#i’m literally not qualified for anything in this place

[formula-nyoom]

Don't Get Squeezed | CL 16

Charles Leclerc x Sister!Driver!Reader

Summary: The unexpectedness of the Chinese Grand Prix brings the younger Leclerc sister placing higher than she's ever placed for the upcoming race. But with worries of a high placement and no experience racing this track, a crash seems like an inevitability.

A/N: Pardon my French(literally, I don’t know that much French and had to use google translate). While some would expect me to place this in Suzuka, I decided to go with China because I honestly had no expectations for that race and was stressed something bad was gonna happen the whole time. 

~~~

The Chinese Grand Prix seemed to have an air of tense unexpectedness. Having not raced the track since 2019, none of the teams knew what to expect from this race weekend. With new car regulation, updated track maintenance, and the fact that 5 drivers have never raced this track before, it was well known that anything could happen. 

Out of all the things, you never expected to qualify P10 at a track you’ve never raced before. It sounded like a miracle that you were able to fly your Haas into starting in the top 10. But while the team was proud of your efforts, you were very nervous.

 “I’ve never started in the Top 10, Char! I only know how to start from the back, and honestly I think I’d prefer it there since it’s easier to avoid first lap crashes from the back.” You said to your brother as you paced your hotel room.

“That’s not true. You started from the top 10 and even the front plenty of times in F2. How is this any different?” Charles asked. You scoffed.

“En quoi est-ce différent? It’s different because in F2 I had a good car and was constantly lapping the others. I still don’t know how I managed to get my Haas in front of Sir Lewis Hamilton today!” You exclaimed.

 “I don’t see what’s so surprising about you qualifying P10. That’s the same spot you ended the sprint race in.”

 “That’s because, in the sprint I was able to climb my way from the back.” You told him. Charles let out an exasperated sigh at your own self doubt. He could partially see why you were nervous. Starting in a much higher position than where you usually qualify puts more expectations on your shoulder to do better. They’re even higher expectations then the one you already have with being a Leclerc. But Charles knew that you could do well, not just because he was your older brother but because he’s seen you drive. You may start from the back often, but your racing skills are phenomenal to where you constantly end in the points. Even if you were to drop from P10 at the start of the race, Charles knew that you’d be able to work your way back up and higher. 

KNOCK! KNOCK!

Charles’ thought process was interrupted by a knock at the door. He walked over and opened it, being met by Arthur with bags of food in his hands.

“Arthur, can you please help me reassure our sister that she will do amazingly starting in P10?” Charles asked as he let his younger brother into the room.

 “Arthur, can you remind Charles that the only reason I did good in F2 was because I outperformed everyone with a good car?” You asked, taking the bag that was offered to you from Arthur.

“I’m confused. What’s going on?” Arthur asked as he set the other bags down. You sighed.

 “I don’t think it’s a good thing I’m starting in 10th place for tomorrow’s race, considering how I’m much more accustomed to starting in the back.” You explained.

 “I think she’ll be fine.” Charles said.

“What’s the main thing you’re worried about with being in the top 10 at the beginning?” Arthur asked.

 “Getting squeezed. Everyone at the front is always bunched up trying to overtake at the start. I’m worried that I’m gonna get stuck in the middle since I can’t pull back or move forward starting in 10th place.” It was a common worry, one you had during every race. But it seemed to be much bigger now with your current grid placement.

“So don’t get squeezed. Keep your elbows out but be mindful of your surroundings.” Arthur said nonchalantly. You let out an exasperated sigh at your brother’s response. Charles saw that Arthur’s response didn’t help you and placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. 

 “Trust me (Y/N), as someone who has started in the top 10 multiple times, awareness of your surroundings is key. It may be tempting to overtake right from the start, but if you're that worried about possibly getting hit by someone, just remember to leave a gap.” He told you.

 “You’re one to talk about leaving gaps, Mr Inchedent.” You said, your own teasing managing to get you to smile. Charles sighed.

 “Peut-être que je te pousserai hors de la piste demain.(Maybe I’ll push you off the track tomorrow)” He mumbled. You laughed and threw a pillow at him.

 “Tu n'oserais pas!(You wouldn’t dare!)” You said, dodging the pillow that Charles threw back in your direction. 

~~~

The weather seemed to know how nervous you were and decided to make it worse by making it rain. It was only a drizzle, not hard enough to cancel the race. But every driver knew how unexpected wet conditions can be when racing. Even a drizzle can turn a driver’s race upside down. You’d just hoped you wouldn’t be one of them.

Before having to get into your cars, you and Charles managed to get away from your teams’ garages and give each other a hug for reassurance. It was your guys' tradition before each race. A promise that you would make it to the end. Arthur was able to join you two this time and you were glad that both of them were here. 

 “Don’t get squeezed.” Arthur said, giving you a shoulder pat before following Charles back to the Ferrari garage. If Arthur wasn’t Ferrari’s development driver, he would be in the Haas garage supporting you. But he had to settle for supporting both his siblings from only one team garage today. 

For the first time since joining F1, you slotted your car into the P10 spot after the formation lap while everyone waited for the lights to go out. You spotted your brother who was ahead of you in P2. You made eye contact with him through his car’s mirrors and gave him a thumbs up. Charles gave you a nod in return before you both directed your attention to the lights that were set to blink on at any moment.

Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink…Blink

The lights went out and everything roared to life. You slammed your foot on the throttle and your car cruised forward, steadily gaining speed. You immediately went to move to the outer edge of the approaching turn to hopefully avoid any front placement congestion.

 “Don’t get squeezed.” You thought to yourself.

A lot can happen on the first lap. Hell a lot can happen in the first turn.

You didn’t get squeezed going into turn one. Or turn two and 3. There was a bit of sliding on the track because of the wet conditions but you managed to get your car under control. It was the last turn, the turn that a lot of the drivers struggled with throughout the week, where everything went wrong.

You weren’t able to see who it was that was trying to overtake you. You felt the hit to the side of your car and could tell that it was too hard based on how fast you and the other car were going. But by then it was too late to break as your car started to spin out.

It’s when the ground switches from asphalt to gravel that the car starts to flip….

And flip…

And flip…

Your vision becomes a quick mixture of sky and ground as the car continues to roll. It’s too fast for you to properly brace for the impact with the barrier and all too quickly the only thing you see is darkness.

“Red Flag! Red Flag!” The voice of Charle’s race engineer quickly comes over the radio as he brakes going into turn one.

“What happened?” Charle’s asked, trying to split his attention between driving and whatever his engineer is going to say next.

“Return to the pits. We are trying to get more details and will update you once you’re in the pits.”

“Did someone crash? Tell me what happened.” Worry started to build up in his chest as multiple scenarios flashed through his mind, his sister a part of many of them.

 “There was a collision between an…Alpine…and a Haas.” 

Charles almost lost control of the car going into turn seven upon hearing what cars were involved but quickly recovered.

“Tell me it’s not (Y/N).” Charles demanded. “Please, tell me it’s not my sister that was involved.”

The silence from his race engineer seemed deafening. He probably knew that anything but the confirmation that his sister was safe could send Charles into a literal spiral on the track.

 “Come back to the pits Charles. Please.” It sounded like his race engineer was almost pleading with him and Charles reluctantly followed the orders and headed into the pit lane.

As soon as Charles’s car stopped in the Ferrari pitlane, he immediately got out of the car, not even taking the time to disengage his steering wheel. The pit crew tried to stop them but Charles pushed them away as he ran over to Haas garage. Charles’s hope rose when he saw the familiar white of a Haas car pull in, but it was quickly dashed when he saw that it wasn’t his sister pulling in, but her teammate. 

 Charles didn’t want to take that as confirmation that his sister was involved with the crash. He immediately ran over to the pit wall. His sister’s race engineer would tell him she was ok, right?

“(Y/N), are you ok?” Was the first thing Charles heard out of the engineer’s mouth. 

“Tell me my sister’s ok. She’s answering, right?” The race engineer barely glanced at the Ferrari driver, focusing more on getting a response from their own driver.

 “Are you ok? (Y/N) please respond.” The engineer said again. Charles wanted to take the engineer’s headset off, and ask that question himself. Hear his sister’s voice. Get confirmation that she was ok. But Charles’s eyes finally landed on one of the screens that was showing the replay of the crash.

You were approaching the last turn. For some reason Ocon decided to attempt an overtake when it was far too late and he got too close. His front wheel hit the side of your car, hard, causing you to violently spin. Charles' heart dropped into his stomach as he watched your car flip over and over on the gravel and it might as well have shattered when he watched your car harshly collide with the safety barrier.

“I’m getting no response.” Charles heard your engineer say to the team principal. Charles’ vision started to tunnel and all the noise around him became muffled. He didn’t even register that Arthur was now standing in front of him, trying to speak to him, but Charles didn’t hear anything.

His sister wasn’t responding

There was no movement from the car.

Is she breathing? She had to be? She had to be ok?

She’s alive right?

She was so worried about her placement and crashing. She wasn’t supposed to crash!

Charles’ brain betrays him as it thinks back to the one person he didn’t want to think about at this moment. This crash reminds him too much of Jules. It hits too close to home because the person in the car is his little sister. The little girl who was so enthusiastic about watching his karting races when he was younger. Who wanted to be just like her older brother and managed to race her way up the motorsports ladder. His little sister who made it into Formula 1 and who he gets to race alongside almost every weekend. 

Both of you knew from an early age the dangers of being a race car driver. But despite every crash, you’ve always managed to walk away from it. But all Charles saw was your car. Upside down and wedged in a barrier. There was no sign of movement from what little he could see of the driver’s seat, and you weren’t responding to your engineer. 

He couldn’t lose anyone else to this sport. Not after Jules…you had promised him that you would make it to the end-

“Charles!”

Charles snapped out of his panic state as Arthur yelled his name. He could tell now that he had begun to hyperventilate, and tried to calm his breathing.

 “They want you to try and talk to her.” Arthur said. “Maybe you can get a response.”

Charles numbly nodded and took the headset that was being offered to him. 

 “(Y/N), it’s Charlie…can you hear me? Are you ok?”

The silence was so loud.

“....(y/n)....(Y/N)!”

Consciousness slowly came back to you as you started to gain a sense of your surroundings. Your head was swimming and you couldn’t tell what was up or down. How did you get here? One second you were racing…and the next?

You had gotten squeezed.

“(Y/N)...can you hear me?” A voice came over your radio. Your arm trembled as you strained to press the radio button on your steering wheel. God, did everything hurt and you felt tears start to well up from the pain you felt. 

“Charles…” Your brother’s voice was the first thing you recognized. The one thing you could recognize in the darkness and confusion of your current predicament.

 “(Y/N)! Are you ok!” Charles asked over the radio. He sounded so worried and you mentally kicked yourself a bit knowing you were the cause of the worry.

“Charlie…everything hurts…I can’t move.” You told him. It was true. You felt trapped under your seatbelt and felt that one little movement would send pain throughout your whole body. 

 “Breathe sœur, breathe. Your car is upside down and wedged in the barrier. The safety marshals are trying to flip the car over to get you out right now.” Charles explained. That offered some comfort.  You listened to Charles' advice as you tried to take deep breaths. You moved your head a bit to try and get awareness of your surroundings, but even moving it an inch sent a wave of nausea through your body. You felt the car shake and braced your body as the car was flipped over and your vision was filled with daylight. You had to take in more deep breaths before you could lift your head and make eye contact with the safety marshal who was checking to see if you were ok. You managed to give them a thumbs up, a sign that you were conscious, and they immediately went to help you out of the car. Fans cheered as they saw you climb out of the car with assistance. Signs of relief seemed to echo throughout the pitlane and Charles and Arthur practically collapsed to their knees with relief at the sight of you alive and moving. Charles looked to the sky and placed a hand over his heart.

“Merci Jules…” He quietly whispered before hugging Arthur tight.

Despite the immense pain and the swimming feeling in your head, you managed to wave your hand to the closest grandstand, sending the fans a message that you were ok.  

Charles and Arthur watched as you were helped to the ambulance and placed on the stretcher. You would need to be taken to a hospital to assess any injuries and possibility of a concussion. Arthur told Charles that he would meet you at the hospital and call Lorenzo and Mama. Because despite everything that just happened…the race still needed to be finished. Charles would rather be in the ambulance with you than get back in his Ferrari and race on the same track that you had just crashed at. He wished the race didn’t need to be finished at all. But it had to. And if Charles had to race, then he was going to win. He was going to win for his little sister. 

~~~

Next to all the flowers and get well cards, on your hospital bedside table was a beautiful first place trophy. Charles barely stayed on the podium after receiving it, immediately heading to the hospital you were taken to once the celebrations were done. When he arrived, he was grateful to hear that you only had a sprained wrist, bruising and a concussion. He wished you weren’t injured at all, but compared to how crashes go, you got off on the better side. Charle’s sent another silent thank you to Jules, as doctor told him that the halo was one of the main things that prevented further injuries.

“I think I’ll purposely try to start from the back for the rest of the season.” You said while sitting up in your hospital bed playing Uno with Arthur. The doctors decided that you should stay overnight to monitor your concussion.

 “I think that may be a good idea.” Charles said as he sat next to you, watching the current card game take place. 

 “Or, you start on pole every race.  You don’t have to worry about being surrounded by the other cars if you’re already in the front.” Arthur said, placing a card down. 

 “Yea but then the only view Charles would get the whole race would be my rear wing and I don’t know if that’s a view he can enjoy every race.” You said. Charles rolled his eyes.

 “Maybe I should get the doctor to check your head again with all the nonsense you just spoke.” Charles said. “As I recall you’ve been chasing my rear wing throughout the seasons.”

 “Uno!” You declared, placing your second to last card down. “Please Charles, it’s only a matter of time before I beat you at a race. Like how I’m about to beat Arthur at this game.”

 “There’s no way you’re going to win. I know for a fact you don’t have any blues.” Arthur said, placing down a blue five. He gave you a sly smirk that quickly fell when you gave him one back. Without saying a word, you placed down a +4. 

#f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #platonic grid x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x driver!reader #charles leclerc x sister!reader

[peaceoutofthepieces]

does anyone wanna talk to me about anything before I have a breakdown <3

#feeling anxious all day for numerous reasons and no reason #i start working tomorrow and i’d rather not #i’m literally not qualified for anything in this place #idk why they keep asking me lmao #don’t like not knowing what i’m doing and doing things wrong #i’m half like i should rewatch hs to chill out #but i don’t wanna taint a hs watch with this kinda mood #just contemplating and disliking my entire life

[beetlejuicyy]

Bruises | Bada Lee x reader

Bebe Gang AU

Pairing: gang member! Bada x reader

Synopsis: you take care of Bada after a fight. things get steamy (literally) by the end

Warnings: none i guess it's mostly fluff

Note: i had this idea for days in my head and had to write it down. at some point i even thought about a backstory about the first date to this but i was getting too messy and confusing. maybe i'll write it separately. hope you enjoy~

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

It was on your third date when Bada blurted out that she was part of a gang. It was a very much needed refreshing summer night after a scorching day that you spent at work. Bada texted you unexpectedly, saying she happened to be around you neighborhood. You were both in front of the convenience store close to your apartment, munching on some ice cream. Her treat, she said. She was sitting on the plastic chair, her hair braided loosely falling over her shoulder. You were standing up, leaning against the table. You had been sitting on a chair all day, you told her when she asked you to sit next to her. And it wasn’t a lie. But more than that you loved the few moments you could see her from above and from afar, admire her lean and athletic figure as a whole. You were focused on her lips, though. She was wearing a white cap that covered her eyes, but you could clearly see her freezing and glistening lips in the streetlight as she was taking another bite. You had been stealing glances now and then, thankful for her cap otherwise she would have seen that ever since you met your mind was clouded with fantasies about her. And you hadn’t even kissed yet.

“Do you mind?” She asked. It was obvious she hadn’t planned it. She later confessed that the thought of you hating her because of it was too agonizing to keep on hiding.

“I... don’t mind.” You mumbled, embarrassed by the thought of being caught almost drooling over her. The shock of the new information wiped that feeling away quickly. “I really don’t.” You said again after getting hold of yourself. The distant city lights were pretty but not pretty enough to take your eyes off Bada.

“You might.” She said with a half smile, a mixture of both worry about the future and relief about the present.  A smile that always made your heart shrink and almost explode into a million pieces.

And she was right. You knew it even in that moment that it was something you should put more thought into. Some would even call it a red flag, maybe a deal breaker. But it was too late for you by then. Anytime would have been too late. You thought about it on many nights like these, when she was late and you were waiting for her full of worry. The third date was actually a pretty decent moment to choose. The first date would have been too early, it would have ruined the mood. By the second date you were still trying to figure out if you could be a match, talking things like movies and childhood stories. Thinking about it, that night didn’t even qualify as a date, though every occasion you had to meet was a date to both of you.

You had had a crush on Bada for a long time before. She was the friend of a friend you happened to run into a couple of times. You never exchanged more than the usual greetings and small talk, but you couldn’t get her out of your mind since seeing her for the first time. It was a silly little crush that you were not going to do anything about, even though you felt butterflies in your lower stomach at the mention of her name.

We have to cancel tonight. I’ll be late.

She was already half an hour late when you got the text. Tonight was supposed to be a chill date at her place after a long time of both of you being busy and unable to see each other. Having a spare key, you got there earlier anyway, excited to see her.

I’m here already. See you later.

You knew it had to be something dangerous when she didn’t even say sorry for cancelling plans. She was always a baby, sulking and apologizing countless times when she wasn’t able to make it. That’s when you started to worry.

You looked for a movie to keep your mind busy while you waited for your girlfriend to come home. However, it was only a background noise in the empty apartment. All you could pay attention to was the ringing ambulance or the barking of a dog outside. Every notification you got on your phone you hoped it was another message from her. Your heart was beating faster full of worry, mind running to all the bad things that could happen.

I don’t mind. You told her that night but she knew you would. It was unfair to keep you waiting like this, have you worry every time she was late in case someone ganged up on her or she got into a conflict for her friends.

I know how to fight. Bada had tried to comfort you when you would inspect her bruises.

That’s the problem. You said. If you know how to fight you get into fights. She only half smiled like she did that night in front of the convenience store. That coy smile with only one corner of her mouth curled up that you found so attractive yet so annoying sometimes. You wanted to hit her too.

Yet, you never complained about it. You liked her too much.

After about an hour you heard the familiar beep of the front door being unlocked. You jumped from the bed where you had been scooping under a fluffy blanket, the cold air hitting your bare legs. You were wearing one of her oversized T-shirts.

Bada just got in by the time you stopped by the door in the hallway. She was taking her sneakers off and, as she leaned over to get her slippers she winced in pain, standing back up slower than usual. That’s when she saw you waiting for her. She smiled gently, opening her arms and gesturing for you to come closer. You rushed in her arms, holding her tightly. The T-shirt you had been wearing had only a faint memory of her scent but now you could feel it clearly. She winced once again when you hugged her and you wanted to pull away, scared that she is in pain. She only held you tighter, slender fingers brushing through your hair.

“Sorry I’m late.” She said in a low voice.

“Are you hurt?” You asked when she finally allowed you to pull away and have a look at her face. Even though she wanted to brush off the question, you noticed the scratch on her cheek and frowned.

“I’m fine.” She took off her jacket. That’s when you noticed it was way dirtier than when she left. “Are you mad at me?” Bada asked as you grabbed the jacket from her hands and looked at her with rather cold eyes.

“Of course I am.” Bada raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Look what you did to your pretty face! Do you know how much money I’ll have to spend on skincare to fix it?” She started giggling and touched her cheek carefully. It did sting. The more you looked at her entire body the more you started noticing details that you didn’t see at first. Bruises here and there, dirt and even some dark red on her T-shirt and chest. Your brain immediately realized it’s dried blood and your expression changed, feeling nauseous.

“It’s not mine.” She sighed, noticing your distress. You took a deep breath and turned around on your heels, feeling the need of fresh air.

“I’ll run you a bath. You get rid of these dirty clothes.” You said as you made your way to the bathroom.

“You’re so wifey today.” Bada teased as she followed you around the apartment. She stopped by the bathroom door, taking her clothes off as you instructed, leaving them in a pile next to the washing machine.

“Even I could beat you up in this state miss Bada Lee.” You rolled your eyes as you checked the temperature of the water and tossed in some scented liquid for bubbles.

“Really?” She asked. She took off her T-shirt and cargo pants, only her underwear left on. You didn’t hear her coming in the bathroom right behind you because of the running water. As you sat up and turned around, ready to say another sassy comeback to her teasing, you stopped and almost chocked on air. She was right in front of you, inches away, towering over your smaller figure. The top of your head barely reached past her shoulders and you looked up and down her body, not daring to look up in her eyes. Dried blood was staining her skin too, on her tummy and up her neck. Your eyes followed the lines of her tall and toned body, barely covered. You felt blood rush through your veins and you knew your face was undeniably red. Bada grinned, knowing how easily intimidated you were whenever she took advantage of the difference in height between the two of you. After a few moments that felt like an eternity you finally mustered up the courage to move away.

“I’ll get something for your face.” You mumbled, trying not to show how flustered you were. Bada’s tongue pushed against the inside of her cheek as she let you leave the bathroom quietly. After you closed the door rather loudly behind you she let out a giggle that she had been holding inside for your sake. You were so cute when you were all worked up like that. Because, as much as it was dangerous, Bada knew few things turned you on more than seeing her roughed up a bit. Maybe you had a savior complex. Or you were simply horny.

Nonetheless, as she waited for the bath to fill up, Bada inspected her body in the mirror. It was nothing serious, she had been through worse. Ignoring the dirt she guessed she would look perfectly fine after the much needed bath, leave two or three bruises that would only show their purple color the next morning. The wound on her face was indeed nasty, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

You came back after a while, after her body was warmed up and soaked in the vanilla scented water you had prepared for her.

“Thought you forgot about me.” She said, not bothering to open her eyes. Her hair was up in a messy bun so it wouldn’t get wet. Only her bangs were sticking to her forehead as her head was leaned back against the edge of the tub.

“I had to go buy some stuff we ran out of last time.” You said as you crouched next to her on the floor.

“It’s not that bad anyway. If I just wash my face a bit more carefully it’ll go away in no time.” Bada lazily opened her eyes and looked up at the ceiling. The bubbles in the water were covering up to her collarbone. “Why don’t you get in with me?”

“In your dirty water? No thanks.” You grinned and reached for the hair roller. Leaning over the bath tub you gently brushed her bangs before rolling them up so you could clean her face. “You should have washed your hair too.” You hummed.

“Wash it for me?” She asked, standing still like a doll letting you do your thing. A very pretty doll, you thought.

“Tomorrow.” You sighed and she smiled.

You gently wiped her face clean and disinfected the wound. She would hiss in pain at times but nonetheless it was a minor thing. You’ve seen her through worse. All while you took care of her Bada had her eyes closed, enjoying the pampering. Her body had relaxed completely and her muscles felt like jelly. She didn’t want to get out anytime soon, although the water was getting cold and was indeed dirty.

You didn’t want to admit it but she was right about her face. It wasn’t something that needed extra care and she could have handled on her own, washing around the scratch and covering it with a band aid. But you loved to take care of her. You loved to treat her gently, run your fingers over the curve of her jaw, observe every detail of her face. You watched as her lips moved and curled as you touched sensitive spots and her brows furrowed then straightened back in a calm expression. After you were done with the skincare and the products were well absorbed into her skin you took the roller out of her bangs and gently arranged the strands of hair on her forehead. Your eyes traveled lower, to her neck down her collarbones and her chest that was lost in bubbles. You didn’t notice when she peeped at you through her lashes, a bright gummy smile plastering all over her face.

“You’re so in love with me.” Bada said.

“Mhm.” You only agreed to her teasing, placing your forearms on the edge of the tub and resting your head on top of them. You weren’t even going to deny it or mind that your eyes were an open book for her. One of her hands made its way out of the water to touch your face gently. Foam and water was running down her fingers over the bruised up knuckles. “Does it hurt?” You asked and she moved her hand away to inspect it from afar. She tried to clench her fist then release, feeling the stinging sensation of bare flesh. You extended your arm too so you could reach her hand and carefully intertwine your fingers with hers.

“Hmm… My hand is bigger than yours.” She said and you chuckled.

“Fuckboy 101. Any other pickup lines from the streets?” You said sarcastically but a part of you was excited by all of these gentle touches between the two of you. So excited that, if you would let your intrusive thoughts win, you’d take her hand and place it around your throat-

“Only that you’re so pretty.” Something about the way she emphasized the last words only contributed to your excitement. It wasn’t the usual affectionate tone when she complimented your makeup, your outfit or simply your features out of pure love. It was something deeper and darker than that, almost like when she would call you pretty in bed when you’d be on top of her-

“Whatever gang fight you got into must have messed with your adrenaline levels and got you horny instead.” You tried to hide the fact that your mind had started to create fantasies in real time.

“Me?” Bada asked sheepishly as she pulled your hand closer and pressed her lips gently against it. You felt a very familiar sensation in your lower stomach. It was very entertaining to her, seeing you fight to hide what was obviously hiding behind your eyes when you would stare blankly at her. Maybe you were right about it and adrenaline really was to blame. Or maybe seeing you wearing her clothes did something to her.

Bada leaned forward, shivering when the colder air hit her bared back. She was about to get out of the water.

“This is going to be all green and purple tomorrow.” You said, the tip of your finger barely touching a spot on her back. She instinctively moved away from your touch. You were right, it really hurt. “You’re so sensitive I can’t even ride you properly yet you’re teasing me.” You teased back.

It was her time to blush. At least she could blame it on the hot water.

“So you have been thinking about it. Pervert.” You rolled your eyes at her. This bickering and teasing was something usual in your relationship. You sat up to grab the towel for her. When you turned back you froze in front of her for the second time that night. She had stood up, this time completely naked in front of you, water dripping down her body. It took all the strength inside you to simply swallow. You could feel the heat coming out of her body but there was another kind of heat coming from within you. As if you weren’t flustered enough, her fingers gently grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up this time. Her touch was warm and wet and arousing. “I’m cold.” She said as if she didn’t notice, as if she didn’t intend to make you feel like this. You knew and she must have known too that you were getting wet just because she barely touched you. “My towel?”

You couldn’t take it anymore. You let the towel fall on the floor and placed your hands on her waist, pulling her closer. The water on her body wetted your T-shirt too but it didn’t matter. Standing on you tippy toes to reach her, you pressed your lips against hers, finally getting what you wanted since she got home. Her lips moved along with yours as your fingers dug into her skin, hungry to posses as much of her as possible. Her hands cupped both your cheeks as she took control of the kiss. Your fingers glided softly all over her skin from her hips to her waist to her breasts and-

“Ouch.” She breathed against your lips when you pressed against a bruise.

“Sorry.” You mumbled. She brushed her lips lightly against yours.

“Let’s take this out of here.” Bada said and you grabbed her hand in excitement, rushing her to the bedroom.

#bada lee #bada lee x reader #bada lee x y/n #bada lee imagine #swf2 #swf2 x reader #bada x reader

[jarofstyles]

Cerulean

Here it is! Indigo part 2… even years later lol. after literal years... we are continuing with it. If you're unfamiliar, here is part one.

I hope you enjoy our new(ish) babies.

Check out our Patreon!

warnings- mention of anxiety, tattoos, tooth rotting fluffy babies, miscommunication

WC- 4.2k

----

Y/N stared nervously at her phone. Harry’s contact was up in the bubble, her first message to him sitting unsent on the screen.

He had actually given her his number. He said that he would talk to her about his tattoos and his shop and he had said she could call him H, which- Gah! She wanted to squeal when she had woken up and remembered it all. The headache had been gnarly, but she recalled most of the night very vividly. How Harry had taken charge and told the man bothering her off, how he had admitted that she intimidated her somehow because he thought she was pretty and his glaring wasn’t because of hatred- it was nerves, anxiety and trying to figure out how to talk to her.

He’d placed her number into his phone under a simple letter, H, and promised to text him later.

Did the next day qualify as later?

It was almost noon and she had sent off a few emails to her publisher that was working with her on one of her fashion articles, trying to waste time to not seem overly eager. Washing the dishes, switching her laundry, even taking her cat for a walk(unconventional but Nibbles had been a street kitten, he liked to go outside), even taking a full body shower with the shaving and the deep hair mask. Her headache had faded to an dull throb with the help of a tylenol, and she was now ready to bite the bullet.

Y/N: Hiiii :D It’s Y/N.

Y/N: Hope I’m not bugging you but I was thinking about finally getting a tattoo. I had some questions and I figured you’d be perfect to ask.

It wasn’t a lie. Y/N really had been considering a tattoo and asking Harry, though she had been planning on going to him anyway out of courtesy before she had gotten the whole ‘i think he hates me’ thing cleared up. She’d never go to a different artist if she could support someone in the friend group. Now it was an exciting thing for her, a giddiness in her stomach rising when she saw the three dots in the texting bubble showing that he was replying.

Hm. He didn’t have his read receipts on. Interesting.

A response popped up quite quickly after sending her message.

H: Hi. You aren’t bugging. Come down to the shop, it’s slow today.

Y/N nearly choked on her lemonade. He wanted her to come? Today?! Her bare foot tapped anxiously against the carpet as she blinked at her phone screen, trying to find the right words to respond. She didn’t want to bother him or annoy him, even though he had said she wasn't’ bugging', the girl was still a bit nervous. Last night she had called him super cool and said she wanted to spend time with him alone but she had to wonder if she was brave enough to do it so soon.

Y/N: Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a bother or anything.

His response came just as fast as the last. Did he have his phone screen open or something?

H: You aren’t. I’m doing paperwork so I don’t mind.

H: Can you bring me a coffee? I’ll venmo you.

She felt a laugh bubble from her throat as she looked at the messages. She hadn’t said yes but he was most definitely telling her to get her ass over there if she read between the lines. Considering it was a weekend, she had no excuse not to. Besides her nerves, she didn’t have one either. She liked Harry. She thought he was really cute and mysterious and he was polite when he spoke last night and something about him had her so intrigued. The girl knew she would kick herself if she didn’t go, so that’s how the decision was made.

Y/N: Sugar or cream? Do you do a latte or something fancy? Frappichino?

H: Black, please. Cold foam on top. Thanks xx

—-

Harry knew he was being awfully presumptuous but he also knew himself.

It was now or never.

Last night he had finally found his balls and spoken to the cute little thing. Granted, it took him standing up for her against a creep, but he had still done it. Y/N was coming to the nearly empty shop to talk about a tattoo, what he knew would be her very fucking first, and he was so nervous he could probably vomit if he thought about it too long.

He had always been known to be an intimidating man. He was littered with dark swirls of ink on his skin, piercings on his nose and eyebrow-and some other not so visible places-, he was pretty tall and broad shouldered and he was said to have what Niall loved to call a ‘bitch face’. His hair was longer, needing a cut as it was falling into his face, and he had his moody demeanor which tended to scare people off. Even as a teenager, pre tats and everything, he had sat quietly behind his friends while he observed and was able to keep prying people away with a simple quirk of the brow.

While that intimidating air worked wonders for getting annoyingly nosy people to fuck off and to get laid every once in a while by a girl who wanted a night with a ‘bad boy’, -words said by 2 of them, not himself- he sure as fuck didn’t want Y/N to think of him that way.

Y/N was just… She was his opposite in every way and he really, really liked it. Soft curved features as opposed to his own hard ones, a gentle glow to the eyes instead of his hardened glimmer. She had a sweet, bubbly voice that made him hang off her every damn word when he got the privilege to go out when she was there. She had called herself a fucking cinnamon roll, and she had been right. Sweet and fluffy and coated in sugar. Something he’d fucking love to taste, given the chance.

That would be a bit down the line considering Y/N wasn’t the type of girl he’d want to hook up with. She was the girl that he’d want his Mum to meet. She was the breakfast in bed, flowers every week, buy pretty dresses for type of girl. Every woman deserves that, but for him? Y/N was that exact type. He hooked up with girls that he knew he wouldn’t get attached to. Quick fucks at their place, bar bathrooms, cars. He didn’t let them inside his world because he knew what he wanted.

He’d dated before, had his heart broken a small handful of times to know what he wanted and what he didn’t. Hopefully he’d be able to sniff out some more about Y/N that he hadn’t found out through the social gatherings, grapevines and checking out her social media. She made cute little videos of her outfits almost every day on her instagram story that he watched when he had the chance. She had a cat as well. She liked pastel colors and drank a lot of tea and lemonade. She liked the pink starbursts best- he knew just from the exposure he’d gotten. The itch to gather more information had hit him hard.

Thankfully she was coming to see him today and he could stop being such a pussy. Face her alone and talk to her face to face. She was too nice to judge him if he stuttered or said the wrong thing, at least not outwardly.

He’d hoped she would text today, hoped he’d have an excuse to see her. His outfit had a bit more effort than his other ones. Sticking with all black because spilled ink was an absolute bitch to get out, if not impossible, he chose his favorite black jeans with the holes in the knees, frayed strings something to pick at when he was bored. On top he wore a black button up with little roses as buttons, left open down to his mid chest. Maybe it was slutty, but he liked to show off the ink he had. It was something he was proud of. His necklaces hung down mid chest, the silver chains and pendants slightly tangled now that he had taken a look, but it sort of worked.

He had been mid inspection when he heard the door bell jingle and the receptionist greet Y/N.

Y/N was a bit shocked at just how nice it was when she walked in. Outside she had seen the neon light in the window and the sign up above, already impressed, but it got better when she walked inside. The red and black tattoo shop had an edgy vibe. As she stepped inside, she was greeted by the checkered floors that give off a retro feel. On the left-hand side, there was a flash wall littered with a plethora of designs, featuring different what she assumed were the tattoo styles of each artist who worked out of the shop.

As she walked towards the reception desk, Y/N noticed it was made of thick dark wood and had a glossy finish and a smiling dark haired receptionist sitting behind the desk. Black frames on the side wall showed off their business license and framed newspaper articles about the shop. Obviously it had raving reviews. Y/N felt a bit guilty for not knowing, but proud of him. Obviously it was a well respected show.. Behind the desk, there was a glass cabinet displaying various jewelry for piercings and shop merchandise. She wondered if she could buy one of the hoodies or tee shirts to support him?  Oh, maybe a tote bag. That was definitely something she would use. She’d always liked the little logo. It was a bit of a surprise to her that she’d never seen him wear any of it before, only on his instagram.

Maybe he didn’t want random people talking to him about tattoos when he was out?

Greeting the receptionist, she let her eyes wander around. There seemed to be rooms for tattooing and piercings down a long hallway, some thick black, crushed velvet curtains that can be drawn closed for privacy. Convenient. At least they cared about that. Some of the ones she had looked at online pre-Harry had the bare minimum.

“Hi! Did you have an appointment?” The girl behind the counter was dressed in what she could tell was retro clothing, a slightly off the shoulder red top and a string of chunky pearls around her neck. Her hair was done up so neatly that Y/N had been instantly jealous. She had never been good at doing updos, nor did she look good with that sort of poof, but she wished she did. Her bright red lipstick would be a lot during the day for someone else, but on her? It worked. Y/N was a little intimidated already. She seemed really cool just by looking at her.

“N-No, uh, Harry told me to come-”

“She’s here for me, Liz.” Harry’s voice interrupted her own. Y/N turned around, tray of coffee in hand and a brown paper bag in the other. “This is Y/N. She’s cool.”

Cool? He thought she was cool too. Y/N felt herself flush under her clothes, swallowing thickly as he sauntered over and took the tray from her hands. “Thanks for this, gorgeous. Forgot to get new coffee for the machine.”

Y/N felt like she was having a bit of an episode. Gorgeous? He had called her gorgeous and walked over to her so confidently, as if his nerves that had gotten him to make her think he hated her had disappeared. Perhaps it was because he was in his own domain, his element. Thankfully, Liz had kept her from having to respond right away.

“Oh, sick.” She smiled up at her from her swivel chair. “Harry never has his friends here. Besides the ones who work here and Niall, but he always leaves a mess in the break room. It’s nice to see a new face. You’re really pretty.”

Y/N had to admire the confidence she carried. She was so pretty and could easily talk to people, joking with her already as if they were friends for years. “Thank you, you are as well.” She replied, the compliment making her feel even more flustered. “Niall is very good at leaving messes, I’m afraid.” That’s something she knew first hand. “I don’t have any tattoos yet so uh, Harry offered to talk to me about it.”

“Virgin skin! How exciting.” Liz chirped, twirling her straw around. “Honestly, Harry’s a great artist, perfect for a first timer if you can ignore the mean mugging. He’s super gentle and has the best lines I’ve ever seen.”

Y/N had to smile. Of course he was good. A glance at him had her observing the slight pink in his cheeks as he narrowed his eyes at Liz, who to her credit, didn’t seem phased. He was slightly embarrassed at the attention on him but still happy that she had talked him up.

Harry would be heartbroken if he scared her off of tattoos, but he tried to be a good artist with everyone. Perhaps he wasn’t super talkative but most of his clients were veteran ink people with loads already on their skin. They knew to sit quietly or listen to the music, or bring a friend to chat with so he could do his damn job.

“Anyways.” Harry cleared his throat. “Mitch’s appointment just pulled into the lot. Y/N and I are going into the office, scream if you need me.” His nod to follow her was brief, Y/N holding on to her handbag for dear life as his long legs carried him down the hallway at a much faster pace that she usually did. Thankfully she was able to hide how winded the quickness of the long hallway had made her once he opened his office door.

The floors were hardwood in his office. He had his own black desk, a black leather couch with a red acrylic coffee table and a shelf full of books. Windows from behind the desk gave it decent lighting. It was clean in here, cleaner than Y/N had ever kept her own office.

“Sorry about that.” He murmured to her, setting the coffee down on the smooth red table. “She’s really overly friendly. Great for customers but a bit nosy.” He walked towards his desk to grab his iPad and stylus, slightly flustered when the white thing fell back on the desk. His nerves were most definitely showing. Turning around he was ready to keep talking, but he was met by her body halfway across the room to look at some of his old framed flash sheets he had on the far wall.

“These are so cool, Harry.” She said quietly, eyes scanning the designs. “And you just thought of all these off the top of your head?” Turning herself to face him, she watched as he gave her a tiny bit of a smile. Still pink in the cheeks, which soothed her own nerves a little. His confidence at first had made her a tad bit scared that she was the only one stressing out about it, but he was obviously affected just as much.

“Erm… some of them. I use some reference pictures, get inspired by other works and change it so it’s my own. A lot of it is things I randomly get ideas for, though.” He rubbed his knuckle over his chin. “I work with a lot of clients who already have ideas and wants so the perimeters are more strict, so with flash it’s more of what I want to do. People who get them have a say in color and size but usually it’s a pre-printed stencil.” He explained, crossing his arms as he approached her.

She smelled really good. Was that a weird thing to think? Maybe. But it was true. He was hyperaware of everything right now, trying his best to not put his leather boot into his mouth and fuck up. There was genuine approval on her face, getting closer to the frames to scope out details and truly admiring each one. “Are these the retired ones, your favorites? Why are they stuck back here instead of with the ones out front?” Inquisitive eyes met his own.

“These are ones I’ve already done. I don’t do a ton of flash anymore because I’m usually booked for customs.” His own eyes took in the old flash sheets. Each design was something he had loved creating, but the time for them had passed. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to remember them, though. “But all of these were claimed by people when we had flash events. I don’t think it’s bad to have similar tattoos as other people but I tend to not do the same thing twice. I had gotten really sick of doing the same infinity signs and hearts and roses when I was an apprentice at the first shop.” God, he was glad that trend was over. Mostly. “There’s nothing inherently wrong with hearts or roses, s’just repetitive and I like to do stuff that challenges me. Y’know?” He turned to look at her, finding her already staring up at him. That stupid flutter moved around his stomach again.

“Oh, I can imagine. I’m really glad I didn’t get the tattoos I had on my pinterest board. I had it growing from like… 2013 to 2017 and all of them now seem very…” She rolled her lips together as she tried to politely find the word for cringe. “Not me. It’s actually why I haven't gotten anything yet.” Arms wrapped around herself, feeling a bit insecure about it. Here was this beautiful tattoo artist, in talent and looks, and she was telling him about her pinterest board of tattoos. He must be internally rolling his eyes because he did a good job of keeping a soft smile on his lips. Was it even legal for men to have lips that pretty and deep pink? Maybe it was just unfair. “I wanted to wait until I felt ready.”

“That’s a really good thing to do.” Harry was proud of her for that. Smart girl. Leaning against the side of his desk, he kept his arms crossed as he continued to talk. “You don't know how many people get impulsive tattoos as their first and regret it later. Now.. m’not one to judge because I’m fuckin’ littered in dumb ones, but I always think of it as a memory. Even if its’ a memory of being a dumbass.” His heart fluttered when he got a giggle out of her. Fucks sake, he was pathetic. “Removal is possible but not at all fun. Got a few mates and some clients who got their old ink taken off and it isn’t pleasant. Waiting is the smartest thing to do if you’re someone who thinks you could possibly regret it.”

Y/N didn’t strike him as an impulsive person. Every time he had seen her, she had seemed pretty put together. Though she could seem a little chaotic, it was an organized chaos that he had always liked. Harry, despite his impulse with tattoos when he was young and tipsy in his partying stage, liked to be a controlled person. Sometimes it was too much, which led to the anxiety he had. It was part of the reason he had such a hard time talking to Y/N at first.

She was so cute and so sweet and Harry wanted their conversations to be perfect. He had a track record of saying dumb things or at the very least, not saying them how they were meant when he was nervous. Usually his anxiety was hidden very well. He didn’t get it when it came to clients or tattoos or anything work related, but in his personal and social life? It was rampant. That was part of the reason he had quit drinking. That was a story for a different time, though.

“Yeah, I really don’t want removal.” Her nose scrunched a bit like a bunny, making his heart stutter in his chest. Cute little thing, she was. “That’s why I wanted to come to you.” There was a slight pause. “I was going to come to you even when I thought you hated me. I’d never want to support a different shop when someone in my circle is talented and has their own business.”

That hurt him a little. Even when she was under the impression that she hated him and was glaring at her, that he had made her uncomfortable, she had planned on supporting him anyways? What sort of fucking angel was she? He winced visibly at the reminder of her original thoughts. He had massively fucked up with that. What an idiot he had been. His nerves had gotten the best of him yet again.

“Y/N, I truly am sorry that I came across that way. It’s not the case, nor has it even been.” He swallowed, looking down at her hands that were clasped together. She was rocking on her heels and he could tell she had probably not wanted to bring that up, but he was glad she did because it did need to be properly addressed while she was 100% sober. “What I said last night is the truth. You just… y’make me a little nervous and I don’t like that I had no idea what to say to you.” She had come into their little friend group and been so fucking adorable, so kind and ready to take someone home if they needed, buy them a drink, talk about her little fashion brand deals. Y/N listened to everything people said, she would find the eyes of a person who had been drowned out by other conversation and encourage them. The best sort of person. “I don’t do well with people I think are pretty, people I think are sweet. S’a little intimidating for me.”

Y/N still didn’t know how that worked, but she could imagine that it must have been weird for him. She couldn’t see how she of all people could be considered intimidating but it made her a little giddy that Harry had found her to be pretty and sweet. It had been the complete opposite of what she expected to be the reason. “Well, thank you. For thinking I’m pretty and sweet, that’s- that’s really nice.” Her eyes fell down while she couldn't keep the smile off her face. “I thought maybe I’d done something like… I dunno, I get kinda touchy and gooey when I’m drunk. I asked everyone if I had accidentally said something or hung on you the first night and didn’t remember meeting you but they’d said no.” That was one of the downfalls of Y/N drunk. She loved to spread love and give cuddles and hugs. Sometimes she didn’t think twice and that had caused her friends to keep her wrangled in their grasp.

“No, no. I wouldn’t have minded any of that.” Harry realized what he had said but continued talking. “It was just me being nervous. I just wanted to apologize again cause I hate to think that you were upset about it at all… n’then…” He rolled his head back to look at the ceiling for a moment. “I feel shitty that you were going to come to me for a tattoo even after I was a dick. Even if I didn’t realize it then. You’re just a really good person.” He looked back down to see Y/N giving him a tiny smile, stepping closer to him. “Fuck, I’m rambling. Sorry.”

“No! No, it’s okay. I uh..” Another pause was paired with a pink tongue peeking out to lick her lips that Harry paid a bit too much attention to for his own good. “It’s just nice to hear you talk. You’re always so quiet but you’ve got a nice speaking voice. I like it.”

Harry wanted to scream, actually. He wanted to groan and drop his head into her sweet smelling neck and do god knows what, because that compliment made him feel really flattered and flustered. Y/N just had that fucking thing about her, this weird trait that he couldn’t quite describe that made him feeling like he was a schoolboy all over again being paired up with his crush for an assignment. How lucky was he? She had wanted his art on her forever.

“Thanks.” His response was slightly shy, looking back up at her with the pink tint still on his cheeks. He knew the back of his neck was probably flushed too.

“No problem.” Another slight pause where neither of them knew how to proceed followed but, this time neither seemed to particularly mind. Deciding to move it on so he didn’t have to look uncomfortable anymore, Y/N shot him another one of those smiles before moving back towards the coffee table, grabbing her cup from the cardboard tray. “So. Let’s talk about designs.”

#jarofstyles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfic #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry styles imagine #harry drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #tattoorry #harry styles tattoo #tattoo artist harry #Harry smut #Harry fluff #Harry styles au #harry styles enemies to lovers #harry styles one shots #harry styles oneshots #harry styles fanfictions #indigo

[billybob598]

Scary Crashes (Katie McCabe x Reader)

2 fics in 1 day I'm literally so awesome. Also, sorry for the shit title I couldn't think of anything else sooo, just ignore that bit. Remember, any feedback good or bad is welcomed! As always, have fun reading!

Word Count: 1K (Kinda short but who cares)

“This is gonna be so much fun!” Katie exclaims as she walks alongside you in the paddock. You chuckle at her excitement.

“Yeah, it’s going to be great babe,” you say before stopping to take some photos with fans. You were a driver with Ferrari and while it had been a tough season, you were confident heading into Silverstone this weekend. What made it even better is that Katie, your girlfriend, was attending. She had come to a couple of races, but it always made you feel better to have her there.

The weekend had been tough, free practice had been okay and you were out-qualified by your teammate, Charles. Katie watched excitedly from the garage as the race got underway. The race had been terrible, Ferrari in complete Ferrari style had fucked up your strategy,

“No! Guys, we can’t keep doing this. Fuck! Mate, this has gone from bad to an absolute shithole of a race,” you say over the radio.

As it gets closer and closer to the chequered flag, you try your very best to make some places back up. After your pit stop you came out P13, but you were able to crawl back up to P8. You tried multiple times to get past Pierre Gasly’s Alpine in P7 but to no avail. You were starting to get frustrated,

“He’s driving a bit dangerously, no? Did you see him do the double move on the straight?”

“Yep, we saw it. Just keep focused Y/N, you’ll get him,” your engineer says back to you.

On the next lap, you get a good exit out of Woodcote and use the slipstream to your advantage as you guys head into Copse. Gasly defends the inside so, you decide to try around the outside. Katie holds her breath as she watches on the TV. One second you’re thinking you’ve got him on the outside, the next you’re spinning around as gravel spills into the cockpit. At first, you think you’ve just span out and that you’re probably beached in the gravel trap. That is until you smash into the tyre barrier at over 200km/h. All the air gets pressed out of your lungs when you hit the wall with over 50G’s. Immediately after you hit, you black out.

Everyone inside the Ferrari garage is scrambling, trying to see if you’re okay or not. Your engineer is getting no response over the radio. All the cameras on the car had been broken. Katie was full-on panicking. As the team tried to see if you were okay, Katie couldn’t help but fear for the worst, especially when the ambulance had to come. 

You wake up when someone starts to shake your shoulders. Your eyes adjust to the light and when you look up you see a marshal standing over you asking if you’re okay. You give him a nod and thumbs up, before switching on the radio,

“You okay? Y/N, are you okay?” The engineer keeps repeating.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Ahhhhh fuck, everything kinda hurts though,” you answer.

“Yeah, just stay where you are, marshals are coming and so are some paramedics,”

“Okay, copy,”

It takes a couple of minutes for the marshals to get you out, but when they do you are met with thunderous applause from the crowds. Waving a hand to let them know you’re okay, Katie breathes a sigh of relief. She gets informed by your assistant that you are heading to the hospital for a check-up because it was quite the impact. Katie drives to the hospital as quickly as possible. She knows you’re more or less okay considering you were able to walk out of the car, but she needed to see you with her own eyes. The Irish woman asks the receptionist where you are quite urgently, maybe a little rudely, but she’s Katie McCabe what do you expect from her? When she’s shown to your room she’s informed that you are sleeping. So, she quietly tip-toes into the room and sees you laying there with a couple of machines hooked up to you. Deciding you should keep sleeping, she goes and asks the doctor about how you are. The doctor says that for the most part, you’re okay, your only injury being bruised ribs. He tells her that you're only going to be hooked up to the oxygen machine for a little bit, they just didn’t want to take any chances.

It’s a couple hours before you wake up and when you do you’re met with your girlfriend looking anxious. She has no idea you’re awake yet, so you slowly reach out for her hand and slip her fingers in between yours. Her head jerks up.

“Oh my God, Y/N. Jesus Christ you had me so scared there,” she says quickly. You point in the direction of the door, silently asking for her to go get the doctor so he could take the oxygen mask off. “Oh yeah, right of course. I’ll go get him.”

The doctor does a quick check-up on you before ultimately deciding that you were good to go. He releases you from the hospital, much to your happiness and Katie’s worry. When you guys get back to the hotel, Katie carries all your bags inside, even though you did offer multiple times. All night, Katie won’t let you do anything. Water? Brings multiple glasses of it. Hungry? Don’t worry, she’s got a plate stacked sky-high with food. In pain? She’ll force multiple painkillers down your throat. Some might find it overbearing, but you on the other hand found it endearing. Katie usually acted tough, but it was in moments like these that she shows just how caring and thoughtful she can be. 

“Are you good? Do you need anything else?” Katie asks.

“Nah, babe. I think I’m all good. Thank you for everything today,” you say gratefully.

“Of course, you scared me there Y/N,” she says the last part quietly. You drag her beside you on the bed.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say scratching the back of your neck.

“Never again Y/N, never again,” she says sternly. She grins at you before kissing you. 

As you fall asleep you can’t believe how lucky you are to have a girlfriend as awesome as yours.

#katie mccabe x reader #katie mccabe #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso x f1 reader

[clockwayswrites]

Like Betta Fish Do - Part 13

Masterpost of ao3 link and all parts. WC: 1563 (Ch 10 when on ao3)

Jason settled in, legs draped over the edge of the building, and unwrapped sandwich enough to take a large bite. Next to him, Dick did the same.

They had gotten back into the habit slowly— in fits and starts and Jason turning down Dick’s gentle inquiry (plea, it was a plea) more often than not— but now, once a month at least, Red Hood and Nightwing could be found perched on a rooftop, sharing a meal. Chili dogs to burgers to sandwiches— anything that could be easily held, quickly eaten, and was open late to serve the night owls of Gotham.

Tonight it was bahn mi sandwiches from an amazing little Vietnamese place in Blüdhaven.

It was easier to take these moments in Blüdhaven.

Jason knew that tonight's ‘Big Brother Bonding Binge’ (Dick’s name for it), had been purposefully arranged. Nightwing would have had no issue handling that bust on his own. Jason wanted to resent it— Dick had been more a mother hen than usual since Jason had been ‘sick’— but Jason… Jason wanted someone to talk to.

Every since driving Danny out to the ocean, Jason had been thinking. His little revelation that he didn’t want to stop living… no, that he need to actively start living, had been rattling around in his brain. It was leading to all sorts of thoughts and plans that he didn’t know how to handle anymore.

It was still a struggle some days to think about the fact that he had a future to look forward to.

Jason could practically feel Dick vibrating with the need to ask next to him, so he threw his brother a bone. “I’ve… been thinking about going to college?”

He hadn’t meant it to come out like a question.

“Really?” Dick asked, perking up like a damn puppy. “That’s great Jay. Are you thinking Gotham U? What do you want to major in? Wait— do you’ll need a GED—”

“Got my GED as soon as I was officially back from the dead,” Jason said, cutting off Dick’s rambling. “I was… I mean, probably Gotham U eventually? I was thinking maybe just online classes first? There’s still days that…”

There were still days that Jason just couldn’t handle people very well or that the pain was too bad.

“Online classes sound like a great way to start,” Dick said. “Are you thinking about just doing gen eds then?”

“To start, yeah. But I was… I guess there are a few things I’m considering? Mostly thinking that I could maybe get something in social sciences that would be good for nonprofit work. I’ve been doing that stuff with the foundation, but I know I’m not really qualified to do a lot. And if I got a degree that could help out maybe.” Jason made himself take a breath. “Maybe I could do some real good as me and not just as Red Hood.”

“I know you could, little wing,” Dick said with one of his soft smiles; the type that always made Jason ache a little.

Jason elbowed him lightly, more to jostle him than to wound. Dick just laughed for Jason’s efforts.

“B is going to be ecstatic,” Dick said after polishing off the last bite of his sandwich.

“You mean insufferable,” Jason grumbled.

“Overenthusiastic,” Dick corrected. Jason gave in with a little shrug. “I’ll try to hold him back, but you know he just gets happy whenever he can do something for you.”

“You’re talking like I’m going to take his help.”

“You are— you’re smart enough not to wrack up that sort of debt when you can use B’s money instead.”

Jason sighed, exaggerating the sound so that the full effect would come through his respirator. There were still nights when he missed his helmet and the anonymity it provided, but the respirator, domino, and literal hood did make it easier to express himself when he wanted to. “Fine. But you getter try to make him tone it down.”

“Cross my heart,” Dick said, complete with the motion. “You’re best off telling him at a family dinner then.”

He had a point. “Next month then.”

“Or,” Dick said, drawing the word out as he leaned into Jason’s side. “You could come by sooner. You don’t have to only come once a month, Jay.”

“Wing,” Jason said, the name a sigh.

“Think about it. I promise to be there if you want to— and I’ll call in favors to get whoever else you want there too.”

Jason was a little touched despite himself. Favors were no small matter in the Wayne family. “Thanks—”

“Nightwing, Hood,” Oracle cut in across the comms.

Both vigilantes straightened up at her tone.

“Here,” Jason answered for both of. His voice roughened as he slipped back into being Red Hood. There was no room for Jason in a mission that had Oracle sounding that serious.

“Two-Face escaped from Arkham.”

Jason could sense Dick stop breathing next to him. Two-Face wasn’t Joker level, no one really was, but Two-Face was still Dick’s Joker. They had talked about it, one bad night— too cold and too haunted up on top of a bridge. Dick had spoken in hushed, short sentences— as it by saying the words quick enough and letting the frigid winter wind rip them away he could finally be free of it.

It didn’t work.

Nothing ever would.

Jason shifted just enough to press his knee against Dick’s. The forceful intake of breath the nudge caused was so sharp that it must have hurt.

---

Jason slammed the hidden door in the back of his closet closed as he shoved through it.

He had gotten through patrol.

Somehow, he had gotten through patrol while holding off the worst of the Pit Rage.

Now the green was crowding out most of his vision as he stalked into his apartment. He fisted a hand in his hair, yanking as he tried to ground himself. He should be able to get a handle on himself.

It shouldn’t be this bad.

Nothing happened.

Maybe it was worse that nothing had happened.

Every missed chance of catching up with Two-Face, every bust of his henchmen that went nowhere, every empty warehouse— Jason had been forced to watch Dick grow tenser and tenser. Jason had just wanted to take his big brother out of there— take him back to a safe house where Jason could protect him from everything.

But there was no protecting anyone from their own mind.

Jason knew that.

Jason knew that with every creeping flick of green on the edge of his vision.

He was helpless against it all: helpless to help Dick, helpless to stop this pain, helpless to stop his own—

No.

What he needed to stop was this… this spiraling. He was home.

No one knew he’d been fighting the Rage.

No one was in danger.

Da- Batman would be looking into Two-Face relentlessly.

Jason just had to look after himself, just for the moment.

Fuck he was such a failure.

No.

Stop that.

Stop stop stop.

Jason collapsed on his couch. He dragged the weighted blanket up over his shoulders. Fingers laced, shuddering, behind his neck Jason struggled to suck in a breath of air.

Another.

One more.

Just keep breathing.

---

Someone was knocking at his door.

The sound pulled Jason out of his haze and he blinked, listlessly. His world was sideways from where he had collapsed on the couch.

The knocking continued.

He ignored them.

“Jason?” Oh. It was Danny. He sounded panicked. “Come on Jason, if you don’t open up I’m coming in.”

No.

He couldn’t let Danny in.

If Danny got in, Jason could hurt him.

He couldn’t hurt Danny.

Jason surged to his feet, stumbling into his coffee table as the world spun around him. The mug he’d been drinking tea out of before patrol rocked off the edge and shattered.

The cold tea seeped under Jason’s bare feet.

“Jason.”

A drip of red bled into the liquid.

A shard of ceramic must have cut his foot.

“Jason.”

His head jerked up.

Danny was inside his apartment.

No no no—

“Get out.” The growled words tore themselves from Jason’s throat before he even was aware of speaking.

Danny took a hesitant step forward instead, reaching out like he wanted to get closer and touch. “Jason, no. Your whole haunt is— I can feel how scared you are right now, I’m not leaving you alone.”

“Get out.”

“Maybe an ectoshot?”

Danny wasn’t listening.

“I know we were going to wait at least one more week but it might help you stabilize—”

Why wasn’t Danny listening? “Get out.”

“I can always project with my core. You said you could sense me before?”

“I said get out!” Jason roared. He lost the rest of his vision to the burning green as he stalked forward.

“Jason, I can help—”

A fist slammed into the door Danny was backed up against. Wood cracked under the now bleeding knuckles that were inches from Danny’s head. Jason crowded in close, teeth bared with a growl— close enough for the toxic green glow of his eyes to reflect off of Danny’s tan skin. With a quiet viciousness he hissed, “Get out.”

And Danny did. He phased right out through the door.

Alone in his apartment Jason sagged against the bloody door with a half screamed sob.

-----

AN: We are back~ sorry for the longer than normal delay- health and work have both conspired against me. I’m sure this is still full of issues but that’s why we do a rewrite and beta before it goes on ao3~

It’s a small chapter, but it’s what it needed to be I think.

Hope you enjoyed and stay delightful, darlings!

The endless tag list that maybe will work, maybe won’t. Who know! I sure don’t! @fisticuffsatapplebees  @thegatorsgoose  @wolfeyedwitch  @lazy-bouqet  @confusedandghostly  @glomsk  @kailithiel  @bahfev  @d4ydr34min9  @claudiashq  @someonebored0100  @pastalavistamf  @samgirl98  @angelheartgamer  @lehana37  @spiteismymiddlename  @rosecinnamonbun  @demon-cat-goes-woof  @violet-catsarelife  @avelnfear  @undead-essence  @basilf1res  @amillionandonefandoms  @stealingyourbones  @sarcastic-yami  @bun-fish  @aconitewolfsbane  @dontfightmecauseillcry  @omgnectarina  @vehan-tikkun-olam-and-stuff  @the-blind-one-speaks  @mimilikey  @wolfe-marvin  @learning-to-fly-on-my-own  @multplelifes  @yurijay  @bae-graphomaniac  @fan4rt1st  @weirdestarrow  @wolfjackle  @allulily  @onyxlightdragon  @zotinha456  @wwwwyamd  @river9noble  @starscreamlover  @michealawithana  @robinmedea  @spideypoolalways  @jesus-camp-the-sequel  @persephoneblackrose  @f4nd0m-fun  @mady-is-ace-trash  @ascetic-orange  @renwilson  @ace-aro-as-shit  @rangerhorsetug  @thatrandomsarahchick  @holygoldfish  @mlpizza  @chrysanthemum9484  @justwannaseesomebrozawa  @newgraywolf  @crazylittlemunchkin  @fire-glass @autumnrosnor  @the-nerdy-fangirl  @faithblob-says-things   @a-star-with-a-human-name  @winged-scaly-attic-dweller  @mistermetalmaker  @apersond  @mustachebatschaos  @joaniejustwokeup  @that-dumbass-on-a-horse  @plainly-colorful  @blackcatsandhaunteddolls  @booklover223  @alice-hazelwood  @answrs  @enbydemirainbowbigfoot  @felicityroth  @wanderingrutabaga  @seraphinedemort  @write-it-right-2  @my-mom-calls-me-rat  @01101010-01100001-01111001  @arc-777  @crystalice067  @phoenixdemonqueen  @icedbluesoul  @itsparadoxlacuna  @wisp-wishes  @spikedlynx  @redhoneysugarorange  @russetfur1128  @mutable-manifestation  @stargirl1331  @chaoticchange  @living-on-borrowed-time  @orshie  @britcision  @littlefeather345  @sunflowershine03  @aro-acedumbass  @thefanficcup  @shibanoh  @icefirecrystal  @thatonejumbledmess  @cy-ella  @kobol1  @metal-sporks  @tired-yet-awaken  @currant-owo  @firegirl108  @stupidlovepurplepeace  @drowningroane  @imagineshazamlokimight  @immakittybear  @justalittletotheleftofnormal @chrysanthemum9484  @kawaiikenna  @imaginationmademanifest  @a-salty-sal  @mentalcarebear  @mj-arts-n-stuff  @xysidhe  @cottonscrambles  @manapeer  @yjfk  @ryisc  @666deaddash999  @nutcase8691  @idontgetpaidenoughforthisshit  @dr-syko-pharm-4  @i-have-opinions  @ballzfrog-blog  @mysoulspiralbound  @istillhavenosociallife-blog  @gin2212  @annabethchase0 @basementloser  @plotwholls  @minnowmarsh  @neverlandingbird  @rootsmudge  @fandom-reblog-central  @serasvictoria02  @mnemovoid  @taniaundertaleau  @kirineo-kiki  @ironicvixen  @violetfox2  @redhoneysugarorange  @jaxinkh  @naluforever3  @horribly-lost-and-gay  @nutcase8691 @babblingbat  @frostedthroughghost  @kyrianclawraith  @caspertheloudassghost @the-forgotten-dragon-anankos @lyra689 @v-inari @idfk-man10 Magic-pincushion @terzatheunderscorerima @mysticalcomputerdetective @fallenangle67

#dp x dc #dead on main #dead on main ship #jason/danny #jason x danny #jason todd #danny fenton #like betta fish do

[drksanctuary]

Oh shoot I almost forgot

Stupid Chalice of the Gods predictions before the book comes out and ruins my fun:

1. There will be a lecture about how important college is probably from Chiron

2. Student loan joke ftw

3. Maybe a clever jab at how Percy feels like he’s been 17 forever and can’t wait to be an adult

4. Ganymede is Zues’s intern or something like that

5. The fact that Ganymede is god of homosexuality will either be glossed over or will be his entire personality.

6. Alabaster is also looking for chalice and he is a main factor in making it difficult for the og3 to find it.

7. Because of this Hecate promises Percy his second letter of rec if he keeps Al from getting the Chalice but also makes sure Al doesn’t get killed.

8. Alabaster will make a quip about Percy being a literal dog to the gods with how he’s playing fetch for them

9. “Heroes never die, Jackson, fortunately you’re no hero~”

10. Alabaster as main villain

11. Alabaster as anti-hero

12. Alabaster as villain turned protagonist

13. Alabaster encouraging Grover to take up eco-terrorism to help along his duty as Pan’s replacement.

14. Alabaster with an anti-trio (I dunno who the other two would be maybe new original characters or maybe Ethan and some very minor god)

15. Percabeth Will unnecessarily fight to cause drama. XP

16. A comment about how they can’t use their godly parents for the letters because this is a fantasy world where nepotism doesn’t help you get into university.

17. A running joke on “what Percy Will major in” for example: Percy does solves a problem with pure luck and someone says “maybe you should major in being in the right place at the right time”

18. Letter of Rec from Akhlys? More likely then you think.

19. Jason Cameo??

20. “Al: you’re getting this potentially universe changing, power subverting magical object for the most powerful beings in the world and for what? A letter of Rec to get into a demigod college? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of…why don’t you just go into trade school or something? I’m sure you’d make a good plumber

Percy: haha 😑because water powers ;:/?

Alabaster: no because you’re full of-

Annabeth: shhh! Do you guys…hear that?”

21. Al makes a quip about how Hecate kids are smart too. “Like Athena kids, but useful” then Annabeth decks him.

22. Percy and Annabeth Save Al’s life and he has to help them because he absolutely does not want to OWE them anything.

23. Percy in his head compares Alabaster (with his dramatic entrances, ability to help them and ability to mist travel) to Nico.

24. Grover as stand in for Pan actually qualifies as a god and gives him his last letter. Loophole!

I think I had more but I can’t remember them anymore. Oh well.

#alabaster torrington #alabaster c torrington #pjo #percy jackson #annabeth chase #grover underwood #chalice of the gods #nico di angelo

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

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@badthingshappenbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O2: therapy session

@marvel-smash-bingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

square I1: enemies to lovers

@sebastianstanbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B5: Love triangle

@ultimatechrisbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B3: Inconvenient attraction

#m/f/m #m/m/f #enemies to lovers #hate to love #dom bucky barnes #dominant/submissive #stucky #bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #steve rogers #steve rogers x bucky barnes #fanfiction #fanfic #dom/sub #dom/sub au #d/s au #d/s #d/s dynamic #d/s relationship #trigger warning ed #trigger warning sa #trigger warning abuse #bakery au #steve rogers fanfic #steve and bucky #steve rogers x original female character #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you

[sweetaliencheeks]

M A S T E R L I S T

JUST THE TWO:

THE ONE WHERE THEY’RE BEAUTIFUL Rocket had developed a habit to point out things that remind him of you.

THE ONE WHERE THEY EAT CEREAL Rocket felt lonely and woke you up to have a midnight snack.

THE ONE WHERE SHE HELPS Definitely not a qualified nurse, but love can heal, too.

THE ONES THAT ARE SILENT 1 & 2 Sometimes words aren’t necessary.

THE ONE WHERE SHE DANCES Got some units to spare?

THE ONE WHERE SHE KEEPS A DIARY

There’s an unexpected package at your door.

THE ONE WHERE SHE GETS OLDER Honestly, I just hate my birthday.

THE ONE WHERE SHE FALLS IN LOVE Sometimes you can just pinpoint the right moment.

THE ONE WHERE HE’S BABY I mean, that was literally the only option.

THE ONLY ONE WHERE HE’S TALL Please, I don’t know exactly what this is but I was force fed Tall Girl and thought this was a good idea… Also, kinda naughty.

THE ONE WHERE THEY CUDDLE Sometimes all you need is the right person to bring out the best in you.

THE ONE WHERE THEY GET ENGAGED Honestly, the plan wasn’t bad, but you had to have sausage fingers, didn’t you?

THE ONE WHERE THEY RUN AWAY Based off of a weird dream I had, gotta love a Runaway Bride moment…

THE ONE WHERE HE COMES BACK Slightly angst, I guess. But always with a sweet ending.

THE ONE WHERE THEY SHARE A BED Obviously a mandatory fic, and also a self explanatory one.

THE ONE WHERE HE TELLS HER Alcohol makes you say things you don’t wanna say, and do things you don’t wanna do. Like betting with Ravagers!

THE ONE WHERE HE’S COLD I know that global warming is fucked up, but how cold can it be during summer?

THE ONE WHERE THEY MEET Needed to write something that took place during those five years. Those were lonely times, we could all use a drinking buddy…

THE ONE AT THE MARRIAGE Admit it, we’re all suckers for the “I’m going to my best friend’s wedding to watch him marry somebody else while being hopelessly in love with him” trope. And come on, who doesn’t love a wedding?

THE ONE WHERE HE KNOCKS Post GOTG3. had many complaints about crying. But happy tears only!

THE ONE WHERE HE SAVES HER

Julia Roberts would be so jealous…

THE ONE AFTER THE NIGHTMARE

After you’ve died, any moment is good.

THE ONE WHERE THEY DANCE

What song are you?

WITH THE GUARDIANS

THE ONE WHERE HE BETS Peter bet he could get a secret out of you, and he’s very bad at keeping secrets.

THE ONE WHERE THEY’RE USELESS Just a little everyday struggle when your friends aren’t that good with feelings.

THE ONE WHERE THEY COMMUNICATE Maybe next time try to be a little bit more literal…

So I followed the advice of my lovely readers and finally got around to do a masterlist so it’s easier to find everything! Let me know if I forgot anything. I was actually surprised by how many fics I have written over the years, and I want to say how grateful I am for your support and kind words 🤍

Also, I want to precise that although some of the titles contain the pronouns “she/her”, the fics are mostly gender neutral. I’ll get around to fix the titles eventually!

Keep rocking you beautiful space babies

#rocket x reader #fanfic #gotg fic #gotg vol 1 #gotg vol 3 #rocket raccoon #guardians of the galaxy #marvel #gotg x reader #gotg2 #masterlist

[blasphemecel]

Shidou Ryuusei — Like Teeth

PAIRING: Shidou Ryuusei/Reader WORD COUNT: 3.6k TYPE: Humor, Feelings realization, idfk what this even is but i threw in some surprise fluff at the end WARNING(S): Nsfw jokes but cmon it's shidou you gotta forgive me for finding sex funny this once, play-fighting that doesn't seem very playful, canon-typical mental illness, canon-typical unnecessary dramatics, canon-typical overly intense soccer rivalry NOTE: Reader is a part of the blue lock project but no concrete gender identity or pronouns are specified

It starts like this:

After the freaky nerd from the ceremony whose name you hadn’t bothered remembering finishes with his instructions about this game of tag you’re supposed to be playing, the biggest asshole in the room immediately targets you once he realizes you’re the one with the highest number on your jersey. You trap the ball with ease and then kick it straight into his face with as much power as you can muster, knocking him out, the force sending him reeling.

While the timer continues ticking, no one dares to make a move or even exhale too loudly in your presence, scared you might take their bodily functions as a challenge to your authority. Like every opponent before, they’ve submitted to you.

You stare at the ceiling, your lips set in a tight line, the despair settling in. Just this once, you want to meet someone who can excite you, and you’d hoped this ridiculous place could help.

___

As the top scorer of your pathetic excuse for a team — though behind your back they call you ‘the top red card holder,’ but considering how far up your own ass your head is, you’re yet to pay attention to this remark — by the second qualifying match they already know to pass the ball to you no matter what. In your defense, you’re not any more tyrannical than the average douche in this competition. It’s not your fault they’re too worthless to do what you can.

Two of the opponents are blocking your path, and you shuffle the ball between your feet trying to get the positioning right while they attempt to steal it. Everyone is making noises, but they never mean anything to you. You back up once you’ve felt that the stars have aligned and strike the ball through the tight opening between their bodies, taking the first goal of the match.

“You’re good!”

You blink, the words bringing you out of your perpetual trance to look at the guy in front of you. He starts rambling some nonsense about explosions and how he’s going to beat the ass of anyone who can’t give a good show and you think at some point he has started finding new roundabout ways of saying that he basically wants to bust a nut on the field. It is absurd. You understand it down to your bones, except maybe the last thing. For the first time, everything is coming into view. You can make out his face and you can hear his words and you see your teammates in your peripheral vision. How you didn’t notice him before, what with the hairstyle and his cartoonishly beautiful eyelashes, you’re not sure, but you’ve never been more present during a game before.

“Alright, gyaru,” you say. “Show me how you explode.”

“Gyaru?” he tilts his head, grin wide like a demon’s. “You think I’m pretty?”

Though Jinpachi Ego officially writes down what ensues as a round-robin tourney in his notes, the spectators (meaning literally anyone else who was in your physical proximity) would describe it as ‘The Longest Dick Measuring Contest They’ve Ever Seen.’

The way he moves fascinates you like nothing else. Just like you, he is a creature of instinct. You both circle around while trying to score or steal the ball, only to find that stopping the other is impossible.

After this match, two monsters glance at each other and think, ‘Maybe there is someone out here who understands me.’

___

There are still jitters in your veins. You can’t sleep. Is it ridiculous and maybe parasocial that the thought of ‘I want to see this guy again’ is keeping you up at night? Yeah, probably. You also feel like a creep lying down in the dark with your eyes wide open, yearning to bulldoze through something like you do when you want to calm down.

Frustrated, you slip out of the futon and leave the room while the rest of them are sleeping. The hallways let out ominous flickers, trailing after you while your steps echo and bounce off the walls. This building looks like a prison, you think, though you hadn’t noticed before.

You hate to think that your desperation is so strong you’ve developed the power of manifestation overnight, but when you step inside of the training room, he’s already there. He doesn’t have the decency to seem surprised at your entrance when you close in on him. His arms are crossed and he has a smug aura about him, but for the love of everything you cannot comprehend why he’s standing there doing nothing. At least you planned on being productive when you headed here with your plan to obliterate whatever you could get your hands on. Just so happens it’s him that you found.

The weird silence stretches, but it doesn’t bother either of you because as it turns out you have the same kind of social incompetence. You realize you don’t even know the guy’s name, but he declares, “You really came.”

You don’t really know what he means by this considering you didn’t arrange to meet here beforehand, but he’s saying it as if this was some unanimous agreement you came to earlier. “Waiting for me in the middle of the night all by yourself, handsome?”

“Every cell in my body was calling out to yours,” he says as if it explains anything. His expression is bordering on maniacal. Anyone else might’ve realized this was a bad idea, read the warning signs, but to someone like you who has lived their entire life sleepwalking, the excitement of such a strange encounter is addictive. “We’re the same… That’s why you felt it.”

“In that case, please avoid summoning me so late,” you say. “I value good sleep.”

He cannot tell if you’re just taking the piss or if you’re on the same page, but it’s rare that anyone entertains him when he says anything of that nature. To him, this is an amusing turn of events. “They say you’re some kinda unhinged delinquent. ‘s that true?”

“Sure, if that’s what you call putting a few sorry bums down in their place after they crossed me.”

“So you know how to scrap too, right?”

Right now, Shidou Ryuusei is like a kid at the candy store. You can’t discern any reason for him to swing at you, but he does, smiling all the while. After you respond to his provocation with a duck and a kick of your own — you avoid using your hands for anything if you can avoid it, finding it beneath you — you decide to consider this your friendly introduction to each other.

If he wants to coax the crazy out of you with his punches, then you’re trying to get him to settle down every time you retaliate, daring him to pipe down and turn boring just like everyone else. You’re not sure for how long you duke it out, but at some point you grow sloppy, and the last you remember of it before succumbing to your exhaustion is the last round of boneless slaps you offered each other.

___

Two of your teammates hatefully watch you and Shidou from across the cafeteria. You’re a selfish and insensitive person, of course, they know that. Before this, you’d always eat alone, but ever since the match where they were forced to watch you two flex on them, you’d hang out with him. Still, “I can’t believe [L/n] would rather have a romantic dinner with the only goddamn bastard in this goddamn building who gets better meals than share with us! I’m sick of this natto.”

“You’re telling me,” the other boy says, sadly eating a radish.

This must be an advanced form of psychological torture administered by Ego himself. Even if you don’t notice the audience, Shidou seems to be reveling in the negative attention. They can only watch and drool while you two push at each other and try to steal ingredients. At some point, you put Shidou in a suplex, making him cough out something. Then he wrestles his way out of your maneuver and shoves your head into your plate, forces you up again, and licks the food off your face while you scowl at him.

“I’d hardly call that a romantic dinner, though.”

“A guy from blondie’s team said he caught them asleep on top of each other in the training facility once.”

“Do you think they’re-?!”

“Oh my god, they’re…!”

They scream and point at each other and then hug as if traumatized. To add insult to injury, your voice rings from afar, “Are your eyes really pink? There’s no way that’s natural,” while some of the sauce still sticks to your skin.

“What? You think I’m some kinda fake?” asks Shidou, apparently offended.

“I’m gonna expose you, trust.”

How are you blowing everyone in your cell out of the water in terms of performance? You have to be the dumbest person in this entire wing.

___

“I want you,” he says.

Granted, this is out of context, but you still find that the words have some effect on you. But this won’t do no matter how hard you want to give in. With the first stage of the second selection cleared, you can’t continue as you are. You’ve been complacent in your talent. To expand your abilities, you need to observe whatever other powerful players there are in here instead of still chasing after him. Even the wet wipes on your old team have started catching up.

Besides, you’d always thought your appeal to him is as an opponent, someone who he wants on the other side of the field to face off against, and now Shidou is demanding to work together with you.

“I was in a coma before I met you,” you say. He pinches his eyebrows together, which is probably the first time you’ve seen him pull such an expression. To think you have the ability to utter something so strange, it weirds out even Shidou. “You pulled me out of it, but now I need to see other things, too.”

“If you tell me you wanna go watch other guys, I might get jealous.” Despite the initial waver, he sticks his tongue out at you, trying to be playful like always.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Shidou grabs you by the collar of your jersey and pushes you against the wall. You blink at him, finding this an inappropriate time for a spar seeing as this is regular enough for him, but then he invades your personal space in a way which doesn’t feel particularly combative, your noses brushing against each other, and he blatantly glances at your lips before closing his eyes. You don’t think about it when you pull him in by the neck, your body reacting to his cues.

It’s not even that great, he’s not really being effective at what he’s doing, mashing your mouth against his almost pointlessly, teeth clashing and all before moving far too quickly onto the tonguing part of making out. Your nails are digging into his neck and his hold against your waist is tight enough to bother you. There’s a latent aggression in it like there is in any other interaction between you two.

And you don’t enjoy this for the surface-level sensations but rather for the strange tightness in your chest, the headrush, the closeness where somehow he’s enveloping you and you’re enveloping him at the same time and it feels like you’re about to fuse. You don’t want to let go yet, maybe under the assumption that if you keep kissing him, he’s going to be polite and return your breath to you.

Steps come near the entrance of the hallway and then, “Ah! Uhhh…”

You snap out of it and push Shidou off of you. He has the gall to look offended, glaring.

There’s some puny kid with a buzz cut, standing there with his confusion clear on his face. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt, uh… whatever it was you were doing!” he says in a panic, waving his hands back and forth.

Yeah, that’s a good point. What the fuck were you doing? You just jumped at each other on instinct, ruled by some bizarre, mysterious need.

It must be because the air is so charged between you. Shidou is always in overdrive and he has a penchant for pulling you into his madness. You’re always doing something when you’re together — trading blows, trying to show the other up in soccer, saying heavy-handed things for no reason — and now a moment of stagnancy happened and you both turned into even bigger morons than usual.

He didn’t think about it either, you’re sure. Besides, even if you’re a crazy bastard on the field, you’re not like him. Shidou will meet even stronger players once he advances and he’ll move onto his next obsession. This doesn’t mean anything, at least not to him, you’re convinced.

You untangle yourself from him and ram your shoulder into his as goodbye before lamely saying, “I’m going now,” and offering a nonchalant wave.

He frowns before kicking imaginary dust off the floor. “Sure, fine. Be this way!”

Igaguri isn’t super puritanical or anything. Yeah, he grew up in a temple and all, but seeing two people kiss doesn’t offend his sensibilities. What freaked him out was how you managed to make it look like a fight while you were going at it, and like, he knows the hallway was deserted before he came out of thin air, but this is still a public place. Whatever happened to shame?

And now he has to be in the same vicinity as this scary guy who’s glaring daggers at the spot you were standing in, vein bursting out of his forehead and all, as if you ruined his life by walking out of here. He looks like a manchild who’s sulking because his mom forgot to make him chicken nuggies. A bead of nervous sweat rolls down his forehead.

___

Ever since the beginning, Isagi has been honing his technique, always hungry to add another skill to his repertoire. Rin and Shidou have no synergy; fine, he thinks, it’s not like he really even wants to set up a goal using them. It’s not enough to satisfy him anymore, not after the last match. He’d much rather score himself.

But the problem with the spatial awareness he has developed is that he can’t turn it off at will, or say ‘la-la-la’ and ignore something to focus on what’s important.

Well, being on the same stage as you and Shidou has to be the worst thing of all time. He wants to smell a goal for himself, but the most likely chemical reaction he can predict is one between you two, and you’re not even on the same team. It’s like a ticking time bomb, like those explosions Shidou has been vaguely rambling about, and it permeates the air.

You’ve started adapting his bodily control and precision, almost coming close to scoring with your back on the net. And Shidou has managed to pull off one of ridiculously tight angled shots to break through a two-on-one, passing the ball to Rin. If the phenomenon Isagi observed and achieved before is ‘consumption,’ then he has a first row seat to watch you two cannibalize each other.

The most unfortunate thing is the chase. The ball will come to you, but Shidou will steal it. He’ll be in the air ready to strike, but you’ll sabotage him from below. Isagi recognizes this as an unconscious prediction — on a molecular level, you know where the other one will be, and you’ll race there. It’s like he’s watching both of you swing neon signs and desperately scream ‘Please look at me!’ and overall beg for attention while also stubbornly refusing to make eye contact in fear of rejection.

It is revolting. He wants to gag.

Sure, Ego talked about how luck is a skill and how a pro takes advantage of it, but he never mentioned what to do when someone on his team is living through a low-rated soap opera episode with an opponent. With all of the emotional constipation among the participants of this godforsaken project, he’s sure this won’t be the last time he’ll need it.

___

Sitting down in the middle of practice isn’t productive, but you’re ‘taking a break,’ by which you mean you want to snap someone’s neck. It’s been boring again, ever since Shidou started disregarding your presence. You’re even on the same team now and it’s like you’re no better than air to him.

Of course, you’d predicted he’d find someone new to excite him. You just hadn’t anticipated it’d hurt your feelings. Why do you care, anyway? You should be used to this. The soccer you’ve played has always been selfish and lonely, and moping and jealousy are below you.

But during the match against U-20, you saw him look at Itoshi Sae the same way he first looked at you on the day you met, spouting nonsense with his unique expert-level yappery. And you don’t like that. You don’t like it at all.

He’s off doing his own thing again when you search for him with your eyes. You stand up.

And then you don’t think at all, breaking out into a sprint at full speed.

You’re behind him in the matter of a minute or so, slipping your foot between his and kicking the ball overhead so it lands behind him. He bristles, perhaps at your unwanted company, but you’ve already turned on your heel to run in the other direction.

You’re dribbling the ball when you glance over your shoulder. He’s onto you, trademark grin on his face. You’re not even sure what you’re trying to accomplish here, but all that comes to mind is, It doesn’t matter if it’s going way too fast or way too hard anymore. Just chase after me one more time.

You’re almost all the way over to the other goal, maintaining your lead, when Shidou kicks the ball after lunging around your side. It slips off half-assedly, but you don’t have much time to mock him for his technique because he grabs you by the wrists and pins you down, straddling you to the ground.

“That’s a foul,” you say, displeased.

“I don’t care.” His smile is so big you feel like he’s going to need to visit an orthodontist after you’re done here. The annoying strands of hair he keeps loose are hovering near your face, taunting you.

Your eyes dart again with your head in the fake grass and you see it straying off. “And the ball didn’t make it. To be honest, you were sloppy.”

“I don’t care.”

“You… don’t?”

There’s that sick fluttering feeling in your stomach again and your heart kicks against your chest painfully. Your cheeks are growing warm and you feel uncomfortable by the heat with Shidou so close to you. What the hell is wrong with you? Seriously, he didn’t even tell you a line or anything. He just said ‘I don’t care’ twice. That’s not game! You need to get a grip.

“Yeah, why should I? I’ve got you right where I want you now.”

You raise an unimpressed eyebrow. If making you look like an idiot is his revenge to you for making him mad, then fine, you’re going to pretend you can’t make your way out of his grip with ease.

“You can’t give me a big dopamine hit like that and pull away,” he says, leaning closer. By this point you really can’t see much apart from his big ass head right in your face. Does he even know what he’s implying to you while looking at you straight-on? Does he realize you know his weird euphemisms are all figures of speech for whatever makes him horny?

“What do you mean?”

“Tellin’ me all that romantic stuff and running away…” Shidou narrows his eyes as if the memory is enough to annoy him.

You blink. Oh. You thought he was throwing a temper tantrum because you refused to team up with him. But once again, you’re unimpressed. “So did that turn you on or what? I don’t get it.”

“Well, I’d put it in other words, like, let’s say, hypothetically, maybe you made me explode because you’re an oxidizer and I’m an organic-”

“Ok, I know, but I’m trying to figure out what’s going on here-”

He retreats and rolls away from you, allowing you to sit up again, so you cease talking without reaching the point you were trying to make. It flies out of your head anyway when he links his hand with yours, staring at you, seemingly subdued now. You’re not sure why you’re both acting like shy middle schoolers now while indulging in something so chaste considering you’ve done way more indecent things together, but you intertwine your fingers and offer him a smile. The sight catches him off-guard.

Before he can bask in another achievement (this time being the first person to make you express any kind of joy when everyone knows you’re one distant asshole), a ball hits him straight on the forehead.

Without any preamble, Rin deems it fit to announce his presence by saying, “Your lukewarm displays are appalling. You should both just die.”

You stare at him and then at each other and burst out in laughter, pointing at him. Though you finish your laughing fits at about the same time, you spur on another one by asking, “Do you think he even knows what lukewarm means?”

“No, I seriously doubt it!”

Rin thinks to ask you how come you think it’s chill when your shitty boyfriend or whatever he is says the grossest things imaginable, but suddenly it’s a problem when he wants to say his favorite word, though he doesn’t want to seem too offended or otherwise invested.

___

Im sorry if this is in any way contradictory or shitty or sucks balls I havent slept in 4 days except for a one-off 3 hour nap and wrote this while possessed. Maybe ill sleep again at some point and this will be the worst thing ive ever seen and ill have to delete it. God forbid.

#shidou x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x you

[likeadevils]

Bejeweled confuses me. I don't know if it's a break up song, a bragging song, a I Did Something Bad like song or something else?

so like, obviously it can be about whatever you want, but if you’re asking what i think taylor was writing it about. um.

okay so. so bejeweled is one of those songs that can like. like. what you think qualifies as cheating, and what you think taylor qualifies as cheating, and how close to that line you think taylor would walk. like. it becomes relevant. i’m not gonna imply taylor like. like she’s not paul mccartney she didn’t have sex with someone else where she knew joe would catch her because she got cold feet about getting married. but if you aren’t comfortable with the idea that the thought of flirting with another man in order to reaffirm her agency would cross her mind, then like. i guess then my answer is global superstar taylor swift wrote it about my specific middle school best friend who is the only person on earth who was born evil

the way i see it bejeweled is about— well, a lot of little situations probably, but mostly about two different points in her life. there’s spring 2016 in general and the early morning hours of april 29th in specific, and then there’s winter 2021. and, on some level all of midnights is about winter 2021, both because that’s when she wrote it and also. like. clearly the agonizing over marriage and fame on midnight rain didn’t come out of nowhere, you know? but i think bejeweled is very much so about the two simultaneously

a fun fact about bejeweled is taylor was wearing this dress the night of april 28, 2016

another fun fact about bejeweled is it was probably written, at most, a month before you’re losing me. maybe a couple weeks afterwards. maybe the same week. we just don’t know, aside from them being written at around the same time

and with that context two lines jump out

best believe i’m still bejeweled: now, obviously, this is first and foremost about being metaphorically bejeweled. but if we want to take it to a more literal level, this can apply to both timeframes. in one, it’s “i’m still bejeweled, i’m wearing a bejeweled dress”, in the other it’s “i’m still bejeweled, think about the place where you first met me”

and when i meet the band, they ask ‘do you have a man?’ i could still say ‘i don’t remember’: this immediately reminded me off “he’s in the club doing i don’t know what” and again, it can either be about that first situation, or it can be a reminder that she could, yknow, write him out the way she wrote him in

now, do i think anything serious happened? no. do i think she at least had the possibility, the daydream, the late night revenge fantasy, on her mind? i mean like. wouldn’t you?

#asks*

[flicklikesstuff]

(⚠️TW! Mentions of Abuse)

………..

I hate to see/hear people react to Husk’s situation with:

“Alastor doesn’t abuse him, he only threatened him once.” OR

“At least it’s not as bad as Angel’s!”

Uhhhh…no?? We shouldn’t be comparing 2 abusive scenarios as which one is worse? Also, what do you MEAN he’s not being abused??? Do y’all know what abuse is?

……

1. Alastor literally threatened his life.

2. Husk suffers emotional stress being under his control.

He’s downright shaking in fear. In non-abusive relationships, this shouldn’t happen.

3. Alastor constantly degrades Husk.

“You may own my soul, but I ain’t your f*cking pet.”

“Oh, but you are~”

||

“You think I’m some kind of f*cking clown?!”

“Maybe.”

4. Husk gets repeatedly forced to do stuff against his will.

“You’d actually think I’d be here cleaning bottles and listening to you f*cks, b*tch and moan all the time if he weren’t forcing me?”

5. Power is imbalanced in this dynamic. Alastor felt the need to put Husk in his place.

6. Alastor dismisses his concerns.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle. Don’t worry Husker.”

7. Alastor gives no shts interfering with Husk’s achievements.

“I was about to win the whole damn pot-!”

“Good to see you too!”

………..

Plus, even if it’s presumably a one time occurrence, it’s still the same thing. A single act or a cycle is still considered harmful. But I personally have a feeling this isn’t the first time Alastor lashed out.

“N-nothing! I- uh…l

Husk looked and acted very panicked before Alastor started walking his way. Like he knew what direction this is going already. He even attempted to backtrack. I feel like if it was the first time, then he would’ve been more surprised and stunned into silence. But I interpreted his reaction as if he’s already familiar to this situation already.

I’m just saying, just because the show only showed it onscreen once, doesn’t mean it probably hasn’t happened before.

……….

Back to the main thing at hand,

Anything that treats the other person with cruelty or force qualifies as abuse. If the intention is to exert control and power, manipulate, or retain someone against their will, then that is abusive behavior.

You can try and argue that this kind of thing is common in hell.

Argue that it’s not as physical and constant as Angel’s.

Argue that Husk signed up for this and it’s part of his soul contract.

Still doesn’t take away the fact that Husk is still being emotionally abused. So you can stop defending your precious deer baby. You’re still allowed to like him as one of your fav characters but just don’t brush this one over.

#mini rant #hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin husk #husk #Alastor

[nyctorune]

Izumi Sena & Leo Tsukinaga x a messy, messy gn!artistic reader

——————————————————————

Synopsis: How would Izumi and Leo act with a partner who’s a tragically messy artist with extra messy on the side.

Tw? Unless you find fluff and pretend constant disappointment absolutely mortifying, there’s none!

Author note: I’ve fallen down the bottomless pit of Knights yet again and now i’m writing x reader fanfic to quell my depressing thirst for fictional idols. I don’t think the bible approves of me guys-

—————————————————————

—————————————————————

- Izumi Sena -

- Oh great, ANOTHER Leo. At least you’re not running around at the dead of night getting lost and losing your phone…. Right? RIGHT?!?

- He loves you! He does! It’s just… When he sees the remains of your 3AM artist mayhem it just makes him question everything. Just a bit.

- The sketchbooks… The loose paper… The pens, pencils, and markers all over the place… God it haunts him in his dreams. I mean, how does a marker make it behind the GOD DAMNED PILLOWS?!? HELLO?!?!

- Has seriously considered buying restraints. Don’t test him… He will. (must we remember his Makoto moment…?)

- He thinks it’s stupid that you trash so much art. You’re going to suffocate your trashcan with all that beautiful messy art.

- And don’t think you can get away with digital art!! He’s seen your file names!!! Disgusting. How do you even manage to find anything? You don’t? Explains a lot.

- It doesn’t matter where you crash, as you’ll always find yourself back in bed with all your tasmanian devil destruction cleanly put away.

- He always makes sure you get enough sleep, enough to eat, and plenty to drink. And don’t go slouching around like an idiot! It’ll ruin that pretty pretty appearance of yours… Seriously, SOOOO annoying.

- When you show him your recent art piece that has survived Hurricane Y/N, he smiles, just a bit. Butttt like the tsundere he is he quickly covers it up and says your eyes are just playing tricks. You draw too much. Go to sleep before he has to go through the hassle of getting you glasses!!!

- What’s that? You want to know his opinion? Well, of course you do! He is the MOST qualified person for this. He is a model after all~~ He gives you a healthy balance of compliments and criticism. He knows what getting crappy criticism is like, and he never wants you to experience that too. Especially from him.

- Once you’ve left, he smiles and admires your work. He loves it! It doesn’t matter if it’s the next Picasso masterpiece or not, it was made by you and that’s special. He really wants to see where your art goes, and he will stop at nothing to make sure that becomes a reality.

- Leo Tsukinaga -

- Crazy artist two, electric boogaloo.

- The team rocket theme plays when the two of you are seen together.

- “PREPARE FOR TROUBLE! AND MAKE IT DOUBLE!”

- Leo is genuinely SO happy he’s with you. Seriously. He’s never letting you go. Forget Anzu when he has YOU! :D His best, most beautiful muse!

- Naru walks into your shared room with Leo, it’s literally all paper and various stationary. She can’t even see you two!! She sighs and closes the door, she can’t take this much longer….

- Leo sees your art, and he glows. Like, LITERALLY glows. (god applied glow ink to him for 1800 seconds.)

- Your art just makes him so happy and giggly. He’s already hugging you and bouncing up and down like no tomorrow.

- Sometimes, he sees music in your art. Like, both figuratively and literally. There are now at least 20 songs that have come from the back of your sketchbook and 20 more that was written i n your sketchbook.

- If you were to EVER degrade your art in any fashion, well, Leo will get very grumpy. And whiny. And clingy. He’s NOT leaving your side and he will NOT shut up until you agree that all your art is beautiful and you’re super talented and super attractive and amazing and funny and- it never ends…

- There have been multiple instances where all the idols in Ensemble Square have found washed up and stranded pages filled with doodles and music notes. They’re just… not even surprised. They’ve even made a competition from it!

- Whoever finds the most abandoned children of the artistic mayhems ™️ gets *idk insert something that sounds appealing i can’t think of anything.*

- Now, if you decide to come with Leo to Florence, well…. Hell hath no fury like an Izumi annoyed. Buttttt that’s another story for another time ;)

I hope yall enjoyed my little head cannons for my favorite two idiots. If any of you wanna request then please check my pinned post! Have a good rest of the next 12 hours :)

#ensemble stars #izumi sena #leo tsukinaga #x reader #fanfic #izumi sena x reader #leo tsukinaga x reader #knights x reader #gn reader #artist reader #artist #fluff #headcannons #hcs

[randomtvpollsjp]

Anybody who walks out of the theater and says, “Barbie  is anti-men” lacks media analysis skills. So let’s do a what I thought no one would have to do for this film—an unnecessarily deep dive. But it seemingly needs to get done for this crowd.

Shall we?

(And spoilers)

In Barbieland, men are seen as nothing but accessories to all of the exceptional women. Even the least exceptional woman—Stereotypical Barbie—is more exceptional than the average Ken.

(The exceptional Kens like Sugar Daddy Ken and Earring Magic Ken as well as Allan are othered within the hierarchy of Barbieland, a clear allegory for non-conforming/queer men. Even Weird Barbie is othered by the Barbies for her non-conformity but at least has a house)

Contrast Barbieland with the (still surreal) Real World, where the gender roles are often reversed.

In the lead up to the 2016 US Presidential election, for example, there were still people saying that they couldn’t vote for a woman.

That was it. Not her policies. A woman.

The film goes out of its way to prove that Ken—despite being cis/White/straight and male—cannot get EVERYTHING he wants without qualifications and experience. But he DOES get a basic level of respect that he never got in Barbieland from Barbies and the power structure they benefit from.

At one point, the film has a line where a man says, “I’m a man without power. Am I a woman?”

In the film’s Real World (and ours), women often struggle to get power. And so do men! But women face social barriers that men simply do not.

Meanwhile, despite being “everything”, in the Real World, Barbie’s a sexual object to men and almost immediately assaulted; and vilified by girls/women for setting unrealistic body standards. And is torn to shreds by Sasha, the girl she thought she had to help.

Ken takes patriarchy back to Barbieland and the Barbies—unable to conceive of a world like the film’s version of the Real World—basically short-circuit. The Kens, meanwhile, having always been second-class citizens, relish in the new idea and hierarchy.

But, as the film establishes, Kens don’t have an education or qualifications. They can’t even build a wall right because they weren’t conceptualized to be useful/given the tools to be.

Ken’s job was literally Beach.

They’d have actually destroyed Barbieland.

Similarly, nobody is saying you should just appoint women in our world into positions of power, just to appoint them. But we ARE saying that there are qualified women who deserve to be in places that they aren’t because they’re not men.

And that’s wrong.

By the end of the film, Barbie realizes that she actually owes Ken an apology. Yes, Ken tried to overthrow the Barbies. But Ken was reacting to Barbie’s rejection in a toxic—yeah, I said it—way.

And reacting to their society too, even if he doesn’t really know it.

The Kens had a point. The Barbies HAD mistreated them. Barbie didn’t even know where Kens lived in Barbieland, after all.

And to not acknowledge their point is to also not acknowledge the real world point that women are often mistreated in our world just for being women.

I’ve seen some people brandishing stats about how women USED to be marginalized. But now they aren’t. And can do anything. And earn just as much as men.

And yet, Forbes reports that only 10% of Fortune 500 companies have female CEO’s.

Anyway, so the film ends with Barbie telling Ken that he needs to define himself independently of being with Barbie. Which is analogous to how women in the workforce and getting educated/qualified in our world, allows them to be financially independent of men.

In Barbieland, Barbies have always been autonomous and allowed to be independent of men. And have flourished. And President Barbie promises to allow Kens to take part in the running of their shared society. Because everybody deserves to be seen and heard.

There are valid criticisms to be made about this film ranging from how its feminism lacks intersectionality; to how Mattel’s own workers in developing nations are often underpaid and overworked; to consumerism being the main tool of empowerment that Barbie (the toy) endorses.

But it’s one film and I understand that it can’t address EVERYTHING. It chose to stick with gender broadly.

And I think it successfully lands that point.

#Barbie #Barbie movie #margot robbie #Ken doll #barbie film #feminism #barbie live action #Barbieland #greta gerwig

[gaysindistress]

Things that I think would happen if Bucky dated an Egyptian!reader

Based on this request from @aesthetic0cherryblossom

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest

1. Bucky has always been fascinated with Ancient Egypt 

American Egyptomania is what they call the time of renewed interest in the culture of ancient Egypt that happened in America in the late 19th century and early 20th. Like I mentioned in my first Arab reader headcanon list, with Bucky being from Brooklyn it’s likely that he experienced more diversity than most. Also with how social he was, I genuinely believe that he would’ve experienced more than Steve. Anyways his exposure to ancient Egypt would have come from the many museums in New York that were a part of Egyptomania however his knowledge about “modern” Egypt would have stemmed from his interest in the first world war. Egypt had a significant but forgotten role in the war and with his dad dying during basic training, I can see him having a special interest in it and thus learning more about Egypt. 

Now, fast forward to 2023 a form of self-care for Bucky would be going to museums and essentially re-learning everything that he spent years reading about as a kid. And we know that he was a reader because he read the Hobbit when it first came out in 1937. It didn’t become mainstream until almost 3 decades later in the 60s so that would lead me to believe that he read literally everything that he could.

Back on track now, these museum trips are a way for him to catch up, as well as feel connected to who he was before. 

Since he is tied to D.C. thanks to his government mandated therapy,  he goes to the Smithsonian more than any other ones. He loves the Eternal Life in Ancient Egypt exhibit more than anything, and he visits it all of the time. 

Once again, this is where you come in. You two didn’t meet at the museum but instead literally ran into each other as he was leaving therapy. He was in a terrible mood and ran straight into you, spilling your coffee all over your white shirt. He felt awful and apologized profusely but you weren’t concerned. 

“I don’t even like this shirt anyways,” you told him with a smile that made him swoon. 

After that, he’d see you every week after his appointment and he slowly started to look forward to Dr. Raynor. She made a comment about it which he quickly shut her down saying that “maybe our sessions are helping or maybe I just want to get out of here.” She reminded him that she could extend his court mandated appointments if she thought it necessary. 

Finally he worked up the courage to ask you out and offered to buy you a new shirt. You accepted and told him that lunch would be a better replacement. He let you pick the place and you took him to Fava Pot, the only good Egyptian restaurant aside from your kitchen. 

The two of you talked for hours about everything and nothing at all. Slowly the topic of you being Egyptian came out and it took everything in him to not lose his shit. Before he could stop himself, he told you all about how he’d loved Ancient Egypt growing up and how he’d go to the Smithsonian almost weekly to look at the exhibits. At first you did say a word but then the giggles erupted for you, causing everyone to look at your table. You grabbed his arm and drug him out of the restaurant without a word about why and the poor guy was so confused. 

You finally explained that you would give him a real tour and alas your weekly museum dates were born.

2. Your culture is hard for him to grasp at first. 

Important note for this hc": there is a very old and heated debate about whether or not Egyptians are Arab. While I’m Arab, I’m not Egyptian and not at all qualified to even touch that debate. With that being said, the cultural differences were specifically requested so my hope is that this section comes across as neutral in regards to that debate. If it doesn’t or i get something wrong, please correct me. Everyone deserves accurate representation.

As I said in my first Arab!reader list, there is a lot of misinformation about the Middle East and North Africa which makes research very difficult. The above debate is a prime example of this. Bucky tries really hard to do as much research as he can on his own so that he can surprise (and impress) you but ultimately has to ask you. He takes it as a personal hit that he can’t do everything in his power to understand you better because you’ve done that for him. However you remind him that he’s an Avenger and literally has biographies written about him. 

“Rouhi, no one is expecting you to be a walking encyclopedia. Let me help,” you said in a gentle tone one night when he was getting frustrated with whatever show he was watching. 

“That defeats the purpose of me learning about your culture. I should be able to do it on my own,” he threw back from the couch where he’s laying with the cat that he definitely didn’t want on his chest. 

“You can do a lot of other things on your own. You’re a big boy, you’re 107! This, however, is difficult for anyone and I’m more than willing to help.”

He glared at you for calling him that and for pointing at his age but his gaze softened when you dropped onto the ground next to him with a plate of food. After that, in addition to your Arabic lessons, the two of you play trivia so he can learn more. It’s really you quizzing him on flashcards and every one he gets right, he gets a kiss. The arrangement works out in both of your favors really. 

3. The more serious your relationship gets, the more Egyptian traditions/norms he incorporates into your life. 

This starts out with little things like taking his shoes off when he walks in. With time he’ll start adding more things like visiting your family as often as you can as a couple and bringing some sort of gift, usually sweets or the chocolates that your dad loves. During dinner, he’ll make sure to get a second plate and leave a small amount leftover. He’ll change how he compliments you by making an effort to compliment specific things like how your hair looks that day or how he likes when you wear black. He’ll also start showing gratitude when you compliment him by responding to a compliment on the same thing. For example, if you tell him how good he looks that day, he’ll tell you that you look radiant. If you’re Muslim, he’ll add “Allah Yen’im ‘alik” which is how you wish someone Allah’s blessings (from my understanding). 

Eventually he acts more Egyptian than you when you’re with your family and your mom will not let you forget it. She’s always telling you that Bucky is such a good man and how he’d be the perfect son in law. Those conversations are usually followed by her asking when you’re going to get married and looking him dead in the eyes to make her point clear; hurry up and propose. Ever the charmer, he’s able to rely on that Brooklyn sweetheart that lives inside of him and move the conversation to something else. Of course, your mom knows what he’s doing but she’ll allow it because she can feel the proposal in her bones (and it never hurts to have that brilliant smile directed at you.)

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #marvel imagine #egyptian #Egyptian reader #Bucky x Egyptian reader #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes reader insert #marvel