#I FEEL LIKE SOMEONE ELSE WROTE THIS THOUGH

[cobaltperun]

Genius (4) - Bittersuite

Cairo Sweet x female (G!P) Reader

Summary: It was such a cliché, a reunion she didn’t expect to ever happen, let alone six years after she last saw you. It was supposed to mean nothing, a bit of nostalgia, maybe a brief catching up while waiting for class, it was supposed to be a small wave of nostalgia, not a tsunami that disrupted her entire life. You were her opposite, and as hard as she tried she couldn’t resist your pull.

Story masterlist / First part / Previous Part

Word count: 3.5k

-God, I hope it all goes away, 'cause I can't fall in love with you-

A madman’s love.

Cairo had no idea how that felt, but the way Miller described it sounded exactly like what she was yearning for. Ever since she was old enough to yearn for love. To be loved by someone to the point of madness, for that someone to merely be a bone monolith beneath her, to be loved so fiercely and strongly that both her and the one loving her end up consumed by the flames of emotions within them.

To be madly loved and to madly love in return.

How did that feel? To fight for someone’s love, no matter the circumstances, the taboo, the judgment of society. To feel so right no matter how many people said it’s wrong.

She didn’t know, but she imagined Miller knew, he described it, after all. He wrote it with passion that struck her, that made her yearn for what he was painting in her mind. What about his age? Well, she did desire something that others would deem wrong, didn’t she? And then there was Winnie, and Cairo would have cursed her for filling her head with the ideas of giving her virginity to someone older if Winnie didn’t present such a convincing argument. To give her virginity to someone that was, as Winnie put it, wagyu beef, and not deli meat.

She didn’t know she wasn’t supposed to bleed the first time she has sex, the books she read made sex out to be raw, rough, immediate, a desperate act of chasing pleasure, they hardly ventured into the ideas of woman’s arousal, much less aftercare.

Could he give it to her? Could he see her for who she really was? Reveal sides of her she didn’t even know existed yet? He certainly found something worth it in this damn village she despised, he could do the same with her. Find worth no one else did, make her feel wanted by someone. Make her feel like she was the only one who mattered.

Her phone buzzed and she glanced at it. You sent her a message, but she didn’t reach for her phone to reply. She just leaned her head back instead. She couldn’t deny the visceral reaction she had whenever she was reminded of you. Of her heart beating faster, or the dreams she had, or the fact that she wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking forward to more on Monday mornings, listening to Miller, or sitting next to you, your arms occasionally touching and making her feel like she was on fire.

How did you see her? Did you still see the girl who read to you, the girl that dragged you around the forest around her house, the girl who pushed you away? Or did you see her for who she was right now? A ghost, someone a rare few paid attention to, though she kept hearing she was extraordinary. A lonely girl longing for attention and escape. You were certainly providing her with the escape she needed, seeing as Saturdays became your usual getaways, and you took her to places she had no idea about, she was living when she was with you, free from the shackles of nowhere Tennessee.

But your love for her was a lot like Winnie’s. Immature, normal, fueled by reasons appropriate for your age. She couldn’t imagine you or Winnie being driven to madness by your love for her, if the way you loved her even included anything romantic in the first place.

She needed a love that wasn’t ordinary. She needed her madman’s love.

And she feared that whatever was happening between the two of you wasn’t a product of love or friendship, but a desperate attempt to emulate what was once lost.

Cairo didn’t want that. She didn’t want to emulate the past, she wanted… What did she want? She knew what she didn’t want, but what did she actually want?

~X~

This wasn’t working, and the only reason you still tolerated this class was because Cairo was there as well. You suppressed a sigh as Miller droned on about the writer’s style being bold, and too much, and it really was.

You were trying to reignite your love for reading but all this was doing was making you wish to never open a book again in your entire life. You couldn’t get the fact that he went thought student’s stuff out of your head, and that impression alone ruined the class for you.

“Meet me after classes,” he leaned over Cairo’s shoulder, too close to her, secretive, whispering so no one else but Cairo could hear him. Though not quiet enough for you not to hear him, even if you looked like you weren’t paying attention. The fuck was with this guy? After classes?

You were reading too much into it, right?

~X~

Was he seeing her? Like Winnie said? Cairo wasn’t sure yet, but she couldn’t deny their similarities, how at ease she felt, how the only time she felt this much at ease was when she was with you on your rides outside the village. It compared to that as far as her ease went, but it went further, it met other needs she had as well. The ones she hated to admit she had. Her need for approval and attention from someone older, something she never got before, being a big part of it, and what made this seem more impactful to her than what she had with you.

And then there was a part of her that consciously made what she had with you feel like it was to be expected. Like it was a given that you’d reconnect. And she needed to look at it that way, otherwise she’d spiral into fear and panic, because if it wasn’t a given, and if both of you chose to actively put effort into rebuilding what you once had, then that in and of itself, would be a form of madness she wasn’t ready to face just yet.

“See you on Monday, Mr. Miller,” Winnie said as she opened the doors so she could drag Cairo to get her beloved food.

“Bye, kid,” a kid, that’s how he saw Winnie, but he didn’t call Cairo a ‘kid’, so at the very least he didn’t see her as one, though her and Winnie were the same age. He saw her as an adult, and she very much liked that. “Oh, and Cairo, are you going to come this Saturday?” he asked her.

She realized she never got to answer him, and it wasn’t just because Winnie came in, there was an issue of already making plans with you. “I already made plans with Y/N, but I’ll see if she’s fine with postponing,” she told him, not quite ready to give a definitive answer.

He seemed a bit startled all of a sudden. “Y/N?”

Cairo nodded, not sure what made him react the way he did just now, though it was subtle she could see he was a bit uncomfortable.

“Did- Uh, did she mention me in any way?” he tried to brush it off as a normal question, but the way he avoided her eyes gave him away.

“No,” she replied. Not even sure why you would mention him. You didn’t particularly enjoy his class, she could tell by the way you actively tried not to listen to him, and she knew you were doing bare minimum on the assignments. You didn’t like either him or the class, and Caro didn’t know why, she didn’t ask why, and you never told her why.

“Oh, okay, forget I said anything,” Miller regained some color when she denied you ever mentioning him and she just nodded, choosing not to ask him about it.

She’d just ask you. After all, you were the one who kept something from her.

~X~

You were in your garage, just cleaning your motorcycle and your gear when you heard the doorbell ringing. You weren’t expecting any visitors, so maybe it was just one of your neighbors. When the doorbell rang the second time you got up, leaving the rug you were using on the bucket, and quickly washed your hands in the sink, before going outside.

“Sorry for the wait, I was-“ you paused, seeing Cairo on your doorstep. “Hey, I didn’t expect to see you here,” you climbed up the stairs as Cairo looked to the side. You couldn’t read her, but you could tell something wasn’t right.

“Hey, Y/N,” she greeted you.

“Come in,” you opened the doors for her and stepped aside, she knew the house. Even if she hasn’t been inside in a long time. You followed after Cairo, taking notice of how she stopped and stared at the copy of Jules Verne’s ‘Around the World in Eighty Days’. You were trying to read it, but between Miller killing your desire to read and the book being closely tied to your and Cairo’s friendship while you were kids, you hated to admit it, but you weren’t having an easy time with it. Still, you were about two thirds in, so at least you were making some progress.

“Do you want something to drink? Or eat? I was about to make something for lunch anyway,” you were already heading toward the kitchen as Cairo sat down on the armchair.

“No, I just ate with Winnie, I’m okay,” she said and you chose not to push her. She was tense, and it didn’t escape your notice that she chose one seat that would put the most distance between the two of you regardless of where you sat down.

So, you mirrored her, taking a seat on the far end of the sofa, letting the distance between you engulf you. The silence felt deafening, and you hoped it wouldn’t come to this. This was the tension you were worried about the first time you took her out of the village, it wasn’t supposed to be happening now, two weeks after you reunited. “What’s wrong?” you asked carefully.

“Mr. Miller said something, well, he asked me if you mentioned him. Why?” she asked, looking you in the eyes and clutching the straps of her bag in her hand.

You could swear you were hearing alarm bells ringing in your head. Why would he ask her that? “I caught him and coach what’s-his-name going through your books on the first day, that’s all,” you had no reason to protect him, since Cairo asked so openly. Frankly, you weren’t sure why you haven’t told her that in the first place.

“That’s it?” she asked incredulously.

“You wanted more?” you were astonished. Now, you didn’t expect her to be furious, or go on a rant, or anything like that, but you didn’t expect her to think nothing of it. What did she even want from you, because you honestly couldn’t tell where you were standing with her.

“You’re being ridiculous,” she defended him. “Mr. Miller isn’t being inappropriate, he sees me,” she told you.

You raised an eyebrow, puzzled. Sees her? “Cairo, what do you mean he sees you?” you questioned, leaning a bit closer over the dreadfully large distance between the two of you.

Cairo looked away, contemplating whether she should tell you something and then, finally, she made her decision. “He sees my talent; he sees what others’ don’t. He- he gave me special treatment, offered me an early mid-term assignment,” she leaned back, likely reading your frown as if you were disapproving of her.

It wasn’t her. It was his actions. It didn’t feel right. It felt unprofessional, it felt like he was actively crossing boundaries with her, taking advantage of her need to be seen, as she put it. “Cairo, he might not be good for you,” you didn’t feel like you had the right to influence her, or get involved in her decisions, but you also felt like you had to, much like all those years ago, pull her away from something that could harm her.

“You just came back, don’t pretend you understand what is best for me,” she snapped, her voice shaking a bit and even from this distance you could see the tears pooling in her eyes. “I’m going to a poetry reading this Saturday, to see him, just so you know,” the fact that she was canceling your plans didn’t matter nearly as much as the reason why she chose to cancel them.

What pushed her this far? To seek approval from him of all people? “Okay,” but she was too emotional to talk to properly right now. So, you chose to back away for now, to just hope that nothing even worse would happen. And Cairo? She just left, closing the doors with a sound that rang through your mind as if it signaled the start of madness.

~X~

He truly did see her, he saw all of her. The ghost, the rose bush that wasn’t allowed to blossom, no matter how hard she tried. And she saw herself in him, she saw her reflection, and she wondered if he saw himself in her as well. She was willing to bet he did, they were both ghosts, cursed to never be seen for what they were by anyone who wasn’t like them.

He didn’t take her somewhere else, he showed her a side of her home she wasn’t aware of, and she managed to see worth in it she never knew existed. She yearned for more. She yearned for an even deeper connection. She yearned… she longed… she…

This wasn’t a given. This was something she had to reach for, something she had to work for, something forbidden, and yet so appealing at the same time.

Would he fight for her? Accept her entirely and burn in their shared passion and desires and yearning, or would he refuse to participate in this dance? She feared the answer, because, if he wouldn’t… who would?

And in the middle of it all, of all those thoughts and feelings, she just for a moment, saw your face as you told her he wasn’t good for her. Your eyes, intensely looking right at her. What did you see? What compelled you to look at her like that? And along the image of you, leaning closer to her, so close that she, despite the almost overwhelming distance, caught herself unsure if she should back away, maintain the distance, or lean in, encouraging you to keep closing the distance until there was none of it left. Along that image she vividly saw the wild rose bush crushed by an old fallen tree and her eyes widened as she remembered you pulling her away from it all.

Would you pull her back once again? Would Miller be the old tree to crush her? Or would he stand strong next to her as she blossomed? She didn’t decide yet, but she knew the way he was looking at her right now lacked the intensity your stare had.

~X~

You’ve been denying it for years, but Cairo, even after she pushed you away remained a constant presence in your life. You still remembered that time in the forest around her house, when she dragged you around and then just froze when she saw an old tree that had fallen over a bush of wild roses. It wasn’t the scene that remained in your memory. You weren’t old enough for it to profoundly affect you. Even now you didn’t come to give any deeper meaning to the imagery you witnessed.

It was still an impactful memory because she sobbed, and she wasn’t even aware of it. She let out a sound, filled with so much sorrow you couldn’t even comprehend what was going through her head back then. To this day, you didn’t know why it affected her so much, but you knew how it affected you. How it made you feel like you had to take her away from there, that you had to do something so she would smile again.

She set a bar so damn high for you that it wasn’t just the fact that you were moving a lot that stopped you from being best friends with someone. It was the fact that they just couldn’t compare to her. And then you got a bit older and started understanding your sexuality and you tried, you really did. You dated on and off, but again, the connection you were seeking wasn’t there. No matter how amazing the girl was you just found it hard to let someone in the way you did with Cairo. Did you ever have any feelings for Cairo that weren’t purely friendship related? No, not even a childish crush, but the connection between you was just strong enough to affect you years after you last saw her. You felt that connection in the songs you learnt to play, in some of the music you created, brimming with longing and inspired by a friendship long ago left in the past that refused to fade away.

You glanced at her, at her focused gaze meant only for Miller in this very moment, and you weren’t sure how to feel. You just waited for the class to end. And then he approached your and Cairo’s table from behind, and you saw his left hand reaching for her hand as he leaned over her shoulder.

As if he absolutely had to say something only to her.

Your eyebrow twitched. How dare he? He was her teacher, and she was only eighteen. Without thinking you pushed the table to your left so abruptly he lost his hold on the edge of the table and stumbled forward, and, unable to stay on his feet he dropped to his knees to the gasps of the students.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry,” he got up, dusting his pants and raising his hands as he turned away from the class, embarrassed by what just happened. Just for a moment his eyes met yours and you glared, begging for him to read your mind and see what you thought. ‘Learn where the damn boundary is,’ is what you were trying to convey through your eyes. Consequences be damned.

Not like there would be any. If he went and reported you, you’d just say what you suspected, consequences of those actions be damned. He, at the very least, did show favoritism toward Cairo.

When the class ended you stormed out of the classroom, ignoring Cairo and Winnie’s eyes following you.

~X~

As you walked out of the classroom after all your classes ended you suddenly felt a hand grab your forearm and pull you aside much to your utter surprise.

“Come with me,” Cairo demanded, ordering you as if you had no choice but to follow her every whim.

“You could be a bit gentler,” you complained, not appreciating how tightly she was gripping your arm.

Cairo looked back at you, anger flashing in her eyes. “I could say the same to you, why would you make him fall like that?” she hissed, dragging you to a slightly secluded corner.

“Maybe next time he’ll think twice before putting his hands where they shouldn’t be,” you were instantly annoyed by the reminder of where he was about to put his hands. And Cairo jumping to his defense wasn’t helping.

“Yeah, and where is that?” she challenged you as you leaned against the wall and she stepped right in front of you. If you moved even a bit, you’d be pressed right against her.

“Not on you, that’s for sure. Or any of his students,” he had his responsibilities and one of those was to keep the proper boundaries with his students.

“And if I want him to?” Cairo demanded and you just… weren’t sure how to answer that. You knew how it made you feel though. And suddenly it wasn’t just about his advances toward Cairo being inappropriate in your eyes. You finally felt as if the pieces on your side were falling into place, and you were no longer seeing the girl you spent your childhood with. You saw an eighteen-year-old girl and somehow you were no longer certain you only saw her as a friend. It was as if the very thought of him touching her ignited flames of madness within you, a jealousy you didn’t even know you could feel over Cairo.

“Do you really?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

You took her words in, you forced yourself to calm down, to take it easy, to think rationally. “Why did you push me away when we were kids Cairo?” you asked and she backed away a bit, and though she didn’t leave, you could see it in her eyes. She wasn’t going to answer. And her answer mattered to you more than anything, because her answer was the only thing that could make any of this worth it. That was the only thing that could validate or invalidate your feelings. That was the only thing that could solve every question running through your mind. And she wasn’t giving it to you.

A/N: Is Cairo confused at the moment? Yup! Is R? Absolutely! So, tell me what you think, I would appreciate it!

Taglist: @deimaisgail @bee-keeping @marvelous-disaster @jmwetterlund @tekanparadiae

@alexkolax @ioveyouyouloveme @aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh

[fluentmoviequoter]

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim Bradford cares more about you, his boot, than he should. You're injured and he shows his care without thinking.

Warnings: fluff, brief insecurity, description of injuries and stitches. r has hair long enough to pull back but no specific qualities!

Word Count. 1.0k+ words

A/N: This is just a little something I wrote last night. A scene of Tim being soft toward you, his favorite rookie. :)

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim Bradford can be gruff, pushy, and, at times, downright mean. But he never pushes his trainees more than they can handle, and his relentless tests and trials are for their benefit. By leading them to their potential or letting them fall short of it, he shows himself and them that they do (or in many cases, don’t) have what it takes. So, when people ask you if Tim Bradford is hard to work with or a tough TO, the answer is usually yes. 

But then there are moments like this. 

As you sit in the emergency room with a bloody wad of paper towels wrapped around your hand and your hair falling in your face, you watch Tim. He’s been on the phone since you arrived, pacing as he explains what happened to Sergeant Greg. You hadn’t seen Tim worried about you like this before today, but the moment he noticed the concerning amount of blood dripping from your hand as you stood your ground against an armed suspect, he showed you a side of himself that you’d never seen before. 

“Let’s get that hand looked at. I’m Dr. Grace Sawyer.”

You nod at Grace as you stand and brace your injured hand against the other. She smiles kindly as you introduce yourself and leads you into a nearby room. 

“Take a seat and I’ll unwrap Officer Bradford’s patch job,” she instructs. 

After you sit and extend your hand toward her, she carefully unwraps the blood-soaked towels and deposits it into a biohazard container behind her. The gash across your palm and over the side of your wrist begins bleeding again without the pressure of Tim’s impromptu wrap job. He yelled at you while he did it, but you know why. 

“How’d this happen?” Grace asks. 

“I, uh… I was supposed to stay out of the way until our backup got there, but a guy ran up behind Officer Bradford, my TO, with a machete. I jumped in before I thought about it," you answer.

“Clearly,” Tim grumbles as he walks in. “How is she?” he asks Grace. 

“I’m going to put in a few stitches. I’ll wrap it so she can get back to work, though. Is this your dominant hand?”

“No,” you answer softly, looking at Tim. 

Tim nods once before he walks to stand behind you. You feel his fingers in your hair before you can ask what he’s doing. Less than an hour ago, someone else had their fingers on your scalp, but you weren’t as accepting of the touch. 

“What are you doing?” you ask as he works your ponytail holder loose. 

“Fixing your hair. This look isn’t exactly department-approved and you can do it with stitches in your palm,” Tim answers. 

You turn your attention toward Grace and watch her work instead of focusing on how softly Tim is touching you or how close his chest is to your back. His warmth and care for you threaten to distract you from why you're here and what you're supposed to do when you leave.

“Sorry,” he murmurs when his finger hooks on a tangle. 

“It’s okay,” you reply. “Thank you.”

“Are you okay?” Tim asks. 

“I am. Thanks to you.”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move that hand,” Grace says.

She winks as she stands, and you wonder if she knows how much trouble you’d get in for making a move on your TO. Not that you haven’t thought about it. Although, it always ends in rejection, even in your daydreams. The downside of knowing Tim so well, you think. 

“I don’t even know how he got my hand and my hair so fast,” you admit. “It was like I felt the slice and then he was yanking me backward.”

“You stood your ground well,” Tim responds. “Not that I’m praising you disobeying me and jumping in, but what you did was well done. Unnecessary, but properly executed.”

“Unnecessary?” you repeat. “I’ll remember that next time a guy is about to use a machete against your back.”

“You know what I mean,” Tim adds quietly. 

He drops his hands to your shoulders briefly, and when he pulls away, you shiver at the loss of warmth. 

“It’s not perfect, or exactly how you had it,” he begins as he rounds the exam table. 

“It’s great. Thank you,” you interject. “I really do appreciate it.”

“Just don’t let it happen again.”

“Trust me, I’ll try. Twelve stitches across my palm was never the goal.”

Tim rolls his eyes and sits in a nearby chair to wait for Grace to finish treating your cut. You watch him, and when you notice his shoulders drop, you push him back for once. 

“You know, I’ve been looking for a new hairstylist for an event next month,” you say. 

“No,” Tim answers. 

He crosses his arms tightly against his chest and tilts his head away from you. That means it’s working. 

“But you did so well! I mean, I haven’t felt this good because of a hairstyle since… I can’t remember.”

“Then learn to do it yourself.”

“But you’re my partner,” you argue with a pout. 

“When I said I’d be with you through the good, the bad, and the ugly, that’s not exactly what I meant.”

“But I’ll be ugly without beautiful hairstyles like this!”

Tim straightens quickly and says, “You’re kidding. Right?”

You shrug and look at the stitches lining your hand. 

“You’re beautiful,” he adds. “No hair-do can change that or make it untrue.”

“Thanks,” you whisper. 

“I’m back,” Grace announces. “Let me wrap this and you’ll be good to go.”

“About time,” Tim sighs. “Way to waste our afternoon, boot.”

You don’t hear a word he says. The only thing worth remembering for the foreseeable future is Tim Bradford saying, ‘You’re beautiful. No hair-do can change that or make it untrue.’ When you climb back into the shop a few minutes later, you realize that life will be hard with one of your hands out of commission. 

“How am I supposed to do anything without bothering this?” you ask. 

“Carefully. You just…” Tim sighs and knocks his knuckles against the steering wheel for a moment. Then he says, “Just call me if you need help.”

It takes you a second to register what he said and believe you heard him correctly, and your questioning sound communicates that. 

“Don’t make me regret it,” he adds. 

“Is this the ugly you meant?” you tease. 

“No,” Tim answers. “This is the good.”

[skywalker1dream]

unknown feelings

note: I wrote 3 parts of this fic, I have been working on this for whole day...and I hope its good ;3 hope you have good day or night...drink water..uff I have to rest my fingers hurt.. oh And there is few charapters United, If I hadn't done that, would have been short fic, like really short

Part one | part two | part three

As the sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the paddock, Carlos Sainz's eyes fixated on a singular figure amidst the bustling crowd. There you stood, Lando Norris's younger sister, your laughter dancing through the air like a siren's call, drawing Carlos in like a moth to a flame.

From the moment he laid eyes on you, something stirred within Carlos, a possessiveness he couldn't quite explain. you were more than just Lando's sister; you were a treasure he felt compelled to protect, to shield from the world's prying eyes.

Every fiber of his being screamed at him to keep you close, to guard you from anyone who dared to get too near. he found himself watching you with a fervent intensity, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile, the way your hair caught the sunlight, the infectious energy that seemed to radiate from your every pore.

you was like a magnet, drawing him in with an irresistible force that left him feeling both exhilarated and terrified. He knew he had no right to feel this way, knew he was crossing boundaries he shouldn't even be considering, but he couldn't help himself. The mere thought of you slipping away, of someone else claiming your attention, sent a surge of possessiveness coursing through his veins.

"Hey, Carlos, you alright?" Lando's voice cut through the haze of Carlos's thoughts, momentarily snapping him back to reality.

Carlos tore his gaze away from you, his expression a mask of casual indifference as he turned to face his friend. "Yeah, just keeping an eye on your sister."

Lando shot him a knowing look, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "She's a handful, isn't she?"

Carlos forced a laugh, nodding in agreement. "Yeah, but she's cool."

Cool was an understatement, though. you were captivating, a force to be reckoned with, and Carlos couldn't shake the feeling that he was being pulled deeper and deeper into your orbit with each passing moment.

As the evening progressed, Carlos found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you, his every instinct screaming at him to protect you, to shield you from any potential harm. He knew he was treading dangerous waters, knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help himself. He was consumed by a possessiveness he couldn't control, a need to claim you as his own, even if it meant risking everything he held dear.

And as he watched you laugh and joke with your friends, a surge of jealousy welled up inside him, threatening to consume him whole. you were his, he told himself, and he would do whatever it took to make sure you knew it.

Lando's Blind Spot

Lando clapped Carlos on the back, oblivious to the turmoil brewing beneath the surface. "I'm glad you're looking out for her, mate. Means a lot to me."

Carlos managed a tight-lipped smile, his mind racing with thoughts of you. "Of course, Lando. She's like family to me."

Little did Lando know, Carlos's definition of family was starting to blur into something much more complicated.

As Lando walked away, Carlos's gaze followed him before flicking back to where you stood, chatting animatedly with your friends. A surge of possessiveness washed over him, and he clenched his fists at his sides, fighting the urge to pull you away from the crowd and keep you all to himself.

But he couldn't do that. He had to respect your space, even if it felt like it was tearing him apart.

Carlos found himself unable to tear his gaze away from you, his eyes following your every move with an intensity that bordered on obsession. your smile lighting up the room in a way that made his heart ache with longing.

He knew he should look away, should give you some semblance of privacy, but he couldn't help himself. He was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, unable to resist the pull of her magnetic presence.

Eventually, Lando came back over to join him, breaking him out of his reverie. "Hey, mate, you okay? You've been staring at my sister like she's the last piece of cake in the bakery."

Carlos forced a laugh, trying to shake off the intensity of his emotions. "Yeah, sorry about that. Just lost in thought, I guess."

Lando raised an eyebrow, his expression curious. "You sure that's all it is? You seem a bit… I don't know, distracted."

Carlos shrugged, trying to play it cool. "Yeah, just tired, I guess. Long day at the track."

But Lando wasn't convinced, his gaze piercing as he studied Carlos intently. "Okay, if you say so. Just remember, she's my sister, mate. Hands off."

Carlos felt a pang of guilt at Lando's words, knowing that he was already crossing boundaries he shouldn't be. But try as he might, he couldn't seem to shake the feeling that he was falling deeper and deeper under the reader's spell, unable to resist the allure of your intoxicating presence.

But he knew he couldn't have her, not like this. She was Lando's sister, off-limits in every sense of the word, and he had to respect that, no matter how much it tore him apart inside. So he forced himself to look away, to focus on anything other than the girl who had captured his heart in ways he couldn't begin to explain.

.......

The sabotaged date

you nervously fiddled with your phone as you waited for your date to arrive, your heart pounding in your chest with anticipation. you had been looking forward to this night for weeks, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this guy would be different.

Meanwhile, Carlos sat in his car across the street, hidden in the shadows, his heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. He couldn't shake the feeling of unease that had settled over him ever since you told him about your date. Although he knew he shouldn't interfere, a part of him hoped that this guy would stand you up, giving Carlos a chance to step in and be there for you.

Minutes turned into hours, and Carlos watched with bated breath as the your excitement slowly turned to disappointment. He felt a pang of guilt at the sight of your distress, knowing that he was partially responsible for it, but he couldn't help the surge of exhilaration that filled him as he realized that his plan was working.

As you got up from your table and made your way to the door, Carlos held his breath, praying that she wouldn't see him waiting in his car. He knew he should leave, should give you space, but he couldn't bring himself to move, couldn't tear his eyes away from you as you stepped out into the cool night air.

Just as you reached the sidewalk, Carlos's heart skipped a beat as your eyes met, and he watched as recognition dawned in your eyes. He braced himself for your anger, for your accusations, but to his surprise, all he saw was relief.

"Carlos?" you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper as you made your way towards him, your steps hesitant but determined.

Carlos swallowed hard, his heart racing in his chest as he rolled down the window and leaned towards you, his gaze never leaving yours. "Hey," he said, his voice coming out softer than he had intended.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, her tone a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

Carlos hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. He knew he should tell you the truth, should confess that he had been hoping your date would stand you up so he could be there for you, but he couldn't bring himself to admit it, couldn't bear the thought of you rejecting him.

"I, uh, I was just driving by and I saw you," he lied, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. "and I thought maybe you could use a ride home."

you furrowed her brow, studying him for a moment before nodding in understanding. "Yeah, that would be nice. Thank you, Carlos."

As you climbed into the car beside him, Carlos couldn't shake the feeling of guilt that gnawed at him, knowing that he was deceiving you, knowing that he was betraying your trust. But as he drove you home in silence, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope, a flicker of something warm and tender stirring in his chest as he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for them.

.....

"What happened? Why didn't he show up?" Carlos asked, his eyes searching her face for answers.

you shrugged, tears welling in your eyes. "I don't know. He just never showed, and I waited for hours."

Carlos's heart clenched at the sight of your tears, and he fought the urge to pull you into his arms and never let you go. "Well, forget about him. Let me take you home and I will make you some pancakes"

...

As he drove in silence, the tension between Carlos and you hung heavy in the air, each lost in your own thoughts.

"Carlos, why are you always so protective of me?" you finally asked, breaking the silence and turning to look at him, your eyes searching his face for answers.

Carlos's grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to find the right words. "Because… because you're important to me, okay? I care about you more than you'll ever know."

your brow furrowed in confusion, but before you could respond, Carlos pulled into your driveway, effectively ending the conversation.

Unraveling Secrets

As he pulled up outside your house, Carlos's heart raced in his chest, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. He knew he had to say something, to address the tension that hung heavy in the air, but the words eluded him, trapped behind a wall of fear and uncertainty.

you made to get out of the car, but Carlos's hand shot out, gripping your wrist gently to stop you. "Wait," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We need to talk."

you turned to look at him, your brow furrowing in confusion. "What is it, Carlos?"

Carlos took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say. "I need you to know... I need you to understand that... that I care about you, okay?"

your eyes widened in surprise, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Carlos, I..."

But before you could respond, Carlos's attention was drawn to a figure approaching the car. It was Lando, his expression a mixture of confusion and concern as he neared them.

"Hey, what's going on?" Lando asked, his voice filled with curiosity.

Carlos glanced at you before turning back to Lando, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just catching up with [your name] here. You know how it is."

Lando nodded, a knowing look passing between them. "Yeah, I get it."

you go inside house, Lando turned back to Carlos with a curious expression. "So, what's really going on, mate? You seemed pretty intense back there."

Carlos let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. "It's… complicated, Lando. Just some stuff I've been dealing with lately."

Lando nodded, a sympathetic look crossing his face. "I get it. We all have our demons to face. You know I'm here if you need to talk about anything, right?"

Carlos managed a weak smile, grateful for Lando's offer of support. "Yeah, thanks, mate. I appreciate it."

The two friends fell into easy conversation then, the tension from before melting away as they caught up on each other's lives. They talked about everything from their latest race results to their plans for the upcoming season, their bond as friends growing stronger with each passing moment.

The Tempest Rises

The next day, Carlos couldn't shake the unease that lingered in the pit of his stomach. Despite his attempts to distract himself with work, thoughts of you consumed his mind like a relentless storm, each passing moment only serving to intensify his feelings of possessiveness and obsession.

As evening approached, Carlos found himself driving aimlessly through the city streets, his mind filled with tumultuous thoughts. It was then that he spotted them, you and a guy named William, laughing together outside a cafe.

His heart clenched at the sight, a surge of jealousy and possessiveness coursing through his veins. He knew he had no right to feel this way, but he couldn't help it. He had warned William to stay away from you, and yet here he was, flirting with you as if nothing had happened.

Flashback:

Carlos's hands clenched into fists as he confronted William in the parking lot outside your favorite cafe. His voice was low and menacing as he delivered his ultimatum.

"You stay away from her, you hear me?" Carlos growled, his eyes blazing with anger. "If I ever catch you near her again, you'll regret it."

William's eyes widened in fear as he took a step back, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "Hey, man, chill out. I was just asking her out for coffee. No harm done, right?"

But Carlos wasn't buying it. He knew William's type, knew the kind of guy he was. And he wasn't about to let him anywhere near you.

"Just stay away from her," Carlos repeated, his voice cold and menacing. "Or else."

End of Flashback.

For a moment, Carlos was frozen in place, his mind racing with fear and uncertainty. What if William had convinced you to give him another chance? What if you had already forgotten about Carlos and moved on?

But then, as if on cue, William's gaze flickered in Carlos's direction, his expression turning to one of fear and apprehension. Carlos felt a surge of satisfaction wash over him at the sight, his fear replaced by a possessive determination to protect what was his.

Without a second thought, Carlos strode over to where you and William stood, his steps purposeful and determined. William's eyes widened in fear as Carlos approached, and he stumbled over his words as he addressed you.

"Uh, hey, [your name], I, uh, I have to go," William stammered, his voice trembling with nervousness. "I'll, uh, I'll see you later."

And with that, he hurried away, leaving you standing there, your gaze flickering between Carlos and the retreating figure of William.

Carlos's heart raced as he approached you, his chest tight with a mix of emotions. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

you nodded, your eyes wide with surprise. "Yeah, I'm fine. What was that all about?"

Carlos hesitated for a moment, his mind racing as he struggled to find the right words. "I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That's all."

you studied him for a moment, your gaze searching his face for any sign of what was really going on. "Carlos, what's going on? You seem… different."

Carlos's heart clenched at your words, a mix of guilt and longing swirling inside him. He wanted to tell you everything, to pour out his feelings and confess the depths of his obsession, but he knew he couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

"I… I'm just worried about you,Cariño," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That's all."

you nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Well, you don't have to worry about me, Carlos. I can take care of myself."

But even as you spoke the words, Carlos couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the back of his mind. He knew that as long as you were in his life, he would do whatever it took to protect you, no matter the cost. And if that meant giving in to his possessive and obsessive desires, then so be it.

--------------------to be continued-----------------------

I forgot to add warnings T_T

[pseudowho]

hiya 🙂 i love your nanamin fics and i followed you for them way back when you wrote the pregnant reader one (and I still think about it). thought id ask you cos you seem to answer questions like this pretty wisely 🥲

i started writing fics for a pretty niche character in a fandom (not jjk) a while back and a friend/moot started then too. this character doesnt have lots of readers and thats fine im just here for the writing.

but since then ive noticed my friend has stopped reblogging my fics even tho they did before and even tho they obvs read and reblog everyone elses fics for this character (there really arent many of us).

they also seem upset about notes/likes a lot of the time. but I know they read my fics because I see lots of the same word choices and styles show up in their fics the next time they post.

its upsetting me lot tbh. i still read, like/comment/rb fics i like and its starting to feel like they do it because they think i have more readers than they do and mb theyre jealous.

anyway i dunno if you think i should raise it with them or just leave it?? they dont talk to me much anymore either after I didnt rb one of their fics i didnt really love.

First of all, well done for starting to write, and writing for an 'unpopular' character too, it looks like it's hard having a niche audience in the Tumblr-sphere. I'm always really grateful when someone writes for a niche character I love, every fic is like finding a diamond!

Second of all: I'm really really sorry this is happening to you. It has happened and still happens to me, too.

Thirdly: While I'll give my thoughts on it straight after this, one truth is that the other person maybe simply doesn't like your writing, and there's nothing mean-spirited about it at all.

Saying this, in your case, there seem to be too many little factors that actually makes me think... 👇

I have Thoughts™️💬 about Toxic Tumblr Reblog Culture...

There is a little phenomenon I've noticed with a lot of fic writers, where they seem to stop reblogging the fics of others who they view as competition. Even if they often read and reblogged another writer's fics before they themselves started writing.

They seem to think that if they reblog the work of you, their "competitor", then your work will get more attention than theirs. It gets even worse the more 'popular' you get, sadly.

I understand, because it's hard to see someone reblog most other peoples' fics about a character, and then pointedly ignore yours. You're not mad for feeling targeted. It can feel this way.

Equally, there can be a cherry-picking of moots' work, and a high school clique attitude to reblogging. Do two or three people band together and constantly reblog each others' work, making a huge fuss whatever it is, but leave you out even though you've historically been part of the circle before? Again, it's not as uncommon as you think.

A real "if we become moots, that means I reblog all your stuff, and you reblog all my stuff" as an unspoken rule. While that might work nicely for some people, it can also foster an air of pressure or entitlement, or of reblogging things even if you didn't really like them, because they're your friend. While fostering growth and circulation in the art community should be celebrated, I'd hate to think someone reblogged my work out of obligation, as opposed to passion.

I've had followers who loved my stuff, always commented and reblogged etc, but when they started writing for the same characters themselves, just stopped. I've also noticed a lot of the things you mention (them using similar word choices, stylistic choices etc to mine, in their new fics).

So, you know they're there reading in the background, and it doesn't make sense that they liked your writing one day, then just stopped liking it overnight, right?

I don't often muse aloud about "controversial" subjects on Tumblr, but this one really gets me. It turns writing, an already isolating art, into an even more isolating "competition".

It's sad, really.

Saying that, I still read, comment, reblog all the work of theirs that I read and love! It feels petty and ridiculous, but try to be the person that you want to see in the community. They'd probably notice they still get just as many readers as before, and actually, will be forced to address that their writing may be less popular for another reason.

I have wonderful friends here who read and reblog any of my stuff they like, just as I do theirs. I made a post a little while back, r.e. always reblogging stuff just because you're moots, and I'm glad to say I don't have this strange entitled relationship with these friends. It's low pressure and really fun.

Reblog in the best spirit; reblog stuff you love, that you think is great, etc etc. Don't fall into bad intentions! It's meant to be fun. It's not high-stakes. What are people competing about? I feel really bad for you, OP, and I know what it feels like.

Jealousy in the Tumblr fic writer community is strong!

Hang in there baby. You're doing great.

-- Haitch xxx

[nohoperadio]

My favourite author is Iris Murdoch.

I don't think I have favourites in any other category, it feels like a bit of an artificial concept usually, but it would be silly to deny this one. I was halfway through my first Murdoch novel (at age 20 or so) when I felt certain I was going to have to read them all (there are 26). My feeling was that I would have stayed true to that even if every other book she wrote had been terrible. I'm sure that's not true, but I say it to illustrate that she inspired a deep and irrational loyalty in me very early on that hasn't waned over time. I've been reading between one and three of her books per year since I started, deliberately spreading them out so as not to deplete a valuable resource too soon, although presumably I'll just start rereading them at the same rate after I've finished. I've read 21 out of 26 so far.

Maybe someday I'll have something to say on here about what draws me to her books so strongly. Not right now though. What I want to say today is that I usually like her opening lines very much, she often starts with some very punchy compact moment that feels weirdly complete already even as it clearly stands in need of unpacking, if that makes sense to anyone else. This post is going to be simply a compilation of some good ones. Let's say 10 of the best, in no particular order.

I'm defining "opening lines" as not literally just the first sentence but enough to cover the first self-contained "moment" of the book, which is a bit of a judgment call for sure but you can be confident I've judged correctly in every case. For The Philosopher's Pupil (but no others) I've blatantly cheated by entirely skipping a sort of prologue chapter because I think the opening of the next chapter is both more opening-like and more compelling, I acknowledge that this is illegitimate but you'll just have to deal with it. Okay here goes.

---

The Unicorn

'How far away is it?'

'Fifteen miles.'

'Is there a bus?'

'There is not.'

'Is there a taxi or a car I can hire in the village?'

'There is not.'

'Then how am I to get there?'

'You might hire a horse hereabouts,' someone suggested after a silence.

---

An Accidental Man

'Gracie darling, will you marry me?'

'Yes.'

'What?'

---

The Bell

Dora Greenfield left her husband because she was afraid of him. She decided six months later to return to him for the same reason.

---

The Philosopher's Pupil

I am the narrator: a discreet and self-effacing narrator. This book is not about me.

---

Bruno's Dream

Bruno was waking up. The room seemed to be dark. He held his breath, testing the quality of the darkness, wondering if it was night or day, morning or afternoon. If it was night that was bad and might be terrible. Afternoon could be terrible too if he woke up too early. The drama of sleeping and waking had become preoccupying and fearful now that consciousness itself could be so heavy a burden.

---

The Sacred and Profane Love Machine

The boy was there again this morning, and the dogs were not barking.

---

A Fairly Honourable Defeat

'Julius King.'

'You speak his name as if you were meditating upon it.'

'I am meditating upon it.'

'He's not a saint.'

'He's not a saint. And yet—'

---

The Message to the Planet

'Of course we have to do with two madmen now, not with one.'

'You mean Marcus is mad too?'

'No, he means Patrick is mad too.'

---

The Red and the Green

Ten more glorious days without horses!

---

The Sea, The Sea

The sea which lies before me as I write glows rather than sparkles in the bland May sunshine. With the tide turning, it leans quietly against the land, almost unflecked by ripples or by foam. Near the horizon it is a luxurious purple, spotted with regular lines of emerald green. At the horizon it is indigo. Near to the shore, where my view is framed by rising heaps of humpy yellow rock, there is a band of lighter green, icy and pure, less radiant, opaque however, not transparent. We are in the north, and the bright sunshine cannot penetrate the sea. Where the gentle water taps the rocks there is still a surface skin of colour. The cloudless sky is very pale at the indigo horizon which it lightly pencils in with silver. Its blue gains towards the zenith and vibrates there. But the sky looks cold, even the sun looks cold.

I had written the above, destined to be the opening paragraph of my memoirs, when something happened which was so extraordinary and so horrible that I cannot bring myself to describe it even now after an interval of time and although a possible, though not totally reassuring, explanation has occurred to me. Perhaps I shall feel calmer and more clear-headed after yet another interval.

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | Fling

Part two to Sting

Pairing: TattooArtist!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Plot: Your tattoo artist left you hanging and you’re fed up enough to come and collect his excuse.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mean Bucky.

Words: 5,OOO

A/N: I made a promise and I'm not one to break a promise. So here is part two to a fic you all really enjoyed. I said I wasn't leaving and I meant it!

Chewing your lip, you blankly gaze ahead of you as your friends smoke and talk some more. The entire street is filled with people from the strip, everyone trying to catch a breath and cool off as the summer night air simmers through the city. Crossing your arms over your chest and bouncing your leg, your mind trails off to the previous week.

You swallow hard and gently brush your thumb over the spot where Bucky had left the tattoo over your ribs. Every time your mind travels back to that day, you want to scream. It’s like you can hear the disturbing ‘ding’ of the tattoo shop door opening when it penetrated your lust-filled mind – like you can still feel the cold air brush over your nipples when Bucky’s mouth abandoned you.

And the rest is a blur.

A blur where one of his old time clients showed up unannounced to get Bucky to work on one of the larger pieces he had been asked to do and where Bucky somewhat uncomfortably, even with his oozing arrogance and indifference, sent you on your way. You didn’t have to pay for the tattoo and your cheeks were burning with heat once you passed the old time client who was giving you a strange look while Bucky led him to the room he defiled you in.

Safe to say you are pissed. Still to this day. It had been hard enough to get an appointment and to avoid Bucky’s presence along with it. And you completely failed, had to bear the uncomfortable half hour of him giving you your tattoo, then he had the fucking nerve to rile you up and turn you into a weak puddle of a person, only to send you on your merry way like you were any other client before he could fulfil all of his empty promises. As pissed as you are for the way he treated you and how you wanted the ground to swallow you whole from the embarrassment you felt, you are mainly just furious because you have not been able to shake him since.

It's like there is a permanent burning between your legs, as if Bucky put a dark magic in the ink of your tattoo that keeps chanting his name through your body, like you’re tethered to him at all times. Your orgasms were mere bumps instead of the usual mind-blowing peaks, your skin has never been this sensitive and every brush of air is making your body stand on alert. Your hands have never been this restless and at one point, you were so frustrated, you could barely do something as simple as pour a glass of water.

All because your grumpy, piece of shit tattoo artist Bucky Barnes, had left you hanging after probably the best foreplay of your goddamn life.

So when your slightly fuzzy brain spots his figure towering between the drunken crowd and slipping into the alley you know had the back entrance of his shop, you can’t stop your feet from moving. It’s primal, the instinct that forces you his way. Like it’s addicted to him and could find him in any crowd, anywhere. Without taking your eyes off your target destination, you mumble a reason for your departure to your friends, shouldering yourself through the crowd until you approach the dark alley.

What the hell is he doing here in the middle of the night?

You pass a couple pressed against the brick wall in their own passions and give them a brief glance as they fail to notice you before returning your gaze to where you know a metal door is hidden in the wall. And sure enough, fumbling with the lock of the door, is the metal-armed artist.

“What the hell are you doing here at this time?” You ask him, crossing your arms over your chest as you pop your hip out and look him up and down.

His shoulders sag and Bucky lets out a frustrated sigh before slowly turning his frame to face you. It’s almost as if he was waiting for you to show up, like you are the one thing he was trying to avoid.

“Excuse me?” He raises an unimpressed brow at you, shooting a brief glance at the dry-humping couple at the end of the alley way before his eyes land back on you.

You have no reason to talk to him that way – like you know him and are allowed to scold him – but you don’t care. The alcohol has slightly affected your inhibitions and you are still pissed off.

“You heard me.” You bluff.

“How can I help you, sweetheart?” He grumbles, clearly annoyed by the intrusion as he still rests his metal hand on the door handle, ready to leave.

You try not to look too offended when you hear his tone. Like you’re just any lost woman trying to catch his attention and he’ll not-so-gladly return you to your designated friend group to get you off his ass. Just when you think your fury couldn’t get any worse…

Giving him the deadliest glare you have in your arsenal, you fumble with your purse and grab your wallet, hands shaking with fury and again, embarrassment. Of course he wouldn’t remember you. Frantically searching for the notes of money buried in there, you fish out a sum large enough to cover for the tattoo, walk over to him and shove the money into his pocket.

“Realised I still owe you for that tattoo.” You spit out, biting back the litany of names you want to scream at him for treating you like some cheap slut.

Turning around and barging off, you don’t get too far as a firm hand wraps around your upper arm and pulls you back. Stumbling on your feet, you collapse with your back into what you assume is his hard chest and with an angry huff, that same hand grabs your head twists it to the side to face the open door and pushes you into the dark and abandoned building.

The metal door slams closed and for a second, there is so little you can see, you have to squint to see the exit sign at the end of the hall. That’s when red lights flicker on and a buzzing sound permeates the air, the lights slowly illuminating more and more of the hallway.

“Always with the goddamn act. Ready to make a fucking scene.” He spits and you feel a push in your back, making you stumble forward. Following the silent order, you drag your light feet forward until you hear another door open and turn around to watch Bucky hold a random door open for you.

“Don’t get shy now. Walk.” He grunts and you give him a long look, unable to spot anything, before shuffling inside where you immediately recognise the interior of his shop, soft neon brightening the walls that are littered with his designs.

“Why are you here at this time?” You asks, your voice softened in comparison to earlier.

“I have shit to do.” He answers and starts rummaging around the shop.

“In the middle of the night?” You frown and turn back to him.

“How is your tattoo?” He asks, blatantly ignoring your prying question.

“Healed. Not thanks to you.” You retort.

Walking over to the check out desk, you take a seat at the bar stool under it, waiting for to ascend from behind the desk. You hear him grumble and huff, small curse words slipping through his complaints before he pushes back to a stand.

“Good. I’m glad.” He murmurs absentmindedly and walks off to the sink, filling a glass of water as he turns his back to you.

You frown at him and bite the inside of your cheek, “Are you? Because I’m pretty sure you couldn’t care less when you sent me away after your slutty tricks.”

He turns around after putting the glass down, resting against the sink and crossing his arms over his chest, his dark eyes piercing yours as he glowers at you.

“I couldn’t.” He shrugs after a moment of silence and you refrain from letting your jaw drop to the floor at the sheer audacity of the man opposite to you.

“God, you’re a fucking piece of shit, you know that?” You groan and slide off the stool, grabbing your purse and stalking off towards the back door again. But once more, Bucky’s hand stops you dead in your tracks as he holds out the sum of money you shoved in his pocket earlier.

“Take this.”

“No.” You seethe up at his dead-panned face, “You keep it and let it weigh on your guilty conscience that you earned that by feeling me up.”

One of his brows rises and a faint smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, his grip tightening on your arm as he leans down until his breath fans over your warm face, “In that case, sweetheart, I’m a little more expensive.”

Your eyes widen with white hot anger and you rip your arm from his grip before shoving his chest with all the power you can muster, making him smirk even more blatantly as he barely loses his balance. You thump your fists over his chest over and over, growling with anger at his outrageous statement.

“You fuckin-” You scream at him and he merely laughs as his hands wrap tightly around your fist and hold up your hands to stop your vicious attack.

“That’s enough.” His voice is unbearably deep.

“Not nearly.” You push through gritted teeth and he gives you a bored glare.

“Yes, it is. Would you let me explain?”

“And give you the chance to pretend you don’t know me? No, thank you.” You roll your eyes and struggle to pry your wrists free from his grip.

He drags you over to the stool and manhandles you with ease until you’re sat on the puffy cushion before grabbing the glass of water, slamming it down onto the desk and looking down at you with a serious expression on his face – not too different from his usual expression.

“Drink some fucking water and hear me out.”

You narrow your eyes at him, pondering over your choices until your curiosity wins the inner battle and you nod faintly at him to start speaking.

“That client isn’t exactly one of the friendly kind.” He starts, “I got into business with him because he makes good money and I can’t exactly ignore him. But I didn’t want him to ask any weird questions, so I got you out of there as soon as possible. He’s a bit ruthless when it comes to things he wants to get his hands on.”

“I can handle myself just fine.” You mutter, a weak defence to the slight shock of his story.

“I don’t doubt that. But not on my watch.” He grumbles and you can see his jaw clench tightly, the tension rippling through the muscles of his arms and shoulders. Bucky is fighting for his life to keep his composure. You’re too feisty for your own good and it makes him want to scream in frustration and pull out his hair.

As stubbornly quiet as you were the last session, he should have known you’d get worse in a situation like this. And perhaps he should have let you stand outside in the alley and get back to your friends, but he’s never felt guilty for being a dick before. It’s always been easier to keep people at a distance, but he realised after giving you your tattoo and sending you off after turning him on beyond comprehension, that he didn’t want any distance between you. The chance of you coming back or running into him was slim and he couldn’t take it.

He is more than happy that you’re a feisty one, because that’s what brought you to confront him after last time. And when your eyes flash with fury and your fists ball, all he wants is to sink to his knees and make you stutter and stammer while you continue to try and be angry with him. He wants those grabby hands wrapped in his hair like when he had your perky nipple in his mouth and he wants to feel the throbbing of your cunt on his thigh, all warm and welcoming.

“You’re mean, you know that?” You mutter as you finish your water and put down the glass next to your purse.

“You’re not very nice either.” Bucky lies fluently. You could threaten him with a knife and he’d melt on the spot. You’d still be fucking nice to him. Not that you would ever find out. And Bucky has to bite back a smirk that you’d come back to him even after he’s been a complete ass to you.

You slide off the stool again and slowly pace the tattoo shop, nodding slowly as you contemplate his words. That’s when you decide to leap. Whether it’s the alcohol making you do it, or the fact that you feel your skin still burning from his touch (or lack thereof), or that the gravel in his voice makes your stomach tense up with anticipation, you don’t know. But you’re not used to guys like him and you want to explore some new territory. So you turn around, only to find him closer than you expected and with his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest.

“I like it when you’re mean.” You mutter, your voice seemingly not your own, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, his eyes narrowing as they trail over all your features. The silence becomes unbearable. Not because it’s uncomfortable, but quite the opposite. It’s thick and suffocating, his gaze on you making blood rush to the surface of your skin. You almost look down at yourself to check if you’re still clothed.

You wish you weren’t. Wish his mouth was on you again. Wish to feel the scrape of his stubble against your chest and the vibration of his voice against your sensitive skin. You wish the warmth of his tongue over your breasts and the pressure of his thigh between yours.

“God, you’re pathetic…” He rolls his eyes and you swallow hard, conflicted by his words. You’re not sure if he still wants nothing to do with you, or if he’s buttering you up to devour you.

“Is that all you got?” You bluff, hoping to coax the latter from him.

His smirk is dark, the blue neon making him look even more threatening. He steps over, three long, slow strides and shoves his hands into his pockets, peering down at your glassy eyes.

“You know it’s not.” He drawls lowly and you straighten your back.

Show me. Show me. Please, show me.

You feel like if you scream it in your head loudly enough, it might reach him, even when as keep your face straight. But you don’t know about Bucky’s advantage. Except for the arm and the obvious strength that ripples from his stature, you don’t know about his heightened senses. His hearing that picks up your thudding heartbeat, his eyes spotting every little tick in your face that gives away your racing thoughts. Or the smell of you that permeates the air and makes Bucky fight for his life not to let his eyes roll to the back of his head. But he’s not one to beat around the bush and he likes seeing you squirm.

“Fucking hell, I can smell you from here.” He almost growls as his eyes lustfully drop down, instantly activating a fluttery pounding between your legs as you drench your underwear. While you rub your legs together at the sensation, his eyelids flutter as if he smells the heady scent of fresh arousal before lifting his eyes back up to yours where he notices your frozen state.

“S-Smell me?” You stammer and his face turns serious, his arm raising to take your chin between his fingers.

“Does that make you nervous?” He mocks, cocking his head to the side and you straighten again, your eyes falling to his lips. Those sinful lips.

“No.” It’s more of a breath than anything else.

“Then let me have a taste.” He breathes back, his words almost a whisper as he leans in so close, that his lips almost brush over yours, making your eyes fall closed at the mere teasing from his proximity.

“Taste…” You repeat, your bottom lip briefly brushing his top lip as you breathe the word. It is taking all of your brain capacity to figure it out. His request. How many ways there are for him to have a taste. How many ways you’d like him to have a taste. And you nod, almost melting into his grip on your chin.

“Say it.” He breathes again and your lips part as you feel his breath brush over the freshly bitten skin. One breath. Two breaths. Three breaths. Your heart pounding thrice as fast.

“Taste me.” You choke out and he’s on you.

Your moan that spills into his mouth the second it connects with yours gets swept away by his tongue against your top lip to lick into you, both his hands at your jaw as he tilts your head further back and hauls you up against his mouth. He’d devour you if he could.

Fingers clasping onto the worn fabric of his shirt to make sure you have some grip as Bucky ravages your mouth, uses your mouth, simply because you don’t think he has any other purpose than to do so, your eyes nearly roll back at the intensity of his kiss and the throbbing between your legs intensifies.

While your hands slide up his neck and into his hair, his own slide down to your waist to claw at you and pull you nearer. When the pressure of your body against him is semi-satisfactory, Bucky’s hands grab your ass and pull you over his thigh, your drenching core instantly warming into his jeans. You don’t think you’ve ever been this wet before.

You’d expect more self control from the cynical tattoo artist, but he still has more of a grip than you do. He could shove you to your knees and you would instantly open your mouth and stick out your tongue for him. Though Bucky seems more focused on the feeling of your heartbeat against his thigh and the warmth that permeates through the fabric of his jeans, so you roll your hips against him, tugging at his hair as your breath hitches and your kiss comes to a halt.

His brow presses to yours, squeezing the flesh of your ass and making your hips roll into the same movement again, causing the same stutter in your breath as heat bursts through your skin and reaches him.

“Good girl.” He breathes and your eyes flutter at the praise. The long-awaited praise.

“Bucky…” You gasp and you want him – no, need him to take over, because you don’t know what to do with all that frantic desire coursing through your bloodstream. And then you feel your dress being shoved over your ass, the harsh lash to your flesh from his hand snapping you back to your sanity slightly.

“Don’t go dumb on me now.” He hisses, “I haven’t done anything yet.”

He’s waiting. Waiting for you to snap. For you to up your game and become his match. Your eyes snap open, the dark lust in them almost stealing his breath until you pull at his hair, roughly enough to grant you some give, which you then abuse by shoving him to his knees in front of you.

The flash of delight across his face makes you swallow hard as you peer down your nose at the man who is struggling to keep his eyes on your face. You can almost read his mind. How he argues with himself to watch your eyes, your lips – until dismissal echoes in his head and his eyes drop to your panties, his hands firmly on your thighs. And his lids lower, the breath he inhales sharp and strained when he focuses all his attention on his next meal.

His fingers play with the thin fabric of your panties, curling and twisting and snapping. Tugging and scrunching. Like he’s waiting for permission. And when he looks up, a cocky look of suggestion in his eyes, you grit your teeth to steady yourself.

You’re not sure you are ready for his mouth. For the things Bucky is capable of. You’re not sure you can handle his relentless and inevitable teasing after all the time that has already passed thinking about him. But you can’t help the appreciative stroke of your fingers through his hair and you may have imagined the slight flutter in his eyes at the touch.

“Taste me.”

His pupils explode below his dooming brows and his voice is hoarse when he simply rips your underwear off you, the sting of the fabric like a zap of lightning up your spine, “Yes, ma’am.”

Instead of gently leaning forward and daring a taste, the next thing you know, you get dragged to the floor, waiting for an impact that never comes. Before you can register your position lying on his floor, you get hauled towards Bucky and he engulfs you whole.

The warmth and wetness of his eager mouth lapping up every drop you spilled for him between your folds, has your back arching to the ceiling and your hands clawing at the floor for leverage. He makes it his job to drink up all of your arousal before plunging his tongue into you as far as it goes, the pulsations around it making him growl against you.

His metal arm clamps over your writhing hips to keep them still, his hand pressing into your abdomen perfectly, while his other hand grabs onto one of yours and guides it to his hair. Instantly following his guidance, both your hands curl into his brown locks and pull, subsequently making Bucky go rogue on his feasting.

And after all the foreplay, after all that tension, it doesn’t take long for your spine to tighten, your legs to tremble and your fingers to start feeling numb. The sound alone of the man panting and licking and sucking and groaning between your thighs is enough to hurl you so close to the edge, you are sure your sanity will tumble along with your climax.

All it takes is one thick finger pressing into you and curling into your spot and you tighten around him while pleasure explodes through every limb, your head airing out. The hoarse cry that falls from your lips and the attempt of capturing his head between your legs permanently have Bucky going into overdrive to haul you through your orgasm, every twitch of your body to his touches being echoed by a twitch in his jeans.

Bucky is painfully hard by the time you’re nothing but soft breaths of satisfaction. Devouring every piece of evidence of your orgasm, he strokes your body soothingly as you come down.

“Turn over, sweetheart.” He orders and tugs at your hips until you roll over onto your stomach. His greedy tug at your hips and kneading at your ass have you press into him wantonly. The warmth of his body crawls over you and his breath fans over the back of your neck where he leaves a gentle kiss, “You taste fucking delightful.”

You swallow hard at the praise and flinch when his warm hand cups your entire pussy, running fingers through you to rile you up again. Lazy drags of his lips over your shoulders and back of your neck have you shudder with need.

“Bucky…”

“Your warm little cunt has been crying for me…” Bucky grumbles against your skin, his fingers teasing and teasing and teasing, “For me to give you a good pounding. Set you straight. Fuck you stupid.”

You let out an agreeing whine, your pride long forgotten after your first orgasm, and you’d melt at the quiet sound of his dark chuckle if your body didn’t spring to full attention at the sound of his pants coming undone. It’s purely instinct that drives your ass up into his crotch and it instantly earns you a harsh snap of his palm against your ass cheek, making you hiss and press your brow to the cold floor in obedience.

His cold metal hand presses between your bare shoulder blades and presses you into the ground, grinding his hips against you roughly to show you exactly who is in charge. The pressure makes you huff and you reach back with one of your hands for him, only for him to straighten up slightly and pin your wrist to your back.

You want to protest, whimper at least to let him know how badly you need him, but every thought leaves your brain when you feel the silk length of him glide through your folds, pressing into your clit, before gliding back again.

“Oh God…” It’s barely a whisper, but Bucky hears it alright. He is narrowed in on every tiny, little response your body has to him.

So when you go still in an attempt not to test him again, he smirks and breaches your entrance slowly, the slow stretch of you around the throbbing head of him almost making him buckle over and crush you under him. And to make it even worse, you let out the filthiest moan he thinks he’s ever heard.

Retreating slowly and pushing back in another extra inch has you panting from underneath him. Out. And in a bit further. Out. And in. Out….

And Bucky glides home in one large stroke – so far, so deep that he curls into you to groan into your ear. Chest attached to your back as he barely holds himself up, he ruts his hips into you, nudging into your spot over and over and over until your vision starts to spin.

His wet pants in your ear, together with the sound of your own whimpers and the sound of him striking into you so hard, you can’t describe the feeling. You can’t possibly describe the combination of frustration and relief of finally having him inside of you. Like smouldering fire – so hot, so intense, so slow yet so rough.

It’s dirty, the way he has you.

Bucky’s metal hand plants back into the floor beside your head as his other hand snakes under you to your clit, two of his finger strumming over the throbbing bud as the pace of his thrusts increases. Harsh, shallow and fast, each of his strokes hit their target and make your body tingle and tremble underneath him.

You’re close. So close. His fingers grinding over your clit make you gasp for air, a pressure between your hips growing that you fear might kill you. Or worse, make you addicted to Bucky. Make you his.

Neither of you can utter a word. Both of you swimming in pleasure and never wanting this to end. Bucky might go insane with the grip you have on his cock, the breathy sounds that leave your tempting lips, the satisfaction that he made you obey in the end.

“I’m… I’m-” You can’t get the words out, but Bucky already knows and gently bites your ear lobe.

“I know, I know…” He murmurs, his voice nothing but deep gravel, “Just a second longer. Need to feel you a second longer.”

He’s breathless and you can’t help but feel pride swell in your chest at the sheer desperation lining his lovely, warm voice. And you agree, you want to feel him more, feel him longer, feel him deeper. So you clench around him and curl your fingers against the floor.

His thrusts become sloppy and wild, wilder than before. His breathing more uncontrolled and heavier, shallow too. You’re trying everything in your power not to come, but something shifts in the both of you and you feel his permission. Feel it in the way his teeth sink into your shoulder and his fingers press deep circles into your clit.

And with one particularly hard thrust, you get flung off the edge. Your orgasm crashes into you like a tsunami and Bucky seems to fuck you into the floor even harder, the grunts at the feeling of your pussy clenching like a tight fist becoming a dull roar in your bliss.

A few lengthy thrusts have Bucky spilling himself inside of you and you sigh softly at the feeling of warmth, shockwaves whacking your body beneath him as your orgasm continues its relentless attack on your body.

When Bucky slowly pulls out after coming down form his own high, you’re nothing but jelly on his floor, the coolness of the surface sizzling against your flushed skin. The aftermath of the dirty and rough fuck you just had with Bucky makes your body tingle, your core aching from it’s emptiness.

You don’t know what Bucky is doing as he gets up, you’re far too occupied scrambling your brain back in order. But then, you feel two warm palms massage into your ass, kneading and spreading your cheeks apart, pulling your hips up slightly.

“Talk to me.” He coos, his voice teasing and mocking as you feel his stare on your abused pussy, the feeling of his warm spent seeping down your thighs. He needs to hear your voice.

“Hmm…” You can only hum, pleasure still weakening your muscles.

“You look like a fuckin’ meal right now, you know that?” He grumbles, mostly to himself it seems, and you barely manage to move you head and take a peek behind you where Bucky is on his knees with indeed his eyes back on your tingling heat. You smirk lazily and close your eyes again, a long sigh leaving your lips.

“Have at it, Buck.” You tease back with a hum, expecting a laugh from the usually stoic man. What you don’t expect, is what he does next. But while your body tenses up at first, the deep swirl of his warm tongue cleaning you up has you back to melting into his floor.

At this rate, you’ll let him tattoo his name on you.

Joke’s on Bucky though, he already has a design of your name all thought out.

[sohaoying]

unfinished business

[thelibraryofsylphide]

Loki, the Prince

Loki Moodboard trilogy: 1 | 2 | 3

[thevioletcaptain]

if you as a fic reader ever become possessed by the urge to do a popularity bracket with the fics other people wrote and shared for fun and for free, consider:

don't ❤️ 

[chilapis]

Last post before I crash and no-one hears from me until I return from my first final the morrow’s eve (a changed man no doubt) but there’ll never be anything funnier to me than consistently being viewed as a composed and calm saviour by peers while I’m, actively and uncontrollably losing it.

[no-1-rosalind-lang-apologist]

Guess what I found on the internet today

[burinazar]

It's a bit funny that to parts of my circles I'm 'the fandom one'/'the fanfic one'/'the shipping one' as the person they know most prominently into such things

because as much as i love writing my fics and shipping my ships my interest in both of those things is, I think, very narrow and specific compared to most people who are into them? due to my habits being like. very particular

[wayfinderships]

🍋 ~ rebeccaselfships

Shuraiya Bascùd from One Piece!!!

AUGH! This man was way too cool to just be from a One Piece movie and never show up again!! The way he fights, his voice, the way he cares so much about his sister! He's so fksbfjsnfjsnfjsnfnd!! The Movie isn't canon but I think it's fun to imagine my s/i having the biggest crush on this guy during it! They're all 😳 and the rest of the crew is ???

But yeah! The reason he isn't an f/o is because he isn't canon to the main plot and most importantly because just can't see my s/i with anyone else but S.anji. It sounds kinda silly but I just love the story and relationship they have with S.anji so much that i just can't see them with anyone else! And so Shuraiya will forever remain a crush and nothing more.

[anthromimicry]

sorry, halsey — hopeless fountain kingdom.

[kohakhearts]

cons of going to a “good schoolTM”: insane workload, unbearable classmates, next to no support when you have any kind of extenuating circumstances Including literal hospitalization, etc

pros of going to a “good schoolTM”: the 9-5 lifestyle is genuinely a major improvement

[queen0funova]

The other day I had someone say they thought it sounded like I would be happier focusing on writing instead of coding (they're not really wrong but we're not getting into that)

I mentioned the comment to my dad yesterday and he responded with something that really pissed me off: "Well writing is going to become pretty obsolete soon thanks to AI like Chat GPT"

First of all, GPT is a stupid idiot. It can't even write a poem that doesn't rhyme when specifically directed to do so, or when it's told to remove the rhyme after failing to write a free verse poem in the first place.

It's never going to top human creativity. It won't make a rant about romantic attraction wrapped in a prayer to frozen yogurt. It won't pull off Amphibia's Rube Goldberg machine of Chekov's guns. It won't do a good job telling the story of a Latina, neurodivergent, bisexual girl. These are all human things that humans will do better than the stupid AI. I'm tired of people having more faith in Chat GPT than other people