmates could feel each other's pain, and it was incredibly well-written. But there was one plot point I adored where it's revealed that one of the main couples in the story are actually not soulmates; both of them have different soulmates that they met, but realized that they were terrible with their soulmates romantically, and so while they keep in touch with their soulmates, they ultimately fell in love with someone who was not their soulmate, and found just as much fulfillment in that. And I LOVED that plot point; it made me like that relationship so much more. There was also an aroace character in the fanfic who had a soulmate, but he didn't want to be with him romantically, and so he wasn't. And I loved that plot point too because it showed that aroace people aren't incapable of deep love and aren't missing out on anything when they don't feel romantic attraction. That fic was super good in other words.

And I also think that my belief on soulmates is what makes me a multi-shipper and makes me not understand ship discourse in the slightest. Because first of all; polyamory anyone? I think that you can totally love multiple people at the same time, and it doesn't take away from the love you experience with any one person. Secondly, since friendship is not below romance in my mind and is just as valuable, I can totally be chill with a ship that I like being platonic or romantic in a given fanfic or universe. It doesn't feel like a loss in the relationship in the slightest.

I get the appeal of a soulmate trope; the idea that there is someone out there destined to love you no matter your flaws and shortcomings? Love that! But I guess I hate the idea that's usually promoted that everyone only has one soulmate, and it's romantic. And on the rare occasions when those fics include an aroace character, that character just doesn't get a soulmate of any kind. And that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. So I generally don't read those fics, though I hope people never stop writing them because you should not let some weird fuck like me on the internet stop you from writing what you want!

I recommend this world view personally though because I was able to heal so much for it! I was so scared that I was broken, that I was missing out on a big part of life, but no. Like Chappell Roan said, love is a kaleidoscope; even with all the colors and shapes, it somehow all boils down to the same emotion. And my friends that do have romantic attraction, I think that believing platonic connections are not lesser than can really help with a lot of insecurities and anguish that come from dating and engaging in romantic relationships. Because you don't need them to experience true love, and so there's no pressure anymore! You can explore romance at your own pace and leisure. You can be unafraid to let people go that you need to, because there's someone else out there who'll love you just as much! It makes life so much more fulfilling in my opinion!

But as I said, I'm a weird fuck on the internet and you know your life better than I do. So if this doesn't work for you, feel free to say "oh no thanks!" and live the life that's best suited for you! You got this!

Whew. Sorry for the cheesiness

Curious, I haven’t really seen any real trend among aspec people and the ship tropes they do like, however I think I kinda seen a trend in what they dislike. So in the tags tell me if you’re aspec (ace and/or aro) and if you dislike soulmates, and I mean the most straightforward romantic non subverted kind (but if there are versions you like feel free to elaborate)

[navybrat817]

Hold You Tight: Part 27

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 26 | Series Masterlist | Part 28

Chapter Word Count: Almost 4k

Chapter Summary: An idea comes to you regarding part of your future and Bucky has a few choice words for your parents.

Chapter Warnings: Confrontation, bonding of sorts, inner turmoil, world building, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: I don't know what happened to the original post. Let's try this again! More Hold You Tight, and thank you for sticking with me! Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-in-darkness. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought it would feel strange with Curtis hanging out in the kitchen while you baked the brownies, but it wasn’t as bad as you thought, and it was something you’d have to get used to since he would be around you going forward. He didn’t try to fill the silence with small talk unless you asked him a question, likely trying to remain in the “shadows”. You did wonder what was on his mind since he mentioned being trapped, but it wasn’t any of your business. He was your bodyguard and that didn’t mean he’d be your friend. 

“Smells delicious,” he said, standing when you took them out of the oven. 

“Don’t worry. I won't burn myself,” you said, nodding for him to sit back down. “And thanks. I hope you like them.”

“I'm sure I will.”

Ray walked into the kitchen the moment you set the brownies out to cool off and looked between you and Curtis who settled back in his chair. “A treat for breakfast?” he guessed.

“A treat for Curtis,” you said, making your bodyguard smile a little.

Ray blinked hard and slow. “I see,” he said, pushing his glasses up. Did that upset him? 

“Well, that batch is for Curtis. You have first dibs on the other batch,” you clarified. 

“Thank you. That’s very kind of you.” The blonde raised an eyebrow. “And what about the boss?” 

“He’s third. He knows what he did,” you said unapologetically. They were your brownies. You could do what you wanted with them.

Curtis hid a smile before Ray asked, “And how are you feeling?”

You put your hands on the counter and shrugged. “Hard to say since I’m seeing my parents today and still dealing with…”

“Everything,” Ray finished for you. 

You nodded. “I appreciate you asking.” It felt like you hadn’t talked to him in days and you admittedly missed it. Like Curtis, keeping you safe wasn’t a bore or chore in his eyes. He believed you were brave and part of you was starting to believe it, too. 

“We’re all glad you're safe now,” he softly said.

“Careful there. You might be showing emotion,” Curtis said, earning him a glare from his colleague. 

“Where’s Bucky?” you asked. 

“He sulked for a minute when you kicked him out of the kitchen,” he said, making Curtis snort. Again, Bucky knew what he did. “But he’s in his office. Called Steve and Natalia. He also got an update on Lois.”

“How is she?” you asked, hoping that things were still looking up.

“She’s recovering well,” he assured you. You were glad to hear that. “From what we know, she’s stubborn and strong and it’ll take time, but she’ll be fine.”

You let out a breath. “I really need to see her, and I need to talk to Natasha,” you said. A woman you could hopefully help heal and move forward and a woman who was going to help you in some capacity. Both receiving and paying it forward. As that thought settled in your mind, an idea washed over you, making you stand up straighter and look at Ray again. 

“What is it?” he asked. 

“I have a thought,” you answered, trying not to get too excited. “I need to talk to Bucky.”

Curtis jumped from his chair when you walked out without another word, his footsteps behind you nearly silent. He really was going to be a good bodyguard for you. Ray followed, too, likely curious about why you rushed out so quickly.

Bucky looked up from his desk when you walked into the office, a smile on his face when he stood up. “Brownies ready?” he asked, holding his hand up to keep Curtis and Ray from walking in. 

“Yeah, but that’s not what I came in here for,” you said, taking a seat on the sofa. Bucky immediately went to join you. “I have a bit of a crazy idea and I wanted to get your opinion on it.” 

“You want my opinion?” The subtle shift in his posture showed he was touched. “And I’m the crazy one, Kotyonok, so nothing you could say would ever sound crazy to me.”

You didn’t dispute that he was crazy. “So, you know how one of the things that attracted you to me was helping your mom and my generally kind nature?”

He nodded slowly. “Yes.”

“And you helped Natasha however long ago so she could give the women who work at her hotel a better life, right?” you continued. You remembered Natasha telling you if it wasn't for Bucky she wouldn't be where she was. 

“Yes, I did,” he confirmed, not elaborating on how or why.

“What if I do something kind of like that? What if I try to help other women who have…” You swallowed and tried to find the right words, suddenly nervous to ask for his opinion. “Been through stuff, like Lois or me.”

He tilted his head. “You want to help women who have been hurt in some capacity?”

“Yeah. Assault. Abuse. Trauma,” you said. You thought of your own situation, not just Clark's attack, but Bucky systemically making his way into your life. He wasn't out to harm you, but some stalkers did try to harm their victims. “And it's not like I’d have to quit being a florist. I just… I don't know. I want to do something.”

It could've been a means to take back some more control of your life. Being by Bucky’s side, you didn’t want to lose who you were in your core and wanted to continue putting good back into the world. Perhaps you wanted to pay it forward even more since others didn't have the kind of money and protection you now had. 

“It’s stupid, isn't it?” you asked when he stayed quiet. 

You were a florist. Yes, you volunteered when you could and wanted to help people, but it wasn’t your area of expertise. An endeavor like that was out of your depth, wasn't it? 

Bucky framed your face, his eyes flashing with a mixture of pride and fury. “Don't you ever say an idea of yours is stupid. I won't stand for that,” he said, his gaze softening considerably. “Especially since that’s a great idea.”

You studied him, looking for any sign that he was joking. He wasn’t. “Really?” you asked in a small voice.

He kissed the tip of your nose with a smile. “Really. Money won’t be an issue. We can sketch out a plan and figure out what exactly you want to focus on, start local and small. Or you can sketch out the plan and I’ll give input if you seek it out,” he said, a hint of his businessman tone coming out. “If this is really something you want, we’ll make it happen.”

“So, just like that?” you asked. He was really supporting this?

“Of course. It’s admirable that you continue to look out for others and I’m going to support whatever you want to do,” he said. 

“Thank you,” you whispered. You didn’t want to admit how nice it felt that he was backing this up, especially when you had no set plan yet. 

“It also means a lot that you asked for my opinion.”

“Well, we have to talk through these things. It’s what couples do,” you said. 

His smile was brighter than the light in the room. “So, you really see us as a couple now.”

“I guess so,” you said. What choice did you have?

He sighed before he kissed your lips, featherlight and full of promise. “You won’t regret it,” he whispered, suddenly standing and helping you to your feet, too. “You’re still in your robe.”

“I’ve been in the kitchen this whole time,” you reminded him, your mind going back to Curtis and wondering more about his past. 

Bucky checked his watch. “Why don’t you get ready for lunch? I think Curtis and Ray have seen you in your robe enough for one day,” he tried to tease and checked his watch. 

“And what about the day I’m walking around in nothing but my underwear?” you blurted out without meaning to.

Darkness crossed Bucky’s eyes, but it was more lust than rage when he put his hands on your hips. “I’d hate to have to hurt my own men, but I do love the thought of you walking around our home so… freely.”

“I’ll bet you do,” you whispered, knowing he’d probably chase you around or drag you to bed if he had the chance. “But for now, yes, I should get dressed.”

“Don’t want to keep your parents waiting,” he said, letting you pull away to get ready. “I hope I make a lasting impression.”

You shivered, wondering just what kind of impression he wanted to make. “I’m sure you will.”

Curtis leaned against the wall outside of the office while Ray stood on the other side. “You want to help others, huh?” your bodyguard asked.

You stopped to face him. “Yeah, I do.”

Curtis didn’t say anything else, but he looked impressed. So did Ray. You didn’t have time to dwell on that. You had to get ready for a lunch that you didn’t want to go to. 

But your whole life as of late had been a series of events you had to participate in without much of a choice, so what was one more?

Bucky held your hand the entire drive to the restaurant and didn’t force you to talk, which you appreciated since your stomach was in knots. You found yourself playing with the diamond necklace, which he had put around your neck before you left. Your mom would no doubt stare at it or make a comment since you had never had such a nice piece of jewelry. Was this going to be a disaster or were you overthinking it?

“We’ll get through this quickly,” Bucky told you once the car stopped, his lips brushing the top of your hand. “Long enough for me to meet them and send them on their way.”

The knot in your stomach tightened more. How exactly was he going to send them on their way? “And after that?”

“Whatever you want,” he promised, helping you out of the car.

You didn’t pay much attention as you were escorted to the private table, but you knew Ray and Curtis weren’t far behind. The place was bright and airy, but sophisticated. It would've been a nice place to go on a date. Would this lunch sour that idea?

“I’m here,” Bucky whispered, pulling out your chair for you.

Considering the way he burst into your life you never expected to lean on him for anything. You had since your attack and now this, looking to him for support without meaning to. You even asked for his opinion on your idea to help other women, which you did seek out. Who were you becoming?

“Why do I care so much about what they think?” you asked when he sat down beside you.

“Because they’re your parents and it’s natural,” he replied, taking your hand under the table. “But you don’t need them.”

You were about to argue that you did need them before you caught them in your line of sight, your back rigid as they moved closer. They didn’t look overjoyed to see you, which broke your heart a bit. Bucky squeezed your hand before you realized you had squeezed his hand first. This was going to be a long lunch.

“It’s good to see you,” your dad said when Bucky released your hand only to pull your chair back to help you stand. “And you must be-”

“Bucky, her boyfriend. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he said, shaking his hand and smirking when your dad winced and turning a critical eye on your mom. Neither of them hugged you before they took their seats and you quickly sat back down to hide your embarrassment. “You two raised quite the woman,” he added, daring them to say something.

“Thank you,” your mom said, looking over the menu. 

“Since the menu seems to be more important than greeting your daughter, please, pick whatever you want,” Bucky smiled like a wolf getting ready to strike while you gaped at him. “I spare no expense when it comes to her and her… loved ones. Just look at her necklace. I purchased it for our first date.”

Your mom’s mouth fell open and you felt a bit of satisfaction when your dad squirmed in his seat. Did that make you a bad person? “I’m sorry. I meant nothing by it.” Your mom cleared her throat. “We’re thrilled to see you. It’s just with our accounts being frozen…”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” you filled in the blanks. You were used to it.

“Yes, I’m sorry about your accounts,” Bucky said without sounding sorry at all and pretended to look over his menu. “Interesting how you always think of others first even when you have a lot on your mind, Kotyonok,” he said loud enough for the whole table to hear. “Makes me wonder what that came from.”

Your mom’s mouth didn’t drop again, but you heard her sharp inhale on her next breath and your dad squirmed again. They weren’t used to subtle insults like that, especially for someone who had just met them. But as Bucky took your hand, you very much felt like his queen and he was defending you as such.

“Aren’t you going to compliment her necklace?” Bucky asked, turning his head to smile at you. “It’s as beautiful as she is.”

Your face felt hot when your parents stared and admired the diamonds. “They don’t have to say anything,” you mumbled.

“But I don’t understand. What kind of parents don’t compliment their child, especially when they haven’t seen them in some time?” he asked. Once again, it was loud enough for them to hear. He was digging the knife in and twisting it in the most passive aggressive way.

“It’s beautiful,” your mom said enviously, avoiding looking at Bucky. 

“Thanks,” he said, flagging the server down and putting a hand to his chest. “Like I said, whatever you want. It’s on me.”

You picked a light meal, knowing there was a high chance you couldn’t stomach something heavy. Your mom chose the highest priced meal, which Bucky merely smiled expectantly. Your dad had the good sense to not do the same. It would’ve been nice if they asked how you were or gave some sort of indication that they cared.

“How did you two meet?” your dad asked to break the tension, which only made you nervous all over again.

“My club, and I very much fell for her first,” Bucky answered easily and leaned over to kiss your temple. “I knew she was the one the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“Club?” your mom questioned. “Since when do you go to clubs?”

“It was for Addison’s bachelorette party,” your boyfriend answered for you, smiling again. “You know Addison, don’t you? I would hope so. She’s practically family to her.”

You took a sip of your water and said nothing as your parents looked more uncomfortable with each passing second. The air was awkward to say the least.  Bucky, on the other hand, looked over the moon one second and was ready to kill the next. It had to be giving your parents whiplash.

“She’s a good friend,” your mom said, her smile shaky. “How’s the shop?” she asked, changing the subject.

“The shop’s great,” you said and found yourself smiling since you did love the place and your job. “Mrs. Crandle is still a great boss and-”

“And you’re still just a florist,” she cut you off dismissively with a shake of her head, wiping your smile away. “You could’ve been so much more.”

Your eyes glossed over, but you held your head high. “There’s nothing wrong with me being a florist, and I am more.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you?”

“Ease up,” your dad whispered to your mom, shocking you both. Since when was he not on her side? Or was it because Bucky glared at them?

“Just a florist.” The man beside you chuckled, a dark and empty sound. “Tell them about the idea you told me about earlier today.”

The knot filled your stomach so much that you feared you’d get sick. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” you said, not wanting to hear what they had to say since they never backed you up on anything.

“But it’s a great idea,” he assured you, giving your parents a smile. “Wait until you hear it.”

Your dad leaned forward and appeared interested. Was it for show? “What is it?” 

Bucky nodded, encouraging you to speak up. “I went through something recently,” you said carefully, not wanting to blurt it out. “And it made me realize I want to help others and build a support system for women who have been through things.”

Your parents looked at each other as you held your breath. “That sounds ambitious,” your dad said just as carefully as you. “I realize you have good intentions, but…”

“You can’t just up and decide you want to run a charity,” your mom said, laughing and tapping her finger on the table when Bucky gripped his water glass. “You need more than just good intentions. You need experience and funding, which you have none of.”

You sighed. It was exactly what you expected. They wanted you to be more, but offered no encouragement when you tried. 

“Aren’t you even going to ask what I went through?” you asked, your voice thick with emotion. For the first time, your mom looked worried. “Someone-”

“They don’t deserve to know.” Bucky took a sip before he gently set the glass down, making you eye him warily. He looked like he was ready to explode. “She isn’t just deciding, by the way. She has volunteer experience and she’s going to formulate a plan. And what she may lack in other ‘experiences’, she has passion, heart, and drive. It’s a shame you're too blind to see that.”

Your mom shrank back in her seat, looking as small as you felt. “I didn’t mean-”

“And as far as funding, I’ll be helping her with that since I don't expect either of you to lend her a thing. She has her own money, too. You just didn't know it,” he explained, bitterly laughing again at their shocked expressions. “Jesus Christ. You’re her parents. You should be proud of her. She’s loved by everyone she meets and she has thrived without your support.” He let that hang in the air before he continued. “She has more character in her finger than you two have in your entire body and I will back her up on anything and everything she needs because I believe in her.”

You placed a hand on Bucky’s thigh to ground him, your eyes welling with tears again. You were torn between not wanting him to cause a scene and for him to keep speaking because it just felt nice to hear. It felt pathetic and empowering, a strange combination. 

“I just wanted you to support and love me,” you whispered, your chest aching at finally saying the words. “Why didn't you?”

Why did it hurt so much that you didn't have the love you needed?

Your dad leaned back like you slapped him while your mom didn't move. “We did and do love you,” he swore, looking to his wife for help when Bucky scoffed in disbelief. “Tell her.”

He shouldn't have to tell her that.

“We just wanted you to have direction,” your mom said, flinching when Bucky leaned forward with one elbow on the table. She couldn't even say she loved you. 

“She has always had direction. You just never bothered to look where she was going,” he said, his voice soft and dangerous. “Though I guess your lack of support helped build her into the woman I love, so I almost wonder if I should thank you for not being who she needed.”

“I’m not going to sit here and let you continue to insult us,” your dad said since your mom was rendered speechless for once. 

You almost warned your dad that Bucky wasn't the kind of man to mouth off to, but didn't. 

“You know, I think I know now why you wanted to become a florist,” Bucky said as if he didn’t hear him. “You’re surrounded by warmth and brightness and you get to watch things bloom and grow and thrive because you never had that.”

You blinked away your tears. Bucky saw what they didn’t. You didn’t have to point it out.

“We do love our daughter, even if we didn't show it in the best way,” your dad argued, trying to take your hand across the table, but Bucky pulled you back. It was another brick added to the wall to keep people he didn’t want near you out.

“You didn’t love her enough and you never will.” He took his wallet out and threw some money on the table, more than enough to cover the meals that hadn’t yet arrived at the table. “Thank God I love her enough for all of us and I always will.”

Your mom sniffled. You hardly ever saw her cry. “I…” She trailed off when your boyfriend tossed more money on the table. 

“That should cover the rest of your time here in the city. Take it. Or don’t. But I’m not going to sit here and play nice with people who make my future wife feel low about herself.” He pushed himself up and let your parents see just how large and imposing he was. “Just leave her alone the way you always have.”

They were good at leaving you alone. 

“Please,” your dad begged, making you pause. “We’re sorry.”

“Empty apologies mean nothing,” Bucky said, his eyes narrowed. “Oh, and as it stands, I don’t want you at our wedding, but maybe your loving daughter will change my mind.”

“Wedding?!” your mom exclaimed. 

“Yes, she’s going to be my wife and have a wonderful lifetime with me.” He smiled when you didn't disagree. “Enjoy the rest of your trip.”

Bucky helped you up from the table and led you away, not even letting you look back when you heard your mom choke on a sob. They didn’t chase after you. They never would.

Your steps felt heavy. Your head spun. It was a relief that they knew how you felt in some capacity, but you didn't feel much better. Why not?

“They’re the past and I’m your present and future,” your boyfriend whispered, slipping an arm around you when you bit your lip. “I’m the family you need.”

“Thank you for sticking up for me,” you said, making him preen. 

“I’ll always defend and stick up for you,” he promised, his grip possessive. “And I'm proud of you.”

What was there to be proud of? No, you wouldn't think like that. You were a good person, and a survivor. Your parents and their lack of support and care wouldn't take that from you.

“But I didn’t even get to tell them what happened.” What if they had wanted to help? They weren’t loving, but you were still their daughter and your mom had looked worried for a second.

“You don’t need them. Not when you have me,” he said, leaving no room to argue when he nodded to Ray and Curtis who hovered nearby. “And I won't let them hurt you ever again.”

You should’ve known lunch with your parents meant Bucky would close the door. You would have no choice but to move forward. And you didn't know what that meant except that you were now one step closer to being entirely his. 

This chapter took a lot out of me! As a mom who wants to show nothing but love and support to my babies (and protect them), I want to wrap Kotyonok in a huge hug. Where do we think they'll go from here? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[ao3commentoftheday]

I don’t seem to know how to write fic without being mean to the characters. There was a time when I could write fluff, non-angsty slice-of-life, and so on, but now I don’t seem to be able to tell a story without SOMETHING that hurts them.

I’ve had a lot of mental health issues in the intervening years, which I’m sure is related to the why, but doesn’t answer the what or how. It’s a problem because it’s led to me no longer being able to show my partners hardly any of my writing (a lot of dead doves hanging about, which isn’t something they can really stomach). It bothers me that I can’t share my creativity with people I care about.

Do you have any tips for lightening up, or where to find nice wholesome ideas that might spark some joy?

I don’t want to stop writing fucked-up stuff entirely, I just want to find my “nice voice” again.

*hugs* I get it, anon. Sometimes the things that we want to write aren't things we want to share - or at least, not with certain people.

I think a good first step to branching out from your current writing focus is considering what it is about this type of story that's appealing to you right now.

Do you want to make someone else experience a kind of pain or suffering that you've suffered? Pain is a lot easier to manage when you aren't doing it alone.

Do you want to feel a sense of control over someone else's fate? This can be a big comfort when you either didn't have control of your own or you feel as if control is currently slipping out of your grasp.

Do you want the catharsis of seeing someone survive the impossible? It can be extremely satisfying to watch someone claw their way out of the worst situation you can imagine. They get to be the hero in the end. They get to survive.

Do you want to feel a different kind of catharsis? Like the release of emotion that comes with a character's death? Whether they find peace in that moment or whether it's also a torment, it's still a release in the end.

These are just a handful of reasons why you might be writing these kinds of stories right now, and I'm glad you don't want to stop. They are important to you, and even if your partners don't have the same interest that's okay.

You might still be able to share your existing stories if you give your partners a version with the particularly dead doves removed and replaced with a summary, like [Character is tortured until they reveal the secret location. They are left beaten and barely alive.] Then they can pick the story back up after that point.

Of course, if you're writing shorter works then that might not be possible. One way to get back to "nicer" stories that are also on the shorter side could be to write hurt/comfort. You could still get some of what you need by hurting the characters, but then your partners would get the wholesomeness you're looking for when another character takes care of the one you've hurt.

I'll leave it here for now and open it up to ideas from the blog. I know how tough it can be when you want to share something you love with someone you love, and I hope we can get you back to being able to do that.

[scannainscanrula]

shadowed corners

remmick x reader (18+ mdni)

You're a romance author suffering from insomnia, writer's block, and strange nightmares. Your publisher offers to send you to Maine for a short sabbatical to clear your head. It's a quaint town with charming locals, and a mysterious man running the lighthouse that nobody seems to know much about... [part two here]

author's note: well well here we are again. this is MUCH longer than my other fic and i intend to have at least 3(?) chapters for it, so strap in girlies. no smut just yet yous have to earn it first by sitting through all this fucking exposition. grma enjoy! warnings: horror elements, discussion of animal death, discussion of shark attacks, sexual themes

You sit at your desk in front of an empty document, the cursor blinking at you mockingly. Your eyes are tired and your head feels heavy, and the last time you fell asleep at your desk you had drooled on your keyboard, and you really don’t want to find a place to get it fixed. 

“An old-school computer always helps me when I have writer’s block,” one of your colleagues had told you at a cocktail party when you lamented about your publisher’s insistence on a new concept.

You had a very embarrassing and uncomfortably visible breakdown in her windows-only corner office. You began word-vomiting all over her sleek carbon fibre desk about your writer’s block and insomnia– leaving out the extra embarrassing detail of your recurring sexy nightmares– and she had patted your back and attempted to comfort you with corporate jargon. When the tears started she lowered some blinds and lowered her voice, sitting against the edge of the desk in front of her.

“Look, kid. You’re a hell of a writer, okay? Nothing sells like your stuff. I mean, I don’t get it, but the girls love this… creepy vampire stalker shit.”

Dark romance, you want to correct her, but it’s futile after four years working together. 

She sighed, crossing her arms.

“How about… I give you a company card and you go… rent on the coast somewhere for a few months? We have some contracts to draft because these streaming services are just chomping at the bit for rights to adapt. So you go pack your things and take a break. Get an Ambien prescription, fuck a fisherman, whatever you need to do.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ll bankroll it.”

She taps her manicured acrylic nail on the cover of your most recent title, Shadowed Corners. It was a total and complete success, where your first two were mafia romances set in the same universe, SC was a dark romance with a vampire love interest stalking your adorable main character. You love red flags, and Milo was covered in them.  

“You’re a money-printing machine, babe.”

So here you are, not relaxing, not on sleeping pills, and completely unfucked by any hot guys. You press your fingers to your temples and sigh, closing the pages and pushing the circular off button for the computer. You slide back and lean forward, stretching your creaky back. You miss your cozy little setup at home, your comfortable chair and the souped-up gamer style keyboard. You sacrificed comfort hoping it would make you work harder, but you think you’ll just finish this little sabbatical with more lower-back pain than usual. 

You fill your water bottle with the filter in the fridge, admiring the stickers all over it. Among the logo of your publishing house and the ones about writing, you have fanart of your books and quotes from your own characters. Ones you’ve found at book fairs and second-hand stores as well as online. A handful were sent along with fanmail. Your laptop and idea notebook are covered too, because it drove you mad to know people liked your stuff enough to make art out of it. 

You huff and trudge up the stairs, feeling exhausted and dreading the next day. You sit in your bed and look at the sticker of Milo with his signature phrase I’d like to see you stop me, babygirl. 

You turn the bottle away from you as you open the bedside drawer. Inside of it are two options. A scent-proof bag that holds your pipe, grinder, and bud, a vape, and a few edibles. The other is a vibrator. You wonder what the point of this vacation was. You could get high and get off at home in the city. And at least there you could order munchies for delivery after you’d fucked yourself silly thinking about the made-up vampire in your head.

You just shut the drawer, rolling your eyes as you lay back. 

Two hours later, you can’t sleep. You’re “jerking off your ego” as your friends would call it, looking through positive reviews of your last title. You know you have detractors, people who think your work is trash or anti-feminist. It’s a little trashy, but it’s just for fun. And you’ve had your share of shitty boyfriends like any girl your age, you know the difference between right and wrong. God forbid a girl wants a hot vampire to follow her home, you think. 

You sit up and put your phone face down. You need fresh air. You need a walk. So, you bundle up and stick in headphones for a brisk, freezing, 7 PM wintertime mental health walk. The New England air isn’t just cold, it’s thick and wet with the marine layer from the ocean, which you’re a short walk away from. It’s not nice, but it does invigorate you as you follow the path from your little cottage down to the beach. It’s pretty private, tucked away in a little alcove– which you were warned not to enter when the tide is too high. You peek over to see it’s not. So you climb down and skirt around the rocks to walk on the main beach, which is empty. Obviously. The recently released audiobook of one of your peers’ newest titles plays in your ears, narrated by a sultry English man. You should have gone somewhere else for inspiration. You vaguely remember hearing someone at a book release party talk about how inspiring their trip to France was, and another person responded about their time in Ireland. You’ve mostly just met fishermen and townies, and none of these men had the Milo quality about them. 

Milo was inspired by a stunning man you saw while at a nightclub in New York City. You were very, very drunk on espresso martinis, but you saw him and his adorable girlfriend– who also served as your muse for Annmarie, SC’s protagonist– at the bar together. His arm was around her waist in a way that was possessive but romantic, his hand rested over her tummy, and you saw his thumb rubbing circles into her skin lovingly. 

“Oh my God, girl, are you seriously drooling? You are so drunk,” your friend had half-sighed, half-laughed as you wiped a little drool from your chin with the back of your hand.

“We have got to get you some dick, queen,” another friend joked.

“I am perfectly fine being single,” you protested.

“Nuh-uh, I read that last book of yours. All work and no dick makes you fucking crazy. How did you come up with that shit anyway?”

“She’s totally sick in the head, that’s how.”

Your back straightens up as you think you hear a voice.

“Miss!”

You pause the book and turn around to see a man jogging behind you, holding something in his hands. You freeze with terror until you realise it’s your notebook he’s holding.

“You dropped this,” he says, handing it over. He stays a nice distance away from you.

He has some sort of Southern accent, not New England. 

And he is very, very attractive. He wears a tight black t-shirt and black athletic shorts. His short hair is semi-dark, and probably reddish from the way it looks in the blue moonlight. He smiles politely at you, his dark eyes are hard to see. There’s a scruff of facial hair on him.

“Thanks.”

“Sorry, I… I woulda tapped your shoulder, but I was worried you’d sock me in the nose if I scared you.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Are you uh… you okay? It’s pretty dark out here.”

“Yeah, I know. I was just clearing my head.”

“Right.”

You take a breath and introduce yourself quickly.

“I’m Remmick,” he says.

“So, what are you doing out here, Remmick?”

“Well, I work at that lighthouse. Just takin’ a jog before I head up there.”

“Oh.”

Hot lighthouse worker. That could be a love interest.

“You on vacation? I think I’d remember your face if I’d seen it before.”

Charming lighthouse worker. 

“I’m uh… on a sort of sabbatical.”

“You a doctor or something?”

“God, no. I’m a writer.”

“Yeah?”

The tone and timbre of that yeah have your head spinning. 

“Books or what?”

You nod.

“What kind?”

You hesitate.

“Can I guess?”

“Go for it.”

He thinks for a second, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he does, which makes you flush. 

“Are they scary?”

“Parts of them are scary,” you admit. 

You remembered researching for SC and finding out that a lot of people only have a little over one gallon of blood in their bodies. You felt lightheaded and queasy at the visual of a plastic gallon bottle full of blood.

“But they ain’t all scary, huh?”

“Nope.”

He eyes you and smirks.

“Are they dirty?”

You hesitate and suck in air through clenched teeth.

“Yeah. They’re pretty dirty.”

“You must make good money, huh?”

He chuckles and you shrug.

“I do alright.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Where’re you stayin’?”

You pause and he holds up his hands.

“That probably sounded creepy. I only meant… there’s some nice places, and there’s a Holiday Inn.”

“Well, it’s not the Holiday Inn.”

He looks at the watch on his hand.

“Shit. Well, I gotta get goin’.”

He says your name and your chest fills up with a weird feeling. Half-elation, half-dread.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah. You too. I’ll see you around,” you respond.

“Only if you keep walkin’ at night. Boats don’t need a lighthouse in the daytime,” he explains quickly, jogging off toward the beacon.

Hot lighthouse worker who’s charming and funny. Now that could work.

You go home and open the fridge. Time for boxed wine in a mug as you power-write for the next forty-five minutes until your hands cramp up.

You put the notebook down and pull out your favorite pen. You need certainty when you put book ideas down. You write in quick, messy bullet points, only getting down little ideas. You heard that coastal New England towns are famous for gruesome murder. Your instincts take you to the mafia but one glance at your water bottle has you thinking otherwise. SC was such a success, and you’re the vampire girl now. 

So you begin to pen the vague outline of a dark romance with a steamy, stalkery vampire lighthouse worker. A man in thick knit sweaters with a messy beard– that could get messier covered in blood or buried between a writer’s thighs–

You pause and see you’ve written writer on the page. You cringe and scribble that out. You had your humble beginnings with composition notebook self-insert fanfiction as a tween, but you’re a big girl now. And you’re already writing prose over a guy you just met, you really don’t need to make it any weirder. Your mind goes through some humble, wholesome occupations to compliment a love interest like that. Baker? Too cliche. Schoolteacher? Too male gaze. Big city corporate lawyer? Too Hallmark movie.

You tap back of the pen against the page rhythmically and sit up. Investigative journalist. Still technically a writer, but the only things you investigate are late-night Twitter links on a private spam account not even your best friends know about. 

Your pen dashes across the page, scrawling wildly. There’s not even any music playing, just the not-so-distant sound of the ocean, the radiator, and your own hand brushing against the paper. Soon, you’ve filled five pages without realising and that doubles in a blink. Shit! Your hand cramps up and you lift the pen finally, massaging your other thumb into your palm. It’s time for bed now, as three hours have passed and your back is killing you. 

You ascend the stairs again and just go to sleep, hand and wrist sore and content with your productivity.

You wake up surprisingly early the next day, and decide to go into town to get some groceries. Your fridge is looking sparse and the pantries are basically empty. You buy some frozen stuff and some supplies to make coffee. You see the honey is placed on the highest shelf you’ve ever seen and huff. No workers around. You can probably get it on your tiptoes. You strain to reach it and hear a man’s voice.

“Can I help you with that?”

You almost fall dropping to your feet again, and a shooting pain goes up from your heels.

“Ow, shit.”

“I’m sorry.”

It’s a man in a lifeguard’s hoodie with red swim trunks on. Maybe you hit your head and you’re having some sort of insane Baywatch fantasy.

“Yes. Please.”

“Yeah, I honestly don’t know who puts this stuff up there. The lady who owns this place is like, four-eleven.” You laugh at that as he hands you the honey.

“Thank you.”

“No problem. I’m Chris, by the way.”

You give him your name and shake his hand. Fucking hell this guy is strong. 

“Are you visiting?”

“Yeah. For a few months though. I’m working on a book.”

“You write horror?”

“Sorry?”

“Um, Stephen King’s from Maine. I feel like horror writers are always trying to… come out here and get some of that inspiration.”

“I think the inspiration he had was-”

“Cocaine?” he says at the same time as you. He shrugs. “At least you can recognise that. Half the other writers are ready to climb into the sewer.”

“Shit, well there goes my day at the rock quarry,” you joke. 

He laughs at that and you grin. 

“I’m a lifeguard on the beach for the next six hours, if you um… feel like you need some fresh air. Sunlight isn’t really a November specialty.”

“Are people really swimming this time of year?”

“Oh, they are. But so are the great whites, so, I’m mostly on seal watch.”

“Right.”

“I’m in tower Four,” he tells you eagerly. It’s like the words just jump right out of his mouth. “It’s right by the lighthouse. Nobody swims there, so… if you wanna tell me about your book or something… my job is pretty boring.”

“I’ll see you out there, Chris.”

“See you.”

You check out and ride the bike the homeowner left for guests back to the cottage. You feel insane. Maybe you were hospitalized after that breakdown and this is all some elaborate, drugged-up daydream you’re in. You pull out your notebook after the groceries are put away and flip to a new page. You click your pen and write HOT LIFEGUARD at the top of the page. 

A love triangle sounds awesome.

Later on, after you actually manage to type some words on a new, more permanent outline document, your vision drifts out the window. It is actually kind of a nice day, even though it’s overcast and windy. You stand and squeeze your hands together, stretching out. It is time for another brisk walk, this time to Tower Four.

Chris sits up there, slumped in his chair and holding his rescue tube in his lap. His tanned, toned legs are wide as he sits back.

“Would it scare you really bad if I started yelling ‘help’?” you joke, peering up at him from the ground.

He chirps your name, sitting up and sliding his sunglasses on top of his head, pushing back his hair. 

“You made it.”

“I brought you a snack,” you say, handing up the small bag of chocolates.

“Wicked,” he says, taking it from your hand. He swings down like a monkey and sits with his feet dangling off the side of the tower. You share the candies and look out on the water.

“So, you gonna tell me about your book?”

“Yeah, I’m not a horror writer.”

“What do you write?”

You hesitate. You know this song and dance, the divulgence of your career and the weird stares and uncomfortable shifting that follows. It’s ruined all sorts of dates and first impressions. Fuck it. You’re on sabbatical.

“Um… dirty romance books.”

“No shit? Is it like that crazy mafia stuff online?”

“Yeah, it’s exactly that.”

“Killer. You make a lot of money?”

“Enough to stay here and not work for three months.”

“So… you’re not writing a book?”

You shake your head.

“My creative well is completely dry. I came out here for-”

“Don’t even say it.”

“-some inspiration.”

“You are such a liar,” he teases. “You’re just like all those Stephen King wannabes,” he jokes, turning away from you.

You laugh at his silliness. You remain for a while, chatting about life and the town.

“The city is wild. I’m getting used to the silence, I think,” you tell him, having moved to– illegally– sit on the tower with him.

“Is the crime really so crazy out there?”

“Yeah, I mean… most of that is just there’s so many people crammed into such a small place. People go nuts.”

“Damn.”

“No crime here?”

“Not here, no, but um… about twenty miles north there’s this beach town, it’s a complete tourist getaway, but they got rocked by some shark attacks a few years back.”

“Some shark attacks?” you repeat his casual wording, shocked.

“Sorry. That sounded insensitive, it was really scary. That place is on its last legs now.”

“Well, yeah. Who wants to stay at the Jaws resort?”

“Bull shark, probably. The same thing happened in nineteen-sixteen. It was pretty gruesome.”

“Are you fucking with me?” you question him seriously, eyes squinted.

“I’m being serious, look it up.”

“Huh. Shit.” You sit back, eyes wandering to the lighthouse.

“Have you ever met the person who works up there?”

“Yeah, he’s fucking creepy.”

“I didn’t think so.”

“You met him?”

“Mhm. Last night.”

“Remmick? The lighthouse guy? You met him?”

“Yeah…? He was jogging.”

“Fucking weirdo,” Chris mutters. “He’s a complete shut-in.”

“How long has he been here?”

“Couple years? I don’t really know when he got here, he just… was there one day.”

“Weird.”

“Yeah, well. We used to have a night lifeguard, and– listen, I can admit having a girl out here on her own was pretty stupid– not that girls are… incapable or something-”

“I get it.”

“Right. And… full disclaimer, this girl really liked shrooms, but she swears up and down that she saw that guy covered in blood and eating a seal.”

“Whoa.”

“I mean, there was a dead seal on the beach, she was right about that.”

“Great white?”

“Oh, for sure. I’m think he was probably just doing that creepy-ass night jogging by the tower when that seal washed up, and… sometimes the sharks don’t fully kill the things-”

You grimace.

“I know, it’s pretty sad. Anyway, probably it was yowling and her fucking shroomed out brain conjured up that pretty picture. But he’s just a weird guy. He’s totally nocturnal. I’ve never seen the guy in the daytime. I’ve probably seen him six times and talked to him like… two, maybe?”

“Jeez.”

“Yeah. Anyways, sorry. That was a lot. I’d just stay away from the guy if you can. I don’t know what his deal is.”

You swiftly change the subject to movies and TV, which is good, because you two seem to share the same interests. Strangely enough, vampires are among them.

“I have sisters, so, I’ve seen Twilight about a hundred times? Maybe more?”

You laugh at that. You see him grinning and you check phone, seeing that two hours have passed.

“Shit. I have got to get back.”

“Right.”

“Thanks for the company. And the advice,” you add, nodding to the lighthouse.

“Um… would you want to grab a drink, tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. Um… where?”

“It’s called The Weasel. It’s definitely a townie bar, but… the drinks are cheap.”

You are fiending for an espresso martini, and you fear you’ll have to settle for an old reliable at a dive bar. 

“Alright.”

“Cool. Um… eight o’clock sound good?”

“Eight o’clock sounds great.”

“Awesome. See you there.”

“I will see you there.”

Your back hits a tree as you pant, unable to run anymore. Your lungs burn as you gasp for cold night air in a dark, damp forest. You’re barefoot, in a wet nightgown that sticks to your skin and you’re terrified. 

You tremble, feeling the looming presence of something evil and ancient, rising up in front of you. Met with words in a language you don’t understand, a clawed hand grips your jaw. They’re wet and sticky, hot with something you realise is blood. The creature laughs at you cruelly and on the other hand grabs a handful of your nightgown, claws ripping through the fabric as it tears a strip down the center. The hand cups between your legs. It splits your lips carefully– almost reverently– brushing a knuckle between your folds, claws away from your most sensitive skin. You gasp and shiver, hands against the tree. You’re wet, though. Soaking the creature’s hands as it coats your skin in blood. It’s so dark and your vision is blurry with tears, you only see two red spots staring at you, and the glint of pearly fangs as the jaw of the creature opens and lurches forward.

You shoot up and sigh, panting as you try to catch your breath. You’ve been plagued with these “psychosexual night terrors”, as your therapist calls them, since you finished writing SC. Some weeks they’re sparse and other ones you can’t sleep without waking up sticky and horrified. Your cortisol levels are through the roof and your sex drive is in the stratosphere. The running theory is that your frantic writing for the deadline of SC drove you just a little bit crazy, and your panic and arousal from writing about Milo’s sexy antics while your publishing house breathed down your neck combined and manifested as the scary void creature in your nightmares.

You take a cold shower that morphs into an everything shower when you remember your date with Chris. Not a date. Just grabbing a drink. Could be a date.

You feel like a kid again, having a cute summer fling with a boy at sleepaway camp with the distant bitter sweetness of knowing you’ll leave in three months. Except you are an adult woman and if you do fall in love, you could just move here forever. 

But that’s wishful thinking.

You wait at the bar patiently. You’re a punctual girl, your agent adores that about you, so you are a little early. You chat with the bartender. She’s an older woman with a thick Mainer accent. 

“Let me guess-”

“Not a horror writer,” you joke back. 

She laughs at that. Her laugh is creaky but comforting, and you can tell she’s a smoker.

“You look nervous.”

“I’m meeting somebody?”

“Yeah?”

“I won’t say who, because I’m guessing you know everyone.”

“Well, I also know who’s single and who isn’t. If you’re worried he’s married, just give me a name.”

The bar is quiet, some men play pool and a group of vacationing dads drink beers and watch some sports on an outdated television. 

You order another drink as you watch the clock behind the bar tick on.

By eight thirty, you’re sufficiently buzzed. You didn’t even get his phone number to text him.

By nine, you decide you should go home. You thank the bartender and leave her a generous tip. You’ll be too embarrassed to come in here for a while.

You take the bike home, slumping on the sofa in the living room as you kick off your heels. You feel tears pricking at your eyes and rub them away, not caring about your smudged eyeshadow or makeup. You wipe it off in the bathroom and change out of your clothes. You need another walk. Maybe you’ll run into the allegedly very creepy lighthouse man and you’ll get some inspiration. 

“I’ll show you Stephen King wannabe, dickhead,” you mutter to yourself, pulling on your coat and shoving your notebook in your pocket. 

You follow the familiar motions, down the path, out through the alcove, and down the beach. You have some angry music playing this time as you stomp down the beach and pass the lifeguard towers. Shrooms girl better thank her lucky stars she’s off night shift, because you look pissed off right now. You stalk all the way down to tower four and roll your eyes. This is a tantrum. You’re an adult.

“I thought I might see you again,” a voice calls. Remmick is on a ledge above you, leaning on the wooden railing. 

“Can I come up there?”

“I’m not gon’ tell you what to do, sweetheart.”

You try to ignore the fire that lights in you and climb the sand and rock stairs, joining him on the ledge. He sits on a bench and pats the seat next to him.

“I heard a lot about you today, from a couple locals,” you tell him, lying about it.

You get the feeling Chris was being insecure, or maybe Remmick’s stolen one too many girls from him. 

“Yeah, I’m a seal-eating nightwalker, you got me,” he jokes, his hands up in mock surrender.

You exhale through your nose. You wish you could laugh harder.

“I’m just a solitary kinda fella. People here, shit, they tight knit like fishin’ nets. They think everybody’s gotta know everybody’s business. Nobody knows mine, so they’ve been makin’ things up for the past three years.” 

“Sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey, I’d rather you hear it from me.”

He looks at you for a moment and rubs a hand over his knee.

“You look upset.”

“Yeah. I uh…”

You hesitate, and see him lean forward, actively listening.

“It’s stupid.”

He holds his hand out, gesturing for you to speak.

“I got stood up,” you admit.

“For a date?”

“Not exactly. Just drinks.”

He clicks his tongue.

“That’s no good. Must be a pretty dumb guy, to stand you up.”

“Yeah. That was a dickhead move. I’m just hoping it was more of a… ‘oh shit, I totally forgot’ kind of thing.”

He eyes you and you cross your legs.

“Still. You musta gotten all dolled up for it.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Well, I uh… I’m not so much a bar kind of fella, but if you wanna come out here sometimes all dolled up…” he leans in, “I got some good whiskey and two glasses.”

You lean in too, close to him.

“I might take you up on that, Remmick.”

“I gotta get up there,” he murmurs, looking at your lips as he speaks.

“Right.���

He doesn’t move, locked in place for a moment. He seems to shake off the spell and sits back, scrubbing a hand down his face, wiping his mouth. It almost looks like he’s wiping away drool. He stands up.

“You uh, you alright to walk home on your own?”

Words flash in your mind, the scene from SC where Milo promises to stalk Annmarie home, which results in him watching through the window as she touches herself. You’re drunk, you realise, as the neurons in your brain flicker out and blood rushes down your body.

“Yeah, I should be fine.”

“Right.”

He starts to walk away and turns back.

“I mean it. You come up see me sometime.”

“I will.”

You mean that, too.

Remmick thumbs through your notebook. How can you even understand this stuff? Your messy handwriting is charming. He reads through descriptions of vampire lore and fangs and turning that make him chuckle. He thinks of the smell of you, that hot scent of desire and the buzzing of your intoxicated body as you sat together. He’s so fucking cold in Maine, and he hasn’t been touched in years. He imagines you’d be hot to the touch. He knows you’re frustrated, you’ve been dissatisfied with pleasuring yourself. The descriptions of sex scenes have him biting back groans and palming himself through his pants. 

He flips to the final page.

HOT LIFEGUARD

His eyes narrow as he realises who it was that stood you up. He turns the page back over, scanning through your previous writing. 

LIGHTHOUSE VAMPIRE LOVER. CLAIMS TO KILL FOR HER. STALKERY? MILO PART II. LESS TENDER. MORE EVIL.

Oh, you’re fucking crazy. 

He grins, his fangs sliding down.

He can make do with crazy.

You wake up early, painful early. You dress groggily and decide to get some air on the beach before the dickhead lifeguard starts his shift. You’re slightly hungover as you traverse down the path and through the alcove to walk on the beach. 

The light is pale and you have to watch your step for kelp as you walk down. You see something up on the sand, and your heart sinks.

It has to be a seal. It’s not breathing, so you look at the nearest lifeguard tower for the animal control. You dial the number and wait patiently.

“Hello?” a voice that sounds just as groggy as you feel answers.

“Hi, I’m um, I’m on the beach right now and I think there’s a dead seal by the first lifeguard tower.”

“Oh, hell. Sorry, miss. It’s too damn early. Do you see any marks on it?”

“It’s hard to see with the fog. Is it safe to get closer?”

“Seals aren’t half as aggressive as sea lions, miss, so go ahead.”

You step closer, squinting with the fog. It’s absolutely dead, not moving at all. You approach it cautiously, worried about what other creatures might be lurking around.

Your heart drops to the pit of your stomach.

This is not a seal.

This is Chris the lifeguard, and he’s missing an arm.

[drfuckerm-d]

awwww this is so SWEET lmc (ftr u dont have to reblawg)

@sunshine-sojin ily cuz ur not just my moot. u also go get gumbles with me irl at the mall and that means we have an unbreakable bond. i will always write silly fics for u and shield u from the uncouthery i partake in

@tuiloth bc i love u and i think it is SO funny we met bc u had a muriel arcana daily post acc and asked ur followers via story post A) how to dry leaves and B) how to remove blood stains and both times i randomly reached out and gave u the answers. that is ancient friendship lore and i cherish it

@hawkstar5 u r funny as faaaawwwwk and ur like one of the tumblr moots i text most regularly/for like absolutely no reason and also u crawl all over my ao3/bsky/tumbly and i love to read ur comments awwwwe thank u 🥹🥹🥹 ive got my big #1 glove on and up for the next YOTP chapter

@yellowcakeuf6 uuu were like the first person to regularly comment on all my ao3 work and i am always so happy to see what u have to say beneath all my stuff im honored forevez🫶🫶 + i love to see ur work on my dash and i feel soooo lucky when i get little sneak previes over dm

@tanyayoung-322 cuz u supply us with baller pics of our lovely dater and also fun nature stuff and the aesthetic b/w pics. ur also like the first person to like my art when i post it and im always so thankful tysm❤️🥰

@duztdevl u make me giggle and ur style is just so fascinating to me i love everything u draw. i eat it as soon as u serve it. also i like that its data AAAND fallout like YAAAY 2 of my favorite things. ur also always there on my bsky and i love to see ur replies 🫶

@101-android-luvr-010 omg i hadnt rp'd in like YEEEAAARS until i rp'd with u again its so funsies awwwwwwe❤️ mystery is so cutie cute and fun to play dollies with

@xm0-m0x like the second i heard abt the roblox ghost game i was like zamn i bet momo would play that with me and we DID and it was FUN. i love getting a little papa sprinkled into my dash via ur reblogs 💜🖤💙 AND u always leave the sweetest little comments on my silly stupid animatics and i appreciate it v much 🙏

@skee-doodles u have taken such a vested interest in slag and i am so honored omg 😭 i genuinely never expected anyone to like her beyond her function as the vehicle for the audience but u always pop up in my dms with another doodle of her and im like omg 🩷💕🤭😚 i stare at them and pat my phone screen lovingly they are so thoughtful

@datazombiie u are not very active i think but u were my first data moot and i was so thrilled by every interaction with u. i was like OMG i do tumblr now and im DOING IT WELL!!

@dataentryspecialist was deadass gobsmacked when i saw u on here cuz id read EE and had no idea u had a tumblr. i think i told u the first time u commented on some post here that u were like a celeb to me and its still like that 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ i would not have ever posted anything had i not stumbled into that massive fic one night

i spent a very long time trying to be a full-fledged artist and found myself discouraged and mistreated so many times by other artists/any thread of the industry that until i'd fallen down the data rabbit hole, i had completely given up on sharing any of my art. my early posts dont have signatures because my work had been stolen so many times previously id just given up trying to protect it. im so happy that i decided to give it all another shot, and i wouldn't have done it without any of everyone's support. tysm u guys 🫶🙏 listed and unlisted ❤️ shall be back and posting soon

favirote moots?

(People you tag have to reblog and say their favorite moots)

Okay wait

@ibrokeurheartbcuzubrokemine @foliverfalls @allyeilishh @addisonraesbaby @emiliesblohsh @bilsslut @noodleswashere @bilsbabyy @bitchesbrokenpromises @billsdollie

[kurizz]

Pink Poly Club (miromabby) Part 2

click for part 1

Summary: Mira had a solo interview—at least, that’s what she thought. But right when it started, two pink-haired boys showed up and joined in. What was meant to be calm quickly turned into a chaotic interview with all three of them. No one knew what was going to happen next.

Word Count: 1250

a/n: im bad w titles and posting. lets just say this is part two even though there's no significant connection between the first fic i posted.

-----

“What do you think of the ship MiRomAbby?” the host asked Mira.

With a forced smile, she looked at the camera. “I think our fans are creative, but there’s nothing going on between us.”

The audience let out a chorus of disappointed “Aww”s and suspicious “Hmm”s, some clearly thinking she was lying. She wasn’t though.

“Is that so?” the host asked. He stood up and turned to face the crowd. The studio lights were blinding, but his smile was even brighter—like he had something up his sleeve. “Actually, we have surprise guests today. Would you like to meet them now, folks?”

Mira’s brows furrowed. She sat up straight. She hadn’t been informed of this.

“LET US ALL CHEER for Romance and Abby of Saja Boys!”

The crowd went wild—but Mira’s heart went wilder.

What? They’re here?!

No one told her. No one warned her.

Fans squealed and chanted as the boys made their entrance, the guys had their eyes immediately locked in on her. Their smiles teased with a sweet charm that made the air a little warmer.

She averted her gaze, ignoring the weird tingling feeling in her chest. Stop it, Mira.

They waved at the crowd like boy band royalty, soaking in the cheers of the people. Mira didn’t move. She was trying to compose herself.

They took their respective seats on either side of her. She noticed how they were always like this, keeping her in the middle. It was like this during their fansign event, and it's the same now.

Mira tried to play it cool, but the host had other ideas.

“So, who confessed first? Was it Mira?”

 She was visibly taken aback, “As if! Nobody confessed anything—”

“Yet.” Abby cut her off playfully.

 The crowd was loving this. Mira, not so much.

“I’ve asked Mira. About time we hear your answers too.” The smug look on the host’s face was irritating. “What do you think of MiRomAbby?”

“Oh, we heard there were rumors,” Romance stated, throwing his arm across the back of the couch. “And we thought, why not confirm everything?”

“What?” Mira whipped her head in his direction. He met her gaze with a sweetly masked innocence.

Abby nodded, “Yeah. Like, confirm that we’re all just friends…with really good chemistry.”

The host cackled, clearly thriving. “So no truth to the MiRomAbby ship?”

Romance lazily leaned in. “I mean, unless Mira wants to change her answer.”

“I don’t.” Mira blinked, her response quick.

“You sound so sure.” Abby chuckled in amusement. It was close to her ear, making her shift in her seat.

“Because I am sure.” her gaze sharp and challenging.

The host clapped his hands together, bringing the attention back to him. “Alright, time for a little fun. We’ve got some stuff prepared that were highly requested—”

Mira huffed. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“—from your fans.” The host grinned. “Let’s start off with a classic: the heart monitor game!”

Some staff emerged from the sidelines to stick the sensor patches onto them. Their heart rates appeared on the big screen for everyone to see. Mira’s was already elevated, while the boys’ were on the lower side.

“Seems like someone’s a little nervous…” Romance teased, his voice smooth and low.

Mira took a deep breath. “It’s because I’m annoyed. That’s all.”

His brow quirked upwards, a small grin playing on his lips. Ugh, why is she even looking at him?

“And now it’s time for some Truth or Dare.” The host barely let the tension settle. “This one comes from sajaxhuntrix4ever. They said: ‘I dare you to hold hands for 10 minutes. If you let go, you’ll have to redo. P.S. We love you and support pink poly!’”

Mira’s blood ran cold. The cheers were deafening.

“Now that’s one way to start the game,” the host laughed. “Alright then, the timer starts once you hold hands.”

Abby offered his hand to her, head slightly tilted, eyes sparkling with a playful glint. “Whenever you’re ready, Mira.”

He said her name slowly, like he was enjoying the sound of it on his mouth. Her heart was already thudding in her chest. She glanced up at the screen and saw the BPM number climbing higher. No. Calm down.

With an abrupt motion, she grabbed both their hands without another thought. Let’s get this over with.

The timer began.

Romance shifted into a more comfortable position and casually readjusted his hold on her. He slid his warm fingers between hers, lacing them together with a satisfied hum. Mira chose to ignore it.

“Okay, next one is from the user supremecolorpink. They asked: ‘Why can’t you just date? Don’t worry, we support you!’”

Mira sighed. “I appreciate all the support, but it’s simply because I’m not… interested.”

That slight hesitation. What happened to being sure, Mira?

“That's not a very nice joke,” Abby teased, bringing their intertwined hands on his chest with a sly smile. “Not even a spark of interest?”

Yeah, no, I'm definitely not interested...right..?

She could feel the warmth of his chest seeping into the back of her hand. Her throat suddenly felt dry, “Enough. Next.”

“Between Romance and Abby, who do you like more?”

The two boys exchanged glances.

“None.” Mira was quick with it, her eyes shut tight with restraint.

More ridiculous questions followed, and somehow, she managed to get through them. When does this end?

The host chuckled before he read the next card. Upon reading, his eyes widened a fraction. “Ah, finally, another dare—and it’s a fan favorite: the Pepero Game!”

The room erupted in cheers of excitement, but it was nothing compared to the pounding in Mira’s chest. No, not like this.

The host took notice and didn't miss a beat.

“Well, would you look at that? Someone’s excited.”

Excited?

Mira looked to her left, as if trying to hide her face from the crowd. Things were starting to feel uncomfortable, and her shoulders grew tense. She didn't like this. She wanted to make the fans happy but not at the expense of her own. The room now feels suffocating.

Suddenly, she felt gentle, comforting rubs on both her hands, like it was trying to help her relax. She slowly glanced down at one hand, then the other—then up at their faces. They weren't even looking at her but their thumbs were rubbing soft soothing circles on her hands.

“Alright, Mira, you’ll need to choose a partner—” the host began, already scanning between Romance and Abby with a grin.

But before he could finish, Abby raised his free hand with a chuckle, “Actually, I think we’re overdue for a water break. I might pass out.”

A few people laughed from the crowd. Some were concerned.

Romance nodded, grinning. “Yeah, I’m thirsty too.”

“Oh look, the timer’s up. We can let go now.” he added.

Romance and Abby gently released Mira’s hands. She blinked, still trying to process the sudden shift. They removed the sensor patch from Mira's body, both their eyes fixed on her face.

“You’re thirsty too, right, Mira?” Abby asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

“Come on, let’s go.”

That’s when they led her backstage.

Minutes later, a staff member whispered to the host that the three idols had slipped away, mentioning something about an emergency.

Whispers began to swirl instantly. Fans speculated wildly, their phones lighting up with theories and guesses. Had they ditched the show?

The buzz didn’t die down for the rest of the night.

________

it's so embarassing that i dont know how to use this thing </3 i feel like a grandma but im not that old i swear (or maybe i am) im just not a tumblr typa gal. dont laugh at me or maybe do, as long as it makes u happy. you can suggest stuff so it would help me have ideas. like, be it fluffy, angsty, or spicy. just a teeny bit spicy, like this tho 🤏🏻 nothing too crazy unless… i didnt say ill be writing them all so dont keep your hopes up. if you say please then maybe i would reconsider 😮‍💨

@suzieq1948374 @hillyj579

[princesevsnape]

Second Chances

Pairings: Mattheo Riddle x Reader, Theo Nott x Reader (slight flirting), Draco Malfoy x Reader (platonic)

Summary: You see your ex boyfriend with his new girlfriend at a party.

Word Count: 3.7k

A/N: I loved writing this so much. I wasn’t sure how I wanted this story to go and I kind of was thinking of potentially making this at least 2 parts but I decided to just do it all in 1 part. I think to do a multiple part fic I need a lot more details to it. Also this was an idea of my own. And I wasn’t expecting this to go the way it did but as I was writing this is just the direction it took. Please continue to send in requests

Mattheo Riddle. The one boy you promised yourself that you would never cry over. The boy who broke your heart, and who you had cried over countless times. He had the audacity to stand there smirking at you from across the room, his arm slung around his new girlfriends shoulders, as she whispered in his ear so he could hear her over the loud music.

That pig you thought to yourself. It had only been two weeks since Mattheo broke up with you, and he already had a new girlfriend. It’s clear to you, that you never meant anything to him.

“Y/N!” Your best friend Hermione shouted trying to grab your attention.

You tore your gaze away from Mattheo and looked at Hermione.

“You were staring at Mattheo.” She said.

“He was staring first,” you muttered just loud enough for her to hear.

“Well you need to get over him. He’s clearly already gotten over you.” She said giving you a small smile.

“I need a drink.” You said making your way to grab some Firewhiskey.

“Hey Y/N.” You heard a familiar voice say.

You turned around drink in hand, and saw your ex’s best friend.

“Hey Theo.” You said giving him a small smile, before taking a big sip of your drink.

“How are you doing?” He asked.

“Just great. My ex is here with his new girlfriend. Two weeks after he broke up with me. It’s as if I meant nothing to him. We were together for three years. I didn’t even want to come to this stupid party only came because Hermione convinced me to. Now I have to see him with some slut.” You said before downing the rest of your drink.

You went to grab another but Theo quickly stopped you.

“Slow down Y/N. You’ll get drunk way too fast. And you’ll feel like crap.” He said.

“That’s the plan.” You said ignoring him and grabbing another drink.

“Now Theo you can either drink with me, or leave me alone.” You said taking a sip of your second drink.

“I’m not leaving you alone. Not when you’re going to be in a state.” He said.

“Good, then drink with me.” You said grabbing a drink for Theo, and then pulling him to the sofa in the middle of the Slytherin common room.

You pushed him down on the sofa, and sat down on his lap.

“Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea.” He said.

“Well there isn’t many other places I can sit so it’s your lap or on the floor. And I would much rather sit on your lap Theo.” You said smiling at him,

You looked over at Mattheo who was still watching you. He had been watching your every move. He now had a scowl on his face. It was your turn to smirk at him.

His new girlfriend was trying to get his attention but he couldn’t stop watching as you sat on his best friends lap. Laughing and flirting with Theo. You kept glancing at Mattheo to see his reaction.

When his girlfriend couldn’t get Mattheo’s attention she looked over to see where he was glaring. She immediately started to get angry with Mattheo. Shouting at him. Telling him to pay attention to her. But Mattheo’s gaze never shifted from you and Theo.

“You know Theo you’re really handsome, maybe I should have dated you instead of Mattheo.” You said running your fingers through his hair.

“Y/N stop before you do or say something you’ll regret.” Theo warned.

“And who says I will regret it.” You smirked before crashing your lips against Theo’ s.

Theo was reluctant to kiss you back. It’s not that he didn’t want to, he had always liked you, but you had been with his best friend. Before Theo could decide whether or not to kiss you back, you felt yourself being pulled off his lap.

You turned to see Mattheo stood there absolutely livid.

“What the fuck are you doing?” He asked.

“That is none of your business anymore Mattheo. You broke up with me.” You snapped.

“You can’t just go kissing my best friend.” He snapped getting in your face. He was breathing heavily, absolutely seething.

“You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore. I can kiss whoever the fuck I want. And if I want to fuck someone I can do that too. You don’t have the right to lecture me, not when you started dating that slut only two weeks after we broke up. Clearly the last three years meant nothing to you. I meant nothing to you.”

“What the fuck did you call me?” Mattheo’s girlfriend said inserting herself into the conversation.

Pushing Mattheo out of the way you glared at his girlfriend.

“I called you a slut, everyone knows you spread your legs for any guy that looks at you.”

“How dare you? You’re the one who cheated on Mattheo.” She said.

“Excuse me.” You said, utterly confused.

“What bullshit have you been telling her Mattheo?” You said glaring at him.

“Actually you know what. Fuck you. And fuck your disgusting slut of a girlfriend.” You said and slapped Mattheo across the face.

You pushed past his girlfriend, and ran out of the Slytherin common room. You didn’t know where you were going you just knew that you had to get as far away from Mattheo and his new girlfriend as possible.

“What the hell have you done Riddle?” Draco asked having seen the commotion.

“I did nothing.” Mattheo said.

“I swear if you’ve hurt her I’ll kill you.” Draco spat.

“Why do you care about her?” Mattheo asked.

“Have you forgotten the fact that me and her were best friends up until she became friends with Granger. We grew up together. We might not be as close as we used to be but I still care about her. Now I’m going to go and find her. And if I find out you’ve done something else to hurt her I will kill you Riddle.” Draco said before leaving the common room to look for you.

He knew exactly where to look for you. He found you sat by the Black Lake sobbing. Draco sat down by you and took his jacket off placing it over your shoulders.

“It’s cold out here, you should have stayed in the castle.” He said.

“Draco what are you doing here?” You asked looking at him.

“I had to come check you were ok. No one else seemed to want to come and check up on you. Not even your new best friend.” He said.

“Why did you have to come though? I mean we aren’t as close as we used to be.”

“I still care about you. My parents ask about you all the time you know. They always tell me they hope you’ll come over to the manor again one day. Like you used to. Stay the summer again. They miss you as much as I miss you.”

“Draco I. I’m sorry I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s ok. Look you know I don’t like Granger. You deserve better friends than her.”

“Draco don’t.” You said starting to get annoyed.

“I’m sorry but look if she truly was your best friend she would be here with you now. Not me.” He said.

“I guess you’re right.” You said not really wanting to admit he was right. But you couldn’t deny that he had a very valid point.

If Hermione really was your friend she would have followed straight after you. But why didn’t she?

“How come you slapped Mattheo?” Draco asked.

“He told his new girlfriend that I cheated on him, and that’s why he broke up with me.”

“What the fuck. Why would he say that?”

“Honestly. I have no idea. I’ve done nothing but love him for the last three years.”

“Right. Well I’m going to find out what the fuck is going on with that idiot. Either he’s made it up so he doesn’t seem like the bad guy. Or someone made shit up to him. Either way I’m going to find out. I will set things straight for you. I owe you that much for being such a terrible friend.” Draco said.

“Draco you have never been a terrible friend. We stopped being close because you and Hermione don’t see eye to eye.” You explained.

“I still need to make up for us not being as close as we used to. I deeply regret letting Granger come between our friendship.” He said wrapping his arm around you and pulling you in for a hug.

A few days later Draco came back to you, with some news. He found you in the library after classes.

“Y/N I have the answers you need.” He said sitting down opposite you.

“From the look on your face I’m guessing I am not going to like what you have to tell me.” You said noticing the angry expression on his face.

“No you aren’t.” Draco said.

“Ok. Let’s hear it.” You said.

“Well first of all Mattheo refused to say anything, no matter how many times I threatened him or tried to get him to talk. I tried his new girlfriend, but she also refused to speak to me. So my last resort was Theo. I know he’s Mattheo’s best friend but I knew he must have some insight into what happened. Best friends tell each other everything.” Draco said.

“Ok. And he had some information right?” You asked.

“Yes he did. First of all that girl, is not Mattheo’s new girlfriend. He only pretended to be with her to get back at you. The girl however honestly did think that they were together. He has now told her to leave him alone he wants nothing to do with her.” Draco explained.

“Ok, but did you find out why he told her that I cheated on him?” You asked.

“Of course I did. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have all the information. You know I don’t stop until I have everything I need.”

“I know sorry. Carry on.”

“It was Granger. She was the one who told Mattheo that you cheated on him.”

“What why the hell would she do that? I thought she was my friend.”

“I know and I’m sorry.” Draco said taking his hand in yours.

“Right let’s go and speak to her. She will be in the Gryffindor common room you can come with me.” You said.

“You know we aren’t normally allowed in other houses common rooms unless there’s a party.” Draco said.

“Well it’s ok because you’re with me, and I give you permission to be in there.” You said.

The two of you made your way to the Gryffindor common room. Giving the portrait of the Fat Lady the password you and Draco entered the Gryffindor common room.

Hermione was sat there with Ron and Harry and a few other Gryffindor students were around.

“Y/N there you are.” She said giving you a smile.

“What the hell is Malfoy doing here?” Ron asked.

“Yeah what is he doing here you know we aren’t allowed in other houses common rooms.” Hermione said looking pissed off.

“He is my friend and I gave him permission to be here. And Hermione I think me and you need a little talk.” You said.

“What about? And I’m not talking if he’s here.” Hermione said glaring at Draco.

“Well I’m not going anywhere you filthy little mudblood.” Draco spat.

“Hey watch it Malfoy.” Harry said standing up and pointing his wand at Draco ready to start a fight.

You stepped between Harry and Draco and pushed Harry.

“Don’t you dare Harry” you said.

“How can you defend him?” Harry asked.

“Because he is my best friend. Has been since we were young. But we haven’t been as close over the last few years. But we are getting back on track again.” You explained.

“I thought I was your best friend?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah I thought so too.” You said glaring at Hermione.

“What do you mean?” Hermione said now standing up.

You didn’t say anything. Hermione stumbled back once your hand connected with her face.

“Why would you do that?” Ron asked.

“Ask her. She knows what she did.” You said pointing to Hermione who now had tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t do anything,” she said.

“Yes you did Hermione. What was it huh? Were you jealous? Didn’t want me to be happy? What was it? What caused you to ruin my relationship?” You asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She denied.

“Seriously what is going on?” Harry asked.

“This filthy little mudblood told Mattheo that Y/N cheated on him.” Draco said.

“I told you to watch it Malfoy.” Harry said pointing his wand at Draco again.

“And I said don’t you dare Harry.” You said pushing him away from Draco again.

“How could you do this to me Hermione?” You asked now looking at her.

“I didn’t.” She denied again.

“But you did. We know you did. So why would you sabotage my relationship? Do you like Mattheo or something?” You asked.

“I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. I can see it in your eyes Hermione. You can’t lie to me.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” She snapped.

“Yes you do. You ruined my relationship of three fucking years. You owe me an explanation.” You yelled.

“Fine. It’s true I like Mattheo. And you don’t deserve him. You don’t deserve anyone. You’re a bitch.” She said.

You chuckled and then tackled Hermione to the floor. You punched her over and over again.

Harry and Ron tried to pull you off of Hermione. They did not succeed. Draco just watched in amusement laughing. The rest of the Gryffindor students just watched in horror and shock.

Finally you got off Hermione and looked at your handy work. You smiled as Ron and Harry checked if Hermione was ok.

“You can come stay in my dorm tonight. Don’t want you staying here.” Draco said.

“Yeah let’s go get my things.” You said leading Draco to your dorm room so you could get some change of clothes and everything else you would need for the night.

As you walked out of the common room your belongings in tow with Draco, you turned to Hermione and said “you deserved that mudblood.”

Draco laughed, while Harry and Ron glared at you. Hermione completely avoided looking at you as you and Draco left the Gryffindor common room.

When you arrived at the Slytherin common room you were annoyed to see Mattheo sat there with Theo.

Mattheo noticed you and asked “what is she doing here?”

“She’s staying with me tonight.” Draco said.

“Are you two dating now?” Mattheo asked.

“No of course not, she’s my best friend. And she just beat the crap out of Granger.”Draco explained.

Mattheo and Theo shared a look between them.

“Let’s go to my dorm.” Draco said.

“I actually need to sit down a minute.” You said sitting down in an empty chair.

“Ok I will take your stuff to my dorm and then I will be back in a few minutes.” Draco said leaving you there.

You sighed and rested your head on the back of the chair and staring up at the ceiling.

“Why did you beat up Granger?” Mattheo asked.

You didn’t answer him just chose to ignore him.

“Y/N I asked you a question.” Mattheo said annoyed that you weren’t responding.

“Just drop it Mattheo.” You said.

“No. I won’t. Why did you beat her up? That’s not like you at all.”

“Because she sabotaged our relationship. She lied about me cheating on you because she likes you. There are you happy now.” You snapped and made your way to Draco’s dorm.

You spent the night with Draco. He held you the entire night, soothing you, wiping away your tears.

“Good morning.” Draco said when you woke up, arms still around you.

“Morning Draco. I’m sorry about last night.” You said.

“You have nothing to apologise for. If you want to stay here for a bit longer with me until things calm down a bit you’re welcome to. You don’t have to go back to your common room until you’re ready to. We can go get you some more clothes after classes today.” Draco suggested.

“Thank you I appreciate that. And yeah I definitely think that’s a good idea. For a little while at least.”

You and Draco stayed in bed until it was time to go classes. You both decided it was best to avoid going to the Great Hall for breakfast. Knowing you would have to sit at the Gryffindor table whilst Draco was at the Slytherin table wasn’t appealing to you.

For all your classes you usually sat by Hermione but opted to sit by Draco all day. You were surprised that you didn’t get into any trouble about what you had done to Hermione. But maybe she knew better than to snitch on you. Harry and Ron didn’t seem happy with the fact that you were getting away with it.

At the end of the day you grabbed dinner from the Great Hall. You and Draco didn’t stick around knowing you would have to sit at separate tables so you grabbed some food and just headed back to the Slytherin common room. You had already grabbed everything you needed from your dorm for a few more days so you didn’t have to worry about going anywhere for the rest of the night.

You had not long finished eating when Mattheo and Theo entered the common room. He saw you cuddled up with Draco and his heart sank. He knows you and Draco are just friends but it still hurt to see you cuddled up with him.

“Y/N can we talk?” Mattheo asked.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Draco said speaking for you. It was like he knew exactly what you wanted to say.

“Please.” Mattheo begged.

Draco looked at you as if silently saying it’s your choice.

“Ok fine but make it quick.” You said.

“I’ll be in my dorm room if you need me.” Draco said and placed a kiss on top of your head.

Draco left you and Mattheo to talk. Theo also left the two of you alone. Luckily no other students were back from dinner yet so it was just you and Mattheo.

He sat down next to you and didn’t say anything for a few minutes.

“Go on then Mattheo. You said you wanted to talk but you aren’t saying anything.” You said.

“I know I’m sorry. I just I don’t want to mess things up further. I don’t want to say anything wrong.” He admitted.

“It’s ok. Just say what you have to say.” You said.

“Hermione asked me out.” Mattheo said.

“What the fuck. That filthy mudblood seriously has the audacity after everything she did and everything she said to me last night.” You said angrily.

“Hey don’t get angry.” Mattheo said and he took one of your hands in his.

You looked at your hands interlocked and felt your heart race. You tried to ignore it.

“What did she say to you anyway?” Mattheo asked.

“She called me a bitch. And she said that I didn’t deserve you. That I don’t deserve anyone.” You said.

You started crying. You could no longer hold back the tears.

Mattheo was quick to wrap his arms around you.

“Hey shhhhhh” he said trying to soothe you.

Neither of you said anything for about ten minutes. Mattheo just held you in his arms, as you sobbed into his chest.

He placed a kiss on top of your head.

“When Hermione asked me out I embarrassed her in front of the entire Great Hall. Told her she should be ashamed asking me out after ruining our relationship. Told her she always seems to want something she can’t have because she’s jealous of someone else. Told her that even if she was the last person in the world I wouldn’t go near her. Said she’s a bitch for pretending to be your friend this whole time, just waiting for the right opportunity to sabotage our relationship. She cried and ran away of course.” Mattheo said.

“Oh and before she ran away I told her that I am still in love with the most beautiful girl I have ever known, inside and out. That I should have never believed her lies. And that I regret ever doubting you for a second.” He added.

You lifted your head from Mattheo’s chest to look him in the eyes.

“You still love me?” You asked.

“Of course I do. We were together for three years. And I’m sorry I pretended to be with someone else just to make you jealous. Don’t worry I didn’t do anything with her. I didn’t even kiss her.” Mattheo said.

“I still love you too Mattheo. And I’m sorry I kissed Theo. I only did it because I was hurting so much. Especially since you seemed to move on from me so quickly. I mean moving on after two weeks is far too quick.” You said.

“As I said. I wasn’t actually with her, so technically I hadn’t moved on. And it’s ok. I get why you did it. You were upset.”

“Where do we go from here then?” You asked.

“Well if you are I’m willing to act like this was just a little bump in the road. If you’re willing to put this behind us we can carry on as normal. Only if you want to of course.” Mattheo said.

You smiled before leaning in to kiss him. The kiss was warm and gentle. You had missed this so much.

Pulling away you rested your forehead against Mattheo’s.

“I’m willing to do anything it takes to fix us.” You said.

“Me too.” Mattheo replied.

You both smiled and it suddenly felt like everything was going to be ok.

“If you hurt her again I will kill you.” Draco said as he re entered the room with Theo.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I plan on making this girl happy for the rest of our lives. Nothing and no one will come between us again. I will make sure of it.” Mattheo said before kissing you again.

And you knew that he meant it.

[selunefae]

i would really love to if you could write smut reiner as the reader's husband about him after holding back for a few months after his wife gives birth. with a lil bit lactation kink maybe?

Is it that sweet? I guess so (+18) - Reiner Braun

After months of holding back, your husband Reiner can't stay away from you any longer. You're restless and aching, and he plans to help you out.

masterlist | rules

rating: +18, MDNI

word count: 2,272

tags: reiner braun x reader, smut, fem!reader, afab!reader, domestic fluff, dad!reiner

cw: shameless smut, fingering (female receiving), nipple paly and sucking (female receiving), PinV sex, lactation kink, big boobs, size kink if you squint

notes: I had to do a little bit of investigation for this one – I'm a 20yo woman who has never been pregnant. I hope it's accurate enough. I'm aware that first-time sex after giving birth can be painful and uncomfortable, but this is fiction and we all want to feel good, so sorry if it is a little bit unrealistic. I've never read or written any lactation kink fic, but I understand the appeal and I think that maybe I did too much... VERY messy sex is described. I write it with post-canon in mind, but I tried to make it vague enough that the setting can be anything you like. Anyways, hope you enjoy it! (English is not my first language, not beta reader, not proofread)

You roll under the weight of the blankets, arms tightening around your chest as you wince into the pillow. Your breasts ache. The baby had a weird schedule today. She refused the afternoon feeding and fell asleep earlier than usual. Your body had been ready to feed her, but after seeing her sleepy face dozing off, you hadn’t had the heart to wake her up. You shift again, legs tangled in the sheets, trying to distract yourself from the discomfort. But no matter how much you turn, no position eases the dull throb of your full, swollen breasts.

“Mm… you okay?” a deep, groggy voice murmurs beside you. 

It’s your husband, Reiner. You must have woken him up from your stupid struggle.

You sigh and nod your head before remembering it’s too dark for him to see. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you whisper. “Don’t worry, go back to sleep.”

He hums, but doesn’t do as you say. Instead, he pulls you closer, one arm sliding around your waist while the other strokes your belly. “Feels like something is wrong.”

You bite your lip. 

“It’s nothing, just… I’m a little bit sore,” you admit, brushing a hand over your chest in a helpless gesture. Your shirt is clinging a little too tightly, and the ache manifests again. “She… didn’t eat before bed, and now… I’m kinda… full.” 

Reiner goes quiet for a second, his chest still pressed to your back, but his hand doesn't move. He shifts closer, nose deepening between your shoulder blades. When he speaks again, there’s a different edge to his voice. “I can help you.”

Your eyes flick open to the dark ceiling. “Help?”

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck, lips brushing there in a soft kiss. “Yes, let me help you,” he explains as he moves his mouth to the back of your ear. “I haven’t touched you in months. I’ve been trying to be good. I know you needed time to rest. But – fuck – I miss you.”

You stiffen.

It’s not that you don’t want him. You miss his touch, too – but your body doesn’t feel like it used to. There are new lines and softness you’re still learning to live with. Your breasts are heavier, your hips fuller. Maybe he doesn’t like the way that you look anymore.

“I…”

Despite your hesitation, he doesn’t pull away. His hands travel up, cupping you over the thin cotton of your sleep shirt. “C’mon, love. I’ll make it feel good…”

“Reiner…” you start, your voice smaller than ever.  “It’s just that…” 

You struggle to get the words out. Even if you’ve already accepted the idea that he might not be as attracted to you as he once was, saying it aloud feels like pressing a newly made bruise.

“What if you don’t like me anymore?”

…

Silence.

His hand drops from your chest. A heartbeat later, he pushes himself up on one elbow, and then the mattress dips as he sits fully, knees bent and body half-turned towards you.

“What?” he says, voice tight.

You keep your gaze on the sheets. You’re unable to see his face, but you don’t need to. You already know what kind of expression he has on right now: stern and serious. You feel ridiculous. Fragile. Like if you say one more word, you’ll shatter.

“Hey–hey, look at me,” his hand finds your cheek, and you flinch at the contact. “Babe, no. Don’t say that ever again. You’re beautiful. Of course I still want you. How could I not- ?”

You suck in a breath that burns in your chest. You feel the tears pickling at your eyes. The turmoil of emotions that’s been lingering for weeks finally spills out of your throat:

“You don’t even know that!” You snap, louder than you mean to. “You’re not even seeing me right now!”

He doesn’t say anything, and for a moment, you’re scared you might have done something wrong, shouting at him like that. The tears start pooling in your eyes. With a quiet shift of fabric, Reiner leans across the bed until he can touch the nightstand. You hear him moving until a warm light spills into the room. 

Your breath catches.

He’s looking at you.

Really looking at you

His eyes trail up and down, from the strands of your hair fanned out on the pillow to the tip of your toes under the blanket. You feel the heat rise to your cheeks. The light reveals everything: the soft curve of your waist, the stretch marks along your hips and thighs, the milk-damp fabric clinging to your breasts…You cross your arms on instinct, shielding yourself from his intense gaze.

He smirks. Not in the sharp, cocky way he used to in his youth – this one is softer. A little arrogant still, but in the way that comes from knowing exactly what he wants.

“I see my very beautiful wife lying in my bed,” he says, eyes drifting down your body again. “And she just so happens to be in a very sexy state right now.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel nice,” you mumble, trying to hide your shaky voice.

He leans down. One of his large hands wraps gently around your wrists, pulling them away from your chest. The other wipes away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek. He pins your hands softly to the bed, one on each side of your head. His breath is warm against your skin as he dips his head, lips finding the space just behind your ear. “You’ve never been more beautiful,” he whispers. “All this time, and I still can’t believe how I got you to fall in love with me.” 

You exhale at that, words caught somewhere between your ribs and throat. Reiner starts pressing kisses from your ear down to your neck, slow and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world. His hands move down, tracing the curves of your body through your shirt.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?”

You nod lazily, and he doesn't waste another second. 

His hands slip under your shirt, cupping your breasts fully. They’re heavy, full of milk and a little firm, but that doesn’t stop him from squeezing them with appreciation, his large hands almost big enough to cover them completely. You gasp. Your body is more sensitive than ever, and even the minimal pressure pulls sounds out of you. His fingers glide upward, feeling the few drops of warm liquid already dampening your areolas. He tweaks your nipples, and milk spurts out in response.

You feel something hard against your thigh.

“R-Reiner –”

“I’m sorry, love.” He grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it off, eyes hungry as he finally sees everything he’s been aching for. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth and starts sucking. His other hand continues giving attention to the other breast, kneading it. He groans when the warm milk touches his tongue and instinctively begins to grind his hips against your leg. You're a moaning mess beneath him, arousal burning hot between your thighs, spreading in slow waves from your core. Your hands find his hair, fingers tangling tightly, holding him there. This is the relief you needed.

“Mm…” he moans, sucking once more before pulling back for air.

His eyes are hazy, cheeks flushed, and there’s a drop of milk slipping from the corner of his mouth; one he quickly licks away with his tongue. Then your mouths crash together. You can taste the sweet, warm liquid on his tongue as he kisses with hunger, tongues fighting for dominance and fluids mixing together. With one swift motion, he pulls down his underwear, cock springing free as the tip hits your thigh from the sudden force. He’s desperate to be inside you, but no matter how many times you’ve done this, you still need a little more prep to take him. His hand moves between your legs, cupping your cunt before he trails your lips with his middle and trigger fingers. His thumb moves to start rubbing circles over your clit, and then he presses two fingers inside of you.

“AH!” You yelp. They slide in easily, but the sensation it’s still intense, your body still getting used to the new way things feel.

He smiles against your lips and starts to move them, slow at first and faster with each passing second. Your breasts press to his chest, nipples grazing skin, adding friction to the rising pleasure. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him close, needing more of everything.

“Relax, baby…” he says between kisses, fingers working in and out, in and out, in a hypnotic pace. “I’ll make you come.”

His lips leave your and return to your chest, switching to your still full tit. His mouth latches on, sucking firmly, milking you as his fingers drive into you faster and deeper. “You taste so good…”

He starts sucking with more enthusiasm when he feels your walls clench, and with one flick of your clit, you come.

You let out a loud moan, back arching as your pussy spasms around him. A clear, wet gush coats his hand and wrist, dripping down your thighs. Your nails dig into his back. At the same time, milk spills freely from your nipples, streaking down your chest and spattering Reiner’s face. You look up at him and –

God, he looks wrecked.

His body is covered in a fine sheen of sweat, your release glistening down his arms, and drops of white sizzling down his lips and chin. You’ve never imagined he could look this hot all soaked between your fluids. 

The sigh somehow, even though you just came, makes you feel heated up again. You reach for him and start to lick and kiss him all over his face, the mix of his salty sweat and your sweet milk a delicious combination. Your hands find his heavy cock and you start stroking,

“Eager, are we?” he teases, voice hoarse and smiling against your temple.

You’re not in the mood to pout and play, so without a word, you guide his length to your entrance, still slick and sensitive. Then, he sinks into you in one smooth, desperate thrust.

Your eyes roll back at the sudden pressure.

You can feel everything – every thich inch, every throb of his cock. He’s filling you to the brim, the swollen head prodding your cervix. Your body trembles from the stretch, from how perfectly full you feel.

“Fuck, you’re so hot… so beautiful,” he murmurs, hands sliding all over your body. He caresses your waist, your hips, the back of your thighs. He touches you like he’s rediscovering you, like every inch of your body is something worth worship. You whine softly, hips twitching, impatient.

He’s not moving.

You meet his eyes, wide and pleading, the kind of look you know he can’t resist. “Please…”

“Please what?” he growls, lowering his hands to your ass and giving a firm squeeze. He wants to hear you say it.

“Please… fuck me.”

And that’s all he needs.

With a deep groan, he grabs your ass with both hands, lifting your hips slightly and angling them just right, and then starts moving.

The first few thrusts are slow and careful. He’s trying to be gentle, trying to give you time after all these months. But with the way your eyes roll back, your tongue slips past your lips, and the sounds that escape your throat, he can’t hold back for long. Before you know it, he’s fucking you deep and hard, each thrust powerful and hungry, dragging moans from both of you. The headboard bumps faintly with his rhythm, and the room soon fills with the sounds of skin meeting skin.

“God, baby – fuck – I love you,” he groans, burying his face in your neck. “I love every inch of you. I love your pretty face, the sound of your voice… and how this sweet cunt feels around me.”

You moan loudly at his words, arousal spiking even higher. Your fingers clutch the sheets, trying to ground yourself in something real, but it’s all too much. The sight of his body above you, the scent of his skin, the stretch of his cock inside you, it drowns every thought on your mind.

All your previous worries fade away.

“R-Reiner, I’m gonna –” you gasp, the pressure building again, much more intense this time.

He kisses you, muffling your cries, and one of his hands slips between your bodies. He starts rubbing your clit, syncing his rhythm to every thrust.

“That’s it, angel,” he pants, “come for me.”

!!!

Your orgasm crushes into you in violent waves. Your whole body shakes as your walls clamp down around him. You moan into his mouth, thighs trembling, nipples sensitive and tingling. Reiner groans and pulls out just in time, stroking himself with one hand while the other keeps playing with your clit. He finishes over your stomach, thick ropes of cum spilling across your skin. 

You both stay like that for a moment. Sweaty, messy, and spent. You’ve never felt more release in months, and your body hums with contentment. Your eyes flutter closed on their own, and you have to fight to keep them open.

“I’ll clean you up,” you hear Reiner say. He strokes your cheek with one of his hands. “You rest.”

You barely notice the mattress shift as he slips out of bed. Your body sinks into a deep slumber, and you can finally rest.

Satisfied and with no aches.

[scary-grace]

The Yawning Grave - a Shigaraki x F!reader fic

Tomura and his friends might look like a team of paranormal investigators, but they're actually professional hoaxers -- every episode of their hit show has been faked. The episode they're filming in an abandoned town in a temperate rainforest is no different. At least at first. Rated T trending M in later chapters, found footage horror tropes, filmmaker!Tomura. Title/chapter headings based on The Yawning Grave by Lord Huron.

omens and signs

Tomura wakes up slowly, but he’d rather not be awake at all – and what he hears when the grogginess starts to fade doesn’t do much to change that impression. “I’m not pulling over again, Dabi. Take your Dramamine.”

“How am I supposed to take my Dramamine if I can’t stop hurling long enough for it to work?”

“Maybe we should pull over long enough for Dabi to take his Dramamine and then digest it,” Twice suggests. “No, that’s a bad idea. Let’s make him throw up until he’s empty and we don’t have to stop again.”

“How about we don’t do any of that,” Toga says. Her voice sounds sweet, but Tomura knows just as well as anybody what she sounds like when she’s about to cut a bitch, and it’s a little too close for comfort. “Dabi, keep your mouth closed. Spinner, don’t floor it around the curves. Jin, don’t laugh. Tomura, don’t –”

Tomura pretends he’s asleep. Toga reaches into the backseat and punches him in the arm, at which point he sits upright in a hurry. “What?”

“Tell Spinner to drive slower,” she says, smiling at him, “and tell Dabi to stop talking.”

“Stop talking,” Tomura says to Dabi. Dabi gives him both middle fingers, way, way up. “Spinner has to drive fast. We need to be there and setting up camp by nightfall.”

“Yeah. Otherwise our nighttime shaky-cam breakdowns won’t be anywhere near as scary.”

“Right.” Tomura doesn’t need to be awake for this. He can film a found-footage documentary hoax in his sleep.

Tomura used to be into debunking this stuff. Then he realized that he could make a hell of a lot more money faking it, and have a lot more fun in the bargain. Now, instead of trying to prove that reality really is as boring as it looks, Tomura and his friends have turned their professional skeptic side-hustle into a full-time business faking the stuff they used to debunk. And because Tomura’s still a skeptic at heart, he knows how to skeptic-proof his hoaxes.

First step: Pick a spot that’s no more than locally famous. Find some local legends – there are always at least a few. Case the joint, figure out what type of haunting or infestation would be the most believable, and then make it look and sound as real as possible. Sometimes that means wholesale making shit up, which is fine. Tomura and his crew have gotten called out plenty of times, but they’ve never been caught before.

“I don’t know, guys,” Twice says as Spinner takes another curve at slightly less than warp speed. “I feel weird about this one. That guy at the gas station acted like we were nuts.”

“Gas station guys always act like that.”

“Not exactly like that.” Dabi sounds like he’s speaking through clenched teeth. “He said it was a paper town. Named after that book. But I looked it up before Spinner started auditioning for fucking Formula One, and it’s been on the map since before the book was published.”

The book – ’Salem’s Lot, by Stephen King. Tomura read it, liked it, and then, when he was scanning maps looking for a place to plan the next hoax, he spotted it. A rain-drenched dot on the map, in America’s Pacific Northwest, labeled Jerusalem’s Lot. Same as the town in the book that gets overrun by vampires. “So he named the book after this place,” Tomura says, and Dabi twists around to glare at him. “Come on. Don’t tell me you’re getting spooked.”

“Twice is right. There was something weird about that guy,” Dabi says. “We spooked him, not the other way around. There’s something going on here that –”

Spinner zips around another bend in the road, and Dabi scrambles to roll the window down. “He does have a point,” Toga says, like there’s not rain and wind whipping through the car and Dabi gagging like a cat with a hairball. “There aren’t legends about this place or anything. We’ve gotten the dumb-college-kid treatment a million times –”

“Which is dumb,” Spinner puts in. “We’re not in college.”

Toga ignores him, too. “But that guy looked surprised at first. Then he looked nervous. And he said something weird.”

“Play it back,” Tomura instructs. Toga digs out the camera.

Gas station guy looks like every other gas station guy they’ve encountered, but as Toga plays it back, Tomura watches the same emotions she named cross his face. Surprise, then nerves. “Salem’s Lot is a paper town.” There’s a pause. “Ain’t nothing living up there that’s human.”

“Nice work getting that line out of him,” Tomura tells Toga, who was doing the interview. “It’ll be great for the promos.”

“Nothing living up there that’s human. He could just mean animals,” Twice pipes up. “The more rural it is, the weirder everybody talks. Remember those old guys with the accents?”

Even the films Tomura’s made in rural Japan has featured old guys with accents. They’re practically a genre staple. “It’s true. People use different syntax in rural areas than in the city,” Spinner says. “Still, though. It’s –”

Dabi pulls his head back in through the window and rolls it up. “It’s easy to hear that line as meaning that there’s something inhuman in ’Salem’s Lot.”

“Which is why it’s perfect,” Tomura says. “Don’t crack up on me. Any of you. If something had happened here, there’d be legends about it. Local myths. Something other than an old guy at a gas station talking about paper towns.”

“There’s one reason why there wouldn’t be legends,” Spinner says from the front seat. “If nobody made it out alive.”

Tomura doesn’t expect that kind of shit out of his crew, and for a split second, he wonders if there’s anything to what they’re saying. Then he spots the blinking red light of one of their pocket cameras, and a mic settled down in the hood of Toga’s jacket, and swears. “You all think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?”

“You should have seen your face,” Twice wheezes. “We got you so good –”

“How much of it did you just make up?” Tomura snaps. “Did you bribe that old guy while I was taking a leak?”

“No, he just said it,” Toga says. “All the stuff we said is true. And if it spooked you for a second, Tomura-kun, it’s definitely going to spook the audience.”

She’s right. Still, Tomura doesn’t like ending up on the wrong end of a hoax, and he’s pretty sure he knows whose idea this was. “Did you fake being carsick, too?”

“Did I fool you?” Dabi asks – and then Spinner whips around a corner too fast, and Dabi lunges for the window again. The carsickness is for real. Tomura wonders if he can convince Spinner to drive even faster.

They make it to Jerusalem’s Lot just past four o’clock, which leaves them enough daylight to poke around, record some B-roll, and get a few exterior shots in. The guy at the gas station was bullshitting them – there’s clearly a town up here. Houses, a main street, buildings, streetlights, all of it well on its way to being swallowed up by the rainforest. “How fast do you think stuff like this grows in?”

“These are all native plants,” Spinner says from where he’s crouched down, examining a nest of ferns. “This is their optimal environment. So if nobody was cutting them back, this could happen in – a few years, maybe. Most of these buildings are wood. If we came back fifteen years from now, there’d probably be nothing left.

Which means it can’t have been abandoned for very long – well within living memory. Tomura rolls his shoulders, limbering up. “Let’s find an establishing shot and get this done.”

Tomura calls the big shots, but everybody else fills in with smaller ones they think they might need in the editing process. Tomura puts up with two or three extra shots from everybody before they refocus. He should have written a script. What’s going to come out of his mouth is probably going to be pretty stupid.

“I’m Shigaraki Tomura. We’re the League of Villains. Today we’re investigating Jerusalem’s Lot, an American small town – which, according to the locals, doesn’t exist.”

They asked one local. They’ll go back with the camera on the way out and bother some people until they pick up enough footage to make it look like they’re trying to hide something instead of just trying to get away. This is where they’ll splice in Gas Station Guy with his creepy comment. “As you can see behind me, Jerusalem’s Lot is very real – or it was. Join us as we try to figure out what happened here, and if there’s anything alive in Jerusalem’s Lot after all.”

“Nice, boss,” Twice remarks. It’s a good thing it’s cold out. Tomura gets sweaty when he’s on camera, and he needs to air his armpits out. “The mic might have gotten fuzzy because of the wind, but we can dub over it in post, easy.”

“I like the lighting out here,” Toga says. “There are some holes in the canopy where sun will get through. If it’s ever sunny.”

“It’s supposed to be sunny tomorrow,” Spinner says, shivering. “It better be. I’ll freeze to death.”

Dabi rolls his eyes. “Sure you will.”

“I will. And then you guys will probably use my body to jazz up a shot, because you all suck –”

Tomura tunes them out and goes picking his way up what was probably the main street of ’Salem’s Lot. He’s visited a lot of small towns, even more ghost towns, but there’s something different about this place. Maybe it’s all the greenery. Ghost towns in other places fall to dust. It’s not usual to see one that’s actively being eaten alive – or dead – by the woods. People lived here. People either got up and left or they died here. The former, almost always. Tomura identifies a couple houses that look semi-structurally sound as potential filming spots for tomorrow, then makes his way back to the others.

Coming to Jerusalem’s Lot was the right choice, and as they set up camp and build a fire, the League’s mood is good. Unusually good, given the conditions they’re camping out in. “I think this one is going to be awesome,” Toga says, the firelight glinting off her teeth. “This place would be spooky even without the buildings. All the moss and lichen – and the fog –”

“We could do a haunting for this place,” Spinner suggests. “Ghosts and stuff. We haven’t done that in a while.”

“Yeah, the last time was that mansion in New Hampshire,” Twice says. Then he frowns. “We didn’t have to fake that one.”

No, they didn’t. They all saw things in that house, enough for them to scrap the episode and not come back. Tomura has a strict hoaxes-only rule these days. “Ghosts are easy to do in post-production, but for a town this size, we’d need to fake multiple ghosts,” Dabi says. “And if we have that many ghosts, we have to explain where they came from.”

“Maybe an epidemic?” Toga suggests. “We haven’t done disease in a while, either.”

“That would be tough to pull off, unless we invented something,” Tomura says. “They don’t have the Ebola virus up here.”

Nobody likes it when Tomura mentions the Ebola virus. He sees their expressions and decides to pay them back a bit for their bullshit earlier. “There’s always plague, though. Pneumonic and septicemic plague could both kill fast enough that they wouldn’t have had time to get help.”

“Then we should keep an eye out for skeletons tomorrow,” Spinner says. “And somebody’s gonna need to hold Twice’s hand so he doesn’t freak out and drop the camera. Again.”

“That was one time!”

“We can’t fake skeletons,” Dabi says. “We can fake creatures.”

Tomura rolls his eyes. “You know how hard it is to fake creatures. What would we even fake around here?”

“Vampires,” Twice offers. “Like that book.”

“That would be really hard to fake,” Toga remarks. “Isn’t there some kind of cryptid that’s native to this place? Something tall and furry?”

“Yeah, it’s like a –” Tomura thinks back on his notes. “Sasquatch. Or a Bigfoot.”

“We can’t use that,” Spinner says at once. “It sounds too goofy.”

“Yeah, the airport kiosks were selling it on t-shirts,” Twice agrees. “No vampires. No big furry guys. So that leaves – uh –”

“We could try crawlers,” Toga suggests, and Dabi starts to argue. “I know we’ve used them before, but – why can’t there be different subspecies? Crawlers in a temperate rainforest wouldn’t look anything like crawlers in the Andes mountains.”

It’s quiet for a second. “If you guys are going to make me wear the crawler suit again, I want overtime,” Spinner mutters, and Dabi grins across the campfire. “So what are we doing tomorrow, then – film documentary stuff in the morning, crawler stuff in the afternoon?”

“Works for me.” Tomura yawns. “I’m tired. Don’t forget to put the fire out.”

Inside his tent, Tomura sets up his personal camera to record. He’s not sure if everyone else does, too, but they’re supposed to – to pick up any weird things that happen during the night, any inexplicable sounds or shadows, whether they wake up to it or not. Usually it just catches him tossing and turning, and he deletes the footage in postproduction. Tomura unzips his sleeping bag, shuts off his camping lantern, and closes his eyes. This shoot is going to go well. There’s enough here for a solid hoax. Aside from Spinner in a crawler suit, they’re not going to have to make anything up.

Tomura sleeps solidly, straight through the night. He wakes up without an alarm, better rested than usual, and fumbles for his phone, which he’s pretty sure he left on the pillow next to him. The phone’s not there, but something else is, something small and cold and metal. When Tomura blinks sleep out of his eyes, lifts it to inspect it, he finds that it’s a heart-shaped locket, clinging to life on a frail chain.

Tomura’s friends are going to be on their bullshit for this entire shoot, it looks like. Still, the locket’s a nice touch, and if they fuck with the shot of Toga planting it on Tomura’s pillow, they can make it look like it appeared out of nowhere. Even if they’ve decided on crawlers, it won’t hurt to wave a red herring about ghosts.

But when he shows it to Toga, he gets a blank look and nothing else. “I didn’t put that there. I’ve never seen it before.”

Tomura’s about to tell her to cut the bullshit when he realizes that Dabi’s camera is on. No way is Toga dropping the story while she’s being filmed, and Tomura might as well play along. “Take a look at it. Maybe it’ll give us a clue about what happened here.”

“Hmm.” Toga lifts the locket out of Tomura’s hand and starts inspecting it between sips of coffee. “14-karat gold – not bad, but not over-the-top expensive. It’s on a box chain, which is interesting. They’re not as common as other varieties of chain, but they’re sturdy. See how tightly they’re interlocked? Something like this wouldn’t break easily. And the clasp’s still intact. The person who owned this took it off on purpose.”

She glances up at Tomura, eyes exaggeratedly wide. “What’s inside it?”

By this point, they’ve drawn Spinner and Twice over. They and Tomura hover over Toga’s shoulders as she pries the locket open. “There are photos,” she starts, and then her shoulders slump, her voice going small. “This was a kid’s. A little girl’s.”

Toga’s the best actor on the team. The rest of them need to take lessons. “How do you know?”

“On this side –” Toga holds it up, and Spinner digs up his phone to zoom in. “There’s a picture of two people. Based on their age, I’m guessing they’re her parents. And on the other side – that’s her dog.”

“Right. An adult would have photos of their spouse,” Dabi says from across the fire. “Or their kids. Parents and dog says kid. How do you know it’s a girl?”

“How many boys do you know who’d wear a heart-shaped locket?”

Dabi starts ribbing Toga for being sexist, and she argues back that he wouldn’t wear a locket if she paid him, and under cover of an argument that’s only half-staged, Tomura inspects the locket a little closer. It’s definitely a dog on one side of the locket, some goofy mutt-thing with bright eyes and floppy ears, and looking at it pulls Tomura’s vocal cords tight. He’d maybe have worn a locket as a kid, if his sister or somebody else had given him one. And he’d definitely have put a photo of his dog in it.

But Tomura’s got a couple screws loose. His family made that crystal clear. He snaps the locket shut, then cuts off Toga and Dabi’s stupid argument. “Hey. How old do you think this is?”

“Um –” Toga studies it. “Not an antique. More than ten years, less than thirty.”

“That’s within the time frame,” Spinner says. “How did it end up on your pillow?”

Tomura’s getting tired of this bit. He waits a second or three, then calls cut. “We have a lot to do today. Let’s get going.”

They have an evidence bin for stuff that shows up on shoots, but since the locket’s a joke his friends are playing, Tomura doesn’t feel bad about pocketing it. They left it for him, anyway. Tomura wonders what’s gotten into his friends. They’re a lot more into this shoot than they’ve been on other ones, but maybe that’s a good thing. If there’s one thing Tomura’s work has taught him, it’s that every good hoax needs a small piece of truth at the center of it. The expression Dabi’s camera probably caught on his face when he opened the locket is a good start.

taglist: @shigarakislaughter @lvtuss @deadhands69 @xeveryxstarfallx @cheeseonatower @agente707 @warxhammer @handumb @atspiss @f3r4lfr0gg3r @shikiblessed @evilcookie5 @dance-with-me-in-hell @babybehh @boogiemansbitch @baking-ghoul @minniessskii @issaortiz @aslutforfictionalmen @lacrimae-lotos @stardustdreamersisi @koohiii

[perseephoneee]

┈ ⟡ crash out [a frank langdon fic]

˖ 𐦍 CHAPTER 1: SOMEONE SAYS 'I DO'

↳ fic masterlist  ↳ ship exchange information ↳ taglist

After returning from rehab and looking to earn forgiveness for his mistakes, Frank makes his way back to the Pitt Trauma Medical Center, where he discovers he's been given a supervisor to oversee his progress.

a/n: finally returning to this after crashing out for the past three weeks. can you even crash out for three weeks? it doesn't matter...i did it anyway

beta'd by the beautiful @eurydiceauxenfers <3

“I’ll bet you $10 this isn’t going to work,” you said, watching as Langdon operated. The patient had been injured on a construction site, and you both were arguing over the best way to treat them. While part of you was well aware that he usually had smart ideas for how to handle these situations, you also knew he responded best to competition.

“Then you are going to be $10 short and feeling very stupid,” Langdon laughed, eyes focused on his work. He seemed a lot more joyful than he was a few weeks ago when you first met him. 

“Don’t be a douche.”

“Can’t,” he shrugged. “Because I just succeeded.”

You bit back a smile as he finished off his work, standing back and gesturing to the nurses to bandage the patient up. You left the room, knowing he’d meet you later, as he finished cleaning up. 

You’d had no idea what to expect when Robby asked you to be Frank’s supervisor. You had heard from the rumor mill that he tended to be arrogant, had a hard time not being in control, and was close with Robby. Oh, and the whole stealing drugs thing. But the man you saw on the first day seemed more desperate and sad than anything. Challenging him in his work was the closest you got to seeing that version you were told of before. 

You had also heard him referred to as ER Ken, which gave you a certain idea of what he was supposed to look like. You were not disappointed. 

He’s married, you thought to yourself, looking at the board in central. You heard his footsteps a second later. You could always tell it was him because the steps always seemed hurried, much like a puppy. He wore a grin.

“You owe me $10.”

You raised a brow at him. “How about I just get you a drink from the vending machine and we call it even.”

Langdon pretended to think about it, even though you knew he had already decided. “Deal.”

“Good. We have a sick child in six.”

Langdon pouted. “There’s an amputation in three.”

“I don’t care,” you snorted, watching as his expression fell. You enjoyed that aspect of being his supervisor, getting to make him do whatever case you wanted. He didn’t complain…much. 

He made sure to stay a few paces behind you as you approached the curtain, announcing yourself as you opened it. A little girl, seven years of age, sat on the bed with her knees to her chest and a rabbit in her arms. She was frowning as her parents sat in the chairs next to her. 

“Hi Chloe, I’m Dr. L/N and this is my colleague Dr. Langdon,” you smiled, closing the curtain behind you. “What seems to be the problem?”

“She says her ears won’t stop hurting, and we gave her Tylenol, but it isn’t doing anything.” Her mom twisted her hands, looking anxiously between you and her daughter. You grabbed your otoscope and got closer to Chloe. You hummed as you looked inside both ears. 

“Any other symptoms?” Langdon asked as you examined her ears. 

“She said her head hurt a little bit, but we thought it was just from the strep,” her dad replied. 

“Strep?”

“She just got over strep throat,” the mom replied. You put away the otoscope.

“Her ears are very swollen, but it doesn’t look like the eardrums are affected. Her strep likely didn’t go away and moved to the sinuses, which gave her an infection,” you explained. You felt bad for the little girl. Her ears were so inflamed that you were shocked she wasn’t crying. “Dr. Langdon, what would you prescribe as treatment?”

“Another round of antibiotics, as well as oxycodone as needed for the pain,” Frank smiled, hands in his pockets. You nodded in agreement. 

“That’s it?”

“That’s it,” he replied. 

“Her ears right now are full of pockets of excess liquid. Her hearing might be slightly affected, but it’d only be temporary. At some point, the pockets will burst and drain out naturally. If they don’t go away and she’s still in pain after finishing the antibiotics, you should come back in.”

“Thank you so much,” the mom smiled gleefully, giving her daughter a kiss on the head. You noticed Frank tense up out of the corner of your eye. 

“We’ll write you a prescription now for everything,” you nodded, opening the curtain and stepping out with Frank behind you. He seemed quieter than before. 

“What’s wrong, Langdon?” you asked, bumping his shoulder. He looked down at you, plastering on a smile. 

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“You never do, cupcake,” he grinned, walking backwards towards the ER entrance. You frowned at the nickname. You don’t remember when he started calling you cupcake, but you didn’t always appreciate it. 

“Where are you going?” you called out, arms crossed.

“STEMI incoming, and I’m going to beat the record.”

“Like hell you are,” you grumbled, following after him. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to do something. The STEMI rolled in a moment later. You both ran alongside the gurney as you wheeled it into the emergency OR… 

Langdon did not beat the record (neither did you). But the guy survived, so all in a day’s work. Things managed to calm down a little bit, and you found yourself taking a breather in the break room. You slumped against the wall with a Rice Krispies treat, staring a hole into the opposite wall. The door creaked open, and Frank slumped down next to you.

You sat in companionable silence.

“Wanna see me shotgun this Red Bull?” He asked, holding up the can.

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” you responded. “But yes.”

It went about as poorly as expected. Frank’s scrubs were now covered in the energy drink. But it made you laugh, actually snorting laughing. He was an idiot, one whom you were in charge of.

“Glad my failures entertain you.”

“Always,” 

Frank smiled. You were waiting to see the smile reach his eyes, but you knew progress was slow. You cleared your throat. 

“What happened earlier?”

“Earlier?”

“With the kid. You got kinda…distant.”

Frank looked down at his hands. He played with the wedding band on his finger, twisting it around. You observed the action.

“I just haven’t seen Tanner in a while,” Frank admits. “And it’s hard.”

“You haven’t?” He wore his friendship bracelet everywhere. Frank wore Tanner’s friendship bracelet everywhere, you’d noticed. You knew he had to be the light of his life. “How—?”

“Abby left me,” Frank shrugged. You felt your heart drop. “After the…she was mad at me. For lying. For everything.” Langdon ran a hand through his hair. “I haven’t seen him since. Courts are still figuring out custody.” He takes his ring off, holding it up in front of you both. “And I didn’t want people to know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, I’m fine,” Frank forced a smile, in a way a totally not fine person would. 

What do you do in this situation? Sit and empathize, you guess. You’ve prided yourself on being good at comforting, but you didn’t always know what to say. 

“Do you mind not telling anyone?” Frank murmured. God, he looked like a wounded puppy with those eyes. 

“Of course I won’t.” You paused for a second. “Would working on the amputee make you feel better?”

“Yes.”

~ * ~

You’re not sure why you did it. Following your co-worker home was never a good idea. Following the mystery that was Frank Langdon was a worse idea. But you couldn’t get that look of his out of your mind, nor the way he held his ring like he wasn’t sure if he should toss it or cherish it. And frankly, you were nosy. 

You follow a little bit behind him as he walks. Luck had it that he didn’t drive to work (your snooping would’ve ended then), but that didn’t leave many options in the closest area. He didn’t ride the bus either. He walked for several blocks, and there were a few close calls where you would roll into the bushes very sleek and cool like a movie spy. You were kidding yourself; you fell into the bushes like a flying squirrel. 

Thoughts of squirrel-like tendencies left your mind as you watched him enter the three-star hotel near the hospital. 

Well, shit.

[borathae]

Boyfriends? | JJK x MYG

“Yoongi doesn’t do labels, while Jungkook loves labels. So one night, he asks Yoongi ‘what are we?’, hoping that the last four years together weren’t just casual for him.”

Pairing: Vampire!Yoongi x Vampire!Jungkook

Genre: established relationship!AU, Fluff, Slice of Life, slight suggestive themes

Warnings: just some anxious thoughts, this is a post sex cuddles scene, Koo being a little brat, Yoongi being a fond brat tamer, he tickles him hehe, snuggles & kisses, also! mention of blood drinking as part of his training to become a good vampire <3

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction based on an alternative fictional universe and does not correlate with any real life people. I do not support the shipping of the actual members.

Wordcount: 1.7k

a/n: i love sanguis!yoonkook so much :( omfg this hurt me because i just love them so much and my heart exploded :( istfg this break was so good for me, i have so many new ideas already heheh i can't wait to bring a very lore-y multi chaptered fic very soon hoohoh <3 but for now enjoy this lil yoonkoo fluff <3 also! whenever i write something for them just know that i am channeling hyyh!yoonkook 💔

Yoongi doesn’t define his sexuality. Neither his romantic attraction. He thinks that it is a rather stupid thing to do. He never truly understood the appeal of it nor felt it necessary to do.

“Why should I put a label on myself just so other people are satisfied?”

Because that is what it is for him. Satisfaction of other people. He should put himself into a box just so they can sleep better at night. Well, fuck them. Yoongi is way too old to live for strangers. He knows what he likes and other people can get fucked. They’ll find out who he likes when he allows it.

Jungkook defines his sexuality. And his romantic attraction. For most of his life, he felt like he didn’t belong. Into society, into groups, into life. So learning control and finally being able to be part of something again, Jungkook also feels it important to define who he is.

“I can finally be part of a group. I’m so happy.”

Because that’s what he is these days. Happy. A very happy bisexual man who doesn’t care about the gender of his lovers and who falls for personality.

And so it happens that “I hate labels”-Yoongi and “I love my label”-Jungkook are dating. At least Jungkook thinks that they are. They never really defined it – put a label on it so to speak.

But it must be that they are dating. After all, they are sharing a blanket as they are relaxing in front of the fireplace. They each only wear boxers and a tanktop which in itself is such an intimate look to share. The rug under their bodies is soft and heaps of pillows surround them.

Yoongi is using a few of them to keep himself propped up as he writes anecdotes in the book he is reading. Jungkook is lying on his tummy, watching the flames dance. Music is playing. Lofi hip-hop. Sometimes, he feels Yoongi’s fingertips dance down his back. It makes him shiver every time it happens. Jungkook feels exhausted, but he can’t fall asleep.

He flips his head to the other side, looking up at Yoongi.

The latter notices and gives him a glance. He runs his fingers through Jungkook’s hair, making him shudder in a good way.

“How is your head doing?” he asks.

“Heavy.”

“But no pain?”

He shakes it, “no, just so heavy. Hyung, it’s so heavy a-and I’m so tired.”

“Relax, bub. That’s normal.”

Yoongi is Jungkook’s mentor. Before Yoongi, Jungkook was unable to exist within the human world because he would have ripped through anything that breathed. With Yoongi’s help, he learned how to be normal again and because the road to perfection wasn’t finished yet, they used tonight to train.

“You are ready for the next step in mastering your urges”, Yoongi told him and then monitored Jungkook as he drank from a blood bag filled with human blood.

Up until this point, they merely trained with animal blood. At first Jungkook was very confused, “but I thought that I shouldn’t drink human blood? At all. Never.”

To which Yoongi assured him, “completely staying away from it, will only do the opposite. You need to learn how to handle it, so that if you accidentally drink it, you don’t become violent.”

With Yoongi’s reassurance, Jungkook choked down the blood deliciously and if it wasn’t for the older vampire, he would have lost control.

But he didn’t. Yoongi took his mind off of it in the typical, amazing way Yoongi often takes Jungkook’s mind off the bloodlust. And Jungkook wanted it. It felt so good. Quite frankly, he didn’t want it to stop.

Yoongi pulls his hand back and continues to scribble in his book. Jungkook is thinking. Yoongi calls him bub and bun and Kookie, but does it mean anything? Yoongi allows him to cuddle into him, but does he want the same? Yoongi fucks him, but does the sex even mean anything to him?

It has been two years since the world became peaceful and four years since they met and not once has this relationship been defined. Yoongi doesn’t call Jungkook his boyfriend. He calls him “my boy” or “my Kookie.” But never my boyfriend. What is he is just a good friend to him? What if Yoongi doesn’t want to put a label on them?

“Yoongi?”

“Yes, bub?”

“Are we dating?”

Yoongi lowers the book, “what do you mean?”

“Am I your boyfriend?”

Yoongi widens his eyes, blinking them in confusion.

“Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

“Just feeling anxious.”

“Jungkookie, hey”, Yoongi softens his voice, “just relax. You’re okay, everything will be okay.”

“Please don’t avoid my question”, Jungkook insists anxiously. Is this it? Four years of intimacy, of building trust and bonding and it never meant the same to Yoongi?

“Of course you’re my boyfriend.”

Jungkook’s chest instantly stops tightening. His body tingles.

“You silly boy, do you seriously think I’m like this with someone I’m not dating?”

“You’re a really kind person.”

Yoongi chuckles, eyes soft in adoration. He pinches Jungkook’s cheek.

“You little bun, that’s not the same.”

“We never made it official.”

“I didn’t think it necessary. I thought it was pretty clear that we are dating once this”, he gestures between them, “became regular.”

“I guess, but I was thinking. About labels and how you hate them and yeah. I got scared that we aren’t official for you.”

“We are.” Yoongi pushes the pillows aside and lies down to face Jungkook. He tugs a strand of hair behind his ear. “If I’m not showing it enough for you, you have to tell me. I’m not good with reading signs or getting hidden messages. You gotta tell me directly what you want.”

“I know.”

“So? Do you want me to show it more?”

“No, you’re showing me that you love me. I think I just needed to hear it tonight.”

“I understand. You can tell me if you need that. You know me, I’m not gonna recite love poems to you on my own.”

Jungkook chuckles, “I know you, hyung. I think it’s cute.”

Yoongi grimaces. “If you say so.”

“I do. You are so cute.”

Yoongi chuckles, “you’re aware that I rearranged your insides just moments prior?”

“I know.” Jungkook closes his eyes and settles into the pillow. “Only cute people can do that.”

Yoongi laughs, “okay, okay you’re being an idiot. I get it”, he says, leaning in to kiss the shell of Jungkook’s ear.

Jungkook relaxes his muscles, enjoying the soft tingles rising all over his skin as Yoongi kisses every inch of his upper back. His face next. Jungkook rolls to his back so Yoongi can reach it better. Their eyes meet. Yoongi cups his cheek and kisses him. Jungkook seriously thinks that it feels so much better now that he knows it’s official. Every second, every moment, every touch exists to strengthen their relationship as boyfriends. Seriously, if Jungkook’s heart was still beating, it would race like crazy.

He giggles. Yoongi smiles.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. I’m happy.”

Yoongi kisses him with a smile before he begins littering his face with kisses.

“I’m happy too, bub.”

“Oh, Yoongi”, Jungkook lets out and unable to control the surge of happiness, he shoots up to take Yoongi into the tightest hug human- and vampirekind has ever seen.

“Okay. This is happening”, Yoongi chuckles, letting it happen without hugging him back. It’s not because he doesn’t want to, but simply because Jungkook is squeezing his arms against his sides.

“I love you so much”, Jungkook giggles, shaking Yoongi from left and right.

“I love you too, but please stop that”, Yoongi laughs, head thrown back and bouncing around.

“No. You’re my stim toy”, Jungkook says and squeezes him tighter, making a cute sound for it.

“Whatever that is”, Yoongi laughs, taking the squeezing until it starts hurting. Then he begins to fight back. Softly of course, finally using his strength to shove Jungkook’s arms open.

“How are you doing that?” Jungkook gasps, trying with all his might to bear hug Yoongi again, but it is useless.

“I’m the strongest, remember?”

Jungkook’s back hits the rug, his wrists get pinned by one hand. Yoongi looks at him as if he wanted to take him to euphoria and back. Just for a second because then pure mischief burns in his eyes. Jungkook feels said mischief very soon as Yoongi begins tickling his sensitive side.

“No! Stop! Hyung please stop”, Jungkook squeals, laughing so loudly it bounces off the walls. He tries to fight his wrists free, kicking his feet helplessly. But it is useless. Yoongi is stronger and he is hellbent on getting Jungkook back for always being a little brat.

“Hyung I’m sorry”, Jungkook laughs, crying tears.

“Not enough”, Yoongi coos, changing sides.

“Ah! Please I’m gonna pee myself, stop! Please”, Jungkook squeals, laughing oh so much that his mouth truly cannot open any further.

“Mhm, alright”, Yoongi rasps and stops. He lets go of his wrists, sliding his hands to the smallest part of his waist to hold him. Somehow in their tickle match, Yoongi slid between Jungkook’s legs. They are thrown over his lap, resting their weight on him.

Jungkook recovers with little gasps and gulps. The first thing he does is wipe the tears from his blushy cheeks then he pouts at Yoongi.

“This was totally not necessary and very mean.”

Yoongi chuckles, “for all the bratting you did this week? It’s a mild punishment.”

Jungkook pouts harder, “I can’t help it. Besides, you’re too sensitive. I’m not even bratting.”

“Careful”, Yoongi squeezes Jungkook’s waist. The latter squeals and writhes.

“Sorry.”

“Better.” Yoongi smiles, bending down. His hands run along Jungkook’s torso until he has to rest them on each side of his head. “You’re so fucking pliable.”

“Hyung…” Jungkook sighs, melting into a puddle.

Like this. Underneath Yoongi and with his head foggy in feel good emotions, Jungkook gets kissed. He wraps his limbs around Yoongi and deepens the kiss. This might be one of the best nights of his life. He is his boyfriend. And now he is making out with him. This is the best night ever.

[insomniac4000]

can you do a fic about chris x reader, where sharon meets reader for the first time on maybe like see it off with becky and reader and sharon both start telling their steamy stories with Chris to kinda one up each other

See It Off. ChrisMD

Hope you don't mind, I couldn't write Shannon mean! So I just had them swap stories and bond.

It was still difficult for you to comprehend you were in demand and people wanted you on their shows and Podcasts. You had only been doing Youtuber for fifteen months, but things had exploded very quickly in that time. You did travel but also you did book reviews; people loved you for your honesty and laid back attitude. One person who fell for it in particular was ChrisMD. The pair of you had meet at a Youtuber’s conference eight months ago and after a couple of months of texting Chris finally bit the bullet and asked you out for a drink, neither of you had looked back since. Recently, after six months of dating you had gone public you had your reservations but on the whole it had gone well. You had slowly been bought into the larger UK Youtube scene over the past month or so and now Becky had asked you to go on see it off.

Originally Becky had asked both you and Chris to go on together. He unwaveringly refused “Look what happened last time I went on that show! Nope I’ve grown to like you and I want to keep you,” Chris commented.

Of course he was referring to the fact that when him and Shannon appeared together they broke up the very next day.

Shannon.

When the message came through from Becky that she had a great idea if Chris couldn’t make you never thought you would read the words Shannon. She wanted both of you to appear together, said it would be a “laugh.”

You had met Shannon twice, once before Chris and you had got together at an event and once afterwards at Becky’s birthday party. She was nothing but kind and gracious, Chris having spoken about you to her a lot. This was on another level though, it rattled you a little but after some assurances from Becky that Shannon was on board and it would be fun you agreed.

“Hello lovely!” Becky’s wonderful sing song Welsh voice rang out the studio. You smiled nervously and gave her a hug.

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good how are you? Welcome to my pub!” Becky exclaimed, you smiled and looked around the place, the bar was incredibly well stocked and up on a bar stool already was Shannon, a glass of wine in front of her. She smiled warmly at you and waved, you sent a polite smile back but felt the nerves bubbling inside you.

“Want a pre drink?” Becky asked, you nodded silently and followed her to the bar area as Shannon poured a third glass of wine, this one was yours.

“Before we start I just wanted to ask if there was anything maybe you were uncomfortable with talking about? I’d hate for this to be awkward so just wanted to lay stuff down first?” Shannon suggested. You nodded.

“Chris and I agreed we’d talk about some stuff but keep a lot of it under wraps. I don’t know how I’ll feel after a couple of drinks though,” you smile and Shannon and Becky giggled.

You made some small talk but soon the cameras were rolling, hair and make up was touched up a little bit and it was go time.

“Hello and welcome back to see if off with strong questions and even stronger drinks! Today we have a treat for you as we have two beautiful babes with me today in Shannon and Y/N!” The three of you started clapping.

“The pair of you ready to drink?” Becky asked with a small smile.

“Well we’ve already started,” you replied with a smile causing the other two to giggle.

The premise of the video was simple, if you hesitate answering a question you drink. Things started off quite lightly, talking about videos and then it moved onto people you had met that you didn’t really like or click with very much. Both you and Shan had hesitated a little bit with it so you both had to drink a rum and coke.

Then the inevitable happened.

“So obviously you two have something in common or should I say someone in common, a certain Christopher Dixon also known as ChrisMD so I would like to know what has been your favourite date from the little hobbit.” You and Shannon looked at each other and shared a smirk which counted as a hesitation meaning you both needed to drink, it was wine again this time.

“Not a date as such but we went to Iceland and it honestly to this day is my favourite holiday.” Shannon answered while you thought of your answer.

“Probably my birthday a couple of weeks ago. He took me to my favourite play and Chris is not a musicals guy at all but sat through it for me and took me to this restaurant that I talked about once and mentioned it was my favourite meal so booked it for us. He often says he has a terrible memory and that’s true to some extent,” you started and Shannon nodded in agreement, you continued. “But he remembers the things that really matter and is thoughtful.”

“He is, he is always on his phone and it can drive you mad but you realise he’s just jotting things down so he doesn’t forget them later,” Shannon added.

“Okay, next question have you two ever compared notes?” Becky asked, a wide and sly grin on her face. You looked at Shannon again and bit your bottom lip slightly. In the time between Shannon and yourself Chris had made a bit of a reputation for himself for his bedroom antics and you had to admit you were a very happy customer. Part of you had wondered if he was naturally gifted or if it came with experience.

“Not yet,” Shannon’s response caused you to almost choke on your drink, you coughed.

“Is that what you do in the bedroom too?” Becky asked at your choking, the three of your then collapsed in a fit of giggles.

“He prefers the other way,” you replied now feeling bold from all the drinks you had consumed.

“Oh absolutely!” Shannon agreed and the pair of you giggled again.

“You know I can see that the dirty little boy!” Becky added raising her glass , the three women then clinked their glasses laughing between each other and took a sip. The video now became more about the drinking then playing the game.

“So his top shagger status is true then?” Becky asked, it wasn’t one of the questions he had on the card she just wanted to have a bit of a gossip now.

“I mean I never had any complaints even at the time.” Shannon smiled.

“He’s very giving,” you added sipping your drink once more.

“Oh absolutely, he puts other people’s needs before his own. I think he’s always been that way.”

“And he’ll try another once,” you spoke again.

Becky just sat in her way the biggest shit eating grin on her face as you and Shannon continued to bond over Chris’s bedroom adventures.

Eventually the conversation moved to other things but Becky was safe in the knowledge that this would be a good video.

You didn’t tell Chris too much about what had said, he did notice how tipsy you were and you told him that you and Shannon had a good time and you completely understood why he fell for her because she was beautiful and sweet but not much beyond that. You told him his name came up “a couple of times” but he didn’t know how much until the video was  released a couple of weeks later.

He watched it.

Of course he watched it, he was a curious little kitty and when he watched it, it almost killed him. You had to admit you couldn’t remember everything you said that day and you didn’t know what made the edit. Chris was at home, watching it with George which was a massive mistake as he already had lots of ideas on how to make content out of it already. You were filming but the pair of you had already made plans to meet up for dinner that night at your favourite ramen place. Chris was already there which was slightly unusual, sitting down at a booth. You walked over and indicated to the server that you were with someone and sat down opposite him.

“Hey you.” You gave him your usual greeting.

“So, youtube now know I love eating out and my dick leans slightly to the left,” he replied. He tried to look pissed off but he had that mischievous glint in his eye.

“We were complimentary too…” you tailed off, hoping the waiter would come over soon with a drink order. A big one.”

“Yeah. Four times in one day compared to her three and the hour session,” he replied this time his smile growing on his face.

“If I apologise and promise never to do it again will you agree to never take all those things away from me,” you suggested, genuinely looking remorseful.

“Fine. But next time you and Shan bond please don’t let it be on camera.”

You smiled. “Deal.”

[camficdiner]

May I please get [1.1] [2.5] [3.4] [4.3] with the Only One Bed trope? Thank you so much!

☕️ Cam’s Fic Diner — Order 043

🍒 Thank you for your patience, angel — this one needed time to simmer and ruin lives properly. We went from fake dating to Luke Hughes scarred for life, and I wouldn’t serve it any other way.

💬 “Room for Two”

✨ Description and prompts:

– Character: Jack Hughes

– Prompt: fake dating at a wedding → only one bed (honeymoon suite)

– Word Count: 1.6k

– Type: fluff + slow burn + corruption kink smut + comedic aftermath

⸻

🛼🍒✨🧁

Luke bailed on the wedding at the last second. Work, school, something about flights. He texted you last-minute:

can you take my place? Jack needs a +1. just be cool.

You knew Jack, of course. Luke’s older brother. NHL player. Ridiculously hot in that boyish way that made you roll your eyes whenever he got too cocky.

You weren’t close, but you’d crossed paths enough. Joked around at family things. Talked shit about his music taste. He once told you your eyeliner was dangerous. You never forgot it.

So when he messaged you himself and said,

“Hey. You still in for the wedding? I’ll owe you.”

you replied:

“Sure. But I’m ordering room service on your tab.”

“Deal.”

⸻

He picks you up in a sleek black suit and a grin that makes your stomach twist.

“You clean up nice,” he says.

You smirk. “You say that to all your fake girlfriends?”

The wedding is beautiful. Garden lights. Outdoor ceremony. Jack’s hand on your lower back feels way too natural.

You sit beside him at the reception. Eat off his plate. Dance once, then twice, then three times. People take photos. One of them calls you “the cutest couple here.”

Jack just says, “Don’t correct them.”

By the time the music winds down and you’ve kicked your heels off, you’re buzzing. From champagne. From the lights. From the way he’s looking at you now like something’s shifted.

⸻

You don’t expect the room to look like that.

Rose petals. Dim lights. A massive bed with silky white sheets. Two flutes of champagne already poured. A heart-shaped mirror over the headboard.

“They gave us the honeymoon suite,” you say.

Jack blinks. “Of course they fucking did.”

You both laugh.

Then stop.

Then laugh again — a little nervously.

“You can sleep on my side if you want,” he says softly.

You glance at him.

He’s already watching you.

“Okay.”

⸻

You drink. Sit on the bed. Your thighs touch. The room smells like citrus and something clean.

You lean against him without meaning to.

He doesn’t move away.

He turns his head.

“You looked really good tonight,” he says. Voice lower. Rougher.

“You’ve said that before.”

“This time I mean it.”

You turn. Your knees brush.

He stares at your mouth.

You say:

“Kiss me.”

He does.

⸻

The kiss deepens quickly. You straddle his lap, tugging at his jacket. He groans when you press your hips down, pulling your dress up over your thighs.

“Fuck,” he breathes. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

He pushes you back onto the bed, hovers over you, kissing your throat, down your collarbone. Your dress slips lower.

Then he stills.

“Wait.”

“Have you…?”

You shake your head. Nervous. Breathless.

His voice breaks.

“You’re a virgin?”

You nod.

“Fuck.” He closes his eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m gonna take my time. Gonna show you everything.”

He kisses you slow. Strips you gently. Talks you through every touch.

His hands on your thighs. His mouth between your legs.

You arch when he sucks your clit, moan when he praises you.

“So sweet. So wet already.”

“Doing so good for me.”

“Let me show you how good this can feel.”

You gasp when he finally pushes in — slow, deep, one hand on your hip, the other cradling your cheek.

“You’re so tight, fuck. You were made for me.”

“No one else gets to do this. No one else will.”

You cling to him. Whimper his name.

He fucks you gently, then deeper. Says your name like a promise.

You come first, then he follows, trembling, forehead pressed to yours.

After, he holds you. Strokes your back.

Whispers:

“You’re not just Luke’s best friend anymore.”

⸻

You fall asleep on his chest. Still naked. Warm. Safe. His arm wrapped around your waist.

You don’t hear the door open.

Jack does.

“What the fuck.”

You sit up too fast. Yell. Grab a sheet.

Luke’s frozen. In the doorway. Mouth open. Eyes wide.

“LUKE?” you squeak.

“You SAID you were fake dating,” he says, voice cracking.

Jack doesn’t even flinch. Just rubs his eyes.

“Yeah, well. This part’s real.”

“Are you naked under there?”

“Don’t make it weird, man.”

“I’m leaving. I’m never speaking to either of you again.”

“Tell Mom I said hi,” Jack calls after him.

You fall back into the pillows, mortified.

Jack just pulls you back onto his chest.

“Told you he’d find out eventually.”

[ao3commentoftheday]

i'm sort of struggling dealing with jealousy in my fandom.

there is a character i'm very fond of in the source material. we don't know a lot about them, they never directly appear in the story and we only have a handful of information that we know is canon for sure. so that means a lot about this character is left up to audience interpretation, down to something as surface-level as their physical appearance. it's already a very niche fandom, and i write and draw for this character.

for about three years, i have been subject to vagueposting by some big name fans who are very invested in discussing canon lore. they have never mentioned me by name, and in their vagueposts they act as though there are multiple artists or authors who portray this version of the character the way i do... when i know it's just me. i have never spoken to them directly. i wish them no ill will. but they have said some truly hurtful, nasty things about my version of this character behind my back without mentioning me by name.

this is where the jealousy comes in. i never got a huge amount of attention when i started writing and drawing art for this fandom, but i suspect that because in these bnfs' vagueposting people know they're talking about me specifically, they stay away from my work because these bnfs talk about how my interpretation is bad. this is, to be fair, kind of far-fetched.

really, what makes me upset is that i was never an artist or writer who got a lot of attention in the first place when these bnfs have been into this source material for a few years more than i have, and have a significantly larger following and circle of friends than i do. yet they choose to go after me and say some truly rude things about my characterization work behind my back when they're also making things up... just that their work is more popular.

i have blocked and muted these people, and continue to do so when i run into others who speak rudely of me behind my back. when i write fic, i link to my social medias (not ko-fi. i understand ao3's policies about that) to my social media page - call it shallow, but i really do want to spend more time with other people and chat with other fans about my interpretation. but i'm not sure what more i can do to healthily manage my jealousy and upset at these people for saying rude things behind my back. part of me wants to confront them about it, but i'm a very short-tempered person and i don't want to end up making things worse.

I'm so sorry anon *hugs* This situation sucks, and I wish you weren't in it.

From everything you've written here, it doesn't sound like you're experiencing jealousy? Like, everything you're describing is hurt feelings due to people maligning your work and your character.

The part that you might be interpreting as jealousy, I'm reading as loneliness or feelings of isolation in your fandom. You want to have people to talk to and share ideas with. That's totally understandable, and it's actually something that most of us want too.

I'm glad that you've already blocked and muted those folks. That was 100% a smart move to make. Keep that kind of negative energy as far away as possible, and you're much more likely to find peace.

When it comes to finding people to talk with, you might have to take a more active role. Sharing your social media is one step, but it relies on the other person reaching out in order for that to be successful. You might have better luck if you're the one who sends the first message.

I know that can feel intimidating, especially in a space where you know people are talking shit about you. Try starting with just one person. If someone leaves a like on your artwork or a kudos/comment on your fic, try sending them an ask or replying to their comment with a question for them to respond to. By starting with someone who has already given you a positive response, you might have less to worry about?

There isn't really anything you can do to stop mean people from being mean to you. Keep doing what you're doing on that front, and focus your energy on finding people who are actually nice. I hope you find them ❤️

[comehereoohlala]

vastness

summary: you and andrew are briefly long distance for the first part of his tour. the distance is proving to be more difficult than anticipated for the both of you.

rating: mature (16+)

tags: emotional hurt + comfort, established relationship, long distance, phone calls

words: 1,416

note: i really don't like this - it's not great. just swishing around some ideas i want to pull out and properly explore in other stuff. just know it was an impulse decision to post it and it may be impulse deleted

fic under the cut ❊

It's a late Sunday night. Everything feels empty without him. The house is too quiet. No one is here to usher you to bed, to tempt you with sweet gentle kisses or words that would land you both in the second circle of hell for eternity.

When you finally make your way to the bedroom, you find the bed is far too cold. Missing the warmth of his large frame that you could press yourself in to. His jacket doesn't hang over the chair. Only yours.

It's only a few weeks you tell yourself again. Until everything is done and you can spend three months following him around on tour. Three months of hotel rooms together. Of backstage kisses. Of dressing room shenanigans.

You moved in with him in the new year. Leaving everything and everyone you knew behind. New job, new college. New everything. People judged - but you had known each other for years and been together for… well the exact start of your romantic relationship was hazy, but that's another story for another day. This story is about distance, and how it was killing you both. So he spent all of December with you and your family, exploring and saying goodbye to the only place you'd ever called home. And he had asked over and over if you were sure; you said yes every time.

Wicklow became home quickly. Andrew's family and friends had done nothing but shower you in love since you arrived.

But he was the reason it was home.

Any and all symptoms of homesickness were easily cured by the taste of his lips, by the morning coffees made with love and delivered to you in bed, by his cooking, by the sound of his guitar fiddling, by his ever loving touch.

But now the house is silent, your cooking is loveless and only just edible, and you crave nothing but the softness of his skin.

That's when the phone rings - you don't even open your eyes before answering it.

"Hey… who's this?"

"Andrew."

You sit up. "Andy?"

You hear his deep breath through the phone, "I didn't think you'd pick up."

"Aren't you meant to be on stage?"

"Delayed. Weather. God it's so good to hear your voice."

His voice is so quiet. You cling on to the sound of it like a child with a blanket. Time differences have made it so difficult to call, you've mostly been talking through messages sent and read hours apart.

"Andy…" you close your eyes, "I miss you so much."

"Fuck I wish you were here… and I know, it's important that you stayed because you're your own woman and you're pursuing your dreams and doing amazing incredible things and I'm so proud of you," he rambles quickly, "but god… if I could fly you out here right now I would."

"You know I wish I could… but I don't want to screw all these years of work up now."

"I know… I'm sorry. You've worked so hard, I don't want to be the reason it doesn't work out. Really, I'm the one who should be there with you. I'm being so selfish."

"No, no, Andrew. Please. We're both just stressed and overtired. Two weeks baby. I'll be with you in two weeks."

"Two weeks," he says it like a mantra, like a prayer to keep him going. "…Hey darli-" he gets cut off by a knock on the door and a rather stern voice.

"Andrew! Come on we need to get you mic'd up! We called you like five minutes ago!"

You laugh. He's so predictable sometimes. "Good luck tonight," you say with a small smile, tears stinging your eyes.

"…I can't hang up," he admits, and you can hear the same pleading in his voice that's in yours.

You close your eyes, holding the phone close to your ear, as if it were him. "I miss you so much."

"Me too. I miss you too."

"You have to go," you say quietly, "…there's only thousands of people waiting for you," you try to joke, but it comes off more melancholy than you would have liked.

"I'm going to be thinking of you the whole time."

"Can I call you when the show ends?"

"I'll call the second I get back to my bus. Promise."

You smile, "not that I'll be waiting by the phone or anything. I am a very busy woman."

"Trust me I know you are. You've always been difficult to get alone," he teases, voice laced with sarcasm, and you can hear him walking down the hall.

You shake your head in disapproval, "now go be my rock star."

"And you go be the smart, beautiful woman you always are. Oh and get some sleep please. I love you darling, so much," he yells that last bit, clearly away from the phone having passed it on to his stage manager, who says a quick hello and apologises to you for having to prematurely end your conversation with your boyfriend who you never get to talk to these days. Not that you're bitter with her, you're just bitter with the universe.

You wrap a blanket around yourself and watch as peoples posts from the show start to slowly roll in. You don't know why you do, but sleep felt so impossible, and the way you were missing him was almost so unbearable that it felt nice to see what he was doing oceans away. Watching the way he glows up on that stage, his smile when the crowd sings back to him. Fully in his element.

A few minutes after the final videos come through you call him again, butterflies in your stomach like your a fan hoping to talk to the man whose posters you have hung on your wall.

He answers, "you're still awake?" He breathes out, you can hear him talking to and thanking people backstage.

"I saw your show… well I was up watching videos," you say quietly.

He giggles a little, "what did you think?"

"There was one guy who was really hot. Long hair. He could even sing a little. Play guitar too."

"Yeah," he says, you can hear him better now, the background nose dissipating a little as he walks.

"You sound flat, is everything okay?"

"Just tired, and frustrated, I feel like the world is against this tour and I miss you. I want to see your face, let me call you back."

You flick the light on in your room and lay on your side, trying to fix your hair a little.

Just the sight of his eyes when you answer the call and it's like everything makes sense again.

"Hey," he says softly, "that's better."

You nod, "much."

"What time is it for you?"

"5 am… I can't sleep. I haven't slept properly all week." Tears sting your eyes, and all of your strength and resilience from before seems to have dissipated whilst he was on that stage. "Please Andrew, I don't care anymore, I'll get on a flight as soon as I can. I'm so lonely here."

He nods, his eyes so full of love, glistening with tears, "I'm right here. It's okay."

"But you're not. Not really. This house is so big and so quiet and so cold."

He nods, "if I could be there right now I would be darling."

"I know. I'm sorry," you wipe your eyes.

He stays on the phone with you. Promises you that you have nothing to be sorry for.

He doesn't hang up even as people come in ask him to come do things, even as he eats, as he makes his way back to his bus and gets ready for bed. He tells you about the show, about the food he ate that day, and the coffee he drank and the little rain delay and everything else in between. You weren't always fully processing what he was saying, but the sound of his voice eventually lulls you into sleep.

When you wake up, your phone is dead. You blindly dangle your arm off the side of the bed and reach for the charger, rubbing your sore tired eyes while you wait for it to turn on.

The message he left you lights up your screen.

Keep going baby. You're the strongest, smartest woman I've ever met. You can do this. I can't wait to see you in two weeks. Then I'm going to spend every second I can with you and you'll end up being so sick of me. Promise. I'll call you as soon as I can. You know I love you. Beyond the telling of it. 🖤

[reveryfics]

okay one last little tidbit ... wee bit unrelated... but John Walker with the second marriage trope, plus some fluffy knuckle kisses, plus his son being flower boy. Like do whatever you want with that. 🙏 that's it. that's the ask. TOODLEOO.

Perfect Ceremony

John Walker x Male Reader

Summary: You never imagined marriage for yourself, especially with a past like yours as a super-soldier. Yet, here you were, about to marry the man who meant everything to you. His son and ex-wife liking you too was just the icing on the cake.

A/N: I was so excited to write this, especially after we started talking about it more and more. I'm not incredibly happy with this one, I might end up doing it again in the future or different marriage fics for different characters.

TW: Fluff - Tooth rotting fluff - Marriage - Suggestive end

A life partner, marriage, even a casual relationship — these concepts were utterly foreign to you, almost laughable. They simply didn't compute within the demanding framework of your existence. Your days were a relentless cycle, first dominated by the rigid discipline of the military, and then, without much enthusiasm, by the even more intense demands of the government's super-soldier program. Any emotional entanglement felt like an unbearable weight, an unnecessary complication in a life already teetering on the edge of controlled chaos. Your mothers, bless their persistent hearts, never missed an opportunity to remind you, "You'll change your tune once the right person comes along." You'd typically just offer a noncommittal shrug, already mentally preparing for the next grueling training exercise.

The absolute last person you ever expected to challenge that deeply ingrained conviction was John Walker.

It wasn't as if you harbored any secret admiration for him before, quite the contrary. You'd pegged him as an egotistical asshole, a man more consumed with curating his public image than with genuine human connection or empathy. His swagger, his self-righteous pronouncements – they all grated on your nerves. You certainly couldn't pinpoint the exact moment your disdain began to fracture, to give way to something far more complex and unsettling. Perhaps it was the night he appeared on your doorstep, a shell of his former self, after the dust of his very public divorce had settled. He looked utterly lost, seeking solace not from the throngs of admirers he once commanded, but from you, the one person he believed wouldn't offer judgment.

That night, amidst the wreckage of his shattered reputation, he confessed the true weight of the shield, the impossible expectations, and the moment he'd crossed a line he never thought he would. You, in turn, remembered your own dark moments, the times you’d been pushed to the brink. Looking at him, truly seeing him for the first time, you found yourself offering a quiet, unvarnished truth: "We do things when we're pushed too far by others. It's not because we want to, but because we believe it's the only choice we have left."

For John, that was the precise moment. In your words, devoid of condemnation, he found an unexpected sanctuary. It was then, amidst the shared understanding of desperation and impossible choices, that he realized he was undeniably, irrevocably falling for you. And to your utter shock, a tiny, almost imperceptible shift began within you as well.

Dating John Walker wasn't a sudden, Hollywood-esque romance. It was a slow burn, a gradual unfurling of two lives that were both deeply scarred and remarkably resilient. For you, the idea of a relationship, let alone one with someone as publicly scrutinized as John, still felt alien. And for John, the stakes were even higher. His realization of his bisexuality, sparked by his burgeoning feelings for you, was a seismic shift in his already chaotic world. He was terrified. Terrified that this, on top of everything else, would be the final nail in the coffin of his public image, forever cementing him as the villain in the American narrative. The fear gnawed at him that his ex-wife, Olivia, would weaponize it, severing his already fragile connection with their son, even if deep down he knew Olivia wouldn't be so cruel.

Your early dates were clandestine affairs, hidden from the prying eyes of the media and the relentless judgment of the public. They were quiet evenings spent in your apartment, or long drives to nowhere in particular, just talking. You learned about the weight of the shield from his perspective, the impossible expectations, and the isolation that came with being a symbol rather than a man. He learned about your own battles, the unseen scars of the super-soldier program, and the quiet strength that allowed you to carry on. There were arguments, certainly. Both of you were stubborn, set in your ways, and prone to lashing out when vulnerable. Your past traumas often collided, creating friction, but beneath it all, there was a growing respect, a shared understanding of what it meant to live a life irrevocably altered by service and sacrifice. You didn't always agree, but you always came back to each other, drawn by an invisible thread that neither of you fully understood.

As the months bled into a year, then two, something remarkable began to happen. Your quiet presence in John's life started to chip away at the walls he'd built around himself. With your encouragement, and a newfound sense of self-acceptance, John began to tentatively reconnect with Olivia. You, in turn, found yourself surprisingly at ease with her. She saw the positive influence you had on John, the way you grounded him and brought out a softer side she hadn't seen in years. What started as polite conversations at pick-ups and drop-offs for their son, slowly blossomed into a genuine friendship between you and Olivia. You'd grab coffee, share stories, and even commiserate about John's more exasperating habits. This unexpected alliance paved the way for John to finally mend fences with his son, building a relationship based on honesty and renewed trust, not just the fleeting, supervised visits of the past. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was real, and it was a testament to the quiet power of your relationship.

Nearly three years into your unconventional, yet undeniably strong, relationship, you were still navigating the daily complexities of your lives. Marriage remained a distant, almost irrelevant concept to you. Your mothers, however, had seemed to possess some secret knowledge. Their knowing smiles, the subtle hints they’d drop, the way they'd look at you and John with an almost prescient understanding – it was all a mystery you couldn't quite decipher.

Then came the day. It wasn't grand or flashy, no public spectacle or dramatic gesture. It was a quiet evening, much like many of your early dates, just the two of you. He didn’t get down on one knee in a typical fashion, instead, he sat beside you, taking your hand in his, his gaze intense and unwavering. With a nervous tremor in his voice, but a profound certainty in his eyes, John proposed. It was a moment that stopped time, a question you had never, in a million years, expected to hear. The word hung in the air, echoing the silent hopes of your mothers, and igniting a whirlwind of emotions you hadn't realized you possessed.

The morning sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but your focus was entirely on the reflection staring back at you. You stood between your mothers, a surreal tableau. One, with practiced hands, meticulously adjusted the lapels of your expensive tuxedo, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. The other, with a softer touch, carefully arranged a few stray strands of hair that refused to cooperate. Every now and then, they'd exchange a look, a silent conversation of pride and disbelief that you knew all too well.

You hadn't, in a million years, envisioned this moment. Wearing a custom-tailored tuxedo, feeling the unfamiliar weight of silk against your skin, and peering out the window at a gathering crowd – it was a scene ripped from a life you never thought you'd lead. Down below, familiar faces mingled. Sam Wilson's family had arrived, their laughter carrying faintly on the breeze. There was Olivia, looking poised and elegant, a testament to the unexpected friendship you'd forged. She'd readily agreed to let her son, a whirlwind of youthful energy, be the ring bearer, a decision that warmed you more than you cared to admit.

And then there were the best men. Sam, ever dependable, had accepted the role for you with a knowing grin. For John, Bucky Barnes stood ready, a quiet strength beside him. It felt right, a balanced equation, given you'd stood as best man at their own wedding, witnessing their vows in a ceremony far less traditional than this one promised to be. The shared history, the battles fought and friendships forged, added another layer of significance to the day.

Your mother, the one who'd been fussing with your hair, gently turned your face towards her, her hands cupping your cheeks. Her smile was soft, radiating a warmth that always had the power to disarm you. "Look at my baby boy," she hummed, her voice thick with emotion. Her eyes, already glistening, searched yours. "So grown up and getting married." The last words were a whisper, a breathy testament to the overwhelming joy bubbling within her. You offered a genuine smile in return, placing your hands over hers, a silent acknowledgment of the unexpected journey that had brought you all to this very moment.

The hushed murmur of conversation died down as the music began to play—a simple, heartfelt melody chosen by your moms. You stood at the back, a nervous knot tightening in your stomach. This wasn't a grand, celebrity affair, no flashing cameras or sprawling guest list. It was just family, the kind you were born into, and the kind you'd forged along the way. That made it even more intimate, and somehow, more daunting.

John was already at the altar, a beacon of calm in his own sharp tuxedo. He stood tall, his gaze fixed on the aisle, a slight smile playing on his lips. As your mothers, one on each side, began to gently guide you forward, every eye in the room turned. You felt a blush creeping up your neck. You were never one for the spotlight, and walking toward someone you loved, under the collective gaze of everyone important in your life, felt incredibly vulnerable. You could feel your mother's comforting squeeze on your arm, a silent reassurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

When you finally reached John, he reached out, taking your hand in his, a quiet strength flowing between your palms. Your mothers stepped back, settling into the front row with a shared, teary-eyed look of contentment. The officiant, a kind woman who'd become a trusted confidante to both you and John, began the ceremony with words of love, commitment, and the extraordinary journey that had brought you both to this moment.

Then came the rings. There was a slight commotion from the back as John's son, looking adorable in a miniature suit, made his way down the aisle. He held a small, velvet cushion, looking incredibly serious about his important duty. Olivia walked closely behind him, a guiding hand on his back, her smile warm and genuine. The boy, eyes wide with importance, presented the rings with an almost ceremonial flourish, eliciting soft chuckles from the guests. John ruffled his son's hair affectionately, his gratitude evident.

As you exchanged vows, promises whispered from the heart, the world outside the small gathering faded away. It was just you and John, standing before those who mattered most, finally, unequivocally, choosing each other. The simple bands slipped onto your fingers, tangible symbols of a love that had defied expectations, overcome public scrutiny, and found its foundation in shared understanding and unwavering support. It wasn't perfect, you knew that. But it was real, it was earned, and in that moment, it was everything.

The officiant's voice was a warm hum, barely reaching the end of the traditional pronouncement, "You may now kiss your husband," before John acted. He didn't waste a second. With a tenderness that surprised even you, he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there first. It was a private gesture, a silent promise, before his gaze met yours, full of unadulterated adoration. Then, he leaned in, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both gentle and utterly certain.

The room erupted. Cheers and applause filled the air, a joyous cacophony of support and genuine happiness. You could feel the vibrations of it through the floor. When you and John finally pulled apart, breathless and beaming, Sam Wilson's hands were instantly on your shoulders, shaking you lightly, his face split into a wide, triumphant grin. "Took you long enough!" he shouted over the din, eyes sparkling with mirth. Even Bucky, typically stoic, offered a rare, genuine smile and a firm nod of approval from beside John.

The ceremony transitioned seamlessly into a lively celebration. The small backyard, transformed with string lights and simple decorations, buzzed with conversation and laughter. You watched, a warmth spreading through your chest, as friends and family mingled freely, a testament to the unexpected harmony that had blossomed from your unconventional journey.

As you were chatting with Sam and Bucky, you felt a small tug on your pant leg. Looking down, you saw John's son, his face alight with excitement. Before Olivia could even utter a polite warning, he launched himself forward, surprisingly agile, and landed squarely in your arms. You chuckled, catching him easily, his small arms wrapping tightly around your neck. Olivia, looking a little flustered, quickly followed. "Oh, I'm so sorry! I told him not to jump," she said, though a fond smile played on her lips.

"It's alright, Liv," you replied, giving the boy a squeeze before gently setting him back down. He immediately dashed off to join some other kids. "He's got energy, that's for sure."

Olivia leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Seriously though," she began, a genuine warmth in her eyes, "I just wanted to say... I'm so lucky to have you as a friend. And thank you, truly, for inviting me. For everything."

You smiled, touched by her sincerity. "Hey, the feeling's mutual. Who else am I going to complain to about John when he's being a pain?" You winked, and Olivia laughed, a bright, clear sound.

"Right? We definitely need to get that drink sometime," she agreed, "and talk all the trash we want."

"It's a date," you said, just as a familiar voice chimed in from directly behind you.

"Oh, I see how it is," John feigned a dramatic gasp, his hand pressed to his chest in mock offense. "Already plotting against your new husband, are we? And with my ex-wife, no less! The betrayal!"

You and Olivia burst into laughter, turning to face him. "Relax, Walker," you said, playfully nudging him with your elbow. "It's called quality bonding time. Besides," you added, a mischievous twinkle in your eye, "you know you're always worth talking about."

John grinned, a genuine, easy smile that erased all traces of the burdened man he once was. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you close, and then extended his free hand to Olivia, a silent acknowledgment of the new, healthy dynamic between them. "Just remember who signed up for a lifetime of dealing with me," he said to you, his gaze full of playful affection.

"Oh, trust me," you retorted, leaning into his embrace, "I'm counting on it."

The house was finally quiet, the last echoes of laughter and conversation having faded with the departure of your guests. The string lights outside, now mere pinpricks of warm gold against the deepening twilight, were the only remnants of the joyous celebration. You and John lay in bed, the comfortable silence a stark contrast to the earlier cacophony. Your gaze drifted to the simple silver band on your left hand, a twin to the one on his. It wasn't fancy, no diamonds or intricate designs, but its understated elegance held more meaning than any opulent jewel ever could. It was a tangible symbol of everything you'd found in him, and in yourselves.

John stirred, rolling onto his side to face you. His hand reached for yours, gently pulling it closer. Just like at the altar, he brought your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss there. A quiet chuckle escaped you, and you turned onto your side to fully face him, the moonlight casting soft shadows across his features.

"Today was... something else," you murmured, tracing the line of his jaw.

"It was perfect," John corrected, his voice a low rumble. "Better than I ever imagined." He shifted closer, his hand coming to rest on your hip. "And you, Mr. Walker, looked absolutely breathtaking."

You snorted softly. "Mr. Walker? Still getting used to that. Sounds more like you, honestly."

He chuckled, already inching closer, his body heat a comforting presence against yours. "Oh, no. It definitely suits you. Mr. Walker," he murmured again, the words a playful caress as he leaned in, his lips brushing against your collarbone. He peppered soft kisses along your neck, his breath warm against your skin. "Has a certain ring to it, don't you think? Better than it ever did on me." Each word was punctuated by another kiss, moving up your jawline towards your ear.

You shivered slightly, a smile tugging at your lips. "Nice try, Walker," you whispered, your hand finding its way into his hair. "But no amount of flirting, or stroking my ego, is going to change the fact that you're not topping tonight."

John let out an exaggerated gasp, pulling back just enough to look at you, his eyes wide with mock offense. Before he could utter a protest, you used the leverage of your position, a practiced move honed over years of playful sparring, to flip him onto his back. You were suddenly hovering above him, a victorious smirk on your face.

"Besides," you said, leaning down to capture his lips in a slow, possessive kiss, "it's even better this way."