#coverage-errors

[ourceliumnetwork]

my attempt at Getting A Little Shit Done today has been thwarted Rather Quickly and i'm a little upset about it because i FINALLY got my shit together and now i gotta fucking do a whole bunch MORE shit because the shit i thought i had together has an ISSUE i gotta take care of and also there's Important Deadlines coming up for OTHER SHIT and it's like okay come on now. this is getting excessive.

[ralfmaximus]

UnitedHealthcare, the largest health insurance company in the US, is allegedly using a deeply flawed AI algorithm to override doctors' judgments and wrongfully deny critical health coverage to elderly patients. This has resulted in patients being kicked out of rehabilitation programs and care facilities far too early, forcing them to drain their life savings to obtain needed care that should be covered under their government-funded Medicare Advantage Plan.

It's not just flawed, it's flawed in UnitedHealthcare's favor.

That's not a flaw... that's fraud.

[digitaltogrow]

Unraveling Google Search Console Crawl Reports

In the vast realm of digital marketing, where every click, impression, and interaction counts, understanding the intricacies of your website's performance is paramount. Among the myriad tools available to webmasters, Google Search Console stands out as a beacon of insight, offering invaluable data and analytics to optimize online presence. Within this arsenal of tools lies a particularly potent resource: Crawl Reports.

[sortagaysortahigh]

Juno | James 'Bucky' Barnes

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

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

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

Word Count: 14.8k Part One

Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Secretary!Reader

UGHHHH LET ME AT HIM GOD DAMNIT IM FERAL!

The past eight months have been a whirlwind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He wasn’t there. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But it was more than enough for him.

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

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

Maybe his problem was that the bed was too comfortable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is wrong with him?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

From there, it all spiraled. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you man. We’re family now.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You felt like a children’s book.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were set to get married in six hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weddings had a way of stressing people out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

James Buchanan Barnes, your name is a goddamn mouthful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y’know Bucky loves you, right?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With Love, Your Bucky.

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

You really loved Bucky, and he really loved you.

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

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

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

“You look beautiful, are you ready?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were both crying now.

Then Sarah had Bucky start.

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

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

She smiled, looking at you.

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

You nodded, “I do.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The rest of the night felt truly magical.

You felt like a princess getting to marry Prince Charming. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go ahead Mrs. Barnes.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Baby please—I need more” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Take what I give you, baby.” 

You nodded at his words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I need you to piss on these sticks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh shit!” 

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

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

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

You smacked Joaquin with a bottle of hand soap. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So we’re gonna have a baby?” 

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

“You’re gonna look so good pregnant.” 

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

[gwmac]

Behind Smiles: A Patient's Nightmare with MetLife Dental Insurance

Part 1: My Battle with MetLife Dental. The Toothache that Morphed into a Financial Migraine. My fateful journey through the MetLife Dental Insurance labyrinth began in February 2023 when an everyday occurrence turned into an exasperating ordeal. I needed a routine replacement crown on Tooth 18 and anticipated no issues, given my dental insurance with MetLife Dental. As I would soon discover,…

[vampsol]

NIGHT CHANGES | 이희승

⟢ PAIRING: lee heeseung x fem!reader ⟢ WORD COUNT: 3K ⟢ GENRE: smut, fluff, hint of comedy ⟢ TAGS: roomates to lovers au, pet names (love, baby, etc.), dirty talk, size kink, face sitting, 69, unprotected sex, creampie ⟢ SYNOPSIS: Maybe a citywide power outage is what you need to finally confess your feelings. Well, that and a risque card game. ➸ Birthday fic for the beautiful boy!! Also, the card game is fictional and takes inspiration from other card games like Hot Seat!

“How many candles do we have left?” You ask in the form of a groan, trying to find a bar of reception in your apartment. With the power suddenly lost from the blistering rainstorm outside, it’s a wonder when it will calm down and you’ll have access to the outside world again.

“Relax. I bought more a couple days ago when I was tracking the path of the storm. No big deal.” Heeseung begins lighting them and placing them around your shared apartment. By the time he’s finished, the candlelight gives enough coverage of the living spaces for you both to walk around without issue.

Heesung has always been good at that. He can prepare for the worst and keep a cool head in the midst of chaos, including when your fiery temper rears its head. But your fire comes in handy sometimes. When he doesn’t want to deal with talking to your landlord or fixing errors with the management company, you take the reins. The balance you both established is why you work so well as friends and roommates. 

“I wonder how long we’ll be out of power,” you mumble, drumming your fingers across the arm of the couch and trying not to have a meltdown. The cool air from the open windows provides some relief, even if you’re running hot from your spiked nerves.

“Well, whether it’s a few hours or a dozen, we just gotta make the best of it.” Heeseung smiles. Suddenly, his eyes widen and he claps his hands together. “How about board games?”

You giggle. “When was the last time you played a board game, Hee?”

“It’s been a minute,” he confesses, a shy smile on his lips. “But, hey! Never a better time than now.”

The two of you open the spare living room closet to grab a handful of board games you’ve collected since living in the apartment together. You rifle through them, Candyland immediately catching your eye. But Heeseung has other ideas.

“Oh! Let’s do Hot Topics!” Heeseung holds up the box with a smirk, immediately opening it to rifle through its contents.

“But there’s only two of us!”

“So? We’ll make it work!” He sits down on the living room rug and pats the spot next to him.

You oblige his request. How couldn’t you when he smiles at you in that way? With his cute cheeks and Adam's apple bobbing in laughter—no. You’re not going to trudge up these old feelings again, especially during such an unfortunate situation.

You’re friends and roommates, end of. 

Heeseung shuffles the cards and pulls out the first one on the top of the deck. “Alright, first one. All Play: Would I marry someone twice my age if it meant I never had to work again?” He considers the question, but you immediately let out a noise similar to one you would make when vomiting.

“No fucking way! I don’t want my husband one foot out the door!”

“Well, if I didn’t have to work at the ramen shop anymore—” Heeseung wiggles his eyebrows and you shove him in the shoulder. He expels a hearty laugh. “I’m kidding! I agree with you.”

The game continues on, prompts and questions so ridiculous they make any lingering anxiety about the storm ebb away, too lost in the game and your friend to notice the ever-present storm outside your door.

You take a new card from the deck, flipping it upside to reveal the prompt. “Dare: Stare at the player next to you for thirty seconds. The first one to break eye contact has to skip their turn.” You throw the card in the discarded pile without a care. “That’s so easy.”

“Bring it on.” You move positions to face Heeseung, his eyes immediately lighting up with the challenge presented to you both.

“Three, two, one,” you count down. “Go!”

Heeseung tries to make you break immediately with a goofy face, but you stand resolute, eyebrows furrowed and mouth in a thin line. But then, he stares you down with his bright eyes and soft smile, making your entire body go cold. This could not be happening. You aren’t feeling your stupid, childlike crush come back at you in full force. Not tonight. Not like this.

You had been so stern in keeping it stamped down the past two years you’ve been roommates. It hadn’t been easy, but with enough practice and denial, it seemed pretty easy to keep it at bay. But now, the only two people in the darkness of this room, you wonder how much longer your resolve can hold.

You fake a heavy cough and turn away. Heeseung screeches in victory with his arms raised up high. “Weak! You’re so weak.”

You roll your eyes and turn back to face the deck. “Whatever, dumbass. Pick the next card.”

He reads his new card aloud. “Truth: How long was your longest crush?” He releases an anxious laugh, and then throws the card into the pile amongst the other used ones. “Longest one’s still going.”

You turn your head to face him, but he’s only staring at the deck. He grabs the next card and ignores how his confession has created a new, heavy fog of tension. If Heeseung has a crush, one that’s apparently been in the works for awhile, neither Jake nor anyone else gave you the head’s up about it.

Heeseung reads the next challenge aloud. “Dare: Excite one player just by kissing them for 10 seconds. You’re not limited to the player’s lips.” His eyes go wide as he holds the card tightly between his fingers. “If you don’t want me to, I—“”

You laugh it off, taking the card from him and setting it on the floor. “It’s fine. It’s just a game, right?”

“Right.” Heeseung inches closer, your faces barely a few inches apart. You were prepared for him to kiss you on the mouth and that would be the end of it, but you tremble in pleasure when you realize his lips are suddenly attached to your neck.

A moan escapes your lips when he begins to suck on the space of your neck near your collarbone. He doesn’t use his hands at all. All it takes is his mouth, its soft pressure creating a swirling eruption within your stomach, begging to be released. He licks at your bruising skin, pressing his mouth there once more before stepping back.

When he’s back in his normal position, the timer goes off. “So, uh,” he says, cutting through the sudden awkward silence, “are you excited?”

You blush and bite down on your bottom lip hard, no words coming out in response. You turn your attention back to the deck. “F-Finally, my turn again!”

You turn another card for the next prompt, reading it in your head and wanting to jump out the window before Heeseung can see it. “Dare: Kiss the player you would most likely go on a date with on the cheek.”

You tell yourself to just get it over with, in spite of your jumbling nerves. Excuse it after as a technicality, him being the only living person in existence in the apartment to kiss for the challenge. End it there and hope the past few dares do not destroy the sanctity of your friendship.

You crawl on your hands to get close to Heeseung’s cheek, but before you can land the kiss, he turns his head and catches your mouth with his. You’re unprepared for the act, but your lips quickly become accustomed once you spend a second or two in his embrace. His lips are gentle, teasing, eager for you, and it makes your knees feel like cotton. 

He pulls you up from your position to rest in his lap, still pressing his mouth to yours. Suddenly, his tongue is licking at the roof of your mouth, and your body feels like a live wire. How did he have the power to jumpstart your nerves and set them on fire all at once?

You separate from him, confusion clouding your sudden desire. “Why’d you do that?”

“I wanted to.” Heeseung moves stray hairs from your face, the baby hairs clinging to your skin from the sweat. “Did you not want me to?”

“No, I did!” You giggle nervously. “I just didn’t know how you’d react if I said so.”

“Why did you never say anything before?” Heeseung looks genuinely confused and concerned. He wonders how much more obvious he had to have been. Before this moment, had he missed chances to give you the signs? Clearly so, with your stammered words and nervous limbs. He had to get better at his communication.

“Do you know how awkward it would’ve been if you hadn’t felt the same?” You ask him the rhetorical question, your eyebrow quirked up. “Just tiptoeing around the both of us knowing I have this exhaustive crush on you?”

Heeseung chuckles into your neck. If you described your crush in that way, his had to have been all-consuming, even if you were oblivious to it. “Exhaustive?”

“I mean,” you whisper, “do you know how hard it is to look at you and not want to jump you all the time?”

You feel his bulge tighten against his sweatpants, the sensation against your body making you gasp. Heeseung smirks in response. “Well, clearly it’s a mutual thing.”

The two of you resume kissing, both lost in the relief of your feelings mirroring each others’. In spite of the current storm still whipping the trees against your apartment building, you were so at ease wrapped around Heeseung like a vine.

If anything, Mother Nature is mimicking all the sensations bubbling up inside of you, close to reaching their boiling point with the way Heeseung expertly touches and squeezes your skin while his mouth covers your face in kisses.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted this?” He asks as he lays you down on the living room rug, hands in your hair and lips magnetized to the spot on your neck where he had kissed you previously. “How long I’ve thought about being in your bed? Touching you, tasting you, feeling you.”

“Heeseung, please.” You inch his shirt up and over his head, admiring the divots and ridges of his newly-revealed muscles.

It isn't the first time you’ve seen him shirtless, but it’s only the beginning of the night, and you’re certain you’ll see parts of him you haven’t seen yet. The thought alone makes your body tingle in all the right places. “Stop talking and touch me more.”

“So impatient.” Heeseing releases a devilish laugh into the column of your throat. “I want to savor this. Savor you.”

“We have all the time in the world until the power goes out. I want you,” you whine, bucking your hips up into nothing but his clothed legs and hips, his bulge barely brushing your clothed heat. 

Heeseing hisses and makes you both sit up, his expression blown from lust. “Sit on my face.”

You laugh, hesitant yet excited. “What?”

He places a kiss on your lips with every pause between his words. “I. Said. Sit. On. My. Face.”

You listen to his tone, playfully demanding but completely serious. This is a new side of Heeseung you had never seen. The same humorous guy you felt butterflies for since the day you met, but with an edge of vulgarity that leaves you in impure anticipation. 

You tug off both your cotton shorts and underwear. You may still be wearing your tank top, but you imagine that will come off soon too.

You settle your body down on Heeseung’s awaiting tongue. Your body trembles when he takes an eager lick along your folds, his mouth immediately enveloped in your heat. “Jesus, are you always this wet?” He asks, voice muffled but still clear enough for you to hear.

“Only when I think of you,” you confess. Many nights alone proved the only way to get off was with the image of Heeseung’s face and body between your legs in your brain. Even if he was seven feet away on another overnight session of League of Legends, you had to get your fix.

“Fuck.” He pulls you down further onto his mouth, practically suffocating him as he laps at your cunt mercilessly. Your mouth hangs open in ecstasy, all the fantasies you held incomparable to this.

Heeseung’s hips match yours in their rhythm against his face, and you feel guilty the poor man is receiving no pleasure while you have all of it. You reach over to the top of his sweatpants and pull them down, his cock springing free from the material. The tip leaks a hefty amount of precum, and you smear it down his girthy length with one hand.

Heeseung moans against your center, but he pulls himself back. “You don’t have to–”

“You’re taking care of me,” you pant, “let me take care of you.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, experimenting with the pressure and size of him on your tongue. When he groans and growls in between your legs, lapping at your essence with even more fervor, you take his entire length in your mouth.

“God, you’re too good at this,” Heeseung moans, rolling his hips into your awaiting mouth and cursing when he feels the back of your throat. “I could have your mouth on me all fucking day.”

You continue like that for a while, tasting each other and teasing the waters until both of you are a mess. It’s a mesmerizing dance you’re in with him, chasing your highs together. But you’re unsure who will ask to take the next step. Removing your mouth from his with a resounding pop, you plead, “Please Hee, I want you inside of me.”

“Anything for you.” He gently gets up from between your legs and positions himself against the couch. He signals for you to sit on his lap, a playful grin on his lips. You do so without a second thought, anticipating his body molding to yours perfectly. How did the night start with you both planning another ramen-filled movie night and end up here?

You sink down onto him, the sudden fullness making your eyelids shut from the sensation. “Damn, you’re so tight,” he growls, slowly rocking you onto him with his hands on your hips. “Feels fucking incredible.”

“Y-You’re so big, Hee. It’s amazing.” You find your own pace, languidly riding him as the wind still rages on outside. Besides the weather, the sounds of your skin against his crowd the space of your apartment.

Heeseung removes your tank top quickly, clutching one of your breasts to knead the skin. “You like it, don’t you?” Heeseung whispers. “Being filled up by me, stretched out and fucked hard?” He takes the other breast into his mouth, latching his lips onto your nipple and swirling his tongue wickedly.

“Yes, fuck yes. Only by you, Hee.”

He bucks his hips up into you, your body slamming down on him in fast increments to compensate for his new rhythm. “Yeah, baby, tell the entire floor who’s making you feel this good.”

“Heeseung, fuck,” you scream out his name. It doesn’t matter if the rain and wind can’t conceal your sounds. All you care about is this moment, right here with him in your living room, all your desires coming to fruition. “Fuck, it’s so good.”

After more kisses and curses of pleasure leaving both of your lips, you feel the end deep in your stomach, the release tightening and ready to snap. “I’m gonna come,” you say.

“Ride me harder, baby,” he responds, moving his hand in between your bodies to rub your clit in a frenzy. “Use me. Come all over me.”

You do, feeling your body use what’s left of its energy to reach your peak quickly. You cry out a final time as your orgasm floods your senses, your body alive yet limp from the endorphins circulating through your system.

“Ah, fuck.” Heeseung spills inside of you mere seconds after, your sounds coupled with the feeling of your pulsing walls around him enough for his body to climax as well. He milks it all, hips rocking up into you to exhaust himself in an effort to feel his entire release.

You both slow down, but you relish in the feeling of the sudden warmth of Heeseung’s orgasm inside of you. It trickles down between your legs and onto Heeseung himself as he begins to pull out of you, and the sight may just make him rock-hard again. But he’ll save the image for another night.

Heeseung gives you a final, tender kiss before he stands up from his spot on the floor. He runs to the bathroom for a washcloth, wetting it to clean the both of you up. When he’s done, he takes great care in snuffing out the candles around the house.

You tease him for it, but he reminds you about the serious fire hazard of leaving them burning overnight, to which you agree. “Always one step ahead, babe,” Heeseung jokes.

He brings a blanket with him to cover the both of you up, your body immediately warmed by his. Your head rests on his bicep, his muscle the perfect pillow. 

In that moment, you’re content with not just the power being out, the only sounds being the storm and the air leaving your lungs. You’re content to be here in the dark with Heeseung, the feelings you repressed for so long not only released but reciprocated.

Heeseung kisses your forehead and hums you to sleep, his voice the last sound you hold onto before you’re whisked away to dreamland.

You wake up nestled in Heeseung’s arms on the living room floor, the blanket he grabbed barely covering both of your bodies. You hear the sound of your Roomba trying to connect to the bluetooth and feel the blue morning sky on your skin, telltale signs the power’s back on and the storm has gone on its way.

You smile to yourself, snuggling further into Heeseung’s neck and kissing the skin there. Who knew a power outage could bring two people together like this?

He rustles awake a moment later, his eyelashes fluttering open so beautifully. A smile stretches across his face when he sees what you’re doing. In the light of day, his face is even more breathtaking, and you’re grateful its expressions are reserved solely for you now. “Good morning.”

You blush. “Very good morning.”As you kiss him, invigorating his energy and leftover desire from the night prior, you think you’ll have to send the manufacturers of Hot Topics a thank-you card.

@yvnempire @sjylouvre @mini-mews @jayparked @heesuncore @yoursjaeyun @sungbeams @jenoslutie @loserlvrss

𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 ౨ৎ˚₊

@kvanity-main @sweetvenomnet @onedoornet @sayxonet @violetanet @svthub @whipped-kpop-creators

[yandere-romanticaa]

Darkness loomed over Penacony as you ran barefoot across the dimly lit streets, the drunk passerbys oblivious to your rushed footsteps and heaving chest.

It has been six months since you felt the cool fresh air on your own. Six long, hellish months of bizarre captivity that made your head spin. Boothill was the personification of a locked and loaded gun, constantly on the chase for his next IPC lackey to shoot, or if he was in the mood he would hop on a totally different planet which no one knew about, which naturally only made him want to go even more.

The pain of trying to keep up with him was horrid. Rancid even. Scrapes and bruises, hell, even broken bones became a mild concern once you started to see the plethora of wanted posters which had your face plastered over them.

Solid bounty to boot.

Whenever you would bring up these concerns, Boothill would let out the most hearty laugh, his head thrown back so hard that his hat would come off. He would then proceed to smack you across your back, proudly saying that it was his own personal little way of claiming you.

No person with any common sense would dare come for you.

He would just shoot them dead on the spot.

"That's not a threat pumkin'!" he would say as he casually drank his drink, the alcohol swishing and swaying in the pristine crystal glass. He drank it all in one swoop before setting it back down on the counter, his gaze laser focused on you.

"It's a promise."

From the corner of your eye, you could see the way his hand was resting on the holster of his gun and came to the wise realization that you believed him.

Through trial and error, you have come to terms with the fact that Boothill will keep his promises, particularly if they were related to you.

Running away from him in the overcrowded bar was... was most definitely not the brightest idea but it had worked. It was indeed still working, even with your aching feet and burning lungs. Your entire body begged you to just stop and take a breath, but that option was impossible, because you knew all too well what was in store for you.

As if on cue, you heard him before you saw him.

Endless echoes of shouts, yelps and strings of curses followed you as you continued to flee from him. Boothill pushed, shoved and kicked absolutely every single person onto the ground if they dared to stand in his way, not giving a flying fuck - oh how satisfying it was to curse in front of him since you knew that he could not - any of them were hurt.

"Come back!" he yelled, his voice heavy and hoarse.

You did not turn around, such a luxury was not possible. Against your body's wishes, you ran.

He pursued.

A chorus of shots rang in the air, all of which were too close for comfort. None of the bullets were meant for you as the Galaxy Ranger was being pursued by the Bloodhound family, each one barking orders and insults at each other as they did everything they could to keep your so called lover in check.

As if Xipe themself had acknowledged your efforts, you spotted a tiny alleyway which was perfect to hide in. Boothill had lost his momentum due to his own pursuers, giving you precious seconds to decide on your next course of action.

And with the way you could feel your feet physically give into the pressure, you made your way into the pitch dark alleyway, carefully tip toeing around any possible source of sound. With a sigh you sat behind a large dumpster, the ultimate coverage in this time of need.

A faint glimmer of hope formed in your heart. It was hard to focus on anything other than the fact that you were free from his grasp. You'd much rather take in the stench of trash than his robotic arms, the memory alone making you shiver.

Behind the safety of your dumpster, the streets sounded like a mini warzone.

How typical of him. Being subtle was never his style.

Everything he did, Boothill did to be the biggest menace and pest known to society. He would tell you stories of his escapades as his eyes trailed over your whole body like a starving wolf, his sharp pearly white teeth almost looking like knives in your eyes.

Oh how he loved to sink his teeth into your neck. The noises you let out only seemed to spur him, giving him more motivation to mar your skin. Even now the traces were there, nasty and crude. Tracing a few fingers around your throat, you felt the raging pulse point becoming heavier and heavier, as if it was getting ready to pop and burst right in this dingy alley.

If it were not for the sounds of gunfire, you would have believed that your own heart was going to betray you. There was no way that no one was hearing this, the sheer intensity so strong and dizzying. Hot white pain seeped into your lungs and quickly made its way into your veins, chaining you onto the ground.

That's easy prey, you suddenly heard his voice in your head.

The second they're too scared to move, well I'll be fudged, that's when you shoot pumpkin'.

And you had quietly agreed with him on that summer eve. You could still recall how he hid you both beneath some bushes as he went to scavenge some food for you, showing you some tips and tricks along the way. You could recall the way the thorny bushes had wounded you, pricking the soft flesh of your arms, fresh droplets of blood coating the mostly dry ground.

It hasn't rained in ages on that planet, if you recall correctly.

Rain. What you would give for the fresh scent of the rain. The harsh droplets would mask the yelling, the roaring thunder could perhaps comfort you in some odd way.

And just like that, you wish had come true.

A single piece of evening dew feel on your cheek, the liquid oddly warmer than it ought to be.

You could not be bothered to care.

Closing your eyes, you decided to bask in the first moments of glorious freedom you had managed to steal for yourself.

Boothill had taught you well, ironically enough.

There would be no more yelling, no more loud gun fights, no more long distance traveling. No more needy Galaxy Ranger who wanted you to pay constant attention to him 24/7. You already knew where you wanted to settle somewhere, a quiet and quaint place, a place oozing with peace and serenity.

Much like this dumpster, but a lot more pleasing to the senses.

The streets were quiet and the only sound that could be heard was the music in the distance, a sound so hauntingly pleasant that it made you feel -

Quiet.

Why had it gone quiet?

Like a phantom he emerged from the shadows, his all too familiar silhouette taking over the entire alleyway. His footsteps were slow, methodic. Well calculated.

And like a true phantom, he never left you alone.

His presence was dark and imposing, testing out the waters to see whether or not you were going to come out on your own or if he had to get his hands dirty.

However, he did not give you the luxury of thinking.

"Found ya." he said through gritted teeth, his red eyes gleaming like stars in the night.

Stars you would have a hard time looking the same ever again.

[rambyol]

How queer! A Piltovian Pressed Powder Palette?

HeadCanon: Silco had Marcus smuggle this across the border because the Leader of Zaun cannot be seen purchasing Piltovian merchandise.

Also can we appreciate the COVERAGE of that pressed powder. Look at the contrast between the upper and lower part of his scarred side in the second image. You ever wonder if he had to trial and error his way through different foundations, concealers, and powders until he landed on what worked for him.

On the topic of Powders…

Remember how Vander suggested to Felicia that he liked the name ‘Violet’. Well since the flashback with Felicia sort of muddled the story and the character dynamics between Vander, Silco, Vi, and Jinx, I’m going to take the liberty of making the assumption that Silco absolutely could’ve suggested the term ‘Powder’. Bear with me here because I know it’s been joked about in the fandom and yet…

We know young Silco wore makeup:

E.g. Eyeliner + Eyeshadow

So I think it’s plausible. I see a scenario where Felicia points out how Silco isn’t wearing his eyeliner/eyeshadow in that scene

and he responds with something along the lines of;

‘Ah I’ve been meaning to get some new powder. Haven’t found one I’m fond of yet.’

And the rest is history.

[dearstvckyx]

If you wouldn't take the help? - Quinn Hughes

After a crushing 7-0 loss to the Golden Knights, Quinn Hughes spirals, putting immense pressure on himself and shutting everyone out. When his teammates and coaches fail to get through to him, they call his childhood best friend (the reader) and fly her out from Michigan. She confronts Quinn, reminding him that he can’t become a better player or person if he won’t take the help being offered. He finally lets his guard down, breaking down in her arms. - The Neighbourhood , How

Quinn Hughes x Reader , ft. Canucks players

Warnings: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mentions of anxiety, self-imposed pressure.

Note// I got carried away….

The Neighbourhood Lyrics Masterlist - ⌂

The locker room was suffocating.

The air was thick with the stench of sweat and defeat—the kind of defeat that clung to the walls and weighed heavily on everyone’s shoulders.

7-0.

Seven. Nothing.

To Vegas.

It was humiliating.

The Canucks had been completely outplayed. Every shift felt like an uphill battle. The mistakes piled up, one after the other. Turnovers. Bad reads. Missed coverage.

And Quinn Hughes felt every single one of them like a weight on his chest.

He sat on the bench long after the game ended, his skates still on, staring blankly at the floor. The rest of the team had already begun to file out—some hitting the showers, others slumping into their stalls in bitter silence.

But Quinn didn’t move.

He just sat there, his elbows on his knees, his head bowed, fingers tangled in his damp hair.

His chest felt tight. His throat burned. His vision blurred slightly from how hard he was blinking.

His hands curled into fists.

It was my fault.

He knew it wasn’t entirely true. He knew they lost as a team. But in his head, the errors—the ones that led to the goals—were his. The misstep on the blue line. The puck he should have cleared. The coverage he lost track of.

If I had just played better…

The self-loathing festered.

And it didn’t stop.

⸻

The next few days were rough.

Quinn was quieter than usual at practice. More withdrawn. More irritable.

The boys noticed immediately.

Tyler Myers gaze lingered on Quinn when he didn’t so much as crack a smile during a chirp-filled drill. Petey gave him wary glances when he noticed Quinn staying late on the ice by himself. Brock tried to get him to go out for dinner after practice, but Quinn just shook his head.

The boys didn’t miss the way he was pulling away.

By the time the next game came around, Quinn was gripping his stick so tightly his knuckles were white. He was trying to play perfectly—too perfectly. Overthinking every pass. Second-guessing every zone entry.

And it made everything worse.

When he sat back down on the bench, after missing 3 passes, he slammed his stick hard against the boards, cursing under his breath.

None of them had ever seen him this rattled.

When the game ended, Quinn left without saying a word.

And that’s when the guys decided enough was enough.

They tried to talk to him—first as teammates, then as friends. Tyler sat with him after practice, offering words of advice that Quinn barely acknowledged. Petey tried to lighten the mood in the locker room, hoping to at least get him to crack a smile. Brock gave him space but kept a watchful eye.

Even Tocchet tried pulling him aside in his office.

But nothing worked.

No matter what anyone said, no matter how much they tried to be there for him, Quinn kept waving them off.

Kept brushing them aside.

Kept saying he was fine.

But he wasn’t.

And when it became clear that Quinn wouldn’t take the help they were offering, the boys made one final call.

To you.

⸻

You barely had time to process it.

You were sitting on your couch in Michigan when your phone rang. The moment you saw Brock’s name flash on the screen, you knew something was wrong.

And before you could even ask, he was already explaining everything—the game, the weight Quinn was carrying, the way he was shutting everyone out.

You didn’t even hesitate.

The next morning, you were on a plane to Vancouver.

⸻

Quinn had no idea you were coming.

He didn’t expect the knock at his apartment door late that night. He figured it was one of the guys. Maybe Brock, checking in again.

So when he swung the door open and saw you standing there, he blinked, stunned.

For the first time in days, he truly didn’t have the words.

“Hey, Q,” you said softly, offering a small smile.

He stared at you for a beat too long.

And then, before you could even say another word, he reached for you.

Without thinking. Without hesitation.

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you against him.

And you let out a soft breath against his chest as he clung to you tighter than he probably meant to.

You felt his heart pounding faintly against your cheek, too fast, too unsteady.

For half a second, he didn’t move.

But then you felt it—the slight tremble in his arms.

And you realized he was barely holding it together.

Your arms tightened around him.

“Let me in?” you whispered softly against his collarbone.

Without a word, he stepped back and let you inside.

⸻

You sat cross-legged on the couch while he sat stiffly on the opposite end, his hands running restlessly over his knees.

He was still wearing his hoodie from practice, but his hair was still slightly damp from a recent shower. You could see the faint redness around his eyes—the barely-there evidence of the frustration and exhaustion clinging to him.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

You just watched him.

Watched the way his fingers curled and uncurled. The slight bounce of his knee. The tension in his shoulders.

And finally, softly, you broke the silence.

“You’re shutting them out.”

Quinn’s hands stilled.

“You’re shutting everyone out.”

His eyes flicked to yours for half a second before he shook his head slightly.

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

You stared at him.

“No, you’re not,” you said softly.

He inhaled sharply through his nose, the muscle in his jaw clenching slightly.

You slowly uncrossed your legs, shifting closer, resting a gentle hand over his.

“Quinn,” you whispered. “How do you expect to be a better player… a better person… if you wouldn’t take the help?”

His fingers twitched slightly beneath yours.

And for a second, you thought he was going to brush you off again.

But instead—his face just crumpled.

The tension in his jaw loosened. His shoulders dropped slightly.

And then, without a word, he exhaled shakily, slumping forward.

Your breath caught softly when he leaned into you. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, and you felt his breath hitch unevenly against your collarbone.

Your arms slipped around him immediately, holding him tightly against you.

And for the first time in weeks—he let himself break.

You felt his grip tighten around your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your hoodie. His breaths were uneven, shaky, shallow against your neck.

You didn’t say anything.

You just held him.

Your fingers slowly ran through his hair, the way you had when you were kids—the familiar motion easing the tension from his shoulders, loosening the knot in his chest.

After a long moment, you felt him exhale softly, his breath warm against your skin.

You shifted slightly, gently nudging him back just enough to meet his eyes.

And the moment you saw them—red-rimmed, glassy, and vulnerable—you felt your chest tighten.

Your hand slowly slid up to his face, your thumb brushing softly along his cheekbone.

And you saw it—the way his breath caught slightly at your touch.

The way his eyes lingered on your lips for half a second too long.

But neither of you said anything.

You just sat there—his forehead resting against yours, your breaths softly intermingling, hearts barely steadying.

For a fleeting moment, you thought he might kiss you.

You thought about closing the small space between you.

But you didn’t.

Instead, you slowly brushed his hair back from his eyes, your fingers lingering slightly longer than necessary.

And softly, barely above a whisper, you murmured,

“I’ve got you.”

And he believed you.

[boomburstsofalola]

Honestly the scary thing about kukui and his team is how well it COULD go against N if he wasnt neutered by lack of coverage and not having certain hidden abilities

Ignoring the other champions and giving N the Dragons back for just Kukui vs N here because good lord the man can be a menace

Lycanroc

Doesnt really need stealth rock in this situation so we have a free move slot.

Nowadays lycanroc can have Trailblaze, a grass move that boosts speed. Carracosta is 4x weak to grass. In Gen 7 it could have Fire Fang and Thunder Fang.

If lycanroc manages to survive/avoid aqua jet and waterfall and land enough trailblazes to take out carracosta, vanilluxe is screwed because that thing has zero chance of outspeeding lycanroc to land flash cannon and cant out-priority the super effective accelerock anyway. It also would likely be able to get archeops into defeatist range with accelerock or stone edge turning it into way less of a threat.

It also can turn Stone Edge into Splintered Stormshards if it has Lycanium Z so Reshiram would probably take a bit of a beating.

Incineroar.

Yep. We're going there. Most official media has them as a duo. Im not even gonna bother freeing up a slot just to show how much bs incin has. Theres a reason i call it a war criminal.

Klinklang? Dead. The thing can learn flare blitz, cross chop, earthquake and blast burn.

Vanilluxe? Dead. Its a fire type.

Archeops? Royally screwed if in defeatist range because incineroar can have bulk up and can learn thunder punch making Stone Edge far less threatening.

Zoroark? Could win could lose. It may outspeed and have focus blast & retaliate but incineroar resists flamethrower and night slash & could pretty easily use cross chop to deal super effective damage back and retaliate doesnt get boosted if the ally didnt faint the previous turn making zoroark not as threatening as it would usually be

Reshiram. Screwed. All it can do is use reflect and hope for the best against the super effective onslaught incin can bring with EQ and Dual Chop/Outrage. Incineroar is immune to extrasensory and resists fusion flare which also lacks the boost from being used after fusion bolt. Hyper beam is the only move it has that incineroar could potentially go down to. Lycanroc's accelerock can help weaken reshiram with reshiram unable to out-priority.

Zekrom. Could take out incineroar but could also be taken out by it. Incineroar can learn outrage and dual chop alongside the previously mentioned EQ and is immune to zen headbutt leaving zekrom with only fusion bolt and giga impact. Fusion bolt will not have the boost from being used after fusion flare. Kukui also has ninetales which while mostly nerfed by light screen still can use ice shard to weaken zekrom.

Honestly incineroar could probably get away with thunder punch, blast burn, eq and cross chop...

also Kukui's incineroar in the games has blaze but the masters ex version seems to have intimidate. Archeops and Zekrom can only hit with physical moves.

His ninetales has snow cloak instead of snow warning but if given snow warning it would be able to consistently hit blizzard and use aurora veil to reduce damage from incoming physical AND special moves.

We got lucky that they didnt give him them in the games.

Sometimes I hate being such a big nerd because I'm literally spending my Saturday night pitting Pokémon champion teams against each other to see who would win and actually be the strongest champion. Now, the personal rules for this are: 1. No legendaries (This rule is solely for N because he would sweep. I replaced his dragon with Sigilyph. Also N is going to be considered the Gen 5 champion because I forgot about Alder while making this. He wouldn't have won anyway because half of his team is Bug.) 2. No held items, this is solely based on movesets, abilities, stats and the pokemon. 3. If the Champion's team has a member that depends on what starter the player picked, it will be the team that gives them the most coverage overall (Ex. Leon's team has Rillaboom in it due to giving him the most coverage) 4. NO GIMMICKS!!! No Z-Moves, Mega Evolutions, or Dynamaxing. 5. Kukui is the who I'm considering the Gen 7 "Champion" (Since his team also depends on starter choice, he will have Primarina since that gives him the most coverage.) and Steven Stone is who I'm considering to be the Gen 3 Champion. 6. Red and Blue will also be considered for the Champions because I think Gen-Wunners will end me if I didn't add them to my calculations 7. They will all be using their final main-line story teams with minor tweaks to make them balanced. I can't really think of any other things than that. So here's the in-depth analysis basically: Literally all of them with only TWO exceptions have team compositions that leave at LEAST half of their team weak to Ice Types. ESPECIALLY LANCE GOOD LORD ALL OF HIS POKEMON ARE WEAK TO ICE! Those two exceptions, are of course, the only two champions WITH Ice Types on their teams. That being Professor Kukui and N. So is that it? It's just a Professor Kukui vs N fight? WRONG! Because both N and Kukui's teams both have extremely big weaknesses against Fighting type Pokemon. Which, considering Cynthia has Lucario, does in fact cause problems. Also, Diantha's Hawlucha might cause problems- I'm just kidding that thing is 4x weak to Ice, it's getting decimated instantly. Looking at overall movesets and Pokemon, it is a REALLY close neck and neck battle between Cynthia, N, and Kukui as they have the most balanced teams. So, out of those three, who's winning? Well, breaking it down in terms of technicality and imagining if they were all fighting at the same time, the answer is kind of surprising. Cynthia and Kukui have a huge difficulty with each other's teams. As Kukui's Alolan Ninetails sweeps through a lot of Cynthia's team, including her ace, Garchomp. But Cynthia's Lucario also causes major problems with half of Kukui's team (Specifically Snorlax, Magnezone, and Lycanroc). N is actually in the worst position, having not only a big weakness to FIghting, but also Rock and Fire. Fire isn't as much as a concern due to Kukui having no Pokemon with Fire Type moves (if he had Incineroar he would actually be worse off due to Cynthia's Lucario) and Cynthia's only Fire move being Flamethrower on Garchomp, which N can counter with Vanilluxe. In terms of Rock, Kukui has Lycanrock, which is the only pokemon he has that is Rock Type and has Rock Type moves. Meanwhile Cynthia only has one Rock Type move, which is Stone Edge on Lucario, which actually helps countering N's Sigilyph, which would actually hard counter Lucario if it didn't have Stone Edge. But, what's crazy is that N has an even BETTER counter for Cynthia's Lucario, which is actually WEAK to Lucario. His Zoroark.

Unironically, N's Zoroark SAVES him due to having not only Flamethrower, but also Focus Blast, two moves that Lucario is weak to. On top of that, the only fighting move that Cynthia even HAS is Focus Blast on Lucario, which is a Special move and while Zoroark's defenses are nothing to brag about, it actually OUTSPEEDS Lucario! So N would actually end up breaking the stalemate between Kukui and Cynthia. N, overall, actually perfectly counters Cynthia's team solely because of his teams diverse moveset and stats! And here's the crazier part. Despite N's rock weakness, which Kukui has coverage for with Lycanrock, N also utterly destroys Kukui because of a SINGULAR Pokémon.

Carracosta crushes Kukui's Lycanrock due to Kukui not having any coverage moves on his Lycanrock, because Kukui's Lycanrock has nothing but Rock Type moves! And after that, Kukui has NO coverage whatsoever against N's entire team because the only other thing he's weak to is Fighting, which Kukui has NO fighting moves in his entire party! And N actually has a counter for every other Pokemon Kukui has on his team. Ninetails is beaten by Carracosta AND Klinklang. His Braviary is done in by Vanilluxe, Klinklang, and Archeops. His Magnezone and Snorlax are beaten by Zoroark. and that Primarina is defeated due to, you guessed it, Klinklang. Overall, N takes the crown as the "Strongest Champion" but don't forget that Ghetsis' team was made to counter N's, so he's not the strongest overall. In rankings it ends up like this. 9th: Lance 8th: Diantha 7th: Geeta 6th: Steven 5th: Leon 4th: Blue 3rd: Red 2nd Place: Kukui AND Cynthia (Seriously these two are like perfect foils) 1st Place: N. TLDR: N wins due to his team's diverse move pool and team composition. Thank you for reading all of this. I hope you somewhat enjoyed this.

[pazzi5351]

PART 6

Just Friends

Football P x Cheerleader A

Highschool AU

WC: 2.3k

AN: IM BACK BITCHES😋😋 if you missed me I’m so sorry but I think that this chapter will make up for it. I worked on making it more detailed so lmk if there’s errors and I tried making it longer than my usual so also lmk if my transitions make sense! Love ya 🥰

————————————————————————————---------------

The morning of the playoff game was crisp and electric, the kind of day where every breath seemed to crackle with anticipation, like the air was holding its own secret, waiting to explode. The sun was just beginning to stretch golden shadows over University of Virginia’s campus, casting long shadows across the football field, where the freshly painted yard lines gleamed with promise. 

Fans began trickling in slowly at first, then in clusters, decked out in school colors—deep maroon and bright white—faces painted with stripes and symbols, school logos pinned proudly to hats and scarves. Excited chatter swirled around the parking lot, the unmistakable hum of pre-game energy buzzing beneath it all. Friends gathered, voices rising and falling, laughter interrupted by the sharp blast of whistles and the distant thud of a football being tossed back and forth.

Inside the team’s locker room, the atmosphere was thick with a mix of tension and determination. It was the kind of quiet storm that always rolled in before a big game—the collective heartbeat of the team, rapid and steady, reminding everyone that this was the moment they’d been working for all season long. Cleats scraped against the polished floor, coaches barked last-minute instructions with the same passion they had all year, and players shifted nervously, adjusting pads and helmets, some pacing, others sitting silently, focused and calm on the surface but freaking out on the inside.

Paige sat on the bench, methodically pulling on her gloves, her fingers steady even though her heart was pounding against her chest like a drum. She had the practiced ease of someone who had run these routines a hundred times before, but the stakes were different now. This was no ordinary game—it was the playoffs, the moment that could define everything. Her cleats dug slightly into the turf as she stretched and warmed up along the sideline, eyes sharp and scanning.

The Arlington offensive line had spent the past few weeks watching endless hours of film after school and in between practices, studying their opponent’s defense—a team known for their relentless, physical playing style. Their defensive line was infamous for crushing running lanes, slamming into quarterbacks with the force of a freight train, and never letting up. Every yard on the field was going to be a challenge. Paige knew the defensive ends were fast and brutal, the linebackers hit like trucks, and the secondary played tight coverage that left no room for error.

Nearby, on the cheerleading sideline, Azzi was busy coaching one of the freshman girls through some new motions that were part of their halftime routine. Her voice was low but steady, carrying just enough encouragement to push without pressure. “Okay, hit that low-v faster — like this. Remember, low-v is 1, break is 2, and punch is 3.” She demonstrated with sharp, precise movements, muscles taut and controlled. The younger girl nodded, trying to mirror the exact motions, lips pressed in concentration.

Paige jogged over, a wide grin breaking through her usual game face—a grin that was equal parts excitement and nerves. She tapped Azzi’s shoulder lightly, and Azzi turned mid-instruction, muttering a “one sec.” to the freshman. She looked at Paige and their eyes met, locking for a split second in a quiet moment away from the chaos that was right infront of them. Paige’s smile was shy but full of warmth, the kind of smile that made Azzi’s chest flutter; the same one Caroline called her “Azzi smile”. Without a word, they slipped into their secret handshake, fluid, and practiced with quick highfives, double hand taps, fingers briefly intertwining before they parted. Paige’s eyes twinkled with adrenaline as she nodded once, then jogged back toward the huddle, heart racing.

On the sidelines, Caroline and Ryan exchanged wide-eyed looks, mouths hanging open just a little. “What the fuck?” Ryan muttered, voice low.

Caroline smirked knowingly, nudging him. “I clocked that shit the second Paige tapped Azzi’s shoulder grinning. But, chill before you blow our cover.” She threw a pointed glance at Azzi, who was already slipping back into her spot on the cheer line, cheeks flushed but composed, with a slight smile on her face.

The referee’s whistle blew sharply, slicing through the murmurs of the crowd and signaling the start of the game. From the very first snap, the opposing defense came out swinging hard.The linebackers swarmed Paige the instant she caught the ball, jostling and tackling her with brutal intensity, every inch on the field was met with a battle. Arlington’s offensive line stood firm, but the pressure from Lehigh was relentless, pushing their quarterback to scramble just to keep plays alive. Sweat dripped, breaths came fast, and every move was met with resistance.

By the third quarter, cracks began to show in Arlington’s protection schemes. A few key plays stalled, drives ended in punts or field goal attempts when touchdowns had seemed possible. Frustration curled in Paige’s stomach when she was flagged for a borderline pass interference call, teeth clenched tight. She pushed it down, reminding herself that this game was far from over.

The crowd was electric as the clock wound into the fourth quarter, the score tight and tension thick. Both teams were locked in a fierce,fight—hits landing hard, catches made on the edge of control, and cheers roaring with every daring play. With just under five minutes left, the whole stadium seemed to hold its breath.

During a timeout, the Arlington team huddled close, sweat glistening on faces, chests heaving, eyes filled with determination. Their head coach stepped forward, whiteboard in hand, sketching out a new play — a quick sideline run designed to exploit a weakness they’d spotted in the rival’s formation. It was perfect for Paige’s speed and agility, a chance to outrun the defense along the edge and break free.

“Alright, Paige,” the coach said, voice low and serious, locking eyes with her. “You’re the key. Get the ball, stay low, and push down that sideline and don't stop until you reach the endzone. We need this touchdown.”

Paige nodded, adrenaline surging through her veins. She felt the weight of the moment settle over her shoulders but didn’t flinch.

Back on the field, the snap was clean. Paige exploded off the line, eyes sharp and scanning the defense. The defensive backs closed in fast, but she was faster. With a quick juke, a powerful push, she slipped past the nearest defender and sprinted along the sideline. The crowd erupted as she barreled toward the end zone, the defense chasing desperately behind. One final dive, arms stretched out in front of her, and she crossed the goal line.

The stadium exploded with cheers and jumping fans.

Her teammates swarmed her immediately in the endzone—helmet taps, chest bumps, playful butt slaps echoing the close victory. They hadn’t just won; they’d earned every inch, fought every step. The taste of the win was almost dizzying.

But even in the rush of celebration, the nerves of the state championship game the next day hung heavy. The team’s curfew was strict:room checks by 10:45, lights out at 10:50 sharp. Azzi and the cheer squad followed the same rules, which were enforced by their coaches, knowing the stakes were higher than ever.

Later that night, after the mandatory bedroom check, Azzi lingered near the door in her room, a mischievous glint lingering in her eyes. “I’ll be back,” she whispered low, just loud enough for Caroline and Ryan to hear.

Caroline shook her head, exasperated. “You really should stay. You don’t want the whole team getting in trouble.”

Azzi waved her off. “Relax. The football guys already had their checks earlier. And Paige’s the only girl on the team, which means, she gets her own room. Nothing to worry about. And if anyone sees me and asks, Paige left her hoodie in here the other night.”

Caroline rolled her eyes and Ryan protested further from the bathroom, but Azzi was already halfway out the door. She hopped in the elevator and rode down to the floor where the football team was.

As she walked down the hall toward Paige’s door, she paused near the other guys’ rooms, as she heard her name from behind the door.

“I think you could totally pull Azzi, man. The other night, you just came off way too strong talking about her.”

“Yeah, and plus, Paige was there. You know her ass goes crazy for Fudd. Wants to keep her all to herself, even though Azzi’s not even gay.”

The last voice was unmistakable—the same boy who’d made a rude comment about Azzi at the pool on the first night. “Maybe. I’m gonna see if I can get her without her bodyguard.”

Azzi’s blood ran cold. Without hesitation, she knocked hard against their door. Then again. And again.

Footsteps approached and the door swung open.

“Listen,” Azzi said, voice low but fierce. “Fuck off. If you ever disrespect Paige again, I swear on everything I’ll make sure you never see a football or field again. And I’m not threatening you — that’s a fucking promising.”

The boys exchanged uneasy glances, muttering apologies.

“For the record,” Azzi added, stepping closer, eyes sharp, “even if I were straight—and that’s a big fucking if—I wouldn’t think twice about rejecting your ugly asses.”

She turned sharply and walked away, the hallway suddenly quiet.

When Azzi reached Paige’s door, it opened before she could knock.

Paige stood there, slightly disheveled like she’d just woken up, messy hair framing her face, looking impossibly pretty.

“What was all that banging?” Paige asked, eyebrows raised.

Azzi smiled but said nothing, leaning in to kiss her softly. When Paige smiled against her lips, she grabbed Azzi’s waist, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Laughter bubbled from Azzi when she pulled away, earning a playful protest from Paige.

“You played so well today baby,” Azzi whispered.

Paige’s lips curled into a teasing smirk. “Then you should come in and show me how well I played, mama. Please?”

Azzi chuckled, mumbling, “You act like a horny 13-year-old boy sometimes.” She kissed Paige again, then shook her head. “Goodnight P.”

The next morning, Paige’s team was already on the field well before 8:30. Paige groaned, mumbling something about how it was way too early to start drills and practice plays for tonight. She ran routes with the second-team quarterback, focusing on her footwork and cuts.

As she rounded the corner, the same three boys Azzi had confronted the night before approached her, looking sheepish.

“Yo, Paige. Look man, we’re so sorry for disrespecting you and Azzi,” Malik said quietly. 

“We didn’t know your relationship was that serious. We didn’t mean anything by it.” Trey added nodding, barely even looking at her.

Paige blinked, confused but appreciative. “Thanks… I guess.”

They nodded quickly and backed off.

Coach called a break. “Alright, get off my field. Get some rest before tonight. Be downstairs by 5.”

Paige nodded and hurried inside. Instead of heading to her own room, Paige took the elevator two floors higher, heading to Azzi’s. She knocked twice, and Caroline’s voice called out, “Az, your girlfriend is at the door!”

Paige blinked, caught off guard. “Girlfriend?”

Caroline smirked. “Yeah, seriously. The pregame handshake sold it for me. But don’t forget, she’s my best friend—I know everything.”

Before Paige could respond, Azzi appeared in the doorway, mock annoyed. “Carol, you’re so annoying. I tell you shit in confidence.”

Azzi glanced around to make sure no one else was nearby, then leaned forward to kiss Paige deeply.

“Hi,” she whispered, pulling back.

Azzi’s eyes roamed over Paige’s post-practice look—messy bun, compression tee, practice pants, pads in hand—and she murmured, “You look so fucking good right now… kinda making me wish I had a room all to myself.”

Paige laughed softly and kissed her again, getting a small whimper from Azzi as she pulled back.

“Tonight, after we’re champs,” Paige said lowly, “my room is all ours, alright ma?”

Azzi’s breath caught, eyes half-lidded as she buried her face in Paige’s chest. “Fuck, I wish you weren’t so you sometimes.”

Paige grinned. “Why’s that, baby?”

Azzi groaned softly. “Because you’re just so hot and perfect, and I can’t even do anything about it. One, I still have to cheer later; two, you still have a game; and three, my annoying ass friends are in here.”

Paige laughed as Azzi pouted into her chest.

Suddenly remembering, Paige pulled back slightly. “Baby… Why did Malik and Trey come up to me during practice, apologizing like crazy for ‘disrespecting’ me?”

Azzi’s expression stiffened. “Nothinggg, I swear… I just– might have overheard some dumb shit they were sayin’ last night and I maybeee threatened them… only a little though! Maybe saying if they talk about us again, they’ll never see a football field again.”

Paige laughed, pushing Azzi playfully. Azzi pouted at her again. “Paige, it’s not funny. They were saying crazy shit. You can’t even blame me. Don’t think I forgot how you were about to beat Trey’s ass at the pool cause he was sayin’ dumb shit.”

Paige kissed her again. “I know, I know. But, I also know them, so I believe you. That’s why it’s funny. I’m glad you said something, but you should’ve seen how scared they were coming up to me.”

Azzi chuckled. “Good. They needed it.”

Paige glanced at her watch and sighed. “I should head downstairs to get ready.”

Azzi hugged her tightly. “Okay. But whatever happens tonight, I’m proud of you—and I’m definitely taking you up on that empty room offer.”

Paige laughed, kissed her one last time, and headed for the elevator with one thought burning bright in her mind: Win.

[harunovella]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ safety net; t.f.

synopsis: when toji decided to be a good man and rescue two puppies for his son... content: canon divergence (I want a happy story for the fushiguro's!), fem!reader, reader is mamaguro, in this world your last name is fushiguro and toji took it bc f*ck the zenin, megumi is ur son (he's just a baby!), domestic bliss, not beta read (sorry for any errors!) note: seeing how successful my gojo anthology series is going (only two parts but going strong), I wanted to do one for toji bc I've always wanted to write his story with mamaguro (aka you!) and do a bunch of one shots that can be read as stand alones or together! pls lmk if you want more and if u wanna be tagged in the future <3 p.s. the divine dogs are actual dogs that inspired megumi's later manifestation of his shikigami in this au

It was one of those late nights for Toji. A summer evening with a heavy downpour to blur his path before him. The windshields were moving as fast as they could, swiftly clearing his vision with every wipe across the glass. He was quite used to this, running around town in the wee hours of the night, nothing new to him. It just annoyed him how difficult it could be driving in the rain when his windows fogged up and the headlights could only do so much. 

He wasn't too far from home, running a quick errand before returning to his abode, wanting nothing more than the warmth of his bed. 

A bed... A home...

Toji couldn't help but sigh and lean his head back against the car's headrest. Had this all been a dream? Was it real? Him, Zenin Toji, living a normal life? It had been quite some time now where he left it all behind to be domesticated—as if he were a wild animal. He didn't mind, though, a part of him was begging for a simple kind of life. 

Sat at a red light as his pointer finger tapped away against the leather steering wheel, his eyes wandered the environment around him—well, as much as he could see during an evening shower. From building to building, the empty sidewalks and dim storefronts, his eyes suddenly bounced back to a bus stop. Squinting, he leaned in before turning on his blinkers. 

This was very unlike him, his curiosity getting the best of him... Maybe it was because he was a changed man. Maybe it was because he had someone to go home to. Someone who made his deflated heart triple in size; someond who made him care about little things that he never did before.

Pulling over and parking his car next to the bus stop, Toji pulled up his hoodie and reached for the small umbrella that sat on the floor of the passenger seat. Rushing out and popping open the coverage, he stood before a small, cardboard box. 

It was falling apart, the rain tearing at the flimsy material as the little towel beneath was completely drenched. Hearing the faint whimpers and cries of the tiny creatures that stared up at him, Toji took in a sharp breath and shook his head. He was a good man now. Better than he ever was before. He had a heart. He had a home. He had someone who loved him. These little bodies did not. 

Lifting the box, he quickly maneuvered it underneath the umbrella before carefully placing it in the backseat of his car. "I hope she won't mind..." he said before making his way to the front, closing the umbrella and shutting the door after, resuming his route. 

The drive home was quicker this time around, zooming to gather the bags and box he had within the car, shutting the doors and locking them behind him before he made his way towards the front door. Taking the steps and fumbling with his keys, he unlocked the door and slipped inside before kicking off his shoes and making his way towards the living room. 

Settling the box down before moving towards the kitchen with the bag, he washed his hands and emptied the contents within it. Pulling out the small device, Toji made his way upstairs, ruffling his dark hair as he pressed a few buttons on the gadget. "Babe, this one should be fine," he spoke as he approached one of the two bedrooms. 

"Oh, good," the voice responded as he entered the room. You were sitting on your son's rocking chair, holding him close to your chest as you caressed his little back. He was about six months old and the constant change in weather was getting to him, causing a slight cold to disrupt his immunity. It pained both of you to see your boy anything but happy and healthy... but, he was such a little trooper. Both of you weren't sure where he got his calmness from, seeing as you nor Toji were such a way, but you thanked the heavens for blessing you with a child like him. 

"How's Megs doin'?" Toji asked as he handed you the new thermometer, squatting and gently caressing his son's head. His hand practically engulfed it, always entertaining him how tiny his boy was. It brought a small smile to his face. "Doesn't seem so fussy."

"A bit better, I got him to fall asleep. You weren't gone for too long, thankfully," you sweetly smiled, settling the small device down before caressing Toji's face. "Raining hard, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, only to widen his eyes. 

"What is it?" You furrowed your eyebrows. 

Scratching the back of his head, Toji stood up. "Got a surprise along the way... hope you don't mind."

"What do you mean?" You tilted your head. 

"Let's go downstairs," he nudged his own, waving you to follow him. 

Standing up carefully as to not wake your baby boy, you followed your man down the hall and staircase, towards your living room. You were confused at first, unsure as to what surprise he could've gotten you. But then you heard it. The faint cries and rustling coming from a box. The box in front of you. "Toji..."

"You've changed me, y'know?" He said. "I wouldn't have cared back then, would've left them suffer... but, guess it's because I'm a father now and I have you... I couldn't let them die out there..." rubbing the back of his neck as he stood by the box, you curiously peeked over before gasping. "Thought it would be nice to keep 'em... give Megs something to grow with."

"Toji... there's two," you nearly whispered, eyeing the puppies. One in pure white and one in all black, both equally precious. Tiny, scared, cold... you couldn't deny them either, even if you were currently raising your own baby. 

"Yeah..." Toji sighed. "I was thinkin' about giving them a quick bath now and take them to the vet early tomorrow. Don't have much to feed them but we can make it work, right?" He said, keeping his eyes on them, a bit afraid of your reaction. 

As upset as you should've been, seeing as it was two more mouths to feed, instead, you felt... elated? You weren't sure why, maybe it was because you were seeing more and more sides of Toji you didn't think would exist. Or maybe you loved the idea of giving your son two furry best friends to grow with. It could've also been that you were just happy that your son was okay and getting through his cold that you couldn't be as bothered. 

It also didn't help that you may or may not have mentioned a few times (while taking your strolls during your pregnancy) that your little blessing should have some furry friends around. You just didn't think it would happen... this way. 

"So?" Toji asked, looking at you with timid eyes. "Can we keep 'em?"

"Toji," you chuckled. "I'm not going to abandon these poor babies. You brought them here, you're gonna have to do a lot of raising. You're now a father of three," you teased as he nodded. 

"I'm well aware."

"I'm surprised you're okay with this, let alone, brought them," you pointed out. 

Shrugging, he looked back down. "Like I said, it's cause you changed me and I'm a father now. As scary as that is... I dunno... guess I want that normal life and normal people have dogs, right?" Seeing you nod with a small smile, Toji couldn't help but reflect your facial expression. "I wanna give him everything I've never had," he nudged his head in Megumi's direction. 

"Such a good dad," you softly spoke, caressing your sons back before stepping closer and kissing Toji's arm. "Then I guess we have two puppies now. What should we name them?"

Eyeing the two, Toji hummed. "Kuro and Shiro."

[nylqnder]

BURDEN QUINN HUGHES

pairing: quinn hughes x fem!coach!reader

summary: you and quinn, both dealing with your individual struggles, are able to find solace in one another.

warnings: coach!reader, platonic (but like maybe the start of something more?), very much inspired by what people say about our queen jessica campbell so sexism + misogyny, quinn dealing with feelings of not being good enough, probably more that i'm missing but that's the general vibe

wc: 2.37k

The arena was almost eerily silent after morning skate. Most of the team had already showered and left, their laughter and chatter fading into the distance. The echoes of their skates had long since disappeared from the ice, leaving only the soft hum of the arena lights and the rattling of the air conditioner.

You sat alone in the video room, the glow of the monitor illuminating your focused expression. Game footage flickered on the screen — defensive breakdowns, missed passes, and a handful of lackluster power plays that made you grit your teeth.

The weight of the Canucks' struggles pressed down on your chest like a concrete block. Frame by frame, the footage laid bare every mistake — blown coverage, lazy backchecks, and forwards stranded without support. It wasn't just a bad stretch; it was a pattern, a slow unraveling of confidence and cohesion.

You leaned forward, pausing the playback at a brutal turnover that led to yet another odd-man rush. Your jaw clenched as the opposing winger effortlessly deked past your defence and buried the puck top shelf. The players' body language told its own grim story: slumped shoulders, frustrated glances, and hollow stares at the bench. The swagger that once defined the team had been replaced by hesitation and doubt.

A slow sigh escaped your lips as you scribbled notes on a crumpled sheet. Tighten defensive gaps. Better transition reads. Revamp special teams. The list was growing longer than you'd care to admit. But it wasn’t just tactics — it was heart. How do you coach belief back into a team that’s forgotten how to win?

The nagging whispers of self-doubt were now becoming shouts as the losses piled up. Being the second female coach in NHL history was a weight you carried with both pride and exhaustion. Every misstep wasn’t just seen as a tactical error—it was treated like evidence. Evidence that maybe you didn’t belong, evidence that the old-school skeptics were right. 

When the Canucks were winning, the narrative was a feel-good headline: Trailblazing Coach Proves Gender Barrier No Match for Hockey Savvy. But when the losses piled up, the tone shifted. Experiment Failing? Pressure Mounts for Second Female Coach. 

The whispers lingered even when the arena was empty. Analysts questioned your systems, fans dissected your bench demeanor, and anonymous accounts on social media spewed their venom without consequence. They didn’t just criticize strategy — they questioned your very right to stand where you stood.

You clenched your pen, the tip scratching harsh lines into the paper. The criticism was constant and insidious, seeping into every corner of your thoughts if you let it. So you forced it out. You learned to compartmentalize, shoving doubts and insecurities into a mental lockbox and focusing on the task at hand. You kept your head down, analyzing film, strategizing drills, and blocking out the noise.

You'd never been one to walk away from a fight, and hockey was no different. You reminded yourself why you'd taken this job in the first place — not just for yourself, but for every girl who grew up loving the game and wondering if there was a place for them in it. There was. You were proof of that, whether the world wanted to accept it or not.

Out on the ice, Quinn Hughes lingered, skating slow, deliberate laps. He was always the last one off the ice, pushing himself long after everyone else had called it a day. You’d spent countless hours working with him — he was the Canucks’ captain and a gifted defenseman, and you related to him deeply, having been a defenseman yourself during your playing days. You’d seen firsthand the weight of the season beginning to settle heavily on his shoulders. 

The physical toll was obvious. His left hand, heavily taped beneath his glove, clenched his stick with a tension that spoke of discomfort. You'd caught him flexing his fingers during breaks in practice, a grimace flickering across his face before he masked it with stoic determination. The medical staff had recommended rest, but Quinn had brushed off their concerns, insisting that the team needed him. He was stubborn like that — a trait you both shared, for better or worse.

But it wasn’t just the hand injury eating away at him. There was a weariness in his eyes that tape and ice baths couldn't fix. The weight of leadership pressed on his shoulders, compounded by the growing friction in the locker room. Pettersson and Miller, two of the team's brightest stars, were locked in a silent feud that was becoming harder to ignore.

You'd seen the glances exchanged during line changes, the curt nods instead of fist bumps after goals, and the palpable tension during meetings. They weren't shouting matches — at least not yet — but the simmering resentment was affecting everyone. Players tried not to choose sides, instead desperately trying to keep the locker room from ripping at the seams. 

Quinn had tried to mediate, his voice low and measured as he pulled them aside after practice. But neither Elias nor J.T. seemed willing to budge. Their competitive drive, which usually fueled the team’s success, had become a wedge driving them apart. And Quinn, caught in the middle, was paying the price.

You restarted the clip of yet another failed powerplay, trying to identify what needed to change in order to see some results. Do you change the personnel? Do you change their positioning? Try a different zone entry? The seemingly endless options bounced around in your head, causing yet another pounding headache to develop. 

Then it came: the sudden, jarring clatter of sticks clashing against hard surfaces. The sharp bang of a door slamming open reverberated through the empty arena corridors. You flinched, the sound cutting through the quiet like a slap. Something heavy crashed inside the locker room, followed by a burst of shouting and cursing.

You rose from your chair, the glow of the monitor fading behind you as you walked down the hallway toward the locker room. Stepping inside, hesitantly while holding your breath, you took in the sight before you.

Quinn sat hunched over in his stall, his posture crumpled under an invisible weight. His skates, helmet, stick, and gloves were scattered across the room like the aftermath of a storm. The helmet lay upside down near the far wall, and one glove was still spinning slightly on the floor, evidence of its recent violent trajectory.

His chest heaved, and a sheen of sweat clung to his brow despite having left the ice some time ago. His hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white against the dark fabric of his practice gear. The air was thick with the acrid scent of frustration and the faint, putrid scent of sweat that you could never fully get accustomed to.

You hesitated at the threshold, your instincts warring between giving him space and stepping in. But Quinn Hughes wasn’t someone who had outbursts — not like this. Seeing him unravel was unsettling, a stark contrast to the composed leader you’d come to know.

Silently, you crossed the room and sat in Garland’s stall directly across from him. Quinn didn’t look up, his shoulders still rising and falling with uneven breaths. The echoes of his outburst lingered in the space, settling into a weighty silence that clung to the walls. You crossed the room and sat down in Garland's stall across from him, folding your hands between your knees.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The hum of the arena lights filled the void, punctuated only by the distant hiss of the ventilation system. You let the quiet stretch, knowing that sometimes the best thing you could offer was simply presence — no forced pep talks, no immediate fixes, just being there.

Quinn's fists slowly relaxed, his breathing evening out. He stared at the floor, the sheen of sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his expression was a war between anger and defeat. You knew that look well — it was the face of a leader trying to hold everything together when the cracks were becoming too wide to ignore.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice steady but gentle.

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “What do you think?”

Fair enough. “Looks like you had a... spirited moment.”

His lips quirked faintly at your attempt to lighten the mood, but it quickly faded. “I just—” He broke off, struggling to find the words. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m supposed to be the one holding it together, and I can’t even hold myself together right now.”

You nodded, allowing the weight of his confession to hang between you. “Leadership’s a hell of a burden, isn’t it?”

He scoffed, dragging a hand through his damp hair. “I knew it was going to be tough, but this? Watching the team fall apart? Petey and J.T. at each other's throats, the power play tanking, the media breathing down our necks? Feels like everything's slipping through my fingers, and I can’t stop it.”

“You’re not failing them,” you said firmly. “You care. That’s why this is eating you up inside. And that’s what makes you the right guy to wear that ‘C.’ The team doesn’t need a perfect captain, Quinn. They need one who shows up, even when it’s hard. Especially when it’s hard.”

He shook his head, the frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “It’s not enough. I’ve tried talking to Petey and J.T., but it’s like talking to a wall. And the guys... they can feel it. The tension. I see it in the way they skate, the way they sit in the room after games. It’s like we’re all waiting for something to snap.”

You leaned forward, your voice low but resolute. “Then don’t wait. Set the tone. You don’t have to fix everything overnight, but you can start by showing them what it looks like to keep fighting. Lead by example — on the ice, in the room, wherever they need you. And as for Petey and J.T.? If they won’t listen to reason, maybe it’s time for a little tough love.”

Quinn exhaled sharply through his nose, his jaw tightening. “Feels like I’m failing them,” he admitted, his voice low and raw. “The team, the fans — everyone. And I can’t even play at my best with this damn hand.” His voice cracked as he looked down at his fingers, flexing them with a grimace.

“You’re not in this alone,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with understanding. “And you’re not the only one under a microscope. Trust me — I get it.”

Quinn frowned, curiosity flickering through the storm behind his eyes. “What do you mean?”

You shifted slightly, trying to organize thoughts that had been gnawing at the edges of your mind for weeks. “Look, being a coach in the NHL is tough for anyone. But being a woman? It adds a whole extra layer. When we win, I’m a novelty story. When we lose, I’m a failed experiment. And they don’t hold back either — I hear the whispers, read the headlines I shouldn’t be reading.” You exhaled shakily. “The criticism goes beyond X’s and O’s. They don’t just question my strategy; they question whether I should even be here in the first place.”

Quinn's expression hardened. “That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, bitterness tinging your voice. “But it’s reality. And I can’t let it break me, because the minute I do, they win. So I compartmentalize, push through the noise, and keep fighting. But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t get to me sometimes.”

Quinn was quiet for a long beat, his brows furrowed in thought. “It’s like no matter how hard you work or how much you care, it’s never enough, is it?”

“Exactly.” You gave a humorless laugh. “And God forbid you show any cracks, because then you’re weak. And weak doesn’t fly in this world.”

The weight of unspoken truths lingered between you, heavy but oddly comforting in its shared understanding. For once, you didn’t feel like you had to keep the walls up, and judging by the tension easing from Quinn’s shoulders, neither did he.

“I guess that’s what leadership is,” you added quietly. “Taking the hits so the people around you don’t have to. Even when it feels like it’s breaking you.”

Quinn's eyes met yours, something raw and unguarded flickering there. “You ever wonder if it’s worth it?”

You hesitated, the question hitting deeper than you expected. “Honestly? Sometimes. But then I think about why I started all of this in the first place. I love this game, and I want to prove that people like me — people who don’t fit the mould — can belong in it too. That keeps me going.”

He nodded slowly, as if turning your words over in his mind. “Guess I need to figure out what keeps me going.”

“You will,” you assured him, voice steady. “And when you do, hold onto it like hell. It’ll be what gets you through the worst of it.”

Quinn’s shoulders eased, some of the tension leaving his frame. “Thanks. I mean it. I didn’t realize you had so much to deal with too.”

“Welcome to the club of people pretending they're fine when they're not,” you said wryly. “The dues are pretty steep, though.”

A faint chuckle escaped him. “Guess that makes us both members, huh?”

You grinned. “Looks like it.”

For a moment, the weight in the room lifted, replaced by a tentative but undeniable sense of connection. You weren't just coach and captain anymore; you were two people who understood what it was like to carry heavy expectations and try not to buckle under them.

Quinn met your gaze, his expression earnest. “If you ever need someone to talk to, you know... I'm around.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, and warmth bloomed in your chest. “Same goes for you, Captain.”

For a moment, the tension lifted, replaced by a tentative but undeniable sense of connection. You weren’t just coach and captain anymore; you were two people who understood what it meant to carry heavy expectations and keep fighting anyway.

[directdogman]

Marla Crown facts:

A little known fact is that Marla Crown was also disabled, like her husband, and Mingus' iconic cane belonged to Marla (sans the cat head, which Mingus added in the same way she added the concrete cat head to Town Hall.)

In her early days, she was a journalist/radio news reporter and was instrumental in getting Crown elected as the mayor of Dialtown. While it's possible Crown might've found a path to success on his own, what he didn't expect were the workers who flooded in from nearby towns looking for work, hearing about him from Marla's radio broadcasts where she depicted him as pro-worker, someone who took care of his own, come hell of high water. In many ways, you can attribute the start of Crown's political movement to her.

She believed in Crown's mission with the same ferocity that he had and in the early days, pushed him to harden his rhetoric and seek out the best outcome regardless of the cost. The Crown saviour narrative was her invention more than his.

She was particularly close to her husband's best friend and vice president, Milton R. Wallace and balanced out Crown in more ways than one. Aside from her generally smart advice, she was the only person in Crown's life that his honeyed words never worked on.

After the end of Crown's presidency (and doubly so after his memory was erased), Marla's post-political career was quiet and withdrawn. Having to raise a kid on her own and being legally responsible for the husk of her husband was enough stress for her, especially with a turbulent conscience. For decades after her public life ended, she was occasionally hounded by reporters demanding information from her about her husband.

While history books are kind to Marla Crown, coverage of her at the end of her life was unfairly negative due to the timing of when she withdrew from the public eye. Since it coincided with the end of her time working with Crown (and she returned to a normal civilian life), many pundits assumed that Crown had carried her with him and that her work in his administration was something he granted as a token courtesy.

Archives of her early broadcasts of her Crown interviews were buried when Crown became a national candidate (to not polarize the electorate with Crown's harder socialist rhetoric), so a lot of her early contributions are lost to history.

Most frustratingly of all, a novelty arcade machine was mass produced and sold to funfairs/arcades nation-wide. Fitted with a crystal ball, an outfit resembling the vibrant hue of purple she often wore and dubbed the 'Madame Mediocre Clairvoyant' (sharing its initials with her), these machines can occasionally still be found around the country, often in rundown places (due to a catastrophic programming error that rendered the machine basically unusable.)

[lilacxquartz]

THE LIFE YOU LIVED

kenjaku x future vessel f!reader

plot: being the daughter of an important public figure, you were already used to unwanted attention. however, nothing could have prepared you for this.

themes: yandere, unrequited feelings, angst, some horror, reader is not a sorcerer, pre-canon — a/n: so, this isn’t with geto as a vessel but it isn’t kaori either, think of it as an in between time.

part 1 of 7 • next chapter • chapter directory • masterlist • on ao3

Chapter 1: First Impressions

For Kenjaku, being involved with politics was either a prospect that he thrived in or one that he couldn’t wait to get out of, but for the most part, he simply disliked the interactions he had to endure. Unless something exciting was happening from the result of his meddling, he seldom cared, let alone invested himself in the trivial aspects of the ordinary world.

Having to dive into such an affair soon, though, there was a certain degree of apprehension that he felt. In his recent years, any attempt to dissolve the next holder of the six-eyes technique had failed, so he had to maintain his distance from the Gojo clan to avoid being found out a second time—while at the same time keeping close enough to remain vigilant of any significant developments.

This meant straying away from the tight-knit circle of Jujutsu for a while and instead seeking out an alternative means, such as infiltrating the clan from a distance, through the cover of a non-sorcerer.

The current holder of the six-eyes technique was still young, just a mere boy. From his current knowledge of the fact, the kid was strong enough to understand the basics of his technique, but not enough to fully grasp it. If he could therefore infiltrate the clan by phasing through a series of intricate connections, then that’s the route he would take.

This was where you come in.

You were the first step into accomplishing such a feat, and also quite possibly, the easiest role that he had to assume. From the surface, you were just another trust-fund socialite to him, likely spoiled too. He could probably have all sorts of fun in your body when he got his hands on it, since being both loaded and favoured in the eyes of the media meant that he could get away with a great deal of trouble before people started to point their fingers.

An amusing thought, indeed.

His primary target in mind was technically someone close to the current Prime Minister. On paper, this man’s role was purely ceremonial, though, but important enough that just knowing him would open up all sorts of doors. Kenjaku had it in mind, therefore, to infiltrate that clan and steadily gain access to the investors directly involved with the Gojo clan, because that was the easiest way in if from a non-sorcerer standpoint.

Kenjaku already had his eyes on you, too. You were flicking through the pages of some glossy magazine that had your face on the cover, with your brow furrowed at something written inside. You supposedly ‘worked’ in this building, but he had yet to see you do anything at all beyond lounging around, which to him painted an easily accessible front in his mind.

You were somewhere in your twenties, but he wasn’t entirely sure just how old you actually were. Surprisingly, the media coverage on your personal life was lacking. He supposed that if you were wealthy enough to consider what most thought to be a break as ‘working’, then you had the means to wipe clean any sort of database that might store any information on you—or at least make it difficult to find. He had you pinned at maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, given that you had graduated from university not too long ago. He remembered some coverage a while ago concerning a gap year, but he didn’t care enough to investigate further than he had to. That much wasn’t necessary just yet.

The only problem with his whole plan was, however, that it was surely risky to transfer his brain over to a non-sorcerer. For one, the margin for error was much higher, and any retaining techniques aside from his innate one had a risk of not passing through. The gravity technique that he adopted from Kaori would be significant to lose. He would mourn that. His reverse cursed technique, too, would be a hefty loss. He liked having that one, if only just for pain management and sealing away the scar quicker.

Those thoughts aside, Kenjaku grew somewhat impatient from watching you. All that he realistically had to do today was to gain an audience with you and make his first impression count. He considered what he knew about you before approaching you, forming a script in his mind. To just about everyone, your father was the frontman for Kabutocho—or as those overseas knew it better—Japan’s Wall Street. He was one of the most famous names who frequented the headlines for any such news relating to it.

Had the man in question been a couple of decades younger, he would have gone for that body instead, but at sixty-odd years old, he didn’t quite trust his chances in a body that was beginning to decline. It was always simpler to assimilate someone in their prime, such as someone in their twenties, thirties, or even forties.

Meanwhile, on your end, it didn’t take too long for you to notice the pair of eyes that were staring directly towards you, but you didn’t pay the guy any mind. It was somehow still a better deal than what awaited you up in the higher floors, where someone that you truly detested lurked. Indeed, you hated this place, secretly loathing having to keep up such a pristine appearance to the prying eyes of the world all so that your father could get away with the shit that he continiously pulled. God. Everything was so exhausting, and now, you had a potential not-so-secret admirer on top of everything else.

You wondered if you could get away with calling out his insistent staring, or if you would receive an earful from something so petty later on. You were caught up in something that was beyond complicated, after all, what with having to uphold the role of a pushover. You couldn’t stand a single second more of it. The pretending was draining; all of those dinners you had to endure with people twice your age who were always a little too handsy as they pretended to find you interesting.

You supposed that this made you sound ungrateful, or perhaps more brattier than you would have liked, because on the surface of everything, your luxurious life wasn’t all too bad. It was just that sometimes you wished that you could swap it around for something simpler—something normal—something private. It was never your choice, after all, to grow up under the prying lens of the camera just because your father involved himself in every venture he could.

So, you simply went with the flow for now, quietly keeping your opinions contained, even if you thought that they were entirely valid. Indeed, you begrudgingly succumbed to playing the part, attending all of those extravagant galas, shaking the hands of all of the old creeps in power just to keep your father happy. You did your part. You posed and smiled for the camera, you attended those daytime shows, and you laughed on the screen, maintaining a semblance of that happy-go-lucky woman you were forced to play the role of.

Kenjaku continued to watch you from that carefully measured distance all the while, completely unaware that you had long ago caught onto his staring. He let his mind wander already, ultimately deciding that you were the shortcut he needed to take to infiltrate the world he needed to get into. Or perhaps, if you weren’t a shortcut, then you were more so a decisive path of sorts. Power existed in all forms, after all, so social influence could be just as good; your face could get him into all of the right places.

For that to be be a success, however, just all those many times before—he had to be patient and remember to back off on occasion, to let you breathe if you needed to. Maybe he fumbled that much already, given that you were glaring daggers at him. Shit. Had you noticed him? He supposed that he wasn’t being exactly suble. Deciding to roll with it, he slipped on the mask of sweetness, eager to exploit the sheltered and spoiled—to utilise you for all that you were worth.

Indeed, he’d slip into your life as someone new but not unknown. His current cover was a a rising financier, though, perhaps not a successful one. He jumped the guy a couple of years ago under the allure of Kaori when she was making her way out of Jin’s life and back into the open. He didn’t mind playing the role of this guy; his face was forgettable enough which gave him the perfect opportunity to slip in between the cracks if need be.

“Reading anything interesting?” Kenjaku tried to open with, taking note that you seemed bored at what the page was open to. In his mind, you were looking for gossip about yourself which struck him as a little vein. He could likely play his cards right and flatter you if needed. Given that he was in the lobby without an issue, you should recognise him as someone who belonged.

You stiffened up slightly at the approach of the mystery man, already dreading the confrontation. You just knew that he was going to try and talk to you eventually—you had a sixth sense for people like that. You didn’t even look up, turning the page as you replied to him in a flat tone. “Let me stop you right there,” you said, not bothering sweetening up your voice in your place of work, “I don’t know who you are and how you got in here, but I’m not interested.”

Kenjaku blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. He expected you to greet him with the predetermined response that he had already scripted into his head. You were supposed to be lively and outgoing, or at the very least feign interest. Had he misread you? He supposed that it was a possibility; sometimes people presented as one thing but were very different in reality. Just like him—ah. So it might have been like that. He wasn’t the only one wearing a mask.

“What are you, really?” you continued. “An undercover reporter? Someone after my father’s money? Maybe you just want to get laid? Whatever it is you’re on, take a number like everyone else. The time I spare isn’t free.”

“You’re making an awful lot of assumptions for someone you’ve just met,” Kenjaku replied, quickly regaining his composure once more. You caught him off guard, sure, but he had his ways of recovering. “What if I’m someone important?”

“Then I’d say you’re delusional,” you scoffed, taking a sip of your coffee and scrunching up your nose at the drink now being cold. “If you were someone important, then I would have known about you before you even got here.”

Kenjaku bit back a laugh, letting a half-smile curl on his lips instead. So he got his initial assessment on your personality wrong, but he fully understood it now, he really did. The world of both business and politics, especially combined, were a ruthless affair and you were a young woman who was caught up in the middle of it. No wonder you adopted the personality you did behind the closed doors of the public eye. Hell, he even respected it.

“Fair enough,” he shrugged, relaxing his shoulders. “Would you say that my presence is bothering you then?” he asked with a smile that came across as more creepy than curious.

You didn’t reply to him right away but you packed up your things quickly, shoving everything back into your bag. You then sat up and swung your purse strap over your shoulders, ready to leave. “Well, I’m not sticking around to talk to a time waster – does that answer your question?”

He laughed audibly that time. Ah, and here he thought that this would be easy, but it seemed that he had you all wrong. You weren’t as approachable as he thought, you weren’t the polite ‘princess of the stock market’ as you were nicknamed to be in the news. It was refreshing, if he had to be honest and now that you weren’t as easily accessible as he thought, he found himself utterly intrigued.

So much, that he found himself slipping up and staring again, undoubtedly likely triggering the defensive barrier of your creep radar the longer the seconds ticked by. Judging by the slight grimace you wore on your face, it was clear that you didn’t appreciate his company at all and before he could process what just happened, he found himself suddenly drenched in cold coffee, too. A small price to pay, he supposed, because now he could later snake his way back into your life in the future as that one asshole who you threw your drink on—which hopefully for his sake, didn’t happen too often—he had to stand out somehow.

Kenjaku watched as you stormed away, allowing a much more sinister smile to wash over his face. He stood there, drenched but thrilled, before excusing himself out of the crowded prying eyes of everyone else to go wash up and then he would do some digging on you.

God, though. You surprised him with the way you were; it was so rare for people to catch his eye, because after a while, everyone isn’t too different from one another.

But you were.

And now, he couldn’t help but want to know more.

this has been part 5 of lilac’s jjk yandere nightmares

[lemotmo]

Oh this interesting

Q. Do you have any idea why Deadline would have deleted only that line but not address the removal in any way?

A. I have a ton of asks about the Deadline writeup so I am going to answer as much as I can here to hopefully cover as many of the asks as I can. For context, and much to the disappointment of a certain group of people, Deadline is not equal to TVGuide, TVLine or Entertainment Weekly. They don't write opinion pieces. They don't have writers on staff who are assigned to watch a show and cover that show. That's not what they do. They are basically the AP News of Entertainment news, if that makes sense. They don't have a particular slant or side they gear their coverage towards. In other words they don't have Buddies or other fandom people on staff. Sorry to the 'mob' (for what it's worth though less than 200 people is not a mob) who wrote angry, threatening emails demanding its correction. Not a soul at Deadline read a single word of those emails, just like no one at ABC is reading those emails, but I digress. They report entertainment news. That's it. Trade news that is relevant information.

Also for what it's worth the information they were given would not have come from the show or even Tim, it would have come directly from an approved media release directly from ABC. The media relations department would have sent them a release directly and the release would contain the information they were okay with being reported regarding the show's renewal. Most of the time those memos would say something along the lines of 'approved for immediate release' meaning the journalist was free to write about everything the release covered. Occasionally those same releases will have a second section that will say something along the lines of 'hold for release until (fill in the blank date)'. That indicates the information in that section of the memo is not approved for release at that time but needs to be held for a write-up planned for a later date. So in this case either the memo ABC sent Deadline was missing the 'hold for release' direction, or the journalist missed the request (which is not likely because this is Deadline and that's not something they're likely to overlook). Or quite simply the article dropped sooner than it was supposed to. We will most likely never know which of these is the real reason, I'm personally leaning towards the article dropped earlier than it was supposed to, but it doesn't really matter. The other question I'm getting a lot is why the line would have been removed without Deadline or the journalist adding a 'correction' or 'this article has been amended to correct an error'. Deadline is not going to do that if what they wrote was factually correct but released earlier than it was supposed to be. Releasing the information earlier than it was supposed to be is not the same thing as calling the information incorrect or misleading. The journalist is not required to say he misspoke if he didn't actually misspeak. There is no factual error within the article. The information was just released earlier than ABC wanted. That's why there's no note or correction amendment to the article. It's that simple. No conspiracy theories. No caving to lunatics. ABC just wasn't ready for that particular angle to be confirmed yet. Hope that helps!

Thank you Nonny!

Just leaving this here, because I have gotten a lot of asks about this. Thank you for clearing this up Ali.

Heads up! For anyone who is giving me the shifty eyes for reposting Ali's updates instead of reblogging. Read this.

Remember, no hate in comments, reblogs or inboxes. Let's keep it civil and respectful. Thank you.

If you are interested in more of Ali’s posts, you can find all of her posts so far under the tag: anonymous blog I love.