#it was just counting from 1 to 20 but with a tune

[babycharmander]

[ID: A tweet from @\SapphireLally that reads, “I’m writing my PhD thesis in theoretical physics and every time I have to decide between using > and < I think to myself “the crocodile wants to eat the bigger number” /end ID]

[doyoulikethissong-poll]

Bobby "Boris" Pickett and the Crypt-Kickers - Monster Mash 1962

"Monster Mash" is a novelty song by Bobby "Boris" Pickett. It was released as a single in August 1962 along with a full-length LP called The Original Monster Mash, which contained several other monster-themed tunes. The "Monster Mash" single was number one on the Billboard Hot 100 chart on October 20–27 of that year, just before Halloween. "Monster Mash" has sustained a lasting impact in various recordings, film inclusions, and re-releases since its initial release. In 2021, nearly 60 years after its release, "Monster Mash" re-entered the Billboard Hot 100 chart at number 37. As of 2023, the song was generating $1 million annually in royalties.

The song is narrated by a mad scientist whose monster, late one evening, rises from his slab to perform a new dance, with a name implying it is inspired by the Mashed Potato, a popular dance of the early 1960s. The dance becomes "the hit of the land" when the scientist throws a party for other monsters, among them classic 1940s horror film icons such as the Wolfman, Igor, Count Dracula, and his son. The song was re-released several times and appeared on the US Billboard charts on two occasions after the original release: August 1970 and May 1973. The BBC had banned the record from airplay in 1962 on the grounds that the song was "too morbid", but it was later performed on the network's television program Juke Box Jury. The record was re-released in the UK in 1973, where it peaked at number three in early October. It re-entered the British charts again on November 2, 2008, at number 60.

"Monster Mash" received a total of 88,9% yes votes!

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

Q. Is there a min/max limit on word count?

There is no limit.

Q. Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many?

No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

Q. Is a hc/angst/emotional whump focus ok?

Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

Q. What’s considered nsfw?

See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

Q. My interpretation of the prompt isn’t whumpy at all, does that count?

If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

Q. How do I tag triggers?

tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

Q. Do I have to use your tags?

Yes, if you want your work archived on the blog. If not, feel free to use whatever tags you want. 

Q. Does combining prompts count towards completion?

Yes

Q. Can we @ you?

Yes but we mostly rely on the #whumptober2023 tag.

Q. Is there anything we are absolutely not allowed to write?

There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

Q. Where can I go for brainstorming help?

Here on Discord or come into our ask box.

Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

Q. Can I cross post on other blogs?

Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

[downbadace]

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐎𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒 (𝐒𝐇𝐔𝐓 𝐔𝐏 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄) ᯓ★

Pairing: Racer!Daniela Avanzini/Fem!Reader

Daniela Avanzini, the F1 Academy World Champion at just 20 years old, is coming into her 2nd season with a positive attitude, ready to take on anything and anyone in her way... that is until you showed up.

Content: Formula 1 AU, Racing, Rivalry, Jealousy, Strong Language, Car accident, Major Character Injuries

A/N: This is probably my most ambitious fic ever... hope yall like it :] btw the ending may be very confusing but i have somethings planned in the near future so stay tuned!!!

Word Count: 6.8k

Masterlist

"We are on our final lap, ladies and gentlemen, and it seems like our prodigy rookies from McLaren and Mercedes are neck and neck!"

Daniela's mind races almost as fast as her car's going. She can't hear much, but a ringing in her ear can be heard under the metronome of her heartbeat. She keeps glancing to her right side, keeping track of where her rival, Sophia Laforteza, is. The finish line was just within her grasp, she could practically taste it. The radio in her ear spews out familiar words she can't decipher, they’re all blocked out by one thought in her mind: win.

Daniela’s adrenaline spikes as she makes a sharp turn on the course, nearly hitting the pit wall. Her hands shake as she changes gears. If she’s being honest, she has no clue what she’s doing, but as she glances over the crowd, she remembers that she’s there to entertain, so she's going to give them what they want.

She moves in closer to Sophia, the Filipina glancing over in confusion. They both accelerate at the same pace when they see the finish line creep into their point of view. Daniela smirks and looks over to Sophia to get her attention. They make eye contact, and Daniela gives her a little wave, distracting the girl before quickly overtaking Sophia and blocking her from going any further. Sophia attempts to pass her, but every time she tries, Daniela thinks one step ahead of her and moves in the same direction. The Latina smirked, happy to get on the girls' nerves as she shifted gears one final time, accelerating to her fullest and crossing the finish line, Sophia directly behind her. Her ears finally clear as she hears Manon, her race engineer, asking her what the hell just happened. Daniela doesn't respond, though, as she sees the crowd of roaring fans cheer her as she passes by.

After finishing her cooldown lap, she makes her way to the pit lane, seeing her team there ready to congratulate her on her first win of the season. She jumped out of her car and stood on the vehicle, raising her hands in victory as people around her cheered. A camera crew follows her as she goes to her pit crew, giving them thanks and congratulating them on this shared victory. She spots Sophia, also with her team celebrating her second place, people patting her shoulder and helmet, just as some did to Daniela. She sees the girl go up to someone the Latina hadn't recognized. Her face was glowing with glee as she congratulated Sophia, wrapping her arms around her in a tight hug. Just as she was about to get hypnotized by the girl’s beauty, she felt a nudge on her shoulder. She turns to see her teammate, Megan Skiendiel, face lit up as she takes off her helmet.

“What the hell, dude! That was insane, congratulations!” Daniela smiles and takes her helmet off too, wrapping her arms around the girl in a hug. She hears paparazzi snap pictures, and when they release, she sees the multiple cameramen trying to capture the moment.

“Yeah, I have no clue what the hell just happened there. I think Manon’s pissed at me though, I was just a little bit reckless,” she says scratching the back of her head.

“Yeah, I don't even know what you were trying to do but that was just… damn. McLaren's overjoyed to have you, Ms. Champion,” Daniela laughs at Megan’s nickname for her,” C’mon, that was last season, I’m starting fresh, y’know. I have high hope, but I’m humbling myself,”

“Right, right,” They’re about to make their separate ways until a familiar voice pulls them away. They turn to see Oscar, calling them over from the side. The two jog up to him, and Daniela gives him a high five into a hug.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were supposed to be on your way to Australia?” She pulled away so that Megan could hug the F1 racer, too.

“You kidding me? Couldn't miss your first race of the season,” the two girls giggled as he recounted his rush to get to them. They made some small talk before someone behind them cleared their throat. Daniela turns to see Sophia, standing there with a smug look on her face. She makes eye contact with you, standing behind Sophia, but she doesn't say anything as the other girl speaks,” Hello? Where's my hug, Oscar?”

He rolls his eyes as he goes over to hug her, too. They stay for a bit till Oscar makes eye contact with you, and you awkwardly give a small wave.

“And is this who I think it is?” He says before moving to you.

“Oh, yeah, that’s my sister, Y/N. She’s a fan of McLaren, to say the least.” You nod sheepishly, trying not to make eye contact with the group. Daniela studies you, the way you shift your legs, and the way that your face glows with the natural lighting. Oscar scoffs and moves to greet you.

“Well, I’m always down to meet fa-”

“Not you, Piatri, she’s here to see Avanzini.” Both of your eyes widen, and you both turn to face each other. Daniela’s blank expression quickly turns to a warm smile, and she starts to walk up to you,” Nice to meet you, Y/N, I hope you enjoyed me kicking your sister’s ass.”

Sophia hits the top of Daniela’s head, and you can’t help but let out a giggle, making Daniela’s heart suddenly start pounding.

“No, yeah, I enjoyed it. She needed to be humbled recently with all the big talk she was doing at home.” Before Sophia was about to tell you off, you guys heard someone calling for Daniela, Sophia, and Megan to the podium.

“Well, that is my cue to leave. Congratulations, you three, I can’t wait for the rest of the season. Dani, Megan, call me if you need anything, I would be there in a heartbeat.” And with that, the F1 racer had waved goodbye and headed in the opposite direction, away from crowds, so no one would spot him as he made his exit. Megan went ahead first, slowly followed by Sophia, and just as Daniela was about to follow them, you took her shoulder into your hand, having her glance back at you. You quickly moved your hand away and stuttered, ”Sorry, I just–uhm… You did well out there.”

Daniela gave a warm smile and held her hand out, You hesitantly took it before she met you halfway and shook it,” Thanks, babe.” She says, winking and making her way to the rest of the drivers, leaving you stunned, confused, and flustered.

Daniela’s alarm blares through the girl’s room, much to the girl’s dismay. She checked the time, and it unfortunately showed 5 a.m., so she got up, stretched, and got ready to start her day. She went through her usual routine of working out, eating breakfast, and going for a walk, the usual things she does during the day. She got home and lazed on the couch, not having anything else on her agenda. She scrolled through her phone before getting a text from Sophia.

SL31

Get ready, I’m picking you up in an hour 😸

DA71

huh? for wat 😫

SL31

Don’t ask, just get ready.

DA71

ominous but okay, i’ll take a nap and get ready 😴

SL31

No, get ready now cause your ass won’t wake up on time.

DA71

fine whateverrrrrrr

SL31 disliked a message

Daniela giggled before putting her phone down and heading upstairs to get herself ready. She put on some casual jeans and one of her jerseys with her number on it (Megan says it’s a little narcissistic, but Daniela says that it’s an indicator for people when they recognize her). The girl makes her way downstairs and to her kitchen to get a bottle of water. She leans against her kitchen counter, waiting for Sophia to text her about her arrival. She’s scrolling through Instagram when she sees Sophia’s post about her win that Sunday. She scrolls on the post till she stops at a picture of you and Sophia. You're smiling while holding the trophy in your hands, your face having the same glow to it as yesterday, like it’s constantly shining. She decides, fuck it, and goes to your profile, linked to Sophia's post, and starts following you.

Your account is charming, to say the least. You post about your life, your family, and your struggles of being single, something that Daniela can relate to. She goes through your highlights, going as far as to the ones you've posted during high school. She sees a story of yours celebrating your first day at college, it’s a picture of you and Sophia, the girl in the background, waving as she carries boxes into a van. Daniela snickers and likes it before immediately unliking it, her heart beating out of her chest, hoping that you didn't get a notification of her stalking behavior.

Daniela gets a notification from Sophia telling her she’s outside. Daniela breathes in and out before pocketing her phone and heading out the door. Immediately, when she spots the Filipina's vehicle, she sees you in the backseat, staring off into space. Daniela opens the passenger door and climbs in.

“So, what’s this all about?” She asks, putting on her seatbelt, when she moves her body to click her safety belt into place, she turns her head enough to wink at you, and you give her a shy smile back—you swear the car suddenly became ten times hotter.

“Megan’s throwing a little get-together to celebrate the start of the season. She told me to pick you up.” Sophia puts the car in drive and makes her way out of Daniela’s neighborhood.

“Wait, why didn't Meg just tell me herself?”

“Cause she knew that your lazy ass would've bail out on her.” Daniela puts her hand to her chest overdramatically and scoffs,” Wow, I am hurt that she’s so correct.”

Sophia smiles and nods her head at Daniela’s stupidity. She put in the address of the Airbnb that Megan was staying at and slowly eased onto the freeway. The car ride was quiet, broken by occasional small talk between Daniela and your sister. You tried to keep thoughts of the girl in the driver's seat out of your mind, scrolling through your phone as a distraction. But you couldn’t help pay attention to her laugh when she’d get on Sophia’s nerves or her soft singing voice, going along to the radio's songs. You can see her eyes through the rear-view mirror, and they’re sparkling yet gentle. Daniela blinks and looks up at you through the mirror, catching your eye. You immediately avert your eyes back to your phone, and Dani smirks at the way you sheepishly hide behind your screen. A big part of her is still scared that you saw that she liked an old story on your phone, so she thinks in her mind that if she doesn’t care about it, then it’ll never be brought up.

“So… why’d you like an old post of my sister?” If Daniela could jump out of the car, she would.

“What? I have no clue what the hell you’re talking about.” Daniela says in the most composed way possible. Sophia nods, her face showing that she’s not buying it at all. She looks at you through the rear-view mirror, and you’re pretending not to notice the conversation.

“The thing is, she said she got a notification from a ‘Daniela_Avanzini.71’ about an old post, maybe she was imagining it, right, baby sister?” You look up, pretending you were just distracted by something,” Uhm… wait, what?”

Sophia rolls her eyes,” Never mind.” A very awkward silence fills the atmosphere as Sophia makes a turn to their destination. She parks across the street from the beach house that Megan was staying in. Telling by the cars parked outside the rented area, they were late.

“I hope Megan’s not on our asses about this,” Sophia says, turning off the cars engine and making her way outside. You and Daniela follow her lead.

“Her fault for getting an Airbnb out here. She could’ve stayed in my place back in Atlanta, but she said she ‘didn’t wanna be a burden.’” Daniela complains, putting air quotes on her recollection of what Megan had told her. The three of you walk up to the front door, and Sophia rings the doorbell. You guys stand there for the better part of 3 minutes before Megan opens the door, clearly intoxicated.

“Aye!! You guys made it! Come in, everyone else is in the living room.” She says, slurring some of her words. You guys enter, and immediately you’re met with the beautiful sight of the Airbnb. It’s very spacious despite what the outside looks like, and there’s a back door from the living room that leads to the beach. You look around and notice a few drivers that you follow online, but you’re too awkward to go up to them, so you stick to Sophia’s side. Daniela also sticks to Sophia’s side as they walk further into the house and into the kitchen, where they’re met with Manon, Daniela’s race engineer.

“Woah, what’re you doing here?” Daniela asks, taken aback by the girl’s presence.

“What? I’m your guys’ friends too. You’re acting like I didn’t go to school with you,” Daniela shrugs in acceptance and picks up a beer can from the cooler down by her feet. You watch as she opens it with one hand and downs it. You hate to admit how attractive she is.

“ Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Sophia murmurs in a harsh voice.

“Huh, w-what?” Sophia shrugs and says, “ Nothing.” Like she’s clueless. You shake your head before reaching down to get a bottle of water from the same cooler. You then stand back next to Sophia as you watch the girls around you discuss in conversation. You try to keep your eyes focused on the ground, but you can’t help but look up at Daniela when someone cracks a joke, waiting for her eyes to squint as she gives off a bright smile. And her laugh, it’s contagious and sweet like honey, that one can’t help but laugh along with her. You didn’t want to admit it out loud to anyone, but you’re totally in love with the girl. How could someone not be? She’s sweet, charming, and very attractive; it's no wonder she was your favorite F1 driver.

She caught your eye when you started researching F1 drivers, trying to see who your sister was up against. Your research, however, turned into something of a stalker mission, trying to find any details about the McLaren driver. After a couple of Google searches, you found out that she had graduated from High School early and went into training after being scouted at an esports event. She played on an F1 esports team and accelerated (pun intended) among all her peers, so someone had approached her about doing racing professionally. The rest was history; now Daniela stood as the youngest F1 Academy driver to ever win the title of champion. But all of that slips your mind, and when you look at her in that moment, you don’t see that. You just see a girl that you like, your sister’s friend, a crush, and nothing more. Maybe you sound crazy, but it wasn’t like you couldn't control your feelings. What you can control is how you present them, so you stay quiet the whole day, sticking to Sophia’s side and avidly trying to avoid the Latina.

It’s a quarter to 8, the party had died down a little, and people were starting to leave. You sat on the armrest of one of the couches in the living room, Sophia sitting next to you on the couch. She was talking with Megan about things fans were talking about, dating rumors, and all the boring stuff you didn’t care for. You excused yourself to go to the bathroom, and Sophia nods, asking you to bring her a water bottle when you come back. You agree and quickly escape the living room. The thing was, you forgot to ask directions from Megan, so you wandered around the first story of the house before making your way upstairs, sure that you’d find the bathroom there. You walk through the hallway and make a turn, spotting a door leading outside to the balcony that has a view of the whole beach. You’re about to turn back when you hear a sudden voice.

“Hey stranger, where are you going?” You turned back to where your eyes lingered and saw Daniela there, opening the door like she was inviting you outside. All of a sudden, your worries about going to the bathroom disappeared.

“I’m just… trying to get some fresh air. I’ll leave you be–”

“No, no, uhm… You should come out.”

“Oh, I’ve been out. Loud and proud about it.” Daniela looks at you confused before she cracks a smile,” No, I mean, like, outside… with me.”

Your heart attempts to jump out of your chest, but you reluctantly agreed, slowly walking over to the open door. You look at her before taking a step outside, the cool night air hitting you instantly. You walk to the railing and lean against it, watching the beach waves gently crash against the beach. You breathe in and then out, almost forgetting about the girl of your dreams standing right next to you.

“Y’know, I hated Sophia at first,” Daniela says, breaking the silence. She comes up next to you and leans her back against the railing.

“Really? Why’s that?” You ask. Daniela takes a second before chuckling lowly,” 'Cause, she’s my ‘rival.’ She was smart and pretty and had money. I didn’t.”

You nodded along with her words, waiting for her to continue. She looks at you before breathing in,” I still hate her, but not in the way I did before. I hate her in a way that makes me love her, y’know?”

Your heart drops at the sudden confession, and you can't stop your mouth from asking,” As friends, right?”

Daniela chuckles lowly,” Relax, babe, yes, as friends. Don’t get jealous of me now.”

You smile at her words, a shiver going down your spine. Daniela looks out at the beach, the wind blowing through your guys’ hair. It starts to pick up slightly, and you hold yourself together so you don't show your coldness. The girl next to you notices and she scoots in close, wrapping her arm around you. You slowly turn to her, locking eyes. Your faces are close enough that you can feel her slow breaths against your face; they smell of beer and strawberries. Her eyes flutter slightly, looking down at your lips. Your heart starts beating at a faster pace than anything Daniela’s car has reached, and as you open your mouth to say something, the door behind the two of you opens, and you both turn to look at who opened it.

“Y/N? What the fuck are you guys doing?” You immediately push Dani, and she steps back from you slightly, her face showing no emotions, but her mind is filled with smugness.

“Relax, Soph, we're just talking-”

Sophia holds her hand up to stop her talking, and she goes over to you, taking her jacket off and giving it to you.

“We’re gonna go soon, so… hurry up.” She takes you by the wrists and leads you downstairs. You say your quick goodbyes to the remaining people there, and the two of you make a swift exit. The second the door shuts behind you, you tug your hand away from hers,” What the fuck was that, Soph?”

The girl breathes in and out before she answers,” I don’t want you talking to Daniela anymore.” She says before turning around. Your face drops, and you stand there in confusion before catching up to her.

“What do you mean by that? You’re not my mom, you can’t just tell me who I can and can’t talk to–”

“Yes, I can, and I want you to stop talking to Daniela. End of story, now get in the car,” She leans against the driver's side and waits for you to get in. You groan but give in, walking over to the vehicle, opening the door to the backseat, and then slamming it shut.

Sophia’s face relaxes from its tense state. She closes her eyes and wipes her hand down her face in annoyance. Just as she’s about to turn around and open the door for herself, Daniela exits the house and jogs up to Sophia.

“Sophia, I assure you–”

“Just don’t, please. Not now.” And with that, she unlocks her side and climbs in. Daniela sighs before going to the other side, thinking about the awkward ride ahead.

The thing about you is that you’re stubborn, so you did not stop talking to Daniela. If anything, you guys got closer from that event. There had been multiple moments of sneaking out at night, disguising yourselves so paparazzi wouldn't catch you guys, it was perfect. But it was just as friends, nothing more. That’s what you guys kept telling yourselves. Unfortunately, it was undeniable your feelings for Daniela, so you made sure to keep it hidden from the masses, which included Sophia. So you kept quiet, a little too quiet. Your sister knew something was up with you, but couldn't put her finger on it. So, she confronted you two nights before the Miami Grand Prix.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been… not yourself recently.” She asks, setting down the food she had ordered for the two of you.

“Nope, nothing’s wrong, just,” You pause to think of an excuse,” I’m gonna miss you when you go to Miami.” It wasn't a total lie, you weren't just going to miss her, you were also going to miss the girl you had been meeting with.

“Hey, don’t give me that sappy shit. We’ve been apart longer, you’ll be fine. Besides? We can call every day like how we did when I first left for training.” You nod at her reassurance, attempting to clear your mind by eating the food in front of you. You guys sat in silence, broken by the occasional cup hitting the table or asking for something to be passed to you. Then, a notification pings on your phone, and your shoulders relax.

Dani 🫶

u free?

biggest fan 🫶

yeah, wru? i can head over asap

Dani 🫶

uhm… outside ur airbnb 😭😭

Your eyes widen, and you look at Sophia, currently occupied with her own phone. You puff your chest out before speaking,” Hey, I’m gonna… uhm… go out for a bit, I’ll be back, thank you, sis, bye!” You run over to throw away your paper plate. You then grab the nearest jacket you can find and run outside. Sophia doesn't bother getting up and rubs her temples, her headache getting to her. After a few minutes, she opens her phone to check your location. It was on the move and fast. So, in a quick decision, she grabs her keys and makes it to her car, eager to follow you.

Daniela hadn’t told you your guys’ destination, only that you should close your eyes when you get close.

“I don't see why you have to be all secretive, like I see the picnic baskets, I know we’re having a picnic.”

“Well, it’s not about what we're doin', it’s about where we’re doing it,” you roll your eyes as you turn to the window, the city passing by in gleaming blue and purple lights. You were going to miss Atlanta, but you're going to miss the person who made being there a dream.

After a few minutes of the radio humming to fill in the silence, Daniela tells you to close your eyes. You follow her instructions and put your hoodie on, pulling the strings so that it scrunches on your head and obstructs your view. Daniela giggles at you as she parks her car. She turns off the engine and gets out to pick up the baskets from the back. She balances the basket and blanket with one hand as she makes her way over to the passenger side, opening the door for you.

“Need help getting out?” she asks. You scoff and unbuckle yourself.” I’m good; I’ll just follow your voice.”

Your actions quickly contradict her words as you almost slip and fall as you exit the vehicle. Daniela stood there and watched you fix yourself straight before taking her hand in yours,” Let’s just make this easier for both of us.”

You hope she couldn’t tell, but your hands went clammy instantly at the contact, and your pulse quickened with every step you took. You felt the ground elevate with every step, and the breeze got colder, making you shiver. You smell the fresh air, and it relaxes you from your overflow of thoughts in your mind. Daniela slows her steps, and in turn, you do too. You hear her set something down, you assume it’s the picnic basket. Her hand suddenly leaves yours, and you feel a pair of arms wrap around your waist. Your heartbeat reaches its max tempo as she rests her head on your shoulder.

“You can open your eyes now,” She whispers into your ear. You undo the drawstrings of your hoodie and take it off. Immediately, you’re met with a gorgeous view of the entire city. You look behind at Daniela and turn around to hug her.

“Dani, what the fuck? This is incredible!” Daniela hugs you back and smiles,” I just wanted to show you something before leaving, cause, well, who knows when you’ll be back.”

You pull away to look at her,” What do you mean? I’ll visit every now and then.”

Daniela sighs, crouching down to the picnic basket. She starts taking things out and then starts speaking again,” Yeah, but… The distance is hard, and who knows when ‘every now and then’ will happen. Besides, I wanna make every moment with you count, so just let me do what I want to.” You watched her movements as she talked, gently taking out a blanket, your favorite snacks and drinks, and overall just being a perfect individual. No one had ever done a gesture like she had, and you couldn't help yourself as you practically pounced onto her and tackled her to the ground in a hug. She yelped, and you guys rolled over in each other's arms. She caught you and had you under her hands at the side of your head, and you looking directly up at hers.

“Hey…” you whispered lightly. Daniela smirked,” Hi.”

You guys stayed in that position for god knows how long before something had taken over Daniela. She sat up on your lap and held a hand out for you to grab. You take her hand in yours and sit up, now face to face with her on the ground. You see her chest slowly lift up and down as she evens out her breathing, she notices you doing the same.

“Dani, I gotta tell you something,” Daniela looks you in the eyes before nodding,” I… Have to tell you something too.”

Sensing it’s something similar, you tell her to say it at the same time.

"Okay, then, 1, 2, 3, I have a huge crush on you!”

“I really fucking like you!” She confesses at the same time as you. The two of you stare at each other before bursting out in giggles. Daniela instinctively puts her hands to your face and suddenly the world stops, your breathing getting shallow as your smile slowly drops, staring into her eyes once more.

“Dani, I–”

“Y/N, What the hell?!” Both of you turned to the direction of the voice and there stood your sister, completely shocked at what she saw. Daniela got off of you quickly and stood up straight. You just looked at her as you slowly got up,” Soph, It’s not what it looks like–”

“Of–fucking–course it’s what it looks like! You’ve been sneaking out to hang out with Daniela the whole time?!” You look at her for a moment,” Okay, yeah, maybe it is what it looks like, but I promise you nothing’s going on between us.”

You regretted the words as they came out of your mouth, glancing over at Daniela whose blank expression had been replaced by a sad one,” There isn’t…”

Before you can reach out your hand to hers, Sophia does so first and drags you out of the scene,” We’re going back, and I don’t want to hear anything from you the whole car ride.”

You sat in silence, nothing but the sounds the car’s making going through your mind. You look at Sophia, and her expression has calmed from what it was earlier. So, you decide to grow a pair and ask her,” Why? Why don’t you want me to be around Daniela?”

Sophia grips a little tighter to the steering wheel,” It doesn’t matter why, I just don’t want you talking to her.”

Unsatisfied with her answer, you continue to push her,” But why? This whole thing is stupid. I told you we’re just friends.” The girl driving scoffs,” Yeah, righ,t ‘just friends.’ You think I’m dumb? You think I don’t know she’s more than a friend to you? God, Y/N, I knew you had a crush on her since you laid your damn eyes on her, she’s not just a friend.”

“Then what, Sophia? What is she? If you know, then tell me!” You don’t even notice your sister speeding up, dodging random cars on the street with precision.

“She’s not yours, that’s for sure.” Her grip on the steering wheel gets deathly and it doesn’t go unnoticed by you.

“Jesus Christ, Soph, what’s gotten into you? And what do you mean she’s not mine? She’s no one's, she doesn’t belong to anyone–"

“Well, she’s supposed to belong to me!” Suddenly, Sophia swerves to the side of the road, pulling over and out of the way for other cars to pass by. You seatbelt locks, and you brace yourself for the sudden stop, almost knocking the air out of you. Both of you are breathing heavily at the adrenaline-filled experience. You slowly turn to Sophia ,whos eyes are bloodshot and wide, not even sure of her own actions and words. Her hands loosen on the steering wheel and she attempts to calm herself.

“S-Soph…” You reach out to put your hand on her shoulder, but retract when Sophia drops her head to rest it on the wheel.

“She’s supposed to be mine. I’m supposed to be hers…” You slowly put two and two together, and suddenly everything makes sense.

“You wanna know why I’m pissed? Cause I like her too, idiot. I always have, but for obvious reasons, it’ll never work. That’s why I got mad at you and your love-sick ass.” She turns to face you, and you just stare back, waiting for her to continue.

“You think it’s so easy. Your entire life, you’ve talked about how you’ll find the perfect soulmate and that when you find them, you’ll never let them go. Now that you’ve found her, I’m scared that you just stole mine away from me.” Sophia gives you a sad smile, waiting for a response from you. You don’t give one, instead, you unbuckle your seat belt and reach over to her, giving her a huge hug. She hesitates before hugging you back. You guys stay in this cozy position for who knows how long before a sudden phone call comes through to Sophia’s phone. You pull away so that she can check it, and it’s a call from Megan. Sophia looked at the phone and then you in confusion before picking up.

“ Hello? Hey, Meg, what’s up?” You watched as Sophia talked to the girl on the other line, and you watched as her face suddenly dropped, her eyes petrified.

“It’s okay, Megan, just breathe, we’re on our way.” Sophia hung up the phone and immediately started the car back up. You put on your seatbelt widely confused on what exchange you just witnessed,” Soph, what happened?”

She doesn’t answer you as she focuses on driving. You ask again,” Soph, tell me please, what the hell did Megan tell you?”

Sophia looked at you quickly before looking back on the road.

“Dani got into an accident…”

You guys checked into the hospital's front office, and after they granted permission to visit Daniela, both of you sprinted down the hallway, unaware of what you were searching for. It wasn’t until you reached the elevator to the next floor that you saw Megan, leaning against the safety bars. She saw you guys and jumped into both of your arms, her shoulders tense.

“Megan, what happened? Where is she?” Megan pulled apart and swallowed, unable to form a proper sentence. Instead, she turned her head to follow her and she started walking, the two of you following closely behind. You follow her down the hallway, your palms starting to get clammy with every step you take. Finally, the three of you reach the end of the hallway and she breathed in and out.

“The other guy’s fine, a minor injury for him. But she crashed into him badly. She won’t tell me what happened.” Sophia nods as she follows along with Megan’s words. You look into the hospital room, uneasy with the atmosphere you feel when walking in. You hear the monitor beep behind a curtain, presumably covering up where Daniela is laying. You brace yourself as you take hold of the curtain, slowly pushing it back to reveal her, lying hopelessly on the hospital cot. You cover your mouth as your eyes run through her entire body. Her face was covered in bandages to match her arm. Her left eye showcased a pigmented purple, barely even opening as she looked over to you.

“Y/N… I’m sorry, you were never supposed to see me like this.” She confesses weakly. She lifts her unbandaged arm to scratch her head, that’s when you see a huge stitch marks on her arm and you lose it, tears threatening to stream down your face as you come up to her.

“What the hell’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be good at this-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I got the whole talk from Megan and Oscar on the phone. I was just… I wasn’t thinking straight, okay?” Your mind rushes to make a” You aren’t straight” joke, but you stop yourself, realizing it wasn’t the time. Daniela continues,” Did you really mean it? When you said there’s nothing between us?”

You look at her for a second as you put two and two together and scoff,” Daniela, of course I didn’t. There is some undeniable tension between us, I’d be crazy if I said there ISN’T something going on between us.” Daniela just looks at you and gives a weak smile. You pull up a chair next to her and just breathe in and out, holding her hand in yours as you feel it relax.

It’s been 5 weeks since the accident. Daniela recovered quicker than the doctors had said she would. Now here she is, her first race after her short recovery and she’s about to finish her final lap.

“Sophia coming up behind you again, watch out for the pit wall as you rear your way around, don’t want another accident, please,” Daniela rolls her eyes listening to Manon in her ear.

“Yeah, yeah, I got it. Since when did you care so much?”

“I’m just delivering what your girlfriend wanted you to hear,” Manon says in a tired voice. Daniela’s eyes widen a little,” Wait is she here right now?”

She waits for Manon to talk back to her but is instead met with your voice,” Yes, and eyes on the road, baby. Stay safe, I’ll see you when you kick my sister’s ass!”

Daniela smiles before telling you she will. She switches gears as she senses Sophia right by her. They briefly look at each other before focusing back on the race. They make a swift turn together, tires can be heard screeching above the noise of a roaring audience. The finish line is just up ahead and with sweat running down Daniela’s head, she pushes hard and manages to cut Sophia off, coming in front of her just in time for her to pass the finish line. Her ego boosts high as she looks out at all the people in the crowd. She looks over to the screen to see the re-run of her passing Sophia up. It then cuts to the pit crew cheering her on and she can make out your face within the crowd, your eyes having the same glint it always had.

She finishes up her victory lap and makes her way to the pit lane. Slowing down in front of her crew and getting out of the car. Daniela’s leg is barely out of the vehicle before you pounce on her, giving her a tigh hug. She takes her helmet off, putting it on the car’s seat and hugs you back. You pull away from her, cupping her face in your hands and shower her with kisses before kissing her passionately on the lips, knocking her back.

The cheers around both of you fade as you stay in your moment of being in each other's presence. When you pull back you see her face, giving a goofy grin like she has a joke to say.

“I’m so proud of you, my love,” You say before kissing her cheek.

“Thank you, mi amor. You give me strength everyday,” You both smile as you press your foreheads together. Then, a car pulls up right behind Daniela’s. Sophi gets out and waves at everyone in another 2nd place victory as she walks over to you and Dani.

“Good job, I guess,” She says, taking her helmet off and patting Dani on the back. Before Sophia walks away, Daniela hooks her arm around Sophia, pulling her into a side hug,” Hey, don’t act like that. You know you love me!”

Sophia scoffs and rolls her eyes, shifting her head so she can hide her smirk,” Yeah, yeah, whatever you say.”

Daniela softly squeezed her before being called over by Manon, ready to congratulate her. You look at Sophia and nudge her with your elbow.

“Did you tell her?” Sophia looks at you and sadly smiles, shaking her head no,” I don’t wanna ruin the thing you guys have going on. Besides, I don’t really like her anymore. There’s someone else that came to play.”

You raise your eyebrows,” Really? Tell me who-”

“Soph!” You both turn around to the familiar voice of Megan. She jumps to Sophia’s arms and hugs her tightly,” You did so well out there! Congrats on second again.”

Megan pulls away, making direct eye contact with your sister. You see her face flush with a hint of pink before she stutters out,” Th-Thanks! You too! I mean, not on second cause you got 4th but congrats on… yeah.”

Megan just giggles before turning to the crowd of people, walking towards them and waving her hands in the air. Once Megan is out of earshot, you go up to Sophia with wide eyes,” Oh my god, you like Meg-”

She puts her hand on your mouth as to not continue with your sentence. Before you can lick it in revenge, The winners are called over to the podiums and Sophia takes her hand away from you.

“You better not speak about this,” She says before walking away. You smile as you follow her. She makes her way up to the mini stage and you push past the people to get to the front. They call the 3rd and 2nd place drivers up one by one, handing them their awards. Then it was time to announce Daniela’s 1st place win.

“And finally, back from her short term injury, winning her first race since then, it’s the fast and the furious Daniela Avanzini!” You cheer as loud as you can so that you’re able to be heard above everyone else. She stands at her respective spot on the podium and lifts her trophy in the air after it gets handed to her. The first thing she spots is you and she blows you a kiss, mouthing an I love you. You smile at her mouthing an “I love you more” back. You watch as the announcer tells them to pop the champagne and the three on the podium do as told, letting it get everywhere. You smile as you watch Daniela, in her true goofy element and you think to yourself “What have I just gotten myself into?”

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 33. more than friends

chapter tags/warnings: this is the last chapter to sex therapy!

word count: 3.9k

notes: please read my final comments in the end notes. thank you forever. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Megumi Fushiguro shouldn't feel awkward, but he did.

With tonight marking the most significant event on the Zenin clan’s monthly calendar, distant relatives and the family conglomerate’s executives convened at a majestic top-floor venue in central Tokyo, the occasion naturally bringing together the country’s most powerful individuals.

As per usual, every detail in the ballroom had been curated meticulously to exude glitz and glamor. Indeed, Megumi felt like a prince amid a golden age, surrounded by the euphonious melodies from the string quartet, the cluster of high-class individuals in tailored suits and dresses, and the fragrances of honeyed orange blossoms and sweet sage.

Megumi had attended these events plenty. Ever since he could tie his own tie, to be exact (which—among the Zenins—was something taught early).

His many experiences should have dulled his senses to this evening’s splendid decorations and live classical tunes. Yet, in the months his father had been estranged from the same household that once again heralded him king, the memories had quickly faded from Megumi's mind, and the teenager essentially found the opulence foreign.

His aunts Mai and Maki had urged him to mingle, but Megumi stood toward the side of the room, shy and aloof as he stared into the human sea ahead.

As much as he tried to seem invisible, Megumi didn’t feel invisible as he caught the many eyes sneaking a look at him discreetly, the eighteen-year-old impossible to overlook given his regal-like appearance.

Of course, people took an interest in him.

Now that a) he was an official adult and b) his father returned as the next family leader, Megumi was the second-in-line to the Zenin throne. Exciting? Maybe. Grateful? Surely.

Except, a fidgety Megumi was just a normal teen who would rather be playing video games tonight.

“A blast to the past, eh?”

He glanced over at the unanticipated voice.

To his surprise, Tsumiki slid into the vacant slot next to him and prodded her younger brother's back, knowing how he tried to appear cool and collected when he actually seemed uptight and restricted.

“Relax a little,” she chided with another nudge. Placing her champagne flute onto a nearby table, she smoothed over her lavender ensemble before adjusting the collar on his royal blue mohair suit. “Old habits die hard, hm? Standing in the corner and hoping no one sees you. Don’t you want everyone to know how smart and capable you are?”

“...No, not really.”

“What? Why?” Tsumiki patted his blazer’s fabric in a finishing move before reaching for her glass again, swirling her drink. “Don’t tell me. Is a certain Harvard-bound first-year shy?”

The said soon-to-be college freshman snorted faintly. “Am not.”

“Sure.”

As she examined her step-brother from the side, she tiptoed, relaxed her feet, and then tiptoed again. "Only been six months since I've last seen you, but you've certainly gotten taller again, Megumi," she remarked, this time swinging her hand around to compare their heights.

“Because you’re shrinking early.”

“Hey!”

As the two continued their squabble, Megumi realized just how keenly he had missed his step-sister. Despite lacking shared blood by definition, the two had constantly found security in each other, a sibling bond that became especially important amid the recent whirlwind.

Tsumiki had only been home for a week, fresh from her university semester abroad in the United Kingdom. Yet, in this short period: 1) Naoya had been ousted from the Zenin household by no one other than Naobito Zenin himself; 2) Amid the power vacuum, the family elders had turned to Toji to reinstate him as CEO, a decision fueled by both their desperation and regret for having doubted him in the past; and 3) With his father back at the helm, Megumi found himself positioned as the next presumed successor.

Of course, who could also possibly forget Tsumiki’s mom?

Megumi had heard how his step-sister had furiously confronted her mother after seeing the latter’s affair published by media outlets. Since then, he hadn’t received any updates, which prompted him to ask: "Where's that woman now?"

‘That woman.’

Even without an explicit mention, Tsumiki knew who he referred to. She stopped swirling her glass and let the flute dangle lazily in her hand.

"I don't know where she’s been, and I don't care,” Tsumiki admitted, her tone impassive. "I would not be surprised if she moved away from Tokyo once she realized too many people knew her face.”

Megumi figured as much, too.

Anyone who wasn’t living under a rock these days could recognize Mari Fushiguro, making her an easy target for verbal harassment on the streets. Netizens online already destroyed her, deeming the woman a slut, a whore, and a homewrecker ‘too easy’ for any Zenin with enough money.

Merciless would be the best word to describe the general public. That much step-siblings knew, especially since both had been on the receiving end firsthand when the Zenin clan cut them off months ago. How fickle those very people could be, too. The same relatives who shamed them now praised them all for the sake of politics, for the sake of money, and little else.

“I heard Naoya left the country, though,” Megumi added, given that the conversation had reached the topic.

“Good for him.”

Tsumiki, on the other hand, did not wish to spend a moment longer thinking about them. She instead exhaled deeply and whirled around, peering into the main hall to observe the multitude of guests enjoying sparkling wine and hor d'oeuvres while chatting about their respective ventures.

As her silence continued, Megumi watched along.

From afar, both noticed their father, encircled by older household members and company directors eager to discuss business matters. Toji’s return naturally brought him overwhelming attention, and—as an experienced leader—he came off as distinguished and dignified as the CEO of Japan's largest conglomerate should.

He greeted approaching guests with his signature charismatic grin, exchanging firm and courteous handshakes that subtly reminded them that these events were more about strengthening business ties than lineage connections.

Megumi and Tsumiki had seen their father like this many times before.

Yet, this evening, the two sensed how his demeanor seemed a touch…different.

"Dad's never looked this happy before," Tsumiki noted aloud first.

Her comment stumped him.

Megumi had to pause, his brow furrowing slightly as he thought. Dad being happy? Then, he realized and vaguely beckoned in their father’s direction.

"Because of her."

Now was the girl’s turn to appear confused. “‘Her?’”

Intrigued, she followed her step-brother’s line of vision and didn’t need much effort to figure out who he referred to. Standing at the other far end of the hall was a woman who, despite her understated maroon dress and simple accessories, radiated with regality like a princess.

The realization dawned upon Tsumiki.

“Isn't…Isn’t that Mister Daisuke L/N’s daughter?” She knew your father from his many years as the Zenin Corporation’s Chief Operating Officer. As for you, Tsumiki continued to stare hard with curiosity. “That's the same lady who had been married to Naoya, right?”

Megumi placed his hands into his front pockets, his nails pressing into his palms as he answered. “Yes.”

“Oh, wow.”

With Tsumiki seeing you for the first time in person, her eyes then began to spark with admiration. She now understood why Naoya Zenin wanted to marry you. Given your polished poise and fluid gestures, you were obviously a woman with a refined background and effortless sophistication, the trophy that her unsavory cousin needed to soothe his small ego and shield him from public scrutiny. Why suffer as an unproven bachelor when he could tout around you?

Detecting his sister's interest, Megumi reached for a glass of apple cider from a serving table and drew in one slow sip. “What do you think if she becomes our new mom?”

“What?!” Tsumiki whipped her head around, taken back by stupefaction again. “Where did that come from?”

To play off his curiosity as something casual, Megumi drummed his fingers along his cup. “Just…a thought.”

She narrowed her eyes, clearly not believing him for a moment before finally letting him free from her scrutiny. “Frankly, I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “This is only the first time I’ve seen her. I need to speak with her first.”

The teenager paused thoughtfully. "Well," and he hummed, "I approve.”

If Tsumki’s shock had not been apparent enough, this time, her jaw fell to the tiled floor.

"That's new!” The girl knew she missed out on some developments during her semester abroad, but she could barely process this whole conversation as revelations kept coming one after another, disorienting her with a flood of unanswered questions that dashed through her mind. She had trouble assessing whether Megumi was serious. If this was a prank, Tsumiki would make sure to send him to Mars. “Normally, you're extremely, extremely judge-y with the women that hang around Dad." Not that she could blame him. "What changed?"

And an amused Megumi shrugged.

"If you talk to her, you'll know.”

Toji Fushiguro was the biggest distraction.

As the man of the hour, he commanded the room such that—despite your best efforts—you couldn’t stop stealing glances in his direction.

Neither could everyone else.

The situation seemed ironic, really, as many of the same people now commending Toji Fushiguro were the ones who had turned their backs on him in the past. The ideal family figure, some lauded, as others approved of his sharp business acumen, but their gushing admiration reminded you of how quickly loyalties could shift in the face of power. With this, guests all around buzzed like bees as they spotted their renewed leader.

To you, Toji was difficult to ignore because his three-piece suit hugged his broad frame wonderfully. The freshly pressed fabric stretched over his sinewy muscles underneath, his satin lapels underlining his flair. His jet black hair had been neatly gelled back while the ink trailing down his arms peeked from beneath his sleeves. Fatigue slightly wore on his features due to his longer hours at work. Yet, in the end, CEO Fushiguro looked striking, handsome, and undeniably robust.

A whistle interrupted your reverie.

“Someone’s staring,” Choso’s voice rang out as he appeared, his words laced with mirth despite his leveled tone.

Averting your gaze immediately, you then watched him adjust the sleeve to his velvet suit. “I am simply admiring him like everyone else,” you countered, trying to play it cool. “Toji’s…just very popular.”

Choso hummed in pretend contemplation. “Admiration is one thing, but you looked like you were in a trance, bimbo.”

Just when your mouth turned dry from the inability to retaliate, Sukuna and Suguru popped up in high spirits, the former offering you a raspberry tart while the latter heartily patted your back.

“What’s with the frown?” Suguru draped a protective arm around your shoulders and noted your little pout before glancing up at the instigator. “Is Choso bullying you again?”

“I am not a bully.”

“Exactly what a bully would say,” Sukuna added this time.

Being stuck in another jest among the three men wasn’t something you had planned for, but dismissing their liveliness was impossible. As they traded pointed jabs, you couldn’t help but smile, their energy a far cry from the iciness that had defined your days as Naoya Zenin’s wife. Since this was your first Zenin family event without your ex-husband’s presence, the evening allowed you to realize how much your previous marriage had weighed upon your spirit.

Most notably, the woman you were earlier this year had clung to Naoya’s empty promises. She swallowed his insults, obeyed his commands, and convinced herself that, despite his belittling actions, he would one day truly love her. That woman had run back to him, apologizing for sins that were never hers to bear, believing that loving him harder could fix what was never hers to fix.

But, due wholly to the support from those around you, that was no longer who you were now.

“Well, what do you think?”

Geto’s question cut through your wandering thoughts, and you blinked rapidly at the unexpected question. “What?”

The pink-haired man purred at your cute and confused expression, unable to help himself from stroking your cheeks, the cold metal from his silver rings icing your hot skin. “Aw, someone spaced out. There’s no fun when you’re not mentally with us too, sweetheart.”

To no avail, you tried to shrink away. “I was just...thinking about how much things have changed. How much I’ve changed, and,” you became shy, “how…lucky I am to have all of you.”

Immediately, the group cooed at your charming comments, complimenting you for being such a ‘good girl’ and a ‘precious doll,’ and how they would do anything to hear sweet nothings from you again.

Even Choso cracked a grin. “We’re amazing, yes.” Quiet on the outside, cocky on the inside. “Who wouldn’t feel lucky?”

Geto elbowed him, a non-verbal sign to shut up. “He’s not wrong, though. You’ve come a long way. We’re proud of you.”

Just when you wanted to thank them again, a synchronized shout chimed along.

“We found you!”

The voices belonged to Mai and Maki. As was typical, the two were keen to converse with you and their animated hands reflected their enthusiasm upon their approach.

As Sukuna, Geto, and Choso stepped aside for them, the twins instantly took the opportunity to link their arms with yours. They dressed in matching cocktail dresses, making them nearly indistinguishable if not for the differences in their updos.

“Girls,” you beamed, happy to spot them. “You both look amazing as always.”

The younger sister shook her head in modest.

“You are even more gorgeous,” she emphasized with overflowing vivace. “You’re glowing these days.”

Mai had to nod in wholehearted agreement. “Looking completely different from how you looked a month ago.”

Forget the opalescent crystals adorning your collar or the subtle makeup highlighting your features. What truly stood out to them was the elegance, assurance, and composure you carried now compared to your timid self from just weeks ago.

Sukuna ran his fingers along the tattoos by his jaw and let out a huff of fake exasperation, wanting them to leave so the therapists could spend more time taunting you. “Guess you’ve both grown old enough so we can’t just order you to go to the kids’ table anymore, huh?”

A proud Mai smirked. “Got a problem?” Her outright challenge led her to receive sulking faces as an immediate response. “We couldn’t let you three hog Y/N all night.”

“Exactly. She’s ours too, you know,” Maki concurred before turning to you. “By the way, can we still call you our favorite in-law?”

At the question, laughter erupted in a homely and unrestrained rhythm to which you soaked in the heartwarming scene. Even if the world could be selfish and cruel, there were beautiful moments like these when people who weren’t bound by blood treated each other like family. They joked around, they laughed together, they fought and argued, but they shared deep loyalty and respect for one another in the end.

Here was where, for the first time in a long time, you felt like you…belonged.

With these thoughts, your sight instinctively drifted across the room and landed on Toji again. He was mid-conversation but seemed to have sensed your stare this time as he turned. When his sharp verdant eyes found yours, your pulse quickened like a mouse caught in the open. What didn't help was how he didn’t look away.

In fact, Toji took your wandering gaze as his signal to hurriedly wrap up his current discussions before he walked in your direction with brisk steps.

Several regional managers chased after him, but the observant Sukuna, Geto, and Choso noted the situation quickly and rushed forward.

“We’re happy to answer any lingering questions,” they interjected, forming a human barricade that closed in on the pursuers. “We work closely with Mr. Fushiguro and can provide further insights on his behalf.”

With the spotlight shifted away from him, Toji closed the distance between you, stopping just a few steps away. The redolences of bergamot and sage greeted your nose with their familiar velvety, spiced notes as he placed a rough hand against your back, his sudden firm touch nearly lifting you off your feet.

“Hey." Even with Mai and Maki obviously there, his green eyes only zeroed in on you. "I could use some fresh air after speaking nonstop for the past two hours. Want to step out onto the balcony with me for a little bit?”

Oh, goodness. Flustered, you didn’t expect your innocent stares to lead into this. “I—” you began, but your hesitation bubbled perceptibly. As a result, Maki pinched your elbow, prompting you to brave past your bashfulness and mutter, “Sure.”

Toji smiled. “Perfect.”

With that, he swept you away from the waving twins, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back to lead you toward the nearby corridor. He didn’t care about the guests who leered in your directions; he rightfully needed a break, and when he brought you outdoors onto the grand terrace, the man’s shoulders visibly relaxed.

He didn’t bring attention to himself, though.

“Everything alright?” he asked instead. The wrought-iron railing ahead framed the twinkling skyline below. “I can imagine your previous experiences at Zenin events like these aren’t the best, so if you feel uncomfortable, you don’t have to…”

His unprompted concern was touching and, when his voice trailed off, you replied by softly shaking your head. “I am doing perfectly fine, don't worry about me. Besides, I have exactly the company that I need here.”

The sincerity in your answer satisfied him, evident in how the tension along his jaw eased. “I’m glad, then. I should check in with you more, shouldn’t I? Sorry that I’ve been busy. Sukuna, Geto, Choso, and I have been neck-deep in redeveloping the company.” Distant lights haloed him like some god as he spoke, and he ran a few thick fingers over inked lines on his neck. “Of course, how can I also not thank our new fantastic secretary?”

There was no need to wonder where Toji’s gratitude stemmed from.

With the therapists thrust back into their roles as corporate leaders, you stepped in to handle their clinic’s appointment schedules and client inquiries. By giving you a renewed purpose in your day-to-day, they were also determined to keep their practices despite their narrowed availabilities, a decision stemming from their dedication to help others during their idle hours. They intended to shift the clinic's focus to more general relationship assistance, which would allow them to broaden their scope and improve the public's favor.

Meanwhile, had it not been for your help, the same four men would not have been able to fully focus on implementing immediate action plans to steer the Zenin Corporation from a public relations and financial disaster. As a result, the company swiftly regained its positive reputation and maintained its position as the nation’s top conglomerate, hardly meeting a dent in total market share despite the shakeup in leadership.

That being said, you didn’t hide your playful pettiness. “I deserve way more than verbal gratitude, you know.”

Testy, and Toji took the chance to humor himself as well. “The answer to that is me.” He winked. “I am already a hundred times a better friend than you expected.”

Some things truly never change. “Arrogant as ever.”

“Only because you know that's true,” and he lolled his head toward his shoulder in pride. “I did let you run your pretty juices in my therapy office, over on my bathroom counter, and inside my executive suite." Hearing him recount all these moments of pure debauchery made you elbow his rock-hard pecs in retaliation, but he continued. "Do you have any idea how much self-restraint a man has to have to let that happen?”

“Probably an immaculate one. Each time, Naoya would ignore me the second after he came.”

“Yeah, well, fuck that guy.” Like Toji cared about having a filter. He found no reason to try to hide his hatred for your former husband. “Officials sent me a note on how that man flew out of the country yesterday afternoon. You don’t ever have to think about him again. You’re with me now, and I warned that fucking bastard to never bother us.” The handsome scar on his lips flexed while he spoke. “Anyway, since you do deserve to be spoiled, you should order all the caviar that you want tonight.”

"Oh?" Impressed by the offer, you jokingly jabbed at his upper arm. "Guess this is what happens once you start making the big bucks again as the Zenin Corporation’s Incumbent CEO and Future Chairman, hm? You weren't this generous before."

Toji frowned. "What do you mean? I've always been a generous man. I gave you my free trial, remember?"

“Yes, only a free trial,” you emphasized, letting his words sink in. “What happens once that ‘free trial’ ends?”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about that. There’s no expiration date because I like you enough, princess.”

While the pet name was more than enough to make you giddy, his last remarks were what really had you desperate to hide your frazzled face (which, by the way, Toji noticed anyway). "Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"That you...like me. I get flustered easily."

“Don't act like this is the first time. You know I'm straightforward and honest.” A low chuckle slipped past him since he still found your reaction adorable. “I’m too old for drama and playing with people’s feelings. Hey, the cards have always been in your hands. I told you earlier. I’m up to whatever you want to do. For as long as you want, baby.”

“For as long as I want, huh?” The midsummer breezes did not help with the warmth creeping up your neck. “I’ve already clarified before that I wish for us to be friends for a long, long time. Or, as you have suggested before,” and the following thought made more heat suffuse across your cheeks, “…more than friends.”

“Maybe I would happily say yes to that.”

“Just a maybe?”

He huffed in mock annoyance before tugging at your wrist, and you tumbled into his body’s hard planes that you had learned to find comfort in. “Does this feel like ‘just a maybe?’”

Your ensuing silence answered him, and the serene starry night as you snuggled your head into his steady chest was more perfect than words could describe, a soothing escape from the world. He squeezed you tighter, nuzzling his face into your ear while your heart pounded against your ribcage.

So warm, so big, so safe.

“You missed me,” he eventually stated with confidence, and his voice turned husky. Because, oh, he knew. He read you like a book, always.

“I did.”

Only the distant hum from the streets below disrupted the stillness. You sensed his contentment when your neck craned to gaze into his mellow emerald hues, and he similarly pulled away to examine your blissful mien in turn. The two of you became lost, lost in absorbing the peace and serenity such that neither of you detected the third presence that came along.

"Um, hi."

Both heads snapped to the side, gawking at Megumi as he walked in from the doorway.

The eighteen-year-old scratched the back of his head, his cheeks dusted with a faint pink as though he felt embarrassed to interrupt a scene he shouldn't have been watching.

Yet, there's a faint smile on his lips.

"Tsumiki wants to meet you."

𝗔𝗖𝗧 𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗘𝗘 𝗘𝗡𝗗

last chapter || (at end)

end notes: (see below)

Thank you to everyone who read, liked, shared, and commented on Sex Therapy!

This work, over the past many chapters, has accompanied me through many moments and milestones in life, and I sincerely cannot thank you all enough for going through this journey with me, Y/N, Toji, and the therapists. This was my first big project; there were many areas in which I excelled and others in which I could've improved. I also never wanted this story to merely be Character x Reader, so I touched upon themes like healing and self-discovery, societal and business dynamics among the elite, and (the illusion of) power versus authenticity.

I didn't expect this work to blow up on TikTok or Wattpad during the work's heydays nor did I anticipate encountering so many fanarts, fan speculations, and fan videos. (Yes, I see everything!) I am going cherish this work and reader's community forever.

As my life picks up, I hope to write sporadically for fun and will likely publish shorter and more lighthearted pieces. On Tumblr, I also want to share some writing tips I've gathered over time. Please feel free to find me on Wattpad and AO3, too! Whether or not we meet again, I wish you all happiness, health, and success. Lots of hugs and love always. XOXO, Jamms.

(P.S. As per my tradition, feel free to comment the date and time you finished reading!)

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @sakuraryomen01 @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[clubsoft]

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⠀ ⠀ OVER THE MOON ⠀ ⠀ PROLOUGE ⠀ ⠀ REED RICHARDS A . K . A MR . FANTASTIC / F ! READER⠀⠀

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SUMMARY ⋆ reed richards has caught feelings for his student , making their casual , sexual relationship all the more difficult for himself . WARNINGS ⋆ no powers au / professor ! reed richards / he's divorced :3 / age gap ( reader is early to mid 20s ; reed is in his 40s ) / visualized size difference ; little to none character description aside from this / no smut in this one but it's implied so MDNI ty / lovesick , pining reed richards / just an introduction so more context will come l8r / 3rd person POV ; no use of Y/N WORD COUNT ⋆ 1 . 35 k NOTES ⋆ contributing to the drought of reed richards fics !! enjoy !!

In Reed Richards’ world, the sun rises twice. 

First, at 6 in the morning, when his alarm clock buzzes on the nightstand and years of routine allow the blind reach of one long arm to silence it. Weighing down his other arm is the figure of his dream come true, slumbering, a cherubic delight amongst the cushions and furs encompassing her bare shape. In that moment, he lingers, soothing his hand over the silken expanse of her back, lower, lower, and lower still, alongside her hip, curling his digits to press their tips ever so gently into the plush of her ass, fondling the flesh with care, as to not wake her. The sensation of her under his palm marks her as real, as more than a sick — amatory fantasy of an old man like himself. His fingers travel once more, inwards, dimpling her thigh, so close to heaven itself — she stirs, he retracts his hand, and sighs. A solitary ray of light sneaks in, licks at the curve of her spine just as Reed finds the hem of the blanket and slips it up to her shoulders. 

Winter months don’t mesh with floor to ceiling windows, curtains of thick velvet can only retain so much heat, and a previously excruciating battle is made all the more difficult; it’s impossible enough to withdraw his warm embrace from the object of his yearning, but to do just that, and then press the soles of his feet against ice cold marble floors felt like punishment. Yawning, he heaves himself off the mattress, searches with lazy hands for his pajama bottoms, and after pulling them up his legs, pushing his feet into his slippers, making sure the girl is tucked in — snug, he yanks his knit sweater off the foot of his bed. The lights in the modern, minimalist home click to life, brightening his journey down the stairs and into the kitchen. Everything is on a sensor, finely tuned to his every need. He doesn’t even press a button, yet the coffee begins to brew in its pot; a perfect serving, one mug full. His guest doesn’t drink coffee, but she tries a sip when he asks, adamant on finding a ratio of sugar and creamer that she’d enjoy. In turn, Reed drinks a different flavor on most mornings he shares with her. He’s given up, truth be told, but he occasionally feigns continued effort, all to have her lips grace his mug so he can kiss her with each sip he takes. 

Tea is more her taste. Hot water, a paper tea bag, a pinch of sugar, a splash of milk. Instead of adding a setting to his coffee machine, he makes it by hand, stands above the steaming water and pokes impatiently at the tea bag with a spoon. The goal is to return to his bedroom with a mug in each hand, the brush of his stubble, the tip of his nose tracing the length of her neck, causing her to awaken with soft groans, the sound of giggles once the ticklish feeling truly registers. He doesn’t make it in time to wake her up himself, yet he’s content, beholding the sun as it rises a second time. 

The rustle of blankets, a delicate set of fingers wrinkling his half of the bed, searching for him. There’s a tug at his chest, a call to make everything right, fill his side of the sheets with his frame so that little hand finds just what it seeks, but he waits, watches, and his patience is rewarded by a soft smile as sleepy eyes finally find him, twinkling, taking in his tousled visage with a tenderness that mirrors his own. 

“Tea?” He lifts her mug. It’s the first word he’s spoken, low and thick with sleep, though the smoothness of his charming old school enunciation is permanent no matter how early it is. His slippers carry him across the distance between them as she sits up against the headboard, using a gray fur to modestly cover her chest. Reed doesn’t quite understand why. He’s seen, touched, kissed, licked — tasted every divine inch of flesh, left nothing to the imagination, memorized her very being within all five senses to where seeking her out has become a sixth … and yet, she divides them still. 

“Yes, thank you,” her wobbly morning voice calls him out of his thoughts, her fingers wrap around the mug, and draw it closer to herself. Reed’s large hand shoots out, takes hold of her wrist, pausing her movements altogether. Those big, youthful eyes stare at him expectantly, then shut for a heartbeat and a half when he tilts into her space to press a kiss to her lips. 

“Good morning,” he murmurs, hovering inches away until she repeats it back to him.

“Morning, Reed.” 

He watches her over the rim of his mug through the symphony of sips and sighs, hers rushed, his anything but, slowing down time as best as he could. The first ever morning after, months ago, he’d woken up alone, left with nothing but her scent on his pillow. With each night spent together following that fateful encounter, she granted him more and more time in the mornings; his second sunrise, making him the luckiest man in the cloudy city of Manhattan. 

“Busy day today?” He inquires after his final sip of coffee. His mug is empty, and he plucks hers off the bedside table to finish what remains of her tea, getting in his kisses while she dresses herself on the opposite side of the room. Answering him with an absent nod, she trudges closer, the hem of her navy blue sweater, embroidered with the Columbia University lion, brushing her thighs. His sweater, stolen so long ago that she’s forgotten its origin. 

“Do you see my panties anywhere?” she mumbles the query with utmost bashfulness, as though he wasn’t the one dragging that small strip of cotton down her thighs at sunset. Hooking both mug handles onto his fingers, Reed uses his unoccupied hand to toss the covers around. His search is uninspired, clumsy, but fruitful. Soon enough, that little white piece of fabric dangles from his fingers, a smug grin on his lips. So cute, he thinks to himself as she snatches it away, whispering, “Thank you.” 

Her departure never feels real until she’s near the door, sliding small, socked feet into those damned, convenient, comfy shoes. Gators, or something silly, she calls them, not even allowing Reed the extra couple seconds that it takes to tie a pair of sneakers. 

“ —  you later, then, Reed,” she’s saying, squeezing all two of the large fingers she can easily fit in her hold. He frowns, just ever so slightly, returning the gesture, his hand engulfing hers. With a tug, he leans down, and she rises to her tiptoes to peck the corner of his lips. 

“Later? Are you coming by again tonight?” He asks, sounding embarrassingly hopeful, still holding her hand near his chest, gaze stuck on those soft, plump lips as they part to answer. Her words strike him like a dagger through his heart, the confusion in her voice twisting the god forsaken knife until his ribs are left hollow. A dramatic internal reaction to such a simple sentence. 

“Like, in class.” 

“Oh… of course, sorry. Looks like I’m still waking up. Anyway, are you sure I can't give you a ride? It’s like the dead of winter outside.” How pathetic he must sound, how visible the longing in his brown eyes must be, for she places her palm over his heart, and smiles in a manner that draws the air from his lungs, easing the tenseness of his broad shoulders. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ll catch the bus.” Fixing the strap of her bag on her shoulder, she steps backwards past his front door, turning halfway, pausing, then saying: “I’ll call you, and we’ll see about tonight.” 

He nods, the door shuts behind her, and if the world was watching, they’d see the genius Reed Richards break out into a joyfully lovesick dance in his drawing room.

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TAGLIST ⋆ @days1 / @luvrsluxe if u would like 2 be added 2 my tag list 4 my fics , pls click this link && fill out the form !! u will be added immediately && get a notif for my next fic !!

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MotoGP guide

TEAMS AND RIDERS

In MotoGP, there are “factory teams” and “satellite teams”

Both factory teams and satellite teams compete on the same track 

Each manufacturer is allowed 1 team per class

There is no limit to how many satellite teams can get bikes from a manufacturer (i.e.  there are 4 Ducati teams)

A team consists of 2 drivers

For the 2025 season, there are 11 teams and 22 drivers

Factory Teams

Factory teams are directly supported by motorcycle manufacturers

Factory teams are considered top-tier teams with the hierarchy; they often have priority access to the latest upgrades and are typically composed of highly skilled riders

The manufacturers design and produce their motorcycles and have their dedicated championship

Factory teams get significant financial and technical support from their manufacturer (access to the latest technology, support for bike development)

Factory teams are a direct representation of the manufacturers on track. the factory team’s success reflects on the manufacturer’s brand and image

Satellite Teams

Satellite teams are independent entities and may not be directly part of a manufacturer. 

They don’t have the same level of support from a motorcycle manufacturer as factory teams.

Satellite teams usually use the “same” motorcycles as the factory teams but they don’t typically have the latest upgrades or the same level of technical support

These teams typically purchase or lease the previous year’s bike from the manufacturers.

Satellite teams rely on their own sponsorships and funding (although they do receive support from the manufacturer it is not to the extent the factory teams do)

Satellite teams can switch manufacturers from year to year (when their contracts expire with manufacturers)

WEEKEND FORMAT

Each weekend from Friday to Sunday consists of free practice 1, 2, & 3, qualifying 1 & 2, a sprint race, a warm-up session, and a main race.

Friday: Free Practice Sessions

Fridays consist of only an fp1 and fp2

Fp1 (45 minutes)allows the drivers to familiarize themselves with the track and start setups. 

Fp2 (45 minutes) is usually faster paced as teams gather final data and tune bike setups

Saturday: Practice, Qualifying & Sprint Race

Fp3 (30 minutes) is a shorter session but important, fp3 directly influences qualifying

The combined lap times of fp1, fp2, & fp3 decide the top 10 riders who skip Q1 and go straight into Q2

Qualifying Q1 (15 minutes) the riders who didn’t place in the top 10 from combined fp1-fp3 times compete to go into Q2 (only 2 riders advance)

Qualifying Q2 (15 minutes) The top 10 from combined fp1-fp3 times plus the top 2 from Q1 compete for pole and decide the top 12 grid positions 

This sets the grid for the sprint and the main race

Sprint Race (15-20 minutes) were introduced in 2023 

Covers half the main race distance 

Awards points to the top 9 

Sprint races are every weekend 

Sunday: Warm-up & Main Race

Warm-ups (10 minutes) are just brief sessions in the morning before the race. 

Checks the bikes and finalize the setup

Main Race (40-45 minutes) typically covers 20-25 laps 

Points are awarded to the top 15 finishers 

These points count toward the rider, team, and constructor championship

PITSTOPS

Under normal circumstances, there are no pitstops in races due to how short the race is 

Riders and teams chose tires (soft, medium, or hard) before the race based on strategy and durability

Exceptions

Pit-stops can happen in flag-to-flag races, which happen during different weather conditions (i.e. rain)

Riders enter the pits to switch bikes, not tires

The teams prepare a second bike with the correct tires (wets for rain, slicks for dry)

An average pit stop is 5-10 seconds

RACE NEUTRALIZATIONS

Compared to f1, there are no safety cars, as the motorcycles are faster to maneuver than the cars.

Yellow Flags 

A yellow flag is shown when there is a minor incident (a crash, debris, or a stopped bike) 

Riders must slow down in the affected sector

Overtaking is not allowed in the flagged zone

Once the flag is withdrawn racing resumes as normal

Red Flag

A red flag is shown for more serious incidents (a dangerous crash, severe weather conditions, unsafe track conditions that can’t be cleared quickly)

All riders must return to the pitlane

Depending on how much of the race has been completed the race may be restarted from the beginning, resumed with the remaining laps, or declared finished

CHAMPIONSHIPS

Motogp has 3 championships: the rider championship, the team championship, and the constructors championship

Rider Championship

The rider with the most points at the end of the season becomes the World champion

When talking about rider championships, moto2 & moto3 are both included (i.e. Marc Marquez has 8 Grand Prix world championships, 6 MotoGP, 1 moto2 & 1 moto3)

Team Championship

The team with the highest total points at the end of season wins

Points are earned from the sum of the points earned by the Team 2 riders 

This reflects the performance of the riders, and the teams’s efforts, including the engineers and mechanics 

Constructor Championship

The constructor with the most points at the end of the season wins

Only the highest-placed rider from each constructor scores points for the manufacturer 

Points go with the rider’s finishing position (i.e. if Pecco in a Ducati finishes 1st, ducati gets 25 points)

POINTS

Riders earn points in sprint races and main races

There is no bonus point for the fastest lap

Sprint Race Point Finishers

12

9

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

Main Race Point Finishers

25

20

16

13

11

10

9

8

7

6

5

4

3

2

1

PENALTIES

FIM stands for Fédération Internationale de Motocyclisme (International Motocycling Federation)

FIM governs premier motorcycle racing series (Motogp, Moto2, Moto3) 

Regulations are broken into technical and behavioral/riding 

Warnings & small penalties

Warnings from the stewards either made privately or public 

Warnings can be given for small things such as track limits

Cash penalties or fines can also be issued to riders and teams

In-Race penalties

Change of position penalties are given during a race

The rider must slow down to either give back a position or let other riders pass

A long lap penalty means the rider takes a longer route through a specific part of the track during the race

Takes about 1-2 seconds off the rider’s time

Time penalty adds up to 2 minutes to the rider’s race time

Given if a rider gains an unfair advantage 

Ride-through penalty rider must enter the pit lane riding the speed limit

costs the rider 20-30 seconds

Stop-and-Go Penalty rider must stop in the pit box for 3-10 seconds before rejoining the race

Post-Race Penalties 

Position Drop at the end of the race (5th to 7th)

Grid penalty for the following race the rider is dropped several places on the starting grid next race

Riders can lose championship points as punishment

Riders can also get disqualified (usually following a break in the technical rules)

Penalty points

Riders collect penalty points

If they reach 4 penalty points they get a grid group

If they reach 10 penalty points they are banned from the next race

How Penalties Occur

Jump starts

Exceeding track limits 

Ignoring yellow flags

Causing a collision 

Exceeding fuel or tire limits

Technical Violations

MEET THE GRID

Now that we understand how the sport works and what to expect during a typical weekend let’s learn who to expect

Which teams are constructors, factory, and satellite teams

Notable: you will also hear the name Valentino Rossi (9x world champion) he is considered one of the greatest of all time

He not only owns the VR46 team but also has a driver academy which many of the Italian drivers go through

He is also famous for his rivalry with Marc Marquez (Rosquez)

Factory Teams

Ducati Lenovo Team (Ducati)

63 Fracesco “Pecco” Bagnaia 

93 Marc Marquez

Red Bull KTM Factory Racing (KTM)

37 Pedro Acosta 

33 Brad Binder 

Aprilia Racing (Aprilia)

89 (1) Jorge Martin 

72 Marco “Bez” Bezzecchi 

Monster Energy Yamaha MotoGP (Yamaha)

20 Fabio Quartararo 

42 Alex Rins

Honda HRC (Honda)

10 Luca Marini 

36 Joan Mir

Satellite Teams

Redbull KTM Tech3 (KTM)

12 Maverick Viñales

23 Enea Bastianini 

Gresini Racing MotoGP (Ducati)

73 Alex Marquez

54 Fermin Aldeguer rookie

Pertamina Enduro VR46 (Ducati)

49 Fabio Di Giannantonio

21 Franco Morbidelli 

Prima Pramac Yamaha (Yamaha)

88 Miguel Oliveria 

43 Jack Miller

LCR Honda (Honda)

5 Johann Zarco

35 Somkiat Chantra rookie

Trackhouse (Aprilia)

25 Raul Fernandez

79 Ai Ogura rookie

2025 SCHEDULE 

The schedule stretches across 22 rounds, making it the biggest season in MotoGP history

Pre-Season Testing

Sepang Shakedown Test: January 31-February 2, 2025 (this test is for rookies and race riders from manufacturers in concession Rank D which is currently Yamaha and Honda)

Sepang MotoGP Test: February 5-7, 2025

Buriram MotoGP Test: February 12-13, 2025 

Race Calendar 

Thailand, Buriram: February 28-March 2

Argentina, Termas de Rio Hondo: March 14-16

Americas, COTA: March 28-30

Qatar, Lusail: April 11-13

Spain, Jerez: April 25-27

France, Le Mans: May 9-11

England, Silverstone May 23-25

Aragon, MotorLand: June 6-8

Italy, Mugello: June 20-22

Netherlands, Assen: June 27-29

Germany, Sachsenring: July 11-13

Czech Republic, Brno: July 18-20

Austria, Red Bull Ring: August 15-17

Hungary, Balaton Park: August 22-24

Catalunya, Barcelona: September 5-7

San Marino, Misano: September 12-14

Japan, Motegi: September 26-28

Indonesia, Mandalika: October 3-5

Australia, Phillip Island: October 17-19

Portugal, Portimao: November 7-9

Valencia, Ricardo Tormo: November 14-16

GET CONNECTED

The easiest way to stay up to date is by following MotoGP on Instagram (and their broadcast channels) and Twitter

They also have a YouTube where a lot of full races get posted

There is an official app (MotoGP) and website (www.motogp.com)

Similar to f1, they have a VideoPass subscription to watch the races, they have a current season, archived seasons, documentaries, collections, and a spoiler-free experience

To get a VideoPass you have the option of VideoPass+TimingPass, Yearly, Monthly, and a free trial 

A full season pass is 148.99€

Currently, the preseason full pass is 24.99€

The free trials work for 1 grand prix race weekend for full access

After testing, Monthly subscription costs will come out (I will update when they do)

Please feel free to ask questions, correct any mistakes I made, or add any information I missed :)

[deeversuswords]

‧˚₊ Truth Exposer 1: Uncovered — Ch.1

PAIRING — Pro Hero Bakugou Katsuki/Vigilante F!Reader RATING — Explicit CONTAINS — heavy angst, enemies to lovers (sort of), mutual pining, slow burn, eventual smut, moral ambiguity, cheating (not between katsuki/reader), unhealthy relationships, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief/mourning, dark themes (past abuse, stalking, kidnapping, torture, quirk trafficking), violence, swearing, open but hopeful ending, dual pov (mostly reader), no use of y/n ◆ married bakugou katsuki—not to reader—and has a daughter too ◆ characters are in their late 20s SUMMARY — Running away would be the sensible thing to do. Getting as far away as possible from him, the one person who’s your ticket to losing your freedom. Not searching for him out of stupid curiosity and showing up at the last place you should: his house. They say curiosity killed the cat, but yours seems to always end up as the key unlocking doors that should probably stay locked. Because when you open the door to Bakugou Katsuki’s life, it’s not a loving marriage, not a happy family of three you find, but falsity, forced duty, and a dark secret that threatens his very own life. Bakugou Katsuki, the pro hero tasked with catching you and your downfall. And you, the vigilante exposing ugly truths for a living—his salvation.

➥AO3 LINK // ➥ AO3 CHAPTER LINK // ➥ TUMBLR CHAPTERS LIST

CHAPTER WARNINGS — n/a

WORD COUNT — ~3.6k

a/n: Hi! Welcome to the start of my Go-Big-or-Go-Home project! After one year of toying with the idea, outlining, drafting, rewriting, and suffering, part 1 is finally leaving the box. All I'm gonna say is...this isn't a light read and the ride will be long and bumpy as hell, but I hope you'll enjoy it as much as I did writing it (many tears were shed).

Enjoy!🧡

BREAKING: Truth Exposer returns! Is Nakamura Yui done for? In a shocking revelation, Truth Exposer shatters the carefully curated image of rising fashion designer Nakamura Yui. The vigilante accuses Nakamura of being behind the poor working conditions of her employees and using blackmail to silence them. It doesn’t stop there. The designs Nakamura claims as her own appear to belong to her manager. As always, the known vigilante backs the allegations with evidence, including a detailed report outlining Nakamura’s actions and possible motivations. The scandal continues to shake the fashion industry. Stay tuned for further developments.

“Remember the guy I’ve been seeing?” the woman in front of you asked her friend, staring at her phone screen.

Her friend gave her a smug look and giggled. “Your police officer boyfriend? Oh, I remember him. Are you finally official?”

The woman’s cheeks flushed pink. “Sort of. But that’s not important. He told me something interesting the other day. A rumor.” She leaned in closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. “Apparently, Dynamight is on Truth Exposer’s case. For two years now. Isn’t that strange?”

“Dynamight?” Her friend’s reaction was loud enough to draw attention, prompting the woman to hush her with a finger firmly pressed to her pink-stained lips. “Sorry. That’s just shocking. No way it’s true.” She shook her head in disbelief. “He’d have caught that vigilante by now.”

The woman pursed her lips. “Don’t be so sure. My, uh, somewhat boyfriend said his superiors are growing restless because…” She looked around as if she was about to impart the secret of the universe. “There’s no evidence, it seems. Almost as if…”

“Truth Exposer doesn’t exist?” her friend offered.

“Yeah,” she agreed, her expression shifting to one of concern.

You stifled a yawn as your attention drifted from the chatty women to the rest of the ice cream parlor and rolled your shoulders. The ridiculously long queue was killing you with boredom. What were you thinking? Coming here on a Saturday evening in the middle of freaking July. Summer was in full swing, and the chase for its sweet treats manic. Unbelievable how you’d ignored that simple fact and acted on your cravings, gleefully skipping past every single convenience store and making a beeline through half the city to reach your current location.

Your clothes stuck to your sweaty skin, making your eye twitch in irritation and sheer disgust, but that was what you deserved when you stubbornly refused to satisfy the cravings with simple ice cream. Picky tongue demanded artisanal. Rich, intense, creamy flavors.

Among the locals, the location was popular, open during the summer months, and closed for the rest. Each year brought a new theme, and this time around revolved around tropical islands. The seashell pillars from last year were replaced with artificial palm trees, their long, wide green leaves holding the baby blue shaded ceiling with splotches of white cotton. The intention was for the fluff to resemble the peaceful clouds of a sunny sky, but to you, it looked like something met its tragic end.

And then there was the floor, beloved by many, hated by you—sand. Actual sand. Points for the clever idea of upping the authenticity, but that was where your generosity ended. Minuscule pebbles invaded your shoes the second you walked in, and the constant sensation of something poking into your feet every time you stepped drove you mad. The beach was where it belonged, next to the ocean, not in your ice cream parlor.

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other and carried your visual exploration to the ice cream display. Fruity aromas escaped into the cool air, scenting the atmosphere with their sweet perfume. Delightful. If only your sense of smell was as average as everyone else’s. Your nose suffered from the notes of sweat, cheap cologne, and heated synthetic materials.

“What are you getting?” the woman from before asked her friend.

“One Tsukuyomi cup and one Pinky,” her friend responded, pointing at the mentioned pro heroes who were part of the lineup of themed ice cream flavors.

The woman’s expression turned judgmental. “Blackberries and bubblegum?”

“What’s wrong with that?”

Your gaze landed on the two options when vibrant orange with black swirls tugged at your attention, and you could almost feel the arrogance of who was represented radiating off it. Your whole face scrunched up, because your silly stomach fluttered in anticipation of something you wouldn’t buy, even if the man himself paid you for it.

When it was finally your turn, the most pleasant smile slapped itself on your face as you pointed to the display, saying, “I’ll have everything you’ve got left of Dynamight’s ice cream.”

Everything stilled into awkward silence as the cashier blinked at you from behind the counter, his face flushing a faint shade of red. You blinked back, and smiled wider, confused about the reaction. What the hell was going on? Weren’t you clear in your wording? You said you wanted Dynamight’s ice cream.

Dynamight’s…ice…cream—

Shit.

“I mean, I’ll have everything you’ve got left of the Dynamight-themed ice cream,” you tried again, pretending your earlier request hadn’t sounded like you’d just asked for a different kind of ice cream. Although, if that was the color of his in-pants equipment, you'd probably book him an appointment with a doctor instead.

Defeated groans and whines saved you from the awkwardness, and you stole a glance at the group wanting a sweet piece of him as your fingers tapped to a random cheery rhythm on your thigh. Closing time was approaching fast, so restocking wouldn’t happen. You were terrible for robbing them of their dream, but pissing him off held much more appeal. So, so terrible.

“The ice cream comes with themed containers too?” you asked the cashier upon seeing your purchase stuffed into a container with the key pieces of his hero suit drawn on it.

“Yes,” the cashier responded, smiling back at you. “This year is special. The pro heroes themselves reviewed the products, and had the chance to participate in the process if they wanted.”

“Oh.”

Something told you Bakugou went all in. Put on the apron and the chef hat and the gloves, and dove hands first in the fresh ingredients. Checking the quality, tasting, and mixing, and probably swearing when things didn’t go his way. Images of him in a domestic role popped like inflated balloons in your head and sprinkled the authenticity of the situation over your synapses. Nothing about it was far-fetched, he was a married man and a father too.

Even though he kept his private life private, his wife had no problem sharing about it and praising him to the moon and stars for everything, including his incredible cooking abilities. Her husband this, her husband that. Your eyes rolled every single time you had the displeasure of hearing her. It was painfully obvious Bakugou didn’t appreciate her sentiment, but what was new?

So-called picture perfect couple, though not once did he publicly display a hint of affection. Not even one brief look full of love in her direction. You recognized fed up when you saw it, and he was already beyond that state.

Besides, he wouldn’t—

“Here you go, Miss.” The cashier interrupted the forbidden thought coming through. Forbidden for its smugness.

You paid for the ice cream and picked up the special bag it was packed in, designed to prevent the sweet treat from turning into melted mush. Then left the parlor, in denial about how satisfied you were with the purchase.

The street noise and its buzzing activity immediately assaulted your heightened senses, something you’d learned to appreciate in the past few years as it made the world much more interesting. Vivid colors, nuanced sounds, layered scents, pleasant textures, hidden tastes. Life was easier when you could sense the reminders of its worth in your experiences, just not in this moment. Your mind remained anchored to his existence and the dimming of the fire in his eyes with each passing month.

His last appearance, which wasn’t work-related but was clearly another PR move orchestrated by his wife, left you rather morbidly curious about the behind-the-scenes. It was a charity event, supposedly raising funds for research into the evolution of quirks, yet he looked like someone had blackmailed him into being there. You expected him to be interested, especially since his two-year-old daughter was slowly approaching the age where her quirk might manifest, but no—Bakugou’s expression remained frozen in a subtle scowl, his gaze vacant.

Trouble in paradise, maybe?

You scoffed. Who cared? Not you. It was none of your business.

The game was just that—a game. Disconnected from reality, impersonal.

Personal was finding a nice, quiet spot under the starry sky, preferably out of sight, where you could sit and satisfy your craving for something sweet and cold. That was what you needed, not putting Bakugou’s life under a microscope and critically examining it like a specimen.

He didn’t know you, and you didn’t know him. Not as two people living in the same world, under the same sky, breathing the same air, anyway.

Quickening your pace, you navigated the crowd, grimacing whenever some sweaty stranger brushed against you, and stopped at the crossroad, squeezing your way into the front row. As the green light ushering the cars by illuminated the moving traffic and the rancid smoke rising from the exhaust, you debated between going left or right once you crossed. The decision was quickly made upon spotting the small park tucked between the buildings lining the two side streets flanking it.

No bench was occupied, marking it the perfect spot for your little adventure.

Red turned to green for pedestrians, forcing the traffic to halt, and you followed the flow of the crowd when the back of your neck pricked with alert. Your fingers tightened around the bag handles, adrenaline kicking up a notch in your veins. The urge to swivel around and inspect burned at the edges of your instinct, but you resisted.

If you were indeed being watched, or worse, followed, the dumbest thing would be to let them know you knew.

You strode forward, pretending nothing was wrong. As if the inside of your skull wasn’t ringing like a cathedral from the brutal reverberations of alarm bells rising in volume, with the biggest Run. Run. Run! sign on its altar, bathed in divine light.

What more signs did you—

An arm seized your waist and yanked you into a hard body.

“Keep walkin’,” a deep voice spoke, and the blood drained from your head.

Impossible. This wasn’t happening.

Panic exploded in your chest, and your fight-or-flight instinct roared to life. Your unoccupied hand clenched into a fist and struck with every ounce of your strength into his gut. A low grunt followed your retaliation, drawing the attention of the crowd. You didn’t stick around for more.

You ripped yourself from his hold and burst into a sprint that would put him to shame, mentally cursing your luck. Or maybe it was fucking karma for buying that stupid ice cream. Speaking of, you hurled the bag in a random direction. Someone screamed as it flew through the air before hitting the pavement with a thud.

No indulging today—only running for your life to escape the hound currently hot on your heels.

Free of the dead weight, you skidded around the corner onto the side street, gritting your teeth as you sprinted faster. Your shoes pounded the ground, nearly drowning out the sound of his footsteps, which were closer than expected. You risked a glance over your shoulder and locked eyes in a brief, yet overbearingly intense connection with the red gaze fixated on you. Oh, joy. Your heart jumped into the first rocket and shot for the moon overhead.

Think. Think. Think.

“Screw this.”

In a moment of absolute recklessness, you bolted into the sparse traffic just as a car approached. Honks blared. Tires screeched. Death’s chilly claws scraped down your sweaty back. You hopped onto the hood of a car and slid over the heated metal to the other side, safely.

“Are you fuckin’ insane?!” His rage ripped through the humid air, bringing it to a paralyzing boil with a boom so loud you felt the shockwave shove you forward.

And then you were hauled off your feet and slammed face-first into the tall shrubbery fencing the park you’d wanted to enjoy that evil ice cream in. Heavy panting consumed your hearing as steely arms banded around your body, locking your arms in place, their muscles made of something that couldn’t be human. Rigid with power and strength.

“Goddamn it, woman. You’re a handful,” he panted in your ear, the rough rasp of his voice sending a very, very inappropriate shiver down the length of your body pressed against his front.

“Explains why your hands are so full,” you quipped, sarcasm the sin you shouldn’t have committed with the man who ate it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. His coiled arms constricted around your ribs, expelling a gasp from your lungs amidst the heaving breaths. “I didn’t peg you for a ribs-breaker, Dynamight,” you spat his hero name.

“You’re a slippery one, so gotta hold on tight, Truth Exposer.” He spat yours in return.

Laughter wheezed out of your mouth. “Who? Sorry, but you’ve got the wrong person.”

“That the card you wanna play?”

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

“Sure you don’t. C’mon. We ain’t havin’ that talk here.”

“What? I’m not going anywhere with you.” You jerked in his harsh embrace, and squirmed like a worm on a hook, trying to escape the gaping maw of a hungry fish, growling, “Let me go. You can’t just randomly restrain someone. It’s power abuse, assho—hero!”

Despite your continuous protest he clearly didn’t give a fuck about, Bakugou dragged you away from the street, struggling and kicking, into the dead-end alleyway behind the park. He shoved you toward the wall, next to a dumpster buzzing with flies, and you managed to catch yourself in time before your face made contact with the filthy concrete.

Your hand flew to your mouth as you dry-heaved a few times from the rotting smell of garbage, having been under the scorching sun for more than a day. Whatever the hell was in there had been triple-cooked and extra ripened.

“Can punch, but can’t handle a little bit of stink?” he mocked, and you whirled on him, glaring fiercely.

“If I puke, I’m puking on you. How’s that for a little bit of stink?”

One side of his mouth quirked into a cocky grin that had your earlier panic morph into an irrational urge to wipe it off his face. Your hands clenched into trembling fists, nails biting into your palms.

“Don’t. You had your shot,” he said, his arms crossing over his chest, muscles flexing with the motion. “Be smart. Accept that you can’t win and let’s have a nice little chit-chat, yeah?”

Your brows lifted as you leveled him with a hard stare. Sweat slid down his temple, some dripped from that high bridge of his nose and onto his parted lips, and it was those beads you followed the descent of. They gathered on his chin and dripped on his veiny forearms before splattering on the ground at its feet.

Of course, the bastard was dressed to show off, even when he was out hunting... for you. Tank top and shorts so randoms could drool over his biceps and strong legs? Check. Custom-made cap to hide his identity? Check. Latest trendy sneakers? Check. You’d bet half your fortune his underwear was expensive too, probably tight over his ass and...

No.

No, no.

No, no, no.

Still, against better judgment, your eyes lingered on the cut of his body, taking note of everything that mattered. Bakugou could snap you like a twig if he wanted to. So could you—mentally, at least. One touch, poisoned with ill intent, and he’d drop like a felled tree. Brain stunned. Nerves fried. Unable to scream for help, or beg for death.

If only you could muster that intent toward him.

Gaze bouncing back up to his, you felt your composure stumble. His own roved over you, slow and deliberate, like a teasing touch. As if memorizing you was the sole reason he existed. Your heart skipped, tiny kicks against your ribs. Traitorous little bitch. Your senses too; they completely zeroed in on him.

Steps away, yet his cologne suddenly overpowered the putrid stench around you. Spiced heat, tangled in notes of something that was naturally him. He smelled…good. Good enough to cloud your judgment and weaken your knees.

Would he taste the same?

No. Stop. Your moral compass shuddered. He was your ticket to confinement. And a married man.

“Chit-chat about what?” You aimed for a steady voice; what came out was breathy.

He didn’t hesitate. “You’re Truth Exposer. The biggest pain in my ass for the last two years.”

Bakugou stalked forward. You stepped back. Forward. Back. Again and again, until the ridged concrete wall halted your retreat. Distance didn’t seem to exist in his mind where you were concerned.

Shouldn’t he be more cautious? He barely knew anything about you, let alone the extent of your quirk. Officially, it heightened your five senses to an overstimulating, terrifying degree—all of them, or whichever you chose. You never bothered to update the information at the Quirk Registry and had no intention of doing so.

“So you say. Proof?” You flicked your gaze to the alley opening, tracking the occasional passing car while listening for sirens. Nothing. A slow smile played on your lips. “No police?”

“Nah. Can drag your stupid ass to ‘em myself.”

“Then why aren’t you?” You snapped your fingers near his face, taunting. “Ah, right. Because there’s a difference between thinking someone did something bad and suspecting them based on proof. You, Dynamight, have a little problem with the second, don’t you?”

His palm slammed above your head as he leaned in, warm breath tickling your lips. “Backhanded admission?” He scoffed. “Cocky little shit. Think you’re gettin’ out of this?”

“Unless you can back up your assumptions, yeah.” You stepped closer, erasing the last bit of space between you, your voice fading to a whisper. "Breaking news: Pro Hero Dynamight detains a civilian on baseless suspicions. Has dropping four rankings finally pushed him to cross the line in hopes of climbing back up?”

Low, rumbly chuckles spilled from his lips and onto yours. You blinked, taken aback by the pleasant sound and his open amusement, barely registering his fingers grasping your jaw. “Like I give a shit about my ranking when I found you. Now all I gotta do is follow your scent and wait for you to slip. Once you do that, I’ll be right there punishin’ you for it. Wanna guess who’ll shoot up in the rankings after?”

You stared at him for another beat before you jerked your head away, grimacing. “Following my scent? What are you, a dog?”

“Worse.”

“A stalker, then?”

Bakugou never got the chance to respond. His phone rang, blasting the most obnoxious sound in existence. Clicking his tongue, he fished it out of his shorts, gaze locked on yours, daring you to move. He snapped at the caller.

“This better be important. I’m busy.”

Being this close made you into an involuntary participant in the conversation. Bless your hearing, or curse it.

“You need to come home. It’s about your wife. And Yua,” the woman on the other end urged. His mother?

He instantly straightened. “Is my kid okay?”

“She’s fine, but come home.” Her voice sounded exhausted.

“Can’t it wait?” he asked, and your expression shifted into surprise. Shouldn’t he be running already?

“I caught her with another guy. What do you think, Katsuki? Can it wait?” Her tone suddenly whipped at the air through the speaker.

Another guy? Your mouth dropped open. His wife cheated on him? That wasn’t something you ever expected to hear.

“On my way.” He ended the call, pocketing his phone, and the weirdest thing happened.

When someone learned of their partner’s betrayal, there’d be hurt, anger, disgust; neither was present anywhere on him. Bakugou was either an expert at hiding his emotions, or something else was going on.

“Have fun sleepin’ with one eye open.”

He flicked your forehead, then jogged out of the alley, leaving you gawking at his retreating form, hand smacked over the stinging spot.

What the hell? And was that excitement you noticed in his eyes for a second before they left yours?

Ridiculous. In what world would he be excited about—

Your breath hitched. Was Bakugou waiting for something like this? For a reason to…end his marriage? Why?

Curiosity wrapped dangerously around your racing heart, and you shook your head. “Not my business.” It wasn’t. What he did, with whom, where, how. His life, in general, was not your business. “Move on. Pretend none of this happened. You didn’t hear. You didn’t see. You didn’t feel.”

Silence descended over the dead-end alley like a heavy mantle, fabric made out of secrets and denied truths. Each gone moment was more oppressive than the last. Your defenses asphyxiated under the pressure. Cracked. Loosened your self-control.

Weakness clawed to the surface.

You slapped your cheeks lightly a few times. You needed to remember why you had to stay far, far away from him. Somehow, he found you, putting your freedom at risk.

Your options took priority, your life, not his. Never…his.

The reason you spaced out, staring at the alley’s entrance, at the spot you’d last seen him, wasn’t the foreboding feeling creeping inside you; it was the unknown of your next move.

[shuavez]

from a woman — nicholas a. chavez

masterlist

summary — nicholas’ favourite part of every event is stripping the weight of the evening at home with you, along with the formal attire. inspired by from a woman by mariah the scientist.

word count — 1.6k

tags/warnings — suggestive towards end, established relationship!au, a load of self indulgent lovesick waffling, nic is a down bad introvert™

a/n — dedicated to my loveliest eternal brainworm buddy @titsout4nicholas because where would i be without u my baby breezy. it’s been like 3 years since i’ve written, let alone published so please be Kind. reblogs are appreciated!

The cacophony of camera shutters, the soft thrum of a slow R&B track, and the hundreds of layered conversations still echo in your ears, lingering like the faintest scent of perfume even now, 20 minutes after leaving the gala. The evening was a whirlwind—one he’s always halfway reluctant to step into. The flash, the glamour, the carefully curated conversations—it all has a way of exhausting him in a way few things do. And yet, it’s unavoidable. A necessary part of his world.

Nicholas has a love-hate relationship with these events, and he knows you do too. You’d much prefer a boozy brunch with his younger brother and his girlfriend or a late-night detour to a hidden, hole-in-the-wall wine bar where the two of you can melt into the anonymity of the darkened corner, away from prying eyes and familiar faces. Galas, premieres, high-profile shows—they rank high on his list of least favorite things about the job, symbols of a lifestyle he tolerates but doesn’t fully belong to. They feel hollow compared to those quiet, intimate moments you share together, where he can simply exist, undisturbed.

The warmth of your hand sliding into the freshly cut hair at his nape, your fingers threading gently through the soft strands, pulls him out of his thoughts, away from the smattering of raindrops trailing down the driver’s side window. Your touch is light, yet possessive, grounding him in a way nothing else can. He leans into it instinctively, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment as he savors the quiet intimacy.

His own hand, as if by reflex, drifts to your thigh, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over the fabric of your dress. The gesture is simple, almost automatic, but it speaks of a familiarity and comfort that words can’t capture. He opens his eyes, meeting your gaze, and for a moment, the rest of the world blurs, leaving only the two of you in this small, rain-kissed cocoon.

Sometimes, the feeling overwhelms him so much that he thinks he may be ill. He hasn’t been able to give it a name because, to him, love just doesn’t quite cover all bases. You represent a degree of normalcy in his life—a fixture for calm among all the chaos. Sharing new music finds over breakfast and drinking overpriced red wine to the tune of Solange. That’s when he’s happiest, when his head is the most quiet.

It’s just past 1 when the sprinter finally pulls to a rest outside the high-rise that houses your shared apartment. The city is a hum of distant lights and sounds, yet here, at this moment, it all fades into background noise.

Nic slides out of the van with a heavy exhale, loosening his tie as he follows you into the dimly lit lobby. His silence only breaks once you’re in the peaceful sanctuary of your apartment. “Thank you for coming tonight,” he says, and you watch as the tension he’s been carrying all evening seems to peel away with his blazer as he drapes it over a chair by the door.

“Of course, my love.” A hint of relief softens his expression as he catches your eye. You flash him a small, tender smile over your shoulder, sweet and familiar, just slightly lopsided where your canine meets the plush of your lower lip. It’s one of the things he’s always adored about you. He can’t help but smile back, his first genuine one of the night, as he follows the click of your heels into the kitchen.

You’re moving gracefully from cabinet to cabinet, pouring two glasses of deep red wine as the quiet of the apartment settles around you. He watches you, entranced by the simplicity of the moment. The familiar rituals—the clinking of glasses, the way you hand him his without a word—ease away the last threads of stress from the evening. “It was really lovely to see Cooper again,” you say, handing him a glass. “I missed him.”

Nic nods, taking a sip of the wine. “I know. I missed him too… but I think I missed this more.” He raises his glass, clinking it softly against yours, his gaze never leaving your face. Here, in the quiet of home, with the world locked outside, he’s finally where he wants to be.

Before long, the two of you are nestled together on the couch, your heels abandoned somewhere near the door and Nic’s tie totally undone around his neck. The soft pulse of a Majid Jordan song drifts through the room, setting a gentle rhythm to the night. The golden glow of the corner lamp casts warm shadows, wrapping around you like a private swaddle. You sit close, faces mere inches apart, sharing laughter and stolen glances as you exchange stories from the evening, each word slipping easily into the quiet intimacy of the moment.

Nic’s hand moves slowly along the length of your bare legs, his touch a soft, languid caress that leaves warmth in its wake. Every so often, his fingers pause to trace gentle shapes on your skin, little loops and spirals that make you shiver. His fingertips linger on the back of your thigh, drawing delicate, invisible I love you’s that you feel more deeply than words could express. Between quiet whispers and playful smiles, his hand finds yours, fingers intertwining as his gaze settles on you, warm and intense. He leans in slowly, his lips hovering just above yours, breath mingling in the charged silence. The teasing brush of his mouth is soft at first, a gentle taste, before he presses deeper, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His hand slides up your thigh, anchoring you to him as the kiss deepens, each touch and shared breath stoking the quiet, simmering heat that fills the room, drawing you both into something irresistible, something you don’t want to end.

“I should’ve known the red wine was a setup,” he murmurs with a smirk, barely pulling back as you playfully smack his chest. The laughter you share breaks through the tension, leaving you both grinning as Nic settles back into the couch, his lap open and inviting. You climb onto him, feeling his hands rest comfortably on your waist as you nestle into his embrace, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. Somehow, he makes every intimate moment feel like the first all over again, taking you back to late nights in college bars and stolen moments in his dorm room, where everything felt new and thrilling.

Even now, he still makes you feel giddy, like that young, lovestruck freshman, dreaming of a future with him—a white picket fence, a home filled with laughter, maybe a couple of kids running around. Each touch, each glance brings those dreams rushing back, making you feel as if you’re right back at the beginning, falling for him all over again.

Nic watches you, noticing the way your gaze seems to drift, lost in thought even as your eyes rest on his. A small, knowing smile curves his lips, and he lets out a soft, amused huff before giving his legs a gentle nudge to draw you back.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, his voice low and inviting, reaching out to pull you closer until you’re nestled comfortably against him, fully present with him once more.

His fingers trail up your back, tracing soft, languid patterns that send shivers through you as you settle deeper against him. His touch is gentle yet intentional, fingers curling at the nape of your neck as he brings his forehead to rest against yours, the two of you sharing a breath in the quiet warmth of the room. His gaze meets yours, a familiar smolder that sends heat spreading through you, and the world outside blurs, leaving just the two of you wrapped in this moment.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something deliciously dark, “I think we should take this to the bedroom, instead.”

The words sink into the silence, charged with a longing that leaves you breathless. His thumb brushes across your cheek, lingering with a tenderness that contrasts the intensity of his gaze. He leans in slowly, capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, savoring the closeness, the taste of you. His hand slides up, fingers threading through your hair as he pulls you even closer, the warmth of him seeping through your skin.

You feel a rush of boldness, your hands moving to the buttons of his shirt, deftly unfastening each one until the fabric falls open, revealing the smooth skin and taut muscle beneath. You let your fingers trace along the dips and valleys of his chest, his heartbeat slightly erratic as your nails graze the skin. The feel of him, solid and steady, grounds you even as the intensity between you builds. You part just enough to look at him, taking in the way his chest rises and falls, his breathing as unsteady as yours.

The shared look says it all, an unspoken agreement in the glimmer of his eyes, in the way his hands skim down your sides, leaving trails of sparks in their wake. Without a word, he shifts, adjusting himself so that he can lift you easily, legs coiled around his waist as he carries you through the soft-lit rooms to the familiar, inviting comfort of your bed.

As he lays you down, he pauses, gaze roaming over you with a mix of reverence and desire. His fingers brush down your arm, pausing to intertwine with yours, grounding you in the quiet intensity of the moment. Here, where the moonlight and cityscape filters through the open blinds, there’s no rush, only the anticipation building between you, thick and sweet.

He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, each one a promise, a reminder of how much he loves you. And as his lips find yours again, slow and leisurely, you know tonight will be one to remember.

[tinydefector]

Transformers kinktober Day 1

Exhibitionisn (ROTB Mirage)

Mirage/reader/ Noah

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: smut, nsfw, valveplug, Feeling up, cumming from touch.

@tf-kinktober2024

Day 2

The next fic should be the update to the marine centre tomorrow night.

__________________

Car shows had always been something that fascinated Mirage, he had seen them a few times but never taken the opportunity to visit one himself. But trying to convince Noah to go with him to one was hard enough. He needed a human to enter into them even if it was just one of those ones where he sat there and got to look pretty.

"Oh come now, Nooooaaaaahhh" Mirage nearly whines out, draping himself artfully across the beat up car Noah was currently working on restoring for some cash. "You know you want to! All the shiny cars, you can look around and chat up some people." 

Optics cycle wide in an exaggerated plea, glossa clicking cheekily. “Don't you want to show off your pretty Porsche?. I'll make it worth your while, hmm? Give you a ride you'll never forget..." He moves to lay across the cab, a soft purr vibrating in his intake. "Come on, it'll be fun! Live a little " 

"Mirage I'm not taking you to essentially a car porn show" Noah calls out while moving around the Garage looking for different tools and parts. " not to mention I still haven't finished half the work on you, cause you won't sit still, you paint looks good but ya insides!" He huffs out while fidgeting with a touch and spark plugs.

"Awww, Noah, don't be such a bore! It's not car porn, it's car appreciation."

 "And besides, you know you love fine-tuning me - I'm your favourite Porsche to tinker with, admit it!" Revving his engine in a playful chuff, Mirage moves over the car leaning down to try and press himself against Noah's back. 

 "We can make a date for it! bring baby with us and everything. Please? Pretty please?" glossa flicking Noah's cheek in a cheesy fight to gain his attention. "Ewww don't like me!" He shouts at the cybertronian. Jumping back to try and keep his distance from the mech. "You're a pest, why do I even keep you around!" He shouts, had the two not known each other well someone would have assumed Noah was angry. 

Mirage reels back with an overblown gasp, aervo flying to his chestplate. "Noah, how could you wound me so! I thought what we had was special." His expression crumples into one of utter devastation, lip quivering theatrically as optics begin to shimmer with nonexistent tears. "All I want is to spend quality time with my boy. Is that really so much to ask?"

Collapsing onto the floor in a dramatic sprawl. "You might as well sell me for scrap, if I mean so little to you! See if I care, I'll - I'll just..." Noah is quicker than Mirage with his own comeback. "Keep it up and I just might, got someone who'd pay good for you" he shot back while rolling his eyes as he moved around to find the spanners and socket wrench he needed. It was playful teasing. 

The fake sobs cut off with an indignant squawk at Noah's quip. "You wouldn't dare! I'm a Porsche, not some rusted beater!" 

"10k Take it or leave it Noah" their lover calls out as they walk into the garage. "Hey handsome" they coo while walking up to Mirage. He sits up hastily, batting away nonexistent tears to throw them a dazzling grin scooping them up into his arms. " light of my existence! Tell this sparkless fleshie he needs to take me to the car show this weekend."

Revving his engine playfully. "Besides, 10k? I'm worth twice that, easy. Make it 20 and we've got a deal." It earns a laugh from them as they move towards mirage.  "Ahh but 10k would be a steal for me" they hum while pressing a kiss to his lips. "Hi baby missed you"  It earns a groan from Noah. "Don't work him up he's a nuances already, keeps pestering me about car shows" Noah calls out.

Mirage trills happily at the kiss, Weaving his arm around their waist, Mirage pulls them in close. "I'd be on my best behaviour, promise! We'll check out all the sweet rides and get to sit pretty for you two, come on I want to do something where I get to feel special outside of being an alien on your planet”

Mirage whirs and clicks pleadingly. "One little car show?" 

"Come on Noah! Look at that face, you can't say no to that face" they whines, walking up and slumping against the human man, Pressing a kiss to his cheek "Come on it will be fun, unless you have something else you'd rather do" Noah sighs deeply, giving his love a look. But he has to admit, it was getting harder and harder to say no to those faces. 

"Alright, fine! You win." He throws up his hands in defeat, though a small smile plays at his lips. "We can check out the car show this weekend."

Mirage lets out an ecstatic whoop, scooping Noah and Baby up in a hug that has them dangling off the ground. 

That's what had led up to the show and shine. Mirage sat in line with his hood up with Noah working on his engine, doing little tuning and checks. Mirage's other lover hat in the passenger seat handling Noah tools when he asked for them. "Easy Raj, don't get too excited" they hum while their fingers dance along Mirage's interior teasingly.  

Mirage revs his engine impatiently as Noah putters around under his hood, not at all accustomed to staying still for so long. Mirage lets out a plaintive little whine barely above a whisper. "You're killing me, baby!" he pleads. 

A couple stop to talk with Noah for a moment but neither Mirage or his other lover pay much attention as their hands begin to teasingly trace over the gear stick and centre console. 

"You're the one who wanted to come here now you have to suffer" they call teasingly. Mirage revs his engine in protest, though it comes out more like a stalling sound. “sorry, still doing a lot of work on this beauty,  going to have weird noises till we can get them fixed or tune them out” they call out casually to the people who take interest in watching Noah work. 

He grumbles softly as Noah pats his hood with a quiet chuckle, as he shows Mirage's engine and equipment off. "Really starting to regret begging you slaggers to bring me. This is torture!" Mirage whines through the radio hoping it isn't too loud for anyone to hear. 

Mirage stifles a needy groan building in his intake. His plating buzzes wherever Noah's hands dig deeper into the engine bay looking for different areas, but never fully working on another.  "You two are pure evil, I hope you know that," he manages, though his tone holds no malice. If anything, it's downright desperate with want. 

His entire frame vibrates to contain the urge to transform and pounce on them both right then and there in front of so many humans, they were doing it to spite him kneoing full well he couldn't do anything. 

more. "You going to overload huh?" They teases, enjoying watching the mech suffer as both themself and Noah tease. “hmmm might have to play with these vents a little” they coo while fingers dance over them. A squeal like a fan belt leaves Mirage onto for a stalling sound before his enough settles again. 

"You both know exactly what you're doing," he gasps softly, intake heaving. His engine races, Whining needily. Their hand moved much slowly along his interior, working him while Noah played with his engine. It makes his spike ache in need as trans fluid leaks from him.

They've wound him so tightly to the brink that all he can do is tremble helplessly, unable to move or even grab them to interface with. “So close, don't stop..."  It's an exquisite agony, being restrained without being status cuffed. "Mmm good boy, is that an overload for us?" Noah purrs at him. Mirage's vision whites out in bliss as waves of ecstasy wash over him, cresting higher than he thought possible. Locked in the throes of release wrung from him by his human's adept hands. 

His trembling fades slowly, Rebooting lazily, Mirage lets out a pleasured sigh, every nerve singing with afterglow. "Raj you alright, you haven't short circuited?" They ask softly, running a hand over his steering wheel. Mirage can't help but purr lazily in reply, humming engines struggling to reboot after such an intense pleasure crash. 

"Give me a klik, I'm still rebooting," he mumbles, Shuddering one last electrical aftershock, Mirage slowly flickers back to awareness. "You absolute glitches! Springing an overload on me" He huffs out only for his little lovers to laugh in amusement.  

 "Aww Raj, don't be like that you wanted to go to the show and Shine, you got your little moment to show and shine. Noah told you it was a car porn show" they tease, Noah makes a choking noise in amusement as he finishes up by giving mirage a quick under crage wipe. 

"Don't remind me, I should've known better than to trust you!” He gives them a final huff. "Let's get out of here and blow. I need to blow off some steam after that” he grumbles but no malice is in his voice.  He's rather content and weightless in his own sense. 

______________

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[nicromancytarot]

A POEM FROM YOUR FUTURE SPOUSE

This is a general reading based on a collective of people. Take what resonates and leave what doesn’t. If you don’t feel the pile resonates with you, don’t be scared to try another, if it still doesn’t feel right, that’s ok! Maybe our energies aren’t as connected and my readings are not for you.

I do these strictly for fun and educational purposes. I do not charge for these readings, and I do not fake readings. I would tell you the cards I get for the readings, but I pull like 15-20 cards each reading and that is just slightly a strenuous task to write them all down lmao.

PICK A CARD READING

I asked my spirit guides what your future spouse would say to you if they were to write you a poem and used my intuition to write it for you. Pick a picture to find out what they would like to say.

Pile 1 ———> Pile 2 ———> Pile 3

PILE 1

Time is an essence granted to those who wait,

Some people have impatience,

Some people worry it’ll come late,

The ones who sit in anticipation trying to speed up the clock,

Are the ones who work in antique shops,

The people who collect the cogs,

Because changing the time on the clock won’t make the stars falter in response,

Even when the hands strike the numbers

where you want it to stop

Because time is an essence granted to those who wait,

For you I cannot count the seconds on my watch,

For I worry that I will lose touch,

As you are not here when I want you to be,

And I cannot speed up the clock,

But when I record the time that I must wait for you to be in my arms,

The beats of my heart are in tune with yours,

And I know it’s worth the chance

PILE 2

The moon is known to have two faces,

and I worry that I do too,

Although I know about the possibility,

I wish not to show them to you,

Will you be scared when you see my shadows?

Will you run away in fear,

if I show you every side of me,

My two faces,

The parts of me I choose to keep within

Tell me a lie and I promise I’ll trust you,

I won’t question your authenticity,

For I don’t believe that you would appear a liar to me,

without a reason to be,

Would you question me too if I was to tell to you anything but the truth?

The moon has two faces and I do too,

but I forbid my shadows to ever harm you

PILE 3

Rainbows are caused by the sun and the rain,

A chemical reaction in the sky,

And although the shower are downfall tears,

I am glad that they’re not mine,

If something negative can create such a beauty,

Then why can’t you and I?

We may not be the perfect pair,

But I’m prepared to give it a try

Ignore the opinions,

And don’t acknowledge the stares,

They’re jealous that you are mine,

Perhaps they think we’re a colossal disaster,

But they are as stupid as they are blind,

Hold out your hand and walk with me,

We’ll give them something to find,

The red carpet paints the floor,

They grant you your time to shine

[silcoitus]

Tailor-Made (Chp 19)

Previous chapter: Chapter 18

Tailor-Made Masterlist

Rating: Explicit. Minors DNI 

Chapter tags: Silco x Fem!Reader, Reader-Insert, Eventual Smut, Eventual Romance, Slow Burn, Set between Acts 1 and 2 of Arcane, hurt/comfort, fluff; vaginal fingering; hand job; blow job;

Chapter word count: 5.2k

Chapter Beta Readers: @medic-simp

Total word count: 68k

The weekend somehow manages to both drag on and speed by; short, frantic bursts of chaos and bustling activity interspersed with dull, quiet lulls that have you almost falling asleep at the register. The only thing that manages to keep you awake during those brief moments of peace is the thought of seeing Silco again come Monday.

Seated at your stool, you look over at your dress form. Silco’s vest has come along nicely; you’ve got all the important base pieces done and now just need to finish all the finer details. The gold trim is sure to take you some time as you’ve decided to add it by hand, wanting to make sure it looks absolutely perfect. And while you have plenty of notions and enclosures from your Topside shopping trip haul, you’re still playing around with them and figuring out what pieces to incorporate and which to save for a future garment. 

Gods, I hope he likes the progress.

Read Chapter 19—Eager to Please on AO3

Stay tuned for Chapter 20!

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[encachette]

smart mouth 1

Part 1 of 2.

❣ Professor! Bucky Barnes x F!student

❣ uni au, F! student is in her 20s (she’s meannnnnn to our boy, I’m trying to write an unlikable FMC ok)

❣ cw: this is just the build-up to a pwp ch. 2, mentions of university tenure system (sorry, I’m in academia), political science (derogatory), crackfic

❣ MDNI

❣ Word Count: 8.1 k

❣ Summary: The last year of your university career is spent figuring out your life and bickering with taking out your anger on a the new professor in your department. Completing your degree feels endlessly tedious amongst the pile of bills and low prospects of career advancement. So maybe you let yourself indulge in a little game of catch-and-release with a handsome professor who falls over his own feet trying to keep up with you. But sooner or later the man cracks.

❣ Author’s Note: heavily inspired by a professor I had in an undergrad class on “human rights in the 20th century.” The professor himself was a bit of a fuckwit, but still reluctantly very nice to me against all effort on my part. I just wanted to make him scream.

I honestly won’t ever watch superhero movies but I thought Sebastian Stan’s public personality is quite himbo-ish if not a bit shallow, so he was kind of perfect for this piece. (Sorry to his fans, but ain’t no way that man has read Marcus Aurelius. His copy of the book in that GQ interview advertisement had a perfectly un-cracked spine.)

smart mouth, part 1.

“Miss, would you mind taking those out of your ears, please?”

Dr. Barnes mimed at you with a tight-lipped smile, forefingers and thumbs of each hand plucking out wired phantom earphones. You look up him, cocking an eyebrow and trying not to give a smirk — too early in the class to start challenging the doofus — and repeat his motions back to him, making a show of rolling the wires around your slender fingers before shoving them into your jacket pocket. No need to start today’s little sparring session over such a petty attempt to annoy you.

There would be countless errors in his pedagogy or lecture for you to pick at during the course of the hour, no need to tear into him quite yet.

You pull out your notebook and pen, letting out a loud yawn before leaning back in your seat and hiking your feet up on the seat next to you. You’re front and center, your usual spot in every course. At the computer, Dr. Barnes was fumbling around, trying to pull up another one of his bland presentations that would inevitably regurgitate the reading material. You sigh, leaning back and lacing your fingers behind your head, scanning him as he’s trying to remember his password to his Google Drive.

Begrudgingly, you allow yourself to notice how handsome he was; especially so in today’s sky button down and perfectly tailored slacks. The sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, exposing a few veins snaking up his forearm before hiding again under a bunch of white fabric at the crook of his elbow. You follow along the hard lines, eyes dragging up Dr. Barnes’ muscular form and to his face — that creeping shadow from one or two missed days of shaving, angular lines framing downturned, pouty lips. You wanted to bite into them and see the blood rush to the surface.

“Alright gang, we’re up and running. I hope you all finished the book and the accompanying article about…” You tune him out, reviewing in your head the reading material and finding logical flaws with the arguments, preparing to play with Dr. Barnes a bit as he makes his way through his lesson plan.

Today was a particularly irritating day. Your boss at your part-time nonprofit job spent too much time berating you about incorrectly formatted documents, and you sat in on one too many meetings that should have been one email. Plus, you had a stack of reading you had to do for your lectures this week — for classes that actually nurtured your intellectual curiosity. Running on three cups of coffee, your meds, and a spiteful attitude (you had forgone breakfast in exchange for an extra five minutes of sleep this morning), you had skulked into the humanities building and jerkily settled into your seat without your usual patience. In retrospect, maybe this was why you were more ruthless than usual today. Unfair, if you really thought about it.

Dr. Barnes was a perfectly nice guy, when you were feeling generous. Not particularly bright, but still a hard worker who seemed to like teaching; rigorous intellectual interrogation wasn’t a prerequisite for a PhD, evidently. Armed with a travel mug of tea and that stupid leather messenger bag, he was always exactly five minutes early to class, bright-eyed and bushy tailed and ready to prostrate in front of dimwitted little college students in exchange for the raving course evaluations necessary for tenure promotion. He was overeager, if you were totally honest.

Today, his tendency to prolong out his lecture — lingering on obvious concepts that any high school half wit would have understood — was grating on your last nerve. That slow voice he uses to read verbatim from his presentation slides (a sign of insecurity, in your eyes, that an alleged expert needed notes to prompt his lectures) to the class reminded you of the way adults spoke to you when you were five, shooing you away so you wouldn’t insert yourself into their adult conversations.

You’re leaning back in your chair, feet up on the seat next to you, scribbling a few chicken scratches of notes you have no intention of revisiting when you catch an opening in his lecture to interject. Perfect.

“And so, several scholars in the field have argued that practices in these countries have been unable to achieve the same standard of human rights that we find here in the United States,” Dr. Barnes finishes reading off of his lecture slides and aims a bright, toothy smile at the class. “Any questions before we get to discussion of the material?”

Your hand and a corner of your mouth shoot straight up, smirk deepening when Dr. Barnes’ eyes sweep over the class before reluctantly calling on you. You can almost hear his silent prayer, begging for any other student in the class to speak. You feel that beginning sparkling sense of fated victory bloom when he calls your name.

“So, these scholars…” you begin, voice saccharine and playful, “what methodologies did they use to get to that conclusion?” You start easy, asking a question you know he can’t answer, like circling around your prey pretending to decide whether to go in for the kill.

“Uh, well. I’m sure they used comparative methods and used the United States as a control,” he says, so unsure. Your eyes positively gleam at the opening he’s left for you.

“You’re sure, Dr. Barnes? So you’re saying that the United States gets to define ‘human rights’ in these studies?”

“Yes, that’s explicitly in the lecture today,” he says. Aha. He thinks he can rely on his little notes to save him. Too confident.

“So the United States should be the final arbiter of ‘human rights’ in the international political stage, is that what your lecture is arguing?” Fingers formed in air quotes, you’re practically simpering at this point, staring at his expression — he was too satisfied and sure that he had averted a land mine.

Somewhere behind you, you hear a stifled chortle, which seems to have an unnerving effect on Dr. Barnes. You make a note of how his shoulders have a tendency to tense upward when he’s defensive, when he’s faced with a challenge. So, with pure delight in your eyes as you raise an eyebrow, you challenge him to do something. Anything.

He clears his throat before saying your name, real nervous and slow, gravelly. Almost sexy in how pitiful it was. But you continue to speak, steamrolling right over his short-lived moment,

“Because the United States is famously really good at upholding human rights, right Dr. Barnes?” You relish in that little indignant flash across his baby blues, satisfaction dancing through your body the sight of your professor, squirming under your gaze. You made him squirm, someone who was ostensibly a figure of authority over you; some idiot who, by the skin of his teeth, might be a passable researcher but in no way possessed the chops necessary to be a good teacher.

It was cute, the few false starts Dr. Barnes stuttered through before fake laughing — nervous, pink-tinged cheeks curving upward. You almost wanted to flush yourself, a bit too focused on the scruff of his shadow, wondering what it’d be like for it to drag against your skin.

You blink that image out of your head, poised and ready to give your final contribution to the discussion,

“Weird that this is a lecture about the United States’ role in global politics and not a single reading about imperialism was assigned. Pedagogically irresponsible, if you ask me.” You bless him with your brightest smile, uncrossing your legs and crossing them again in opposite order — the sarcasm and smugness practically drips from your gaze. Dr. Barnes’ eyes flash indignantly, but you don’t miss that swift glance down toward your thighs, exposed under the skimpy hemline of your miniskirt.

The sound of laptops shutting and shuffling zippers and paper draws the both of you out of your staring contest.

Dr. Barnes clears his throat again, running his metal hand through his hair and pushing a few loose locks back from his forehead. Your bratty little demeanor remains undisturbed, and you think maybe Dr. Barnes is holding your gaze just a smidge too long before he tears away from you and back into his surroundings.

“Don’t forget to schedule your one-on-one office hour with me so I can approve your final paper research topics. Instructions are on the syllabus!” His last few words are drowned out by the hubbub of chairs screeching against the linoleum and students filling out the door.

Dr. Barnes turns toward you as you’re shoving your notebook into your bag, his handsome face shadowed in a scowl so childish you almost want to reach out and pinch his cheeks. Almost.

“That was extremely disrespectful conduct, Miss —“

“Hey Barnes, you got a minute?” Dr. Barnes’ fuming was abruptly cut off by a cheery masculine voice. You both turn to see Dr. Rogers — one of these days you’ll be able to snag a seat in his research class.

“Stark is asking everyone in the Department to turn in their syllabi for next semester by end-of-business today,” he continues, “Need you to look over my reading list, Buck.” Dr. Rogers stops for a second, clocking that you’re still in the room and clearing his throat, sheepishly correcting himself,

“I meant Dr. Stark; don’t tell him I forgot the ‘doctor’ part, he’s insufferable,” Dr. Rogers speaks to you, slightly nervous chuckle escaping as he offers you a good-natured smile. You make a gesture of zipping your lips, returning Dr. Rogers’ smile as you turn to leave.

Dr. Barnes looks between you and Dr. Rogers before calling your name again.

Hm. Stern, as if he were about to reprimand you.

“We’ll continue this conversation later,” Dr. Barnes glares at you, clearly loathing that smug look you’ve schooled yourself into maintaining. You make a show out of shoving your earphones in and paying attention to your phone instead of him, happily aware that his eyes were boring into your skull as you turn on your heel and strut out of the classroom.

Flippantly, you glance back through the door, a false little smile lighting up your face as you utter a phrase you know won’t do anything but rile up your professor,

“See ya later, Barnes.”

If the academic utopia is meritocracy, you’ll eat your shorts.

✶

To: jbbarnes@mcu.edu

From: waris_aracket@mcu.edu

Subject: Meeting re: research topic approval

Hi Dr. Barnes,

Can I stop by your office hours next Monday to talk about my research paper topic?

Thanks.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

To: waris_aracket@mcu.edu

From: jbbarnes@mcu.edu

Subject: re: Meeting re: research topic approval

Yes, please stop by on Monday.

Thunderbolt Hall, Room 616.

JBB

✶

You can’t help but snort as you close out of your email app on your phone, a bit taken aback by the bluntness of Dr. Barnes’ response to you. Half of the time, the man couldn’t stammer out two coherent sentences to answer your questions. The other half, his answers, delivered in clipped tones, were so cookie-cutter and shallow that you’d inevitably be left a little bored. Never were his responses so blunt.

Sure, maybe you were tiptoeing on that line between childish iconoclasm and outright insolence, but really, Dr. Barnes was an academic. He should be grateful that you were there to keep things interesting. At least your questions were generative for discussion!

Not that you cared, but did you push him too far during the last lecture?

Whatever.

Shoving your phone into your jacket pocket, you pack up your supplies and stumble from around the floor-to-ceiling bookcase, back aching from hunching over your books for the last two hours. Peter Parker is rounding the corner and bounding toward you as you hike your bag up your shoulder, two to-go cups in his hands. One for you, one for him. Thank God for that kid.

“Hey, Parker,” you relieve him of one of the coffees, glad you didn’t have to waste time picking up a source of caffeine before your next shift at work. “What’s going on?”

“Hiya. Locking in before my date with MJ later,” he takes a sip of his own coffee before slinging his backpack onto the desk and occupying the seat you just vacated — you would have complained that someone was using your sacred library work alcove if it were anyone other than Peter.

“Godspeed, buddy. Tell MJ I said ‘hi’ and that I’ll see her for Book Club next week.” You give Peter a goofy salute, stern face struggling to contain a smile, before making your way through the labyrinthine library stacks toward the more populated work areas in the front of the building.

✶

Bucky Barnes is spending his usual Tuesday afternoon deep in the stacks of the social sciences library, cobbling together research for the manuscript he was working on. Piles and piles of dusty leather-bound books surrounded his work station, which rudely occupied an entire table that could have sat several other library patrons.

That day was particularly irritating. Nothing felt right. The deadline for a draft of an article was looming large, and the pressure to publish as often and as much as possible was slowly closing in on him. Helping Steve formulate two undergrad syllabi proved to be a several hour-long endeavor, so Bucky lost an entire morning that he planned on devoting to catching up on his reading. Too many papers to grade, too many faculty meetings to attend, too many articles to review: Bucky was on the brink of burn out.

Despite the organized chaos that was his life as an untenured academic, a significant chunk of that day’s irritation can be attributed to that fucking smart mouth girl in his first lecture of the day. He’d dealt with his fair share of knuckleheads throughout his few years as a young professor, always with an open mind and a kind shoulder — qualities that he felt were essential for a good educator to possess. But you, he pictured you in his head with a sneer.

It was always something with you —

“Actually, that’s the wrong year, Dr. Barnes,” or

“You don’t sound so sure about that, Dr. Barnes,” or

“Dr. Barnes, are you sure that’s how you want to structure the lecture today?” Of course he was fucking sure. He’d been teaching this course for years and his teaching evaluations were top-notch, no thanks to you and your attempts to shake his confidence. Where the fuck did you get off on questioning his authority?

Bucky had spent maybe the first few weeks of the semester mulling over what he had possibly done to provoke you into being such a thorn in his side.

He supposed the first incident happened when he made the mistake of giving you a 98% on a paper and you had decided to grade grub him into oblivion. He thinks about that moment with a derisive snort. Little Miss Overachiever. Bursting into his office, absolutely incensed that a — and this is verbatim — “second round draft pick hire” had the gall to give you anything less than a 100%, the stones to ruin her perfect record.

If he were being perfectly honest, you were much more intelligent than your peers, and part of him understood that your behavior stemmed from boredom. University hadn’t been particularly challenging for you and it seemed to him that you were fed up with it. Figuring out how to fulfill every student’s needs in the classroom tended to be easy for him — his course evals were almost always glowing with praise for his pedagogy. But you. He just couldn’t figure out how to channel all of your spite into something intellectually productive, not only for the sake of peace in his classroom but because he (quite begrudgingly) wanted you to feel like you learned something. That was his fucking job, for fuck’s sake.

Bucky shakes his head, as if his brain were a goddamn etch-a-sketch and he could erase the image of you, sitting so pretty with that petulant smirk that seemed glued to your face. Without fail, always front-and-center. Ready to taunt him, make him flustered, like he wasn’t good enough to be your academic superior. With a deep sigh and a frustration that didn’t seem to dissipate no matter what he did, Bucky tries to knuckle down to finish his task in the library. He would not let some tiny little know-it-all distract him from his work. A know-it-all with a pretty face.

No. Focus, Barnes…

Bucky had started off that day bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, having completed his departmental duties for the week. He even had the time to edit both his and Steve’s syllabi for the course offerings next semester. His house was spic and span, not a spec of dust or a cat hair out of place — no thanks to Alpine. (Bucky loved that little fleabag to bits but goddamn did she shed like it was her full-time job.) The quiet of his morning routine was perfectly routinized to prep him for the bustle of the day. It was almost ritualistic, the warmth of his coffee mug — “Professor of the Year, 2020” garishly printed in university colors — and an apple as he reads through the queue of journal articles he’s behind on editing. Alpine would undoubtedly be inhaling her food (top of the line, grain-free, high protein, expensive cat food) after screaming bloody murder because her kibble landed in her dish at 7:01 instead of 7:00 am on the dot. After breakfast, Bucky lets Alpine go outside in the yard to chase around the critters in his herb garden, which he admitted was wilting at a faster pace than he’d like. Every so often Alpine would up look at him while he flipped through his textbooks, bright eyes blinking at him slowly as he sat on his porch with his one allotted cigarette of the day.

That morning had proceeded like every other morning, calm and restorative. Nothing was out of place, and Bucky was feeling pretty confident in himself that day. Finally. The stress of working toward tenure was wrapping itself around him like a vice, a near-constant suffocation until recently. Bucky thought he was getting a handle on his career, surefooted in his future at such a prestigious research university.

That is, until the venomous game you insisted on playing with him in every lecture finally knocked him off kilter.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

“Everyone read the assigned text for this week, correct?”

A weak mix of murmurs and ‘yes’s answered his question as an incessant noise started to permeate through the classroom.

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap.

Dr. Bucky Barnes’ bright blues, followed the source of the tapping, up the slender hand of its owner before loudly clearing his throat, as was his wont, though he quite hated that habit of his.

“Great, can someone briefly summarize the author’s argument so we’re all on the same page?”

Tip. Tap. Tip. Tap. Perfectly polished nails wrapped around a pencil as its eraser end collided again and again onto the desk. Bucky’s quick to glare at you this time, one eye twitching as he called on some overeager student whose hand shot up immediately.

“Well, Habermas’ idea of the public sphere…”

You raise your eyebrows, but you don’t challenge him, placing your pencil down instead of tapping it harder. A-ha. Victory, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t quite understand why in that moment, but the thought of  that small, ever-so-slight advantage he had over you in today’s game sent a burst of warmth through his chest.

Overeager Try Hard pulls Bucky from his slight victory, and he trains his attention on the kid again.

“…and so liberal regimes tend to emphasize intellectual exchange in the public sphere as a basis for the educated voter.” Listening to this kid was such a fucking effort today, but Bucky forces a brighter demeanor,

“Yes, that’s correct —“ Bucky is cut off by a loud snort, much earlier than he expected. His eyes shoot straight toward you, as if he was willing you to combust in your seat. All you can do is roll your eyes at him, like a fucking child, he thinks. He almost bares his teeth when you dismissively mutter,

“Oh, please.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes for about three seconds, desperate to keep his slender grasp on his self-control, before he draws out your name and practically snarls,

“Do you have something to say? Or can we both be adults and have a discussion without your attitude?”

A few mocking “ooh, she’s in trouble” ring out from the rest of your classmates, a low sniggering coming from Try Hard behind you. Bucky almost felt like he was winning — the teasing from your classmates, the brief shock at his assertiveness before your face breaks out into such a bright smile.

To Bucky’s great dismay, that mischievous, evil grin didn’t look anything like a conciliatory “You’re right, Dr. Barnes, I’m so sorry and I’ll never undermine you in my tight little skirts again” kind of smile. No, it was a “You’re in for it now, Barnes,” kind of grin, one that sent shivers up his spine in a way that left him almost… excited? Desperate for you to keep responding to him?

You only look at him, maintaining eye contact that felt much too intense for a lesson about what’s-his-philosopher-face and abstract political theory. Bucky swears he feels the tingles in his spine shoot straight to his heart when you respond in the most unexpected way: you back down.

“Aw, I’m sorry, Dr. Barnes.” That saccharine sweet voice, infused with the most malice he’d heard from you yet; and he almost short circuits when you push your bottom lip out into a pout. “Please, continue the lesson.”

What, no jab about his intellect? No undermining fucking snobby comments about his teaching methods? Bucky didn’t know how to respond, so he moved forward. “Just keep going, Barnes. Class is almost over,” he chides himself.

“Right. So,” Fuck. Stop stuttering, Barnes. “As we were discussing, Habermas’ ideas —“

Tap. TAP. Tap. TAP.

Bucky looks down at you again, no pencil in hand this time so his eyes travel down to the source of the noise. You don’t miss the way they’re caught on the skin left uncovered by your skirt, a sudden rush of heat flowing through your chest when your professor’s eyes slink down your legs toward the source of his annoyance. When Bucky’s eyes land on your boots, one of them tippy-tippy-tapping away in a  deliberate attempt to make him go insane.

“Are you kidding me, right now, Ms. LN!?” Bucky blurts out at you, clipped tone threatening to burst into something louder, more powerful in impact because you have needled him one too many times. The sheer delight in your eyes doesn’t do anything but completely infuriate him.

“Oh ho ho! Look who’s finally developed a backbone,” you actually jeer at him. That domineering little smirk that he’s become so familiar with. You stop your tapping, leaning back and folding your arms across your chest. Bucky doesn’t miss the way your chest is pushed against your arms, making them look bigger, big enough to fit into the palm of his hand, maybe. Fucking God, Barnes. Focus.

“You’re way out of line today,” Bucky starts, ready to tear you a new one, let you know how fucking irritating it is to have a know-it-all in a course that he spent so much time, so much meticulous attention into developing.

“I’ll step back in line when you can teach, Barnes,” you scoff. You actually fucking scoff. And Bucky is seeing too much red to pay any attention to the taunting and chittering surrounding the two of you. And maybe, (just maybe) Bucky would grow to regret the words that spilled, unrestrained and furious as he slammed down his pile of lecture notes on the table:

“Listen, you and your smart mouth have been nothing but disrespectful to me and your classmates every single day of this semester. If you don’t like my teaching style, drop the class.”

“This course is required for my major, Dr. Barnes,” you state, too smooth, derisiveness barely concealing a deeper anger. “If I had it my way, I wouldn’t be wasting my time listening to an ‘academic’ so clearly devoid of intellectual depth.”

Bucky swears he feels both of his eyes twitch as he takes a deep, shuddering breath, every drop of will he had channeled into remaining civilized. ‘She’s just a student. Don’t say anything you’ll regret,’ he breathes to himself, over and over.  The air quotes you placed around “academic” were too far.

Before Bucky could figure out the most civilized, but strict response, you stand up and turn on your heel, careful to tap your boots as annoyingly as possible as you leave in the middle of the lecture. You stop by the exit, turning around and calling over your shoulder to Bucky, again in that deceptively sweet voice, “Whatever, Dr. Barnes, see you in your office hours.”

In a move that was nothing short of uncool, Bucky calls after you, lacing as much menace as possible, as if he was issuing an ominous warning: “Fine! See you then. We’ll be discussing your unruly behavior, Miss LN.” You return nothing but a simpering smirk, fingers wiggling in a facetious wave that boils Bucky’s blood.

He does everything he can to ignore how shiny your hair is as you turn to leave, short skirt hiking up that much further as you tap, tap, tap down the hall.

˚̣̣̣ ꒷︶†︶꒷˚̣̣̣︶ ͡𑁬♱໒ ͡ ︶˚̣̣̣꒷︶†︶꒷ ˚̣̣̣

Even the quiet of the library, with its warm wood and cozy chairs, couldn’t soothe his mood. Bucky decides he needs a break, maybe a cup of coffee to wipe the mishap of today’s lecture from his brain. Maybe he’ll go down to the library café on the first floor and see if they had any of those blueberry muffins he liked so much. He stands up and drags one of the large leather armchairs near him closer to the large, arched windows. A hot cup of coffee and his books next to the window. Surely that’ll return him to some kind of equilibrium.

Bucky sighs and gives a yawn, arms up as he’s stretching out his back before he makes his way through the maze of shelves lined with rich leather-bound tomes, each in its rightful place. He lets that thought calm him. Everything is where it should be in the library. No nagging smart ass student. No irritating boss, because Dr. Stark would rather spend time schmoozing with department donors than in a classroom. No distractions — just Bucky and his stack of books, ready to be digested and organized into coherent research.  Nothing out of place in his library until he runs into you, that is. As Bucky rounds the corner toward the elevator, a flash of long hair and a familiar short skirt stops him in his tracks.

He pauses for a second before stepping behind the nearest immediate shelf, able to see you and Peter without being observed himself. Bucky doesn’t really process it in that moment, but a tug of adrenaline sends his heart rate up as he watches Peter hand you a cup of coffee. Your face — annoyingly pretty, Bucky thinks — lit up gratitude as your hands grab for the warmth of the cup. Peter leans in, surely too close for propriety’s sake, to hear you better as the last few whispers elicit a chuckle from him. He watches you give a stupid salute to Peter, and a strange, dark heat bubbling through him and tightening his chest.

That day, head hunched over a few archival parchment documents, all that pranced through through his brain were you and your little attitude and little fucking skirt, and the fact that you had picked the wrong fucking day to antagonize him.

Hours later when he retraced the events of the day before bed, Bucky still really couldn’t explain why he stopped so abruptly, why seeing you with that Parker kid was so frustrating for him.

✶

It’s fucking early. Too fucking early on a Monday for you to be dragging yourself out of bed to make your appointment with Dr. Barnes. Usually you wouldn’t bother getting out of bed before 11 AM, but today was a stacked day: meeting with Barnes, work, then a few hours in the library to finish a few assignments. First on the agenda: getting Dr. Barnes’ office hours appointment out of the fucking way.

Of course, you were aware that you were in for a rather unpleasant conversation with Barnes, but you knew that it was bound to come sooner or later. Your behavior wasn’t exactly exemplary of a bright student on track to attending an R1 research graduate program next year. Oh on the contrary, you recognized that your behavior wasn’t much of a deviation from that of a petulant child who had missed her afternoon nap — grouchy, mean, and desperate for calm. But you couldn’t help it. Every time Barnes wanted to explain something (something you already knew, most likely), he dragged out his words like you were actually four fucking years old, like you were just learning such big words and couldn’t connect ideas together with your own, undeveloped brain. Worse than the over-explaining, you supposed that his worst crime was that you had learned absolutely nothing from him throughout the semester. You didn’t feel intellectually challenged. In a course you PAID TUITION for, no less. It was completely unfair.

So, if he treated you like you were a dumb kid, then you’d make it as unpleasant for him as possible. He made it so easy to argue with him. Often wrong, always timid and slow to rebuke — quite honestly, sometimes you thought that you were doing him a service, pushing him into becoming a better teacher. Forcing him to prove his arguments rather than regurgitating outdated research that had no business being taught in the 21st century.

Obviously, this effort was to no avail.

The chill of autumn seeped into the brick walls of your tiny apartment, kicking on the creaky radiator that sometimes disturbed your sleep with its ghostly noises. Usually, the sounds and smells of your routine, the slowness of the morning, were enough to calm you: the burbling and snap of the electric kettle, fragrant coffee with a hazelnut creamer, your little mackerel tabby, Friday, mewing at you for her breakfast.

“Hi, baby,” you coo at her, all nine pounds of terror weaving between your ankles, “Momma’s gotta be out for the whole day today so you be good.” You scratch her one last time under her chin and pour kibble into her bowl, refreshing her water before you mentally prepare for the gruel of the work day. “Don’t try to chew through the treat bag again or we’ll have a problem.”

It was sluggish, the pace at which you pull on your clothes, guided by the weather app on your phone. With perfunctory, sharp motions, you yank on your knitted tights, skirt, and sweater, the second-hand cashmere a tiny comfort to you as you lock up and trudge to the bus stop, the weight of your school bag exacerbating your misery and irritation as your make your way to Thunderbolt Hall.

Earbuds blasted music through your ears, sunglasses blocking your stare. The scarf you’ve pulled close around your nose and mouth to keep in the warmth swishing in the air as you stomped through the university commons. Any excuse to avoid social interaction this early in the morning. Music gave you an excuse to keep walking, anyone stopping to greet you automatically assuming that you couldn’t hear them, couldn’t see them, or didn’t want to be bothered. Your sensory-deprivation contraption, you think, amused as you trekked toward Dr. Barnes’ office.

✶

Dr. Bucky Barnes hears the tap of your boots before he sees you. He’d been dreading this meeting, unsure of how you’d react to him reprimanding you for your behavior. He was determined to remain civilized today. Last lecture was nothing more than a student getting to him and him losing his cool. It was unprofessional. It felt fucking good, but unprofessional, nevertheless. And Bucky was nothing if not professional.

Nested at the end of the hall on the fourth floor of an old building foisted aside to be used by underfunded humanities departments, Bucky’s office was lucky enough to enjoy the warmth of the sun streaming in from two wide bay windows. Surrounded by furniture of dark wood, a cozy living room setup sat in front of the fireplace, which would be put to use as the northeast winter arrives in full force. Bucky tried hard to make it comfortable, bringing in a blanket and a few photos that he framed and displayed on the mantle. One of him and Steve the day they both graduate from their PhD programs. A photo of Bucky with a tight smile while shaking Dr. Stark’s hands, taken against his will on the day of his “welcome” party that the department secretary insisted was earmarked in the budget.

In the corner, a coffee machine whirred as it made his usual second cup of morning coffee. Bucky scoots in his fancy leather chair over to retrieve his mug, sipping on it just as he hears your knuckles wrap on his office door.

He waits a second, placing his mug down on a coaster before arranging himself behind his desk, ready to be the responsible adult between the two of you. He has his hands around his coffee mug, the ceramic warming his hands, and clears his throat one last time,

“Come in.” He watches the knob turn before your head pokes in, looking left and right before stepping in, leaving the door ajar. You’re stone faced, making your way slowly to the seat directly in front of Bucky’s desk and facing him. Bucky notices your skirt… barely catching his disappointment when he sees that your legs are covered in cable-knit tights. God damn, focus, Barnes. You cross, and uncross your legs, fidgeting with your bag in your lap, and raise an eyebrow at him.

He doesn’t respond, but just continues to stare at you, challenging you with an arch of a brow. You can make the first move today. He wants to know which way you’re headed.

“Well, Dr. Barnes,” you sigh, “we have a laundry list of shit to get through on the agenda, so where do you want to start?”

He snorts, amused and unable to conceal it, so he smirks and just says,

“Why not the easiest task? Run your research paper idea by me first.” Just as he couldn’t conceal the fact that he found you amusing, you couldn’t hide your surprise at his choice. But you quickly school yourself into a stony face once again.

“Sure. I’m thinking of juggling several ideas in my paper...” you explain as you pull out your notebook, flipping a few pages before turning to a sheet lined with pretty, swooping handwriting. Bucky notices the neatness with each flare of your pen, how organized you are and how it tickles something in his brain when he sees your long fingers wrap around a pen.

“…hello?” You snap a finger in front of Bucky’s face, shocking him out of his daze. Shit, what did she say?

“I’m listening, I’m listening,” Bucky lies, hurriedly trying to get a grip on himself. He was so determined to be in control of the conversation. “Your idea is good. No notes.” 

Your face wrinkles, confused and a little frustrated. That pouty lip pushes out a bit, just the way Bucky liked to stare at sometimes when he caught you zoning out in class. Oops. Wrong thing to say, Bucky winces.

“That’s it?” You spat out your words with incredulity, vaguely aware that you had crossed a line somewhere and giving over to your intuition, you tense; ever so slightly, but enough for Bucky to feel his eyes flash in defiance.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” he says as his brows knit together, crossing his leg to rest one ankle on the opposite knee; he can still salvage the situation. But what the fuck would he say? “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention to a word you were saying, I was too fixated on your fingers and what they could be touching?” The thought of it was enough to make him blush.

“I mean, you have no suggestions at all as to how I can improve my research topic?” Okay. Don’t panic, Barnes. Double down. Just double down.

“I think it’s brilliant, actually,”

“Figures.” You scoff, murmuring under your breath, and by this point, Bucky knows that he’s completely lost control of the situation.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?”

“Figures that you’d have nothing useful to say. Thanks for the meeting anyway.” You look at your watch before adding, all lofty and slow, “I have somewhere to be.”

You’re spinning on the heel of your boots — much too smug for someone dangerously close to receiving a referral to the Student Conduct Office — before you stop in your tracks at Bucky’s next command.

“No,” he spits out, “We have one more thing to discuss.” He’ll be damned if he let you out of this classroom without some acknowledgment that you were a pain in his ass.

“And what would that be?” you whirl around, quiet, frustrated, and a little taken aback by Bucky’s harsh tone.

“Don’t start,” he commands. You notice his upper arms, muscular, veiny, flex as he grips the arms of his office chair.

“What, you want me to apologize to you? You want me to say ‘sorry’ to the big man whose ego can’t take a little bruising?”  you jab, but the confidence is not quite as striking as usual.

“Sit down,” he commands. Again. Much more assertive this time. He nods his head towards the seat you had previously occupied, and adds, “now.” You had frozen, midstep,  with your hand on the door handle, cold brass against your palm making your pulse all the more noticeable.

Bucky is almost gleeful when he sees the surprise on your face at his directions. So surprised. So pretty. He watches you slowly make your way back into the chair, setting your bag on the floor next to you and crossing your legs before leaning back.

“Yes?” You grit out, slowly dragging your eyes up to meet his. Arms crossed, you dare to pull that face that gets Bucky so riled up. He clears his throat before beginning,

“We’re not done talking. Your behavior in class has been disrespectful and disruptive. I know for a fact that you don’t behave like this with other professors. What’s going on?” This was the mature thing to do, Bucky had thought. To sit down, ask his colleagues for help, and talk to you like you were an equal. “What’s your problem with me, huh?”

You don’t react, at least externally. You only smile, that fake sweet smirk that he can’t get away from.

“Why, I don’t know what you mean, Dr. Barnes.” Bucky has to take a deep breath, reminding himself not to get riled up. Not to let you get to him.

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you,” Bucky responds, strict and to the point. He keeps staring at you, sure that he was in command of the situation. You watch as he gets up from his chair, making his way to lean back against his desk, directly in front of you. He crosses his arms, mirroring you. You don’t like the confident little attitude he has today. You didn’t know how to deal with this version of him. So you keep poking at him, in a way that you knew, that you were sure would rile him up.

“Aw, Dr. Barnes. Why don’t you explain to me what you’re talking about? As clearly as you can, please?” You keep the shit-eating simper on, but it fades into confused intrigue as he moves closer to you, invading too much of the air around you.

Your eyebrows knit together in confusion, and Bucky savors that innocent moment of shock on your face before he rests his hands, one on each arm of the chair you were sitting in, your arms and legs still crossed as you failed to keep your breathing even. A vague scent of man and aftershave sending an exhilaration through you and flooding you with a warmth. A familiar warmth you’ve only ever felt in your bedroom at night. After the long fucking library sessions and steaming hot showers, when you’d collapse into your bed utterly exhausted but mentally alert, you’d let your mind wander.

The closer Bucky got to you, the more you could see the little flecks in his blue eyes. He was angry. Furious, even. His mouth had set into a frown, and he was so fucking confused about how out of hand the situation had gotten, how out of control he felt in that moment. So he does what he feels is right, just like you always say what you feel is right. He leans in closer to you, nose almost touching yours as he breathes into you,

“I’ve been so patient with you, you know that Little Miss Smart Mouth?” Bucky looks down at your lips and back at your eyes, rasping, “Every fucking day. You come into my classroom and you torture me.” He watches you uncross your arms and legs, attempting to sit up straighter in your chair. He keeps waiting for you to push him away. For you to say something mean. To reject him.

But you don’t. You stare right back at him, demeanor so bewildered and at a loss for words, Bucky dares to let himself think that you were sexy. Pupils dilated, staring up at him, at a loss for words. Uncharacteristically quiet, and Bucky decides that he likes that look on your face, a little awed, a little defiant, but sexy. He watches you swallow, trying to grasp at words that usually come so easily to you,

“I —” Your stammer sounds so strange, and Bucky relishes in this moment, the chance to catch you off guard and unsure of where the dynamic between the two of you broke. He watches you, as you wonder how you have lost the upper hand.

“What, Miss L.N.? Cat finally got your tongue?” he teases, smirking down as he slowly, ever-so slowly, closes the gap between the two of you.

The press of his lips against yours is hungry. Electrifying. Hot. Bucky groans when you lean into the kiss, your hands coming up to cup his face and pulling him closer. Impossibly closer. He breathes you in as he kisses you, hands traveling up your back and bringing you to your feet. He feels a twitch in between his legs when you moan into his mouth, and he bites your bottom lip when you break the kiss.

Bucky stares at you as his chest heaves, your mouth swollen and pink where he had nipped you. Your eyes are glued to his lips, and he gives you what you want, with just as much desire and urgency as before.

“Can’t be a snarky little know-it-all now, huh baby?” Bucky murmurs into your mouth, fingers carding through your hair and working toward a firm grip at the base of your scalp. He gives a tug, and his cock hardens at the whimper that comes out of you when he turns your face to look at his, at the control he has over you in that moment, at the fact that you couldn’t escape him. You smirk up at him, still wild-eyed, and bite back,

“I don’t know, Dr. Barnes, guess you’ll just have to see.” You giggle, that girlish teasing giggle that drove Bucky fucking crazy. Your hands, just as greedy as Bucky felt, ran up the length of his arms, squeezing his biceps lightly before they settled on his chest.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs into you before capturing your lips again, desperate, savoring the feel of your lips on his. His cock demanded so much more when he felt you smile into the kiss. 

But no, he’s in control today. Even if he hadn’t planned for today to turn out the way it did,  he was still going to be in control of this. Of you.

The moment you both come up for air, Bucky steps back, trying to catch himself, to calm down. Your eyes trail down his body appreciatively, the glowing smile on your face brightening when you land on the bulge in your professor’s slacks and Bucky feels his cock betray him, twitching under his boxers and hardening even more under your observant gaze.

“Dr. Barnes,” you look up at him through your lashes, glasses slipping down your nose bridge when your lips perk up, “I thought you were an unremarkable teacher before, but now I’m thinking you’re dumber than I originally thought.”

Bucky tenses up even more, arms cross as he leans back against his desk. It’s taking everything in him not to pounce on you. You seemed to obey his commands earlier, when he was losing his grip on his temper. Bucky could do that again, he could be what you wanted, if it meant you’d stay.

If it meant you’d let him get you off.

“Stop talking, Miss Smart Mouth,” he sneers at you, in command of his tone — low, seared with lust when he sees you bite your lip, obeying him. God, fuck. You were just turned on as he was, he knew it. “Strip.” he says, more demanding this time, still not moving from his position against his desk. You weren’t more than a foot away from him. He could just reach out right now, give you both what you wanted.

But Bucky was patient. He was going to drag this out. For himself. For all the times you’ve gotten on his fucking nerves, undermining his authority during class, in front of other students. For getting to his ego, of all things.

He was patient as you stripped, one garment after another peeling off to reveal smooth, glowing skin that he was dying to lay his hands on. A glimpse of your clavicle here, soft thighs there, Bucky wasn’t sure where he wanted to concentrate his stare. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks to himself when his stare lands on your cleavage; soft, supple, begging to be bitten. By the time you were down to just your bra and panties, Bucky catches himself just in the nick of time. 

“Wait, stop.”

You pause, looking up at him and arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, Dr. Barnes?” you ask, timid, in anticipation of what would happen next.

More often than you’d ever admit, your hands would wander under the cloud-soft cotton of your panties, fingers wandering toward your slit and smearing the wetness around your clit, determined to reach an orgasm that would put you into a deep slumber. You’d rather die than admit it, but sometimes, it was Dr. Barnes’ image in your head that brought you to your peak. His muscular forearms, lined with veins and evidently fortified by strength-training, would strain under your grip as he shoved himself in your imagination.

“Come here,” he gestures to you with one hand and moves to clear space on the desk before he taps the wood. The sight of his huge, toned body in front of you, out of reach and ready for you to touch — you felt the cotton of your panties dampen, just like you did on those nights you got yourself off to the image of Dr. Barnes. You take a step forward, hesitant, unable to keep your nerves reigned in.

“Finally found the stones to fight back, huh, Dr. Barnes?” you tease, attempting to get your head back into the dynamic you were used to. You were turned on, but not so much that you were willing to give up your dignity in that moment. 

Unamused, Dr. Barnes taps the wood again. His next command is huskier, like he’s not willing to play your game anymore.

“Bend over,” he says, muscles in his jaw jostling with the strength it takes to hold himself back. He couldn’t describe it, this energy between the two of you. A heady, lustful sheen had blanketed the two of you in your own little world. He forgot who he was. He forgot that you were his student. He forgot himself, and all he wanted to do was scream.

[percentageweirdo]

Fantasy High stats

A summary of statistics from season 1.

I have only counted d20 rolls, and only by the players as it is pretty much impossible to track Brennan's rolls. I only counted nat 20s, nat 1s and "other rolls" since the players do not consistently announce what they got on the die. I also kept track of advantage and disadvantage but I am sure some of those slipped by me unannounced.

ALL ROLLS:

As you can see, the vast majority of rolls by the players are skill checks — just over 60%.

PERCENTAGE OF NAT 20s AND NAT 1s:

This chart is really the star of the show! It is why I started this whole godforsaken mission in the first place.

NOTE: This chart is tracking percentage of each player's individual rolls! It is not representative of raw numbers, but instead each column is relative to that player's total d20 rolls this season.

For this one I factored in the advantage and disadvantage rolls, and any way you slice it Zac still rolls the most nat 20s by far.

What surprised me was that Ally rolls proportionally the most nat 1s. That has somehow not entered into the consciousness of the fandom at all, maybe because they roll the fewest dice so the raw number of nat 1s isn't the highest. Conversely, Emily rolls the fewest nat 1s! Murph has rolled more nat 20s than Lou, but he also rolled the most dice so he rolls proportionally fewer 20s.

ATTACK ROLLS:

Gorgug and Fabian go toe to toe in most number of attacks made overall, and both get to make multiple attacks per turn. Riz shoots his arquebus a decent amount. Fig and Kristen barely attack, instead relying on spells that require saving throws. Adaine has some offensive spells, as well as an affinity for fisticuffs.

SKILL CHECKS:

The players roll perception checks more often than any other kind of check, followed by insight and investigation. They don't make any nature or survival checks. As a mystery that takes place in a large town, that absolutely tracks.

ABILITY CHECKS and SAVES:

Sometimes Brennan asks the players to make a check based on a prime ability score. Not very often though.

The saving throws the players make the most often are Dexterity and Wisdom. They don't roll any Intelligence saves.

DEATH SAVES:

There is not a single nat 20 death save in Fantasy High season 1.

OTHER ROLLS:

It is probable that Siobhan made 14 portent rolls — however, she only uses 13 of them. In the house party fight she rolls a d20 three times to see if she is able to use Blink. (Two succeed.) Lou and Emily each make a luck check this season, and in the finale Murph rolls to see if the police get there a total of 10 times. During the fight on the Bloodrush field Emily makes one joke roll to see how gross her spit is. And of course, Ally rolls an absolutely wild nat 20 in part 1 of the finale.

That's it for now! Follow for more Dimension 20 stats, and stay tuned for Bloodkeep.

[aces-and-angels]

ART CAMPAIGN BOOST SUBMISSIONS:

edit: i hit the image limit for this post, so any new additions will be included here

the tag is starting to get kinda crowded (great problem, dw). i just thought compiling them all here would make things easier for everyone to find! all of the art displayed below is free to use for the purposes of promoting vetted gfm's here on tumblr. no credit is needed unless specified (marked = ***). if you have any questions regarding how to craft a post using any of the art provided -> please do not hesitate to reach out to me! note: please press follow post as i will most likely need to update this masterlist from time to time.

some info is below the cut on how to best utilize this material. please read it in its entirety before using any artwork. thank you 🖤

learn how to make art for this project here:

---

this project has gained a lot of momentum and has shown very promising results. the level of engagement once art is attached to a vetted gfm increases significantly. you will see what i mean as i have linked example posts of how to best use these pieces to help families in need.

i currently have a list of over 20+ families that i am spotlighting in my own personal progress tracker (the list has gotten so long that i now need to make a second version to accommodate all the families trying to get in contact with me).

this art campaign boost is truly meant to be utilized by anyone. i would sincerely appreciate it if y'all could take some time and pick maybe 1-2 people from this list and use the art below to create your own signal boost posts on the families' behalf. as someone who is periodically tracking their progress- i know that donation rates have slowed for a number of them. i am one person and can only do so much on my own. the essence of this initiative is to get more people to mobilize as a collective. it will take everyone to get on board in order for these families to be able to reach their goals. that means spotlighting their accounts/campaigns periodically.

you need to keep up the momentum.

the individuals you are helping currently live in areas with minimal internet connection, meaning it is very difficult to spotlight themselves on their own. especially since this site is continuously suppressing/deleting their accounts. they need you to interact with their content. tumblr isn't like other social media sites. it's known for being very 'anti-algorithm' and it's common culture for many of us to not really care about our levels of engagement (i.e. follower count/amount of notes per post). it's very hard for your own content to "break" your inner circle of followers and gain traction if the topic of the post is not "popular" or "trending" these families are not operating on this site the same way you are. you may be using this platform as a means to "just vibe" but they are using it as a desperate attempt to raise essential funding to save their lives. the importance that their posts be elevated cannot be overstated. anyone who has ever created any sort of og content here knows how quickly a post can die out if no one interacts with it. this cannot happen with them.

tips for making your own signal boost post* (*for vetted campaigns):

-> make it easy to read + eye-catching: the problem i am seeing when you search many of these families' accounts is that their "tag" (username of their account) is full of the same types of posts (i.e. a generic response to their initial message to another person on tumblr) <- aka it is very easy for people to tune out which is the opposite of what we want to happen. creating your OWN posts in response to their asks allows the art to appear FIRST when people look up someone's account via tumblr's search bar, which will attract more attention to their accounts. it also forces people who are making these posts to actually sit down and read the stories they are sharing with the rest of their mutuals/lurkers alike -> include verification sources: the main reason people are searching for these accounts is b/c they are trying to see if it is okay to reblog/share their campaign with their own following. if you address this plainly and early on in your post that includes artwork -> people are more likely to interact -> tag the account you are promoting: please include the families' account as one of your #'s so it will appear when you search for their names on tumblr. also try @'ing their account in your post so it'll be easier for these families to find your work. some of them are incredibly new to the platform and may not be aware of all its features. something that you may find intuitive may not be as easily understood for these individuals. your role is to make them as easy as possible to find for others so they can gain more support. --- don't have time to type out a whole post for a family on their behalf? -> interact with one of theirs! attach something nice/helpful to their posts so it is more readily available for others to share. the same rules apply from above. as i said before, some of these accounts are brand spanking new and are not formatted in the same ways as others that may be more well-versed on how tumblr operates in terms of promoting their campaigns. (for example: even if the account has been vetted/verified by multiple trusted individuals- the owners of that account may not know to include that info in their posts about their campaign every single time they post. you can make their lives easier by including that info for them by reblogging one of their og posts and adding the necessary info on their behalf)

you can also find a more comprehensive list of vetted campaigns by el-shab-hussein/nabulsi here <- their list is now over 200+ with several campaigns that are "in the red" (very low in funding). please do not hesitate to try to spotlight anyone from this list as well!

el-shab-hussein also has a masterpost pinned here with additional campaigns (including those for other countries like sudan)

alright i've explained enough- time for the art!

artist: @rhq274 | @rhq2744 *** free to use, credit required meet raghad (read and share full post here) Hello, I am Raghad Qanou, a medical student from Gaza City. My people and I have been subjected to genocide for more than 230 days. My family and I have lived through various types of torture and inhumane conditions. This link is my only chance for me and my family to escape death and try to start over. This is not easy. But we are trying, and we would be happy to have you help save our lives and our future. instructions to utilize artwork: those who wish to share raghad's art MUST do ALL of the following: -> follow raghad on tumblr @rhq274 | @rhq2744 -> like + reblog one or more of her posts seen on her account that promotes her fundraiser (you may also include additional art shown below to help further boost her campaign; see example) once those actions detailed above are completed, you may use raghad's art to promote her campaign. *if you are utilizing this art for another campaign that is not raghad's -> you must also mention + link her fundraiser as well /// for those able: please consider donating to raghad's campaign here (vetted; no 221 on el-shab-hussein/nabulsi's sheet)

artist: me lol free to use, no credit required example

artist: @lampyri free to use, no credit required example

artist: @aria-ashryver free to use, no credit required example

artist: @monmonp0k free to use, credit not required- but if given, is appreciated example

artist: @juudaimes-true-form free to use, no credit required example

artist: @gaiuskamilah free to use, no credit required example

artist: @marnota free to use on all social media platforms (i.e. tumblr, insta, twitter, etc), no credit required example

artist: @marquainequeen free to use, no credit required example

artist: @palms-upturned free to use, no credit required example

artisit: @inkyswampbones free to use, no credit required example

[she-walks-on-starlight]

You Ruined Me (Do it Again)

a/n: this is my first time posting fic to Tumblr so if I've made any mistakes please let me know so I can learn how to fix them 💖 this was also my first attempt at sevika x reader, I hope y'all enjoy! There are more parts that I can upload if y'all end up liking it

Warnings: drinking alcohol, referenced cheating, smoking, gambling, possessive!sevika, referenced sex (explicit!), sexually explicit teasing.

Summary: Your first night out in a while after leaving your cheating ex does not end how you expected it to...but then what did you expect, going to her club?

Word Count: 1.4k

Read on AO3

18+ | MEN AND MINORS DNI | 18+

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Final

You needed this. It had been too long since you hit up a club and just danced the night away. Work had been a bitch, your last breakup still lingered in the back of your mind, and it was high time that you simply had some fun.

Now, after several way too sugary cocktails that probably had enough booze to kill a small human, you were letting loose on the dance floor. You’d always been able to move your body just right, whenever a beat made you feel a certain way, it was guaranteed to have eyes on you as you swayed your hips and moved your feet.

You were twirling around with your best friend, Jinx, laughing and singing along to the tunes that blared loudly on the speakers all around you. You were having such a good time that you almost didn’t notice the door to the club swing open, an entourage of people swarming in being led by an imposing, hulking woman you knew all too well. Sevika.

Her short hair was tied back into the little ponytail she normally wore, that you used to love to tease her about. She still stuck to her favourite outfits, loose fitting pants with a chunky belt, a tight fitting tank top and the cloak that covered her mechanical arm to stop people from staring. She was all muscle, large hands with thick, talented fingers, solid arms with toned biceps.

Strong thighs that you knew were just perfect for lifting you high in the air and fucking you silly. Shaking your head, you focus on the beat of the song, the vibration of the dancefloor, the heat of the bodies moving wildly all around you. Now was so not the time to be staring at your ex.

Jinx groaned. “Is that who I think it is?”

You shrugged. “You know she has shares in the club. She practically owns it. Just ignore her and keep having a good time!��

Jinx giggled, throwing herself into your arms. “Amen to that, sister!”

You dance some more, for 20 minutes or so, completely ignoring the corner of the club reserved for gambling tables, knowing that’s where Sevika would be. It was getting hotter in the club as it got busier and busier.

You leaned into Jinx. “I’m gonna get a drink, you want one?”

Jinx shook her head, eyeing up a cute blonde girl who was also dancing with her friends. “Nah, I’m good, sparky.”

You giggled at her. “Okay! Happy hunting!”

She shot you a playful glare as you headed to the bar. It was pretty busy, but the bartender here was good, and he made his way through orders quickly. You felt someone sidle up next to you, feeling a pang of annoyance as her order was taken first.

“Whiskey, top shelf. 2 ice cubes.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Of course, it was her. You should’ve known from her size and the sheer heat that was radiating from her. You clamped your thighs together as your body responded automatically to her closeness. Now was not the time to let your pussy do your thinking for you. You stay quiet, hoping she won’t notice you.

Naturally, you’re not that lucky. She double-takes when she realises it’s you. “Y/n? What’re you doing here?”

You huff out an irritated sigh. “Just clubbing, like everyone else.”

The bartender hands Sevika her whiskey but she doesn’t move as you place your order. You hear her snicker when you order a sweet cocktail.

“Some things never change, huh? You still like your drinks to taste like juice.”

You glare at her coolly. “Yet my tastes in other areas have definitely changed.”

Her smile falters, but she soon masks it with a shit-eating smirk. “Oh yeah? So, you’re not totally down bad for me anymore?”

Your hands ball into fists, frustrated that she’d use your pillow talk against you, in such a public setting. You know reacting in any way will just add to her satisfaction, so you breathe deeply and relax your hands, grabbing your drink.

“I was a fool to be ‘down bad’ for you at all. You’re a real asshole, Sevika.”

You’ve lost sight of Jinx, so you find somewhere to sit and sip at your drink, your muscles thanking you for the break. You don’t bother trying to look for Sevika, your eyes find her at the poker tables out of habit. Judging by the large pile of coins at her end of the table, she’s winning. Nothing new there. You finish your drink, pushing your complicated feelings aside. She’d never have a chance again at winning you, that’s for sure.

You’re in the bathroom, applying a new layer of lipstick when she comes in. You stiffen as she enters, brushing past you to go into one of the stalls. Her hand lingers at the small of your back as she passes you. The gesture would seem innocent to most, but you felt the undeniable flutter of your pulse as the heat of her touch tore through you. You focus on the task at hand, steadily applying the dark shade as she comes out of the stall and washes her hand. You feel her eyes on you, roaming over your body in the tight, black dress you decided to wear tonight. It hugged your curves perfectly, kept eyes on your ass and your tits, made you feel powerful when people drooled over you. Just like she used to. There was a time where you would never have made it to the club at all wearing a dress like this. Sevika used to just quite literally tear them off you.

“It’s a beautiful dress.”

Her voice is low and husky. You try not to think about it, or let it replay in your head. “Thank you.”

You put your lipstick back in your purse. She smirks at you. “It’d look better on my bedroom fl-”

Without thinking, you turn and put a hand against her mouth. “Do not finish that sentence, dear god.”

You’ve made your first mistake. She reaches towards your face, and you stupidly let her, transfixed by her as you always have been, like a moth to a flame. A moth that really, really likes the feeling of being burnt.

That was your second mistake.

She steps into your space, her hand caressing your jaw. Your knees feel like they could buckle any second.

“Oh, princess, having trouble colouring within the lines again? Here, let me help…”

Her fingers trace your bottom lip, wiping away a smudge of lipstick. Your eyes flutter close, and your lips part, wanting, waiting…then you feel her.

She crashes into you like a starved animal, her lips devouring yours as she kisses you like you’re her oxygen. You can’t help yourself, you know you shouldn’t let this happen, after everything that happened between you, but it just feels so damn good.

It’s rough, it’s messy and it’s just so…Sevika.

Her body presses into you, and you moan as her thigh brushes against your core. She doesn’t waste the opportunity, her tongue invading your mouth, tasting you. She moans into your mouth when she does, which sets your cunt alight. Your need is growing, you know that you’ll be ruining your panties with how slick your pussy is getting but you care less and less the more Sevika kisses you, nipping roughly at your lower lip, her thigh rubbing against you. She knows how to work you up, after all she used to be the expert. Her hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, your face, your neck, and your ass. She loves your firm, little ass, palming it roughly, admiring how it fits perfectly in her hands. She tries not to think about how it almost belongs in her hands.

Sevika breathes out a soft “Huh” then you’re left in the cold as she moves her warm body away from you. A needy whine escapes your throat, and Sevika chuckles but you see no laughter in her sharp, grey eyes. You reach for her, but she dodges away, smirking at your confused, searching eyes.

“Not down bad for me at all, huh princess?”

Then she’s gone, leaving you panting and pissed out of your goddamn mind. She was playing with you, because that’s what she does best. You bruised her ego earlier at the bar, and that was her taking her revenge. Because why else would she kiss you like that, unless she wanted to prove that she could still make you squirm?